Hey, You Missed a Spot

While out on an assignment, I came across the Renwick Gallery for the first time. I am absolutely crazy about the Smithsonian and try to take advantage of all it has to offer as often as I can. So I was surprised to see that I had missed one of its galleries.

The building that houses the Renwick Gallery was the first home of the Corcoran Gallery of Art.

The sculpture of the rather put upon woman (there is a step in her back) is called "Louise." The chest pictured showing rabbits chasing a fox was aptly named "Bad Hare Day." The hunter becomes the hunted. It reminds me that I need to turn the tables and give chase to some folks myself.

Overheard

As always, I've got my ears open...

Overheard in Congress Heights
Man: They got a Lexus.
Woman: Now that's what the f%^k I'm talkin' about.

Overheard in Friendship Heights
Man to Woman: How many years have we been married? How many more do we have to go?

Remembering the Howard Theater in its Heyday

As I was taking photos of the old Howard Theater for a Road Trip article I wrote for the Washington Post (Raise Your Hands for a Gospel Tour of Washington), I was greeted by three old men sitting in a Cadillac. They regaled me with tales of the theater in its heyday. One said that Della Reese lived across the hall from him in Cleveland. They even told me that at one time the sign was on the corner of the building and not in the center where it is now. The theater is now in disrepair, but grant money is going to be used to restore the theater to its former greatness.

I was telling someone else about it later and they described it exactly as I thought of it—it was like being the barbershop. They were both comrades and rivals and they tripped over each other and helped each other in reminiscing. I was there to act as the audience they needed to take a trip back in time. For once, I stopped to listen rather than sticking to my plan of doing what I needed to do and moving on.

It was fantastic to hear them talk about growing up in DC and listen to a time when people were less cynical and it didn’t take so much to dazzle us. It was a thrill just to see the performers enter the theater. “I used to come up here just to smell how those men smelled,” one of them said to show just how intoxicating the experience was for him as a boy.

Customer Service Hall of Fame

Since grew up and flew the nest, I've gotten older and the world has gotten colder. I'd often find myself saying, "Customer service is dead." And most of the time, it really did seem dead. But here and there it shows glimmers of life.

A while back I wrote this post about how upset I was that I got up early one Saturday morning to see a matinee...and no one was there to show the film.

I was incensed enough to send in a complaint to theater management and the CEO was kind enough to not only reply apologetically, he also offered me free movie passes. As if that wasn't enough, he just followed up a few months later (imagine that!!) to see if I'd gone back (I declared I wouldn't and that was before gas prices had skyrocketed--why burn gas to go see a movie that isn't going to be shown?). In any case, he asked if I had been back and said he has visited himself (from CA) and things were different now. He also said he was sending more passes. This is a lovely gesture for a starving-artist-writer type like me, so Landmark Theaters is definitely in my good books.

And after this post, Busboys and Poets has also redeemed itself because my waitress offered to get me another entree when mine wasn't what either of us expected.

If customer service is dead or off sending a text message to a friend or whatever, it is up to us to shake it and bring it back to where it is supposed to be.

Yes, We Can

Here is a story that I do not have to dramatize or dress up:

Last Friday night I was in a restaurant enjoying dinner with six other black women, when we were unexpectedly interrupted. A rather tipsy white man came up to the table and said, "I just want to tell you all one thing: Obama rocks." One of our party, put her fists in the air rather ironically and said, "Yes we can!" He joined her and repeated this as he walked away.

At least he did not attempt a fist-bump.

And, as always, any few words remind me of song...so press play below to hear/see the Pointer Sisters non-ironic rendition of "Yes, We Can Can" (Thanks YouTube.)

Flying Free (Except in some parts of DC)

No, this isn't about airline discounts (although even I kinda wish that it was). The planes you see are part of Crystal City's public arts project in NoVa (Northern VA). Businesses sponsored the planes and local artists painted and decorated them. All of this is in an effort to get more people to visit an downtown-type area that was well-planned, but seems to be empty a lot of the time.

As we freely roamed around marveling at the planes, I thought about how different the area is from where I live.

Just yesterday there was (much needed) uproar over the DC police chief's plan to institute checkpoints in violent neighborhoods. Although I do not live in the neighborhood with the honor of being the first Neighborhood Safety Zone, I cannot help but be concerned about where this is headed.

I am free to come and go as I please, however. And that often means going to places where they are actively encouraging visitors.

The Glamorous Life

Not too long ago, I was interviewing for some contract work and the interviewer said, rather sheepishly, that to him my writing work sounded “glamorous.” Why would I want to do something so un-glamorous as contract work?

(Since a few words can trigger a song in my head, I went to YouTube and dug up the old Sheile E. video you see above.)

There is some glamour to writing, but a lot of it is as grueling as any other kind of work. In addition to being a striving creative genius, I am HR, PR, Marketing, Accounts Payable, Account Receivable, CEO, peon, janitor and cafeteria staff. But yeah, when I am driving somewhere and its not rush hour or sleeping late, rather than getting up at the crack of dawn after working really hard the day before, I do feel rather fortunate. I certainly don’t do it for the money (ha!). As a lifelong nerd, I really do love to go behind the scenes, get to the bottom of things, see how they tick and then find a way to explain that other people.

It is funny how when someone who is supposed to be “creative” mentions money they become a sellout of some sort. Writers should embrace some kind of chic poverty, rather than trying to pay bills and retire like everyone else. I just left a networking event where I agreed with someone about wanting to make more money and someone’s reaction was, “Oh, you’re a mercenary writer!” No one ever accuses middle managers, engineers or teachers of being mercenary when they talk about their desire to earn more. Few people work for free. Why should a writer be any different?

The Fantasy of Sex and the City

Yes, I joined the crowds that went to see the Sex and the City movie this past Friday. The movie and its stars have been everywhere. But it is funny that while the media is hyping them up, at the same time they keep asking if predominately female audience can propel a movie to the top. I was going with a group of women and I know plenty of others who are going en masse as well. I remember a similar phenomenon among black women when Waiting to Exhale hit movie theaters. Women keep the world going, so even if for some reason the first-weekend box office proceeds for SATC don't meet (likely inflated) expectations, there is no doubt that collectively women get the job done.

The lines were long, but thanks to a friend's organization, we got there in time to get good seats. The theater was filled with people. I saw women paying homage to the movie with fierce outfits (including a huge pink tutu) and cosmos. The picture you see above is my own homage-a flower that I put in my hair and the dress I wore.

Re: Jennifer Hudson's welcome, but also tacked-on character-We got into a little discussion of the BBF syndrome (read more about it in this article on theroot.com), and concluded that the magical black best friend who comes in and saves your life can really only works wonders if you are not black. As a black woman, you have to be your own BBF. In a twist on the usual self-sacrificing BBF, Jennifer Hudson actual had a little love story of her own.

Magical slippers, and Manolos aside, I don't think the movie or TV show sell the fantasy of a happily-ever-after with Prince Charming. Instead, it is a fantasy of female friendship: a beautiful world where your best girlfriends never leave your side, even if they move away. Sometimes the bonds of friendship are tested, as they are in the movie, but they are never broken.

There is a First Time for Everything

A friend commented on this post about how no one (including me) would answer woman on the bus to a Nats game. She said it reminded her of New York City where no one wants to talk to people on public transportation.

