They Say They're N Luv


Yesterday's entry about gentlemanly behavior is a great segway to talk about some rather un-gentlemanly and un-ladylike behavior.

I was reading an issue of Jet about a week ago and came across and article entitled "Exotic Dancers at the Forefront of Picking Hip-Hop Hits." (If you're wondering how I remember the title it's because I have a subscription to Jet. It was free, hey, what can I say.)

I know journalists just present the issues and they aren't supposed to judge...but I was surprised at the article and at the fact that it was so blasé about the whole thing. So-called "urban" radio appeals to young listeners and a lot of what they listen to glorifies stripper culture. Stripper culture is now mainstream. Often enough I have been listening to a song on the radio and a few minutes into it, I realize that the object of a male singers "affection" is in fact a stripper.

Hip Hop artists will test out a song in strip clubs and if the "girls" like to dance to it, then they've got a hit. One expert quoted in the article noted that the strength of the "alliance" between hip hop and strip clubs is increasing.

Once men sangs songs to women they wanted to date. This is not to say that they didn't want more than a date, but they were at least willing to attempt to woo a woman. Now women in general are reduced to being sex workers as men sing songs to women that they want to see on the pole.

An Old-Fashioned Model

Walking down the stairs of my building, I ran into a neighbor who was balancing a garbage bag and her toddler. At about the same time, a man I hadn't seen before came into the stairwell inquiring if I had any black shoe polish. I don't think I've ever had any shoe polish.

He offered to take the trash out for my neighbor since she had her young son. He was another neighbor's father, here on a visit. That is the kind of thing my Dad would do. They really don't make them like that anymore.

Ratting People Out

The other day I was happily typing away and the radio was on as background noise, but I was barely listening. Then I heard a public service announcement that got my attention because its cheerful tone belied the distasteful subject matter.

It made me think about when I was studying abroad in Costa Rica, where there seemed to be a lot more PSAs. They were all so earnest. I remember one that aired frequently: a teenager comes to his dad to discuss a "friend's" problem and the father launches into a brief but serious lecture on the topic, and you can tell Pops is feeling all "Father Knows Best." At the end the teenager tells his dad that he is the friend in question. I'd walk around with his words echoing in my head (Papi, este amigo...soy yo.)

So I was jarred to hear a man telling me how we all need to work towards a rat-free DC as if he were recommending a movie I should watch. Speaking of which...I now see that I share my father's aversion to rats in pop culture. When he discovered that I had discovered the song Ben from the movie of the same name, my father said, disgusted, "He's singing...about a rat." I felt the same about that movie Ratatouille. Rats cooking in the kitchen? Ugh, no thanks.

And because I am nothing if not logical--I don't like real mice, but have no problem with their onscreen counterparts. Onscreen mice--cool; onscreen rats--no.

But back to the lecture at hand: yeah people, let's work on that whole rat-free DC thing.

Just Like Romeo and Juliet

"Women may fall, when there's no strength in men."
-Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene III

When Jennifer over at Regal and Regular heard that I was going to see "Romeo and Juliet" at The Harman Center for the Arts, she asked me to blog about it. And since I would do anything for my regal readership, I am doing just that.

I've seen various versions from the West Side Story movie to Synetic Theater's stunning silent adaptation, but I hadn't seen the play performed on a stage. So you know not only did I have to go see it done the old-fashioned way, I ended up seeing it done old school for real: as in all the characters were portrayed by men, just as it would have been done in Willie Shakespeare's day. Both the ancient Greeks and the Elizabethans thought that the stage was no place for a woman, so men played men and prepubescent boys and men played women. One of my friends thought that Romeo was a better girl than Juliet. For years scholars have pointed to Romeo's weakness and Juliet's strength throughout the play, although both teenagers' dramatic tendencies get the tragedy going.

The intro in the program drew my attention to the lines that characterized women and it made me look at the play in a whole new way. They wanted to emphasize the male posturing that leads to violence. The violence on the streets of Verona could be the violence anywhere, but we see it differently because Shakespeare is viewed as classic.

It is funny that Shakespeare is thought of as a high school thing because anyone who has seen a performance will tell you that it is much bawdier than it seems. (And in a different way, this does make Shakespeare very much a high school thing.) Modern play companies tend to emphasize Shakespeare's innuendo and double entendres to remind us that his plays were much more grounded than we are led to believe.

OK, My Digital Transition Wasn't That Easy...

Now I have to get my DVD player hooked into the equation as well. At the moment, it is out in the cold...stay tuned.

The Transition to Digital TV

The Transition to Digital Television

When I bought my analog tv set a few years ago, digital television was for me a hazy notion, but as the date for the conversion creeps up it is becoming more and more real. People with digital televisions and cable packages have little to worry about. But if you are like a cable-free, analog television set owner like me, you need to pay attention.

I've heard conspiracy theories that this digital transition is one more step in the government's plan for total mind control. Maybe. I've also heard rallying cries to abandon tv altogether. Good idea...I'm not a big fan of tv, but even I like to catch a few shows now and then. I got a coupon for a digital converter box...and then I let it sit in a drawer for months until my mother reminded me that it could expire.

