It Was the Worst of Times; It Was the Best of Times

When I was in 4th grade, and an innocent, some girl with fat sausage curls declared at the lunch table that her mother said the world was going to end in the year 2000. This was before the hype about Y2K and I was already worrying. I did the math and realized I would only 16. My life would only be half lived. I wouldn't get to do anything I wanted because the world was ending. And from that day on I hated New Year's because with every one we were inching forward to the End of the World. Of course when I got older I realized what a ridiculous mother that girl had, what idiot thinks there will be a specific date when everything poofs out, as though the world just couldn't handle coming to an arbitrary date like 2000 and imploded. What a megalomanic idea. What if we were following the Islamic calendar, or the Hebrew one? We'd be goners years ago.
Anyway, I've gotten over my fear of the world ending, but I still don't like New Year's all that much. It seems so sad to see the years pass, and who wants to celebrate it going out with a big drunken party? It doesn't seem like a great way to start a new year. I think the new year should slip out on the dawn, silently, and shining. But, since I can't have my way I've gotten used to it, and I'm even going up to New York this year, not to Times Square, however. That would be a nightmare I don't want. And I've adjusted to the idea that the old year is passing, and change is a good thing. We'll have a new president by the end of next year, and I'll be 25, even more grown up! I'll start grad school, maybe in a new country. Who knows what exciting things could happen.
2007 was an important year for me as well. It's funny how it's gone so full circle. Last year, on January 1, I was making my way up to New York to start a new phase of my life. With my big bags and my new coat I said goodbye to my close friends and sister and got on that bus. Now, at the end of the year I am back here, and going to be getting on a bus on January 1 to come back home. I like that circle.
This year I also started my first real job, realized I wanted to go to graduate school and teach, interned for Robert DeNiro's production company, worked in TV and made some great friends. I started relationships and ended them, became closer with some of my friends and watched as others moved away. I'm so grateful to have my friends around. They make life so much more fun. I can't imagine this time in my life without them. I'm excited to see what will come because of how much I have enjoyed what has passed. I feel as though things can only get better, even the hard things will be exciting because they are all part of this new passage in my life.

List of Videos

These are just a few of my favorite videos lately. Since I don't get to watch videos at work I kirk out on them at home. They go from funny, pretty, and cute to a little melancholic but beautiful.

Kings of Convienence- I'd Rather Dance With You
This video is hilarious and sweet.


Belle & Sebastian- I'm A Cuckoo
Running is actually Stuart Murdoch's hobby, so I like that the video seems like a little, crazy snip of his life.


Kings of Convienence- Failure
One of my favorite songs, and a pretty video.


The Smiths- Bigmouth
Not exactly a music video, but a funny example of young Morrissey in concert. And a good song.


The Smiths- This Charming Man
Another example of young Morrissey, this time in an early, low budget music video. I can just imagaine watching this back in 1985 and thinking he was super cool.


Feist- Secret Heart
This reminds me of seeing Fiest for the first time, and I just think this song is so sad but pretty.


Feist- I Feel It All
Played on a bus and she still makes it very cool.


Iron & Wine- Naked As We Came
I think this video perfectly reflects the music. Lush but calm, beautiful but on the edge of decay.


Ray Lamontagne- Jolene
Not the Dolly Parton song, but emotional in a sparse sort of way.


So I'd like to see what your favorite videos are. Make me a list! Or, here's an idea, go through your itunes and whatever is most popular find a video for it and post it. That will yield some interesting results.

Gonzo Living

I've learned two things about myself today: One is that I can no longer go out and get drunk and show up at work the next day as though nothing had happened. I went to McCormick's last night to drink a shot in memory of Pletch and all my friends came too. Drinking seemed to make things better, so I kept doing it. I stumbled into bed at a reasonable hour and my dreams were full of more friends joining me at the bar. I woke up in time for work and got here early, but was still a little drunk. It is an uncomfortable thing to realize you are still drunk as you stumble up to a gaurded entrance into a military zone. And I don't think my lack of balance has to do with my shoes. It's going to be a difficult work environment, because although I have lost this ability at 24 I will probably not lose the habit until much later.

The second thing I learned today is that I'm really quite jealous of Hunter S. Thompson, who despite everything still managed to get writing done. Granted, he did have an assistant who babied him until his fingers were on the typewriter, but the copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in his body didn't seem to prevent too much. And I'm also jealous of that crazed, lifestyle, uninhibited by social convention or 9-5 jobs. I want to get out of these jobs too. I don't like the idea that I can't get drunk the night before if I want to.

Pletcher Forever

A friend of my ex-boyfriend's just died. I knew him only through Mike, and yet he still touched my life. Life with Pletch in it was a more exciting place. The way he lived was reckless, and dangerous, but fun and carefree. He was like a younger version of Hunter S. Thompson, minus the writing. When I first heard of him, I didn't know how such a person could exist, outside of a work of fiction. He seemed to deny all rational explanation. That night he showed up at Mike's 21st birthday, driving from Hagerstown, drinking all the way.

He carried firecrackers wherever he went and his jeep was filled with gun parts and bullets.

He once couldn't find parking at a bar so he parked across the street in a car dealership, and just happened to have a For Sale sign in his car that he placed on the windshield.

For Mullinex's going away present, when she was leaving Shepherdstown for grad school, he gave her a gun clip. We joked that she was going to keep it until he came busting through her window, dangling from a helicopter and demanding ammunition. Then he would swing back out, guns blazing.

Later that day he was captain of our pick-up rugby game, and we all did shots of whiskey to fortify ourselves during half time. When I told him our victory was due to his daring leadership skills he denied it, saying it was a team victory.

He shot himself December 23, the result of a drunken accident having to do with his friends taking his car keys away from him. He was 23.

Pletch was insane, and wild and funny, but I also got the sense that he could be kind and sweet. His girlfriend certainly put up with a lot, so there must have been something besides a fascination with guns and a high tolerance for alcohol. He was a crazy kid that should still be here with us. He should be telling stories about his antics to the future children of his friends, and boasting about his college years, without fading at all. To think that Pletch and all of his exuberance for living a crazy life, should be gone, and with it, those exciting moments, makes me incredibly sad. Even though I only met him a few times, the loss of his vibrance makes the world as gray and dreary as the view from my window today. I wish he had gone out with his guns blazing, I hope he did not go gentle into that good night, just as I'm sure his friends are raging against the dying of the light. Goodnight, Pletch.

Christmastime is Here

After work on Friday I went to the Mall and did my Christmas shopping. 2 1/2 hours, bitch! I got my friend's wedding present and a cute velvet jacket for the wedding at BR for $41.99 as well as all my remaining presents in 2 1/2 hours. Did you hear that? Must be a new record. I just like to brag. Then I met up with Chris Nixon to see Juno. Loved it. Liked it so much I saw it again the next night with Julia and Ariel.
And then I hung out with my favorite ginger-haired English major visiting from Boston.
Christmas eve was spent with my family eating Chinese and watching the Golden Compass. Fun family gifts all around. Including photos of our impending presents from my dad and a nice colorful clamshell of a laptop for Julia. I think we should set up a museum for it.
Christmas today I got some money for Berlin, Our Dumb World by the Onion from Julia, a Pudgey Pig battery operated wiggly pig from Joong Chal. Minus the batteries. That new book from the guy who wrote the Kite Runner, and I guess I forgot the rest. Some mushy vegetables and roast beef with Asians, a Harry Potter movie and some family time around the Gilmore Girls and Christmas is over for the year.

Scrooge'd

It's the day before the Christmas break, here at my first real job. It's kind of funny when things like snow days and short days break up the monotony of the regular schedule. People congregate by cubicles talking about what they're buying, or baking, or doing. Jokes are called out over the walls and work is slowed down.

I'm still trying to get last minute things done before we leave for the day at one and it struck me, as I brought some work over to the head designer and she and my boss stopped their conversation about Christmas dinner, that I am reminding myself of those mid-eighties comedies where the young go-getter doesn't take a break for the work place festivities, only to learn a lesson the hard way come Christmas night. I print off the work, highlight what needs to be done and expect it in on time, then head back to my desk to answer emails (fortunately, not on those black screens with the blocky green text, like I always see in these movies.) Maybe I'll be played by a young Michael J. Fox, or a Phoebe Cates, if it's a girl's movie. My mother will be played by Dianne Wiest. I can see myself now, swept away by a tide of red and green sweatered shoppers while I'm trying to get my last minute gifts, because I was working too hard. I'll have to climb over them in a mad panic and my trench coat will be knotted around me. I'll be swinging bags full of gifts like makeshift weapons.

