New laptop needed.

I need a new laptop. I'm giving serious thought to buying a Macbook. Or do I stick with a PC? If so, which brand?

I'm lost. And confused. Guide me, friends. What do I do?

[I'm planning an Oscar blog soon. If I can stay awake while writing it.]

On Location: Albany, NY

I realize that I've been nothing but a whine-o-matic lately but, really, the stupidest, crappy stuff keeps happening. The latest was yesterday. After diverting a small crisis (involving Sarada and keys to my apartment) with some skillful cross-town cabbing, I hopped on my on-time (!!!) train to Albany. I sat next to the most delightful elderly woman and had a great ride up.

Then I spent the next 3 hours sitting in Albany's train station. Why? BECAUSE OF A FRIGGIN' AIRLINE. They get me every time. There is no escaping their touch of pain. My roommate for the next three days, Jaye, was delayed leaving DC. So she was delayed picking me up at the station and taking me to the hotel, which was in her name. When I asked a station attendant for a nearby restaurant, he grunted and gestured at the Coffee Beanery down the hall. That was it.

Sitting at said Coffee Beanery, I decided to try to fire up my laptop to help pass the time. I was greeted with a blank screen. Off. On. Blank screen. Again. Blank screen. One more time. Then I got a message telling me that some file was corrupted and Windows wouldn't start. Terrific. I've spent most of today trying to get it work -- including my favorite method which involved dropping the laptop from a height of 3 feet onto the bed -- to no avail. My laptop seems to be gone for good.

So now I'm at the "business center" of my hotel. And by "business center" I mean a desktop with a slow internet connection and a printer sitting in the lobby. It's awesome. I can't really work from here so I e-mailed a few peeps at PBS to tell them not to expect anything from me. Now I just need to figure out how I'm going to do my CLE assignment that needs to be mailed out by Wednesday.

On the bright side, Jaye and I both sailed through our character and fitness interviews today. It seems like we will be sworn into the NY Bar this Wednesday. Also, we met a few actors in the Albany production of "Take Me Out" so we might go see them tomorrow night. This trip could easily turn out to be quite the fun time. I'll let you know.

I didn't die.

The windy Embraer flight didn't kill me. But the shock of not dying almost did.

Things got better once I was on the ground. And by "better" I, of course, mean "worse." We landed at terminal C then had to drive (slowly) all the way to terminal A. That took about 25-30 minutes. Then I only had to wait for my bag for about 45-50 minutes due to a broken conveyor belt at the baggage claim. At least the Continental staff member was really friendly and apologetic. Oh wait. No, she wasn't. It was awesome.

Flying blows.

My organs have melted due to the fury raging inside me.

Venting....

So I go online about 30 minutes ago to make sure that my flight tonight isn't delayed. It's not. No delay at all. Why? BECAUSE IT WAS CANCELLED. Thank goodness I looked. They insist that they called my home phone. Convenient. Whatever. (I made a point of giving her my cell phone for any other surprises.) All I know is that I was sitting here feeling peachy and suddenly my flight's CANCELLED. Reason? Because it's windy in Newark.

So I'm on the phone with Continental and I'm asking for options. The woman checks my reservation and is like, "Ooh! You've been switched to another flight!" Great! What time? Apparently, some braintrust at Continental thought it would be smart to switch someone traveling at 7pm on a Friday to a 4:50pm flight. Seriously? I'd have to leave right now. And I wouldn't make it. AND, like most Friday evening travelers, I'm still at work. SO, my best option was to be switched to a 9pm flight that apparently isn't cancelled. It's on an Embraer.

Review with me, worthy friend: My original Boeing 737 can't fly at all (not even with a delay) because of the wind in Newark but Continental's willing to send me up there 2 hours later in a 30-pound piece of tin? Sweet.

So now I'm enraged, stuck at work until late (because I'm not lugging this bag all the way back to DC when I can see the airport from my office building), and probably headed toward my death.

Go fuck yourself, Continental. Right in the ear.

Because I Said -- Thursday Night Television

Due to being felled by the some random 24-hour stomach flu, I had to miss work on Tuesday. It was bad. I could barely get out of bed. Go ahead. Take a moment to feel very, very sorry for me.

No, no. Keep it up. I was SO sick. SO sad.

Sigh.