So then I went out to get a digital converter box and then I let it sit for months...until I met Denice Rhodes, the Digital Dynamo, and she convinced me that I might want to set it up, rather than wait until the night before the conversion. There is no guarantee that your digital converter box will work.

Well, Denice, I am happy to report that my digital converter works just fine. And I could have been enjoying much clearer reception had I done so sooner. I do have extra channels, but where I once had three different local PBS stations, I now have three different channel extensions of one PBS station. I guess that evens out. And I saw a great commercial for a gadget that helps you make pancake puffs, which are apparently superior to regular pancakes, although you still have to flip them.

Unlike me, some people may not find their foray into digital television so simple. Denise works to help seniors, people in rural areas and others understand the transition for analog to digital. Many people are unaware and some who are aware and get the converter boxes still have trouble getting everything. set up. Plus, cable companies are poised to get new customers when consumer with no reception turn to them in confusion.

You can visit Denise's website, http://www.transition2dtv.com/,to get info on outreach workshops to keep seniors and others from being left in the dark.

Go to https://www.dtv2009.gov/ to get a coupon toward the price of a digital converter box.

You can also read this list of FAQ's on the digital transition from the FCC.

Mahna Mahna: An Autobiography in Two Words

I caught Jim Henson's Fantastic World at the Smithsonian's International Gallery. (The exhibit leaves on 10/5/08, so if you want to see it, go soon.) It made me nostalgic for The Muppet Show and Fraggle Rock.

There, I learned that the Muppet sketch with the tune that still pops into my head from time to time was named for the main character. Who knew? Mahna was a jazzy/hippy character who showed up to say his own name and scat a little while his background singers cooed. I guess Henson and crew had more to say about the nature of music and artists than I imagined.

If you have no idea what this means, check out the video on YouTube:
Mahna Mahna

Even if you do remember it, it is fun to watch anyway.

A Brief and Wondrous Book Signing with Junot Diaz


Author events usually don't get too interactive until the end when they open things up for Q&A, but Pulitzer Prize-winner Junot Diaz started out his talk last night at Politics & Prose by asking the audience for their thoughts on DC, the times we live in and living in DC in the times we live in, so that made for a much more shared experience. He was funny, even when he didn't intend to be, but also very insightful.

These aren't exact quotes, but more like my impressions of some of what was said:

On the upcoming election:
Diaz said that the fictional narratives of the political parties are so sloppy, he can't believe people are lapping it up and that even the worst genre writer couldn't write this way. And he encouraged people to keep journals of the next 50 days to have a record of what we're going through, though he added that what we're going through will help no one.

On anger:
When he started to read a second passage from The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, someone asked for the page number. He said, "I refuse to reveal the page number on truculence alone." But then he did reveal it, admitting that he was a big wuss. Diaz said that ten years of failure had helped rid him of his anger and that part of growing up means you become a big wuss.

On being a writer and on expectations:
When someone asked for suggestions on how to teach parts of Oscar Wao, he said that as a writer your own work tends to elude you. This got laughs, but he meant it. Then after the questioner told how she'd teach it, he gave some other suggestions.

When someone asked why he was more "authentic" at this reading than at another at the Folger Shakespeare Library, where this person thought he had been more "polite," he said that he had gotten an 8 page letter lambasting him for cussing and being too much at that very same event. And he added that people expect writers to be the same every time, which they can't be.

On hope:
A Caucasian gentleman from Texas started talking and was eventually in tears as he relayed how his Dominican wife and children struggled at times, living in a part of the U.S. where they were not always appreciated. He said they all drew inspiration from Diaz's work, especially his 13-year old son. The tearful man asked Diaz if there was any hope for the future.

Diaz gave a wonderful impromptu speech about how people do the things they do like write books and raise children because they have hope. He said things will get better and worse. Then he talked about being of African descent and said that for hundreds of years his ancestors in the DR were bred to work, with no say in who to love and no real chance to benefit from the fruits of their labors. He said there is hope for the future, but that we are going to have to really fight for it.

And because this entry is getting long, I'll close by saying that Diaz, admitted nerd and Jersey/Dominican nationalist, answered a final question that referenced his worldview by saying that in his mind everyone on the spaceship in Star Trek is Dominican.

It's All in the Presentation

So last week I took a meeting. (I just love phrases like "take a meeting.") But I digress (as I usually do)...So last week I took at meeting with the marketing/private dining manager at a local restaurant the is curiously categorized as "casual upscale."(Or was that "upscale casual"...?) OK, I'm digressing (again).

He told me this sad, yet intriguing story:

The restaurant serves these Belgian-style frites made with truffle oil. True to European custom, they are served wrapped in a newspaper cone. The man who does the wrapping is a Spanish-speaking gentleman. He does not read English.

A customer becomes inconsolable while eating some of said frites. Why?

Because the frites have been wrapped in the obituary section. The customer saw the picture of a friend/acquaintance/relative.

Can you imagine breaking bread with someone and getting the news of a death by way of an oil-stained newspaper cone? And did I mention that we were eating these very same frites as he told me this story? He told me that now all obituaries are removed before the newspaper is given to the man who wraps the fries.

Truth really is stranger than fiction.