Man, I need to stop watching AMC's holiday movie line up.

The Morning Sun Is Shining Like A Red, Rubber Ball...

Today is a day for writing. I could feel it as soon as I got on the bus and saw my fellow bus riders. One was a man with a white beard and tangled hair over his shoulders tinged with yellow like dirty snow, wearing a Santa hat but looking like his spare time was spent on a Harley. Across from him were three old ladies, cooing and chatting while they handed each other things from their bags. Dressed all alike but with different caps they looked like old maiden triplets. One strained forward as she carefully applied rosy lipstick. I smiled and knew good things would come of this day.

Right now I'm a little swamped under taking care of loose ends at work, but as soon as that is done I will get down to the real business of the day...

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

As my friend the Designer said, in a moment of particular kindness, 'For someone so smart you sure can be dumb.' Despite the obvious insult I have to agree. Otherwise I wouldn't have stayed out until 12:30 with Mark, knowing I had only gotten four hours of sleep Monday night and had to get up early this morning too, seriously depleting my already low level of sleep even further. I make bad calls in judgement constantly, partially because I can't say no, and partially because I hate to think I'm growing up and turning into a person who can't have fun when she wants because she has to go to a job she doesn't really care about anyway.

I'm incapable of turning down an opportunity that might present a moment of hilarity, answers, or experience. If someone said to me, 'Hey, do you want to go live for a week in a crack house?' I'd think, 'Can I bring my notebook to record this experience?' My sister knows this, and uses it to her advantage, but feels the same way. That's why we drove my dad's car up to New York one weeknight to see World Inferno Friendship Society at the Knitting Factory and then drove home, arriving back at five a.m. so I could take one of my finals and she could take the PSAT in science (which she rocked, by the way). Oh, did I mention that she was sixteen then?

It's why I will always hang out with the locals when I travel, take a train to another country on a moment's notice, give my heart away when I know I shouldn't, think that heartbreak isn't completely bad, travel, take back roads whenever possible, talk to anybody worth talking to at a bar, become their instantaneous best friend, and never get to work on time. Not only do I think life is too short to worry about sleep and a job I don't love, but I'm insanely curious about the things others are doing, why they're doing it and what they've learned from the experience. What started out as the inability to say no has turned into the ability to learn and experience things that others might not, which I'm certain will influence my writing and my life.

It's The Little Things

Maybe it was just the early hour, or the four hours of sleep I got last night. Maybe it was just that I fell off the tightrope that one walks on while living at home, this morning (and several mornings lately), but my mom and I got into another argument. Not a fight, I don't have any black eyes this time, and there was no yelling or anger, but it was still ridiculous. Why? Because it was over a pen. And the fact that someone had apparently, blatantly, and without regard to the niceties of civilization, stolen said pen from the visor of my brother's truck. It seems that back in July, when my brother was home, he left that pen and wanted to keep it, so my mom has been keeping it safe for his return, by sticking it in the visor. The best place possible for keeping safe our sentimental mementos. And now the pen was missing and it was an affront to her, because this was her car and someone had stolen something from it.

I pointed out that, in fact, it was my brother's car. I mentioned that someone might have needed to use it and forgotten to put it back (I did not point out that it might have been her, or that by accusing someone of borrowing and then forgetting something she is calling the pot black, when she, the kettle, is blacker than a night in Hell). I suggested that maybe it had fallen out and she would find it when she got out. I defended my own innocence. And then I told her that I thought her argument was just stupid, and that it was just a pen that could be easily replaced, and it's dumb to be that sentimental over a pen that my brother probably forgot he ever wanted. And then, the real issue came out but fortunately, we were at the bus stop and I could get out. I shut the door and rolled my eyes just like I had when I was a teenager and she was dropping me off at school.

Living at home has advantages, but I'm slowly realizing that the disadvantages are big ones. I've always gotten along well with my family, even when I was a grumpy, crotchety teenagerthe dramatic screaming matches and slammed doors were few. But now that I'm an adult the things that I dislike aren't just childish rebellions but actual differences and therefore harder to ignore. I'm no longer thinking "Ohhhh, when I grow up I'm gonna do it so different!" I'm thinking something more along the lines of, "That doesn't make sense, why would she do it that way? This way is obviously better. Well, it is her house. I can't say much." It's getting time to move out. I know this, and yet I don't want to just yet, because I'll be leaving for grad school soon enough and leaving my friends and family for new shores. But on mornings like today, when I get griped at for never taking out the trash, but no credit for doing the dishes like she's always complaining about I really, really can't wait.

You Know What Assuming Does...

--No, what?
--It, uh, makes you look like, uh... a fool.

Mad props to my friend, Jason, for setting me er, straight.
Keep it up. And thank you for the present. You're the best new friend ever.

And to The Pea for my cultural enlightenment about Scandinavian bazaars, or bizarres, and St. Lucia celebrations. You haven't lived until you've heard the Swedish version of "I'm Dreaming of A White Christmas".

We're SO Much Cooler Than You!

I'm hanging with my sister and her friends tonight. We spent the last twenty minutes playing 20 questions and now we're watching BioDome while stringing popcorn. Isn't this what the Christmas spirit's all about?

Battle Hymns

I was reading about The Grapes of Wrath on Wikipedia today. It's one of my favorite novels and I'm using it as a source in my paper (which I really should be spending every minute on, as it's due on Wednesday) so I was doing a little research. I came across an explanation of the name, it's from this song, the Battle Hymn of the Republic, which was made famous in the Civil War. Anyway, it's very easy to get this song stuck in your head if you've heard it once, and I was wandering around my office trying to find the motivation to slog on with my paper, when this version popped in. So, taking advantage of creativity where and when it pops up, I made my own version instead of continuing on with the paper, even though I'm so close to being finished and then I will be done with this class forever. But, in memory of the years spent finishing up papers and studying for tests while anticipating the holidays to come, here it is:

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the freedom of my days:
I am churning out the papers where those grades of mine are stored;
I have loosed the fateful lightning of my "powerful" lit. brain:
My paper’s marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
My paper’s marching on.

I have seen my freedom in the coming of the holidays,
We will celebrate mightly the end of tests and essays;
I can read whatever I want and watch mindless movies:
The day is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah !
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
My day is marching on.

Foggy Days

On a foggy, cool winter day in Washington like today, I want nothing more than to wake up with my room dark, light making the clouds pearly white, the roads wet and gleaming. The trees stained dark by the mist and standing out against the woolen sky, the lace of their branches the only decoration for the day. I want to drink a cup of tea and wear my old professor sweater (which the Pea still has) and gray socks. Then I want to ride the metro in the late morning, when everyone else has gone to work and I am alone, imagining the world as it might have been before I arrived. And walk along the soggy Mall until I get to the Hirshhorn, my favorite of DC art museums. Wandering around the art feeling like I'm with old friends. I remember discovering Calder for the first time in high school and the happiness his whimsical kinetic circus figurines brought. Picasso and his cubism, Lucien Freud and his beautifully ugly human bodies, David Smith and the way his rusted farm implement sculptures remind me of a William Carlos Williams poem. Then I would home and watch a favorite movie, or read a favorite book, with a cup of tea.

From my office window the skyline of the city is growing fainter, as though it is disappearing from the photograph, and the fog comes in 'on little cat feet.' Foggy days fill me with longing and anticipation. It's as though magic could happen in the shroud provided by the fog, and fairies might come out of the trees on days like this- so full of mist and mystery. I remember when I was younger and we were homeschooled, these sorts of days were saved for field trips that really did involve fields. They remind me of what it was like to be a child and be freed from the tyranny of classrooms for the holidays and explorations. Today is chilly enough to put roses in your cheeks but not so cold as to keep you from being outdoors. I don't like sitting in an office when the world is transformed by magic. I almost made a run for it and didn't go in, when I got on the shuttle that took me to work. It's hard having a job that you must go to everyday when things like foggy cities and art museums are calling out to you.

When I have children I will take them out of school on these sort of days and make sure that magic happens in the museums of natural history, or among the trees of the park.