Well, today on the train, I sat down next to a woman who promptly welcomed me to my seat with a very cheery,"Good Morning." I responded in kind. But I have to say that this was a first.

Has it come to this?

Ok, while I'm busy writing about text messaging, my brain has been busy forgetting how to engage in old school methods of communication. I sat down to type a letter and for a brief moment panicked because I couldn't remember which address (sender/recipient) went where. Then I remembered.

But the internet is there to help. In case you've forgotten too,
here's a visual.

A Tale of Two Texts

Yesterday, while eating breakfast after church, I was greeted by a young person who cheerfully told me the harrowing tale of how she almost got caught texting in church. I cannot even begin to recall the ins and outs of all this--

she got a text message so the phone lit up or beeped or whatever, then she answered the message, but by then her grandmother had noticed so she tried to put the phone under her leg somehow, solemnly telling grandma that she was not on the phone in church, but then the phone fell and some other boy in church noticed or tried to pick it up or something (he was sitting nearby to corroborate this story).

Or something like that.

I listened and asked her why she answered the text message. I also suggested that turning the phone off before service would alleviate all of this.

"Is YOUR phone off?" she challenged me. I told it had been until service ended and I stepped outside before coming back in for breakfast.

I don't know if she believed me. But I can see why she was doubtful. After all, I saw the woman next to me was doing something on her phone during service.

In my day, we passed notes. The evidence was immediately visible, but the notes made less noise.

A Little Whoopi in the Streets

"All Who Wander Are Not Lost"

That was on a magnet at the home of someone I visited recently and it is very true.

After picking up tickets for the Shakespeare Free for All, I wandered across the street into a celebration of the season opener for the Washington Mystics (DC's WNBA team). They'd borrowed the Whoopi figure from the nearby Madame Tussaud's House of Wax.

Then I wandered over to the National Portrait Gallery to check out some of my favorites and to see more of the museum because one never can quite see it all. After checking in on Recognize! Hip Hop and Contemporary Portraiture (yes, LL is still there :-), I wandered over to see Ballyhoo! Posters as Portraiture.

The Power of Suggestion: Bouquet of Beef Jerky

When I was in school, they always made a big deal about brainstorming. So much in fact that I dreaded hearing that very word. Some teacher would get out an easel, a marker and a big sheet of paper and we were supposed to just shout out ideas about some topic or another. But now I really see the value of it. Some of my best ideas come at random. And it seems like people really listen more to my half-baked notions than to the ones that are well thought out.

Case in point: the bouquet of beef jerky pictured above. A beef jerky-loving friend of mine was performing in a concert and as a joke I suggested to some other friends that we give him said bouquet. I was not serious, and yet if you look closely, you can see that there really is beef jerky in that bouquet. Someone else suggested Spam flowers, to honor this friend's other culinary favorite, but alas those still remain a dream.

Thanks to C.L. for making it happen and to M.Y. for taking a picture of it.

Just Give Up Now

The news was on while I was visiting a friend yesterday and they did a "special report" on why staying home for Memorial Day Weekend might not save you any money.

It seems that staying home to save money on gas or to avoid paying extra airline fees to check your luggage, fasten your seatbelt, or breathe the air on the plane will not be enough to avoid impending doom. Why, you may ask?

Grocery prices have gone up. So even if you stay home, you'll be paying extra for hamburger meat and hot dog buns. Experts, including the all important "expert with a British accent" were trotted out to confirm the futility of even attempting to have fun or live a little this upcoming holiday weekend. Prices have indeed gone up, including the prices of certain items that they noted had increased 1% since last year.

So, if the hamburger is going to set you back so much that it will be like filling up your car's gas tank, you might as well get in your car and drive to someone else's house...and eat their hamburgers.

Prince Caspian

I went to the movies yesterday to Prince Caspian and felt rather curmudgeonly as I noted that the matinee price was the evening movie price a few years ago. No one I was with was surprised, so that shows how often I go to the movies. However, I'm sure you have also shake your head and your cane at the sight of rising prices. I had money left on a movie theater gift card, so while I noted the high price, I didn't actually pay that price.

Although I've read all of the books in the Chronicles of Narnia series, I didn't exactly remember the plot of Prince Caspian. I'm nerdy enough to read up on something before seeing it, but I didn't have time for all that. So I went in unprepared and found that the story was familiar. Either I pulled it from some deep part of my memory or I liked it enough so that it seemed familiar.

One could dissect that movie in so many ways...

It is interesting how we often only see adventures as belonging to another time or place. After leaving wartime England for Narnia, the four Pevensie children have to change into their medieval gear before their adventures can really begin. At least one of them was going to battle in the regular world. When he gets to Narnia he has to fight as well, only in Narnia he is leading troops. There is a certain nobility to fighting for a great cause as opposed to say, fighting bullies for the sake of pride. But in the end, there was fighting in all realms, mythical or not.

Still, swords and castles and such do seem much more thrilling than the fight to get home on the beltway or dodging the slings and arrows of corporate fortune to get a paycheck.

Where's the Beef?

I had a few choice topics in mind for a blog for today. But my digital camera ate a few pictures I'd taken (which could be a blog post in itself), so I was left pondering what to write about.

Well, I just got an e-mail that blew all of those other possible blog topics right outta the water.

I HAVE BEEN INVITED TO JUDGE A MEATLOAF CONTEST!

Yup, that's right. I knew if I kept at it, they'd be coming to me. A restaurant I wrote about maybe a year ago has requested my presence at a contest to decide who fires up the best mound of meat. The contest isn't until October, so you'll have to stay tuned for all of the exciting developments.

Message in a Bottle

Stuff I Saw Yesterday

I spy with my little eye...

A) A 12 or 13-year-old boy with a flower cut into his head. Not only was this flower cut into his head, but it was also dyed--green stem/leaves and red petals. (I so wish I could provide a visual of this, but I can't get involved with taking photos of minors on the street. Believe me, it was a sight to see. The green was bright and the red was poppin'.)

B) A woman on the Metro with a bag depicting this scene:
Complimenting Cartoon Woman: "I love your bag!"
Cussing Cartoon Woman: "Get your own bag, B$%^h!

An Exciting Account of Things Overheard on the Way to a Nats Game

As I mentioned in the previous post, the other day I went to a Nats game on the shuttle because Metro was experiencing serious delays since they were working on the tracks for the Yellow and Green Lines.

Part 1: Referring to Capitol Hill and the newness of the Green Line
On the shuttle a woman sitting in aisle seat near me (I was sitting next to a window) kept asking, "Is this Capitol Hill?" No one bothered to answer her while we were actually in Capitol Hill. When she did get an answer, we had left Capitol Hill.

The woman next to me started to talk to her and they discussed why they were on the shuttle (again, the track work), and the Capitol Hill-seeker asked, " Is the Green Line new?" At this point I joined in to assure her, that no, the Green Line was not new.

Part 2:Referring to lumping people together, the African Diaspora and things you cannot assume
Lost in thought, I exited the bus and followed the herd towards what I hoped would be the Nats new stadium. (It was hard to tell because at first, it was not in sight). My thoughts were disturbed when I picked up fragments of a conversation between two men, "Black people...They could be from Trinidad or Tobago, Guatemala...even England. You can't assume...they don't want to be lumped in the same category..."

No Peanuts, No Cracker Jacks

This past weekend, I finally went to a game at the new Nats stadium. I'd written a little about it (Root, Root, Root for Three Home Teams), and driven past it, but hadn't actually been inside.