And the winner is...

Me! I'm not exactly The Prizewinner of Defiance, OH, but I did manage to win another great prize from Mary at StellarSelf. This time I got a cd. Yeah, I know it isn't that much fun for you, but you can always come over and listen to it. Last time I got a a free reiki session. If you haven't tried reiki, you should.

Seeing the Light


As last weekend's hurricane-inspired rains approached, my flashlight was nowhere to be found. Though I didn't anticipate being without light, I thought it was time I stopped playing around with hurricanes and such. For once I was going to be (somewhat) prepared. So I stopped to buy a flashlight and some non-perishables.

I was in the hardware store trying to be patient because the people in front of me were having a good ol'time chattin' with the cashier and whatnot. But as is always the case, my face gave me away. A woman who worked there, but who was not the cashier, saw me and told the cashier to speed it up a little. The discussion centered around a box of insect bait. A woman teased an older man, saying he wouldn't let her buy it. And they all talked about why that brand was the best.

When the woman who tried to help me in my quest to purchase the flashlight and get home out of the torrential rain that was already falling interrupted, I saw that the older man was Marion Barry.

Marion Barry is (again) running to re-claim his seat on the DC council, representing Ward 8. Today is the day Ward 8 decides if they want to give him another go 'round. If you are supposed to be voting in some election, get yourself to the polls.

As for me, I have been tricked into returning to the hardware store because they don't take credit cards and the helpful employee let me get the flashlight and batteries on her tab.

It's Not Easy Being Green


I am not one of those people who is intensely interested in being "green," but I do care and try to conserve in my own small ways. So the other day, I was quite annoyed when my efforts were thwarted.

I've seen the signs in Giant stating that if I bring in my own bags, I can save a nickel for each bag I bring, and I've ignored them. For some reason, I always bring my own bag into Trader Joe's because that store just kind of inspires cooperation and good works. But at Giant, why bother, right?

The other day I reconsidered my flawed logic and brought my reusable Trader Joe's bag into Giant...where it was blatantly ignored.

Although I mentioned it several times to the cashier, showing him the bag and stating the reason for its presence, he continued to place my groceries into double-bagged plastic cocoons. He halfway acknowledge me saying, "Oh, you know I just get used to doing things a certain way." But he didn't stop to putting things into plastic bags.

I told him that he needed to give my my nickel off anyway because I brought in the bag and it wasn't my fault that he ignored it.

"Oh, so you're saying it's my fault?" he challenged. At first, I backed down and said it wasn't his fault, but then I thought better of it. And I told him yes, it was his fault: I had pointed out the bag I'd brought and the sign directly across from his station that said customers got five cents off for each bag they bring in.

So I put all the plastic bags into the reusable bag so I'd only have one bag to carry (see it still came in handy). Then I told the store manager who seemed just as confused as the cashier.

When I got home, I read a review of Thomas Friedman's new book Hot, Flat and Crowded--Why We Need a Green Revolution and How it Can Renew America in which he says the U.S. can avoid utter ruin by changing our wasteful energy habits.

Nothing is impossible, but let me tell you Mr. Friedman, it ain't gonna be easy to change the wasteful mindset of the American people.

Swims with Dolphins



I heard an interesting exchange while I was at the National Aquarium in DC (yes, we have one), doing research for a Washington Post article I wrote: Aquatic Adventures and a Dolphin Birthday.

There was a man there with two little boys. I imagine they were his sons and he says to one of them, "I'll show you Patrick."

I'm wondering if he has come up with personal pet names for these creatures or if he knew something I didn't. Turns out it was the latter. It all became clear when one little boy said, "I want to find Sponge Bob! All they have to do is put a sponge in there."

So this man knew he needed to reference a tv character to get his kids to make the connection. (If you don't know, Patrick is a starfish.) I just hope he told them that there is no Sponge Bob...

The aquarium marketing rep told me that pop culture has had a huge influence on aquarium visits. After The Little Mermaid, everyone was looking for Sebastian and puffer fish. And for a while everyone was looking for Nemo as well.

Much safer than when people adopt dalmatians or chihuahuas after seeing them on tv or in a movie and dump them after the real ones are not as much fun as their on-screen counterparts.

Dirty Jersey

I saw a man in a van with NJ plates who was driving while operating a video camera...

Benched
The other day two older "gentleman" drove me straight into the arms of Commerce.

I was sitting on a bench, reading when "gentleman" #1 approached. (Ironically, the book was a coming-of-age story where the main character gets harassed by an old man. Her mother ends up shooting him, but that is another story.)

He was unhappy that I didn't greet him warmly. He told me I had an attitude (which is a common insult that a man will throw at a woman whenever she is not elated to see him or when she does not offer to sit on his lap). I told him to have a nice day and found another bench.

Sometimes when I sit outside I find that after swatting way one pest, another will immediately follow. But this does not usually happen with pests of the human variety.

I wasn't sitting on my new bench long, when "gentleman" #2 came by. Unlike, "gentleman" #1, #2 was not sober. His zig-zagging flight and slurred speech caused me to flee once again. But I wised up and did not find another bench.

