May 31, 2007
For Immediate Release
Contact: Communications Director
Office of the Governor
603-271-2121
Governor Signs Law Establishing Civil Unions in New Hampshire
CONCORD - Gov. Lynch today signed legislation establishing civil unions in New Hampshire, furthering New Hampshire's longstanding tradition of rejecting discrimination.
"Dating back to the Abolitionist movement, we in New Hampshire have a long, proud history of taking the lead in opposing discrimination. Today, that tradition continues. Today, we are taking an important step against discrimination. Today, we are acting to protect New Hampshire families," Gov. Lynch said.
"Over the last several months, I have spoken with hundreds of people about this issue, and most of those people support civil unions. Some support civil unions, but feel it may be happening too fast, or too soon. Others oppose civil unions altogether and see it as a threat to marriage.
"I've listened and heard all the arguments. I do not believe this bill threatens marriage. I believe this is a matter of conscience and fairness. And my view is that, it's never too soon to act to prevent discrimination.
"People in committed relationships should not have to worry about visiting a loved one in a hospital, or whether their loved ones will inherit their estate, or the many other legal protections so many of us take for granted," Gov. Lynch said. "How could any one of us look into the eyes of our neighbors, our friends, or our loved ones if we continued to deny them these basic legal protections?
"That is why I am pleased to be here today as we further the interest of fairness, dignity and the strengthening of families.
"That is truly the New Hampshire way," Gov. Lynch said.
The legislation, House Bill 437, was sponsored by Reps. Jim Splaine and Dana Hilliard.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Live free or die, indeed!
My friend Chris just sent me a Press Release from New Hampshire's Governor. It's nice to see that the state is living up to its motto:
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Quote of the Week - 05/21/07
"Listening to [Alberto Gonzalez's, Kyle Sampson's, and Monica Goodling's] testimony, it's like the entire Department of Justice is taking a shit inside my head." Jon Stewart
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Auspicious Beginnings
I started my new job yesterday. So far, so good:
1) "Hit the ground running" is not just lip service at Legal Aid. I had three intakes on my desk when I walked into my office. By the end of the day, I was given my first two cases. One has a further initial return on Friday. My birthday is going to be my first day in court.
2) After asking one of the other attorneys where I should get coffee, I was directed to a small, independent coffee spot right around the corner. I can't really remember what it's called, but the word "sip" is somehow involved. Anyway, not only was the coffee quite good, my friend Anne was there. And she goes nearly every day because her office is right nearby. Fun!
3) At my welcome breakfast, my boss decided that I should go see our appellate attorney argue in front of the DC Court of Appeals. So I went. She was good. Even better was seeing the attorneys arguing the case before her. If they all had successful careers, I should have no problem. One guy actually interrupted the judge so many times that she actually had to say, "Can you let me finish a statement?" Yeah. You shouldn't do that to the judge. Ass.
4) Sarada's in town for a few days to present her thesis so, after work, we had a few drinks and then met Cicie for dinner. (Note to DC readers: Dakota Cowgirl has changed its menu.)
5) This morning I woke up really early (it probably helped that I went to bed before 11pm last night). I decided to walk over to CVS to get allergy medicine and pick up a Gatorade. (I really like lemon-lime Gatorade. I drink it constantly. I'm not sporty, so I find it a little weird.) Guess what I saw when I walked into CVS. Yup. Gatorade was ON SALE. I now have 160 fluid ounces of Gatorade in my apartment. BAM.
I feel good. So good, in fact, that my next post won't be a silly list and will, instead, have a coherent narrative.
1) "Hit the ground running" is not just lip service at Legal Aid. I had three intakes on my desk when I walked into my office. By the end of the day, I was given my first two cases. One has a further initial return on Friday. My birthday is going to be my first day in court.
2) After asking one of the other attorneys where I should get coffee, I was directed to a small, independent coffee spot right around the corner. I can't really remember what it's called, but the word "sip" is somehow involved. Anyway, not only was the coffee quite good, my friend Anne was there. And she goes nearly every day because her office is right nearby. Fun!
3) At my welcome breakfast, my boss decided that I should go see our appellate attorney argue in front of the DC Court of Appeals. So I went. She was good. Even better was seeing the attorneys arguing the case before her. If they all had successful careers, I should have no problem. One guy actually interrupted the judge so many times that she actually had to say, "Can you let me finish a statement?" Yeah. You shouldn't do that to the judge. Ass.
4) Sarada's in town for a few days to present her thesis so, after work, we had a few drinks and then met Cicie for dinner. (Note to DC readers: Dakota Cowgirl has changed its menu.)