It is a great improvement on RFK. As I approached the Center Field Gate, I heard someone comment that that particular entrance looked like you were walking into a movie theater. I don't know that it has movie theater feel. The entrance does give you a neighborhood ballpark feel, even though most of that attendees probably don't live in the neighborhood.

I don't live very far away, but I chose to trek to RFK and take a shuttle because Metro picked that day to do track work. They warned that people could expect 45 minute delays, so it didn't seem worth it to take the train.

Because a friend's company picked up the tab for the tickets, I decided to make it a true ballpark experience and buy some overpriced food. This didn't happen though because all of the credit/debit card machines in the entire park were down. I was given the option of going to the ATM, but after I saw the food, I thought I'd be better off without it.

Speaking of amenities...they have a playground and their own Build-A-Bear workshop, if you're into that sort of thing.

p.s. I just looked up the score (we left during the 7th or 8th inning): The Marlins beat the Nats 11-0. It was was 10-0 when before I departed. I'd hoped that the Nats would get rid of that goose egg, but it seems they did not.

Where the Tall Grass Grows

There are a lot of things you don't notice...unless they go haywire.

My mother used to say something about how if a man gets a really good haircut you won't be able to tell. It took a minute (well more than a minute) for this to sink in: the implication is that if you are maintaining something it will look good continuously. However, this seemed more like an ideal than something people really put into practice. I was able to tell when most men (even my father) got a haircut.

I thought of this today as I was driving down a street I travel occasionally because the grass on the median was growing wild. It was taller than a small child and looked very unkempt in comparison to the neatly cut lawns on either side of the street.

Someone was not on their job because my drive down this street would have been unremarkable otherwise. And it made me think how unaware we all are of the behind the scenes work that is done to keep things going.

Unaccustomed Earth (in more ways than one)

So I'm reading Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri (great book by the way, every time I pick it up I don't want to put it down) and reading some of the accompanying press that is generated when an author has a new book out...and I am wondering why the media has decided to doggedly pursue the same line of questioning with regards to her writing.

Everyone either asks or refers to other people asking her why she only writes about immigrants from India and their children...as if there is something wrong with that. She is the child of Indian immigrants. And to be fair, her characters are Indian, Indian American and Caucasian, so there is some variety.

No one asks African-American authors why they mainly write about black people. They don't even ask Amy Tan why she keeps writing about immigrants from China. And no one ever asks white authors why most of their characters are white.

But there are a different set of expectations for "minorities" and within that perilous category of minorities, there are different expectations for different minorities.

Ballin'...for Books

A little while back, I ran into a fellow WNBA member at a networking party. The two of us were talking to a gentleman there who asked, "Is that[the WNBA] like the Jane Austen Book Club?"

So cute, aren't they, these men? At least he didn't assume we were basketball players, as someone else did when I ran into that very same WNBA member at a different networking event (oh how the world keeps shrinking). For the record, The WNBA is the Women's National Book Association.

The WNBA is more about writing than it is about reading, although we do promote literacy and sometimes discuss books. It is an org for authors and aspiring authors to network, talk shop, learn about publishing and socialize.

And it is now official, I am on the Board of the DC Chapter, as an "at-large" member. Yesterday was my first, official board meeting. At the moment, I am enjoying the fuzzy, undefined nature of being an "at-large" member.

How did I manage to win such a post? Oh, I really cannot divulge inside organizational secrets. I will say that there were no black pansuits, bad bowling techniques or hanging chads involved.

Country Road, Take Me Home

When I mentioned to a few people that I was going to West Virginia on a retreat with a mentoring program, the reactions were, for the most part, what I expected: Why would you want to go there? and Be careful. As was the case with visiting Richmond, I just like going to places I've never been. If they are tropical and exciting, all the better. If not, it is still good to set eyes on unfamiliar territory. I was only going overnight, it is not like I was doing a foreign exchange program there.

One person, however, did suggest that there was a danger of falling prey to cannibals. This I did not expect. So W. Va. doesn't have a stellar rep, but cannibals? Jeffrey Dahmer wasn't from W. Va and that didn't stop him. I was certain that W. Va was full of fine folks. Although I probably would have reversed that opinion if I'd discovered that one of my fellow humans had attempted to make a meal out of me.

Since I only got a glimpse of W. Va., I cannot write a traveler's guide (but this post is illustrated with a lovely picture that I took). I will say that moments after seeing a Confederate flag license plate got us a little down, seeing an Obama '08 sign lifted our spirits.

I could write many volumes on what a great experience mentoring is. But I'll spare you all that and share one thing. I was intrigued to find out that Tinkerbell (aka Tink) is popular with pre-teen and teenage girls. Something about how she is the only Disney heroine who is sassy and independent. The Tink and Tinkerbell t-shirts I saw attest to the fact that they did not come up with this notion on their own, so the resurgence of Tink's popularity is just an offshoot of the corporate Disney Princess machine. She was once a Disney Princess, but is now the star of the Disney Fairies franchise.

Recognize!: Hip Hop Gets (some of) Its Due

Getting to the National Portrait Gallery to see Recognize! Hip Hop and Contemporary Portraiture has been on my to-do list for a while now. The exhibit ends in October, so of course I've been telling myself that I have plenty of time to see it. This is true, but I hate to have to try and rush there on the last day because I kept waiting. I was there for the final weekend of the Edward Hopper exhibit at National Gallery of Art. The crowds made it hard to enjoy, but I just went for a second look because I'd already visited the exhibit when it wasn't elbow-to-elbow.

But I digress...back to the Hip Hop exhibit.It combined painting, photos, graffiti and the poetry of Nikki Giovanni. It sounds like a lot, but they managed to put it together so it makes sense and it does not take a long time to go through the exhibit.

Some of the paintings (done by Kehinde Wiley) were commissioned for VH1's Hip Hop Honors show and I have to say the paintings are what impressed me most. I was glad to see them being "re-purposed" and displayed in a venue like the Smithsonian. Rap artists were depicted in grand portraits that drew inspiration from older artwork. Ice T was shown in a pose similar to one that Napoleon struck in a portrait and LL Cool J chose to be portrayed in a style taken from a painting of Rockefeller. The painter gave the artists their own crests.

I read about some grumblings about the propriety of including an exhibit showing rap artists at the National Portrait Gallery, and that is to be expected. I'll stop here to allude to my fellow blogger Mary at StellarSelf. She admitted that she avoided the Portrait Gallery because it seemed like it would be boring and she was convinced to go after the museum let Stephen Colbert display his portrait there.

To stay alive and keep going, museums have to make an effort to attract new audiences. The Colbert portrait brought in tons of irregular museum-goers. (I know because they were all crowding near the bathrooms (where Colbert's portrait was placed) with cell phone cameras trying to capture their museum moment with Colbert.) After being drawn in by Colbert or LL Cool J, someone who ordinarily wouldn't go to a museum may wander a little and find more to their liking.

If you're in DC, go see it! It's at the Gallery Place/Chinatown metro stop. If you're not in DC, go to the exhibit website, and check it out. If you're in DC and can't be bothered to go, then you too have my permission to visit the exhibit website.

Special thanks to Mary for letting me "borrow" the picture she took of the LL Cool J portrait in the exhibit guidebook. Good idea. Since I didn't think of it, I am glad to know someone who did.

