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.]

Amtrak had me in a foul mood until I saw the front page of the Times.

[Photo credit: Tom Hanson/Canadian Press, via Associated Press, via NYT.] I don't even know who the dude in the yellow in the back right is but his mildly disapproving look only adds to the fun. (I know that lower left dude is Chinese President Hu Jintao but not because the Times told me -- interestingly enough they only id the white people in the photo.) The photo might've been particularly effective at improving my mood due to a bit of a girl-crush that I have on Chilean President Michelle Bachelet. Tee!

I needed this photo after a pain in the ass run-in with Amtrak this morning (and last night). While at dinner with Genger last night, I realized that I should probably figure out how to get home for Thanksgiving. Normally, I rent a car (surprisingly cheap through AAA) due to its convenience, but I wasn't looking forward to driving through holiday traffic on Wednesday. So last night, on Genger's urging, I went to the Amtrak website to book a train.

When did trains become the most expensive way to travel? I used to train between Jersey and DC all the time for around $80 one-way. When I looked up Wednesday afternoon, I was greeted with scads of sold-out reserve trains and a sampling of Acelas at a mere $193 a pop. ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY THREE DOLLARS. ONE WAY. Seriously?

So I checked earlier to see if one of the reserve trains was still open. I saw the 11:30am train was available for $128 (still more than I'd like to spend but whatever) so I went for it. I filled in my name, credit card info, address, and pressed the big orange PURCHASE button. That's when I got an error message saying that my train was sold out. How shitty is your software that you can't hold a train for a customer through the 2-minute period that it takes to fill in purchase information? Ugh.

After refreshing a few times and only having a 7:25am train available in a price I was willing to spend (still $128), I decided to just go to bed and book something this morning. Maybe they'd add trains or cars or something. Ha! Anyway, not only did the 7:25am train sell out coach seats (leaving me the option of taking a $152 business class seat), but the stupid site wouldn't take my AAA discount because it was less than 3 days before my travel. Nearly at the end of my rope, I decided to just suck it up and take a 6:35am train for $111. (This was after pricing a plane ticket and discovering that the only reasonable flights to the area were out of gruesome Dulles and into inconveniently distant JFK.) So I went through the billing process again.

Yes, you guessed it. Another error message. This time it wasn't about the train being sold out, just some nonsense about the system screwing up. So I called Amtrak. That's when I got one of those creepy automated systems. Named Julie. They're always named Julie or Sandy or some other white girl diminutive. It's never like, "Hi, this is Ramon, Amtrak's automated phone service," or "Hello beta, this is Anjali." But I digress. Julie weirded me out and was a bit complicated. By the time I got her to check trains, I had already successfully purchased the 6:35am train online.

So now I'm paying $111 to travel home at 6:35am in coach. I hate Amtrak. But I love Bush and Putin looking like they're about to make out.

Dream a little dream of me.

[Edited to ask for the some powerful, positive groupthink for Joshy, Charles, Nancy, Sharon, Ryan, Ryan and all my other peeps who find out about California at 9pm EST tonight. Never underestimate the power of positive thinking. Good luck!]

For years now I've regaled people with with tales -- and sometimes reenactments -- of my dreams. I tend to dream a lot, remember much of them, and even often force myself out of bed immediately upon waking to write down the details of a dream.

I'm tired of the dreams I've been having. As people who've heard about a dream or two of mine already know, they tend to be rather epic in a nonsensical sort of way. Whether I'm cruising around my hometown with Lauren Voss and Elijah Wood in a station wagon or riding mini-airplanes around a prehistoric seascape (complete with dinosaurs), my dreams are often busy as heck. It's exhausting. I can't say that I'm psyched that (a) my dreams are usually rather draining and (b) in them my life is frequently in peril.

It's not that I have a ton of bad dreams all the time. I mean, I've definitely been stabbed on a cruise ship, chased through my old middle school by a homicidal clown (this was probably due to the clown complex of the generation that watched the film version of Stephen King's It), and nearly eaten by crocodiles. A bunch of people know what happened in a dream that started with "I was lying in my bed in my apartment in Jersey City and then Nula comes in to wake me up" and ended with "Shut it off! Shut it off!!!" Then there was the time I was stuck in traffic on the way to beach and soldiers started vaporizing all the cars in front of me. Hang on, I might have that dream written down in an e-mail somewhere. YES!

Completely unedited from half-sleep on the morning of May 28, 2006:

So the dream started and it seemed like we were going on vacation. Think our post-finals trip to OBX. Initially it focused on this random girl who I don't know. I just saw her getting ready for the trip. So we're all driving in what seem like SUVs with trailers down this road and suddenly these large government-looking vehicles show up and block our way. There's a lot of us...picture a large-scale bumper-to-bumper situation -- it's not all law school people. People start getting out of their cars and one person - the initial random girl - actually gets shot by one of the government dudes. Then something weird starts happening. Way down in front, people start disintegrating. Like, what Phoenix does in X3. I start looking around but everyone's frozen. So I grab Charles (he is the easiest to drag along) and start running towards the side of the road. The only other person I remember seeing was Victor (also running). It's complete chaos as people are running and disintegrating. (It seems that the disintegration is being caused by these soldier dudes.) So I run (still with Charles) through a small bit of forest and it turns out that we're on a mountain. So we start climbing down. (I had significantly more upper body strength in my dream than I do in real life.) We just keep climbing down and I can hear shit still going crazy up and behind me. After what feels like forever of climbing, we get to the bottom which seems to be some family's backyard. They ask us who we are and I explain what was happening above. They immediately let us in.