I followed my own unsteady course into a clothing store, where lo and behold, I found what I had long been looking for: a pair of well-fitting, dark jeans at an amazing price. So thank you horrid and annoying old men for sending me on my way to a 70% off rack and $4.99 jeans. All's well that ends well, as they say.

Work/Life Balance

Yesterday I was in a store and I heard a little voice say, "Do you live here?" I looked down at there was a little boy looking up at me. He repeated the question. I was puzzled.

"It's 'Do you work here?'" his mother corrected him.

I'm glad she cleared that up. Her little boy was practicing his concerned consumer skills, learning early that you may have to question several people in a store before you can find one to help you. And while some people do live at work, I neither lived nor worked there, so I couldn't help him.

Take a Load Off



Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
-Matthew 11:28

Weighty Matters

I wasn't halfway into the sanctuary door when an usher said to me accusingly,"Now don't tell me you didn't lose weight this time." I paused because I was at a loss for words. It was early in the morning and my witty reply mechanism was not quite operating. I said nothing.

Had I once told her that I had not lost weight? Does being a doorkeeper in the house of the Lord include weight-loss monitoring?

My general amusement turned to sadness later in the service, when I learned that a man who had been one of the pillars of the deacon board had just died. I was very used to seeing him and when I saw him during the past few weeks, he was quite alive and seemingly well. It is hard to believe that he is gone.

But my sadness did not last: despite having a paper with the words, a soloist butchered a rather popular gospel song, so I was amused again. And then the sermon reminded me of how easy it is to concentrate on what you don't have and that we'd all do better if we looked at what we do have.

So, R.I.P. Deacon Robb. We'll miss you, but we are better because you were here.

They Still Don't Get It

Last week I went to a networking event that was co-sponsored by an all-female networking group and a mostly male one. Several gentlemen approached me and others to ask why such an all-female networking event existed. And they asked: well, couldn't we just start an all-male networking group? Sure. It's called corporate America. And there is another one called patriarchal society. (Now there's a phrase I haven't thrown around since I left the all-female college I attended.)

One was disappointed when we all responded in a calm, logical fashion. Maybe he wanted us to get all upset. They say the don't like it, but some men really like when women get angry. This particular gentleman went on to complain that when he looked at the agenda for a program sponsored by an all-female networking group, he though it looked excellent and very informative...but he didn't want to go because he didn't feel comfortable since it was going to be a group of mostly women.

Exactly.

Teach Them Well...and Let Them Lead the Way?

I had another story to tell, but since bad little boys seem to draw comments, I'll give them their moment in the sun again.

I was on the train across the aisle from some boys who were somewhere between 10 and 13. Their whole conversation was n-word this and n-word that and they ended many sentences with "son." They discussed how girls were after them, asking them to buy burgers and french fries and how they weren't giving them nothin'.

The woman sitting behind them asked them if they were talking to each other. And when they said yes, she asked them, "Then why are you talking so loud?" Both she and they laughed. And they lowered the volume for a few minutes, but soon they were talking as loudly as before.

As I should have suspected, they were getting off at my stop. By now the woman had spent the rest of the train ride discussing how she couldn't even read her book because they were so loud. (Um, rude kids aside, having to listen to people talk is one of the hazards of riding the train.) When they got ready to leave, she wished them a good evening. They ignored her. But I responded to wish her a good evening.

Leaving the train, I heard one of them mutter about how he wanted to "cut her fat a$$." So I thought the story would end there, but it didn't.

Next I witnessed a family reunion in the train station. The threatening boy met up with his parents; they were getting on a train as he was leaving one. They all seemed genuinely happy to see each other. He yelled after them that they "betta be home by 9:30" and that he was giving them a bedtime.

They Start Early

Coming out of the supermarket the other day, I saw a gaggle of pre-teen boys sqawking at a girl their age who kept on walking.

"I lost my phone number...Can I have yours?" one of them yelled after her.

Happy Birthday, Ben's Chili Bowl!

"Take a picture of a menu with some Pepto."

This was the art direction I received from a friend as we discussed how I wanted to blog about Ben's 50th anniversary, but had forgotten my camera. Good idea. I've taken similar pics for other posts.

We were at Ben's since this weekend marks 50 years that Ben and crew have been dishing out chili,etc. to Washington DC. That is a long time for anyone to be in business, let alone someone in the food/service industry. The sign advising who can eat free ("Bill Cosby and no one else.") is still there, and someone stuck a few 50th Anniversary stickers on it. I had to agree with my friend: it still makes you chuckle every time, no matter who many times you see it. (Cosby has been an ardent supporter of Ben's for most of its 50 years.)

For my part, I did not need any Pepto since I only had a piece of cake. My friend and the cashier could not believe that was all I was getting. Hey, it was late at night and I came to offer my congratulations and support, not to get heartburn.

Context is King

The Washington Examiner had a pull quote from Obama's younger half-brother where he was quoted as saying that he denied being related to Obama because he was ashamed.

Later, I picked up The Washington Post and read this:

George Hussein Onyango Obama, 26 -- the youngest of Barack Obama 's many half siblings -- living in a ramshackle hut on the outskirts of Nairobi. According to a translation in the U.K.'s Telegraph, the younger Obama said he does not like to admit his relation to the candidate because he is ashamed of his poverty.

