On Rush Hour in D.C.

Lines and Other Existential Musings on a Wednesday

2007-08-29T20:41:00.000-04:00

Today was an Al Hirschfeld sort of day. It seemed every person I passed on my commute—the woman in the gold Mercedes SUV applying her eyeliner, the man hawking newspapers at the intersection of 9th and Massachusetts, the woman on the scooter wearing her helmet so snugly it looked like a part of her natural features, the gangly guard at the entrance to the parking garage—could have been or had just jumped out of a Hirschfeld. At any moment, I expected strains from Modest Mussorgsky’s (1839-1881) Pictures at an Exhibition to burst forth from the radio and underscore my oddly illustrated world.

****

Do you ever wonder about the lives of others?

Normally, at the intersection of 9th and Mass is a woman hawking the aforementioned newpapers. She’s average in height, thin. Her hair is long and often looks stringy and unwashed, except that I think perhaps she’s just come out of the shower and is going with the wet look. Probably in her fifties, though she may be younger. It’s hard to tell. What does seem readily obvious is, life has been hard for her. It is etched deeply in the tanned, creased lines of her face and the hollow vacancy of her eyes. I often wonder what her story is and what she once hoped her life would be. If her dreams were dashed, I wonder what she hopes each day will now bring. There is a seemingly contradictory mixture of resignation and tenacity about her that worries and awes me and it begs this existential question: If life is meant to be meaningful, what is the meaning for her?

****

On my way into work every morning, I pass a coffee shop — Breakwell’s — in the struggling-to-gentrify area around the new D.C. convention center. Some mornings, one of the baristas is taking a break. She sits in a cane-backed chair, casually smoking a cigarette and intently reading her latest literary choice. She looks serene and content and I ask myself the same question I’ve asked myself for years. Why can’t I do something like that and be content?

****

There are a million little proverbs and sayings that have been bandied about for decades, if not centuries, in one form or another—each meant to inspire, uplift, give hope, bring perspective. When life hands you lemons, says one of the more cliché, make lemonade. It seems so straightforward and simple. And yet, I’m lousy at making lemonade. All that keeps me from being a sourpuss is love and laughter. My sanity/insanity is a mix of quiet desperation and outright panic tempered by rational thought about cause and effect. Somehow, perhaps merely by the grace of God, I hold on and function aptly. But is it enough?

****

I’d like to be the barista at the coffee shop, but I worry that one day I might be the woman hawking newspapers, cars streaming past me in a perpetual procession of hurry and scurry. Those in the cars will drive by without noticing, save at least one person — a person of heart and conscience, a person of kindness and thought — who will drive by and wonder, “If life is meant to be meaningful, what is the meaning for her?”

Illustration copyright: Al Hirschfeld. All rights reserved to him, may he rest in peace, and his estate.

Vegas, Baby!

2007-08-12T13:12:00.000-04:00

Yet another postcard from one of my lobbyists. This one is from Sin City, where said lobbyist just spent a weekend schmoozing and wheeling and dealing with a congressperson and staff. When my lobbyist returned we both agreed that Vegas is "Disneyland for Adults." Anyone with an addictive personality should definitely not go there!

P.S. See! I told you I'd be back. Sort of.

Big Sky Beauty

2007-08-12T13:10:00.001-04:00

And another postcard. This one also from one of the lobbyists I support. (I have two of those, plus two PAC people, and a policy wonk.) This particular lobbyist spent a weekend in Montana as part of a fundraising/schmoozing event for one of Montana's two senators. Said lobbyist forgot to actually mail this card whilst in Montana. This same lobbyist is off to Jackson Hole next week and, as I left on Friday evening, I said, "Don't forget to send me a postcard." My lobbyist whipped out these three, asked me to choose one, and then wrote on the back, "Dear Janet: Wish you were here! Lobbyist." Priceless. Here is Big Sky, Montana.

P.S. And now I'm going back on recess.

Hey! You! Over there! Get off my swing, ya big bully.

Recess

2007-08-07T18:44:00.000-04:00

August is usually recess month for Congress in D.C. It's also the month where a lot of Washington goes on vacation and commuting to work is actually enjoyable. It will stay that way until the end of August, when every one will rush back to get their kids ready for school. Then, after Labor Day, it'll be back to "crunch time", Congress will be back in session, the presidential campaign circus will kick into full and sickening throttle, and commuting will become a four-letter word again.

All that to say, I'm going on a sort-of recess, too. Meaning, I'm noodling whether to revamp this blog or jettison it altogether and start anew, which means I won't be posting as frequently on Rush Hour. When I come back--if I come back--it may be with a new blog name and a pseudonym. I'll continue to post over on D.C. Confidential and if any postcards wander in between now and the end of the month, I'll post them here. (Rumor has it, I have cards headed this way from Las Vegas and Oregon!)

P.S. Knowing how long I lasted the last time I said I was going on hiatus, I wouldn't worry too much about my self-imposed recess. I'm lousy at keeping my thoughts to myself. No doubt I'll be posting something here in no time.

Photo copyright: Cedar Works

Lose-ee-anna

2007-08-06T19:21:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine was in Louisiana last week with a group from her church. They were down there helping folks, who were devastated by Hurricane Katrina, rebuild. This is the postcard she sent.

Thanks, A, for the @#*$... er... darn postcard!

Loose Ends

2007-08-05T08:13:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, I can be a dope. Like the times when I say, "Hey! Looky here! I'm having a wee contest on my blog. Please play along. Pleaseeeeeee. I'll tell you how it all turns out in a week..." and then I don't.

A few weeks ago, I held a "Vote for Your Favorite D.C. Rush Hour Blog Entry" contest as part of my self-congratulatory celebration on having reached the 400-posts-mark in my blogging... er... career. It even featured on DC Blogs Noted (Thanks, KOB!), which surely meant a few more folks might weigh in. Since I don't have a stat counter on my blog (I'm cheap. I refuse to pay for that and, as far as I can tell, but maybe I'm an idiot, Blogger doesn't have one just built in like some other blogging sites do), I have no clue how many people actually thought about playing along, but then didn't.

Regardless, several of my more faithful readers did weigh in. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

I thought I'd have one cut-and-dried winner out of the ten blogs I highlighted, but alas, 'tisn't so. Seems each of you liked a specific one for specific reasons. Still, at least two of you liked one entry in common which, I guess, makes it the winner. So, here's how the votes were cast:

Alliteration 1
Articulate 0
Green River... Wider Than a Mile... 2
In a Perfect World I'm Not Too Late for a Pink Martini, Am I? 1
Jesus Is a Stinker 1
LEGOs: Life's Philosophical Metaphor 1
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Season's Greetings, Blah, Blah, Blah... 1
One Happy Meal for the Queen, Please! 0
What Price, Freedom? 1
World Famous in Poland Oatmeal 1

And the Oscar goes to... Green River!

Huh. That was sorta anti-climatic. Well, it's never too late to vote. And thanks to those of you who did.

This next loose end is, as they say, earthshattering.

Several weeks ago, I stumbled upon a change at AOL's website that looked surprisingly like Yahoo's interface. It was up in the morning, then gone in the afternoon. Some would call this a non-event. I called it a mystery. After a couple of weeks of the old interface and wondering what I'd stumbled upon, I'm pleased to report that AOL's new interface officially looks like Yahoo. I'm sure you're glad to know that and you'll sleep better tonight.

In the meantime, I need to find my life. I put it down somewhere and can't remember where....

Oh, and P.S., I'm behind on my email. So if you've sent me a message recently and I haven't gotten back to you, it isn't because I'm hatin' on you or anything. It's just been one of those weeks where I'm hatin' on me and my life. See aforementioned comment about the need to find my life again.... Applicable here, too.

Photo copyright: Muppet Wiki

Wishes

2007-08-04T21:42:00.000-04:00

Another postcard arrived today. This one from Adriana, who is summering in the Bay Area with her husband, Lane and their son, Jasper. I'm thinking Adriana is grooving on California! Big time. Here's her postcard from Stanford.

And A: I wish I could quit it, too, but "this thing get ahold of ya... It stays with you and if [you're] not careful, it will suck [you] in...."

In the BIN: Honorable Mentions

2007-07-27T00:01:00.000-04:00

There are so many great posts out there, I thought I'd do another addition of In the BIN. This one will require Kleenex for a different reason entirely. Why? Because you'll start off with some giggling, then find yourself flat out ROTFLYAO. In the end, though, you'll wax nostalgic.

I start with my friend, Holly, who just acquired a new piece of technology and coins two lines that have her readers laughing at her wit and whimsy. Here is Okay, This One is a Toy.

Meanwhile, over at Alice's Adventures Underground, fellow blogger NG continues to chronicle her daughter's 'inappropriate songs.' This is Vol. 16. They're all worth reading, if you want to go back through the archives and read the first 15 volumes. Love these. Love the Dormouse! Go, Dormouse, go!

Continuing on with the humor, my friend, Merujo writes about an intimate encounter with a squirrel that involves her dinner. Trust me when I tell you, stuff like this only happens to Merujo and she doesn't make it up. (You couldn't.) Here is Awake. (And stay tuned because down the road, this piece will no doubt feature in a radio commentary on WAMU. Can't wait!)

And finally, I saved the very, very best for last from my friend, Sister Mary Lisa. At least, I think it is anyway. I'm just going to let it speak for itself. Here is Just for Today.

Happy Friday, friends!

Postcards x 3

2007-07-26T21:51:00.000-04:00

Lest you thought I'd forgot... er... forgotten... I'm still collecting postcards! These are three I've received over the last month. (I temporarily misplaced the first two. The last one arrived a day or two ago.) So, here they are...

From the beautiful French city of Lyon, a postcard from my friend and Scary Feminist, Sylvia, who was recently over there on business and sent this back. Thank you, Sylvia! MWAH.

From sunny Florida, a postcard from Key West sent to me by one of the people in my office who was recently there on vacation. Thank you, you-who-shall-remain-nameless-here. (One day--if you haven't Googled and found it already--I'll share this blog with you and then you can enjoy seeing your very own card posted here.)

And finally, from somewhere between here and Lincoln, Nebraska, a postcard from the Mattress Factory and my friend, Sister NoMo, who is (was) en route to Salt Lake where she will be pursuing a doctorate in psychology. Apparently Sister NoMo watched episodes of Big Love because she wrote this on the back: "Big Love confirmed the things I dislike about polygamy. The wives had no say as the husband cheated on them to court a fourth wife using the destiny of celestial marriage as justification. As a woman and a feminist, it made me angry. On my way to UT...." Ah, dear friend NoMo, you are gonna have a ball in SLC!

Thanks to all of my friends and fellow co-workers for their cards. Keep 'em coming, folks. (If you want to know where to send me a postcard, email me and I'll send you my address.)

An' I Cans Rite Purty, Two

2007-07-24T18:11:00.001-04:00

There's nothing an editor or writer loves more than a good, solid typo. Case in point: the caption that goes with this photo from the Washington Post's Camera Works feature. (To see a larger image, click on the picture.)

And this one is a shout out to my friend, Sister Mary Lisa, who had tickets to sell to exactly this concert. Obviously Jon Bon Jovi loved Cheyenne!

Before One Dies

2007-07-22T05:19:00.000-04:00

What is it with me and meme's lately?! Here's another one I found while randomly clicking on blogs in the blog list on DC Blogs. This one is "Five Things One Should Eat Before One Dies" or something along those lines. I found it on Lost in Somewhereistan.

Here's my list...

1. Fresh, hot, slather-them-on-my-thighs, please, Krispy Kreme Original Donuts. Ambrosia!

2. A plate of fine cheeses--Humboldt Fog, Wisconsin Smoked Gouda, Manchego--and a hearty loaf of crusty sourdough.

3. Crepes from Ti Couz in the Mission District in San Francisco. Most especially, the Tod and the La Delice. Divine! (The restaurant doesn't have a website, but here's a good review of it by a foodie. One day, I'm going to write my own review.)

4. Fresh strawberries from the farm stand on Lucas Valley Road in Marin County, California, or the Point Reyes Station Market in Point Reyes Station, California. So naturally sweet and delicate, it would be an insult to dust them with any kind of sweetener.

5. My mom's homemade crescent rolls. There's so much butter in these puppies, it's amazing the Surgeon General hasn't declared them a hazard to one's health. But they are sooooooo good. Mmmmm-mm.

If you were about to die, what would you eat?

Silence Falls Across the Land...

2007-07-21T13:42:00.000-04:00

In cities and towns nationwide, a hush falls over the land.

Main Streets, normally bustling thoroughfares of commerce and traffic on beautiful Saturday afternoons, are empty.

Neighborhoods, usually teeming with kids and teens, are eerily silent.

In homes and dwellings across the country, millions of readers--young and old--are cracking open a book and reading these first words:

The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart, in a narrow, moonlit lane....

Happy reading, Harry Potter fans everywhere!

ADRIAN FENTY: It's 10 o'clock on a Friday Night...

2007-07-20T23:06:00.000-04:00

...Do You Know Where D.C.'s Youth Are?

And further more, do you care?

Last year, in an effort to stem the tide of crime and homicides being committed by and on D.C. children under the age of 18, then-Mayor Anthony Williams and then-Chief of Police Charles Ramsey declared a "Crime Emergency" and asked the City Council to institute a curfew on the city's youth. The council voted in favor of the curfew with, if I remember correctly, only one 'nay' vote, which was cast by our now-Mayor, the lithe and youthful, brash and swashbuckling Adrian Fenty, who claimed that young people were not the cause of crime and it was a crime and a non-solution to make them be in their houses and, perhaps even in bed, by 10 0'clock at night.

I don't have all the statistics or the quotes or the actual votes that some readers will demand in the interest of "fair reporting." I'll leave that to others to cull and post. What I do have, though, is a D.C. address, taxes that I pay, and experience with unruly youth who roam the streets until midnight disregarding the fact that their neighbors may actually want to go to sleep between the hours of 10:00 and 12:00. And even if we don't, we'd like some quiet enjoyment in our own homes without the need to be hypervigilant about kids trespassing in our yards, whooping it up in the street, banging into and boucing themselves and each off of our cars, and just causing general mayhem.

It's been a year since the curfews, which were welcome and effective. Last night, we had "police action" on our street. Last night, the pack of kids across the street were out in all their boisterous, fuck-you-neighbors noisiness, as were a number of other packs on virtually every street corner I drove past between my end of upper NW and downtown. (A route I drove to take a friend home.) Last night, I spoke to two officers of the MPD, both of whom expressed disgust with Mayor Fenty's "liberal policies" and short-sightedness for not enacting a curfew on the city's youth.

Yo' Adrian! Listen up man.

I work hard.
I pay taxes. A lot of taxes.
I expect, in return for my hard work and taxes, to enjoy some modicum of peace and quiet in my neighborhood.
I believe children and youths under the age of 16 have absolutely no business being out on the streets after 10:00 p.m. unless they're working and enroute to/from a job.
I believe you are an idiot and full of shit to not listen to those who are on the ground, day and night, charged with serving and protecting our city. People who see what young people are doing to each other and their neighbors and who know that a curfew is a good thing.
Curfews save lives. Curfews keep the peace. Curfews lower murder rates.

The cop I talked to suggested I write you a letter. This is the first. There will be others. I want our city's kids to enjoy being outside and hangin' with their friends, but I also want to enjoy some peace and quiet after 10' o-clock at night. Any decent, respectful person would want the same.

Sincerely,

Janet M. Kincaid
D.C. Taxpayer and Home Owner

In the BIN: The Tissue Issue

2007-07-18T06:54:00.000-04:00

Thought I'd revive In the BIN again. Take a survey of what's out there. See what's percolating and bubbling to the top in all it's excellence.

This post, about a vasectomy, is by far the funniest thing I've read in ages. My favorite line: "It felt like a toothache in my pants." Here is Somewhere in the Masthead. Look for the entry titled In Which I Have Bagged My Limit (and vice versa...) dated July 15, 2007. Priceless. Truly priceless. (And a shout out to my friend, Merujo, who turned me on to this outstanding blog.)

My buddy, the Gunfighter, just started a second blog called Real Dads about and by fathers. It's an excellent blog and I hope he sees more folks stepping up and participating in his venture. I want to highlight this entry he recently wrote as a note to his daughter. If this one doesn't make you cry, you have no heart! I've met the Gunfighter and have had him and his wife and daughter in my home for dinner. There isn't a nicer family out there and Gunny is doing a great job as a dad. So, go get your Kleenex and read Through the Upstairs Window.

Thanks to my friend, JaneAnne, at Fugue Salad, I just stumbled onto a blog by someone I met briefly during my grad school days. Jana Reiss is a scholar, writer, and editor. She recently wrote about her dog, Halilah. Again, grab the Kleenex. (I swear, there isn't a theme here. I promise!)

And, finally, over in the stacks, Liz writes wittily, but seriously, of course, about a stuck bird. All of her writing is excellent, I think. Especially the bits where she shares conversations. Here's a perfect example. Read Oh My GOD.