So, as a result of missing work on Tuesday, I fell woefully behind and had to stay at work until nearly 8pm (!!!) tonight. I scrapped plans with Stetson to see Volver (yes, I STILL haven't seen it) and came home exhausted. I briefly toyed with the idea of meeting Charles for a drink, but between the cold and the fact that I needed to pack for a week in Jersey and Albany, I decided that it was going to be a quiet night at home. I glanced at the bag I was supposed to pack, made some dinner, and then plopped myself down on my bed for Thursday: The BEST night of television.

First I watched Ugly Betty. As you may know, Betty took the Best Comedy prize at Monday's Golden Globe Awards. I was very excited. The show continues to be funny and fresh and the cast is just getting better and better each week (particularly the stunning and hilarious Becki Newton -- honestly, this girl is destined for great, great things). I thought that I'd seen it all with the excellent denoument of a just-long-enough plot arc featuring Salma Hayek (co-producer of the show and, in my humble opinion, one of the most beautiful women on the planet...she looked FABU at the Globes), but I was wrong. Tonight's show ended with one of those jaw-dropping, last-five-minute moments that all shows promise and few rarely deliver. I nearly vomited.

I decided to give in to the natural flow of ABC and watched Grey's Anatomy next. I was so pleased when ABC made it a two-fer and Grey's won the Globe for Best Drama. Shonda Rhimes (the show's creator and head writer) gets mad props from me. She juggles a ton of truly compelling characters and makes it work beautifully. Furthermore, I don't think anyone's given her credit for doing one of the most taboo things on television -- making the lead male and lead female actually get together -- and having the show thrive despite of it. Countless shows (except for maybe Friends) have be cowed by bringing couples together (none as much as Moonlighting) and Grey's has done it without a flinch. Perfection.

Next I poured myself a glass of wine and opted to go for the Scrubs musical. It was getting late and I really needed to pack so I figured it would be good background. I was wrong. I watched the whole thing intently. Not only did I stupidly not count for a personal weakness for musicals, I forgot how great Scrubs can be. I watched in the beginning, then faded off, then picked up again when Comedy Central starting running reruns. Honestly, it can't be said that Scrubs does any one thing with much originality -- I feel it necessary to point out that Buffy did a musical episode to SPECTACULAR and PEERLESS effect about four years ago -- but Scrubs incorporates comedy, drama, and everything in between into such an effective little package. I'll be honest, while I loved Garden State, Zach Braff mildly irks me. Still, the rest of the cast is uniformly brilliant and the musical episode (apparently written by the people who wrote Avenue Q) was terrific. I fully cop to watching it twice.

What to do next? Well, I packed (during the second viewing of the Scrubs musical) and I had a long day at work tomorrow before I jetted off to tropical Newark, NJ. What to do, indeed? I toyed with the idea of just going to bed, but clearly I don't do that (note the time of this post). Instead, I watched The Office.

Now, I wrote a while ago that Ugly Betty was the best thing on television. At the time, I believed that. I had just seen the greatest episode of the season -- "Fey's Sleigh Ride" -- and was pretty psyched about how the show was turning out. Still, I don't think anything really compares to The Office. Full disclosure: I never saw the British version. I know for a fact that the BBC does good work. I'm a HUGE fan of the BBC version of Coupling (and I like to pretend the NBC's version of Coupling never happened). Still, the US version of The Office is transcendent. It's like what a really good Jars of Clay concert must be for hardcore Christians. It's got comedy unlike any other. It's got drama. It's got romance. It's got emotion. Each week, it sends me on a rollercoaster ride. One second I'm cracking up. The next second I'm tearing up. Then I'm rewinding scenes to rewatch one castmember's staggeringly nuanced moment (highlight on Jim at the sales meeting when he overhears Michael mention that Pam's going on a date). This show is the very definition of brilliance.

Watch it. And watch all of Thursday TV. I sometimes think that people look at TV as the ugly stepchild of film. I love film. Nay, I ADORE film. But television is its own unique challenge. Being consistent week to week is, I'd say, harder than crafting a great 2-hour flick. Being loyal to legions of fans for seasons is more satisfying to the viewer than a solid trilogy. It's true that some TV series are primo garbage. It is also true that some TV series are art of the highest degree.

Ugly Betty. Grey's Anatomy. Scrubs. The Office.

I salute you.

Enjoy the following clip from the Scrubs musical (not nearly the best number in the show, but just to whet your appetite):

Life Poll

I found out about this site that allows you to make polls and it seemed like a great addition to the TerenZone. I was initially at a bit of a loss on what question to pose my readers. I tried to think of something interesting when, suddenly, it hit me. ME! Me, me, me! What better poll topic than that? Gosh, I'm brilliant. So, with the recent extension on my PBS gig, I've been giving some thought as to where my life might head next. Since I've come to no conclusion, I put it to you. Vote early and often.