Keep it up, Keep going, You can do it. (Higher Achievement chant)

Last night revived my spirits, in a way. Higher Achievement, where I mentor in 8th grade literature, has been difficult lately. My three scholars have been driving me crazy. They're all pretty good kids, but two of them banter and chatter so much I want to knock their heads together. One is so loquacious (her own word) I fear we'll spend the entire session talking about whatever pops into her head if I don't stop her. I feel a little bad because I'd like to get to know her better and let her chatter away, but I need to get her to stop and focus. Sometimes I wonder if she rambles so much because she's trying to avoid getting to the work. The only boy in the group can be great, when he puts his mind to it, or when I push him for more substantial answers. His most common response is 'I don't know,' with a wide eyed expression, like I'm about to start accusing him. I can see that clearly he does, he's just afraid of being wrong and embarassing himself. I remember that feeling too. The third, another girl, never seems to want to be there. She makes the others giggle or groan at her farts and burps. The first session she was great, but since then she's made it her role to let me know she doesn't want to be here. Two weeks ago I told her off, sounding exactly like my own teachers. It was a sad day. Last week I gave all three of them checks, for not listening to me. It's weird being in charge of these kids because sometimes I feel like I remember that time so well, and others I realize how long ago that was, and what I must seem like now.

This week, however, was so much better. The troublemaking girl wasn't there today and I breathed a sigh of relief while feeling slightly guilty. A new girl joined our group and it was a nice, new dynamic. We read about Anne Frank and Zlata's Diary. They were engaged in the diaries and for once, in what we were discussing. I was so happy. I was in my element, talking about WW2 and the Bosnian war. It came as a little shock to realize these kids were born in 1994! I was in 5th grade and the Bosnian war was over, or just about over. 1994!

Higher Achievement is a great organization. I really think everything they do is beneficial and I want to continue working with them for as long as I can. I like my scholars and I like the other mentors. But I was really struggling in the past few weeks, wondering why I thought I could teach anyone anything, if they didn't already want to learn. Today I went to the website and was filling in my lesson checklist, showing what the scholars had covered and mastered, and then I went and looked at some of their links. Here's a couple I found that helped revive my spirit and ambition:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/11/30/AR2005113000704.html

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/02/13/AR2007021301170.html

A couple kids from our center, Ward 7, are mentioned and I got so excited, reading about them.

GRR.

My boss annoys me so much that just now, after he had corrected me once again for my mistakes, I was thinking 'grrrrrr' so much it's how I started to sign in: geredyth.
He's just so set in his ways that when I stray a little he gets nervous and his back hunches even more than usual. It's not that he's mean, he's just difficult. And he's old. It makes him grumpy and stodgy. He's been doing this job for 18 years and I've only been doing it for three months, so is it any surprise that I make mistakes?

Then there's the stuff that he thinks I should know though no one's told me, or the things that he changes but sincerely believes he's always been doing that way. He doesn't listen when I try to explain my method. I'm the type of person who does things in a unconventional way because it solves the problem, not because it's the most practical way. His life is based on sense and practicality.

I've worked under a boss like this before, and while I'm sure my current boss can hold his temper better than Verne, the previous one, he doesn't listen like Verne, or want the best for me. Verne was like a second father; in fact, his advice was probably more practical than my own father's, who tends to be as much of an idealist as myself. I knew that no matter what I did I would be forgiven. I might be fired, but I'd still be forgiven (in fact, there were a few times where the only reasons why I kept my job was because he was my mother's friend, and because the previous girls who held my job were somehow even stupider). My current boss would probably just shake his head and wonder why I couldn't follow his exacting methods of paper pushing to get the job done. And then not listen to me as I stumble through another convoluted explanation of why I did it the way I did.

I can already see that he's going to be the thorn that will eventually make my exit so sweet. I'm just hoping we can both hold on and compromise until next fall.

Those Were the Days

Sometimes I wonder if I randomly meet people or if it's all part of some bizarre interconnected web. I've six degreed people from all over the country. Meeting the cousin of a former classmate in New York, working with the former roommate and good friend of my sister's boyfriend, having two of my friends meet at a party in New York and coincidentally realizing they know me, are just some of my examples. Yesterday I was waiting for my train in Rosslyn when someone I knew got off.

Benita Keller was my very intimidating photojournalism professor at Shepherd University my freshman year. Her wild woman artist mood swings left me a little tongue tied and feeling bourgeois. Her trailer, behind the art center, was always hot and furnished with thrift shop couches that you sank into, making it very difficult not to fall asleep as we discussed images and places to find a good picture. I went to Cuba with her and my classmates over spring break and it remains one of the most exciting things I've ever done, with memories that only leave me wanting more. We had a saying there, 'if you can't afford film and food both, buy film. If you can't afford film and rum both, buy rum,' meaning, do anything you can to get the picture, except sacrificing a good time. I danced under the feet of Christ on an island with friends I had just made, speaking Spanglish and sign language. They taught me how to salsa that afternoon, in the dirt floor one room shack while drinking beer from down the street. I got drunk with my classmates in a pool by the ocean, when we found out we were invading Iraq. I took some of the best pictures I've ever taken, and then I quit.

Seeing Benita get off that train, with her crazy cat eyed glasses, white knit cap and black curly hair, made me remember for a minute that girl who was passionate about photojournalism and traveling the world. Who wanted to explore and do something adventurous to feel alive. But it also made me remember that once I attempted that dream I realized I didn't like invading people's lives, while hiding behind my lens and journalist's objectivity. I'm not objective, I'm bad at making rational decisions. That's why I'm good at writing commentary and opinion pieces, asking people questions and crying at commercials. Telling human stories is something I think is incredibly important, but doing it by (possibly!) exploiting the tragedies of people poorer than me is not something I can do, nor can I handle the constant heartache of such a job. Maybe because I was more fascinated by the stories I couldn't capture with my camera, the histories and subtleties, that can't be seen in the developing fluids. I wanted to tell them with my words, and tell fictional ones, ones where I create and get to control the chaos and tragedy. And I also remembered how much I hated the darkroom.

We're Not in Kansas Anymore, Toto. We're in the Military!

One thing I've had to get used to working as a contractor for a military agency is the profusion of insider lingo. And I'm not just talking about the acronyms, although they're crazy about them. I'm talking about the different world of how things run in the military, and how they talk. All the insider jokes that I just don't get because I'm an outsider. It's a bit like not getting British humor, except the jokes are lame.
I've made numerous mistakes because we work with a couple different branches of the military, and their ranks all sound the same but they mean different things, and they're even written in different ways! For example, a Colonel that is written "Col" means he's in the Air Force, but "COL" means he's in the Army. As my boss says, 'the Army lives in capitals'. But I have no idea why.

And today, when I went to the bathroom I was strolling down the hall with my hands in my pockets when this man says 'You must be in the Air Force!' 'why?' I ask, confused. 'Because you're wearing Air Force gloves!' he says. 'But I'm not wearing any gloves.' I pull my hands out of my pockets to show him. 'I know! Your hands in your pockets are Air Force gloves!' He chuckles. I have no idea what this means. Why would hands in pockets signify anything? His badge had a lanyard that said U.S. Navy, so is this a little dig at the Air Force from a Navy guy? I asked my boss and he said it's because it's considered poor form to walk around with your hands in your pockets. Now where did that come from? And who cares? I'm not in the military, so why shouldn't I walk around with my hands in my pockets? It's not like I'm burning a flag, or not supporting my troops or something.

We Like to Party! We Like to Party! We Like to Party, Party, Party!

As The Designer says, "White people throw the best parties!" We sure do! Why, just look at our Friday night at Brent's house!

First Matt and Brent made some music, while Aja looked on:

Then Brent decided to try and make a shirt skirt too, just like Aja's! It's harder than it looks.

He sure can dance! And this was before we even finished the first bottle of wine.

Aja's no slouch either! Look at her knit!

Then we made Matt watch optical illusions! Which way does the lady turn for you? Don't tax your brain too much! It's a real doozy.

Still knitting!

After all this fun we were tired, so we took a nap.

What a night!

Oh, Damn You, Dame Judi!

I just finished watching this movie, Iris, at work (It's quite nice to be able to watch movies at work). Kate Winslet and Judi Dench are very very good in it. Kate Winslet's joie de vivre is infectuous, I feel it in all of her work. Dame Judi Dench plays the vulnerability of losing one's mind to Alzheimer's so well. I think generally she's a very tough, sharp actress, amazing but formidable. Here she is tough and intelligent in the first half of the movie, but lost and alone towards the end. Always amazing.