5) This morning I woke up really early (it probably helped that I went to bed before 11pm last night). I decided to walk over to CVS to get allergy medicine and pick up a Gatorade. (I really like lemon-lime Gatorade. I drink it constantly. I'm not sporty, so I find it a little weird.) Guess what I saw when I walked into CVS. Yup. Gatorade was ON SALE. I now have 160 fluid ounces of Gatorade in my apartment. BAM.
I feel good. So good, in fact, that my next post won't be a silly list and will, instead, have a coherent narrative.
Quote of the Week - 05/14/07
In "honor" of the late Jerry Falwell, his thoughts on 9/11: "I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.'"
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Irked Around
I'm in Jersey at the moment, which is nice, but a few things over the last 24 hours have me steamed. In chronological order:
1) Metro. Fucking Metro. Every time. Of course I was running late for my train yesterday. And, of course, I get to Dupont and find that the next train (in 7 minutes) was a ghost train and that the next train serving passengers was in 16 minutes. Due to the fact that my Amtrak train was leaving in 35 minutes, I had to high-tail it out of the station and hop a cab. Bah.
2) Really? You're on a train -- admittedly not the quiet car -- and you're watching a DVD on your computer without headphones? Seriously?! Have we all gone insane? Would you listen to a stereo on the train? No, you wouldn't. Then again, you're clearly an asshole, so who knows?
3) As if I didn't have enough evidence that America is a lost cause: Melinda Doolittle was voted off of American Idol last night. She was inarguably the best singer in the competition and, again without question, one of the best singers in the show's history. Melinda is off of Idol. What's the point anymore? You know what? Let's just bomb Iran. Let's just end times. (Ok, fine, maybe I'm overreacting just a tad.)
4) I went to my dentist this morning. My checkups for the last, oh, ten years or so have been just peachy. Today, I got yelled at for not flossing. Luckily, I'm still cavity-free, but I apparently had plaque build-up that worried him. Then he told me that my Sonicare toothbrush is a piece of shit that I should throw out. I mean, he was nice about it, but I felt a bit berated.
5) I'm in Panera right now and it's packed. I hate people.
1) Metro. Fucking Metro. Every time. Of course I was running late for my train yesterday. And, of course, I get to Dupont and find that the next train (in 7 minutes) was a ghost train and that the next train serving passengers was in 16 minutes. Due to the fact that my Amtrak train was leaving in 35 minutes, I had to high-tail it out of the station and hop a cab. Bah.
2) Really? You're on a train -- admittedly not the quiet car -- and you're watching a DVD on your computer without headphones? Seriously?! Have we all gone insane? Would you listen to a stereo on the train? No, you wouldn't. Then again, you're clearly an asshole, so who knows?
3) As if I didn't have enough evidence that America is a lost cause: Melinda Doolittle was voted off of American Idol last night. She was inarguably the best singer in the competition and, again without question, one of the best singers in the show's history. Melinda is off of Idol. What's the point anymore? You know what? Let's just bomb Iran. Let's just end times. (Ok, fine, maybe I'm overreacting just a tad.)
4) I went to my dentist this morning. My checkups for the last, oh, ten years or so have been just peachy. Today, I got yelled at for not flossing. Luckily, I'm still cavity-free, but I apparently had plaque build-up that worried him. Then he told me that my Sonicare toothbrush is a piece of shit that I should throw out. I mean, he was nice about it, but I felt a bit berated.
5) I'm in Panera right now and it's packed. I hate people.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
A Typical Morning
I woke up without my alarm for the second time this week. I figured that I'd sleep in a bit this week because I don't really have any reason to get up. I'm on vacay before my new jobs starts (a week from yesterday!) and, other than finally submitting my DC Bar application, I had little in the way of responsibilities. Still, I was out of bed before 8:30am. Not sure why. I was just very awake. I know that I had been dreaming, but I can't for the life of me remember what.
I made myself a bowl of cereal then hopped on the interwebs for my morning dose of news and snark. The Republicans debated last night. Apparently the audience applauded waterboarding. Super. I should probably be shocked, but I'm mostly not. Jerry Falwell is still dead. I'm still feeling guilty about being happy about it. Like a good Catholic, I was taught to not speak ill of the dead and I certainly found some of the stuff I found in message boards yesterday a little extreme, even if he was a hateful bigot. But someone (and I'd credit him/her if I remembered where I read it) paraphrased what Bette Davis said upon hearing of nemesis Joan Crawford's death: “You should never say bad things about the dead, you should only say good. Joan Crawford is dead. Good." In the case of a person as unambiguously vile as Falwell, I'm loath to disagree. But I digress.