What should the TerenZoner do with his life?
	"Buy in" (not sell out) and work for a law firm.
	Work at a nonprofit legal clinic (and never afford to buy anything again).
	Attempt to find one of those elusive legal Hill jobs.
	Go back to school (if you choose this, be sure to tell me where and for what in the comments).
	Finally write his novel.
	Move to Cambodia and tend bar at Angkor What?
pollcode.com free polls

Get your hands outta my stuff, wench.

So, as you may know by now, NJ requires all newly admitted attorneys to attend a “Skills and Methods” course within six months of being admitted to the state bar. The NJ Institute for Continuing Legal Education -- the inept organization that NJ allows to run the program [Ha! I tried to find a link about them and got a nice example of their ineptitude] -- sent this swell letter telling me how “convenient” it would be to fulfill this requirement. My two convenient choices? Class from 9am to 4pm five Saturdays in a row in January OR class from 6pm-9pm five Monday and Tuesday nights in a row in the spring. Maybe I’m a complete nut, but I wouldn’t call anything that gave me those two options as “convenient.” “Unconscionable,” perhaps. Add to that the fact that they have such limited space at each of the three also “convenient” locations that Newark (clearly the most in-demand site) filled up well before the deadline to sign up, leaving me and my fellows – quick sidebar: thank everything holy for Gabby, Rachel, and Mustafa because I wouldn’t be able to deal if they weren’t there with me – stuck going to Rutgers – New Brunswick. That’s an hour drive from my parents’ house.

Then again, I’ve been thinking about this CLE thing in a bit of a vacuum. By that I mean, it never occurred to me that it would cause ripples that would wreak tsunami-style havoc on the rest of my existence. Sure, I realized that it would cost me a pretty penny to get up to Jersey every weekend. Bless my understanding employer who gave me the week of the 21st off so that I mildly minimize the roundtrip tickets to Newark. I flew this past weekend (more on that in a sec), I’m renting a car next weekend, and then I’m flying up again for the aforementioned week off and the last class on February 3. At $125 per trip, this isn’t a cheap enterprise. And did I mention that the class itself costs $295? Well, yeah, it does.

But expense is only one prong of this wheel of horrors. Time and effort? I’m a friggin’ zombie today. I imagine I won’t stop being a friggin’ zombie until I sleep through the weekend of February 9. This week, I’ve got dinners with (at different times) Cicie, Jennie and the BFTC crew, and the studliest gang of men in the District. Not to mention that I double-booked Thursday and wanted to see Volver (which, yes, I still haven’t seen) with Dave and Vijay. These are all things that I would love to do during the weekend but I can’t because I have to be in Jersey -- for the next month of weekends. My busy lifestyle combined with the natural wear and tear of travel make me want to cry with exhaustion at just the thought of the next four weeks. Give me a second to compose myself.

Then there are the other mild annoyances that stem from this sort of lifestyle. For instance, stupid TSA (Transportation Security Administration) decided that there was something fishy in my check-in bag. When I opened it last night, I found a little flyer reporting TSA inspection and, basically, informing me that I had to take it and like it. I felt violated. First, they apparently had to inspect my shoes (like I’d put a bomb in a pair of Kenneth Coles…sneakers are a much more appropriate choice) but they didn’t return them to the plastic bag in which I had placed them. I don’t want the bottoms of my shoes touching my clothes. This is why I place them in bags whenever I pack them. Why can’t TSA respect that? Furthermore, they CUT THROUGH a plastic bag in which I had placed my toiletry kit. First, the thought of anyone rifling through my toiletries gives me a major case of the wiggins. Second, I bag the toiletries in case something leaks. What if moisturizer or shampoo or astringent had leaked all over my stuff? At the risk of being put on a no-fly list, I hate TSA. And I hate their stupid baggy/3.4 ounces policy. I’m not scooping my sodium PCA moisturizer into a 3.4-oz travel bottle. Go fuck yourself.

That outright violation put me in a terrible mood last night. I slept poorly, woke up late, and was halfway to work when I realized that I didn’t have my ID badge. I brought my laptop to Jersey with me and I left straight from work on Friday, so I had moved my badge from my work bag to my laptop bag. It’s still there. Worse still, once I had piggybacked up to my floor and tapped on the glass doors until Alice let me in, I sat at my desk, sneezed, and realized that I had forgotten to take my allergy medicine. Why? Because it’s still in my laptop bag, too. And due to the global warming (follow the link, Andrew wrote most of the copy!) that conservatives continue to deny, winter is the new spring and my allergies are in full effect.