It takes me a little while to realize they're shady as hell because they won't let us use the phone or anything. Slowly other people start to show up at these people's large house (apparently the climbing down the mountain idea wasn't solely mine). And the family houses all of us. We're not held prisoner or anything. There's a whole town but something's wrong with the phones and things are just weird. None of our cell phones are working. The people I distinctly remember being there were Charles, Victor, Humann, Graham, Sparrow, Natalie, Voss, Rickel, and Reichs. And the weirdest thing was that Charisma Carpenter (aka Buffy the Vampire Slayer's Cordelia Chase) was also there. She was another student at the law school in my dream and it was totally normal for her to be with us. Anyway, so we're all trying to figure out what to do and how to contact anyone else. At dinner one night (they feed us, too) one of the little girls (the family has a few) mentions a computer. So I immediately inquire about it and the mother (who looks a lot like Mary Kay Place) and I get into an argument. Anyway, she finally hands it over (it's a laptop) but it won't let me access any websites. There seems to be no way to contact the outside world. A conversation with the little girl reveals that things aren't as they seem and that we're in danger. So we start organizing (because random people from our group start disappearing). We somehow manage to get guns (I love that we can't get a working phone, but a cache of weapons isn't a problem). I unfortunately woke up right when we were going to shoot our way out of town. It was going to be pretty cool.

It was a very talky dream with a lot of conversations about where we were. In a way, it almost had LOST-esque undertones. My favorite theories were that we were in a Truman Show-type place, that we were in a government experiment, or that we were being held hostage by some weird hillbillies. Not sure.

That should give you a fair idea of the complexity of my dreams. They're all like that. And it's getting tiring. Last night/this morning, I had a dream that it was the night before the bar exam and I hadn't studied. I was with a few of my friends at a diner of sorts hanging out with Professor Zubrow (who, in my dream, owned the diner) and everyone was talking about the exam. It suddenly occurred to me that it was the next day and that I hadn't prepared at all. What was interesting was that I was still in-dream when I realized that I had already taken and passed the bar. It was really weird. That's another thing that happens a lot in my dreams: I realize I'm dreaming and yet the dream doesn't end. I've had to snap myself out of a few dreams by actually shouting, which is less of a problem now that I live alone.

That reminds me of a time when I had a dream that I was running down a city street. I wasn't running from anything; I think I was looking for something. Anyway, I got to a corner and an old lady was walking her chihuahua. I tripped over the chihuahua, flew through the air, and woke up half on the floor. See? Dreaming is dangerous. I should get sedatives.

[NOTE: Edited to remove a certain friend's first name after entirely too many google searches for his entire name led here. It was sort of creepy. He's better off.]

Bar Crawl

I passed both the New Jersey and New York bar exams. I found out about NJ the other night after I met up with Ale at a bar. I'd spent the day serene in my ignorance not knowing that Jersey had been released until Ale informed me. I had to force his lovely girlfriend Rachel to take me to her apartment so I could check. Of course, I initially looked at the wrong candidate number and thought I'd failed. Big ups to Moira, Ale, and Rachel for being with me at the time.

New York came out this morning. At 9am. I woke up at one point during the night and actually said, out loud, "I wonder if it's 9am yet." It was 4:30am. I spent the last hour before the results were posted refreshing the website every 5 minutes or so. Finally the link appeared (highlighted in yellow) and, after inputting my social security number and birthdate, I peered through my fingers and saw . . . a lot of little text. I guess I was expecting a large PASSED or FAILED to flash across the screen. Instead, I was greeted with a congratulatory paragraph, which, yes, I actually had to read to determine if I'd passed. After getting the good news, I was completely overwhelmed with relief. I think I might have peed a little.

I feel very lucky to have made it through a terrible process that is nothing more than hazing. I'd like to thank God, my family and friends, the Italian World Cup Team, and the lovely people at Johnnie Walker.

My feelings are best expressed as the opposite of those of the little Santorum girl in this photo:

[Thanks to Ryan Smith for sending me the photo.]

Wow. I mean, WOW. I apologize for being absent, but I assure you that it was for a good cause. For the last two weeks, I've been working with Senator Menendez's campaign for reelection here in NJ. It's been a truly thrilling trip and I'm so thankful that I decided to get involved.

I spent most of the time working at the Essex County Democratic Headquarters. There I assisted the staff in working to get out the vote in my predominantly Dem county. I attended a Menendez rally in Newark where I got to see (and shake hands with!) President Clinton. On Election Day, I worked with the Democratic legal team on their anti-voter suppression efforts. I must admit that it was really effing cool to be at the Essex County Board of Elections on Tuesday. I observed the goings-on of that office as they handled voting machine and other issues. I was extremely impressed with the people working there. It was also pretty neat to play around with a sample voting machine that the Clerk of the Board had in her office.

Still, the best feeling was seeing that all the efforts of people like me around the country actually made a difference. I went into Election Day refusing to believe that the Dems might actually pull it off. I was tired of being disappointed. Two days later, it looks like I had nothing to worry about. Menendez kicked Kean's ass. The Dems took the House. By a lot. They took the Senate after Mister Macaca conceded earlier today (which I totally called). Rumsfeld resigned. Bolton won't last much longer at the UN. Bush is freaking out. Honestly, even the minor disappointments like Marilyn Musgrave retaining her seat are tempered by the fact that now that all Congressional Republicans are in the minority and need to deal with that. It's not fun to lose control of your committees, to have your bills never reach the floor, and to have to call a chick from one of the gayest congressional districts in the country your boss. Maybe the Republicans that didn't get reelected were better off. I return to a new DC tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe the social scene will get a whole lot better after the mass exodus of the neo-cons.

Let freedom ring.

Salty goodness.

Although I'm busy in Jersey fighting the good fight, my friend Jeff caught an interesting article in Rolling Stone. A snippet to whet your appetite:

These past six years were more than just the most shameful, corrupt and incompetent period in the history of the American legislative branch. These were the years when the U.S. parliament became a historical punch line, a political obscenity on par with the court of Nero or Caligula -- a stable of thieves and perverts who committed crimes rolling out of bed in the morning and did their very best to turn the mighty American empire into a debt-laden, despotic backwater, a Burkina Faso with cable.

Burkina Faso with cable? Sounds about right.

DEFINITELY check out their list of the 10 worst Congressmen, too. Very informative (if a bit depressing). I did enjoy Rep. Barney Franks's (D-MA) snarky comments on Rep. Marilyn Musgrave (R-CO).