After realizing that America is still fucked and neither Wolfie nor Gonzo resigned, I went about folding some laundry. I did a ton of laundry yesterday in preparation for my trip to NJ (oh yeah, I'm going to be in NJ for the next few days). My plan is to have my apartment in as pristine a state as possible so that it'll be ready for me when I return from the Jerz and start work. I had just swiffed my floor when I decided that I'd love a coffee. Like most Washingtonians, I have a Starbucks exactly a block away. I threw on a pair of jeans and grabbed those things that are always with me when I leave my apartment: Wallet. Cell. iPod. Keys. Keys? Shit. Where were my keys?
I scoured my table but, because I actually cleaned it significantly yesterday, it didn't take long to figure out that they weren't there. Well, if not there, then where? Checked my desk. Dresser. My bookcase. Nothing. That's when I stopped, smiled to myself because I do this all the time, and checked my pockets.
Nope. No keys.
Had they fallen to the floor? Were they on my five inches of kitchen counter space? No. Did I toss them on the bed? Maybe set them down in the bathroom? No dice. I was getting a bit crazy at this point. What if I had dropped them outside? I can use the call box to get into my front door so, when stepping outside for a sec, I'll leave my door unlocked. No keys necessary. Then again, I don't like doing that late at night, so I always bring my keys. But what if I had dropped them somehow? I couldn't be 100% certain that my keys were in my apartment, so I didn't feel 100% great about leaving for an extended weekend knowing that my keys might be in the hands of nefarious peoples. (In case you're just tuning in, I'm a bit of a paranoid person.) I started panicking. I went outside and scanned my front porch. I checked to see if a neighbor had found them and put them on top of our mailboxes (our de facto lost and found). I returned to my aparment and started tearing it apart. I was moving stuff. Looked under the bed. Shook my garbage can to see if maybe I'd thrown them out. Nada. Looked behind the bed. Behind the dresser. Under the desk. Cleared off the table. Cleared off the desk. Went through my medicine cabinet. Under chair cushions. I looked in a pair of shoes that were under the table. Sweatshirt pockets. I started opening drawers. Drawers that I haven't opened in weeks.
No keys.
I was losing it. Where were my keys? I couldn't go to Jersey without knowing where my keys were! Where could they be?! Rechecked every place I'd already checked. Lifted up my bath mats. Looked on top of the fridge.
Pause. No. That's silly. They weren't IN the refrigerator.
I opened the refrigerator door. No keys. I looked in the butter tray. Nothing. Up. Down. Nothing. Then I pulled out the pizza box sitting on my top rack. There, in the back of my refrigerator, behind the pizza box from last night, were my keys.
Yeah.
I made myself a bowl of cereal then hopped on the interwebs for my morning dose of news and snark. The Republicans debated last night. Apparently the audience applauded waterboarding. Super. I should probably be shocked, but I'm mostly not. Jerry Falwell is still dead. I'm still feeling guilty about being happy about it. Like a good Catholic, I was taught to not speak ill of the dead and I certainly found some of the stuff I found in message boards yesterday a little extreme, even if he was a hateful bigot. But someone (and I'd credit him/her if I remembered where I read it) paraphrased what Bette Davis said upon hearing of nemesis Joan Crawford's death: “You should never say bad things about the dead, you should only say good. Joan Crawford is dead. Good." In the case of a person as unambiguously vile as Falwell, I'm loath to disagree. But I digress.
After realizing that America is still fucked and neither Wolfie nor Gonzo resigned, I went about folding some laundry. I did a ton of laundry yesterday in preparation for my trip to NJ (oh yeah, I'm going to be in NJ for the next few days). My plan is to have my apartment in as pristine a state as possible so that it'll be ready for me when I return from the Jerz and start work. I had just swiffed my floor when I decided that I'd love a coffee. Like most Washingtonians, I have a Starbucks exactly a block away. I threw on a pair of jeans and grabbed those things that are always with me when I leave my apartment: Wallet. Cell. iPod. Keys. Keys? Shit. Where were my keys?
I scoured my table but, because I actually cleaned it significantly yesterday, it didn't take long to figure out that they weren't there. Well, if not there, then where? Checked my desk. Dresser. My bookcase. Nothing. That's when I stopped, smiled to myself because I do this all the time, and checked my pockets.
Nope. No keys.