Do You See a Resemblance?

The National Portrait Gallery has a large painting of the much lauded mezzo soprano Denyce Graves. In reference to her portrait, I overheard one museum patron ask another, "She looks like Jordin Sparks. Who is that?"

Well, they are both singers...perhaps Denyce Graves would be flattered to know that someone mistook her for a singer who is decades younger.

Domestic Violence

Bianca, I hardly knew you, but I'll never forget you.

Rest in peace.

The Kindest Cut

A magazine in a waiting area promised hundreds of the best beauty solutions on its cover and I took the bait.

Flipping through, I realized that all of its "solutions" involved knives and lasers, as it was basically a plastic surgery magazine wrapped in the package of the regular mags that tell us how to fix our problems/ourselves.

Dinner of Champions

Scrambled eggs and tea.

Sad, I know, but it is late and I don't need a heavy meal.

Yesterday, I came home without shopping and fell asleep because I intended to go back out again. But it was raining buckets and my plans were canceled.

Earlier today I was near a Whole Foods, so I went in and enjoyed the free samples, but I didn't want to get groceries there because I can get more somewhere else than I'd get at "Whole Paycheck."

Then on the way home it was raining buckets again and I figured I had something I could eat.

As I scrambled the eggs, I remembered that I had the stuff to make my favorite variation of gallo pinto, which consists of (you guessed it) gallo pinto with scrambled eggs. But by then the eggs were done and I wanted to eat.

Usually, I would not let some drops of water deter me. And usually, I'd have planned and shopped for the week...but hey, sometimes ya gotta break the mold.

Back to Basics

I am part of a mentoring program and during a group discussion, one of the mentees was starting to make a point and asked in all earnestness, "Is France in America?"

Fortunately, a few in the group indicated that it was not without anyone making a big deal about it.

Richmond: Through the Looking Glass

I went to Richmond for the first time this past weekend, and although my friends there seemed puzzled by my interest in it, I enjoyed my visit. Like many other cities, such as my own adopted home of DC, Richmond is working to build up previously neglected/undeveloped areas. No, it isn't exotic, but it is somewhere I hadn't been before, so that made it interesting.

Actually, I take that back, Richmond is a little like walking through the looking glass because some things there are definitely a little topsy-turvy.

Take the swanky Arby's, for example. I thought of Arby's as a dying breed, but in Richmond there is an Arby's housed in a rather elegant building (for an Arby's anyway). Rumor has it that there is a piano bar in there and people go there to lounge. I only rode past the Arby's and heard the tales, so I am sorry to say that cannot confirm this.

Late at night, I rode past a club that looked like any other club: people were lined up outside dressed in club-going attire. Some young ladies were out there dropping it like it was hot, obviously practicing for a hedonistic night at the...Have a Nice Day Café. Yes, that was the name of the club. Complete with smiley face. I could not have imagined a more incongruent name for a club.

So there you have it. They do it different in Richmond. Ritzy roast beef and a club that wishes you well.

All the News That's Fit for Free

I had all sorts of brilliant and witty things to say about the Newseum right after I visited it on Friday...but I went away for the weekend and forgot them all.

The line was loooong because there was free admission on Friday. After walking what seemed like a interminable distance (maybe the length of 5 blocks) to get to the end of the line, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the line moved quickly.

The building is impressive, there is a lot to see and read and the interactive exhibits really enhance the experience. The view of DC from the top floor is great.

Most of all I am happy to report that I saw it for free because as nice as it was, I doubt I'd pay the regular $20 admission price for the experience.

Baby Mama

I got a free pass to this movie and though at first I was uninterested, something made me take advantage of the offer. It was smarter (and longer) than I thought. And while there were some stereotypes thrown around, it was entertaining.

As much as I'd like to deny that by their late 30s many career women who followed the rules, put up with a lot of crap, and climbed up the ladder, find themselves more than a little baby crazy, I know this is quite true. So while the main character seemed like a stock character at times, her story still rings true.

It also had elements of the typical Odd Couple narrative: one straitlaced, neat and fussy person vs. one wild, crazy and undisciplined person.

I think because it was written by a woman, there were a lot of nuances and small details that I think a male writer would leave out and that made it more appealing.

With all of the baby mix-ups and false pretenses, I guess it is a Look Who's Talking for this millennium.

Then again, the baby didn't talk, so maybe not...

A Bus Built for Two

I got on a bus, and seeing that the back was occupied by teenagers, including a girl sitting on a boy's lap, I sat in the front.

This seating arrangement was old news to me, so I was surprised when, after I'd been on the bus for 20 minutes, I heard the bus driver come over the loud speaker and say in a very quiet way, " Young lady. Young lady in the pink jacket, this ain't the love boat."

Tag, You're It!

Last week, I was tagged by Mary at StellarSelf. And yes, if you read her post, you’ll see that I have happily borrowed plenty from it. But isn’t that what the best (or at least the most efficient) writers do—borrow something and make it their own?

This is a much savvier take on all those e-mails people used to send answering a list of questions and then instructing someone else to answer the same questions and send the answers to you and others.

I think you’ll find the people I’ve tagged are an eclectic mix—some formal, some a little more personal, but you’ll learn something from each one.

How This Tag Works:
Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
Share seven facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
Tag seven people* at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Note: As always when I pass along these memes**, there is no pressure for those of you whom I have tagged to respond. I will not be offended if you do not perpetuate the tag. My main purpose in tagging those whom I've chosen is to bring attention to some wonderful blogging talent!

Seven Scintillating Facts About Me:
1. I love alliteration
2. I’ve kicked the sugar habit (well, in my tea, anyway)
3. I’m fluent in Spanish
4. I once lost my glasses in Lake Erie
5. I’m crazy about classic British literature
6. Like Mary, I longed for an older brother (but unlike Mary, I didn’t ask for one)
7. I make a mean bread pudding

Seven People That I Am Tagging:
1. Quinn @ queue
2. Liz @ Missing the Point
3. Olga @ Cooking-Shopping-Crafts-Etc.
4. Nancy @ Web World Watch
5. Jennifer @ 8junebugs
6. Scott @ Exif: A Photoblog

*Yes, I know there are seven facts and six people. Sometimes ya gotta break the rules.

**I am not ashamed to say I had to look this up. Merriam-Webster says a meme is “an idea, behavior, style, or usage that spreads from person to person within a culture.”

Assumptions

Yesterday I saw a man walking down the street holding an ADT sign. My first thought was that he stole it and I wondered what would make him want it. As they say, people will take anything that is not nailed down.

Then I thought better of it: perhaps he was an ADT customer going home to gently stick the sign on his own lawn.

Then I thought better of that: maybe he'd stole the sign from another house protected by ADT, so he could put the sign on his lawn to make it seem like he has a security system.

If that is the case, then I would not have been wrong in assuming he stole it, but wrong for assuming that he had no lawn of his own upon which to display the sign.

Marjane Satrapi

Last night I went to hear Marjane Satrapi speak and I have to agree with the gaggle of college students who stood behind be in the line to books signed: she is amazing.

She wrote the book Persepolis and the Academy-award nominated film based on the book, as well as Chicken with Plums and Embroideries. In these books, a girl from a secular Iranian family comes of age and comes to grip with the consequences of the suppression of freedoms in Iran. The books are literature and works of art and the movie does a great job of capturing the books, with a soundtrack that really punctuates the story's themes.