Honestly, if you've got some extra cash sitting around, consider making a campaign contribution to Angie Paccione. She's running an extremely close race against Musgrave and could use a bit of a push to victory. Musgrave is an evil woman whose ideals would make even Rick Santorum blink. Throwing her out on her ass would be excellent. I'll buy a drink for anyone who sends Angie some money and shows me the confirmation e-mail.

Go forth and save America, my friends.

If the Dems don't win a majority in at least the House, I'm becoming a bartender in Cambodia.

Democrats: First, read "Return of the Yellow Dog" by Michael Kinsley on Slate. After that, take a moment to reflect on the importance of voting in this election. (Ok, unless you're in DC, but everyone I know in DC should know better and stay registered in their home states.) Although a House win looks decent, momentum is slowing with only a week before the Election. This isn't helping an already difficult road toward a majority in the Senate. Over the next 8 days, the Democrats need to hold on to increasingly less comfortable leads in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Montana, and Rhode Island; pick up two out of three of Missouri, Tennessee, and Virginia; and not lose Jersey or Michigan. This won't be easy, folks. Get everyone you know -- particularly in the important states -- to turn out on Election Day.

Republicans: First, read "Return of the Yellow Dog" by Michael Kinsley on Slate. Second, realize that your party has done one shoddy-ass job of representing you over the last few years. If you're not outraged, you haven't been paying attention (especially my fiscally conservative pals out there). Go vote for the Democrat, if only to inspire Republicans you can respect to take control of your party over the next decade. Also, not to stereotype but, dear Republican friend, you're probably from a so-called red state. Definitely reach out to the fam back home and explain the importance of removing people who will continue to merely support the policies of a failed administration. (And try the "inspiring new Republican leadership" line above. They'll love it.)

Everyone else: See instructions under "Democrats" above. (Unless you're foreign or not a citizen. In that case, read the article and then harass family and friends as appropriate based on their political affiliation.)

As Frank Rich said a few weeks ago, the Dems are brilliant at "yanking defeat from the jaws of victory." Please, oh please, let's all do our part to keep this from happening this year. If you want to do more than your part, let me know and I'll do what I can to find you info on GOTV efforts or, if you're a lawyer, election protection work. Too much is riding on this election. In the immortal words of Diddy: "Vote or die."

(Tee! I just quoted Frank Rich and Puff Daddy in the same paragraph.)

GOTV.

So, I suppose this is as good a forum as any to announce that I'm leaving DC for a few weeks. I've decided that my time between now and Election Day is best spent working towards that possible yet still distant goal of achieving a Democratic majority in the U.S. Senate. As you probably know, the Dems need to gain at least six (6) seats to take back the Senate. At the moment, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Rhode Island, and Montana are all leaning toward flipping from red to blue. Missouri, Virginia, and Tennessee are all complete toss-ups (the latter two with the mildest Republican advantage). Fortunately, no senate seat seems to be in danger of flipping blue to red. No seat, that is, except Bob Menendez from NJ. If the Dems lose Jersey, they must win all three of the other toss-ups to have a majority in the Senate. And that just isn't likely.

With that in mind -- and even though he bugged me royally when he voted for the Military Commissions Act -- I've decided to return to my home state and join the campaign to elect Menendez to the U.S. Senate. As you probably know, this is a pretty momentous period in my state's history and I'm really looking forward to getting involved with NJ politics for a bit. I'll be back in DC shortly after Election Day. (Unless the Dems win back neither the House nor the Senate, in which case I'll be bartending at Angkor What? in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Tell me that you read the blog and I'll give you a free drink.)

Remember to vote, fellow Democrats, especially if you vote in one of the seven states mentioned above. Also, be sure to get out the vote (GOTV). Have friends in those states who might vote Dem? Drop them an e-mail and remind them to vote, order an absentee ballot, and press their friends and family to do the same. If the Dems take back Congress then maybe -- just maybe, -- this world will stop sucking as much as it has over the last six years. Keep hope alive.

[BTW, worry not. I plan to blog from Jersey.]

Bull@shit.com

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No more Barack talk until Nov. 8th.

On Thursday, I went to the NY Times Op-Ed page and I thought I was hallucinating. I was staring at David Brooks's column but it was titled "Run, Barack, Run." Why? Huh? What? As I read the article, I gave serious thought to writing a letter to the alien that had taken over his body to return the real David Brooks.

Coming from my own perspective, I should note that I disagree with many of Obama’s notions and could well end up agreeing more with one of his opponents. But anyone who’s observed him closely can see that Obama is a new kind of politician. As Klein once observed, he’s that rarest of creatures: a megahyped phenomenon that lives up to the hype.

What? Huh? Why are you writing this, David Brooks? More importantly, why aren't you writing about the upcoming elections?

Before I had real time to process this -- we all know that Ugly Betty and Grey's are on Thursday nights -- Saturday's Times came around with Maureen Dowd's latest column, "Obama's Project Runway." Here, Dowd ruminated on celebrity and politics and asked the question, "[S]hould Barack Obama stop lounging around in fashion magazines and do some honest work, like running for president?"

“Politics sometimes blends in with celebrity,” he told Oprah this week. “And it gobbles you up because the tendency is for people to want to see you perform and say what they want to hear, as opposed to you trying to stay in touch with, you know, that deepest part of you, that kernel of truth inside.” Doesn’t he see that when you express this skepticism on Oprah it is not skepticism at all?

Super, Maureen Dowd. (Am I alone in thinking that Maureen Dowd, while a gifted writer, often seems to write about the obvious?) But aren't you excited about the Dem surge in the polls? What about the close Senate races? I mean, the 2006 election is a bit more pressing and yet everyone's already talking about 2008.

So, David Brooks wants Barack to run. Maureen Dowd wants him to "to think about whether he really wants to be president, or whether he’s just getting swept away by people who want him to do it." Anyone else want to chime in on Obama or can we return to the situation at hand?