Had they fallen to the floor? Were they on my five inches of kitchen counter space? No. Did I toss them on the bed? Maybe set them down in the bathroom? No dice. I was getting a bit crazy at this point. What if I had dropped them outside? I can use the call box to get into my front door so, when stepping outside for a sec, I'll leave my door unlocked. No keys necessary. Then again, I don't like doing that late at night, so I always bring my keys. But what if I had dropped them somehow? I couldn't be 100% certain that my keys were in my apartment, so I didn't feel 100% great about leaving for an extended weekend knowing that my keys might be in the hands of nefarious peoples. (In case you're just tuning in, I'm a bit of a paranoid person.) I started panicking. I went outside and scanned my front porch. I checked to see if a neighbor had found them and put them on top of our mailboxes (our de facto lost and found). I returned to my aparment and started tearing it apart. I was moving stuff. Looked under the bed. Shook my garbage can to see if maybe I'd thrown them out. Nada. Looked behind the bed. Behind the dresser. Under the desk. Cleared off the table. Cleared off the desk. Went through my medicine cabinet. Under chair cushions. I looked in a pair of shoes that were under the table. Sweatshirt pockets. I started opening drawers. Drawers that I haven't opened in weeks.
No keys.
I was losing it. Where were my keys? I couldn't go to Jersey without knowing where my keys were! Where could they be?! Rechecked every place I'd already checked. Lifted up my bath mats. Looked on top of the fridge.
Pause. No. That's silly. They weren't IN the refrigerator.
I opened the refrigerator door. No keys. I looked in the butter tray. Nothing. Up. Down. Nothing. Then I pulled out the pizza box sitting on my top rack. There, in the back of my refrigerator, behind the pizza box from last night, were my keys.
Yeah.
Quote of the Week - 05/07/07
"By coating her hands in the genital secretions of female tortoises and gently stroking him, she managed to demonstrate a couple of times (in the course of several months’ work) that George was capable of an erection. But whereas her touch could induce other male tortoises to reach orgasm within a few minutes, with George she never managed to collect any sperm." - John Tierny, "A Lonesome Tortoise, and a Search for a Mate," The NY Times, May 8, 2007.
Monday, May 14, 2007
There's no place like home.
[UPDATE: I found a $2500 studio on craigslist this morning. Sure, it's furnished, BUT IT'S A STUDIO! For more than some people pay for a decent TWO-bedroom. RIDICULOUS. Why would anyone -- even a rich GW undergrad -- spend that kind of money on a studio? I just don't get it....]
Let me apologize for breaking my relaunch rules and leaving you nearly a week without a post. Jen and Ryan were both here from out of town, I had issues with my new job (no worries! they've been cleared up), and it was my last week at PBS. It was actually REALLY sad to leave everyone. There was a little party on Thursday afternoon and there was so much food and I got gifts and well wishes -- it could make anyone feel all warm and squishy inside.
With my professional life coming together nicely, it seems like the microscope of self-awareness has focused itself on other aspects of my life. I'll save for another time the fact that I've been romatically alone so long that I'm giving serious thought to becoming a priest (I'd make an off-the-chain Pope) and that my gut is expanding at such an alarming rate that I should report myself to Homeland Security because all of DC might be in danger. Yes, those topics are better left unaddressed at the moment.
Instead, let's discuss that my apartment feels like it's getting smaller each day. As many of you know, I live in a small studio in one of the nicer DC neighborhoods. It's a quirky-cute apartment with high ceilings, lots of natural light, and even a faux fireplace. At the same time, it's pretty small, I have a two-burner stove with no oven, and my closet space is less than desirable. Then again, I've never really had all that much space. After freshman year, I spent two years in tiny, tiny singles and then one year in a spacious-only-for-college studio with a little kitchenette and my own bathroom. When I lived in Jersey City with Jared and Nula, while the apartment was huge, Nula's and my bedrooms were quite teeny. Still, I feel like I've earned more. I'm tired of living in what is, essentially, a dorm room. I want space. I want a kitchen with more than five inches of counter space. I want deep closets. I want a tub. I want to be able to lie in bed and NOT see my refrigerator across the room. I want doors that separate rooms. I don't think it's too much to ask.
So, over the course of last week -- when I should've been blogging -- I started lurking on the craigslist apartment listings. They were a bit of a downer. First off, things are so much more expensive than I remember them being when I last looked for housing (summer '04). A studio for $1900? Seriously? I would love to meet the guy who moves in there just so I can ask him why the hell he didn't just live in a one-bedroom for that amount of money. Even worse are the posts that seriously exaggerate neighborhood. Adams Morgan is based around 18th Street NW, north of U Street. So don't tell me that your apartment is in Adams Morgan if it's over on 14th Street! The mislabeling of neighborhoods really infuriates me for some reason. Maybe because it's so stupid. You got me to look at your post because you promised me a Dupont location, but I'm not suddenly going to live there when I see that it's nowhere near Dupont. "Well, I know that 16th and Harvard is a 30-40 minute walk to Dupont Circle, but if this craigslist poster says it's Dupont, then I'm interested!!!" Let people in the Casual Encounters section lie about the details. At least there you might get to a point where backing out is awkward. But if you're going to refer to something way north of U Street as "Upper Logan," you're not fooling anyone.