The Examiner quote managed not to capture the part about his poverty, thus leaving one to think that George Obama was simply ashamed of Barack.

A Bench By Any Other Name

After I got to college, I decided that I did not want anyone to name a building after me. This was rather presumptuous of me since I have yet to be in any real danger of having anyone name a building after me. But it is fun to make this kinds of arbitrary decisions anyway.

At Spelman, the dining hall was named for Alma Upshaw, who I'm sure was a fine, upstanding citizen. Yet, not a day would go by when someone without someone declaring, "I hate Alma." We did not know her, but more often than not the food served in the cafeteria bearing her name deserved our derision.

At at my brother's college, Lincoln University, people made reference to a dorm called "Freddy D.," named after Frederick Douglass. He probably wouldn't have minded, but still...if you can avoid having a building named after you, you can avoid having your name tossed about.

Instead, you might try getting some benches placed in your honor, as the Toni Morrison Society has done for their namesake author. Since the benches themselves aren't really named for you, it won't be like people are sitting on you. Rather, they will appreciate and honor the fact that your life's work inspired a place of respite.

Boundaries

I was just outside and politely asked a little boy on the other side of my building's parking gate to not tie a string around the gate at the point where it slides open and closed.

He asked me why the gate was there in the first place.

I shrugged and gave him my brilliant grown-up answer: that's the way they made it. After that he went away.

I'm sure he just a curious little boy and yet, I still think that Good Gates Make Good Neighbors.

Perhaps this is why:

Enter Ye Through the Narrow Gate

More About Frederick Douglass's Home, Cedar Hill




Not too long ago, I wrote about the view from Cedar Hill, but due to my lack of camera at the time, the post did not have any actual views of Cedar Hill. For those of you didn't click on the hyperlink above (shame on you), I'll tell you that Cedar Hill was Frederick Douglass's final home. It is in the Anacostia area of DC. When that area was mostly farmland, this former slave purchased the house on a hill and its surrounding farmland for about $6,000 in the 1870s.

Not to take anything away from Douglass's remarkable achievements, but it is always fun to hear a little of the dirt...

The tour guide told us that although the movie shown in the visitor center makes it seems as if Douglass's children objected to his marrying his second wife because she was white, this really wasn't the case. Apparently after his first wife died there were 8 or 9 ladies vying to become the second Mrs. Frederick Douglass. His children picked the one they liked best of these women (some of whom were white), but Douglass didn't agree with their selection. He married his secretary instead.

The pillowcases on Douglass's bed are embroidered with a picture of two owls together on the higher branches of a tree with a lone owl sitting on some lower branches. The phrase "Two's company, three's a crowd" accompanies this picture. Again the tour guide had the scope: Douglass's second wife embroidered those. She was not accorded the respect that most wives of great men received during the Victorian era and felt that the shadow of Douglass's first wife (whom he was with for 44 years) loomed large over her marriage.

The Price of Admission
In this topsy-turvy world we've both liberated ourselves from and chained ourselves to principles we like to say are old-fashioned. For example, if you see a woman standing next to a man and they are about the same age, what is your first thought about their connection to each other?

A friend of mine (female) told me that when she took a vacation with a friend of hers (male) and everyone assumed they were married. They are neither married nor are they dating. But I can see how people thought that. They are close in age and they were at a resort.

Once, however, I was standing somewhere next to my brother, and was taken aback when someone thought we were somehow romantically linked (although we are also close in age).

Now there was a time when if a man and a woman presented themselves at a public venue, an employee would assume that the man was paying. For example, at a restaurant, the man would be presented the check at a restaurant. Now, in the modern era, they tend to put the check in the middle of the table. But I hadn't considered that these assumptions could easily be reversed in these equal opportunity times...

Just this week, I went to see a movie with a male friend who let me get ahead of him in line. There was only one movie showing, so I didn't have to say, "1 for movie such and such." When the theater employee gave me back my change, I paused. She asked, "Two tickets, right?" I said, " Uh...no." Why did she think I was paying for him?

My friend took umbrage (now there's an old-fashioned notion) at the way I responded. I guess it was less than chivalrous of me to take umbrage at the notion that I'd pay for him to see a movie.

Backstage Pass

Today I took photos at the Aquarium in Baltimore for an article I'm working on and they let me behind the ropes to get a closer look at the dolphins. They were all so cute! It reminded me of when I sent to Sea World as a kid and fell in love with the dolphins there. I declared that I would one day have one as a pet. (Well, actually it was a toss up between a dolphin and a giraffe...)

When Urban Legends Become Real

A while back someone forwarded me an article about how the a certain three-lettered white supremacist group was supporting Barack Obama over Hillary Clinton because they preferred a man of any type to a woman.

It seemed unreal and of course it was. Turns out that someone had seen an article from the satirical news publication, The Onion, and thought it was actual news.

Now Yahoo news has posted a video of a white supremacist who claims that Obama being president could boost their cause. So while The Onion's satirical musings didn't exactly come true...they did have a point.

Apparently, Obama really can bring change that anyone can believe in...