Sunday rolled around and it seemed like we might not be finished with Barack Obama. In the Sunday Times, Frank Rich jumped on the Obam-wagon with "Obama is Not a Miracle Elixir." I love Frank Rich. He's a terrific writer who, unlike Ms. Dowd, often makes me stop a say, "Wow, good point!" I loved his opening to this column:

THE Democrats are so brilliant at yanking defeat from the jaws of victory that it still seems unimaginable that they might win on Nov. 7. But even the most congenital skeptic has to face that possibility now. Things have gotten so bad for the Republicans that were President Bush to unveil Osama bin Laden’s corpse in the Rose Garden, some reporter would instantly check to see if his last meal had been on Jack Abramoff’s tab.

Funny and timely! But then he gets into the Barack talk. He starts with the craze around Obama then goes on to call Obama's big decision of whether to run for President a "no-brainer." He brushes away Obama's thin resume and instead shows more concern about the Democratic Party's effect on people. Rich worries that more time in the Senate will "likely to transform an unusually eloquent writer, speaker and public servant into another windbag like Joe Biden." (Tee!) Rich doesn't want that and hopes that "Barack Obama steps up and changes the party before the party of terminal timidity and equivocation changes him."

I agree that the Democratic Party needs leadership, a spine, and a platform. It's frustrating to not have a party that adequately represents my political beliefs. Instead, I feel like a contestant on The Price is Right who needs to get closest without going over. My favorite part of Rich's column had little to do with Barack and everything to do with the Democratic Party's need for leadership.

That’s the one lesson it should learn from George Bush. Call him arrogant or misguided or foolish, this president has been a leader. He had a controversial agenda — enacting big tax cuts, privatizing Social Security, waging “pre-emptive” war, packing the courts with judges who support his elisions of constitutional rights — and he didn’t fudge it. He didn’t care if half the country despised him along the way.

Good point, Mr. Rich. The Dems need to stop attempting to be everything to everyone because, in the current political climate, that's impossible. They need to stop caring if half the country despises them, particularly if that half is already well-represented by the Republican Party.

But I digress. Back to Barack. Today's Times features "The Obama Bandwagon" (I prefer my invention, The Obam-wagon) by Bob Herbert. He mentions the hype around Obama and concedes that it may be justified. But then Herbert stops being polite and starts getting real:

But the giddiness is crying out for a reality check. There’s a reason why so many Republicans [That explains David Brooks!] are saying nice things about Mr. Obama, and urging him to run. They would like nothing more than for the Democrats to nominate a candidate in 2008 who has a very slender résumé, very little experience in national politics, hardly any in foreign policy — and who also happens to be black. The Republicans may be in deep trouble, but they believe they could pretty easily put together a ticket that would chew up Barack Obama in 2008.

In the end, Herbert advises Obama "not to move too fast." And I agree. I like Barack Obama a whole lot. He's everything everyone says he is, and probably even more. He would make a great President one day. But I don't think that day is now or even within the next two years. I was worried that when Cocktober Surprise (TM Wonkette) happened, the Dems were peaking too soon. And that was four weeks before the election. All this Barack talk is WAY too soon. It's got nowhere to go but down. Thank you, Bob Herbert, for saying what I've been thinking.

Who does that leave for the Dems? I'm not sure. I think Senator Clinton would be a great President but I recognize the difficulties there. I know that a lot of people -- even Democrats -- have a sudden, negative reaction to her, but I think that smacks of sexism. (If you disagree, come up with a politician who evokes the same ire. Maybe W? I would suggest that he's done significantly more to deserve it than Clinton.) But that's a conversation for another time. For now, let's just all shut up about Barack Obama and the 2008 elections and instead concentrate on not "yanking defeat from the jaws of victory," as Frank Rich so eloquently put it.

Don't forget to vote on November 7th, either in person or by absentee ballot! (Unless you're a Republican from Missouri, NJ, Tennessee, Ohio, or Virginia.)

[I just realized that you won't be able to read any of these columns if you don't have TimesSelect. Contact me if you'd really like to read any of them in their entirety and I'll see what I can do.]

Simply sleep!

I think I'm developing some variation of a social anxiety disorder. It's not that I'm scared of being among people. It's more that I find myself really annoyed around people on the street and, whenever I venture out, I'm strangely uneasy and always want to return home as soon as possible. Tonight was no different. Instead of braving the crazy streets of north Dupont, I opted to call Pane Bella for a falafel sandwich and some hummus and spend the evening watching a movie. I've had Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? for a few months now -- I love what a waste of money my Netflix subscription has become -- so it seemed like the perfect thing to keep me busy on a lazy Friday night. Until I fell asleep at 8:30pm.

I choose to blame Pane Bella (and not only because their name is grammatically incorrect in Italian*). I called at 5:30pm and placed my order: one falafel sandwich no tomato, one order of roasted red pepper hummus, two extra pitas, and a coke. Not too shabby. The dude said 45 minutes but my phone rang in only 30. I was so super-psyched to recreate the good ol' days of eating PB while watching TV that I did a half skip back into my apartment after paying the delivery man. It wasn't until I was perched on my bed and tearing through the white plastic bag that I noticed something was missing. Pain in my ass. I called the restaurant and, in as genteel a manner as I could muster, informed the gentleman on the other end that the falafel sandwich wasn't in my order. Dude apologized and assured me that he'd send my sandwich immediately. That was 6pm.

I was finally able to sit down to some tzatziki goodness at 7:30pm. What's worse, when I called to bitch (at around 7:15pm) dude, while apologetic, didn't even offer to comp me some mozzarella sticks or something. Do I stand alone in thinking that stores and restaurants should do something to appease customers they've wronged? I'm not asking for a free meal, but chuck a friggin' coupon [pronounced koo-pohn, not q-pohn] or some tabouli in there. I've always liked Pane Bella, but they have to go on the shit list for a bit. Crap. Delivery dining is such a big part of my world these days. Removing Pane Bella from rotation will be hard. Pizza Movers is about to have a very strong fourth quarter.