But craigslist found a great apartment for me in the past so I'm not giving up. I actually went to see my first place on Saturday. It was at M and 4th Streets NW. (Go ahead DC-ites, gasp in disbelief.) I know it's a bit out there, but it was a one-bedroom at a decent price so I felt like I had to check it out. It was perfectly nice, but it was rather small and there were three boarded up houses on the same block. I can give a little on either location or quality, but if I'm settling on both, I'm not getting the kind of deal I'm looking for. So my search continues.
If you hear of anything good in terms of one- or even two-bedroom apartments, PLEASE let me know. Ideally I'd like to live somewhere south of U, east of 17th St, and west of 9th, but I'm definitely open to stuff off the beaten path. I felt so lucky when I found my current place. I'd like to get lucky again. (See how I brought that back around to one of the topics I wasn't going to discuss?)
Let me apologize for breaking my relaunch rules and leaving you nearly a week without a post. Jen and Ryan were both here from out of town, I had issues with my new job (no worries! they've been cleared up), and it was my last week at PBS. It was actually REALLY sad to leave everyone. There was a little party on Thursday afternoon and there was so much food and I got gifts and well wishes -- it could make anyone feel all warm and squishy inside.
With my professional life coming together nicely, it seems like the microscope of self-awareness has focused itself on other aspects of my life. I'll save for another time the fact that I've been romatically alone so long that I'm giving serious thought to becoming a priest (I'd make an off-the-chain Pope) and that my gut is expanding at such an alarming rate that I should report myself to Homeland Security because all of DC might be in danger. Yes, those topics are better left unaddressed at the moment.
Instead, let's discuss that my apartment feels like it's getting smaller each day. As many of you know, I live in a small studio in one of the nicer DC neighborhoods. It's a quirky-cute apartment with high ceilings, lots of natural light, and even a faux fireplace. At the same time, it's pretty small, I have a two-burner stove with no oven, and my closet space is less than desirable. Then again, I've never really had all that much space. After freshman year, I spent two years in tiny, tiny singles and then one year in a spacious-only-for-college studio with a little kitchenette and my own bathroom. When I lived in Jersey City with Jared and Nula, while the apartment was huge, Nula's and my bedrooms were quite teeny. Still, I feel like I've earned more. I'm tired of living in what is, essentially, a dorm room. I want space. I want a kitchen with more than five inches of counter space. I want deep closets. I want a tub. I want to be able to lie in bed and NOT see my refrigerator across the room. I want doors that separate rooms. I don't think it's too much to ask.
So, over the course of last week -- when I should've been blogging -- I started lurking on the craigslist apartment listings. They were a bit of a downer. First off, things are so much more expensive than I remember them being when I last looked for housing (summer '04). A studio for $1900? Seriously? I would love to meet the guy who moves in there just so I can ask him why the hell he didn't just live in a one-bedroom for that amount of money. Even worse are the posts that seriously exaggerate neighborhood. Adams Morgan is based around 18th Street NW, north of U Street. So don't tell me that your apartment is in Adams Morgan if it's over on 14th Street! The mislabeling of neighborhoods really infuriates me for some reason. Maybe because it's so stupid. You got me to look at your post because you promised me a Dupont location, but I'm not suddenly going to live there when I see that it's nowhere near Dupont. "Well, I know that 16th and Harvard is a 30-40 minute walk to Dupont Circle, but if this craigslist poster says it's Dupont, then I'm interested!!!" Let people in the Casual Encounters section lie about the details. At least there you might get to a point where backing out is awkward. But if you're going to refer to something way north of U Street as "Upper Logan," you're not fooling anyone.
But craigslist found a great apartment for me in the past so I'm not giving up. I actually went to see my first place on Saturday. It was at M and 4th Streets NW. (Go ahead DC-ites, gasp in disbelief.) I know it's a bit out there, but it was a one-bedroom at a decent price so I felt like I had to check it out. It was perfectly nice, but it was rather small and there were three boarded up houses on the same block. I can give a little on either location or quality, but if I'm settling on both, I'm not getting the kind of deal I'm looking for. So my search continues.