Apparently Satrapi is not a fan of the term "graphic novel" (this is how her books are categorized). She thinks is was invented by publishers to make people feel better about reading comic books. Although she does admit to understanding why people view comic books as something for children because she once held that view herself.

She is just as clever, sly, entertaining and thought-provoking as her work. I wish I could have recorded her talk or at least stopped being enthralled enough to write down some of her quips and commentary. Oh well.

The only quip I can remember was not from her, but from one of the girls in line. One said, "Oh, she'd so cute. She's really pretty." And another, not sounding mean or as if she intended to insult Satrapi said, "You're just saying that because she wrote four books."

Can I Buy a Vowel?

Suddenly and without warning, the cap for the U key spring-vaulted itself away from the rest of its alphabet brethren and sistren.

I've now made some adjustments, but for a minute I contemplated life sans U.

It was nbearable.

Gmail Helps You Get Over

I'm certain the real techies already knew that Gmail's latest innovation was coming, but for plebes like me, this was news: Gmail now lets you customize the time stamp on an e-mail.

As a ghost blogger, I have made use of this tool on other blogs. (Not for this one though. Dear reader, have no fear, the time stamps on these blogs are all authentic :-)

Big deal, so you can customize the time stamp, so what? Well, it does matter. As our Google-y friends tell us, you can make it seem like you didn't forget birthdays and anniversaries because you can always set the time for your e-mail in the past.

E-mail isn't perfect. I've had someone send me an e-mail and have it arrive the next day for reasons neither one of us can understand.

And how does this change work-related e-mails? I'm a freelance writer and I send in assignments using Gmail. I guess you can say you made a deadline when you send it in late...although I'm sure there is some way to find out when it was really sent. But who is going to do that much investigation? You can always say that your e-mail got stuck in traffic.

It's Back to the Future, people. "Roads? Where we're going, we don't need...roads."

p.s. You only get 10 per year, so you'll have to be scrupulously honest, except for those 10 times...
p.p.s. I kinda thought this might be an April Fool's joke, and apparently it was.

Mooning Redefined

When I saw the first billboard it seemed like a joke, but then I saw a second and figured this thing was real.

Some company (and I am not going to help then be referring you to their website) is advertising on the moon. And they will help you do the same (if you pay them).

The next question is obvious: What's next, the sun?

Skywriting is cool. I'm down with the Goodyear Blimp. But are we really going to deface the moon?

Bottom of the Ninth

Well, not quite, but it was late and I wanted to get home when I stopped for a newspaper. Since I don't get the paper delivered anymore, I only buy the Sunday paper and read the rest online.

Today I was out and about all day and felt it would be foolish to get a paper that I probably wouldn't have time to read today nor during the upcoming week. Still, something told me to get a paper, knowing I'd have little time to read it.

As it turns out, an article I wrote that was slated for the following week ran today.

Ah, the wisdom of listening to that little God-given voice, even when it seems like human reason should drown it out.

Root, Root, Root for Three Home Teams

Know Your Worth

A local DJ was offering $5000 to any listener who could get ex-Gov's Spitzer's friend "Kristen" to call his show before it ended.

Um...anyone who could do that would:

a) probably not need $5000

b) know that being able to provide that service is worth a lot more than $5000

Work/Life Balance

Today I turned in a baseball-related article and today someone threw me a curveball.

It all evens out in the end.

Enter Ye Through the Narrow Gate

Or maybe not...

I just looked out of the window to see two little boys attempting to squeeze through the bars of an iron fence. When that didn't work, they just ran in through the open gate.

Officespeak 101 or the "Me" in Meeting
In which our heroine learns the lingo

If someone tells you that "an electronic production meeting has been sent" that means that they have sent you an e-mail with instructions.

He Said/She Said

I recently had to consult with a business owner and her son for a article I wrote recently. Because I spoke with them separately, I got very different accounts...

Business Name
He said:
Inspired by outdoor facility
She said:
Inspired by God


Family Business History
He said:
Uncle had farm
She said:
Father and grandparents had restaurants

Good Gates Make Good Neighbors

I was chit-chatting with a guy who lives in NoVa and I said something about my building's electronic gate.

"Gate?" he says. "I didn't think they had gates over there."

I live in Southeast DC, not the wild, wild west. Of course we have gates!!

Who needs gates more than people who live in one of the worst parts of the city?

Religious Recession?

From Express:

"The U.S. religious marketplace is extremely volatile, with nearly half of American adults leaving the faith tradition of their upbringing to either switch allegiances of abandon religious affiliation altogether..."

I know these days churches talk about marketing and there is a push for them to be more business-like, but stock market language really cannot be applied to everything.

Spirituality isn't a commodity you can buy, sell, and trade.

I'm Melting!

I am serious student of the comics. And I've noticed that lately some of the old favorites are finally catching up to modern times...when Dagwood and that little boy from next door talk about iPods, you know something is up. But there was one comic that you could count on to remain stuck in the old days, until now...

Road Trippin'

I have a Road Trip article in the Washington Post's Sunday Source (2.24.08)

Check it out:

In Step with Jane Austen: A Novel Tour

It's cool and it's hot

It's funny the things that just pop into my head...

I profile restaurants for a local newspaper and I was trying to think of some way to describe something I'd eaten recently. For some reason the McD.L.T. came to mind. Don't ask me why. I barely remember that it existed. There are certainly more memorable sandwiches, but the thought of it hovered above me like a thought bubble in a cartoon.

So you know I had to Google it and I found this gem-a commercial starring someone who would become famous for his role in a sitcom about nothing.

Some of the hairstyles and clothes are coming back in altered forms.

Singing about food and dancing in the streets never goes out of style.

Getting a Lift

I was in an elevator when a woman got in and said "Three, please."

I was busy fiddling with my bags to assist, but a man who stepped in at the same time obliged.

When the elevator stopped on the third floor and the doors opened, well all stood there from what seemed like a while (though it couldn't have been more than 10 seconds).

"Oh, that's me," the woman said and made her exit.

I had pressed 5 when I got in and the man hadn't pushed a button for himself.

"This is you," he said when the doors opened on the fifth floor.

After last time, he wasn't taking any chances.

It Takes a Man to do a Man's Job

I'm watching an Oprah show with a matchmaking expert who expounded upon her "pickle jar" theory: that women are so used to doing things for themselves that they don't ask men to do anything.

Her advice: If you're alone, open the jar yourself. But if a guy is there, it is just as easy to ask him to do it.

This woman really does have some insight, but I have to laugh and play devil's advocate for a moment. The last time I asked a guy to help me open something, not out of any pretense, but because I really could not open it, he said: "It looks like you've got it."

So yeah, women need to leave room for men to be men, but if you leave that room and he doesn't want to be bothered, then just leave.

Splat!

This is for Brian who popped out of his cubicle like a whack-a-mole creature to ask about the blog.

Sticks and Stones

The other day a gentleman tried to get my attention as I walked down the street. He did not speak to me directly, but instead said something in my ear as he rushed past me. I barely knew he had spoken, but no matter. the fact that I didn't reply was proof enough that I was set on ignoring and disrespecting him.

He began to yell back over his shoulder at me. "I SAID Hello!!!"

Normally I ignore this sorts of thing--there is no need for me to get stabbed in the eye by some lunatic. But for some reason that day I was annoyed enough to yell back. I don't even know what I said. Something about talking to people and not whispering in their ears.