After the stress of dinner, I guess my body was just too tuckered out to do anything else. Even as I was falling asleep, I remember thinking that it was a really stupid idea to hit the sack before 9pm. I can't remember the last time I went to bed before 11pm and slept through the night but I think I was two at the time. Now it's 2:30am and I'm wide awake. I took two Simply Sleep about an hour ago in an effort to knock myself out but, sadly, they don't seem to be working. What's worse is that my corner seems to be THE place for fighting tonight. I just spent 10 minutes listening to two people, one male and one female:

Him: You're a bitch.
Her: No, you're a bitch.
Him: Fuck no! You're the bitch.
Her: I hate you! You're such a bitch.
And so on . . . .

Meh. I guess it's better than the time those two middle-aged, British gay dudes beat each other down outside my window. One of them had a bit of a mohawk. I think he would've won the fight if the police hadn't shown up.

I should go to bed before I try to eat something.


-------
* Pane = bread; bella = pretty. But "pane" is masculine, so it should be Pane BellO. Then again, the name "Pretty Bread" is fairly stupid to begin with, so let's not quibble.

First Lance Bass . . .

. . . and now this. What's next?

I just want it to be known that I knew YESTERDAY. And not thanks to People.

Ugly Betty

It's on at 8pm on Thursdays on ABC (channel 27 for those of you with DC Comcast). Watch it.

It's the best thing on television. There. I've said it. I know, I know. I love Lost and Grey's and a host of other shows, too, but nothing buoys my spirits like an episode of Ugly Betty.

I might have come off as unenthusiastic during my TV post a week ago but tonight's episode was FANTASTIC. Honestly, the comedic timing on this show is brilliant. The writing is outstanding. The attention to detail is something that other shows should worship. Every part -- unlike my other new love, Heroes, where Milo Ventimiglia is horribly miscast as Peter (sorry, Milo, it's true) -- is so perfectly well cast that it's almost staggering.

Some people -- people who don't understand -- won't dig the fashion magazine setting or the campy plots. I know that. But the enlightened among us should tune in and fall in lust with this outstanding show. If you're interested, I have every episode (save episode 3, which I mistakenly deleted) saved on DVR and would be more than happy to have you come over to get caught up.

(Grey's was pretty good, too. Miranda Bailey is one of my favorite characters on TV at the moment and the woman who plays her, Chandra Wilson, has been turning in some truly exceptional performances so far this season.)

I love TV. And I'm not ashamed to say so. Now excuse me while I go watch the end of Ugly Betty for the second time tonight.

1-800-BUL-SHIT

When I got back from my trip, my answering machine (yes, I have one of those on my land line) was full. I knew before I listened that it would be mostly hangups. What I wasn't expecting was a series of recordings that went something like this (pardon my paraphrasing):

"Hey guys! This is Jim from Bladdy-blah Satellite Systems. I've got GREAT news for you guys, you've been selected for a free home satellite system. If you could call me back, that'd be great. My number is 800-BUL-SHIT. I'll be here all day. Talk to you later!"

Another variation I recall off the top of my head is nearly the same except that instead of Jim, it was Sally (or something similar) and instead satellite TV, I've won a trip to Mexico or Florida or some other place that I don't really feel like visiting. As I listened to at least 8 of these, I couldn't help wondering if people really call these things. Do they think that their buddy "Jim" is calling because of the overly friendly tone the dude takes? Or are they so psyched to win something that they decide to check on that Florida vacation? I mean, if I had a nickel for every one of my usually bright friends who have forwarded those "For every e-mail you send, The Red Cross/Bill Gates/God will give Leukemia Libby/Cancer Cathy/Elephantitis Eli $20!" messages, I wouldn't have any problems making rent next month. People want to believe.

Fine. I'll allow that it's possible that some poor sap calls back after receiving one of these messages on their machine. But today I received another phone call, which didn't go to the machine. I answered. You'd think that there must be some system where, if a human being answers, another human being talks to them. Oh no. I got the recording.

Does someone out there really think that I'm going to stand there, on the phone, listening to a message that was clearly made to sound relatively authentic on a machine -- it's particularly glaring since "Jim" told me, "Sorry I missed you!" uhm . . . you didn't . . . I picked up the phone -- and, not only not hang up, but actually call the number?!?!?

Sorry. I'm just blown away by the stupidity of this marketing scheme. It's insulting.

Ok. Here's what I'm going to do. The next time I get one of those messages (or direct calls) I'm calling back. I'm going to pretend to be interested in my free prize and then ask to speak with a supervisor or manager. Then I'm going to ask that manager to put me in touch with whoever makes the marketing decisions. Even if I can't get past the first person, I'm going to ask the highest-ranked employee I get on the phone to tell me how well this scheme is actually doing. I better not be shocked by a surprisingly high return rate.

I'm so going to be shocked by a surprisingly high return rate, aren't I?

Stay tuned. (Oh, and click here to receive your free prize!)

Je pense, donc je blog.

So, when I'm not thinking a whole lot, I don't tend to blog. And when I don't blog people get upset and tell me not to "advertise" on my Gtalk until I've updated it.

I've been trying to come up with something remotely interesting all day. I've taken suggestions, read a variety of news stories, and watched the latest episode of Heroes (still great and getting better), but nothing has inspired me. I thought about posting something I've already written -- like an old short story or even my law school personal statement -- but that seems like a cop out. Then again, back when I had my arts column in the Tufts Daily, the week I was too busy to write and ran my Survivor application was the week I received my best, most excited feedback. But I decided against it. Maybe in the future, but not yet. I rather save things like that for when I'm actually busy, as opposed to just blocked.

But the writer's block got me thinking a bit about the blogging. I know that people are reading and, apparently, enjoying it. Then again, I'm brilliant and quite funny, so why wouldn't they? My question, I suppose, is what do people want to read about? Does my public -- now reading from 17 states (including the District) and 7 foreign countries -- want more public affairs or more "A Public Affair." Or neither? Do they want to read about the strange, unrelenting hunger (literal, not figurative) that I've been experiencing lately or the fact that I can't stop watching the "Trapped in the Closet" episode of South Park? I worry that writing only about myself might make me come off as a bit self-involved. And, me? Self-involved? NEVER.