If you hear of anything good in terms of one- or even two-bedroom apartments, PLEASE let me know. Ideally I'd like to live somewhere south of U, east of 17th St, and west of 9th, but I'm definitely open to stuff off the beaten path. I felt so lucky when I found my current place. I'd like to get lucky again. (See how I brought that back around to one of the topics I wasn't going to discuss?)
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Quote of the Week - 04/30/07
"Podria darme la medicina para matar todos los bichos en mi cuerpo porfa?" - my friend Maya joking (?) about her attempt to ask the pharmacist in Costa Rica for a "parasite cycle."
Dream on.
I just woke up from a dream where Freedman and my mom and I were on this teeny plane. It was 1 and 1 and it was a nasty day and my mom was freaking out. The plane had a weird guard rail on both sides and was painted red. I'm not sure where we were going, but it was supposed to be a short flight. The problem is that the plane kept taking off and landing right away because the flight attendant wasn't sure it was safe to fly. One time we even landed in the water (but never had a problem taking off again). Then the flight attendant (I think she was dating Freedman) made us land again and wanted Freedman to work out a series of equations to make sure that it was safe to fly. The pilot wasn't present at all in any discussions. A subpart of this dream involved me examining the pillow given to me on board. I'm already losing the dream but I think I was trying to decide whether or not I could resell it. It was weird.
That dream came after another dream where I was trying to ride a dog (not sexually). Like, a bunch of people were all riding these dogs much like one rides a horse (not sexually) and I had a dog I was trying to ride. Problem was that my dog seemed a bit nuts (and was royal blue in color) and I kept running after it yelling its name, which fittingly enough was "Blue." Anyway, Blue bit my hand because it was not pleased that I was trying to ride him. I only managed to get up on him one time, but that's when he turned around and bit me and I fell off. Also, I was trying to ride him in traffic. New Jerseyans, I felt like I was on Rt. 46 or maybe Rt. 17. Later in that same dream someone mentioned alpacas and I thought to myself that maybe I should've been trying to ride an alpaca and not a dog. In the dream it sort of struck me like I'd made this huge, obvious mistake. It was weird.
That dream came after another dream where I was trying to ride a dog (not sexually). Like, a bunch of people were all riding these dogs much like one rides a horse (not sexually) and I had a dog I was trying to ride. Problem was that my dog seemed a bit nuts (and was royal blue in color) and I kept running after it yelling its name, which fittingly enough was "Blue." Anyway, Blue bit my hand because it was not pleased that I was trying to ride him. I only managed to get up on him one time, but that's when he turned around and bit me and I fell off. Also, I was trying to ride him in traffic. New Jerseyans, I felt like I was on Rt. 46 or maybe Rt. 17. Later in that same dream someone mentioned alpacas and I thought to myself that maybe I should've been trying to ride an alpaca and not a dog. In the dream it sort of struck me like I'd made this huge, obvious mistake. It was weird.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
I belong.
The other night, I participated in a marketing event/dinner/thing for a new development here in the District. A friend of a friend was looking for "young professionals" in DC so I was recommended and invited to Indeblu for a night of free food and drink, and of course, some focus groupy discussion. Needless to say, they had me at "free food."
First off, for a DC focus group, the table was missing a pretty key element: WHERE WERE ALL THE BLACK PEOPLE? Indeed, for a second, I thought I was at a Boston area focus group because I was surrounded by a bunch of white dudes, a handful of white chicks, and three Asian women. I've been to Klan meetings with more diversity. (Ok, no. I've never been to a Klan meeting. Nor would I want to.) So we sat down around this big table, food was brought out, and, as a video camera captured our every move (and, I'm sure, the unfortunate zit on the right side of my nose that was angled DIRECTLY at the camera), we were instructed by the head of this shindig (let's call him Fearless Leader) to go around the room and introduce ourselves.
As we went around, I realized that the entire marketing team (5 people, I think) is in from NYC. I stupidly assumed that they were DC-ites, but I guess that was naïve of me. As I let this sink in, I came to the realization that they were not ready for what was about to happen. I think I was correct. From the very beginning, Fearless Leader kept having to interrupt us to get back on track. Why? Because DC-ers love nothing more that to whine about their city. The biggest re-tracking occurred after our discussion turned to the de facto segregation of the District (a convo that, I promise, I did not start). We also talked about crime, boxy buildings, and tourists. This was clearly not where Fearless Leader wanted us to go. Also funny was that he kept using the term "Downtown" as if it meant anything in DC. When asked to define "downtown" we all looked around blankly for a sec until someone said, "Well, isn't that the combination of, like, Metro Center and Gallery Place/Chinatown?" The concept of identifying neighborhood by metro stop was something the New Yorkers had difficulty comprehending. I also don't think they understood why we were all much more interested in what people did for a living than where they lived in the city. Silly New Yorkers.