So now I’m at work, tired, cranky, without my ID badge, allergizing like it’s going out of style, and still feeling a tiny bit violated after revisiting the TSA search of the night before. And we all know that NJ’s ridiculous CLE requirements are to blame. Now excuse me while I try to sort out my tasks and appointments this week. I have to find time to do the CLE ASSIGNMENT that’s due on January 17. I have to draft a divorce complaint and motion and do a bunch of other stuff. Know that you stand with me if you’re now scratching your head wondering what this has to do with my career.

I hate everything.

Happy New Year!

New and improved posts coming soon!

Because I Said.

Having a blog is really a pretty egotistical exercise. Essentially, I do this because I believe that people should be reading my thoughts. And those thoughts should be read because they're that good. That profound. Having a blog is a primary indicator of at least a bit of self-obsession.

Meh. At least I don't lie about it. In that vein, I've been giving some thought to a regular feature where I let the world know about (or remind them of) a great performer or performance. Attempting to come up with a name for said feature proved difficult. I realized that when I kept going back to "Great Performances." And that just wasn't going to happen. It wouldn't jive next to such past hits as "I've Got Friends in Lao Places." Then I thought some more about what I was trying to accomplish. I wanted to give exposure to some things I thought were great. So why beat around the bush? Welcome to "Because I Said."

This first installment is easy. With Dreamgirls going wide on Christmas day, I feel it's a moral imperative to showcase Jennifer Holliday's performance of "And I Am Telling You" from the 1982 Tony Awards. (For those keeping track, Holliday's character, Effie, is played by Jennifer Hudson in the new film.) Even watching this in a grainy YouTube video gives me goosebumps. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to see it live. Since we're lucky enough to have a video clip, I don't need to say much. Just watch and be astounded. Should the clip not work, please watch it on YouTube.

HAPPIEST HOLIDAYS. This is my gift to you:



[Friggin' a, YouTube. Another HTML bungle fixed by my crazy Comp 10 skillz.]

Everybody dance now!

I'm in a really good mood at the moment. Strange, huh, for a Tuesday morning? Some of the credit should go to the lovely catered breakfast that was waiting for me in the lobby or the fact that I actually went to sleep at 9:30 (!!) last night. But while those things aided the spring in my step, they didn't put it there. No, that spring is courtesy of something I've discovered that puts a grin on my face for the entire walk from the metro to work. Sometimes, when I'm not deep into my crossword or Sudoku, I even crack a smile on the Metro.

[Hold please, running down to the lobby for more free breakfast. What? It's good to get your metabolism up and running early.... Typical: I come up with a cup of coffee and a juice -- I'm actually completely stuffed from the frittata, french toast, yogurt w/ fruit & granola, and hash browns I've already consumed. I walk past our kitchen and notice someone I haven't seen before with strong attraction potential in the kitchen area. Of course I crane my neck around to get a better look, spill half of my very hot coffee on my hand, swear loudly, and almost walk into the random married guy that always makes uncomfortably long eye contact. URGH!]

So, back to this new thing that I've discovered. Last week, I threw together an on-the-go playlist while on the metro. I wasn't really giving it much thought. My guiding principle was songs that would give me a brisk pace for my walk. To give you a sense, these included 'Celebrity' by N*SYNC, 'Cell Block Tango' from Chicago, 'Accidentally in Love' by Counting Crows, 'Battle Flag' by Lo-Fidelity All Stars, 'Can't Let Go' by Lucinda Williams, and 'No Te Preocupes Por Mi' by Spanish-language superstar Chayanne. Oh. And 'Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)' by C&C Music Factory. The first few times I listened through my playlist, I didn't really think anything of it. Then, the other day, I had just set off down the mall-tastic tunnels of Crystal City when I heard that familiar screamed lyric in my headphones: "EVERYBODY DANCE NOW!"

And it cracked me up.

For the entire walk to the metro, I was so amused with the fact that I was listening to this song that I had a huge smile plastered on my face. It was only broken by the occasional fit of giggles. I noticed a few people staring at me as they walked by and some of them started smiling, too. This pleased me even more. Then this thought crossed my mind: What if everyone knew what I was listening to? For some indubitably psychotic reason, the thought of everyone knowing what I was listening to struck me as uproariously funny. Before I knew it, I was picturing a choreographed dance number on the escalator featuring the commuters of Crystal City. (See the woefully underrated Superstar starring Molly Shannon for a good example of a C&C Music Factory dance break). It was almost too much.