Anyway, I didn't intend on writing a review of the film, I wanted to comment on how, when I see really great films, and actors working on something that you can see the love of their job and the creativity involved in the job, I get jealous. To watch Kate Winslet revel in the joy of words and emotions as Iris Murdoch, I wanted to steal her body, or just a little of her soul for a while. I want to experience the fulfilment of her creative drive that the movie so obviously brings her. I feel like I never find time to do the writing I want, to the extent that I want. And with that outpouring, I'm going to shut up and get to it. Nothing like a good film to get the envious creative juices flowing. And soon I'll be home for the weekend.

The worst part of my day:

God, bad grammar!! I just had to edit something that read "Come All Ye' Baker's!"
Ummmm, that is so wrong. Why do people toss around the apostrophe like it's a decoration?

Thursday Morning Vacation

Last night as I was leaving work for my grad class I took two steps out of my office and slipped. I don't know if it was on the hem of my pants which still haven't been taken in, or the fact that the shiny linoleum is also slippery, but I busted the hell out of my $4 gray thrift shop heels. I limped brokenly down to the bus and called my mom. I call her whenever I want to whine and bitch and my friends don't want to hear it. Like when I get a paper cut on my way to give an oral presentation that I'm not prepared for, or when I tear my heels, both of which happened in about five minutes last night. She commiserated and asked if I wanted her to bring me a new pair. Ah, the perks of living at home!

But of course, since I was worrying about my oral presentation this gesture of kindness only served to annoy me when it was carried out. She texted me three times to ask what black heels I meant. I only have one pair. She brought three of my black shoes with her, two pairs of boots (neither of which have heels) and the one I'd asked for. When she got to the metro, and just as I was walking up to the car she pulled away, like she was playing some cruel joke. She said she didn't see me and was just moving out of the way for the other car, but I had my suspicions. Then she accused me of smoking, which was doubly unfair because for once I hadn't and had just walked past a man who was, so the smell lingered on me. At least accuse me of it when I actually have been! And when we stopped for dinner in the middle of rush hour and didn't go to a drive thru. I was convinced I'd be screwed, and by my own mother!

But once I got to class my mood improved. I didn't have to go first after all, as I had feared. And my kind professor had brought goodies for us all, including a bottle of wine. Why hasn't someone included wine in oral presentations before? Maybe because after I had only about an inch of wine I could feel it in my face, and started worrying that I'd be slurring my way through my speech. Fortunately, the tipsy feeling passed and I got up and speed talked my way through my ten minute presentation, coming in at 9:30, just as I'd timed it. I think it went well.

I gave myself the day off today--I'm still at work, but not worrying about anything. I'm going to do the crossword, read blogs, maybe watch some tv. I don't have too much actual work today so I'll be taking it easy. (Incidently, I'm really started to get annoyed by the TV companies who won't give in to the writers. Enough already! I want my Tina Fey back!!! The Broadway producers gave in, why can't you??)

Moral Majority & Me

My boss has just been sitting here talking about his children and their many successes in life. I like my boss, he's a nice guy and I'm sure his children are nice too, but I don't want to hear about how all five of them are doing well in life, and are all married, even the ones around my age. The thirty year old is making 6 figures, the next one younger is a very successful horticulturalist and architect or something, married to a woman who just got her PhD. in Molecular Biology. When they moved to Chicago so she could continue school he had jobs lining up to hire him. The youngest was a government employee by the time he was in college. Because he was so good at being a receptionist(!?), they offered him a job.

I sat and listened and thought about my family, my friends, my life. My thirty year old friends don't know what they want out of life, and they certainly aren't married. My family is a mess. My resume does not reflect any brilliant flashes of cubicle cohesion. My GPA is only a smidgen above average. If I ever even saw an out of town job offer I'd be so confused I'd probably throw rocks at it. My boss' family reads like the Christmas newsletter families I barely know send my mother to make us feel bad. I wondered where the black sheep of the family is; was there a sixth child who was disowned because she was single and working as a waitress? Did the youngest drink once too much in that GMU frat house? Did any of them ever try drugs? This family sounds nice, orderly, conventional and boring.

Boring is one word that does not describe my family. In fact, in polite society we are normally referred to as that Byrd Family. It used to bother me when I was younger that we were always the odd ones out. We never had matching fluffy towels and didn't live in a McMansion with beige carpets which my prepubescent self thought was so important to decency and moral order. We had an old manse house where the pipes froze one winter, forcing us to place jugs of water by the toilet for flushing purposes, and go over to neighbors for showers. We had a minivan whose upholstered roof began to unstick itself and hang like a curtain, brushing our heads. Eventually we removed the upholstered part altogether and rode around with the metal frame of the roof as our only barrier. We were the ones who didn't have a television until I was ten, so we created epic storylines with our Barbies, constructing tent houses for them out of those mismatched towels, and imagined dust angels swirling around our ankles when we stepped into the silty creek bottoms and knew every child safe movie made up through the Seventies, because that's what we were allowed to watch. We were the ones who lived in an old house behind the McMansions, with a chair lift for my grandmother that all of us kids would ride simultaneously for the fun of it.

Boring is not a word that describes my friends, either. Pouring dishsoap into fountains to see what happens, having spontaneous Chinese dinners, serving microwave s'mores at 2 am, sewing clothes while sitting around in her underwear, moving to Europe for the experience, moving to another country for love, getting yelled at by Belgian conductors, taking road trips up to New York for the hell of it, or to the mountains to capture the perfect summer day, these are not the things of normal people. These are not the things my boss would be bragging about if it were his children, but these are the things that will save us from the life he does brag about.

All of my favorite people are a little unusual, they do things a little oddly and laugh a little too loudly. They plan poorly but execute splendidly. Anyone who gets anywhere does it by not being conventional. Think about it. What actor, writer, inventor or artist gets where they are by being a conventional person? Since I don't plan on living a life of convention why would I care to compare myself to the people who do? Nothing wrong with those people, but I don't want to be one. Now that I've been unconventional for so long I've gotten used to it and I think I'd like to continue. It's more fun here, on the fringe, where you're allowed to dream about being an artist and make up your own games. I want us to keep being the strange ones, the ones without a plan, but having a lot of fun. Let's burn burn burn and never settle down. We'll be Jack Kerouac, Dorothy Parker, Oscar Wilde and Pablo Picasso all rolled into one.

What A Girl Wants

Ha. Ahem, Hmm. Just when I think I'm growing up and getting better at the man game I get thrown for a loop. A Fruit Loop. My new gay best friend, Jason? Turns out we're best friends for a different reason--because he's bi and has a crush on me. I mean, this guy seems so gay he's got pink flames shooting out his fingertips and he has a crush on me? First off I'm flattered. When I think of men, or women that would be attractive enough to make a person go in a certain direction that maybe they don't always go in, I am not on the top of that list. Secondly, I'm curious, partially for the reasons stated above, why am I of interest? And also because he's 35. I kinda feel cool. Thirdly, though, I'm worried that he'll make a move that I can't reciprocate and I will lose a new friend.
I know generally women bemoan the fact that a cute, cool guy is gay, but today I'm bemoaning the fact that he's not gay enough. Because then I wouldn't have to worry that I was going to hurt his pride, feelings or anything else. I don't really have a problem dating a bi guy (umm, I've done it before, without great results but that's not my fault, I don't think.) but I'm not interested in Jason in that way, and I feel like I've just been stuck with an adorable puppy, one who brings me my slippers and waits for me to get home, but I'm just too much of a cat person to appreciate it.

I'm wondering if we can just keep this a friendship. Of course, I was also wondering that last night, when I was picking out what to wear tonight when we go out for sushi. I was trying to tell myself that it's just because I don't want to look schlumpy in the city after a day at work and around a new friend, who since he's a little gay, has a good style. But part of it feels like this is a date, and even if it's a date with a gay man it's the first date I've been on in so long that dressing up for it is fun.

He came over after Thanksgiving, when all my friends had stopped by to escape from their families, and hang out with friends. He brought his Wii, which made the party, and extra alcohol, which helped. Then he stayed late to clean up with me, take out the trash and put away leftovers. Aja, who was still there when he took out the trash just looked at me with a smirk. I knew what she was thinking but I didn't want to believe it. Now, after discussing the possibility with The Pea as well, I think I have to face facts. My new gay best friend is in love with me. Sigh. Maybe we could get a spot on Sally Jessy Rapheal.