Enjoy and happy Wednesday! We're half way to the weekend. Yeah!

Rockin' Baby!

2007-07-17T20:26:00.000-04:00

My friend, Adriana, over at What I Made For Dinner, just tagged me as a "Girl Who Rocks."

Hm.

Cool!

I'm suppose to name five other women who rock. (Only five?!!!) Since she tagged all of the other Scary Feminists already, then I nominate HM, Merujo, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Quiet in the Stacks, and Sister Mary Lisa for the Rockin' Girl Blogger award.

Thanks, Adriana! The feeling is mutual!

More Meme

2007-07-16T21:23:00.001-04:00

And while we're on the subject of meme, this one comes via Sideon. Here are the rules:

Grab the nearest book
Open the book to page 123.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the text of the next four sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
Do not dig around for the 'cool' or 'intellectual' book on your shelf. Do not go to the other room to find an old textbook. Just pick up whatever is lying at hand.

My book: Literature from the "Axis of Evil". This is taken from the story "A Tale of Music" by Kang Kwi-mi of North Korea. The book is a collection of essays and short pieces by renowned authors in countries the Bush Administration considers "evil."

Soon after, I discovered a surprising bit of news in the Rodong Sinmun. The government awarded citations to those who had achieved great feats in building monuments, and my brother's name was on the list of recipients. Pak Song-won. It was clearly my brother.

And again, as with the other meme from tonight, if you want to participate, go for it!

Totally Missed It

2007-07-16T20:54:00.000-04:00

So, obviously, I haven't been over at Every Wrong Move (aka LiseysMom) in a couple of weeks, because this evening I was over there and discovered that I had been tagged. Where the hell have I been?!

As much as I claim I don't do memes, I'm a total sucker for them. Here goes.

Eight Random Facts/Habits About Me, Myself, and I

1. I'm a blog squatter. I've created several blogs that don't have any content--at this time--and I'm just sitting on them. I don't know why. It's like owning random pieces of real estate in the hope that one day you'll plop a house down on it, sell it, and make a mint. Only in my case, it's in the hope that one day I'll have an epiphany of such bright and shining brilliance that I'll plop it down on a blog and make a mint!

2. Like she-who-tagged-me, I, too, clean my ears every single day. I went to the ear specialist a year or so ago to have my hearing tested yet again (I do this every so often just to make sure that a) I'm not going profoundly deaf and b) to see if the technology has advanced such that they can correct the total deafness in my left ear), and the nurse told me my ears were "too clean." Well, tough cookies, sweetheart. Nothin' oogier than sticky, gooey, waxy ears. I'd rather see boogers than ear wax! TMI?

3. And speaking of ears and hearing, if you walk with me, I'll inevitably walk in a circle around you to get on your left side so I can hear you. People initially find this disconcerting, but the longer they hang with me, the more accustomed they become to it until I finally have them trained and they remember to walk on my right!

4. I think I said this in a previous meme of similar content, but I love James Bond movies. I can't explain it, especially as a feminist, because they're so incredibly misogynist--particulary the pre-Brosnan/pre-Craig era films. Still, I adore them.

5. I make the best peanut butter and jam sandwiches ever. EVER.

6. One day, I'm going to have a pair of dachshund and when I do, I'm going to name them Geronimo and Timber.

7. I will listen to my newest CDs until I practically run them into the ground. I've just about done that with Madeleine Peyroux and Pink Martini.

8. I put on my pants one leg at a time. (Okay, I know that last one isn't random or weird, but it is a fact!)

I'd tag eight people, but I think I've tagged everyone I know at least once, if not twice. If you want to play along, feel free. Leave me a link in the comments, so I can check out your eight random facts and/or habits.

"Will You Like This Site?" I Asked Rhetorically

2007-07-14T22:53:00.000-04:00

Dr. Gradgrind answers rhetorical questions. (Or, his alter ego, Dr. Brians of WSU, does.) See here.

This one is for my friend, Aitch Em in the Ewe Kay, who I know will get a kick out of this! Enjoy HM.

So Original

2007-07-14T07:28:00.000-04:00

It's 7:30 on a Saturday morning as I type this. I just got up a bit ago (~ 7:00) and, after the obligatory morning activity or two, I came in to check my e-mail. Like the dinosaur I can be, I'm still using AOL. (I have a Gmail account, for those to whom it shallowly matters, but I rarely use it.)

So, I go to AOL's homepage and this is what greets me. What?!

It being 7:15 in the morning, I do a double take and think, "Damn! I typed in Yahoo's site. This isn't AOL" But no. This is AOL. I go to bed. I get up. Bam! Makeover.

Then I go to Yahoo's homepage. This is what it looks like. And has looked like for, well, nigh unto half an eternity.

Could AOL be any less original? Oh sure, I get that it's an interface style to which users probably respond well. And yeah, AOL is probably losing market share to the likes of Yahoo and Facebook and MySpace, though I don't track that stuff (better things to do with my life and its limited time), but could you be anymore obvious and lacking in creativity?!

AOL, thy name is Microsoft.

*********************************

* * UPDATE * * UPDATE * * UPDATE * *

Oddly, AOL has gone back to its previous format. I just checked my email again and it looks like it has for months and months. Go figure. I wonder what I stumbled upon?

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Shameless Self-Promotion Here:

(So I like a good survey. Shoot me for being shameless. )

A shout out to KOB of DC Blogs Noted for noting my 400th blog entry. If you haven't voted for your favorite blog entry on D.C. Rush Hour, please go here and vote.

400

2007-07-11T19:55:00.000-04:00

This blog entry--yes! This exact one!--is post number 400 for me.

As such, I thought I'd be a little egocentric and
highlight my ten favorite posts since I undertook this blogging venture
exactly two years ago today.

And, I'm taking a vote.
Which of these ten would you vote the
Very Best of D.C. Rush Hour?

Alliteration
Articulate
Green River... Wider Than a Mile...
In a Perfect World I'm Not Too Late for a Pink Martini, Am I?
Jesus Is a Stinker
LEGOs: Life's Philosophical Metaphor
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Season's Greetings, Blah, Blah, Blah...
One Happy Meal for the Queen, Please!
What Price, Freedom?
World Famous in Poland Oatmeal

Let the voting begin! Post your vote in the comments section.

Next week, when I'm feeling humbler (or is that more humble? JaneAnne?), I'll peruse other blogs and pick my ten favorite and have another vote. (Or not.)

Unhelpful Behavior

2007-07-11T19:12:00.000-04:00

Note: I recently shared the content of this entry with a group of friends. The feedback was so interesting and--dare I say it?--thought-provoking, I thought I'd post it here.

*************************

As a woman, I have occasion to reflect not only on my own behaviors, but also to observe the behaviors of other women. Despite all the strides that have been made in women’s rights, there are still things we do that seem to me to hold us back. Here are just a couple of observations:

1. We apologize too much.

When we make mistakes or gaffes, we own them (or we should), but we also seem to over compensate in the area of apologizing. Most folks aren’t looking to hear an apology. They’re looking to hear how we’re going to fix what we flubbed. If someone has helped us remedy our gaffe, they’re also looking to us to express appreciation.

For example, I recently noted that I forgot to make a copy of an important document for my files at work. I had to go to the manager of my group and ask him to contact the folks to whom I’d sent said document and request a copy. I also told him that I’d make copying important documents a priority upon our future receipt of them.

Today, he e-mailed me and said he’d been in touch with the folks with the document. I replied back and said I appreciated his assistance with this matter. End of story. No “I’m sorry again for the oversight.” Please note: watch your male colleagues. They rarely apologize. They just state whatever it is they have to state and move on.

2. We do things that are certainly polite and seemingly helpful, but in fact reinforce our subordinate stature.

When we’re with our male colleagues—whether it’s arriving at a meeting or going out to dinner or collaborating on a team—we defer to them in ways that send the subtle but unmistakable message that we agree with the outdated notion that we’re subordinate.

For example, I watched this morning as our gaggle of consultants arrived for their weekly meeting with our vice president. We require all guests—whether they are employees of our company or not—to sign in at reception. I watched three women arrive with their male counterparts and every single one of these women, in addition to entering their own names into the log, entered the names of their colleagues. They prefaced the action by saying things like, “I’ll take care of signing you in” or “Let me do that for you.”

Ladies! These are grown men. They can write their own names in a book, just as you can write yours. And don’t rush to get them a cup of coffee or a bottle of water, either. Oh, sure, I know. You’re already in the kitchen and it’s easy enough to do, but again, think about the message it’s sending. Unless they’re reciprocating, knock it off!

And in meetings, don’t defer to your male colleagues as the only ones who can impart further light and knowledge on your project. Own that project! Know your talking points! Be bold and confident. And while it is certainly important to ask the guys what they think, don’t start with a man. Turn to one of your female colleague and say, "Rebecca, what do you think of X?”

3. Stop using that ‘little girl’ voice and grow some vocal chords!

I’m noticing a trend lately where many 20-somethings and even a few 30-somethings women talk in voices that are better suited to teenagers and little girls. While this may seem warm and endearing, it isn’t. Trust me. Now, I’m not suggesting that you have to go all butch and lower your voice to match a man’s, but taking it down a notch wouldn’t hurt, either.

When you sound like you’re 16, you’re doing little to prove that you’re professionally competent. In fact, a recent study reported on NPR has shown that women who talk like adolescents are less likely to be taken seriously by their male counterparts.

Think Kathryn Hepburn not Jessica Simpson. Think Charlize Theron not Paris Hilton. Or Helen Thomas not Peggy Noonan. Or Maggie Thatcher or Angela Merkel or Elizabeth Edwards or Jodie Olsen. Or your favorite aunt or grandmother or mom (assuming they don’t sound like they’re 16!)

You can still be feminine without sounding like you’re underage.

Oh, and knock it off with the hee-hee-hee giggling in the workplace, too! Not cute. Definitely not cute. Learn to chuckle. You don’t have to guffaw, but those little twitters all the time are just silly.

Of course, all of this is a fine line and a double-edged sword. I’ve worked with women who were unnecessarily boisterous and inappropriately flirtatious and I’ve worked with guys who were the same. Neither is impressive. Likewise, I’ve worked with women who were perceived as bitches while their male counterparts were seen as assertive. This is an inappropriate double standard. Finally, there’s nothing to say we can’t be polite and helpful, but we should be mindful of when and why we do it and how it might be received. Somehow, we must strike a balance between the radical, bra-burning feminism of our mother’s era and the neo-classic feminism¹ of today’s young woman.

____________________________

1. Better paid, more educated, more opportunities for professional advancement, independent longer, less likely to have to fight for fair treatment in the workplace, etc., yet also less likely to appreciate or grasp the effort it took to create a world and workplace that is a little more equal for them.

____________________________

Illustration copyrights: Unknown (Google Images) and Kirk Anderson, Kirktoons, 1991, respectively.

Not Thinking

2007-07-10T06:14:00.000-04:00

I'm thinking I'm not living up to my Thinking Blogger Award... er, award... lately.

I just did an informal survey of my material from the last couple of months and it's crap, I tell you, crap!

I haven't posted a single thought-provoking thought since... wait... lemme see... Oh, yeah. Here it is. Since May, when I wrote about bullying. (Well, with the exception of Dr. Lala's rant against BAA. That wasn't crap. That's been a public service.)

Hm. That's sad.

I've got to get back on my high horse, dust off my soap box, brush up on my pontificating 'cause otherwise I'm just another puddin' head with a computer postin' crap to the 'net. (Again, see aforementioned BAA PSA by Dr. Lala as an exception to the current state of content around here.)

I'm opening the suggestion box. Name a topic. (Keep it clean. Sid... I mean you!) ;-) If I like it and it makes me think provocative thoughts (again: note rule about cleanliness), I'll noodle it and attempt to write something remotely approaching intelligent.

Image copyright: Tom Otterness. All rights reserved to him.

Area 57

2007-07-07T23:10:00.000-04:00

At 11:08 p.m. tonight, these were the headlines at the washingtonpost.com:

Lead Exposure Linked to Crime
New Seven Wonders Named
Revisiting the Five Second Rule
Uncovering the Truth in Roswell
Pagans Can't be Pegged
In France, Sarkozy's Jogging Is a Running Joke

Either it's a really slow news day in D.C. (and thank goodness for that. We need a break!) or the aliens of Roswell have decamped to the Nation's Capital.

Attention British Airways and British Airport Authority: Rant to Follow

2007-07-07T17:00:00.000-04:00

D.C. Rush Hour is proud to introduce Dr. Lala--a good friend of mine who works for an ABC NGO and who travels. A lot.

This is her report about dealing with flight delays at Heathrow on her way back to her post in Continental Europe. Please note, as you read this, that Dr. Lala's job is to find and implement solutions to complex problems--like how to eradicate measles and improve immunization globally. In other words, she puts a lot of thought into things, and this piece is no exception.

Have you had similar experiences? If you have, you should know that more and more airlines monitor blogs, especially those written by travelers, and many of them respond to complaints they read in the blogosphere.

So, without further ado, here is Dr. Lala and her report to British Airways and the British Airports Authority.

************

As a (very) frequent traveller, it was inevitable that one day I would get caught up in an incident of some sort. At least it's not of my own making, this time (knock wood... although I'm still missing one of my bags after 5 days, but I'm having trouble seeing how Ouidad hair products, cheesy Utah DVDs, and my dirty laundry could have been the cause of a security threat... of course, the bag smells a bit musty, but really?)

I'll start with the good news first: my BA flight from LAX to LHR (Heathrow) was delayed by two hours, which meant that I'd been moved from flight BA 730 to BA 732 out of Heathrow. Why is this good news? Well, the unfortunate souls "lucky" enough to board BA 730 apparently also got to spend a happy 8 hours sitting on the tarmac in Heathrow, before being unloaded off the plane (presumably, to, like the rest of us, fend for themselves in finding food, shelter, and toilets, before being able to get out either via Gatwick or the Eurostar... or, if brave and/or stupid, via Heathrow the next day).

I fared better (since, eventually, I got home a mere 12 hours later than planned). I had just comfortably ensconsed myself in the BA Terminal 4 lounge (after enduring Heathrow's ridiculous security procedures, re-screening passengers who had just gotten off of arriving flights - procedures which, by the way, for the 100th time since 9-11, did not catch the pen-knife in my ONE measly carry-on bag, but did gripe over the three tiny tubes of liquids I had leftover from my long-haul amenities kit) when the announcement came over the PA to evacuate Terminal 4. Nobody seemed to be in a huge rush, so I (I note with self-congratulatory smugness) used the potty, grabbed a few diet cokes, and calmy made my way into the main terminal... to discover the most horrible bottlenecked traffic jam ever seen.

At this point in my diatribe/monologue/lecture, I will start to point out the first of the many flaws in the British Airport Authority's (BAA, to be carefully distinguished from BA, which is British Airways) grandiose evacuation plans.

FLAW #1: If you are going to evacuate an airport, you've got to have more than one way out. Otherwise, lock people down where they are (at gates, in lounges, etc) and take them out in a systematic fashion. But crowds milling around, pushing and shoving to get through the funnel... it's not pretty. It leaves everybody unhappy and stressed out. EVERYBODY. And think about the poor people with kids, who were having trouble not LOSING their kids in the pressured mass of humanity.

FLAW #2: Um, you know that people in Terminal 4 haven't been through Immigration, right, since it's a transit terminal for international flights? You do remember this? So letting all these people just loose in the parking lot...where many of them made their way, no questions asked, to the trains, easily paying cash for a ticket to Central London, with no records of their ever having entered the UK? I'm just sayin'... if I were a terrorist mastermind (which I am not), and I wanted to get a bunch of my people into the UK without any records, lesson learned - just have one of them drop a bag somewhere in Terminal 4 and watch the chaos ensue.

Now, we all figured out that they were possibly looking for somebody as we exited... the funnel approach to the exit, plus the fact that you had to walk a gauntlet of 15 security guys with machine guns to get out who all gave you "the stare", and that they let us out in small groups of 20 so they could peer more intensely, was a giveaway. You'd think they might've checked boarding passes and passports as we left...but no. Didn't happen.

So then, there you are, outside. And they are trying (with very limited staff) to herd everybody onto the 4-story parking structure. The 4-story, unsecured parking structure. The 4-story, unsecured parking structure, that we don't know if it can take all that weight. Good plan!

FLAW #3: So, again, let's pretend I'm a terrorist mastermind. (I'M NOT, OK?). Hmmm... not only have I managed to disrupt air traffic across Europe (actually, probably worldwide), but now, the authorities have (MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA) nicely herded the thousands of people scattered over the W-I-D-E expanse of the 25 gates at Terminal 4 (it can take 30 minutes to get from one of that terminal to the other), into a 4-story structure that has the footprint of a football stadium. And has no security. So all my victims are nicely positioned for the BIG car bomb that can be set off by remote control (as opposed to a little tiny thing I might be able to get into a bag and sneak past airport authorities but probably can't get too far away from). Nice. Really Nice. Thanks guys!