Now I listen to "Gonna Make You Sweat" every single time I walk to or from the metro. Each time, I'm almost overwhelmed with giddiness. I encourage my readers to try it out for themselves and report back. Feedback will be particularly useful in my attempt to figure out if that song's effect on my commute is something I should disclose to a mental health professional. For now, I won't let my newest source of mirth worry me. I'll assume that my life has just given me a particularly well-honed appreciation for the ridiculous.

Let the people decide.

I just noticed that a reader commented on the SNL post from earlier this week about how much he enjoyed the creepy coworker sketch. I concur. (He actually requested a link to the vid but I was unable to find any. If anyone out there has one, check out his comment and get it to him. I know how frustrating it can be to want to see a clip or hear a song and not be able to find it. I hope someone can help, Ken!)

Anyway, while I was browsing YouTube in an effort to find a posting of the aforementioned sketch, I found instead a clip of the Two A-holes in a Live Nativity Scene. I know that the hate was great the first time I expounded on the virtues of this particular sketch, I feel it's best to let everyone take a gander at it and decide for themselves whether it's as funny as I think it is.



[NOTE: The html from YouTube was messed up and I fixed it all on my own! I knew taking remedial comp sci classes to fulfill my college math requirement was a good idea!]

My e-mail won't go on.

Is this happening to anyone else?

Server Error -- We're sorry, but Gmail is temporarily unavailable. We're currently working to fix the problem -- please try logging in to your account in a few minutes.

It's starting to frustrate me. I'm feeling seriously out of touch. Then again, I'm probably missing a total of 3 real e-mails: [redacted because I don't want my friends getting mad at me].

I feel like Kate Winslet in Titanic. True, GMail being down is NOT like being immersed for hours in the freezing waters of the North Atlantic after a harrowing ship sinking and the death of the love of my life. But, on the other hand, I am blowing into a whistle and hoarsely murmuring, "Come back! Come back!"

Start praying...

I hope I'm overreacting, but I just read that Senator Tim Johnson (D-SD) was hospitalized with "stroke-like symptoms." Although I feel for him and his family, I cannot help the terror rising inside of me that he might be forced to resign. If so, it would be up to South Dakota's Republican Governor to appoint a replacement. Goodbye Democratic majority in the Senate.


UPDATE:

According to the NY Times, Senator Johnson had surgery for a brain hemorrhage. "A statement issued by Mr. Johnson’s office said that the operation was successful and that the senator was 'recovering without complication,' but that it was too early to say whether further surgery would be necessary, or to assess his long-term prognosis."

I hate that there's a man lying in the hospital and I can't help but think about the ramifications of his incapacity on the balance of power in the Senate. (I hate more that, somewhere out there, some smarmy Republican bastard is excited about this unfortunate turn of events.) Bah. In the end, this sucks much more for his family and friends than it does for me or any other Dem whose hopes may have been dashed. As a believer in the power of positive thinking, I ask for good vibes (whether of the prayerful kind or not, depending on how you roll) for Tim Johnson -- in his capacity as a human being -- and his family.

As for the Senate . . . as my mother always says when faced with something beyond our power to control: "Qualche santo provederá." (“Some saint will provide.”)

Congrats, Ms. H-P!

A big TerenZone CONGRATULATIONS to my friend and former MLK girlfriend Sarah on being named a 2007 Skadden Fellow! Sarah is the reason that I survived my Teach for America experience and I'm so pleased for her that I could pop.

See the complete list of 2007 Skadden Fellows (and notice that not one GW Law person is on there...shame).

Did SNL get funny again?

Or was this last Saturday's broadcast just a fluke? Let's explore.

Sitting around last Saturday evening, I decided that I might DVR Saturday Night Live. It had been quite a while since I'd seen one and I noticed that Annette Bening was hosting so I figured I had nothing to lose. Worst case scenario, it would just go the way of so many episodes of Six Degrees and The Nine: deleted without ever being watched. Last night, suffering from a bit of insomnia, I decided to watch it.

I love Annette, but the opening was nothing special. I was mildly amused with a recut trailer for Mel Gibson's Apocalypto (FYI, Jews killed the Mayas) and a random sketch about a teacher (Bening) who sleeps with her students (the musical outburst was cute), but I was starting to feel a little sleepy and nearly shut it off when a sketch entitled "Two A-holes in a Live Nativity Scene" came on. Where did Kristen Wiig come from? Well, besides Rochester (according to IMDb)? She totally KILLED in that sketch. Playing one of the two titular a-holes, she picks up the baby Jesus doll at one point and deadpans, "This baby doesn't look like Santa." AMAZING.