Then I went into Starbucks. The older man and his daughter who had witnessed all of this also went into Starbucks.

I got in line and perused the front page of a newspaper. Lo and behold the "gentleman caller" also decided to patronize Starbucks. "What did you say?"

"It was nice meeting you. Goodbye." Then I returned to my paper.

He paused and then made ready to hurl his insult. "Nerd," he said as if I were a truly despicable creature.

Obviously,during our brief encounter, he had managed to look inside my soul. But, is that any way to treat your true love?

I threw my head back and laughed, as the older man stared.

Kiss of Death

The Washington Post ran an article about a kiss-in in South Africa where youths protested what they saw as overly strict laws about physical interaction involving kids under 16.

The laws were put in place to prevent molestation, statutory rape and to see to it that no one took advantage of young people who are developmentally challenged.
The idea was not to prosecute consensual acts of affection, although technically, that could happen.

As with most laws, you start out trying to do good in one way, but do harm in another. Or create further havoc with some odd loophole that no one could have imagined

Teenagrs mobilized on FaceBook to rise up against this injustice of this law that could prevent them from kissing.

But here is the funniest part: the perceived unfairness of the law based on the fact that the teenage years are the best ones for kissing because once you get "old", all bets are off:

"We're young. We need to experiment," Natalie Winston, 12, said before the protest here. "When you're 21, you're old already, and ugly."

Read the whole article here.

Feliz Navidad

I hear this song no matter what type of radio station I tune into...

the Urban (read: black) Gospel station
the Christian Contemporary (read: white) station
the Latin music station
the top 40 station
the R&B station

Could this be the song that unites us all?

The Early Bird Gets...

How often have you left the movie theater and felt like what you just saw lacked substance? Often enough, I'm sure.

About a month ago, I had that experience, not because the movie was badly written or had terrible acting, but because no one bothered to show up to show the movie.

After I and other hopeful moviegoers got up early to get to the Landmark-E Street Cinema one Saturday morning, no one in management bothered to appear. Two junior employees came, but they had no access to the systems that control the cash register or ticket dispenser and they could not show any movies. We waited, but there was nothing they could do.

A third employee who had phone numbers for the managers arrived and started to make calls. This employee could show movies, so they offered to let us see "No Country for Old Men" for free. But by then I was tired and annoyed, so I went home.

I'm Not in Kansas Anymore

So I've moved into a new 'hood and things are a little different.

Today I went to the store and looked for bagels in the bakery section.
All the bagel bins were labeled except one and for the life of me I couldn't figure out what kind of bagels were in that bin. There was a possibility that they could be onion, and nothing would ruin my breakfast like discovering I'd purchased an onion bagel.

I stopped an employee who was heading my way from the back and asked if she knew.

"No," she said. "There is only one way to find out."

And with that, she picked up a bagel and broke into halves. She gave me one half and told me to taste it. I tried it. It wasn't onion.

"It looks like it might be plain," she commented. Apparently I had been mislead by the flecks on the outside. The bin above these bagels said "New York" and those bagels looked smooth.

Then she tried her half. "Fresh," was her pronouncement. Then took her half and went on her way.

In my old 'hood, all of the bagels would have been labeled, leaving no room for doubt. And no employee would have ever split a bagel with me for any reason.

I was left with a bagel half that I hadn't paid for but wanted to eat. I felt a little guilty--what if someone saw me? Would I look like one of those people who just eats stuff in stores? I hid the bagel half as a security guard walked past me. Who'd believe that I'd been given a taste test?

Then I thought that a child saw the quarter of a bagel that remained and gave me an envious look.

By the time I got to the fruit section with a bagel eighth and saw a woman munching on grapes, and not employee in sight. I figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Shortchanged

I am used to hearing about how waitstaff at restaurants work hard only to find that uncaring customers leave them no tip. In a book I read unruly teenagers even left coins as a tip in the bottom of a milkshake glass. They laughed at the thought of their waitress having to fish down into the glass to get the much-needed money.

So while my recent experience does not compare, I have to say that I didn't expect to find myself stiffed by a waitress.

After a quick lunch, I returned the check with a bill that was more than the amount. The waitress asked if I wanted change, and I said yes. The service has been all well and good, but not getting change meant giving her an tip that was over 30% of the bill. I tip, but I wasn't feeling that generous.

She returned the check to the table and I didn't open it right away because I was typing away on my laptop. When I did open it, I was surprised to find two dollar bills and no receipt.

Now I had an idea of what the amount was, but did not remember exactly. And without a receipt, how could I be sure? I just knew that I had not been given all of my change. So when I approached her to point out that a) I had no receipt and more importantly b)she hadn't given me all of my change, she muttered some feeble excuses about making a mistake in rounding.

Maybe it was an "honest" mistake, I really don't know. I do know that a bigger tip comes by giving better service, not by skimming off the top.

When Ducks Attack

The other day I was walking out of my building and I saw a man carrying a Bible in one hand and a watermelon on his shoulder. As he walked, one of the rather corpulent ducks who have made the grounds of our high rise their home, approached and began to hiss at him.

I gave him and the duck a wide berth and we met up farther down the path.

"You scared?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes!" I said, and he laughed.

Perhaps carrying a Bible and a watermelon makes you invincible.

Missed Networking Opportunity?

I was in the parking lot of a shopping plaza, getting ready to get into my car, when I saw a woman I knew. I have done some contract work with her company.

In the few seconds between my seeing her and thinking I should go say hello, she began tongue wrestling with her husband. I was a little surprised, and glad that she did not see me. I decided to get into my car and let that networking moment pass me by.

Her divorce from a previous husband was finalized while I was working there, and I remember that she came in with a cake to celebrate.

The eyes have it

Spouting pithy sayings is one of those adult pastimes that children adopt quite readily. I remember one saying in particular that we used to throw around as if we had learned it sitting at some great philosopher's feet.

When you assume, you make an ass out of "u" and me.

Now, it never really made any sense to me, but it was part of the prevailing wisdom so I didn't question it aloud. But I wondered, aside from the cleverness associated with picking the word apart, what value did this philosophical gem have? Why was I an ass because "u" made an assumption?

All of this came to mind because the other day someone mistook me for another person.

As I walked past her, a woman at the office where I am freelancing congratulated me on my new job and called me by someone else's name. I had no new job, and the name she used wasn't mine. But, still, I was curious.

Who was this person I asked, and why was she to be congratulated. The congratulating woman and her co-worker froze, realizing their mistake. They'd thought I was someone else. Not quite an assumption, but it was an error of a sort.

"Oh, but you look just like her." " She's taller than you, but she's very pretty," they assured me. As if it mattered. I am not her, no matter what she looks like. But we all assuage our guilt however we can.

People can only make an ass out of you if you let them. They assumed the person they saw was not me, but someone else, but why should I feel silly or insulted? I knew very well that this other woman was black and that to the unobservant Caucasian eye, I resembled her as I briskly walked past. I also know how many times I have confused on white person for another.

Still, it was amusing to see them get flustered.

A chapter entitled mountain=molehole
or 'This too shall pass'

The other day I ran into someone I had not seen in about a year. That person reminded me of a "dilemma" I'd had when they'd seen me last. When asked, "What did you decide do about XYZ?", I thought "XYZ?"

Oh...that.