Gosh, I'm hungry.

I should eat something. Last night, we went to Fogo de Chao for Josh's birthday and I think I irreparably expanded my stomach. The restaurant is set up as a sort of all-you-can-eat (without the tackiness usually involved) with "gauchos" (or unemployed wannabe Hill staffers) who bring skewers with huge cuts of meat, which they slice right into your plate. Each diner is outfitted with a coaster, green on one side and red on the other, which signals whether the gauchos should approach. It was a bit out of hand. And today I've only eaten a grilled cheese and a Starbucks muffin. (And I didn't even enjoy the muffin because it was too sweet. I've always been more savory than sweet.)

So, yeah, I'm hungry. Like, really hungry.

[Are you happy now? See what happens when you pressure me to blog when I'm not ready?]

Bring back the Eighteenth Amendment!

I have figured out the solution to all the Republican Party's problems: Ban the bottle. The latest victim is Bob Ney (R-OH), who today pled guilty to a series of corruption charges related to the Jack Abramoff scandal. Was it greed that led him to essentially take bribes from the disgraced lobbyist? Absolutely not:

Mr. Ney, 52, has said that a dependence on alcohol was a factor in his loss of a moral compass. In response to Judge Huvelle’s questions on what problems he is being treated for, Mr. Ney replied, “Right now, alcohol, last 30 days.” He said he had not had a drink in that time. (From the NY Times.)

And, of course, we all remember how Mark Foley's page-loving problems stemmed from his alcoholism (and a little priestly molestation). So the solution is clear: Bring back Prohibition. Without liquor, Republican congressmen can return to being soldiers in God's army standing up for truth, justice, tax cuts for the wealthy, and the continued marginalization of gays, minorities, (hang on a sec...just spilled scotch on my keyboard) women, and the poor.

In related news, does anyone else think it's totally absurd that Ney is still officially a Congressman? From the same article:

Despite his disgrace, Mr. Ney is still a member of Congress, drawing his $165,000-a-year salary, although his lawyer, Mark Tuohey, told the judge that Mr. Ney will resign his seat “in the next few weeks.” Mr. Ney has said he wants to help his employees find new jobs before he quits.

Seriously? HE'S AN AVOWED CRIMINAL. Nothing's alleged anymore. He's actually a criminal. And no one thinks he should be thrown out of Congress immediately?!? Are we all insane?!

I'm moving to North Korea.

There are worse things to wake up next to than your remote control.

Over the last few years, I've been dependent on my friends in order to catch TV episodes I missed. Thanks to the busy schedules of my wonderful Amazing Race viewing group (Vijay, Dave, Anne, and, until recently, Ryan Smith), I've embraced the concept of watching an entire series purely on Tivo or DVR. Last year, I rarely watched Lost or Grey's Anatomy at their regularly scheduled times, preferring to catch them at Josh and Adam's at a more convenient moment (for instance, after the first day of Bar/Bri). I was intending to switch over to DVR myself, but I never got around to it between finals and studying for the bar. Then, when my sublessee fell through right before I left town, I decided that I'd save some money by canceling my cable and starting over when I returned. Now, only 3 weeks into having my very own Digital Video Recorder, I feel like a changed man.

Except for Lost, Grey's, and The Amazing Race, I found it really hard to watch TV on a regular basis. Even though I had a VCR, I always forgot to set a tape before I left my apartment in the morning. DVR has changed my world. All I have to do now is set a season-long recording and I have access to all my favorite shows at the touch of a button. With this new power, I dove into the Fall television season with a dedication heretofore impossible. Now that the first new show of the Fall has, well, fallen -- Smith starring Ray Liotta -- I thought it was time to sound off on the new crop of potential obsessions. But there were so many to choose from . . . .

So I DVR-ed them all. Well not all, just the serial dramas that seemed remotely promising. I can't get into sitcoms and reality shows (except the Race) and one-off episodic dramas -- like the 14 Law & Orders and 73 CSIs -- don't really hold my interest, so I was hoping to find another Lost or Grey's to get jazzed about. I decided to give the following shows a try: Ugly Betty, 6 Degrees, Heroes, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, The Nine, and Kidnapped. I figured that somewhere in there I'd find something worth watching.

It took me about 3 minutes to fall in love with Ugly Betty. Based on a Colombian telenovela -- NOT The Devil Wears Prada as many believe -- the show follows a gal who gets a job at a fashion magazine purely on her looks. The twist is that the Editor-in-Chief's dad runs the publishing company and hired the titular character because she's so unattractive that she wouldn't be a temptation for his playboy son. One of the opening scenes of the pilot episode -- airing in the family-friendly 8pm hour -- featured dad walking in on his son leaning back at his desk with his eyes closed. Moments later viewers discovered that his assistant was under his desk "taking dictation." That's the show's joke, not mine. And it's pretty funny, in my opinion. But while Betty does have an on-going plot about the machinations of Vanessa Williams's Wilhelmina who was passed over for the job in favor of the aforementioned fellatio-receiving publishing scion, it isn't exactly a serialized drama. So, while it's definitely a show that I'm going to keep watching, I was still yearning for something with plotlines and cliffhangers that would drive me nuts with anticipation each week.

6 Degrees seemed perfect. It was on right after Grey's (and anyone with Tivo and DVR knows how lifesaving it can be to record the show right after yours on a regular basis) and was created by J.J. Abrams, creator of Lost. On top of that, it had dreamy Jay Hernandez in a lead role. What could go wrong? Well, I watched the first the episode for about 30 minutes before I got so effing bored that I wanted to cry. It's about these six randoms who all somehow meet up in the first episode. That's the gimmick: they don't know each other and then they do. But by having them all know each other by the end of the first episode, the gimmick was sort of DOA. They tried to lure the viewer in with some mystery about one of the characters who has a weird box that she's guarding . . . yeah, I didn't care either.