That was followed up with an extremely funny pre-recorded sketch featuring Lost's Matthew Fox (featuring this magical line: "Tia, half second, my ass is in your mouth."), a cable access show sketch featuring a great Maya Rudolph riff on the Nintendo Wii, and then an unintentionally funny performance from Gwen Stefani (like her a lot but what the hell is up with the new single???). Weekend Update came next and was on point (again with my new favorite funny lady, Ms. Wiig). The sketch after that earned this rave from Freedman: "I fucking lost it in the poorly executed but funny sketch about the monster in the room, when Bill Hader came out singing "Have a holly jolly Christmas." Couldn't have said it better myself.

And it just went on and on. Alec Baldwin + herpes? Very funny. Wiig and Bening as loserish coworkers going to a bar? Awkwardly hilarious. Akon's performance? Ok, not so funny. Neither was the ending sketch about the lawyers representing rich cats. But maybe that's just because I'm sensitive to lawyer jokes. But, still! I remember watching SNL a few years ago and actually feeling a bit uncomfortable at how unfunny some of the sketches were. Last Saturday's episode was such a treat (especially while in throes of insomnia). I'll definitely be DVRing the rest of the season, if only to continue experiencing the comedic master class of Kristen Wiig.

Crystal City isn't a city at all.

It's a neighborhood in Arlington, VA. But more on that in a sec. [Image below © PBS 2006.]

I like teasing out the ways in which living in DC is unique (some of my favorites include the helicopters that buzz my house and rattle my windows at all hours and the unique annoyance of being stranded on a street corner waiting for Cheney’s motorcade to go by) and I’ve decided that the fatigue professional is yet another such distinction. Being a civilian who’s spent most of the last 20 or so years in the NYC and Boston metro areas, I haven’t had much opportunity to see soldiers in day-to-day life except maybe for NYC after September 11th. In DC, there’s rarely a work day when I don’t share a metro car with men and women in uniform. Here in Crystal City, I see green army fatigues all over the underground halls of the shopping center, whether at the newsstand, McDonald’s, or ABP. I was, indeed, thinking about fatigue professionals when I walked in this morning. Then I got to my desk and found the image above as part of an invite e-mail to our holiday party. It captures the denizens of Crystal City so perfectly: fatigues, PBS, businesswear.

Crystal City really is the most bizarre, little place. First off, it sort of gives me the wiggins that I can go from the metro car to my desk without ever seeing sky (well, the window behind me at the moment doesn’t count). Sure, it was nice when it rained last week and during the last two, bitterly cold days, but there’s something almost a bit unnatural about it. I walk through a series of shiny hallways to an elevator that takes me to my building’s lobby. It’s about a third of a mile, maybe a little bit more from escalator to elevator. Lining the halls are advertisements (many for Crystal City itself), shops, and other elevators that lead to other office buildings. No one ever seems to be lingering anywhere, except for maybe inside ABP. The hallways tend to be two lanes of people in various workwear – mostly business casual but some full-on suits, jeans, and the aforementioned fatigues are mixed in – walking, shuffling, or sprinting to or from work. Like rival parades of khakis, skirt suits, and i-Pod headphones.

I guess I just can’t imagine that this place exists after 6pm. I remember coming to visit Freedman when he lived here back in the day (like, 2001). It was a weekend trip and I remember we took the metro more than once into DC proper. Walking through the underground “streets” of Crystal City, I was a bit creeped out. We were essentially alone in a massive underground mall that closed on the weekends. I don’t know how much has changed in the intervening years but I remember that, back then, there was nearly nothing here outside of business hours. I know that there was a big to-do about PBS (and its 500+ employees) coming to neighborhood. We’ve been told that we’ve made the neighborhood so much more hip with our presence. I suppose I buy that. Sesame Street (and all children’s programming, for that matter) does have that quasi-kitsch hipster appeal.

Still, although the underground city is dandy for work, I’m rather glad that I don’t live here. You can keep your weirdly deserted streets, shiny underground shopping mall, and Congressional representation. I’ll stick with my tiny, drafty and spectacularly situated hole-in-the-wall in the District.