The next step involved breaking into groups and writing on chart paper. After I reverentially took the chart paper in my hands and mentioned, natch, that I was a former educator, I was immediately volunteered to do the writing. I'm certain that the marketing folks were psyched when we suggested unattractive outer buildings to dissuade tourists, no chain eateries (one girl was particularly at odds with Legal Seafood), and a serious limit on things that might be considered child-friendly. There was also a series of pictures that we were asked to respond to, which I did by writing on them in magic marker. My two favorites were the Xs I drew over the faces of children on a jungle gym and the words "NO MORE FREAKIN' MONUMENTS" written over a particularly statuesque fountain.
Still, the best part of the evening came at the end. A bunch of the marketers (but not Fearless Leader) wanted to go out for more food and drinks so, of course, I obliged. The only other DCer (a neat lobbyist named Emily) and I took them down to Jaleo. Once there, there were more conversations about DC and jobs and whatnot. Before you know it, Emily and I, sitting diagonally across the table from one another, start talking about politics. We were so into our conversation that I actually didn't notice that the bill had been paid and one of the women had stood up and was making her way toward the door. Another was stifling yawns. Once we got outside, probably because Emily and I were still deconstructing Barack's performance at the debate last week, two of the marketers actually seemed to be running away from us. They barely turned around to say goodnight.
Afterward, I was standing on the street with Emily and the last of the New Yorkers (my friend's friend who hooked me up with this gig, David) and we just had to laugh. Truth is, this is what happens when DC-ers get together. Not exclusively or all the time, but definitely more often than not. We like to bitch about our city, not because we don't like living here (I think most of us do) but because I think we're all a little bitter. It's such an ambitious town that everyone, deep down, sort of wants to be President of the United States. The fact that none of us are the President probably provides the drive to discuss politics and other government-related things -- not to mention just enough bitterness to cause each of us to occasionally turn into our very own version of Furious Commuter.
I guess we don't see the average New Yorker's need to babble on and on about how AWESOME our neighborhood is. And that, I think, was what the New Yorkers were after. They consistently asked about where we lived and what we thought of it. The best someone came up with about their 'hood was that they don't let female friends walk around alone there late at night. I live in Dupont. It's all about older gay men and baby strollers. Big whoop. I rather get someone else's opinion on the the debate or talk about someone's work at the State Department or even hear about FCC filings.
I think last nightI realized that I fit in here. And that feels nice...particularly because I'm starting a new job here in two and a half weeks.
First off, for a DC focus group, the table was missing a pretty key element: WHERE WERE ALL THE BLACK PEOPLE? Indeed, for a second, I thought I was at a Boston area focus group because I was surrounded by a bunch of white dudes, a handful of white chicks, and three Asian women. I've been to Klan meetings with more diversity. (Ok, no. I've never been to a Klan meeting. Nor would I want to.) So we sat down around this big table, food was brought out, and, as a video camera captured our every move (and, I'm sure, the unfortunate zit on the right side of my nose that was angled DIRECTLY at the camera), we were instructed by the head of this shindig (let's call him Fearless Leader) to go around the room and introduce ourselves.
As we went around, I realized that the entire marketing team (5 people, I think) is in from NYC. I stupidly assumed that they were DC-ites, but I guess that was naïve of me. As I let this sink in, I came to the realization that they were not ready for what was about to happen. I think I was correct. From the very beginning, Fearless Leader kept having to interrupt us to get back on track. Why? Because DC-ers love nothing more that to whine about their city. The biggest re-tracking occurred after our discussion turned to the de facto segregation of the District (a convo that, I promise, I did not start). We also talked about crime, boxy buildings, and tourists. This was clearly not where Fearless Leader wanted us to go. Also funny was that he kept using the term "Downtown" as if it meant anything in DC. When asked to define "downtown" we all looked around blankly for a sec until someone said, "Well, isn't that the combination of, like, Metro Center and Gallery Place/Chinatown?" The concept of identifying neighborhood by metro stop was something the New Yorkers had difficulty comprehending. I also don't think they understood why we were all much more interested in what people did for a living than where they lived in the city. Silly New Yorkers.
The next step involved breaking into groups and writing on chart paper. After I reverentially took the chart paper in my hands and mentioned, natch, that I was a former educator, I was immediately volunteered to do the writing. I'm certain that the marketing folks were psyched when we suggested unattractive outer buildings to dissuade tourists, no chain eateries (one girl was particularly at odds with Legal Seafood), and a serious limit on things that might be considered child-friendly. There was also a series of pictures that we were asked to respond to, which I did by writing on them in magic marker. My two favorites were the Xs I drew over the faces of children on a jungle gym and the words "NO MORE FREAKIN' MONUMENTS" written over a particularly statuesque fountain.