(Needless to say, I kind of stayed on the airport side of the bridge of the parking structure for quite some time, to see if my theory was going to play out. I was aware, however, that I'm probably several IQ points ahead of the average terrorist, and they might not have plotted
this one out).

So everybody's milling around outside Terminal 4 at the Departures level. Nobody is saying anything. At some point, they start forcing everybody who wasn't already on the parking structure over there. They call back the flight crews. It starts to rain. People are getting tired/thirsty/hungry/wet/needing toilets. They hand out (some) plastic rain covers (but I never got one...I just saw other people with them). It starts to hail. They announce that everybody should head for level 3 of the parking (which is covered) but provide no instructions on HOW THE HELL TO GET DOWN TO LEVEL THREE. (It wasn't obvious, especially since the line for the stairs and elevators was clearly at least 45 minutes long).

FLAW #4: If you are going to consider evacuating the airport a valid control measure, HAVE A PLAN, PEOPLE. It was abundantly clear there was none. There were no megaphones; no real attempts to get people information. Total lack of coordination! And it would be SO EASY!!!

Let me explain: (1) Have a box outside the airport with megaphones and whiteboards and sticks in it, plus walkie-talkies. (Markers, too, since I need to be explicit here). (2) Have all airport and flight crews automatically report to the location of the box in the event of an evacuation. (3) Use the staff, the whiteboards, the megaphones, to organize the evacuated passengers by flight and/or destination. This has several merits: (a) people are less likely to be anxious if they feel some semblance of a plan and that somebody is thinking; (b) when you have to start bringing passengers back in, you can bring them in by flights and get planes off the ground faster instead of having to wait for all the passengers to get back inside...plus, you'll know who has given up because they can tell their group leader, so the flights don't have to wait for them; (c) If (as was the case on 3 July) a decision is made, even before re-opening the airport to cancel flights, the passengers can be informed as soon as possible, and taken over to other terminals at Heathrow to make alternate arrangements, reducing the strain on the (limited) remaining services at Terminal 4. But all of this is apparently too logical for BA or BAA.

Because what happened to me? Well, during the hailstorm, I made my way over to the third floor. From the view that I ended up with, I realized (they had not told us this) that Arrivals was still open. So I made my way down there, waded through the morass of people, found the BA Arrivals lounge (closed, of course, because the BA lounge staff from the Departures level of course, would not think that maybe they should open it up??? Hello?), but also found a plug... where I was able to charge my cell phone... and called the BA Service Center in Switzerland. Where, they were able to tell me that they had known - for hours already - that all European flights in or out of Terminal 4 were cancelled. (This, they told me at the same time that the PA systems was announcing that they were still securing the Departures level and that passengers would be informed about their flight status only AFTER that was completed. Can we say "lying through your teeth?"). I got rebooked out of Gatwick - I had to take the train to Terminal 3 and shell out $40 for a bus ticket over to Gatwick, but I eventually got there.

The flight from Gatwick to Continental Europe was late, and there was no meal service (they had to hurry to make it to my European city before the airport there closed for the night). I got there, and filed my bag claim. That was Tuesday. One of my bags made it home by Wednesday
night, but they never told me ("Airport policy is to not contact the passenger until ALL bags have arrived"). I finally called Saturday and found out my one bag was there (a bit pilfered!) and went to retrieve it. Bag #2 is apparently somewhere at Heathrow, and they cannot tell me when to expect if (if ever).

So what's the moral of my lessons?

(1) THERE IS NO PLAN. The airports have no idea what to do in a real emergency.

(2) If you have to transit through Heathrow, bring warm clothes, food, socks, a charged cell phone, and the phone numbers of your travel agent and the airline service centers.

Oh, and you wanted to know what caused all this hubbub? I don't really know. While at the airport, I heard different stories - one is that a guy ran off with his bag at security control, when they wanted to search it, and it took a while for the (intimidated) guard to inform a supervisor, and by then the guy was loose in the airport (and may have boarded a flight). A second story is that somebody dropped a bag somewhere in Terminal 4 and they wanted to find the guy (this doesn't entirely wash... shutting down an entire Terminal because of a suspect bag? Just take the bag and blow the thing up). A third story is that there was a bomb (again, unbelievable... they would've evacuated people much faster).

The real story? We probably won't ever know. My personal opinion? The whole thing happened because of poorly trained, poorly educated security staff, and a lack of a plan for how to deal with incidents. Ultimately, people's characters are far more important than what they managed to have with them in their bags. Haven't any of these guys ever watched MacGyver?

What Price, Freedom?

2007-07-04T12:25:00.000-04:00

As we celebrate our nation's independence from tyranny 231 years ago, let us not forget that others suffer.

At Safeway again last night, I saw the walking wounded from America's 'War on Terrorism'--young men and women missing hands, legs, eyes. Shrapnel wounds that have left ugly scars and pock marks in their young bodies. And who knows the depth of their psychological trauma.

And for every one of our soldiers who needlessly dies in Iraq, there are scores of civilians in Afghanistan and Iraq who are dead, dying, or wounded. What a waste.

Photo caption: An Afghan boy cries after learning two of his uncles were killed during a raid east of Kabul. (June 29, 2007)

Photo copyright: The Associated Press, Rahmat Gul.

Me Want

2007-07-04T08:25:00.000-04:00

I'm not generally someone who's at the forefront of cutting edge technology. It usually takes me a while to adopt the latest and greatest whatever gizmo that's out there. For example, I still haven't bought an iPod (I'm borrowing an earlier model from my sister, though a new one for me is right down the road), I don't upgrade my cell phone every nine to 12 months, and I haven't bought new stereo equipment in probably 15 years. I'll admit: I'm totally unhip that way.

That said, though, I went to the Apple Store last night with a friend who is looking to buy a new laptop and while she and her husband were talking to the Mac-o-phile sales dude, I was playing with the new Apple iPhone.

All I can say is, I want one of these! It is so much cooler in real time than I ever thought possible!

So, I think I might table my future purchase of an iPod, wait for the next release of the iPhone--give 'em time to work out the bugs on this first generation model, up the gigs, lower the call plan price--and go from there! It's one sweet piece o' technology!

Photo copyright: Apple Inc.

$155

2007-07-03T13:52:00.000-04:00

That’s what I paid the HVAC guy to come out and service the air conditioner, because I thought that was the source of the smell in my house.

Turns out, it was 12 tins of $1.99 Altoids-like chocolate mint candies--called Hint Mint--that were the source of the mulchy odor in my house. Go figure.

Ah, well. Glad I got that little mystery solved before turning guests, friends, and family out of the house. At the very least, there are no worries about Legionnaire’s Disease. Although, can you get that in a house? Well, regardless, the tins of candy have been locked in an air-tight container and should smell no more.

Case closed!

Bluer than Blue

2007-06-29T20:21:00.001-04:00

Received another postcard a couple of days ago. This one from my friend, Adriana, who--along with her artist husband Lane Twitchell and her son Jasper--has decamped to California from Brooklyn for the summer. Adriana is author of What I Made for Dinner and, while she's on the Left Coast, is producing a California Edition.

Thanks for the postcard, Adriana! Glad you got to see Tahoe before all the fires. And the answer to your question is: I don't know why I left. It was silly of me.

Splish Splash

2007-06-28T23:17:00.001-04:00

It's raining tonight and I am pleased to report that my new gutters are holding. Now I just have to figure out what that musty smell is in the office. Hopefully it won't cost hundreds of dollars to find out.

Here's a difference between California and the D.C. Metro area. By law in California, when you sell your home, you have to disclose everything that happened in or to the home. For example, if your house flooded in the El Nino winter of 1996, you have to disclose any damage that occurred as a result. Or, if your father died in his sleep in the living room, you have to disclose that a death occurred on the property. Stuff like that. That way, the next person who buys the house has a history and knows how to address issues as they arise.

In the D.C. Metro area, there is no disclosure when you buy property. As a result, your house could have been occupied previously by a drug dealer who cooked crystal meth in his kitchen, thus contaminating the house, and your realtor can't tell you that (they may not even know it themselves.) Or, if the house had bad gutters that resulted in leaking window frames and floor damage, you won't know that either until it rains like Noah's business and you discover it only as you watch water drip from the casing.

The latter would be my experience. Fortunately, the gutters have been fixed, so there's no more dripping window when it rains. But now I have to locate the source of mustiness and address it so it doesn't overtake the rest of the house. Ah, older homes. What a joy!

Still.... I can't complain too loudy. It's nice and dry in here, while it's wet and nasty out there. Which is how it should be!

Why?

2007-06-26T20:31:00.001-04:00

Why did I move from this...

To this...

And this...

Friggin' fraggin' dirty bastard Asian Tiger mosquitoes! I hate you!

Why, dear God? Why?!?!!!

Also in My Zip Code

2007-06-26T19:14:00.000-04:00

While changing the settings last night on my weather widget, I discovered the following cities share the same zip code as the neighborhood I live in in Washington, D.C. They are:

Hamburg, Germany
Donostia-San Sebastian, Spain
Cuggiono, Italy
Keelung City, Taiwan
Aguascalientes, Mexico*
Errostina, Greece
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Lublin, Poland
Nakuru, Kenya

Who knew?

* My favorite. If I've translated correctly, from what very, very little Spanish I know, it means "hot waters."

Summer Reading: Of Mockingbirds and Assholes, Among Others

2007-06-24T09:05:00.000-04:00

I know I have a list in the sidebar of the three books I'm currently reading, but the truth is, I'm actually reading lots of stuff. Of note right now are these two books:

Mockingbird: A Portrait of Harper Lee by Charles J. Shields
The No Asshole Rule: Building a Civilized Workplace and Surviving One That Isn't by Robert I. Sutton, Ph.D.

The former is a lovely, well-researched portrait of Nelle Harper Lee, the author of the one-hit-wonder To Kill a Mockingbird. It can't be properly called a biography, because Lee refused to grant interviews or materials to the author. Rather, Sheilds has carefully culled from newspapers, school records, historical documents, as well interviews with friends and associates and the writings of Truman Capote--Lee's best friend growing up in Monroeville, Alabama and continued confidante into adulthood--to compile this book.

I'm about halfway through it. It's an easy read and well-written. Shields is a masterful storyteller and, at times, this book reads like fiction (though its content clearly isn't) in that he weaves his information into a story as told through the eyes of others. If you liked To Kill a Mockingbird and you've wanted to know about its author, read Mockingbird.

The latter book I'm reading for myriad reasons, about which I shan't go into great detail as this is a public blog. By reading it, I am not in any way implying that my current employment situation is anything but positive. I'm reading this book, because it's always good to understand how one fits in an organization and ones impact within the organization. I will, however, point out at the very least Sutton's test for determining if you are an asshole or if you work with an asshole.

Test One: After talking to the alleged asshole, does the "target" feel oppressed, humiliated, de-energized, or belittled by the person? In particular, does the target feel worse about him or herself?

Test Two: Does the alleged asshole aim his or her venom at people who are less powerful rather than at those people who are more powerful? (p. 9)

Add to that these statistics: 50 percent to 80 percent of employees (subordinates) report that their superiors have been abusive. Within peer-to-peer ranks, coworkers experienced nastiness 20 to 50 percent of the time. "Upward nastiness--where underlings take on their superiors--occurs in less than 1 percent of cases." (Emphasis added; p. 23)

Certainly a book I would recommend, especially as it seems that work has become a much more hostile, unpleasant setting for many people these days.

On top of those two books, I'm also reading Juanita Brooks' The Mountain Meadows Massacre, John McPhee's Coming Into the Country, and Literature from the Axis of Evil: Writing from Iran, Iraq, North Korea, and Other Enemy Nations--A Words Without Borders Anthology.

As I said to a friend the other day, it would be great to win the lottery and then just read, write, and snap pictures all day. Oh well. I suppose snatches of reading here and there will suffice for now.

Finally

2007-06-21T19:22:00.000-04:00

After two weeks in the Canon repair shop in Chicago, I have my digital camera back.

Which means... I'll be starting up D.C. Confidential again! Woo hoo!

Oh, and I bought a lanyard for my camera so that, going forward, I can hang it around my neck, thereby reducing, significantly, the likelihood that I will drop it again.

Plug for Canon here: if you're in the market for a camera, go with Canon. Excellent products and fabulous service in terms of repairs.

I'm happy to have my newest gadget back, but slightly bummed I didn't have it back in time for Monday's Pink Martini concert.

Photo copyright: D.C. Confidential (Janet M. Kincaid, 06/07)

Clear Cut

2007-06-20T21:30:00.000-04:00

My friend, the Eco-fellow, produced and narrated this video about clearcutting in Sonoma County, California. It's well-done, informative, and educational.

Enjoy. And well done, Eco-fellow!

Shaken and Stirred

2007-06-19T22:14:00.000-04:00

Pink Martini

In one word: AWE.SOME.

The Portland, Ore.-based group performed last night at Wolf Trap and it was, hands down, the best concert I have ever been to. Worth every single one of those 1,800 pennies, plus fees, I spent on the ticket. (Hell, if the tickets had been five times that, it would have been worth the $90.) If they’re coming to a theater, concert hall, event, or venue near you, run—do not walk—to see and hear them.

The evening started with their interpretation of Ravel’s Bolero. Normally a piece I don’t often care for, in the hands and under the talent of this ensemble, it was a swaying, upbeat introduction that foreshadowed what we could expect the rest of the evening. In fact, at one point, I mislabeled this and thought they were playing the theme from “Lawrence of Arabia” because of its masterful handling and rousing strains and swells.

Led by Thomas Lauderdale, an extraordinary pianist and—dare I say it?—choreographer, the 12-piece ensemble of musicians, along with vocalist China Forbes, have set the standard for intelligent, yet fun, entertainment. Pink Martini Live is the best high outside of illegal substances and chocolate!

Out of three albums—Sympathique (1997), Hang On Little Tomato (2004), and Hey Eugene! (2007)—Pink Martini performed no less than two-thirds of their repertoire. Among the songs they sang (and in no particular order, because I didn’t take notes at the concert. Nor is the list exhaustive, for the same reason):

* Amado Mio
* Donda Estas, Yolanda?
* Sympathique
* Andalucia

* Una Notte A Napoli
* Clementine
* Kikuchiyo To Mohshimasu
* Hang On Little Tomato
* Song of the Black Swan

* Everywhere
* Mar Desconocido
* Taya Tan
* City of Night
* Bukra Wba’do
* Hey Eugene!
* Dosvedanya Mio Bombino
* Brazil

The last song—Brazil—was the final piece they performed as their encore, which featured a set of three songs to round out the night. From beginning to end, Pink Martini had us swaying, clapping our hands, dancing along, singing outloud, and just plain being blown away by this amazing group of artists and their talent. Bravo is a paltry accolade indeed!

Of the handful of concerts I’ve been to in my life, this one was the very best I’ve ever attended. In fact, I was listening to their CDs in my car this morning on the way into work and I’ve concluded the only way to hear Pink Martini properly is live, they’re that good! The CDs lose the texture, depth, and energy that the live appearances exude. Still, if you can’t see and hear Pink Martini live, buy their CDs. They, too, are worth every single penny.

To see if Pink Martini is coming to a venue near you, visit Pink Martini. To buy their CDs, visit their website or go to Amazon.com.

And like I said, if they are performing in your neighborhood, RUN and get tickets. Now! Believe me, you won’t regret a single minute of it.

Group Photo copyright: Pink Martini
Album covers courtesy of Pink Martini and Amazon.com

Precisely Why We Need the Holocaust Museum

2007-06-18T01:06:00.000-04:00

Eavesdrop DC reports this comment overheard in the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.

Which is exactly why memorials like this are necessary.

Lest we forget...

TACDN

2007-06-17T08:20:00.000-04:00

I wish I had pictures to go with this entry, but alas, my camera is in the shop for repairs and hasn't returned yet. Nevertheless, I bring you...

Taco and Cupcake Decorating Night

That's right! Last night found me with seven guests in the house devouring tacos and decorating cupcakes.

Okay, I'll back up. A couple of weeks ago, I met my blogging buddy, The Gunfighter, for lunch. At the end of lunch, I said, "One of these days, you have to come over for dinner." To which the Gunfighter said, "Okay, let's do it!" So, we found a date on the calendar that worked all around. I also invited The Eco-Fellow (formerly The Legislative Fellow) and Sister No-Mo (formerly The MIG), as well as my friends The Circus Mistress and Dr. CancerKiller, and my housemate.

Gunfighter and Mrs. Gunfighter have an eight-year old daughter, the Soccer Girl (who wants to be a paleantologist, by the way.) I had to come up with a menu that would work for an eight-year old, so I figured tacos would be good. And I thought cupcake decorating would make dessert a fun activity.

I made six dozen--count 'em: six dozen--cupcakes: red velvet, yellow, dark chocolate, and marble. Soccer Girl chose and mixed the colors for the frosting. We had sprinkles and frosting in tubes for writing and we were off!