Where the Parking is Easy

So I've already written about taking that ride to the MD/DC frontier. Now I want to point out something that one takes for granted as a fact of life while living in other parts of town...parts of town that people other than the ones living there actually want to go visit. That thing would be: parking restrictions.

For the most part, we don't have them.

You can park your horse or wagon on the street anywhere you want, for as long as you want. You don't have to feed a meter. You don't have to move your car to one side or the other depending on the day. You just park and go. Even in a residential area, a few blocks from a metro station, there is nothing to stop you from parking and leaving your car sitting on the street all day.

Yes, yes, I can imagine you saying, "But if no one wants to even go there, who would want to park there?" And yet there are plenty of cars all around.

Will this change one day? Probably. Will people who used to park wherever, whenever be mad when the era of free parking love comes to end. It is likely.

Until then, park on.

Sharing Spaces


No matter who you are you are one of "those people" to someone else. Since I belong to a group of people who is often accused of being too loud, it is interesting to see how the tables can turn.

Lately, I have been on the train, going towards the section of the wild frontier that is the MD/DC border that I call home at the same time that people are making their way to Nationals stadium. And of course there is an interesting mix of people. The trains sometimes (rather annoyingly) stop just short of my destination so they can turn around to shuttle more people to baseball games.

Now I can't say they all are white or that they all are suburban, but...many of them are both of those things. There's the anxious people who keep consulting the map and asking their companions just when to leave the train. The woman hugging and continually kissing her toddler, asking him if he is okay. The people loudly telling their kids just how this whole train-transportation-system-and- walking-to-the-stadium thing works.

And then there are commuters and frontier residents...looking tired, drooping faces, eyes sometimes closed, sometimes open with faraway looks, wondering why we suddenly have to share the train with these folks.

I've been to baseball games and understand the excitement and anticipation. But I've also ridden the train home after a long day at work and understand the need for space and silence.

One day when the train was stuffed to the gills with baseball fans, it was amazing to see the change in the atmosphere once they all left. One woman put words to everyone else's silent sighs of relief. "Ugh. They just keep talking and they are so loud..."

An American Nightmare

I like to laugh and I like to be silly, so I am loathe to blog about the serious stuff. But sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do. So here goes...

Many moons ago when I was having problems getting the telephone service to work in my new condo (my wires were literally crossed with the unit next door), a sympathetic Verizon tech said, "When I brought my first house, I got taken too." And she was just referring to what she knew--the messed up wiring. Little did I know just how much was really wrong.

My foray in the the American dream (homeownership) has become something of a nightmare. And I really want to wake up.

One blog entry really cannot do justice (ah, what a concept) to the ways in which our developer/seller/management company swindled us. We have severed our relationship with them, but we still have a long road to ahead of us.
-Our building did not pass its DC inspections and they canceled the appointments for re-inspection.
-They were loathe to actually maintain the building and condescending to those who requested services that are pretty much standard.
-They took our condo fees and basically pocketed them. So instead of having a cushion of money in the bank earning interest, we have nothing.
-They continue to try to extort money from us. Just yesterday, they claimed we still owe them thousands of dollars.

And they are at it again...

Yeah, I know only 3 people read my blog, but that doesn't mean someone else won't find it. So if you see a property put up by Longwood Properties, LLC, just walk on by. If you work for Homeland Security or are thinking of moving to Anacostia because of the low prices, do not consider Eaton Place Condos at 1500 Eaton Road SE.

Sure these "spacious Three and Four Bedrooms/2 Bath condos start at $293,900," but sometimes you get what you pay for. I know because I am still paying...

Welcoming Committee

An evening of firsts--

Leaving the train today, I saw a woman who lives in my building who'd I'd never seen on the train before.

As we walked down the street, we saw a beautiful little boy in a bright orange shirt. He came running towards us and I wondered who he was going to meet.

I was very surprised when he stopped in front of me, grabbed by legs, and yelled, "Hi!"

The men who were watching him stood back against a gate and smiled as I hugged him back.

You'll Put Your Eye Out!
...or somebody else's.
I saw some guy on the train today with a thumb tack in his mouth/ (Pointy side out.)

Terrifying.

The Odyssey

Day before last, I had a simple plan, but as you know the best laid plans often get laid aside...Systemwide metro delays or a metaphor for life? You decide.

I got to a Metro station and just missed a train. Then I found out that trains were delayed. So I waited. And waited. Eventually a train showed up, and by now lots of people had gathered.

It didn't take long to see that the delays were still in effect. The train kept stopping for about 10 minutes at every other station. So for that time I sat underground. Every once in a while, I'd glance at someone else and we'd beam sympathy to each other and go back to waiting.

Finally, I'd decided I'd had enough. I was going to leave the subway at the next station and travel aboveground...if and when the train ever arrived at the next station.

The train teased us by started and then stopping again, but finally I got to a station where the doors remained closed for a bit. When they finally opened, I darted out as if I had been held captive.

I didn't fare better aboveground: the bus I thought would take me to my destination simply didn't show up. I'd called a friend and when she called me back she too had abandoned the original plan. She was at a restaurant one metro stop away. The bus to get there had already passed because my thought was to travel in the opposite direction.