You've Come A Long Way, Baby

I just watched this Grey's Anatomy episode online, since I have no work to do. It was all about how we never really get over high school, even as we grow up and move on as adults, a part of us is still stuck in the mold high school shoved us into. I guess that is partially true. Whenever I get together with people I knew then, gossip about high school and what's happened since reigns. It's like nothing else will be as big as high school, until maybe we all start having kids. I don't know if it's just an American construction, or if it's because high school involves a bunch of different kids living through their formative years together, like a huge petri dish, but it does stay with you.

I hated high school. Hated it. I thought it was a major waste of my time, not because I didn't think I needed an education, but because I didn't think I was getting one. I was mostly getting busywork. I would never want to repeat it, even if I could go back in time with my current knowledge. I'd still feel like a mouse. I spent so much time and energy re-inventing who I wanted to be that I'm sure people thought I was strange. I was seeking that magic combination, the one where I instantly transform into someone who doesn't care what others think, and is also admired by everyone. I think that was important for me, I discovered who I wanted to be, who I was, and who I could never be. That is something I still have, a knowledge of who I am and who I could never be.

At the same time, I don't think I'm trapped by it. I think some people can be so traumatized by how they were treated in high school that they can't see what they've become. They can't see what everyone who has met them since sees. I guess that's why realizing that my friends are not only cool looking but also cool people made me so happy the other night. Sometimes I stop and observe and without realizing it, compare them to high school. That's when I notice how far I've come. In high school I would have never dreamed I could have such friends. I would have felt inadequate and shy. And because they're older I would have felt that difference much more than I do now. But I also think that the really cool people, the coolest ones out there today, were not the ones you thought of as popular or hip in high school. So maybe my friends that I think of as cool and stylish and smart and funny would have been just as awkward as I was then. We've grown into ourselves and the changes are nice. It makes us better people.

Now I can make friends and feel like they want to be my friend for a reason. In high school I never thought that. Or at least, I was always a little suspicious. And friends that I've made since then, that I knew in high school, but never spoke to, have revealed themselves to be different than what I expected. I don't think I live in a clique, like Grey's made it out to be. I think that I do have a circle of friends and there are some people that aren't part of that circle, but because we don't have that friendship chemistry. We're not of the same tribe. They have their own circle. I don't think anyone looks at me and thinks, I wish she'd be my friend, but she's a popular snob. If you fit with me I'll be your friend. I spent too much time in high school worrying about being "cool" and missing out on great friends around me by not talking to them.

High school remains an important part of our lives, sometimes it is to our detriment, sometimes it is for our betterment. But I don't think that Grey's has it exactly right. I think we do get past it, we do move on. Even if we keep the friends we had then we can add new ones, ones we wouldn't have had before. And we grow into people who are fascinating because of the differences that high school points out so clearly.

Wrap Up

Ahh. Ohh. Ugh. I am totally wrecked after this weekend. I planned on it being a calm, sleepy sort of time. Nothing too much to do, no big plans like Boston or New York. Just hanging out. Most likely in Reston. That didn't exactly happen. I hung out at Matt and Mark's on Friday, with a group of their friends, mostly from high school. Aja and I ended up on the couch giggling over boys and their ridiculousness, after the old high school friends left and it was just the normal group still there. Paul brought over s'mores to make in the microwave, and then treated us with ginger snap cookies he'd also made. Jackson, Matt's new friend who fits right in with the group, and his ex girlfriend from West Virginia, Scarlett came over and made a nice addition to the group.


Saturday I've already mentioned. Sunday I went to dinner with Spencer, my friend from high school. We went to Thai and talked faster than our brains could keep up. I don't remember it all, but it was philosophical and deep.


Monday I was tired and scratchy at work. My voice is almost gone and I didn't get nearly as much sleep as I planned this weekend.

Tuesday I stayed home sick. I got as far as the Park & Ride on Whiele and got off, called my boss and went home to bed. As soon as I'd be happily drifting off something would wake me up. First it was Sadie coming to join me, then it was Jason calling to chat. Finally I gave up and got up.

I spent the day relaxing and cooking. I've invented a new recipe, pumpkin pie baklava. I brought over the remainer of my test batch to Matt and Mark's where Scarlett put us all to work making Chinese and Vietnamese dinner. Paul came over and then Alan, their friend from high school came by. He'd just gotten home from L.A.

Today we get to leave work at 2, so I'm wrapping things up and excited to go home. I still feel sick and I need some more sleep.

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old.

Last night I went out with The Designer, Matt, Mark, Jackson, Scarlett and Paul to Be Bar in DC. I didn't plan on going out, I went into DC to get my hair cut at Urban Style Lab where my friend Jackie works and then I hung out with Chris Nixon for the rest of the afternoon, going out to eat, hanging at the place where he's dogsitting. Then, I went to meet up with everyone in DC. I didn't plan on going out, but I always plan on looking good, so it wasn't too much of a problem, except that I was wearing my beautiful wedge heeled boots. Beautiful, but not practical for all night dancing. I also forgot my ID and wore the stylish XXX for the evening.

Be Bar is fun and pretty, and filled with pretty people, but not too pretentious, just a little pretentious. And, about 95% gay, as I was sad to discover. It was mostly gay guys and fruit flies. But the dancing was good, and the DJ one of the best. I had a great time despite my underage status.

After the bar closed the party continued. We made our way to Annie's Steakhouse, where we were greeted by the rest of the underground late night partiers in DC. When I went to the bathroom a coiffed drag queen in ruffled teal blue stepped out with a sneer, leaving me facing the toilet seat in its upright and locked position. "Thanks, lady." I muttered.

Jason, my new friend that I met at Be Bar, and I sat at the bar while everyone else, and some extras crowded around various tables. We exchanged life stories and made friends with the flaming bartender, Julio, who livened up the early morning crowd with his extravagant personality, and sang for us along with the stereotypical gay disco music playing over the speakers.

I love going out when I don't expect it, and making good friends in the course of a night. I love feeling like I fit into the decor of a pretty place, and I love looking at my friends and realizing that they are hot shit. It's vain, I know, but it's an ego boost that I used to never imagine possible. It's part of the fun of being an adult without yet acquiring most of the responsibilities. I love crawling into bed as the sky lightens, after dancing until my feet ache.

The Thinker

So apparently my friend The Designer has nicknamed me "The Thinker" and our other friend The Pea. Well, as my brother always says, that's better than "The Stinker."

Tomorrow: My trip to Boston and New York. For reals y'all.

The Sun Shines Through

I had a feeling of doom laying low in my stomach for much of yesterday. It rested there and wasn't bothered by the bouncing of the bus as I made my way to Mason for my conference with Professor Jann. It was bothered slightly by rambunctious children in their costumes, riding the bus with me, but not enough to go away and leave me. I was early for my meeting and so I killed some time in the Fenwick library, the library on campus that makes me happy and comfortable in its dusty world of knowledge and mediocre mid-Sixties design.

I made my way up to the English department on the 4th floor of Robinson A. As I clomped up the stairs I was reminded of something one of my professors said while struggling up to the top floor, where they'd ensconced the literary nuts like him. It made me smile. Standing outside my professor's door, eavesdropping on her conference with a classmate and reading the fliers, comics and political statements of my previous professors, made my heart stop racing.
In Professor Jann's office her commonsense and cheery disposition frightened the feeling of doom away. Listening to her comments on my paper, which were pretty good for a rough draft to receive, made me feel capable again, and her ideas and way of listening to mine made me feel intelligent and almost like a peer. She laughed at my description of my Halloween costume and when I told her a friend couldn't believe I had a conference on tonight of all nights.

Leaving her office full of determination and focus I marveled at how hearing someone's experienced opinions could calm me. When I'm all alone with my fears and inadequacies I tend to burrow into them, letting them cover and suffocate me without fighting back. Professor Jann and other professors I've had, are like a bright light shining through. She's like my Gandalf, if you will, shouting down the Balroq (Oh man, that's so geeky). And now I have an amusing vision of this thin, fairly plain, older professor with twinkling blue eyes (very much like Gandalf's!) in a robe and carrying a staff.