All-in-all, we had a lovely evening with The Gunfighter and his family. Gunny went home with my housemate's dead DVD player for "Shoot 'Em Up Fridays" and Soccer Girl went home with a half dozen cupcakes she decorated. Looking forward to having the 'Fighters at Chez Tewkes again very soon!

P.S. Gunfighter: Soccer Girl was absolutely adorable. You and Mrs. Gunfighter have done an excellent job! Happy Father's Day!

P.P.S. Note to Zanne: Gunfighter wore a kilt. He was still adorable.

Happy 40th Anniversary, Mom & Dad

2007-06-14T08:35:00.000-04:00

Senior Prom, Lincoln High School, Green River, Wyoming, 1967.

My parents met in Wyoming when my father was a missionary in the Central States Mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He's from California. Mom was born and raised in Green River, Wyoming. They were married on June 14, 1967 in the Salt Lake Temple in Salt Lake City, Utah.

I told a colleague that today is my parents' 40th anniversary and she said, "Wow! In today's world, that's quite an accomplishment."

Congratulations, Mom & Dad!

Caption This Photo

2007-06-12T22:36:00.000-04:00

In yesterday's Washington Post, there was an article about freshman Congressman Joe Courtney of Connecticut. This photo accompanied the article as part of a gallery of pictures. From left to right: Cong. Courtney (D-Conn.), Cong. John Murtha (D-Penn.), and Cong. John Larson (D-Conn.)

Here's how I'd caption it...

Larson (in his head): Is that a dingleberry on Murtha's butt?!
Courtney (in his head): What's the protocol for this? Do I pull on it? Do I tell John? What do I do?

Or, I'd caption it like this...

Larson: Damn! Murtha's got toilet paper hanging outta his pants again.
Courtney: Now that there's funny! I don't care who you are.

Or, using Comic Life, a software program on my MacBook, I'd caption it thusly... (Click on the picture to enlarge it.)

How would you caption it?

Creature Comforts

2007-06-12T05:17:00.000-04:00

I love this series in the U.K. format, but I'm wondering if it's translating well for the U.S. format.

Creature Comforts: Featuring the Voices of Your Fellow Americans

Actually, I think they should do a version where they talk to tourists in D.C.

Seems like 95 percent of the people who come here are morons who haven't done their homework before they get here, so they end up saying stupid stuff that makes me want to take off my shoe and whack them on the side of the head.

See examples of tourons* here.

* Eavesdrop D.C. calls them 'tourons.' Tourists + morons = tourons.

FUNNY!

2007-06-10T09:23:00.001-04:00

Well, okay, only sort of funny.

There are times when D.C. can laugh at itself. Check this out:

Seriously Funny: 10 Bureaucrats, 1 Comedy Contest. And, No, We're Not Joking

My vote went to Freddi Vernell, by the way.

Shrek the Turd... Er, I Mean, Third

2007-06-08T23:03:00.000-04:00

Not much to say about this turd installment in the Shrek franchise. Loved Mike Myers in So I Married an Axe Murderer and in the first Shrek, but this latest iteration is tired.

Or, as we say in German, "schrecklich."*

Okay, wait. I'll admit, I enjoyed the scenes with Fiona and her sidekicks--Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and the double-crosser Rapunzel. And Julie Andrews as her Queen Mother was also good.

Oh yeah, and the switcheroo between Antonio Banderos as Puss in Boots and Eddie Murphy as Donkey was pretty funny.

Other than that, blah. If you're intent on seeing this film, either see it as a matinee or wait for DVD.

Meanwhile, I can't wait to see Ratatouille!

* German for 'horrible.'

El Capitan

2007-06-04T20:41:00.000-04:00

This postcard of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park in central California comes to me from my friends, Lee and Angela. Lee is a rocket scientist--literally--for NASA in Southern California. Angela is a science teacher who is well-regarded by her students. I've been in her class as an observer and if I'd had science teachers like her when I was in junior high and high school, I might have actually enjoyed science more.

She and Lee have two absolutely adorable girls--Emma and Isabella--who will steal your heart out the gate. Without further ado, here is El Capitan. Thanks Lee, Angela, Emma, and Isabella!

Bullying, Part II

2007-06-01T18:26:00.000-04:00

If you didn't read my original post on bullying, go here. The San Francisco Chronicle just published an update on this story yesterday. Read Another 1,400 Sympathetic Notes for Bullied Girl.

More significantly, though, note in the comments of my original entry on this subject that the mother of Olivia Gardner has posted a comment.

Ms. Gardner: Thank you for stopping by and clarifying the circumstances under which Olivia has left school. I'm glad to hear people are letting her know she's not alone, but am equally disheartened to hear that neither the parents of nor the kids who have bullied her have stepped up and apologized.

Please let Olivia know that I send my best wishes her way.

Photo copyright: SF Chronicle; Olivia and Kathleen Gardner.

Boo Hoo

2007-05-30T17:49:00.000-04:00

I must be in a cranky mood today, because when I read this article in the Washington Post this morning I felt absolutely no empathy, sympathy, or any other kind of -pathy whatsoever. And what makes me even crankier is that those of us who choose not to use our homes as an ATM are going to end up paying for those who do. Grrrr.

Read An ATM That's Out of Money: As Housing Market Slips, Tide of Spending and Refinancing Retreats

Where Do People Get Off and Why Do They Think They Can or Should?

2007-05-29T21:24:00.000-04:00

I should stop reading the news and start living in a cave. I just don't understand this kind of arrogance and lack of consideration.

Read on: Man With Rare TB Detained, Isolated: He Ignored Orders, Traveled Extensively

All I can say is: Idiot.

In the BIN Resurrected

2007-05-29T19:39:00.000-04:00

I think the last time I wrote an In the BIN entry was in February. I seem to recall promising that the next Binster would feature blogs from Canada. I still have to work on that one. In the meantime, in a fit of resurrection, here's a smattering of blogs I've noted that are quite good.

First off, Green Canary, who writes about an accidental hike, an errant french fry, and a steak knife that doubles as a back scratcher and how it all adds up to the best kind of friendship. Read Peas, Pod.

Next up, if you don't get over to the Gunfighter's blog or you don't read DC Blogs Noted, here are a couple of entry's from my buddy's blog last week that are sublime. Warning: These entries include Kodak moments and may require the use of Kleenex. Here is Something You Don't Know About Gunfighter and What a Day! (P.S. If you do read DC Blogs Noted, you'll note that Gunfighter's two aforementioned blogs are featured there.)

Have you blown your nose and wiped your eyes? Yes? Good. Our next BIN feature is the tragic tale of a cell phone that bites the dust during a drunken hike through a Civil War battlefield park. Read Chronicle of a Death Foretold.

Today's Washington Post (sadly) reported that Cindy Sheehan is throwing in the towel. Seems our so-called democracy really doesn't welcome protest and dissent like we'd like to think it does. Whether I liked or agreed with Sheehan or not is not my point here. The point is, when citizens of a democracy are left voiceless and powerless, as we have been in the last six years, it seems its a short walk from there to despotism and totalitarianism. Read Laurie Writes' take on Sheehan's resignation. Titled Screaming at the Monitor. (Note: This entry is a bit long, but well worth the read.)

Finally, as if the implosion of democracy isn't enough for you, try dealing with customer service as it pertains to home ownership and home repairs. While renting isn't a good long-term investment, in cases like this one, it looks far more attractive than owning. Here is A Daily Does of Zen Sarcasm and The Customer is Rightly Annoyed.

And there you have it. The latest edition of In the BIN. Can't promise when there will be another one any time soon, but somewhere along the yellow brick road of life, I'm sure I'll conjure up something again.

Not For Me To Say...

2007-05-28T12:12:00.000-04:00

...But What Do You Think? (Okay, I'll say. And what I say is, I agree. There, I've said it. And that's all I'm going to say. For now.)

Black Culture Beyond Hip-Hop

As Linda Richman would say, "Tawk amongst yer selves... Discuwss..."

** UPDATE: 5.29.07 **

I promised my buddy, Gunfighter, if he wrote about yesterday's Post article, I would post a link. Here is Gunfighter's response to "Black Culture Beyond Hip-Hop."

Oh, Nuts!

2007-05-28T00:11:00.000-04:00

A couple of weekends ago (seems like months ago, really), as I was heading out of Rehoboth and home to D.C., I stopped at Five Guys Famous Burgers & Fries for a burger and Rigby, Idaho, potato fries. I'm sitting at my table, dipping my fries in malt vinegar, watching a cute, older couple enjoy their burgers and fries, when an opportunity for humor presented itself.

For those who haven't been to Five Guys, there's always a box of unshelled peanuts sitting in a box near the cashier. As you stand in line waiting to order or as you're waiting for your burger to grill, you can shell and nosh on goobers.

As with so many before her, in came a woman who proceeded to the line. Looking into a bucket sitting on top of a trash can and completely overlooking the box of unshelled peanuts sitting next to the aforementioned trash can, she turns to the cashier and says, "Do you have nuts?"

If I'd been that cashier, I would have said, "No, but I have a nice rack."

Or, "No, I can't afford the operation, but I'm saving up for it."

Or, "No. Do you?"

How would you reply?

And Happy Memorial Day everyone!

Donut, Anyone?

2007-05-26T07:22:00.000-04:00

Krispy Kreme Donut Shop, Route 1, Alexandria, Virginia

Some of you may have noticed, but others perhaps not, that I've started a new venture here in Bloggerland. Over on the right, under the header "What I Do On the Side" is a link to my latest adventure: D.C. Confidential.

I started this as an excuse to use my new toy--a Canon A630. Plus, given my crappy-ass attitude about this town, I thought I'd try to at least assuage that attitude a little by getting out in the neighborhoods and places so many of us live, work, and play in and see if I could actually learn to love this place a little more. I don't know if it'll help my attitude, but I've certainly enjoyed playing with my new toy and have already found a treasure or two here and there.

The above picture is of the Krispy Kreme store in Alexandria, Virginia, on Route 1. It was the first--and for a long time, the only--Krispy Kreme north of the Carolinas, which is where Krispy Kreme was born. Don't be surprised if you see this picture again on D.C. Confidential.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me...

2007-05-26T07:02:00.000-04:00

Finally! The third installment in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise opened yesterday and I went with my siblings to see At World's End. I've decided not to say a lot about the film, except to say this: if you liked the first two, go see this one. And don't forget to stay through the credits. You won't regret it.

Out of five stars, I give this one four.

From the Metropolis of Thermopolis

2007-05-24T19:10:00.000-04:00

Received a jointly-sent postcard today from my friends in the blogosphere--Lisa and Sideon. Sid was in Thermopolis, Wyoming, to visit his birth family and Lisa drove down from Big Sky Country to meet Sid. My understanding is, they had a roarin' good time in ol' Thermop, as the natives call it.

Here, for your viewing pleasure, is Thermopolis. At least, the hot springs, anyway.

Thanks, Sid and Sister Mary Lisa!

And now to business: there being no further additons or amendments and with no objections, I move to approve the minutes of the first meeting of the "Damn, I Write Purty Mutual Admiration of Bloggers Society." Who will second it, please?

Bullying

2007-05-23T18:16:00.000-04:00

Growing up in Provo, Utah, I found myself the target of bullying for most of my adolescent years. It started when I was eight-years old and the bully was a guy I went to school and church with. (I’m going to call him Guy, which is not his real name. There’s no point in publishing his real name, as you’ll soon see why.)

Guy was a kid who was adopted and who was sandwiched between a picture perfect older sister and a snooty, spoiled younger sister. I suspect Guy might have been physically abused as a kid, but I have no solid evidence for that suspicion other than his behavior toward his peers, which was often abusive.

When we were eight, we were both in the same Primary class in church. (Primary in the Mormon Church would be like Bible Camp/Study in other denominations. It's for kids between the ages of three and 12.) During the summer, we’d go on class outings and try to do fun stuff as a group; things like bowling or trips to a museum or whatever eight-year olds did in those days in Provo. Our Primary teacher, whose name escapes me, asked each of us for suggestions for things we could do that summer. I’d just been to the local dairy coop at Brigham Young University a week or so previously and had learned where milk came from and how it ended up in a bottles on the grocery shelf. Not heady stuff at all, but for an eight-year old, pretty cool nonetheless!

So, when Sister Primary Teacher asked for suggestions, I raised my little hand and said, with all the enthusiasm of my eight years, “Let’s go to the dairy farm!” Those words would follow and haunt me for many, many years, thanks to Guy and his meanness. He teased me about that from third grade all the way up to ninth grade. The only reason he stopped teasing me is because we moved away and I went to a new high school. But every chance he got, he’d tell people, “Janet wants to go the dairy farm” or some variation thereon.

Now, I’ll grant you, it doesn’t seem all that awful, but when you’re eight and you want your friends to like you or when you’re a teenager and you’re just trying to fit in, having someone constantly harassing you for something so innocent is definitely not fun.

Today, I read an article in the San Francisco Chronicle about a young lady who has been bullied at a number of schools she has attended in Marin County, California, to the point that her mother has had to pull her out of classes and start home schooling her. Most of the harassment Olivia Gardner is experiencing is what is called cyberbullying. But whether it’s online or in your face, the result is still the same. Hurt. Shame. Disenfranchisement. Isolation. Fear. Anxiety. And—bottom line—it’s wrong.

What seems to be missing in society—and has been, it seems, for time immemorial—is the application of The Golden Rule in its various forms—“do unto others as you would have them do unto you” or “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” or “if you won’t say it to their face, don’t say it behind their back.” Well, you get the idea. And sure, none of us are ever 100% good about words of kindness all the time, but bullying is the lowest, vilest form of inconsiderate, malicious, hard-hearted behavior there is.

I’ll stop there and climb off my soapbox, because the point of this piece is to highlight that there are, in fact, kind, considerate young people out there. According to the Chronicle article, it seems a couple of teenagers in Marin read Olivia’s story and were appalled to learn about the bullying Olivia has experienced, so they decided to do something about it. The teens--two sisters named Emily and Sarah Buder--started a letter writing campaign and asked young people in the Bay Area to write letters to Olivia. The results have been, quite simply, amazing.

If you’d like to send a letter to Olivia, here’s where you can direct your words of kindness.

Ms. Olivia Gardner
C/o Janet Buder
775 E Blithedale Avenue #106
Mill Valley, CA 94941

As for Guy, about a year after I graduated high school and right before I moved to D.C. the first time, he came into the store a couple of times where I was working. Each time he came in, he’d come through my line. It was the first time I'd seen him since our freshman year at Timpview High School and life hadn't been kind to him. He’d battled depression, alcohol, and cigarettes, but I’d always greet him warmly and we’d talk about what was up at the moment for both of us.

One evening, Guy came in and came through my line. As usual, we exchanged some pleasantries and then, switching gears, he said, “Janet, I owe you an apology. I said many mean things to you when we were kids and I’m really sorry for that. It wasn’t nice and it wasn’t fair to you, especially because you’ve always been very kind to me.” I was stunned, but touched and managed to muster the words to say, “Thank you, Guy. That means a lot to me.”

To Olivia—hang in there. You’re okay and you’re a good person and, in the end, you’ll come out on top! And to Emily and Sarah Buder, good job, gals! May your peers learn a lesson or two from both of you. And wherever you are, Guy, I hope life has been kind to you.

And This Is Why I Moderate My Comments...

2007-05-22T06:58:00.000-04:00

Back in January, I wrote about how I don't care for comments from anonymous commenters who have the gall to tear you down, but don't have the balls to do so using their name or linking to a website. Anonymous comments are why I moderate my comments.

Well, this morning, my e-mail inbox informed me I had an anonymous comment for my blog entry about--what else?--anonymous comments.

This is what it looked like (and this isn't even all of it. It ran off the screen for a few more inches. To view a larger image, click on the image.)

And this, dear readers, is why I moderate my comments. Not because I'm controlling, but because I loathe immaturity just for the sake of stupidity. (Immaturity for the sake of silliness, now that's another thing altogether! Where's my whoopee cushion???)

So, to the anonymous blockhead out there who thought this would be funny, phffffffffft.

Walk On By

2007-05-21T21:50:00.001-04:00

Having decided to once again participate in mass transit and commute via Metro, I also decided it would be good to walk home from work. The weather has been unseasonably gorgeous the last few weeks, so being outside is actually enjoyable.

My walking route was direct--straight up Georgia Avenue toward home. Boy, what an eye-opener.

When you're in a car driving down Georgia, you certainly see some of the urban blight and the need for economic development on this neglected thoroughfare that connects Montgomery County, Maryland, with the District. But when you're on foot, you see it up close and personal. And sometimes, what you're seeing ain't so pretty.

Which makes me hopeful that the city's announcement that it will invest $100 million in the Georgia Avenue Corridor will actually result in some of the same turn around as has been witnessed in other sectors of the city. It will be a fine balance, for sure. Obviously, you don't want to force out current business owners who have stuck it out through the blight, (although, I wouldn't be all that sad to see the "Girls! Girls! Girls!" Club go, go, go.) At the same time, you also want to encourage new business to come in and generate new sources of tax revenue and employment opportunities for folks.