I abandoned my first destination and walked to the restaurant. Later she dropped me off at a train station, where I saw a familiar site: tons of people gathered on the platform. Why? Because there were still delays, even on this different train line on another side of town. *sigh*

Maybe 10-20 minutes later, a train arrives (although the loudspeakers at the station spend the entire time announcing that a train was arriving any moment).

When I got home I was tired and it was dark. So I decided to take the bus from the train station. I checked the timetable and prepared to wait again.

The bus was early.

Death Be Not Proud

As a word person, I have to say that some words irk me or perhaps I should say I find the way people use some words is irksome.

Case in point: my brother and his wife like to use the word "kill" when they finish off anything.

"Can I kill this orange juice?"

"I killed the rest of the pizza."

This word is standard in journalism when it is decided that a story will not run.

I'm doing some contract work as fact checker and I sat in an editorial meeting where someone declared that a famous actress had been "killed." Though he knew perfectly well what this terminology means in a journalistic setting, one editor looked shocked for a second. For just a moment, he thought that the woman had died, when really the story about her had been stricken from the current issue of the publication.

Speaking of stricken stories...I just learned that a story I toiled over for The Washington Post was killed. It isn't a death and yet I mourn...

But some stories are resurrected and brought back to life. In their original form or in some alternative format. So hope springs eternal.

Domestic Violence Hits Home (Again)

Yesterday I learned that in the wee hours, as I slept, my neighbor was being beaten within an inch of her life.



For Bianca

The View from Cedar Hill

The other day I needed to clear my head and so I finally went to Frederick Douglass’s house (called Cedar Hill) in Anacostia. This visit has been on my to-do list since I moved to an area not too far from Cedar Hill last year.

I’ve been impressed with him since I read his autobiography, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave, in the seventh grade. I mean really impressed, and not just because someone told me I should be. When you read that book, you see just how much a person can do if they are determined. And you see how it is possible not to let the injustices heaped upon you stand in your way.

Across from Cedar Hill, I could hear someone yelling about not people not “cleaning up sh!t.” Douglass would be sad to see Anacostia as it is now.

I walked the grounds to think and decided not to take the tour. To be honest, I really did just want to walk around, but I couldn't tour the house even if I'd wanted to because the upcoming tour was full. As I turned the corner, I met a woman who was on the same wavelength as I was—she lives in Anacostia and remarked on how sad Douglass would be if he saw it now.

You can sit on Frederick Douglass’s porch and see a lot of the city. It is really up much higher than I imagined and the view is spectacular. So there we sat, thinking and lamenting a little.

Since my digital camera died, I couldn’t take any pictures(*sigh*). So this means I have to return. Plus, I need to see the house.

In the meantime, here’s a quote from the man himself:

“Neither we not any other people will ever be respected till we respect ourselves, and we will never respect ourselves till we have the means to live respectably.”

-Frederick Douglass

More About Cedar Hill

Potato Potahto, Tomato, Tomahto...Who Cares I'm Hungry

Before having to swat away Buzz while at Virginia Beach this past weekend, I got an interesting lesson in pronunciation.

With the dawn of the radio and television age, it seemed as if regional accents shrunk, at least a little. The difference between regional accents may not be quite as strong as it used to be, but differences still exist…

Here is a conversation between me and a friend from Manassas, VA at a restaurant:

Manassas: What's in that box?
Buffalo: Crayons

Manassas: What's in that box?
Buffalo: Crayons

(I go back to trying to open a tiny, triangular box of crayons that would rather to stay shut, thinking that if I open the box and show them to her, it will all be clear and I can get to coloring.)

Manassas: What?!
Buffalo: Crayons! CRAY-ONS!
Manassas: OH, cray-ons!

All that time what I had been saying sounded like "crans," a perfectly acceptable one-syllable word that was unintelligible to a friend from Manassas who only understood the word when it has two syllables.


P.S. For those of you who could care less about how the word was said and are more interested in the fact that I had crayons in the first place, I'll say this: Coloring is a good distraction from hunger for people of all ages. It keeps you from gnawing on your own arm or snapping at your dining companions.

Overheard in Friendship Heights

Three African women were in front of me, getting ready to cross the street.

One said, "When the white man says walk, you walk."

This gave me pause...until I remembered the white stick figure on the traffic signal.

But still...

Overheard: Congress Heights & Friendship Heights

Where There’s Smoke…

This past weekend I was in Virginia Beach where the air offered the smell of a long-lasting barbecue. Sometimes the smell reminded me of mesquite and made me a little hungry, but at other times it was just an annoying smoky smell. Somehow while I paid attention to the news of the floods in the Midwest, I’d missed the news about the North Carolina wildfires. Since VA Beach is not far from the North Carolina border, the winds had pushed the smoke toward the beach.

Along with the smoke came gnats and other annoying pests. While they did not ruin my time away by any means, they did make things interesting.

We swatted the gnats with our hands. It took more interesting maneuvers, however, to get rid of some of the annoying pests. For example fake names and a vague response in reply to a question about our plans helped get rid of “Buzz.” This pest approached me and my girlfriends promising us that there was “more than enough of him to go around” and asked which one of us was married. He even lifted up his shirt to show us the merchandise…

DIY Blog Post

If a picture is worth 1000 words, then I hope this one speaks of independence, BBQ and Fourth of July-ness. It at least says something about sunny days. Enjoy the holiday!