Here's some quotes about failure to cement my position as today's resident literary geek:

Don't be discouraged by a failure. It can be a positive experience. Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success, inasmuch as every discovery of what is false leads us to seek earnestly after what is true, and every fresh experience points out some form of error which we shall afterwards carefully avoid." -John Keats

The men who try to do something and fail are infinitely better than those who try to do nothing and succeed. ~Lloyd Jones

Panic at the thought of doing a thing is a challenge to do it. ~Henry S. Haskins

I would sort out all the arguments and see which belonged to fear and which to creativeness. Other things being equal, I would make the decision which had the larger number of creative reasons on its side. ~Katharine Butler Hathaway

The one permanent emotion of the inferior man is fear - fear of the unknown, the complex, the inexplicable. What he wants above everything else is safety. ~Henry Louis Mencken

There is a time to take counsel of your fears, and there is a time to never listen to any fear. ~George S. Patton

Many of our fears are tissue-paper-thin, and a single courageous step would carry us clear through them. ~Brendan Francis

There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them. ~Andre Gide

I woke up this morning thinking 'Ack, Ack.'

I went up to Boston this past weekend to visit my good friends Corey and Chris. (You'll hear all about my trip when I download pictures to accompany it. And once I write it.) Corey and I walked around Harvard a little, and talked about grad school a lot. He and I are both preparing to go next fall, but I feel like he's a teensy bit better prepared than I.

During my trip up to Boston I read scholarship guides on the bus. Corey and I compared notes on the GRE Lit. test, which I took a few weeks ago, and he's studying for right this minute. We discussed potential references and talked about where we were applying. I'm going for University of Oregon, University of Texas at Austin, and three in London. He's a little more ambitious, applying for Ivy League schools for his M.A. and tons for his Master of Fine Arts (as he explained, so few accept MFAs that you have to cast a wider net).

Back home I scheduled my application deadlines into my Microsoft Outlook calendar, read over the requirements for entry once more.

And then, right on schedule, I had a panic attack.

I'm terrified that I won't get into these universities; that they will take one look at my sub par resume, my unconvincing recommendations, and my academic writing sample and they will laugh, wondering why I would ever consider graduate school.

Part of me wants to blame my lackluster GPA and academic performance (coming in at a paltry 3.2) on the fact that I never considered wanting to go to graduate school until I was in the real world and realized that my education was not complete. I missed the classroom, and not just because it was safer, but because I missed feeling alive and curious and studying literature. And now that I am volunteering with Higher Achievement I know that teaching is something I want to do, that I love doing. So, now I'm trying to salvage what I can of my undergraduate performance, shine it up and pass it off as Acceptable at the very least. But I don't feel Acceptable. I don't feel like I've worked hard enough or been dedicated enough to my studies. I compare myself to other students who seem to do it so easily, who never procrastinate, or always get the professor to like them. To all those students who understood math and took the SAT prep class. I feel like a fake and it makes me nervous.

Writing this I can see that it doesn't seem so huge, but the universities make me feel like it is. They're like these scary dragons who are waiting to judge me on every little flaw, rather than humans who make mistakes and take wrong turns too. They don't seem like sympathetic professors excited to pass on their love of learning to me.
I've been staring out my office window, contemplating the blueness of the Potomac and the silvery shine of the Air Force memorial by my building. The white marble of the city spread out before me and the grim reminder of the Arlington Cemetery in its neat white rows. It doesn't seem so big in the face of that landscape. I just need to take a deep breath and breathe. I've found meditation actually works in the face of my panic attacks, which seem to be growing as the deadlines approach. But today it's not working. I called my mom and she made me drop everything and go for a walk. I stood in the parking lot breathing deeply and wondering at how my body reacts to this sort of thing, and what will happen when I'm faced with other huge decisions. And I wondered if I should get medication. I think I am going to call my doctor about it because winter is just starting and I only forsee this getting worse. Maybe it will help to take Prozac or some other calming drug.

Things I hoped they might be thinking about me when I was...

9 - What a charming little girl! She's like a fairy princess and so sweet!

11- She must be walking around in that old timey white dress and talking to herself because she has such a lively imagination! Maybe she's talking to fairies. She's probably the time of little girl who will write a book at 12.

13- She is so pretty and cool. I wonder why she isn't an actress in some teen drama. Maybe she'll be discovered someday.

15- It's so cool how she eschews fashion trends and wears those men's pants. And her men's red Doc Martens are so anti-establishment!

16- She must be reading 'The Bell Jar' because she has such a deep and sensitive understanding of our facades as a society. And Sarte's 'No Exit'? She's so intelligent I bet she even knows how to pronounce his last name. I'd go over and discuss his existential crisis if even I knew anything about existentialism.

18- The way she nods her head in time to the rythym of the song she's listening to on her CD player obviously shows that she's got a real understanding of whatever it is she's listening to. She's probably a musician herself. A girl musician, that's so cool.

20- The pictures she's proabably taken with that camera! She's such an artistic soul! I bet she always captures the very essence of the issues. We should invite her to our party, or rock show.

22- It's so cool how she never seems to be concerned about boys. It obviously shows she's self confident enough not to need a man in her life. I wish I were like that!

24- Hmm, the clothes she's wearing say 'young woman going to the office', but she's also reading 'Howl'. She must be one of those hip, young writers or poets paying the bills at the office but is also writing the Next Great American novel. I should go talk to her about Ginsburg. I hope she doesn't mistake my Salvatore Ferragamo suit for being a sign of 'The Man', and let me take her out for a drink.

Charlie Brown as a "Symbol of My Soul"

"This is my depressed stance. When you're depressed, it makes a lot of
difference how you stand. The worst thing you can do is straighten up and hold
your head high because then you'll start to feel better. If you're going to get
any joy out of being depressed, you've got to stand like this."

"Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, 'Where have I gone wrong?' Then a voice says to me, 'This is going to take more than one night.'. "-Charlie Brown

Sometimes I get the 'death moans' and everything seems black. My failures seem great and my goals look more like a wall. With some barbed wire around it. And maybe a spot light. And it's really, really tall. This morning was one of those days. I woke up and sat on the edge of my bed like an old woman taking a moment to conserve her strength before she can stand. My pants looked too short in the mirror and I had stayed up worrying about what my statement of purpose was. Not in a philosophical sort of way, but for my grad school applications. I don't know what I want to study but I'd better come up with something fast. And not too tired.

It could have just been the early hour, or the fact that I hadn't heard back from this boy I asked out, or the fact that I was thinking about grad school while my sister had her boyfriend over, but I could feel the blues sneaking up, undetered by the speediness of the bus, or the oblivious morning commuters trying to impose their comforting humanity on me. I got to work and just felt like today was one of the days I should have called in sick. I should have stayed home and drank tea, watched shiny movies on AMC and felt miserable for myself for no apparent reason.

But life doesn't work that way. Somehow, despite all my resistance I'd be forced out of bed and taken on a cupcake adventure, or a discovery of mountains or to the bookstore to read celebrity magazines (because even though reading them makes me feel like I've eaten too much candy, I always feel better that at least I'm not being photographed at every corner.)

I decided to combat this in the only way I know how, reading. With my blue scarf wrapped around my neck like Linus' security blanket, (how wise I was to put this on, I thought I'd only need it for the physical cold today!) I looked up some quotes about depression and discovered the ones you see above you. And then I got on here to share them, but before I could get to my blog my eye caught this: the "blog" of "unnecessary" quotation marks and I found myself laughing at the witty snarkiness of people who can't stand bad grammar but love irony. And that led me to this one: Crummy Church Signs and I also checked out this one: Mustaches of the Nineteenth Century for my friends Corey and Megan.

After following the advice of Benjamin Gladstone who said, "If you are cold, tea will warm you; If you are too heated, it will cool you; If you are depressed, it will cheer you; If you are excited, it will calm you.", I made myself some tea, and thought about how one good cure for feeling sorry for yourself is doing something nice for someone else, and how I'm going to volunteer tonight and teach girls about literature, and without so much as a warning my early morning blues dribbled away.

Because the Charlie Brown quote reminded me of one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, and because I love quotes just a little too much I'll leave you with this one:

"Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up."

Oops!