Either way, my walking days on Georgia Ave may be limited. But not so much by the not-so-pretty stuff I saw, but by the mere fact that walking up that hill at Howard U just about did my ass in!

P.S. I tried to find an old photo of Georgia Ave, but couldn't. I did find this link, though, on the DDOT site. Check 'em out!

Sunday Morning Sighting

2007-05-20T09:38:00.000-04:00

So this morning, I went out to the C&O Canal to walk. I usually park at Angler's Inn and then head up the trail toward the Great Falls Visitor's Center. On my way back to the parking lot near the inn, I passed this couple heading in the opposite direction. Can you guess who the man is?

None other than ousted World Bank President, Paul Wolfowitz. And the woman he was with definitely did not look like his girlfriend--the one who was part of the controversy that resulted in his dismissal.

I would have done a U-turn and run ahead to take a picture of him full on (if he was someone worth fawning over), but when you're on a tranquil path like the C&O, you don't expect to see celebrities like this. And, I didn't want to appear to be gushing, especially since I group him in with Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney as three of the worst war criminals and violators of human rights our country has ever seen.

Oh, by the way, this isn't the first time I've seen Wolfowitz. I saw him once in Gettysburg, PA, too.

Younger, Stupider, and Less Mature

2007-05-19T07:12:00.000-04:00

Many years ago--I think when I turned 29--I was working for a publishing company as a temp. My job was to input subscriber information into a database, stuff envelopes, and mail out member information. (I still remember my boss' name from those days: Janine Kitihata. Nicest lady. I wonder where she is these days?)

That year, as has been the norm for many years now, I also took my birthday off as a personal holiday. When I returned to work the following day, one of my colleagues said to me, "So, do you feel older, wiser, and more mature?" To which I laughed and said, "What? As opposed to younger, stupider, and less mature?"

I've been thinking about that a bit lately and wondering if I am becoming wiser and more mature. (Certainly I'm older. There's no not becoming that. You just do obviously. But the other two aren't givens, are they?) I'd like to think I am. But then again, it may just be that living and working in this town has so beaten me down, I'm too tired to fight for my voice any longer.

What I do know about how I've changed, and perhaps even "wised up", is this:

I no longer say every little thing that pops into my head to everyone within hearing. Some comments, retorts, opinions, etc. are best left unsaid, or only shared with a select few.
I don't have to have the last word. Sometimes, it's just best to let it go and walk away.
I don't feel compelled to constantly point out other people's quirks, boo boos, mispellings, and flaws. At least, I try not to.
I've found that when I do focus on the aforementioned, I become judgmental and I end up not liking myself for often being too harsh and petty.
When others focus on the afore-aforementioned with me, I begin to lose respect for that person. (That's not to say I'm not open to unsolicited opinions or criticisms, but some stuff is just so patronizing and--what was that word a friend of mine used the other day? Oh yes--pedantic and know-it-all, it's tiresome.)
I don't do perfectionism anymore. Particularly because being a perfectionist means, nothing I do or anyone else does will ever be good enough for me. That kind of attitude is equally tiresome and lacks graciousness.
Empowering people is not a threat, but a gift and it shows a level of self-confidence in oneself and confidence in others that results in people who want to play together and play together well.
Life is too short, therefore, I wish to fill mine with love, laughter, and good friends. Toxic people just aren't worth it, no matter who they are or what the setting is.

I'm going to stop there, because that's about all the supposed maturity and wisdom I can stand for one day! Thanks for reading.

Photo copyright: Thinker on a Rock by Brian Flanagan, D.C. Confidential (Janet M. Kincaid, 05/07)

Bestest

2007-05-15T23:07:00.000-04:00

Rio Grande Valley Girl has done it again... stolen my heart. Here's how.

Love you, ME!

For Purple Mountains Majesty...

2007-05-14T11:14:00.000-04:00

When I was about 10, I think it was, I asked for a set of watercolors for my birthday. My maternal grandmother was an artist and I loved looking at her work. My parents gave me a set of watercolors--a palette of eight colors: red, yellow, blue, purple, orange, green, brown, and black--and I was thrilled! I wanted to paint with them right then and there! But Mom asked me to wait a few days; Grandma June would be visiting and she could teach me how to use them.

Waiting for Grandma to arrive was almost as painful as waiting for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. It took f.o.r.e.v.e.r. for her to arrive! But finally, she was there. We sat down together with a drawing pad and paints and the tutorial began.

I grew up in Utah, which--if you haven't been there--is very mountainous and has impressive peaks and ranges that are majestic and beautiful. The mountains were our subject that day.

The first thing Grandma did was to sketch a mountain scene in pencil. I recall five or six peaks in the background with a lake and a little hut in the foreground.

Then Grandma asked what color we should paint the mountains. Naturally, I said "Brown." To which Grandma said, "Brown is certainly the color of the dirt and rocks when you're standing on the mountain, but from a distance mountains look purple, just like in the song." In my 10 year old mind I thought, "Purple?! Na-uh." But I obediently went along and watched Grandma carefully add a little water to each of the paint disks. Then she began painting one of the mountains. She handed the brush to me and I painted a little, too.

By the time we were done, we had a landscape that featured "purple mountains majesty above the fruited plains." To this day, when I draw and sketch--which is pretty infrequent and unfortunate--my mountains are shaded purple. When I did the drawing test this morning, I chose mountains because that's what I started with 29 years ago and I guess I was drawing what I know.

I've decided this year I'd like to take a drawing class again. The last class I took was in junior high school and then I stopped. So, here's my goal: by this date next year, when I turn 40, I want to post a drawing of majestic, purple mountains. It's never too late to learn, right?

Take the test here.

Photo copyright: Peakware

NASCAR Meets Bollywood

2007-05-13T19:46:00.000-04:00

Or, you could also title this one "Rum Pa Pum Pum." Seriously, though...

My sister, Janeen, celebrates her birthday on April 28. This year, she decided, in lieu of gifts and a party, she'd invite a bunch of friends to see the Yash Raj Bollywood flick Ta Ra Rum Pum. I was invited, as well, despite the fact that I always end up renaming these movies in a manner that is just shy of mocking.

Simply put, Ta Ra Rum Pum is a big budget film that pairs one of America's hottest pasttimes with India's biggest industry. NASCAR meets Bollywood in this film and, for three hours, it is both poignant and hilarious.

TRRP is the story of Rajveer Singh (RV, for short) who dreams of being a race car driver. He meets Radhika, an accomplished pianist and intellect, and falls head over heels in love. He also meets Harry, the manager of a racing teams called the Speeding Saddles. Harry recruits RV to be the team's driver and RV convinces Radhika to marry him. They live a life of celebrity and big dreams until the day RV is in a horrible crash on the track where he first started racing. He ends up out of commission, broke, forced out of his home in the Hamptons, and living in the slums of New York City where he works as a taxi driver.

The movie chronicles RV and his family's struggle to overcome their financial woes and his psychological trauma and once again triumph. It's a fun movie with a good message about making the best of a bad situation.

Being a Bollywood flick, it's obviously long (3+ hours) and includes several musical pieces, including a Mary Poppins-type scene in New York City's Disney store where the family dances and sings with a family of animated bears, but all in all, it's a good movie. Frankly, it's better than Talladega Nights and, unlike Talladega Nights, I didn't feel like I'd lost three hours out of my life I'd never get back. If you're up for a Bollywood film and you want something the entire family can watch, see this one.

P.S. Did you know that 40 percent of NASCAR's fan base are women? I learned that today on CBS Sunday Morning. Who knew?!

Das Leben Der Anderen

2007-05-13T19:28:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I went to Rehoboth for a little R&R and some early birthday celebrating. It's always nice to get away from D.C. for a few days and enjoy the sound of the ocean.

While I was in Delaware, I went to the multiplex in town and saw this year's Oscar winner for Best Foreign Film, Das Leben Der Anderen (The Lives of Others.)

Set in the former German Democratic Republic, it follows the work of Gerd Wiesler, a Stasi (State Secret Police) agent, and his survellience of a renowned playwright and his actress girlfriend. Wiesler finds himself compelled to watch them for reasons he soon realizes are fabricated and wrong. The result is an otherwise cold and methodical agent who suddenly develops a streak of morality and risks his career to protect people he is sworn to destroy.

The movie is a bit on the long side and can seem like it's never going to end. But, be patient. What you will discover is a cinematic jem and a morality tale that ends perfectly. This is a film that will stay with you for a long time. If you see no other foreign film this year, at least see this one. It is brilliant! Or, as we say in German, "Ausgezeichnet!"

Go Figure

2007-05-10T23:16:00.000-04:00

Seems I made the Washington Post's Express Blog Log today and managed a sex change to boot!

Who knew? Apparently someone at the WaPoEx thinks I'm a man, even though my name is Janet. A name which is so decidedly female, I'm not sure how it could have been mistaken for anything else.

Oh well. It's just an honor to be mentioned.

And a big thank you to my friend, Merujo, over at Church of the Big Sky, who pointed out this mention to me, otherwise, I would have totally missed it!

If you missed the post that resulted in the honorable mention, just scroll down an inch or two and read how I fix the Queen a PB&J.

One Happy Meal for The Queen, Please

2007-05-09T05:37:00.000-04:00

As many of your may know, Her Majesty, the Queen of England, was in town this week. It's been a flurry of fanfare and formality all over the place.

She's been from Jamestown in the Commonwealth of Virginia to NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center in the State of Maryland. In between, there's been a derby, a white-tie state dinner, a garden reception, and an embassy fête, as well as a wreath-laying at the World War II Memorial. (P.S. Is it just me or does the jacket on the First Lady's exclusive de la Renta gown make her look like she has post-menopausal, droopy boobs? Did she forget to wear a bra Monday evening?)

At most of the events, her hosts have fed her. And fed her artfully and well. Of course, this only seems proper. I mean, it is the Queen of England. This isn't your garden variety diplomatic visit we're talking about here. The food must be, well, fit for a queen.

Now don't misunderstand. I enjoy a lovely, high-brow meal along with the rest of gourmand America. I've even been known to try my hand a time or two at crafting a pièce de résistance of my own (I'm still trying.) But it was the artfulness of the food served at a reception hosted by Governor Tim Kaine (D-VA) in Richmond that takes the cake. Prepared by Chef Patrick O'Connell of the Inn at Little Washington, the food described seemed so high brow that the brows of the truly high brow likely registered off their foreheads, it was beyond hoity toity.

Which then made me wonder...

Does the Queen retire in the evening and wish for a simple burger from room service?

Or maybe a nice dish of basic vanilla ice cream with maybe a standard fudge sauce on the side?

Perhaps she gets to the end of these trips and dreams of beans and toast?

Because, truly, there's only so much rich, artful food a soul can eat before ones insides would start to feel schlampig. (That's German for messy, by the way.)

What they should have served the Queen was some good ol' comfort food. If the Queen had visited my house, I would have made PB&J with a side of potato chips and a tall glass of whole milk.

Of course, I wouldn't have called it that. It would have been something like this.

Groundnut Legumes
with Confit of Early Spring Raspberries
on Brioche Platters

Delicate Crisps of Solanum Tuberosum
Seasoned with Hints of Cape Hatteras Sea-salt

Free-range Milk of Domesticated Bovinae

Now what's high-brow about that?

Photo copyrights: The Washington Post (Camera Works), The Washington Post (Style section), and FotoStock.com.

Ell-Aa-Em-Ee

2007-05-07T09:13:00.000-04:00

Lame.

That's what this blog is lately.

L. A. M. E.

Of course, it's not like there's nothing to write about these days. Unfortunately, what there is to write about is the same-old, same-old that there was to write about last week and that there will be to write about next week. It's like the Pulitzer Prize-winning, Oprah-blessed book I just finished reading, The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. Also lame. (And how does a book that doesn't use contractions garner the Pulitzer? What are the criteria these days? Laziness in grammar? Saving trees by eliminating contractions and quotation marks, thereby saving 3.6 sheets of paper out of a 287 page book?)

I'm not even going to bother fully reviewing this book. Suffice it to say, the same scenario plays out over and over and over again with only minor variation here and there. In the end, the father dies and the son is left alone to fend for himself, but only long enough to cry crocodile tears before other survivors of the nuclear holocaust come along and take him in. This is a book that many of the nation's largest newspapers have anointed "the best book of the year."

How or why, I haven't a clue. If you've read it and can tell me how this book is comparable to a classic like William Golding's Lord of the Flies, I'll give it a second chance. Until then, lame. Out of five stars, minus three.

And continuing on a theme of lame...

This blog.

Also lame.

Nothing happenin' here.

Lame.

I need to dig my head out of whatever hole it's buried in and get back on the horse.

Hm. Mixed metaphors; a sure sign my writing is going to hell in a handbasket.

I Predict...

2007-04-29T10:46:00.000-04:00

This is the price of gas today in the Maryland suburbs.

This is the price in Virginia.

And here's the price in downtown D.C.

I predict, by Memorial Day, the price of gas in the 'burbs will be $3.79 and $4.29 in the city.

Of course, I suppose it could be worse. I could be back in California.

By Memorial Day, it'll be $4.89/gallon out there.

Smoke Hallmark

2007-04-29T09:52:00.000-04:00

You know Hallmark Cards, right? When You Care Enough to Send the Very Best?? The folks who've brought us Valentine's Day and National Adminstrative Professionals Day and Belly-Button Lint Collection Day in all its commercial, card-saturated glory? Well, I was on their site today looking for an appropriate e-Card to send my sister for her birthday, since I couldn't find an appropriate print card. (It has to be a fine balance of sentiment and humor. None of that schmarmy, sacchriny stuff for us, folks. And nothing too toilet. This year's selection of cards at the store were disappointing. Crass and crude, to be precise. Only funny as you read them, but then immediately followed by an "Oh my gosh. I can't send that.")

While I was on the U.S. site, I noticed a link for Hallmark UK and figured I'd poke around, since American sentiment and humor can be quite different from British sentiment and humor.

This is what the Hallmark (U.S.) site looks like. You'll notice the navbar on the left that let's you select from a variety of cards.

The one category that is so American is the "Support Our Troops" card selection. Nothing wrong with that. Just sayin'.... Sort of. I'm about to set up a compare and contrast here.

On the other side of the pond is the Hallmark UK site. It looks like this.

Again, you'll notice on the left a navbar that provides a selection of e-card options. But here's where the U.K. site and the U.S. site are so very different.

Only anywhere but the U.S. would you be able to find a card that congratulates and encourages your closest friends and family members in their efforts to quit smoking!

And this is why I love the Brits! We suppose ourselves to be too polite for such things over here. Over here, we talk behind people's backs.

"Did you notice that Nicole is giving up smoking?"

"No? Really?"

"Yes. Isn't it wonderful? I mean, it's just such a disgusting habit. Of course, don't get me wrong. It's her right to smoke, but still...."

Over there, they just come right out with it.

"Oy, matey! 'Bout time ya gave up that bloody, stinkin' 'abit. 'Ere, 'ave a pint!"

"Tanks, mate."

Ah, Hallmark.

Oooooo... O-R-E-O

2007-04-28T17:21:00.000-04:00

So, I discovered something the other evening.

I like OREO's somewhat humidified.

I know! Weird, huh?

I don't know what to make of it. I mean, as a kid, there was nothing worse than an OREO that had become soft as a result of sitting out or the humidity inundating a package full of cookies. But for some reason, I like them a bit on the soft side now.

I don't know what to think of this latest development...

Tour Eiffel moutons

2007-04-26T20:50:00.000-04:00

Dr. Lala and her new boyfriend, The Texas Vet (TexVet, for short), recently spent a weekend in Paris. How would it be to live in Europe and say to your friends, "Oh, we're going to Paris this weekend" or "We did a day trip to Salzburg" or "We grabbed the Chunnel Train and went to London for the day"? For some reason, it's just not the same when we say, "Yeah, I took the $17 Chinatown Express to New York this weekend." So not romantic or glamourous sounding.

Here is le Post Card a la Lala. (Pardon my French. Or lack thereof.)

Mare-see-bow-coo, Dr. Lala!

Play It Again, Nora

2007-04-21T23:45:00.001-04:00

This is Nora, the Piano-Playing Cat. I wish the cat living in my house was this talented. Although, he's really good at talking to me, which, I guess, is a new thing. Still, I think this is pretty amazing!

See more of Nora at Raven's Wing Studios.

P.S. And, no, I can't believe I just posted something about a cat either. Lapse in judgment, I guess.

Video courtesy of YouTube and Raven's Wing Studios.

Ocean, Ocean, Ocean

2007-04-16T20:09:00.000-04:00

Mendocino Coast, Mendocino County

One of the things I really, really, really miss about California is the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the wind blowing through my hair, the feel of sand between my toes, the sunsets, tide pooling... There's something healing and rejuvenating about the ocean. It's the one place I've found that is consistently capable of clearing the cobwebs out of my mind and restoring a sense of calm and serenity such that I can make it for days and weeks without overly stressing or feeling overwhelmed.