No Movies for You!

So I threw caution to the wind the other day and decided to attend one of those free movie screening in the middle of the day. The ones I've been to at night work out and the last one I saw in the daytime (Baby Mama) went off without a hitch. Plus, this one came with the promise of free donuts.

Well, the joke was on me because when I arrived I learned that Ytic had sent out an erroneous e-mail: the screening had actually happened the day before. Although the e-mail went out in the afternoon, AFTER the screening actually took place...Very annoying.

Not on the same level as the time I went to a theater where I'd planned to pay and no one was there to show the movie, but annoying nonetheless. I must say though, that Landmark E did a good job of making up for this infraction, while it seems Ytic could care less.

But as always, every loss comes with some gain: my fellow movie-going pilgrims were good folks and I picked up some valuable tips on jewelry-making and the local free screening scene.

The Price Ain't Right

It seems that the man who auctioned off his "life" on EBay was disappointed by the final bid. He was also annoyed that people weren't taking him seriously, evident from the unreal bids that he got.

Um...if your life is worthless to you, why would anyone else want to pay for it?

Really it was about the real estate anyway. The final bid ($382,712) was apparently a good amount for the sale of his house (which included car and motorcycle among other equipment).

Plenty of people sell their homes and start over without making it into a publicity stunt. Granted, I do understand that he is still smarting from a very painful divorce. But is that a life someone wants? The home, possessions and associations of some unhappy schmuck?

The part where he included introductions to his friends is what really threw me. Despite what commercials tell us, friendship can't be bought or sold. How supportive can these friends be if he included them in the sale? Is he obligated to cease all contact with these people once the intro has taken place?

I used to work in book publishing, where "rights" are bought and sold. But a friendship isn't like buying movie rights or the right to make a book into a play.

We all dream of having (the enviable parts) of someone's life...but as this man illustrates, we'd be better off re-working our own.

Superhero Saves Tree (sort of)

Great stories are everywhere and every little boy wants to be a superhero.

Outside in Shirlington the other day, I watched an amusing scene unfold.

A little boy sees a man cutting down a tree and yells, "He's cutting down that tree! He's cutting down that tree! Don't worry, I'll save you!"

He makes as if he will jump over the railing that is in his way, leaving his mother, sister, and another woman.

"You'll have five kids by then," the mother is saying to her friend.

"But in my country...," the woman responds with a heavy Latin accent.

The little boy, however, is still worried about the tree. With or without their support, he is determined to rescue the tree in peril.

"He's cutting down that tree!"

"It's dying," his sister says knowingly unperturbed.

Fun With Facebook

While I have yet to receive a proposal of marriage on Facebook, I have had some rather odd applications land in my inbox.

In the world of Facebook an application is some fun feature that lets you interact with your fellow Facebookers. A naked Facebook account comes complete with a Wall. People can write messages on your Wall for public viewing. Kind of like graffiti. You can also get a Super Wall, a Fun Wall, A Super Fun Wall, etc. You can give people cupcakes, send them quizzes, or throw Justin Timberlake at them, as you so desire.

These applications are not created by the makers of Facebook and each one you entertain lets more and more people/companies into your world. If a friend sends you a challenge or gift of some sort, you must sign up for the application to receive it. The Washington Post recently did an article about how all these Facebook applications can erode privacy.

So anyway, one day in my inbox I got a note “Person X wants to date you. Accept or Deny request.” Is this what it has come to? There is online dating. And someone with your e-mail address can send you an e-mail…but a Facebook application? Come on. I wrote this person a note asking if this was a serious request or just another cutesy application. They said more of the latter than the former. Nuff said.

Then I got a note saying from the “What does your birthday mean?” application that stated, “Person X thinks your birthday makes you a hottie!” Now what is it about my birthday that makes me a hottie? Is it the fact that I was likely born in this century? If your definition of hottie includes not being old as dirt, then that definition fits many people. Or was it some kind of zodiac thing?

This person who doesn’t know my birthday decided that my birthday somehow made me desirable and wanted me to sign up for an application to reveal my birthday and possibly find out what it means. Huh?

Having a birthday means I am alive and in the flesh. Computer communication has its place, but clever applications cannot replace well thought out words.

Rain, Rain Go Away

They say that into every life a little rain must fall.

What they don't say is that into every bedroom with shabbily installed windows, a lot of heavy rains must fall so that one wakes up to moving water on one's wood floors.

They also don't say anything about corrupt condo management declaring heavy rains to be a monsoon in an attempt to absolve themselves of responsibility. Because as everyone knows, DC does have its yearly bout with monsoon weather (not).

They also failed to mention a flood of untruths and unsubstantiated charges that could culminate in a swirling tide of frustration and tears.

But, hey, you really cannot expect them to tell you everything. And "they" are not to be blamed. My home still stands while people in the Midwest have seen their homes washed away.

But, hey, every storm has its rainbows and the rain makes things grow.

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.