Still, the best part of the evening came at the end. A bunch of the marketers (but not Fearless Leader) wanted to go out for more food and drinks so, of course, I obliged. The only other DCer (a neat lobbyist named Emily) and I took them down to Jaleo. Once there, there were more conversations about DC and jobs and whatnot. Before you know it, Emily and I, sitting diagonally across the table from one another, start talking about politics. We were so into our conversation that I actually didn't notice that the bill had been paid and one of the women had stood up and was making her way toward the door. Another was stifling yawns. Once we got outside, probably because Emily and I were still deconstructing Barack's performance at the debate last week, two of the marketers actually seemed to be running away from us. They barely turned around to say goodnight.
Afterward, I was standing on the street with Emily and the last of the New Yorkers (my friend's friend who hooked me up with this gig, David) and we just had to laugh. Truth is, this is what happens when DC-ers get together. Not exclusively or all the time, but definitely more often than not. We like to bitch about our city, not because we don't like living here (I think most of us do) but because I think we're all a little bitter. It's such an ambitious town that everyone, deep down, sort of wants to be President of the United States. The fact that none of us are the President probably provides the drive to discuss politics and other government-related things -- not to mention just enough bitterness to cause each of us to occasionally turn into our very own version of Furious Commuter.
I guess we don't see the average New Yorker's need to babble on and on about how AWESOME our neighborhood is. And that, I think, was what the New Yorkers were after. They consistently asked about where we lived and what we thought of it. The best someone came up with about their 'hood was that they don't let female friends walk around alone there late at night. I live in Dupont. It's all about older gay men and baby strollers. Big whoop. I rather get someone else's opinion on the the debate or talk about someone's work at the State Department or even hear about FCC filings.
I think last nightI realized that I fit in here. And that feels nice...particularly because I'm starting a new job here in two and a half weeks.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Happy Law Day!
36 U.S.C. § 113:
It's a shame that once the U.S. stopped being so freaked out by Communism, we stopped caring about Law Day. I join the Times in calling for it to return to our national consciousness. Perhaps if the public is reminded of the law (beyond the day-to-day traffic infractions and medical malpractice lawsuits), they'll start getting mad about how the current administration has been pissing all over it for the last six years.
HAPPY LAW DAY, EVERYONE!!!
(a) Designation. — May 1 is Law Day, U.S.A.Law Day was established by President Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1958 as a counterpoint to the socialist May Day celebrations. As the New York Times tells us in a great editorial today (yes, yes, I'm well aware that it seems like I only read the Times), it was quite the big deal back in the day:
(b) Purpose. — Law Day, U.S.A., is a special day of celebration by the people of the United States—
(1) in appreciation of their liberties and the reaffirmation of their loyalty to the United States and of their rededication to the ideals of equality and justice under law in their relations with each other and with other countries; and
(2) for the cultivation of the respect for law that is so vital to the democratic way of life.
(c) Proclamation.— The President is requested to issue a proclamation—
(1) calling on all public officials to display the flag of the United States on all Government buildings on Law Day, U.S.A.; and
(2) inviting the people of the United States to observe Law Day, U.S.A., with appropriate ceremonies and in other appropriate ways, through public entities and private organizations and in schools and other suitable places.
Law Day proved to be a boon to international law, which was seen during the cold war as a check on communism. In his proclamation creating the holiday, Eisenhower emphasized law’s role “in the settlement of international disputes.” On Law Day 1959, Senator Prescott Bush of Connecticut, grandfather of the current president, urged, remarkably, that international conflicts be settled by the World Court.("Senator Prescott Bush of Connecticut." Wow. W is so good at making me forget he's a mid-Atlantic snob like yours truly. Or is Connecticut considered New England? Hmm...I think it might be New England. Either way, you get the point: You ain't a Texan if you were born in New Haven.)
It's a shame that once the U.S. stopped being so freaked out by Communism, we stopped caring about Law Day. I join the Times in calling for it to return to our national consciousness. Perhaps if the public is reminded of the law (beyond the day-to-day traffic infractions and medical malpractice lawsuits), they'll start getting mad about how the current administration has been pissing all over it for the last six years.
HAPPY LAW DAY, EVERYONE!!!
Quote of the Week - 04/23/07
"There can be no equal justice where the kind of trial a man gets depends on the amount of money he has." - Justice Hugo Black
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