When I lived in the Golden State, I lived about an hour from the beach--depending on which beach I'd choose and what time of day or day of the week I'd go. Some of my favorite beaches in California are Stinson, Limontour, Glass, Pismo, Morro Rock, San Gregorio, Patrick's Point, Trinidad, and Bean Hollow.

Stinson is the beach my dad always use to take us to when we were little kids and we'd go to visit his parents. We only went three or four times when I was a kid, but it was enough to get the ocean under my skin. Limantour is a lovely stretch of beach in Peyes Reyes National Seashore that is reminiscent of Dover, England.

I can't remember the name of this specific beach,
but it's just around the bend from Glass Beach, Fort Bragg, Mendocino County

If you like seaglass, Glass Beach is your best bet. It's in the old logging town of Fort Bragg, about four hours north of San Francisco and just above the picturesque town of Mendocino. You can cull glass off the shore of what was once the city dump. Believe it or not, there was a less enlightened time when municipalities would actually drive their trash trucks to the edge of the ocean and just dump the garbage!

Morro Bay with Morro Rock in the background, San Luis Obispo County

Pismo Beach is down on the central coast near San Luis Obispo, about three hours north of Santa Barbara. Morro Rock, just north of Pismo and right outside SLO, is a lovely outcropping that is stunning. The only blight on Morro is PG&E built a power station right in front of it, so it's impossible to take an unobstructed photo of it from the east looking west. Still, it's a pretty cool spot!

Bean Hollow, just below Pescadero, San Mateo County

San Gregorio and Bean Hollow are both just below Half Moon Bay. Patrick's Point and Trinidad are up in Humboldt County in what is truly northern California. In addition to the spectacular beaches, you can see some pretty stunning redwoods.

Trinidad State Beach, Trinidad, Humboldt County

All that to say, the beach and the ocean are it for me. It's one of the things about living in D.C. that has been hard, because getting to any beach around these parts isn't a cake walk, it's a death march. And the beaches on the East Coast--at least the ones I been to between Delaware and Florida--are only worth visiting in the off-season. During the season, they're nothing but wall-to-wall bodies of folks who obviously don't give a flip about the health and welfare of their epidermal layers. There's nothing quite as unattractive as 70 year-old men and women in leather skin, thongs and/or Speedos, walking up and down the beach. There's not much that's attractive about 20 or 30 somethings in similar scanty attire either, for that matter. Ick! Just ick.

Serenisea, not far from the Gualala River, Mendocino County

A beach is a beach, I suppose, and I shouldn't complain too much. Still, I try not to go in the summer. Case in point, I was just in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, this weekend and, despite the inclement weather, managed to get in a couple of hours on the sand, hunting for agates and seashells. I stupidly forgot my sunscreen and managed to get a little sunburn on my face. Dumb, dumb, dumb. But, I had a grand and glorious time! The cobwebs have been dusted out of my brain and I'm good to go for a few weeks. What I'll do after that, who knows?

Meanwhile, here's a postcard from Rehoboth. It's a picture of a coastal defense tower from World War II.

And here's someone's YouTube video with the sights and sounds of the ocean on some beach in Hawaii.

Photo copyrights: Janet Kincaid, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006

Video: Courtesy of YouTube

I = Imus, I = Idiot

2007-04-09T19:14:00.000-04:00

I usually skip over Imus in the Morning on MSNBC, mostly because he always sounds drunk and he never has anything to say that I'm interested in hearing. But, Imus was an idiot the other day and had the audacity to follow the lead of his producer in calling the women's basketball team--most of whom are African-American--"nappy-headed hos." I won't even begin to explain just how patently wrong that is because you'd have to be a few bulbs shy of a full chandelier not to understand just how wrong that is. In other words, if I have to explain it to you, you're an idiot, too.

Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson have both spoken out against Imus' slur. And rightfully so. Referring to people of color as "nappy-headed" is pretty low in the lexicon of racial epithets. I'm going to leave it to my esteemed friends and colleagues, some of whom have been subjected to that pergorative adjective, to comment on hair and its use as a slur. I, however, am going to comment on the last word--"ho."

To express indignation at the first part of the comment is completely the right thing to do and is more than justified. But I'm concerned that there has been no outcry (unless I'm a dolt and have missed it) from women's groups regarding the use of the derogatory label "ho" in describing a group of women. Basically, what Imus did was called these women whores.

That's right. Whores. Oh, sure. When we say "ho" it doesn't seem as bad and we can laugh it off, right? Wrong! It really isn't funny and it isn't as innocuous as it seems. Flat out, bottom line, and not putting too fine a point on it, Imus called women whores. And Imus was as wrong as wrong can be.

Calling women ho's makes me just as mad as having him refer to persons of African origin by a negative characterization of their hair. Both are... how shall I say it? Oh, yeah--WRONG. And not only does Imus owe the African-American community an apology, he owes women an apology, because as a woman, I am offended.

So, Don Imus and whatever the name of your producer is who first called the Rutgers' team "ho's," you guys owe us an apology. I'll take my straight up, in prime time, and would appreciate it if you'd follow it with some community service at a women's shelter or somewhere where the majority of folks are female and/or black.

As for derogatory epithets, when are we going to let go of these words and phrases that are harmful and are meant to be vile? Surely we're far more advanced in this day and age? Or maybe I'm living in a dream world?

Follow the Prophet

2007-04-08T12:49:00.000-04:00

If you've been following the news, you know that Vice President Cheney has been invited to speak at Brigham Young University's commencement in a couple of weeks. And, you probably also know that this has created quite a stir. (Read articles from the Washington Post here and here.) Outside of Bob Jones University and Oral Roberts University, Brigham Young is probably one of the most conservative universities in the United States. Owned by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the entrance requirements are not only academically rigorous, they're also morally rigorous.

One of the hallmarks of Mormonism is that Mormons believe in living prophets--men who they believe are called by and speak to and for God. And they believe in following these men faithfully and without question.

Mormons also like to taut that they are "politically neutral." As a result, the Church has tried to distance itself from the Cheney affair at BYU by saying it doesn't support one party or the other, that it encourages its members to be engaged in civic affairs and to vote, and that it doesn't endorse candidates. All of that is philosophically true. From a realistic standpoint, though, Utah always votes Republican and it gave George W. Bush his highest returns in both elections. In other words, Utah is a red state and the Church is fairly red, too, with occasional tinges of blue.

Many folks at BYU are not happy that Cheney is coming. The Church leadership has been hearing about it and continues to try to distance themselves from this matter, despite owning and governing BYU. And the Church's nonagenarian leader and prophet, a kindly, grandfatherly man named Gordon B. Hinckley, has continued to tell members to be engaged civicly. As a result, this protest poster displayed during a protest at BYU this week is just classic. Talk about turning a belief around and using it as a valid counterpoint! I love it! (Apparently, though, some of the more conservative, pro-Cheney-ites were not amused, but I guess that's their constitutional right, too.)

Thanks to my friends, The Professor and MaryAnn, for posting this on their blog.

Survival of the Fittest

2007-04-08T11:14:00.000-04:00

Several months ago, this postcard arrived at the house. It's been hanging on the fridge since it arrived and I finally took it down yesterday and decided to hang it on the Door of Postcards in the office, which also meant it needed to be added to the growing collection on le Blog. So, here it is. The most Darwinian postcard in the collection.

It's from my friends, The Legislative Fellow and the MIG. They took a trip last fall to the Galapagos Islands and sent this postcard of the famous Blue Boobies. Yes, you read that right. Boobies.

I'm so glad that's not what my boobies look like. Still, they are kind of cute, aren't they? The Blue Boobies, I mean. Not my boobies. (Although, they're kind of cute, too...)

P.S. Happy, blessed Easter!

Weekends

2007-04-07T22:14:00.000-04:00

I was a bum this weekend. Okay... truthfully, I was a bum for half the weekend. I can't talk about Sunday because a) it isn't Sunday yet and b) I'm hosting Easter dinner with the family at my house on Sunday, so I won't be bumming tomorrow.

But I was a bum today. Slept in until 9:00 or so, then watched Part II of Gone with the Wind (I watched Part I last night, before I went to bed), followed by The Holiday (better than I expected and I'm not a huge, huge fan of Jude Law, but I thought he was very Cary Grant in this movie), Curse of the Golden Flower (which was okay; I liked Crouching Tiger, Hero, and House of Flying Daggers better), Ice Age (hadn't seen it before now; also turned out to be better than expected for that type of movie), Frankenstein (the Branagh/DeNiro/Bonham Carter version; only okay; not as scary as I thought it would be), and, finally, to round out the movie watching, Casino Royale (for, like, the 12th time. I must say, I think the new Bond movies are far more sophisticated than in the past and this one is no exception. I really like this Bond film.)

By the time I finally showered and dressed, it was well after 7:00 p.m. and then I ran off to the store to buy the various sundries and goods I'll need to make tomorrow's dinner--pork tenderloin with roasted granny smith apples and butternut squash on the side. It's a new recipe and I thought I'd give it a whirl, as the family didn't want the standard ham or lamb. We'll see how it turns out.

But that's not really the point I want to make with this post. The point I want to make is, ever since I started working full-time again, I've felt as though my weekends have been overcrowded with things that are MUST-DOs rather than WANT-TO-DOs. Does that make sense? For some reason, during my 10 months of unemployment and leisure, I somehow unlearned how to get everything done on the weekends that I need to, while still leaving time for a little play and R&R. My only saving grace this weekend is that our Boston-Irish-Catholic Veep decided to close the office yesterday at noon in observance of Good Friday. So, I went to Costco yesterday and got that out of the way, which then only left cleaning the house, grocery shopping, and laundry for today. Of those, I managed to get two out of three done between 7:30 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. I'll finish cleaning tomorrow and then will start cooking in the afternoon.

Still... I get to Mondays and think, "How come I feel so tired?"

I also, before the lengthy hiatus, use to run a lot of errands in the evenings after work, but now, I come home so tired, I rarely go out in the evenings. What's up with that?!

Anyway--enough about all this. I'm off to put my PJs back on and watch another movie. Maybe I'll watch Casino Royale again...

Trash Talk

2007-04-01T09:35:00.000-04:00

I've started commuting to work via car. Seems it's cheaper to go with free parking than risk a $25 ticket every day at the Takoma Metro Station and the illogic of their "Seven Hour Meters." (Topic for another posting: How Metro wants us to get out of our greenhouse-gas-emitting cars and onto their earth-friendly transit system, but then makes its ironically unappealing by having seven hour meters with $25 tickets for expired meters in their parking lots. Makes no sense, folks. Hence, my resentful and unconscionable move back into my car.)

As a result of my car-bound, 20-minute commute, I see a lot of things. Bad, stupid-ass driving is what I see most. And, yes, it bugs me. And, no, I'm not the world's best driver, but I try to be courteous and to factor in enough time so as not to have to rush. But I digress. The other thing I see whilst driving and that disturbs me more than the rubber cars slinging and flinging around me are the folks who LITTER.

Litter. You know what that is, right? It's that stuff that, if you were at home, you would throw away in a garbage can or put in your recycling bin. It's that McDonald's cup. It's a candy wrapper. It's the box your disposal camera came in. It's anything you can't eat or use in a practical manner. It's trash. Sometimes, it's a reusable resource. But you fling it out of your car window or casually drop it on the sidewalk or whatever. It's litter. And frankly, it's disgusting and lazy.

If you can't be bothered to hold onto your candy wrapper long enough to get to the next gas station and you just have to toss it out the window, you're a litterer. If you can't muster the energy, let alone the civic pride, to carry your trash that extra 20 steps to a public trash can, you're a litterer. If you think it's okay to just throw it on the ground because the city sweeps up every night or there are neighborhood business-area ambassadors who will pick up and sweep up trash, you're a litterer. And you're lazy.

Littering is about laziness. And it's about a lack of pride and respect for your surroundings. In the case of my surroundings, THIS IS THE NATION'S CAPITOL, for cripe's sake! Have a little pride. Get off your lazy ass, show a little pride in your city, town, neighborhood, backyard, wherever, and pick up your bleeding trash. Just because it's an urban setting doesn't mean the rules of the wilderness don't apply. In other words, if you hauled it in, haul it out!

This message brought to you by The Crying Indian, Woodsy Owl, and your local Civic Pride booster. (And P.S. I think it's time Keep America Beautiful revive the Crying Indian and for the Forest Service to bring back Woodsy Owl. Until then, though, here, for your collective recall, are The Crying Indian and Woodsy Owl.)

Beta

2007-03-23T22:22:00.000-04:00

I’ve decided that the female of the species is still in beta version.

When I get a migraine, all I want to do, in the initial stages, is pop my left eye ball out of its eye socket and soak it in a glass of cool water. The resultant hole in my head from the absent obicularus oculi would also serve to relieve the pressure that comes with said seismic migraine and all would be well.

If the migraine were too far advanced, however, I’d like hinges on my neck, so I could take my aching head off and set it on a shelf. Let it do its migrainy thing, then come back to it in 24 hours and put it back on my neck. In the interim, I could flick a switch on my hip or wherever and my back-up generator brain would kick in, allowing me to maintain my other necessary bodily systems like my heart and lungs until my main system is back online.

And how about that cycle every 28 days? Since I can’t seem to convince either my gynecologist or my internist to let me have a hysterectomy for my birthday—something I’ve been begging for for several years now—then I say, let my uterus be detachable. At the start of my monthly cycle, I’ll just take it out, stick it in a bucket in a dark corner, and let it do its thing for 3 – 5 days. At the end of its menstrual moment, I’ll take it out of the bucket, toss in the dishwasher, give it a good cleansing, and stick it back in it’s pelvic pocket—brand-spanking new and ready for another month of lining itself and flipping eggs out of my ovaries and into its cushy recesses.

One of these days, God and I are gonna have a talk. And I’m not talkin’ some rinky-dink little, “Gee, golly, God, I love that You created Gerbera daisies. They’re just so friendly and all.” Unh-uh. No sirree. I’m talkin’ the serious talk. The talk about how God made the beta version of females and then suspended all funding for further R&D, clinical trials, and whatnot. I'm tellin' ya, He quit too soon in the research and trials. And men were obviously the control group, because if God ever had had a period, believe you me, He would tossed the research protocol and started over again.

So there!

No Starch, Please

2007-03-20T21:30:00.000-04:00

Received a postcard yesterday from my sister Janeen. She was in NYC last week attending an art seminar taught by the guy whose mother wrote the book "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain." I have to say, I'm totally amazed by the level of skill she developed in just five days. Her before and after self-portraits were amazing! Anyway--she sent me this picture of the Flatiron Building in lower Manhattan. At least, I think it's in what is classified as Lower Manhattan. I guess it's really in upper Lower/lower Upper Manhattan. I don't know. I do know it's not far from the Empire State Building and is right up the street from the Foundation Center, where I did a week's worth of training two years ago for my last job.

So here, with no starch, is Janeen's postcard.

Thanks 'Neen!

P.S. Did you draw today?

With Friends Like These...

2007-03-17T08:42:00.000-04:00

Caution: If you haven’t taken this test and you want to, do not read today’s blog entry. Go here to take this test first, then come back here and read the answers.

I thought I’d provide the answers to the "How Well Do My Friends Know Me" test I posted the other day. So, without further ado, here they are.

1. My eyes are: Blue. They’re also my best physical feature. At least, it would seem as I receive more compliments for my eyes than any other feature. On this question five out of 11 of you answered correctly, or 46 percent.

2. In college, I majored in Foreign Language and Literature. In graduate school, I studied Religion and Society. This was obviously a trick question, with emphasis on the word college. Arguably, I did major in Religion and Society, but that was in grad school. On this question four of 11 answered correctly, or 36 percent.

3. I was born in California, grew up in Utah, moved to Virginia, lived in Austria, went to grad school in California, and now live in Washington, D.C. On this question, nine out of 11 answered correctly, or 82 percent.

4. When I was 8, I acquired a scar on my right knee. I got it when I ran into an above ground sprinkler painted green so as to blend in with the lawn. I had to have stitches. For years, that scarred really bothered me and I didn’t like people to see it. Now, I don’t care. On this question three of 11 answered correctly, or 27 percent.

5. If I had pets, they would be a pair of dachshunds. I know what you’re thinking. “Dachshunds!? Those long little dogs who look funny?” Yep, them’s the ones. Love me my doxies. One day. One day… On this question six of 11 answered correctly, or 55 percent.

6. I would name my pets Geronimo and Timber! Wouldn’t that be fun when you holler for them? Geronimooooooo! Timberrrrrrr! In all fairness, though, I’ve also considered naming a pair of dachshunds Col. Klink and Sgt. Schultz, a la Hogan’s Heroes. Oscar and Felix come in a close third. On this question two of eleven answered correctly, or 18 percent.