The Harrowing Tale of My Morning

You know those days when you really just want everything to go as planned? Those days when you need to be at certain places at certain times and life would just be so very much simpler if nothing went wrong? I went to bed last night knowing that I was going to awaken to one of those days because, today, I am driving up to NJ after work to attend my admission ceremony to the NJ Bar. My best laid plans: (1) spring up early out of bed; (2) review as I got ready if the small bag I packed (the night before!) had everything I needed; (3) get to work before 8am so I wouldn’t feel bad leaving before 4pm; (4) leave early so I could walk up to the Double Tree Hotel down the street and pick up my rental car; (5) haul ass around the city on 295 (and thus skip sitting on New York Ave during rush hour); (6) get home; and (7) make my way into the city (oh yeah, NYC people, I’d love to see you). It was going to be tricky, but I’d done harder things before.

I awoke at 6:45am – a little later than I’d planned. It takes me about 30 minutes to get ready in the morning and a little over 30 (if the metro is kind) to get to work in Crystal City but I knew that I still needed to pack away my toiletries and do a last minute assessment so I figured I’d be late. I turned on the shower to let the water heat up and I turned back to my apartment. Standing near the kitchen (if my sink, two-burner electric stove, and convection microwave can really be called a kitchen), I smelled the strong odor of red wine that’s been sitting around for a few days. I was going to totally fib here and say that the glass of wine sitting near my stove was from last night or from two nights ago, but the wine was actually from Friday night. Instead of pouring it out, I just set it near my stove. I’m certain that deep down I was thinking what a terrible waste it was to pour out a glass of wine. Still, this morning I decided that this particular glass had to go so I picked it up.

Now, I’m not sure if I was still a bit asleep or if I expected the glass to be a lot heavier or if maybe I have some weird spatial judgment problem, but the object in my hand somehow exploded in a fantastic spray of glass and red wine. I stared at my right hand, my fingers still bent in goblet-holding position, and wondered if the dark red liquid dripping from it was wine or blood or both. I felt no pain, but you never can tell. In a bit of a panic I ran to my bathroom sink and rinsed off my hand. A thorough examination revealed that, somehow, I hadn’t been cut. I turned to my stove and counter (not that I really have counter space) and saw what could’ve been a set piece for a Jack the Ripper film. It looked like someone had opened a vein over everything. Wine was splattered on the wall, on the fridge, on the container of Metamucil. Frowning at my own misfortune, I spent the next 20 minutes cleaning.

Clearly, I was going to be later than I’d hoped. After I was done wiping down the walls and cleaning out the innards of my stove, I hopped in the shower. I was lightning fast as I brushed my teeth and did my morning skin routine. Maybe, just maybe, I thought, I was going to recoup some time. I had a bit of a false start out the door – getting all the way down my front steps before turning around to snag my EZ Pass – but then I strode confidently towards the metro. Bob Sinclair’s "Love Generation" blaring in my crappy Sony headphones, I actually smiled as I thought about the wine glass incident. But nothing could stop me now. I smiled twice more: first when I was handed an Express at the top of the metro escalator and again when I read the headline “We Are All Going to Feel So Bad If This Book Is Terrific” over a blurb about Tori Spelling’s planned memoir. On the escalator, I had a bit of a debate with myself whether I should stop to add money to my SmartTrip. I knew I was low but I was also late. In the end, by the grace of some higher being, I opted to refill my card. That’s when I noticed my credit card wasn’t there. And neither was my license. If you’ve rented a car before, you probably know that they like seeing a driver’s license before handing you the keys. I felt part of me die as I turned around to walk back.

Last night, I went to JR’s with Chris and started a tab. I had only a couple of beers and I knew that I had remembered to sign it out. What I couldn’t explain was why my card and license (they take both to keep a tab open) weren’t in my wallet. All I could think was that I had slipped them into my pocket. Or left them on the bar. As I walked back, I refused to think about how my license being either at JR’s or gone would alter my plan for the day. You can imagine my relief when I stuck my hand into the pocket of my jeans and found the two cards. Of course, as I made my way down the steps for the third time this morning, I realized that I left my Express on my table. I decided to wastefully accept another one from the nice Express passer-outer rather than turn back.

When I got to Crystal City, it was actually later than when I usually get to work. I think I’m still going to leave early, but I’m going to feel bad about it. In the end, though, I made a command decision to actually be even later. Instead of taking the left after ABP into the elevator that leads up to my lobby (expect a post on the weirdness of the underground mall that is Crystal City soon), I opted to veer right towards McDonald’s. Nothing – and I mean NOTHING – cures crisis better than a bacon, egg, and cheese on a biscuit. (Just remember to use a napkin to squeeze the grease out of the hash brown before you eat it.)