In less than a year's time I'd forgotten about that all important issue.

And really, I couldn't see why I had manufactured such a quandary.

The Price of Parking

I do not live or go to church in DC, but I have visited enough churches in various cities to know that parking is a serious matter on Sunday morning. It has gotten so serious in DC that 1) the mayor wanted to fine church attendees for double parking and 2) churchgoers and church leaders staged a protest.

At first I thought, if we can stage a protest about parking, then maybe we could go on to protest other, more pressing issues.

Then I started listening more to what people were saying, and saw that the streets of DC on Sunday morning are yet another place where race, class, and religion intersect. Churchgoers feel they are being pushed out in favor of the newly-gentrified DC. When the 'hood was rundown, no one cared who parked where, but now that it is
up-and- coming, recent transplants resent the traditional Sunday morning parking arrangements. The city saw an opportunity to appease newcomers, who presumably have money, and make some ca$h at the same time.

Mayor Postpones Church Parking Crackdown:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/04/23/AR2006042300948.html

Food and Fellowship Really Do Transcend Boundaries

Case in point: For the last 2 years my brother and his wife have had a Muslim, Jews, and Christians over for Easter brunch.

I do not have any naive hopes of replicating this on a large, global scale. I'm just saying that there are some basic things that we all enjoy.

Never Enough

Being ungrateful is part of the human condition, although at times, I get a jolt of recognition that takes me away from griping long enough for me to see just how much I really do have.

Reminders of this are often more potent when they come from other people because it is easier to point to someone else's ingratitude than to reflect on my own.

The other day I gave my niece some stickers--not anything that she needed, but something I knew that she enjoyed, and as I handed them to her she said,

"Is that all?"

Falling for the Flu

At a literary reading, I paused to think when the speaker said something about outside events reflecting inside struggles, and as the evening progressed, I wondered if he knew just how meaningful those words were.

Diran Adebayo gave a reading at George Washington University and began by saying he was a little "flu-y", but it didn't really seem to be a problem. At least not at first. He talked about and around his writing and read a lengthy passage from his first novel.

At one point he stopped and asked for a chair and then added water to that request. Or maybe it was the other way around. After the second request, he bowed his head and his forehead glistened with sweat.

Slowly, but quickly, he crumpled, fell into the lectern, and then collasped onto the floor. He didn't hit the floor hard, but at the very end his head bounced like a gentle rubber ball. His hands twisted inward and they shook. Then they stopped. His eyes were closed.

He looked like a corpse.

The audience was stunned. It was terrifying. No one could have reached him in time to prevent the fall. A university professor who was in the front row had gone to get the requested chair. If he hadn't, he may have been able to catch the man before he fell.

Things really do change in an instant. The author reading from his work became a corpse-like being on the floor and then just as quickly, the corpse became a man who said he was fine. He insisted on continuing the reading, refusing to even sit in a chair. One woman in the audience said we'd all feel better if he did, but to no avail. (Later, as he continued the reading, he exhibited a manic energy that belied the collapse we had witnessed earlier.)

Someone called campus services, and to the author's annoyance they insisted that he get checked out. The audience murmured about the fact that a man whose head has just ping-ponged on the floor now had to climb stairs and go to where campus medical services could check him out. Why couldn't they come to him?

Just this week I have been listening to the audio version of Wickett's Remedy, a book that centers on Boston and the effects of the 1918 Spanish flu epidemic. This was back when the flu was referred to by its full name, influnenza. Influenza is serious business; a grown-up version of the flu. Watching in horror as someone who claimed to have a touch of the flu fainted, reminded me of this. I could go on and mention that dreaded flu that we hear so much about, but I won't.

The girl sitting next to me wore Ugg-like boots and had a styrofoam carton that I had presumed held something like french fries. When she opened it, I saw that it actually held edamame.

We were all a little shell-shocked. Unguarded, she said something about him being a "big, black man". (He was on the tallish side, rather thin, and not at all big.)
She was talking more to herself that to me and I think she uttered this phrase to indicate her disbelief that this type of thing could happen to such a a person.
I decided not to challenge this particular view, nor the years of stereotypes that lay underneath it.

She went on to talk about how he had visited her class earlier in the day, and she chirped about what a great writer he was.

A Brit with Nigerian heritage,he spoke of how black authors always have to deal with race and how he tries to get away from that. Later during the Q&A (fainting or not, the man was not leaving before he finished) someone asked about the seeming contradiction between his saying that it is not right that black authors always have to deal with race and the fact that his writing deals so much with that very topic.

Being no stranger to the SBW (Strong Black Woman) syndrome, I know what it is to insist that you are alright. Although his insistence may have had more to do with some macho pride than race. Whatever it was, those of us who stayed remained nervous throughout the rest of the program, still shaken by what we saw.

Just Say No

Back in the 80s when Nancy Reagan came out with that "Just Say No" campaign, people laughed and lampooned the idea that all it takes is a "no".

But even now pop pscychology will tell you to simply say "No, I cannot.", "No thank you.", and "No, I am not available." in a clear, firm voice. Just say no and do not offer any explanations or excuses, they say. People will respect that, they say.

Just who are these people exactly? Sure, if you say no to a free newspaper as you are coming out of the subway, someone may respect that.

But if it is someone with whom you have a more than slight acquaintance, they are not having it. I am sure I have done my fair share of cajoling myself.

A "no" is usually followed by reasonings, accusations, and all-expense-paid guilt trips.

So if I have told you no recently, then yes this is for you.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

Countdown to Impact

A friend called me while driving into DC from Richmond, and asked what was up with our speed limits because the numbers on the signs keep changing.

She could have been talking about those signs where your speed is broadcasted as you drive past, but from her description and location, I knew that she was not talking about those.

I realized that she was referring to the countdown signs for pedestrians.

"You don't have those in Richmond?" I asked.

"No," she said. It sounded a little like an accusation.

"Welcome to life in the big city," I replied.

Sweet Irony

Someone left a message on my answering machine saying they'd lost my number, and that is why they hadn't called before, but that they wanted to talk to me about XYZ...

The message ended with the person saying, "Okay, so my number is...oh, well, you have my number. Bye."

A Riddle

For once I was actually early in getting to a town council meeting that I had to cover for a local newspaper, and lo and behold, I was able to see a musical performance.

The mayor stood at the microphone to say how pleased he was to have 8th grade members of a school orchestra there to perform for Black History Month. As I sat in anticipation, I thought for certain that they would play a song by a black composer or a song that has somehow been recognized as being related to Black History. But they didn't. They did, however, play a lovely Ukranian folk song.

The kids were very excited to be performing and their teacher/conductor seemed like a very caring educator. But you know I had to sit there and puzzle over what it all had to do with Black History Month. (Skip to the end if you want the answer.)

There were black kids in the group, along with white, Asian, and Latino kids. Was that it? The kids were from a school that is in an area where a lot of black people live...that could have been it. I thought their teacher was African American, until he spoke, and then I knew he was Latino.

Do you give up yet?
Answer: In reality, as far as I could see there was no obvious link between the performance and Black History Month. The month was coming to a close, and the mayor had asked someone he knew to help put together some kind of program for Black History Month. At first that seems a little half-hearted, but in listening to his comments, I could see what lay beneath. He mentioned how the town had a new mayor and a new council and that this was the first time that they'd had something for Black History Month. So basically there was a new climate in the government of this tiny Maryland town that was open to acknowledging Black History Month in a tangible way. Even if it took a Ukranian folk song to do it.