7. I’m a weeny when it comes to being cold. I don’t like being cold. More specifically, I don’t like it when my feet or nose are cold, especially at night, when I’m trying to go to sleep. On this question five of 11 answered correctly, or 46 percent.

8. I am totally deaf in my left ear. Have been since birth. I don’t hear in stereo, which is a shame, because I love music. This is also why I will always walk on the left side of you or why I’ll offer to drive places. Sitting in the passenger seat isn’t enjoyable for me (unless I'm in England. Then driving would be a drag) because I can’t hear the conversation and I constantly have to ask people to repeat themselves. At restaurants, on the other hand, I’ll usually sit near the wall, or on the right hand side of you. This way, sound bounces off the wall and into my good ear. You learn all sorts of little tricks when you’re with me. Oh, and I lip read, too, so watch what you say in my line of vision! I thought everyone knew this about me. Hm. Guess not. On this question eight of 11 answered correctly, or 73 percent.

9. In a cheese shop, I always go for the Humboldt Fog Chevre. Although, the Wisconsin Smoked Gouda comes in a close second. I also enjoy Feta, Butterkase, Drunken Goat Cheese, Port Salut, and just plain old cheddar. On this question eight of 11 answered correctly, or 73 percent.

10. I only subscribe to one magazine. It is Cook’s Illustrated. Not only is this one of the best cooking magazines out there, it also has no advertising. I canceled my subscriptions to Gourmet and Saveur because I got tired of wading through the needless advertisements. On this question nine of 11 answered correctly, or 82 percent.

11. My beverage of choice is Dr. Pepper. Although, in social or business/networking settings, I usually order a cranberry juice with ginger ale and a lime. There’s something about having a drink in your hand that has color and a little piece of fruit that keeps people from questioning why you’re not imbibing in drinks with more punch. On this question seven of 11 answered correctly, or 64 percent.

12. The last author I’ve most recently read is John McPhee’s La Place de la Concorde Suisse. I’m currently reading his book about Alaska, Coming into the Country, as well as several other authors. On this question eight of 11 answered correctly, or 73 percent.

13. My favorite album at the moment is Pink Martini’s “Hang On Little Tomato.” This was a tough question, because I just favorably reviewed three of the four albums I listed as choices—Pink Martini, Madeleine Peyroux, and Norah Jones—all of which are excellent albums. But of those three, Pink Martini is my very favorite. At least, right now anyway… My thanks to Mary Ellen for that recommendation! On this question six of 11 answered correctly, or 55 percent.

14. My favorite monument in Washington, D.C., is the Lincoln Memorial. Although, the World War II Memorial at night with the Lincoln Memorial lit in the background are my favorite set of monuments after the sun goes down. On this question ten of 11 answered correctly, or 91 percent. This was the question with the most correct answers.

15. When I want to get away from the rat race of life, I go to the beach. Even if I have to get up at 4:00 a.m. to beat traffic, which is what I have to do out here to be in Rehoboth, Delaware, in time for sunrise (which is just a sunset in reverse, doncha know?) On this question three of 11 answered correctly, or 28 percent.

16. And finally, when I was 6, I was Tinkerbell in the school play! My dad and my Uncle Dwight fashioned a really cool pair of wings for me that involved welding and soldering and filmy, gauzy sheer fabric. I was one adorable little sprite! If I can wrangle up a picture from my mom, I’ll post it here. On this question six of 11 answered correctly, or 55 percent.

Thanks for taking my test, friends! It was fun.

When Bloggers Meet

2007-03-15T20:32:00.000-04:00

Tuesday evening, after work, I zipped over to Woodley Park to meet up with Sideon—a fellow blogger from the Bloggernacle. This was, once again, a meeting of two total strangers who knew nothing more about each other than what we’ve read on one another’s blogs. And yet, I felt like I was meeting an old friend!

First of all, let me say, if you ever have a chance to meet Sideon, run! Don’t walk. Aside from my dad, my brother, the Gunfighter, the Legislative Fellow, and my grad school advisor, I don’t think I’ve ever met a nicer guy. And funny! At one point, I was in peril of choking on my pad thai, I was laughing so hard. (More on the pad thai in a moment.)

Sideon was in town for a conference. When he's not traveling to conferences and giving kick ass presentations—as apparently he did this week at said conference he was in town for—he lives in the Bay Area. Of course, whenever I meet people who smartly stay there, I get a little weepy and nostalgic. Again I ask myself, what was I THINKING!?!?!!! But I digress, as usual.

We talked about restaurants in the Bay Area—the great Thai place he goes to in Concord, the fabulous creperie in San Francisco I recommend to everyone. (Sideon: You really must go there. Must! Must! Must! Order “The Tod” for dessert. It’s the crepe with the apples and caramel. I prefer the “La Delice,” but The Tod is nice, too.) We discussed where we’d grown up (surprising, not all that far from each other in Utah. And we graduated high school the same year. Go Class of ’86!) We waxed enthusiastic about one of our most favoritest bloggers, Sister Mary Lisa, and the brilliant things she writes. We talked about jobs and real estate. And we ate.

Bottom line: It was a lovely evening spent with a lovely person who also pays the nicest compliments. (He said I was a “kind writer.” I’m still pondering that. And thank you again, Sideon, for the compliment.)

Oh, and about the food. We ate at a fabulous little Thai restaurant that opened in my old neighborhood about two years ago. It’s called Rice and is tucked in next to a new bank of condos and a shop called 100% Made in Mexico on 14th Street between R and Q Streets. It is, in a word, divine. We had the chicken satay, pad thai, sautéed beef in green tea, and crispy tofu with mushrooms and ginger sauce. That last dish was new for me and its best feature was the tempura ginger. Amazing!

I love meeting new people and Sideon was no exception. Thanks again for dinner, Sid! Come back anytime and let me know when you get to Ti Couz!

Photo copyright: Fog Bay, "Golden Gate Morning."

Eavesdropping On Myself

2007-03-13T20:56:00.000-04:00

6:30 a.m. Eastern Time. Sitting in front of my MacBook. I click on my Dashboard application to check today’s weather and temperatures. My WeatherBug widget tells me it will be clear, sunny, and 75 degrees.

6:35 a.m. Eastern Time. I shut down my computer, head for the shower, get dressed and head out the door. I never bother to really look outside until I go to get in the car and head for Metro.

Somewhere on Missouri Avenue en route to the Fort Totten Metro Station, the following dialogue takes place in my head between the hemispheres of my brain—here designated H1 and H2.

H1: Hm. It’s overcast and cloudy.

H2: Yeah. And?

H1: I’m just sayin’… I hope it doesn’t rain. I didn’t bring an umbrella today.

H2:

H1: My widget said it would be clear, sunny, and 75 today.

H2: Uh-huh. Your widget said that did it?

H1: Yeah.

H2: Hm. Did it ever occur to you to open the blinds and look out the window?

H1:

Sometimes, the distance between brilliant and a few light bulbs short of a full chandelier is no wider than a filament.

Photo copyright: Immediart.

Getting to Know You... Er... Me....

2007-03-13T00:04:00.000-04:00

I'll admit: I'm shamelessly unoriginal. I saw this over on Ms. Understood's blog and just had to do it. (By the way--I took her test and scored a 50%, which wasn't bad, I thought. Especially when you consider I've never even met her and all I know about her I've learned from reading her blog.)

So, here you go. Let's see how well you know me.

Create Your Own Friend Test Here.

Success?

2007-03-11T20:59:00.000-04:00

Red velvet cake.

From scratch.

Conquering cake making has become my quest in life.

It started several months ago, when I was in Charleston, SC, and had RVC for dessert at a luncheon I attended.

I came home and bought a Duncan Hines box mix and baked away. Result: Good.

But I wanted to make this cake all by myself. On my own. From a recipe. No box mixes.

Several weeks ago, my friend, Dr Lala was in town, and we conjured up a RVC from scratch using a recipe from the Food Network. In a word: Crapola.

Okay, I can't blame the recipe entirely. I think the flour I had was old and I used canola oil instead of vegetable and I beat the batter too long. The result was a cake with the consistency of corn bread and a flavor that tasted like, well, old flour. Went straight from the cake plate into the trash. Twas sad, really.

About a week after that debacle, I found a RVC recipe on the Washington Post. Seems RVC is "The Thing" this year for the wedding set. Who knew? This recipe featured butter, more cocoa powder, more cinnamon, more red dye, and buttermilk.

I carefully followed every direction right down to the last period. The result: Passable.

I managed to make a cake that is a robust, ruby red. The crumb is a little bigger than I'd care for and I have a few air pockets in the cake. The flavor is subtly cinnamon, with an undertone of chocolate. I made a buttercream frosting to go on it, but may not have used enough confectioner's sugar. (Not to mention, the brand we can get out here is NOT C&H and there is a difference, believe me. Domino is plechy. But you gotta work with what ya got.)

All in all, I think it turned out all right. I want to learn more about cake making and I need to learn how to make a cake that has more heft and a smaller crumb.

I took pictures, but you'll have to wait until they're developed to be able to see them.... Digital camera is on the blink. The picture above is not mine. I found it on Google Images.

Fell in Hole; Landed in Pied-à-terre! More at 11...

2007-03-11T15:05:00.000-04:00

Received this postcard yesterday from a friend in London who also owns a pied-à-terre in Brighton. And what, pray tell, is a pied-à-terre, you ask? Or maybe it was only me asking... Seems a pied-à-terre is a fancy way of saying "small apartment." Either way, according to said friend, their pied-à-terre overlooks Sussex Square, which is featured in the two pictures that have astericks by them.

Supposedly, the top right photo features the bushes into whence Lewis Carroll's Alice descended into the subterranean hole that led her on all her LSD-induced adventures. I guess Carroll lived in Brighton. As for the architecture of the buildings, it's called Regency Period and is named after Prince Regent George who visited Brighton often. Who knew?

Without further ado, then, I give you the postcard from Brighton.

Thanks, H! Most enjoyable and new things learned today. Always a good thing!

For Want of a Bagel

2007-03-09T21:18:00.000-05:00

This week, the Boss Lady asked me to do some research on bagel bakeries and whether they would deliver to our offices. Most of the bagel purveyors she wanted me to look into were featured in a WaPo article a while ago. So, I let my fingers do the walking and called up the three she was most interested in. One was in D.C. up near Union Station and the other two were in Rockville. None of them, it turns out, deliver.

Disappointed, I then asked Boss Lady how often she wanted bagels in the office and proposed that perhaps one of us could run up to Union Station a couple of times a week to haul some in. (I'll tell you her response in a moment.) So, why do I tell you all this? For one simple reason only: I am baffled that in a city addicted to coffee and carbs and frantic energy, there are no... none... nada... bagel franchises to be found in this entire city.

I know, I know. There's Au Bon Pain, but it's not strictly a bagel shop. And yes, there's Einsteins, but they're in the suburbs. Of course, you can find a bagel at McDonald's if you're willing to eat it with preformed eggs, ham, and cheese. Or, the little local delis and markets sometimes have them. But I'm not interested in any of those. I'm talking about a genuine, all-we-do-is-bagels bagel shop.

When I lived and worked in the Bay Area, they were as ubiquitous as Peet's Coffee shops. At least once a week, we had bagels from Noah's. How is it that there isn't something like that in this city?

Getting back to the Boss Lady, though. When I asked how often she'd like bagels in the office and if one of us should make a run for them, she e-mailed me back and said, "This isn't a bagel office. I just wanted them once. No need to do anything else with this. Thanks."

Sheesh. Here I thought it was something and now all I have in my head are thoughts of bagels.

I want a bagel, dammit!

Bagel and lox. BLT on a cinnamon raisin. Sea salt and butter. Asiago cheese... Bagels, oh, bagels, wherefore art thou?

"Switzerland Does Not Have An Army..."

2007-03-07T19:14:00.000-05:00

"...Switzerland is an army." So says a Swiss army officer assigned to accompany American writer John McPhee as he travels around Switzerland on manuevers with the country's civilian military.

Lying in the depths of the Alps, Switzerland is Europe's bastion of neutrality and quirks. Known for its watches, banks, chocolate, pristine cities and landscapes, cow bells, yodelers, cuckoo clocks, and the Papal Swiss Guard, Helvetia is no larger than the U.S. state of New Jersey in both square miles and population. Nestled high in the alpine mountain ranges that stretch from France to Austria, Switzerland lies snuggly between France to the west, Germany to the north, Austria to the east, and Italy to the south. Divided into cantons, Switzerland is a multi-lingual confederation with four official languages: French, German, Italian, and Romansch (a mish-mash of French, Italian, Spanish, and Catalan.)

Switzerland is defended by a professional and civilian militia composed of little more than 650,000 citizen soldiers. The Swiss Army, most famous for its iconic little red, utilitarian knife, is able to mobilize in less than 48 hours and lockdown Switzerland into an impregnable fortress, should any nation be foolhardy enough to invade it. These are no weekend warriors, either. Every soldier participates in maneuvers several times a year and their employers not only support their military activities, they structure their civilian, private sector to mirror the military establishment. Rank in the army equals rank in Swiss society, particularly in the professional arena. High-ranking Swiss Army officers can be found in the executive suites of some of Switzerland's largest companies.

McPhee is paired up with Luc Massy, a vintner from the Canton de Vaud and patrol leader of a Section de Renseignements, as he ventures around Switzerland on patrol, observing military manuevers. He describes his journeys around the alpine nation in his book La Place de la Concorde Suisse. McPhee describes hidden entrances and doors that open in the sides of otherwise normal looking rock faces, only to reveal hidden fighter jets and artillery, which can be rapidly brought to bear against invaders. He notes the explosives carefully embedded, catalogued, and maintained in bridges over the Rhone River--all for the purpose of destroying the bridges and cutting off access to key segments of Switzerland. McPhee also describes Switzerland's vulnerabilities and the difficulty of defending the flat lands, which includes one of the country's largest cities, Basel.

In a surreal picture, McPhee takes us on manuevers in the villages and alp valleys where the town's citizens are nonplussed by the presence of soldiers with backpacks and automatic weapons marching in formation through town and up into the hills and mountains surrounding their villages. With a precision only the Swiss possess, these citizen soldiers map out every square inch of Switzerland, leaving no stone unturned or indefensible. On the side, McPhee also discusses the Swiss Army's contributions to the mercenary armies of Europe--most notably the French Foreign Legion and the Papal Swiss Guard.

I picked up La Place de la Concorde Suisse after reading Rising from the Plains because I was fascinated by the topic and wanted a glance into the precise psyche that are the Swiss. Plus, as an undergrad, I spent a semester studying Swiss literature and Swiss neutrality, of which the latter remains of particular interest. La Place de la Concorde Suisse was not as well-written as Rising from the Plains, but it was good enough and out of the ordinary such that it held my attention for its entire 150 pages. That said, if you'd like a unique look at Swiss culture, this is a good book for that.

Out of five stars, I give this one a three and a half.

Photos: Dustcover for La Place de la Concorde Suisse; John McPhee; The Swiss Guard; postage stamp commemorating the 500th anniversary of the Papal Swiss Guard.

Photo and/or illustration copyrights: Farrar, Strauss & Giroux; Peter Cook; The Holy See; Swiss Post.

Aw Natch-you-raal

2007-03-05T19:18:00.000-05:00

This postcard arrived several days ago, but was only discovered today lost between a bill and a catalog. It's from my friend, Sylvia, who has lived in some truly exotic places during her career in gender and international development. And yet, with tongue in cheek, she writes on the back of this postcard, "I'm finally sending you a postcard from the most exotic place I've ever lived."

Yep, Arkansas definitely holds a candle to Morocco, Mali, Kenya, and Burkina Faso. Not.

Thanks for the card, Sylvia. And sorry it got lost in the shuffle. Hugs to you and MoBob!

P.S. That odd glow you see on my pictures of postcards is a result of my computer monitor throwing light back onto the card as PhotoBooth takes a picture of the card. Just thought you'd like to know....

Sainted Salt Lake

2007-03-04T16:27:00.000-05:00

My friend, The MIG, was in Salt Lake last week checking out the University of Utah as a possible candidate for a Ph.D. program at the U. Of course, being in the City of Brother Brigham, she had to send a postcard and this is the one she chose.

Perhaps Brother Romney should hire the folks who wrote the informational blurb on the back of this card to write talking points for his campaign when questions about his religion come up.

"The Mormon Temple can be found within Temple Square in Salt Lake City. This temple, like many others, has a golden angel on top of one of its spires. This angel, Angel Moroni, was said to have brought the lost books of the bible to Joseph Smith." (Emphasis added.)

Well, I'm sure evangelicals will sleep better knowing that.

Thanks, MIG, for the new addition to the wall of postcards!

Thinking

2007-03-03T15:06:00.001-05:00

Apparently, I spoke too soon.

FALSE ALARM, FOLKS! I'm really not on hiatus.

Actually, maybe I should have gone on hiatus sooner.

Or perhaps this is a tactical move by The Gunfighter to flush me out of my hidey-hole and back into the open. Obviously I'm an easy mark, because it worked.