I was a bit skeptical about Heroes because the plot sounded entirely too much like X-Men. Normal people discover superpowers due to some evolutionary/mutation-type phenomena, drama ensues. Meh? Still, I watched the first episode and was hooked almost immediately. While the dialogue isn't fantastic (see Studio 60 below), the show is intensely plotted -- very little annoying lag time a la Lost -- and features some great actors playing intriguing characters. I've been waiting for Ali Larter to do something interesting ever since I saw her in Final Destination, I LOVE that Weiss (from Alias) is back on TV, and Sendhil Ramamurthy could give Jay Hernandez a run for his money (plus he's a Jumbo!). Three episodes in, I'm completely obsessed with the show and so excited to see how the heroes eventually come together to stop the nuclear annihilation of New York City (timely plot, too). (Take note 6 Degrees, most of the heroes didn't know each other by the end of the first episode.)

If I was a bit skeptical about Heroes, I was extremely skeptical of Studio 60. It was created by Aaron Sorkin and while I liked The West Wing (at least at the beginning) I never really LOVED it. Also, I worry when sitcom stars try to do drama. So I held off for weeks, recording episodes but never actually watching them, until I finally broke down one afternoon and pressed play. I remember that while stumping for the show, Bradley Whitford said something about how he had better lines than Meryl Streep and that's why he was committing to another TV show so soon after West Wing. Darn tootin'. This is, in my humble opinion, the best written show on TV at the moment. Even if you don't find yourself particularly fascinated by what goes on backstage at a SNL-type show (which I do), you can't help but appreciate some of the best dialogue anywhere. Aaron Sorkin is ok by me.

And since I'd found THREE shows that I wanted to watch, I don't know that I have any room in my life for another show. I didn't even give Kidnapped a shot at all -- it was similarly backlogged on my DVR and has since been deleted. I'm hanging onto The Nine just in case I get bored of something or Lost does something unforgivably stupid like kill off Sun or Sayid. I didn't want this many new shows, but there's too much good television out there and I'm just not that busy these days. DVR is my friend, boss, and lover. The whole point of DVR is that it doesn't mind when I take a day off. And it definitely won't get whiny if I ignore it for a few days.

You, too, can live the dream. Call your cable provider today.

At least we saved the Iraqi people . . .

. . . or not. From the Wall Street Journal:

A new study asserts that roughly 600,000 Iraqis have died from violence since the U.S.-led invasion in March 2003, a figure many times higher than any previous estimate.

And, later from the same article, some context:

Human Rights Watch has estimated Saddam Hussein's regime killed 250,000 to 290,000 people over 20 years.

For my readers who couldn't crack 600 on the math SAT, that means that more than double the Iraqis that died during 20 years of Saddam Hussein have been killed in the 3.5 years of U.S. involvement.

So let's see . . . we all know that we didn't find weapons of mass destruction, a recent intelligence report told us that we're fueling Islamic fundamentalism and terrorism, and now we've gotten more Iraqis killed in 3.5 years than a loon like Saddam was able to pull off in 20. For the sake of the people of Iran, I really hope we're not invading right before the election like some are predicting. And not to excuse North Korea but, if I were a foreign country, I'd probably be arming myself, too.

¡Viva Pedro!

Pedro Almodóvar is one of my favorite directors. Heck, he might be my all-time favorite. His movies are often hilarious (Mujeres al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios), heartbreaking (Todo Sobre Mi Madre), or a combination of both (Hable Con Ella). Either way, they are always visually stunning with engrossing characters and plots. So you can imagine my excitement when I heard that there was going to be an Almodóvar film festival -- called VIVA PEDRO -- featuring eight of his movies back on the big screen for the first time. You can also imagine my sadness when I realized that it was opening in late summer and I'd probably miss it.

Well, I did miss it. Almost. But not because I was in SE Asia. I missed it because I'm an idiot of unfathomable proportions. Apparently it came to DC the day I came back, but I didn't know it. When I finally did notice that it was here, I inexplicably assumed that the date given on the website -- September 15 -- was the only showing of his films. What? Am I the dumbest person alive? Did all that flying give me a brain condition of some kind? Eight movies, one day? What the hell is wrong with me?!

It wasn't until today that I realized that the films were still showing. Well, not all. Sadly, I'll never realize my dream of seeing Mujeres . . . on the big screen. Also a bit sucky is that fact that, of the two films still showing, one of them is La Mala Educación. While still better than 90% of films out there, it just doesn't stack up relative to Pedro's other films and since I already saw it in theaters, I don't need to go again. (Although I highly recommend anyone who hasn't seen it to check it out if you can.) That leaves me with Matador. Luckily, it's a Pedro film that I haven't seen yet, it's playing through the weekend, and it's supposed to be marvelously effed up. I might still get an opportunity to see at least one classic Almodóvar masterpiece on the big screen.

Now I just need people to come with me. Except for Saturday evening (Happy Birthday Rickel!), I'm available. The stupid AFI website decided to leave off the showtimes of Matador, but they'll probably follow the same pattern of most of the Almodóvar films during the weekends: 1:00, 3:05, 5:10, 7:20, 9:30. (I'll obviously doublecheck beforehand.) I also promise to overenunciate every word I say in Spanish (sorry you won't be here, Ale).

So, who's with me?

Context.

I admit to being mildly concerned that many people are reading my Foley post and yet only a couple have gone to read Sarada's post, which pretty accurately captures my feelings on the issue. The last thing I want is for anyone to think that I condone Foley's behavior so I'm reprinting Sarada's post. I agree with her 100% but I didn't write what she wrote because, well, she already had. (FYI, everyone should read this woman's thoughts because she really is one of the most thoughtful and intelligent people on earth.) I hope that my attempt at originality didn't lead anyone to think I support Foley's actions in any way (the headline was a joke). Sarada's original post can be found here. Enjoy:

sex and politics

Alessandro was in town this weekend and we had an interesting conversation about the Mark Foley scandal. Undoubtedly, Alessandro himself will blog about the topic, but I feel it necessary to throw down my two cents.