I forgot all about the fact that it was Blog Action two days ago and now I'm feeling guilty. But, as my mom has taught me, better late than never. (I'm proving that point extra well today, I overslept and got to work late.) So, in honor of being slow, I present the Slow Food Movement portion of Blog Action Day. What is Slow Food? Is it extra dumb cattle? Or a dim cucumber? According to Slow Food USA we are participating in the Slow Food Movement when we shorten the distance that our food travels to get to us. It's good, clean and fair food. By being informed about how our food is produced we are taking responsibility, not only for how our planet is used, but also for what goes into our bodies. We become a part of the production process, instead of mindlessly consuming our food. It's not just about the environment, but also about what we eat, for our own health, but maybe more importantly, for our own enjoyment.
Ever wonder how we have strawberries in December? Or vine ripened tomatoes when everything else is brown? That's because we rely on our modern methods of transportation to get ripe food here fast, but somethings aren't meant to be enjoyed in winter, they aren't meant to be served fast. Strawberries, for example, have become less flavorful because they must now be produced in a way that makes them heartier, and able to withstand the long distance that they must travel to get to our grocery stores.
Most fresh market tomatoes are grown hydroponically, which enables greenhouse growers to have a longer growing season and produce an average of 15 times more per acre with a greater percentage of marketable fruit (because who's going to buy a tomato that doesn't look bright and red, despite its flavor?) but the taste of these tomatoes are mealy and bland. Think of the tomato you get in your QuarterPunder. You'd hardly know you were eating one. Why are things like this? Two reasons; we want cheap food and farms want cheap labor. Another blogger, at Gristmill says this about why it's so easy for us to ignore the probelm:

"We need our food supply as cheap as possible to feed low-wage people; we need
lots of low-wage people -- farm worker,s slaughterhouse workers, clerks at our
number-one grocer, Wal-Mart, and so on -- to sustain our cheap-food system.
Whatever else it does --and it works pretty well, if you're a major shareholder
in transnational corporations --this cycle consumes enormous resources and, yes,
severely damages the environment."

AND

"Last year the federal government cut checks to commodity-agriculture producers
amounting to $23 billion -- roughly equivalent to Bolivia's GDP. In those terms
alone -- never mind steep environmental and social costs -- cheap food is
actually a pretty pricey proposition. "

He goes on about some more stuff too and I know that's a lot to read, especially if you're not an
amateur chef like me, who cares about the flavor, but even if you just care about the environment, or the people who labor to bring you the cheapest foods possible. If you don't really care about all that above you should still check out The Sustainable Table for ideas about how you can make changes in small ways, like learning how to 'eat seasonal'. When we 'eat seasonal' we're not only cutting down on the damage done by shipping this food all over the country, we're also supporting our local farmers, people who in turn invest in other aspects of our communities. Most of those food subsidies that Gristmill talks about above aren't going to the organic farmer hippies you see at the farmer's market, they're going to major agri-business farmers, like the ones who had the E. Coli epidemic last summer.

I'm guilty of this stuff too, sometimes it's hard to remember the larger costs when faces with the grocery store budget, but in the end the cost is going to be much greater. I just have to keep telling myself that. We're not going to solve this environmental crisis tomorrow, it's going to take little steps from millons of people. We should probably start right now.

contemplating my madeleine

I'm reading a book right now about how to write good college essays as I prepare to apply to grad schools. It has a list to help you prepare to write a personal statement essay and some of the topics to get you thinking are "Describe 3 Significant Lessons You Have Learned," "Describe 3 Memorable Experiences You've Had," "Discuss a Failure That Taught You Something." As I'm reading over these starter topics I peruse my memory for relevant events and then start to wonder, should I use my move to New York as having to do with a Significant Lesson, or a Failure that Taught Me Something. Do I discuss the experience of traveling to Cuba and Kenya? My Internship at Tribeca as an Experience, and my film career as a Failure? Then, after thinking of these past experiences for a moment I get a little sad. Sad because some of this stuff was exciting, challenging things that I have moved past but feel sad that I didn't stick with. While working as a PA and interning at Tribeca I started to realize that film might not be the career I want to stay in. I started to miss the academic environment, where my ideas were welcomed and my assumptions challenged. I missed feeling like I had something to offer, and that I was learning something that made me grow as a creative person. I realized I didn't want to stop learning about and discussing literature yet. And that the world of film, although I love the cinema, and love the stories it tells, might not be the best place for a dreamer like me. I wanted to inspire others to love literature, and I wanted to write stories that had a chance of being read somewhere, not just by an intern in a production house that will write a snarky film student critique and stop my film from being made. Usually I don't regret walking away from the endless amount of work I forsaw. I wanted to be a creative, and I wanted to stay fresh. I didn't want to stagnant. I don't want to stagnant. For a while I oscillated between wanting to be in that world and being a normal person in education somewhere. Finally the desire to teach and continue learning won out. I don't really regret it. But I do sort of wonder what could have happened if I had pushed forth. And if I had stayed in New York. In the back of my head, as I sit in an office editing military briefs that I don't care less about and worry about the money slowing being deposited in my account, and fret about my grad class and the chances of getting into grad school I wonder if I've given up excitement. Or at least for now. It seems harder to come by when you're living in your mother's house in Reston, commuting down to Arlington and not doing much else. I don't think I've given it up in exchange for a paycheck and the chance to sit at a desk. But sometimes I'm afraid I have and that I'm too meek to find my own life, find my own adventures and that they have, or will pass me by before I realize it.

Volunteering

Today I start volunteer teaching at Higher Achievement!!! I'm going to be working with 8th graders, teaching them about Literature. I'm so excited I'm bouncing in my seat. Wish me luck cause I'm also a little scared that I'll be horrible.

This October 15th is Blog Action Day.

A How-To For Investors, From Someone Who's Still Clueless

Last December I did something I never thought I'd do. I sat down and opened a Roth IRA. What is a Roth IRA you ask? I didn't know either, but having finally cracked the book a family friend gave me when I graduated high school I learned a thing or two.

So, in light of recent posts about finances and growing up I thought I'd share what I learned about the big, bad world of stocks and bonds. Please bear in mind that I know nothing about how this all works, don't give any advice about which stocks to buy and when to sell them, I'm just giving you my perspective, as a real, live, young person starting out on this path.

First of all, I decided on a Roth IRA because I was working as a freelance PA in television. As a freelancer, small business owner or anything else where your job doesn't offer a 401K or its own IRA this is a good alternative. With this you don't pay taxes until it's time to withdraw your money, and you can keep it for a long amount of time. I invested $200 dollars into it, with the idea that I would continue to invest that amount of money with every paycheck I get (if I could afford it, of course)

And then, the next thing to do of course, is invest it. You can keep your $200 and save it up, or you can be brave and foolish and use your money to make money for you. What a strange and unusual idea! Who would have thought that you can make money without working 8 hour days for it! Now, I have no clue about how exactly the stock market works. All I think of when I hear "stock market" is guys rushing around on the stock market floor waving fingers and trading little white slips of paper, like in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, or guys in big glass office buildings accumulating loads of money, like Patrick in American Psycho. I get that you invest your money in companies, giving them money that they can use to grow and get better, but what shares mean, why they rise and sink, and how that increases my bottom line I don't know. In addition to the book above I used http://www.thebeehive.org/ to help me figure some of this stuff out.

Before I began all of this I happened to hear a radio report on NPR about socially responsible investing and decided that when I was more adult, and more able to comprehend what exactly a 'stock market' is, I would do that. One more way to save the world without actually having to do much.

Once I started considering stocks to buy I remembered this promise to myself. If you are a person who cares about the environment, gets angry at the way pharmecutical and oil companies run amuck and recycles religiously then why not decide where your money makes a difference by where you invest? And I'm secretly hoping I stumble on the next Microsoft because everyone is so concerned about the environment and energy saving innovation one of these companies has got to be onto something. Here's some websites where they give some good advice about socially conscious investing:

1. The Sensible Investor
2. Rethinking Socially Conscious Investing
3. Social Funds
4. New American Dream isn't exactly about investing but it has really good advice about living green.

So, there you go. I started investing money in Green Mountain Coffee Traders (GMCR), Hybrid Technologies (HYBT), SunTech Power (STP) and Evergreen Solar (ESLR). Green Mountain Coffee Traders is doing the best so far but the others are in the green these days too, literally and in my account (they use green instead of black to show the increases).

I'm getting kind of into it. I love seeing the numbers go up and down, even if I have no idea what exactly they mean. And I can even talk about this stuff and sound knowledgable, at least around my friends who are just as clueless about this as I am. It's funny to see myself doing something so adult like when I feel so much like a kid most of the time. I even got my grandmother's old account for me from my dad and started investing that too.