Proceed with Caution

Every language has those polite little oddities--
expressions that can mean nothing or signify danger ahead.

Phrases such as:

"If you don't mind I'll..."

"Do you/Would you mind if I..."

Let's say, for instance, you are working in an open office and someone says,

"Do you mind if I take off my shoes?"

As is often the case in these situations, the person will engage in the aforementioned act without waiting for a reply. Asking is merely a formality.

Then, let us suppose, there is a second person present, who seeing the action of the first, decides to follow suit. This second person need not bother with asking rhetorical questions, seeing as how their predecessor did not meet with any objection.

Now, if you were to add the consumption of foods such as sardines and pork rinds to the equation, the situation could become very dangerous indeed.

A Danish By Any Other Name

First it was "freedom fries", "freedom toast", and perhaps even the "freedom kiss".
Now we have "Roses of the Prophet Muhammed".

I read that in Iranians must no longer ask for a "danish", but they must refer to the pastries by the aforementioned name.

Yeah, I kinda rolled my eyes when I heard the outcry against the French allegedly resulted in an end to french manicures and that the streets of DC were flowing with french wines out of protest.

If only it was just about renaming baked goods...people are dying and in the streets and it is blood, not wine being spilt.

Peas in a pod

My Valentines Day surprise came 25 minutes after Valentines Day when my NYC cop cousin called at 12:25 am (from the squad car) to say, "Hey, I forgot to call you on Valentines Day. Are you asleep?" Uh...yeah.

It really is the thought that counts.

And some thoughts make more sense than others.

When I read that some couples in China are getting matching plastic surgery, I wondered what they were thinking. A woman quoted in the article said that her boyfriend thought it was a great idea and now they have matching noses.

Tattoos are one thing, and those who have had to go in and get a name turned into a rose or a teddy bear can tell you that they paid dearly for thinking they wanted to preserve someone's name on their skin...but actual matching body parts?
I have no problem with the way I look, but this look is not for everyone, and most certainly not for my significant other. When they say that the people in your life are a reflection of you it means their personality, the person on the inside.
This does not mean you need to make that evident on the outside, too.

Then I read another article that said that people who are together a long time start to look alike. We needed a scientific study for that? I used to hear people say that all the time. So why get butchered, when you can just hold out until it happens naturally?

Who Gets Top Prize?


As a movie I was attending began, the audience heard a familiar sound--a ringtone.
(And it was not that cutesy pre-movie public service announcement where the phone rings as Native Americans hunt buffalo.)

The next sound, however, was not familiar. One of our comrades in the audience yelled out, " Turn off your f%^&*ing phone!!!"

We all laughed.

I thought about this later...was anything really funny? But what I forgot was that there a thing called nervous laughter. The man who yelled sounded so hostile, that collectively, the rest of us probably decided to break the tension by laughing.

I get as annoyed with cell phone use as the next person. And I don't like to hear cell phones ring at movies, funerals, weddings, or any of the many other occasions that usually require you to focus on the people/events present, rather than entities that are absent.

Still...which pollutes more: the cell phone ring or someone's angry, expletive-laced reaction to it?

Physician Heal Thyself

I was standing at an intersection, along with a fellow pedestrian, waiting for the light to change, when a woman pulled up to ask for directons. She had just named a street I'd never heard of, when another car appeared behind her and honked loudly.

She moved on, probably fearing the fierceness of the horn and the hulking size of the SUV. The man next to me turned and said, "I have no patience for people who are not patient."

Then he paused, smiled, and said that his previous statement didn't make at whole lot of sense.

Sometimes the problem and the cure are the same.

All Things Antiquated

This week has been a blast from the past. Without going into any detail, I will tell you that I used a typewriter (okay so it was electronic, but still a typewriter). Someone who saw me using it referred to it as a "chicken clucker".

And I drove down the street, finding myself marveling at an incredible sight: a man talking on a pay phone. I don't know which was more incredible--that the pay phone was still there and being used or the fact that I was really intrigued by this strange custom. As if I didn't grow up seeing and using pay phones. It really hasn't been that long since pay phones were everywhere. There are fewer now, of course, but it is not as if they have all been wiped off the planet.

It really does not take a lot of time for us to become unaccustomed to things that were once quite routine.

Spaced Out


People are crazy.

We all know it and say it. Of course, we can hardly be objective, since we are people too.

The other day I was backing into a parking space, when I paused because I saw someone running towards my car, on the driver's side. I panicked for a moment: Did I run over something? Or someone?

The woman who appeared at my window, knocked and demanded that I roll the window down. By now I knew that I had not killed anyone or anything. I refused to roll down the window. She insisted, and was rather nasty.

"Just roll down the window!!!"

I said no, and told her I could hear her fine from inside the car. Wait a minute...is this a carjacking, I wondered. Is a middle-aged white woman trying to jack my car on Wisconsion Avenue?

She looked at me with disgust, and finally backed away. As she left, she yelled,

"I want your parking space!"

Puzzled, I finished easing my car into the space. This woman, stopped her car at an odd angle, left it almost in traffic at a busy intersection, put the hazard lights on, and came to knock on the car window of a stranger--all for a parking space. A space that was not even available because I was backing in and not out.

Out of concern for my own safety, I did not roll the window down. But obviously the woman was not interested in her own safety. She left her car almost hanging out in traffic. And she wanted me to roll my window down, not knowing who I was or what I may have had in my car. Plus, she was very close to my car, never thinking for a moment that if I put my foot to the gas and turned the steering wheel, she could be injured. And yet in this very precarious situation, she thought it was a good idea to yell at me, a person that she did not know. Good thing for her, I have no interest in violence, be it senseless or even somewhat provoked.

The quest for a good parking space is just a part of urban life. And like an oasis in the desert, you are likely to see many that are just mirages. But whatever you do, don't go crazy and start banging on people's windows.

Absorbed into the [main]stream?

Yesterday the Washington Post reviewed a new downtown DC bowling hotspot and the reviewer complained that although the place said it wanted to attact an "ethnic" crowd, he mostly saw African Americans. Adjectives/categories like "ethnic" are annoying, but I was still suprised to read that black folks are no longer fit into this subset. According to the article we are no longer "ethnic" and (at least in the establishment mentioned) are allowed to break the rules.

A main talking point so far has been Lucky Strike's dress code, which bans skull caps, athletic wear, baggy white T-shirts, "excessively baggy" clothing and "excessively long" jackets and shirts. Despite all the talk of targeting ethnic groups, I have to say that most of the crowd last weekend -- and much of it on previous weekends -- was African American, including a number of guys wearing baggy sweatshirts and jeans.
-Washington Post, Weekend section,
1/6/06

Sibling Revelry

I was informed that something I wrote was not quite accurate. So although there are no corporate sponsors for this blog, there are guest artists. Today's featured performer is my brother.

In response to the the entry Shared Memory (December 15, 2005) he wrote:

For the record I did see that food at the Econo Lodge and there was one stairwel that smelled like funky feet boiled in liquidified Haggis.

We really don't have the same mind, however. Despite the fact that in a recent game of Scattergories when pressed to think of a fruit that began with the letter "H", one of us wrote "hot apple" while the other wrote "hot pear".

And before you ask, it is supposed to be revelry (not rivalry).