Mark Foley was abhorrent and what he did was abhorrent. While it wasn't exactly molesting or raping a child, playing sexual power dynamics with minors in our nation's hallowed governmental halls is pretty despicable and should be prosecuted accordingly.

But this isn't about Foley's homosexuality. I'm reminded of former Governor McGreevey who, after lying, stealing, cheating and using a minimal amount of brain functionality to complete aforementioned tasks, stood up at a press conference and began with, "I am a gay American." Sure you are! You're also a complete idiot who gave his boyfriend a public sector job he wasn't qualified for! We're getting rid of you because you're a moron, not because you're gay! But all anti-gay America heard was that gays are not fit to be governors, those deviants.

Similarly, everybody's getting their panties up in a bunch about the Foley incident, which they should. But I rarely see people call in the National Guard when a female page or intern or hell, law professor named Anita Hill, is sexually harassed or molested or cajoled into sexual relations by a male member of government. Can you imagine how many Congressmen are chasing skirts on the Hill? Falling back on classic gendered norms, we'll never get that upset about the way men play sexual power dynamics with women at the upper echelons of government because that's just the way men are and women are supposed to take it. How many women did sexual criminal and ex-Senator Bob Packwood have to harass and assault before we socked him? Naturally this situation is different because it involved minors. Believe you me, I'm as pedophile-hating as anybody. But if we're going to call the FBI out for this one (since the House Ethics Committee is the equivalent of the Sudan sitting on the UN Human Rights Commission), let's also bring them out to investigate other Congressmen and sitting Supreme Court Justices who treat women like their property.

Moreover, this comes back to the gaping hole in congressional leadership that seems to be widening with every passing hour on their Rolexes. If these people (read: Hastert and his fellow overfed windbag buddies) can cover up something this unbelievably screwed up can you imagine what other skeletons are smoking cigars and throwing back Johnnie Walker in the closet?

Speaking of which, I love Foley blaming his issues on alcohol, attempting to do whatever it takes to separate the words "sex," "boys," "IM," and "Mark Foley" in a Google search.

Cry me a river, dude.

I fully excuse Mark Foley's behavior.

Of course I don't. I just needed something to keep things fresh. Sarada went a long way to reading my mind when she posted her take on the Foley situation and Graham might have the record for longest post ever with his manifesto on it. What more is there to say? How to "advance the ball" in the discussion as my PR prof used to say?

I remember sitting at my computer when the story began to break. Before I knew what happened, Foley's alleged missives went from an request for a picture to "What are you wearing?" and "Do I make you horny?" (Austin Powers was how many years ago?) to, supposedly, an exchange that suggests that ABC's dramatization of Foley typing one-handed was dead on. I certainly don't excuse Foley's behavior. In my opinion, the dynamics of power and authority should never be mixed with sex. I remember finding it a bit distasteful back in college when Resident Assistants hooked up with their residents. Even shenanigans within a power dynamic as insignificant as that one felt wrong to me. Certainly boss-employee, professor-student, and Congressman-page are all pairs where sexual relationships are inappropriate. (If you haven't yet, go back and read Sarada's post because I really do agree with her 100% on this issue.) Still, is it ok for people to call him a pedophile and a child molester?

I'd say that it isn't.

As Sarada pointed out, there's a big difference between people who sexually abuse little kids and what Mark Foley did. According to reports, Foley's "victims" were at least 16, with some being 17 and even 18. Well, DC law defines a child as "a person who has not yet attained the age of 16 years." D.C. Code § 22-4101. The age of consent in many states, including our non-state (thank you, Mr. Colbert) of DC, is 16. Most other states put the age of consent at 17, with only 6 states (Arizona, California, North Dakota, Oregon, Virginia, and Wisconsin) with an age of consent of 18 that applies to everyone. (Some states have an age of consent of 18 but a lower age -- sometimes as young as 14 -- applies when the age gap between partners is small, or when the older partner is below a certain age.)

I hate to sound like a Republican (holy shit, I sound like a Republican) but is what Mark Foley did really that different than what Clinton did with Monica Lewinsky? Now, you might tell me that there's a huge difference between a 22-year-old and 16-year-old. And I would agree. You might also say that Clinton only did what he did with Monica (that we know of), while Foley was casting a pretty wide net. I'd continue to agree.

But then I'd say, isn't there a big difference between obscene IMs and sticking a cigar in someone's vagina? The thing is, I can't help but wonder how this would be different if a male Congressman had been found doing this to female pages. According to friends on the Hill -- and I'll use the vaguest terms because I don't know this firsthand and certainly don't want to slander anyone -- there was an old and now dead gentleman who worked there who was well known for touching all the young female employees' asses. And no one ever did anything about it. You'd bet your behind (tee!) that if Barney Frank is still in Congress when he's 90 and he starts getting fresh with the male legislative assistants in the elevator, shit would go down.

So, now picture for a minute that Rep. John Doe from Anystate was found having sent lascivious IMs to former female pages. Would there be a big to-do? Certainly. Would he be expected to resign? Probably. Would he be considered sleazy? Sure. Would he be labeled a "pedophile" and a "criminal?" I don't think so. I'll take this one step further and say that if it came out that Rep. JANE Doe from Anystate was found having similar IMs with male pages, it would still be surprising and blameworthy, but no one would use the words "sexual deviant" or "pedophile." (Not to mention how Congresswoman Doe would probably have a wing of Congress named after her if she were discovered sending similar messages to a female page.)

You might disagree with me. You might say that the same exact thing that's happening to Foley now would happen to my faux Congresspeople above. Who knows? I certainly don't for sure, but I can't help but wonder. And wondering out loud, I've found, is sometimes what it takes to advance the ball.

. . .

(Ball, people. B-A-L-L. Not balls. Your anticipated immaturity shocks me.)