Is that the waaambulance I hear?

"Boo hoo. You haven't updated in a week. Waaa!"

Sorry. The first week of work was great but busy. I promise a decent post over the weekend but, in the meantime, this clip from the Megan Mullally Show made my night:



I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Gainfully (albeit temporarily) employed!

With passage of the NY Bar comes a slew of forms that need to be filled out, not the least annoying of which are employment affidavits that need to be filled out by every legal employer I've ever had. I finally got around to e-mailing all of my former bosses over the weekend, including my old boss at PBS. She e-mailed me back yesterday and said I could stop in with the forms sometime next week.

Then, today, I get an e-mail from someone in HR at PBS telling me that the counsel's office could use a temporary attorney to fill in until January and that my old boss had recommended me. I called back and explained that I was still seeking full-time work and that I might have to leave suddenly. Nice HR lady said this wouldn't be a problem. Whatever amount of time I could work would be appreciated. It seems like I'll be doing mostly IP work (trademarks and copyright) out of PBS corporate office in Crystal City.

So, quite suddenly and completely from left field, I'm employed!

Go me.

Spotlight on DC: Fenty names a white lady as Police Chief!

I found myself wide awake at 5:30am this morning and, after an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up and left the warmth of my bed. I spent the morning reading the Times, CQPolitics, wikiHows on how survive a plane crash and a free fall...you know, the usual stuff. I was dismayed by a story from yesterday (which I first glimpsed on Wonkette) about a new issue of presidential one dollar coins. As Wonkette points out, the U.S. Mint is taking the only circulating currency with a woman (two actually -- Sacagawea and Susan B. Anthony) on it and replacing it with a hit parade of old, (mostly) dead white dudes. (See the bottom left corner of the Post's front page for a sample of what seems to be the Jefferson coin...not that he isn't already featured on the nickel.)

It was with my feminine side feeling a bit attacked that I sauntered over to the bagel place around the corner for my power breakfast of a bacon, egg, and cheese, coffee, and a lemon-lime gatorade. There, while I waited for my order, I noticed the front page of today's Washington Post (above).

I knew that newly-elected Mayor Adrian Fenty was looking for a new Police Chief. He notoriously butted heads with the current Chief and was all about the proverbial fresh start for the city. I was surprised -- as, it seems, were most people -- that he picked an internal candidate that was essentially the old chief's protege. I'll admit it: My initial reaction was a favorable one, probably due to (a) the fact that I'm a huge fan of women in positions of power that are traditionally filled by men and (b) the token injustice (get it?) of the coin imbroglio above. Upon thinking about it some more, I'm even more pleased with Fenty's selection of Cathy Lanier as DC's new police chief.

First, I think that appointing internally is a huge statement of support for the city's police force. By that, I don't mean that the union is going to be jazzed (it isn't), but I think it's an important display of confidence. While I certainly wouldn't say that DC has a particularly fantastic police force, it certainly doesn't have a terrible one. By choosing internally, Fenty's showing that quality can be found within and, although DC remains a very dangerous city, that progress can be made.

Second, bringing in outsiders isn't always all it's cracked up to be. True, there is something to be said for a fresh perspective, but with that comes the need to reinvent the wheel. Lanier knows the District, its police force, and -- most importantly, I'd say -- its residents. While it can be said of any city, DC truly is a unique place. Bringing in an outsider would've meant having to school that outsider in how DC works. I would also worry about the tendency of change to disguise itself as progress. Let me put it as best as I know how . . . with a random analogy, of course: I could buy a shiny new Kia. It might look nice and I'd finally have a cup holder. But there ain't no way it'd protect me in an accident better than my 1988 Volvo. New isn't always good, and it certainly isn't always better.

Finally, I'm frankly excited that he appointed a white woman. As a white person who has worked in urban communities before (and hopes to do so again), I like the reaffirmation that my participation isn't precluded by my race. Lately, I've wondered if -- not unlike a reverse Harold Ford, Jr. in Tennessee -- a white person might ever be elected Mayor of a city like DC or Representative from a congressional district mostly comprised of a city like Newark, NJ. While Lanier's appointment certainly doesn't answer that question, it allows for the possibility that a white person might have a role in serving the residents of our urban areas.

Good luck, Chief-select Lanier.

[Edited to add this link to continue the feel-good-about-womanhood vibe. It's a story from the Christian Science Monitor on women in the 2006 election. Check it out.]