I've mentioned before how un-adult-like I feel, and how I don't know all of this stuff, but with this I can control it and make these decisions on my own, and it will benefit me later in life. It's one of those things that I am doing to prepare for myself the life I'd like to have one day. I think this whole growing up thing should really just be done in tiny steps. Like a toddler who repeats things over and over to learn how things work.

Spontani -Tea

Yesterday, after we finished up a big project at work we got to go home. I got home at 1:30 on a beautiful fall, I mean summer, afternoon. As soon as I pulled into my neighborhood Aja pulled in behind me. She had recognized my car on the road. After changing my work clothes for playclothes I got an everything bagel with lox at Einstein Bagels with her and Ayana. I also got their green tea, Spontani-Tea, which would explain the spontaneity of the day. We went back to her house to eat our bagels and killed an hour reading magazines on her back porch. She started walking me home when we decided to stop by and see what Mark was up to, and bum a light for a shared cigarette from him.

Mark was playing Halo 3 when we knocked on his door and entreated Subi the dog to let us in. Sitting at the table he mentioned it was Paul's 31st birthday and he was sick. We decided we should do something nice for him. I think it was me who mentioned making cupcakes because I'd been thinking about them all day. So we found the recipe for Magnolia Bakery's cupcakes, made up a list and went to the grocery store.

Our cupcakes turned out delicious, and we iced them in Dusky Rose and Sky Blue. The icing melted onto them and they took on a strange, drippy glazed look. Once we added the black and white striped candles we bought we had cupcakes straight out of Tim Burton's Edward Sicssorhands.

Matt came home from work while we were taking turns cracking the eggs and beating the batter. Once we'd all gone home to eat something other than sugar we returned to take them over to Paul's.

The four of us show up at Paul's front door holding the lit cupcakes and knocking furiously. He didn't hear anything at first and he came down glowering, about to yell at us, when he realized the flames were birthday cupcakes. We came in and ate a few and got sick to our stomachs from so much sugar, but had fun. Paul was pretty happy because he'd been miserable and alone and sick all day. It was a nice way to end a spontaneous kind of day.

Let ME Do It!!

When I was a toddler, my parents like to remind me, I used to assert my independence by saying to them "Let ME do it!" when they tried to help me brush my teeth or wipe or anything else that I knew I could do alone. And that's sort of been my life's philosophy. I'm really independent. I've travelled the world by myself and figured out all sorts of my own problems by myself, sometimes they're problems that I created for myself but I still solved them. But as I get older I realize how much I've been leaning on my parents for help. And that's not a bad thing, but at 24 I think I should be handling somethings on my own. It's hard to let go though. I used to let my dad handle all the red tape that I didn't understand, or want to worry about. But now I feel like if I don't do it I won't know what's going on and how to deal with these things that being an adult involves. The stuff they never warn you about...

I need a primer course in all the red tape involved in being an adult. I tried to fill out my credit report information online because I don't know what my credit score is. They couldn't verify my identity when I tried to re log in so I had to call the number they gave me to verbally verify my information. She asked if I had any student loans and I said I did but I don't know the name of the company because my dad takes care of it. So she said to call back when I had that information. It was a little hard to hear her so before she hung up I asked "So all I need to get to verify my identity is the name of the company I have my student loans through?" And she replied, "Unfortunately we can't give out the information you need because it can lead to identity theft." And I was like, but you just told me, and I'm trying to make sure I get the right information, and when I come back and call you back with it, that I have all the information you need so I don't have to keep calling my father for this information.

What kills me about all of this is that I understand it's "For my protection" and I'd rather not have someone steal my identity, but at the same time I hate anyone having this huge information about me and me having no way to access it. They can easily destroy my life with this stuff and I can't even do anything about it. I hate that someone gathers this information and uses it to judge me, to decide what I can and can't do with my life. I want to be the only one who decides what information is relevant to me. I want to be in control of my life and my history. It makes me feel like this is a sci-fi thriller where someone has a file on everything I've done and it scares me. I don't want to live in that sort of adult world.

Recently I read this interesting article about Harry Potter and the transformations that J.K. Rowling uses in the books. Like how Harry transitions from a black and white world view where the people to be trusted are very obvious, into one where he's not sure who to trust and he understands the motivations of people in new ways. He grows up and into this world where tough decisions, ones that will affect his life must be made, and he can't trust the adults to do the job because they're human too, and have their own fears and hopes and agendas. That's sort of what I feel like right now, like I'm slowly becoming aware that if things regarding my life are to be done they must be done by me. And that's sort of terrifying. Because I don't always have a safety net to fall back on and I'm never quite sure what information I'm going to need or where to find it. For so long I've been running back to my dad who has all the answers, knows my SAT scores and my bank balance, knows what my credit history is like and how to apply for the FAFSA or the car loans I need. Now, I'm starting to do it on my own and even though he is still available I need to do this on my own.I'm also trying to track down my W-2s and my 10-99s so that I can do my taxes for myself. It's hard though to figure out what's necessary, and what's a fair deal when I'm trying to do it by my self for the first time. A lot of it I just try to fudge and hope it's correct.

The Curse of the Empire Waist

This morning, as I was standing on a crowded metro train, just around Virginia Square a man sitting in a seat to my right tapped me on the arm and asked if I'd like to have the seat. Thinking he was getting up at this stop and offering me his seat first I smiled and said 'No that's okay, I'm getting off soon.' Then he remained seated when the train stopped, not getting off, and I looked back down at my paper and realized that maybe an empire waist on a shirt that is slightly fitted is not a good fashion choice.

That's right dear readers, he thought I was pregnant. Not hugely pregnant, or the type where you're not sure if it's body fat or a baby bump hiding under there, but just early stages, starting to show, sort of pregnant. In an ironic turn of events I had already been experiencing morning sickness and thrown up all of my breakfast, but that's because the dog threw up on the kitchen floor and I had to clean it up. Puke makes me puke, especially when it smells like dog poop, which is probably what she'd been eating.

What could I do? I had already responded politely to the man and it was a crowded train, not much room to move, people had obviously heard him ask and me respond. What else to do but push out my belly a little more and pretend I was in my fourth month, or something. My secret smile had less to do with the "life growing inside me" and more to do with my amusement at the situation.

I thought it was funny, I obviously wasn't huge and so couldn't regard it as strictly an insult (even though I'm not walking around with washboard abs here) and I'd rather him offer his seat to a (truly) pregnant lady instead of being afraid to insult her. Besides, it's strange to realize that I am at an age where that possibility isn't out of the question. I think it's funny that I could actually be pregnant and people would only smile and think, 'She glows!" ( I hope.) But at the same time I don't want people to think I'm pregnant when I'm not, so the empire waist has got to go.

I Hate That Stupid Freud

I've been sort of pining away for some one. I hate that phrase too, by the way. I feel like a corsetted, soppy Victorian miss when it is used. I haven't been pining way. I've been moving on and enjoying everything a lot lately, but sometimes in a sneaky voice I hear, 'It'd be nice if we were still friends. If you could talk to him about his thoughts on Kerouac and your paper.' or something else equally undermining.
Even with the confusion of not knowing exactly why he forgot about my existence (I chalk it up to the fact that he wasn't ready to date after his last relationship, despite his objections to the contrary.) I don't really care anymore, not much anyway, and I think I've forgiven him, in my mind. And hanging out with some old high school friends, gossiping about things we've learned about our former classmates in the intervening years, helped too. I learned some stuff that I had sort of known already but not really acknowledged about him. I'd ignored it because it didn't fit into my picture of things. But now I was faced with it and decided that now I really didn't care about him. (just for the record, it's not something that hurt me, so Aja you don't have to plan any revenges.)

And of course, after deciding that, I go home, go to bed and have a lovely make up dream about him. The kind that makes you wake up and think for half a second before remembering it was just a dream, 'Wow. He likes me again!' Not the sex dream kind, but the sweet dream kind. Those are so much more devious.
That damn subconscious. It always knows where you're most vulnerable, even when you don't. And because you don't know it's there, silently biding its time, how are you supposed to supress the thoughts it can take advantage of? You can't know what it will and won't use.
Stupid Freud and other psychiatrists figuring these things out. Thanks a lot, subconscious!