By now, no doubt, you're asking, "Huh? What the hell is she mumbling about?"

It would seem the aforementioned Gunfighter has tagged me for a Thinking Blogger Award. Which just goes to show that the Gunfighter has exquisite taste, I might add, ever so humbly. Thanks, GF!

Okay, I have a speech here somewhere.

First, I'd like to say that, unlike Helen Mirren, I am wearing underwear and my bosoms do not feel like they're being held up by the hands of angels.

Of course, this blog wouldn't be possible without the folks at Blogger, who manage somehow to make this experience excruciating and complex when it needn't be.

Most importantly, though, I'd be remiss if I didn't thank my loyal readers and commentors who often leave their thoughts and opinions on my blog, giving me even more material to ponder. A special thank you to those of you who point out my gaffes and blunders. I'm committed to better fact checking this year (assuming I start blogging again.)

Finally, I'd like to thank the cat living in my house. A lovely Abbysinian named Pogeaux. If all I had was him, and not this blog, I'd be a drunk by now!

And now, here's the meme portion of this award. The rules of the Thinking Blogger Awards are as follows:

If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme
Optional: Proudly display the "Thinking Blogger Award" with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

Five Blogs that Make Me Say, "Hmmm, I'd never thought of that..."

Self-Portrait As
Rantings of a Creole Princess
Sister Mary Lisa
Alice's Adventures Underground
Rio Grande Valley Girl

I don't suppose I can tag the Gunfighter back, but his blog certainly makes me think. And Frank Warren's PostSecret always makes me think, but I suppose it would be presumptuous on my part to think I could bestow an award on a guy whose project is known the world over.

And now, a gratuitous picture of the aforementioned cat who will drive me to drink sooner rather than later...

Pogeaux the Red. In a bag. Need I say more?

Thank you! And now back to my hiatus previously in progress.

Photo copyright: Janet M Kincaid

Hiatus

2007-03-03T06:07:00.000-05:00

Old Lady of the Sea, Trinidad State Beach,
Trinidad, Humboldt County, California

Back in November, I was challenged to participate in the November Blog Posting Month (NoBloPoMo) "event" wherein one posts a blog a day. I've kept that up for the last four months and am proud to say, I've blogged every day for the last 120 days. And some days, more than once. Of course, I also had a lot of time on my hands, which made it easy.

But... You saw that coming, huh? But, I've been working for the last month. I'll grant you, it's not the most stressful job in the world. And yet, at the end of the day, when I step off the train, I'm tired. By the time I get home and have some dinner, I'm pooped. The result is, I can't get the brain cells to fire enough juice to be creative, let alone command the old fingers to type.

I have several pieces drafted that are queued up and need tweaking before I post them, but they're bigger pieces like the one I recently wrote about John McPhee's Rising from the Plains. In terms of day-to-day writing, I'm trying too hard to come up with stuff and it's starting to feel forced. I want to keep writing every single day, because I've enjoyed it and it's been good exercise for me, but I'm feeling a little worn out at the moment and I think my writing might be suffering because of that. (And even if it's not, I know my brain feels like it is.)

And, let's not even talk about how my staying on top of reading everyone else's fabulous blogs has suffered. Unless I clandestinally (is that a word?!) snatch moments here and there at work, (which is technically against policy, but for which I'm forgiven because I'd otherwise be staring into space 75 percent of my time, even after I've asked my supervisor if there's something, anything, I can do) I'm missing a lot of good writing and connection with all of you.

I'm also way behind on a couple of projects I took on before the PharmaCo. job started and that I haven't completed. I have a client who's waiting for a proposal that is now two weeks overdue and an author who is waiting for me to copyedit his book so we can send it to the publisher for production. I should have had a first round read done last week and I haven't even started. Oh, and there's the non-profit in Pennsylvania I haven't heard from in a month or more that I've volunteered to help with a fund development plan. I need to follow up with them, too.

All that said, I'm going on hiatus this weekend and I may extend it into next week. When I return in a few days, it will likely be with only occasional posts. I'd like to think I'll be back up and writing daily once I settle into a routine that leaves me with more than just energy to eat dinner, run a few errands, catch up on personal emails, put on my pajamas, pop in a Netflix, read a few pages from a book, and be in bed by 10:00 (though, it's more often been 11:00 or 12:00, which doesn't help when you have to be up at 6:30.)

Thank you for reading. I've loved writing. And I hope to be back very, very soon!

Photo copyright: Janet M Kincaid, 2004.

Penny For Your Thoughts

2007-03-01T21:01:00.000-05:00

Every evening, as I walk out of the office building in which I work and into the bowels of the nearest Metro Station, I pass a man sitting on a bench. He is African American--which hardly seems relevant, but will become so quickly here--and he is holding a cup in his hand. As you walk past him, he calls out, "Don't throw them pennies away."

Occasionally, if I have some pocket change, I put it in his cup.

Tonight, as I walked past him, I checked my pockets for change. Finding I had none and hearing him call out, "Don't throw them pennies away," I said, "I don't even have pennies to give."

"No, he said, "but you're white."

"That's true," I thought, in passing. As I rode down the escalator, I realized I was daft. I'd heard and received his comment in a cursory manner, but the further I pondered it, the more I realized his comment went deeper than just the color of my skin and his. I didn't know whether to be remorseful and apologetic or angry.

To be frank, I'm not sure what to do, think, or make of this experience. I've typed in a number of paragraphs that try to see things from his perspective or that tell you something about my views on homelessness or that try to bridge this divide between privilege and poverty or even between black and white. But then it all sounds trite and patronizing or self-aggrandizing. Worse, most of it sounds and feels empty. And yet, his comment triggered a reaction in me that I'm not entirely able to put my finger on.

I suppose, more than anything, I feel like I've been judged. Maybe I shouldn't have said, "Oh, sorry. I don't even have a penny" and just walked by in silence. Maybe it was the wrong thing for me to say in an effort to acknowledge his presence and relay the message that I wanted to help, but I couldn't that particular evening. (I've given this guy a couple of bucks and loose change here and there before, but after tonight, I'm feeling less inclined.) Or maybe I should have said what I did and he should have kept his thoughts to himself. Either way, something passed between us that just felt wrong somehow.

Any thoughts, oh loyal blogosphere?

Last in Line

2007-02-28T19:47:00.000-05:00

It’s been this way all my life. I’m always the last one to find out the latest goings-on. I’m either in ignorance by my own unintentional doing or ignorantly and intentionally left out of things by others. The former is forgivable, the latter pisses me off. But that’s not really the point I want to make today.

Seems on Monday I was highlighted on DC Blogs for my piece on D.C. Crime Victims and I didn’t even know it. Until today. Duh. Where have I been?

Oh, yeah, right. Working again. Amazing how much time actually working can take away from what had become embedded blogging habits. I use to check DC Blogs every day with religious regularity. Now, I try to check it every day, but I’m slipping in my blog reading. As a result, I missed that I was mentioned on Monday. Oh well. It’s not the end of the world, right?

Still, thanks KOB for noting me!

P.S. Sorry for the lameass blog entry tonight. I'm too tired to rattle my brain cells for anything more interesting.

Photo copyright: Corridor EIS.

Plain Talking

2007-02-27T20:12:00.000-05:00

Devil's Tower National Monument, Wyoming

One of the general ed requirements for a bachelor of arts degree from George Mason University—and probably at all universities that offer liberal arts degrees, for that matter—is six units of science. When I was an undergraduate at GMU, I chose geology for my science credits. Mostly I chose it because I was in my senior year and everyone I asked said, of all the sciences, it and astronomy were the “easiest.” I confess: I chose easy over whoppingly difficult because I was in the midst of applying to graduate schools and I didn’t want to mess around with my GPA by bombing quantam physics and chaos theory. So, geology it was.

Despite my less-than-noble reasons for my choice, I fell in love with this field of science pretty quickly. Another confession, though: In my rush to graduate, I only gave it cursory time and attention. Still, it fascinated me then and I remain so today.

As a result, reading about geology—the building blocks of our planet—and Earth’s constantly changing heights and depths continues to hold my interest. I love me a good piece of folded and tilted rock or a lovely piece of schist. I marvel at marble and gravitate to granite. I thrill at finding outcrops and love to look at the sedimentary layers, as well as the water and wind erosion patterns, in sandstone. Diamonds may be most girls’ best friend, but I’m just as happy with the exoskeleton of some coral-based sea creature.

This is why when my friends, The Legislative Fellow and The MIG, recommended the writings of John McPhee, I ran right out to Amazon and bought McPhee’s Rising from the Plains (as well as a half dozen of his other books. Stay tuned to this spot for reviews of his writings on the Swiss Army, the U.S. Interstate System, U.S. commerce and its methods of transportation, Alaska, and California.)

My interest in this particular McPhee was twofold. First, it is about Wyoming, which is where my mother was born and raised and where my late grandparents lived for 60 years. It is where I spent a good chunk of my youth, including two weeks during the summer when I was 12. Second, Rising from the Plains is about geology.

Published in 1986 (the year I graduated from high school)—Rising from the Plains chronicles essayist John McPhee’s journey across the Equality State as he pairs up with preeminent geologist David Love. Dr. Love, the grandnephew of conservationist John Muir, was the last of a dying breed of geologic scientists. Simply put, Love was a field geologist. While many geologists today rely on high tech gadgetry to identify seismic instabilities, plumb oil beds, or locate stable bedrock, Love actually went out in the field and dug around—often sleeping under the stars without a tent or other standard provisions.

In the western outskirts of Rawlins, David Love pulled over onto the shoulder of the interstate, the better to fix the scene, although his purpose in doing so was not at all apparent…. So why was…Love, who had the geologic map of Wyoming in his head, stopping here?

The rock that outcropped around Rawlins, said Love, contained a greater spread of time than any other suite of exposed rocks along Interstate 80 between New York and San Francisco. We were looking at many moments in well over half the existence of the earth, and we were seeing—as it happened—a good deal more than one sees in the walls of the Grand Canyon. (p. 21)

If you’ve ever been to Rawlins, Wyoming—and I have—it looks like one more dust-bitten, sandstone-landscaped, sagebrush-infested, dead desert. But McPhee challenges us to wipe the dust from our shallow eyes and look deeper. What we are looking at, though hard to believe, are the beginnings of the North American continents. Realizing this, suddenly Rawlins doesn’t look as dumpy and godforsaken after all. Here, perhaps, is the primordial Eden before Eden was Eden and before Adam and his progenitors started pounding sand and digging up the land for railroad rights-of-way, oil and natural gas exploration, coal mining, and trona (the stuff from which baking soda is made.)

Love is, as McPhee portrays him, a simple man with more than an ounce of Wyoming horse sense running through his veins. He knows Wyoming like the back of his hand and McPhee mines his knowledge in a manner that brings this science down to earth for readers, pun intended. At the same time, mirroring the sandstone and granite layers that cover Wyoming, McPhee beautifully spins and layers the history of Love and his ancestors, who came to Wyoming when it was being settled by only the hardiest of souls, including his father, John Love, the son of Scottish emigrants and a rancher, and his mother, Ethel Waxman, a graduate of Bryn Mawr and a school teacher.

If you enjoy geology or if you’ve brushed off southern Wyoming as uninteresting, McPhee’s Rising from the Plains will change your perspective entirely. At the very least, you’ll learn a lot about geologists and what makes these erudite rockhounds tick.

Geologists tend to have been strongly influenced by the rocks among which they grew up…. Structural geology…has traditionally been dominated by the Swiss, …wizards of sedimentology tend to be Dutch, …Cincinnati has produced an amazingly long list of American paleontologists…[and] Houston—the capital city of the oil geologists—is a hundred and fifty miles from the first place you can hit a hammer on a rock. Houston geologists come from somewhere else… (pp. 24-25)

I thoroughly enjoyed this book and came away with a new appreciation for Wyoming and its place in the geologic life of our earth and this continent. It made me want to get in my car, drive to Wyoming, seek out Love's son—a geologist and professor at Western Wyoming Community College—and spend a week seeing the real Wyoming.

Out of five stars, I give Rising from the Plains four and a half.

McPhee, John, Rising from the Plains, Farrar, Strauss & Giroux, New York, 1986,

More information about David Love:

High Country News
Geotimes (Feature Article)
Geotimes (In Memoriam)

Photos: Devil's Tower National Monument (top), dustcover for Rising from the Plains (center), David Love (1914-2002; bottom.)

Photo copyrights: TerraGalleria, Farrar, Strauss & Giroux, Geotimes.

Can't Write... Must Sleep...

2007-02-26T21:22:00.000-05:00

Like so many movie lovers last night, I stayed up and watched ALL.FOUR.AND.A.HALF.HOURS of the Oscars. And boy, am I paying for it tonight.

Getting up and going to work this morning was really hard. All the rest and relaxation I'd given myself on Saturday and most of Sunday was ruined by sitting through the Oscars until 12:30 a.m.!

I thought Ellen Degeneres did a great job, but whoever the director and producer for the Oscars were, they should get a Razzie this year. Could the montages have been any longer? And did we need five interpretive dances?

Still, the Oscars did have some good moments. Most notably, the awards that went to Alan Arkin, Ari Sandel, Al Gore & Co., Jennifer Hudson, Melissa Etheridge, and Helen Mirren. I still don't understand why Scorsese won for The Departed. I've seen that movie and I just didn't get it, nor did I see its Oscar worthiness. Of course, I'm probably the only person in America who didn't get it.

And, as much I can't stand Brad Pitt, I realized it was probably a mistake not to see Babel while it was in theaters. Thankfully, I have Netflix and will soon be remedying that.

I loved Ari Sandel's and Helen Mirren's acceptance speeches. And I thought the best presenters of the night were Jayden Christopher Syre Smith and Abigail Breslin.

I was glad to hear the Oscar have "gone green," but it might have been nice to hear more about what they'd done, the energy that was saved, and reductions in carbon emissions rather than the gratuitous plug it ended up being for the Natural Resources Defense Council. And speaking of NRDC, their website wasn't helpful in providing any cool tidbits or sound bites either. Come on guys! If you're gonna go green, provide some data that will make it interesting to lay folks so they'll think more than just "woo hoo" about your announcement. Give it some meaning and context.

Oh, and P.S., somebody please, please, please make Jerry Seinfeld go away. He wasn't even funny. (Which just proves my point that he's an idiot and not at all funny. Of course, I'm in the minority on this, I know that. I know the vast majority of Americans think he's the funniest thing since Bozo the Clown. Really, though, he's just a bozo.)

There's my Oscar wrap-up. And now, it may only be 9:30 p.m. here, but I'm off to bed.

Graphic illustration copyright: The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences.

Carnitas

2007-02-25T19:17:00.000-05:00

I made pork carnitas today. Or something like unto it.

Well, okay, actually, I started it last night at 10:00 p.m., then let it cook until 12:30 a.m., turned it off, went to bed, fired it back up this morning, finished cooking it, and ate it this evening.

First time I've ever made it. And I'm not sure I even made it right since I didn't follow a recipe. Here's what I did:

3 lbs pork tenderloin
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cups of salsa verde
7 oz of chopped green chilis
2 cups of water

Brown the pork tenderloin in a 2 quart pot until it's a warm, caramelly color. Remove the 'loin from the pot and let it rest on a plate for a few minutes. Add the onions to the pot and saute until slightly soft. Return the 'loin and any drippings back into the pot. Add the salsa verde, chilis, and water. Bring to a boil, then turn down to medium heat. Cover and let the meat and liquid cook for an hour and a half, turning meat occasionally. Turn heat to low and let it simmer for about four hours, reducing the liquid down to about half of its original volume. Remove the meat from the liquid and shred it using two forks. Return the meat to the pot and let it cook on low for another hour or so.

Serve with rice, mixed with 1/2 cup of salsa verde and some sour cream. It's also great in burritos. (Sorry there are no pictures. No working camera at the moment.)

Does This Format Make My Butt Look Big?

2007-02-25T19:00:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd try a new look. I was tired of the old look. The blue and green. It was getting tiresome. Dull. Flat. Booooooring. So, I thought I'd try something startling and new: white. Original, huh?

What do you think? Should I keep it, this fresh, clean look? Or should I go back to the old look?

One of these days, I'm going to do Trading Spaces a la Blogger. I'm going to swap blogs with a friend and let them do a total redesign on my blog, links and labels included (meaning how things are linked and labeled, not taking away existing links, and coming up with better labels than what I've currently got going.) And, of course, the activity has to be reciprocal. I get to redesign their blog.

Although, I wouldn't want just anyone taking a stab at my blog. No Hildies or Dougs allowed here. I mean, the last thing I want is anything in rust or tangerine or lime. It would be my luck and I'd end up with spray-painted bows and Tiffany blue walls or a bed swinging from chains from the middle of the ceiling with a faux fountain underneath that would keep me awake at night and running to the loo every 30 minutes because my bladder is easily influenced by the sound of running water. Or Laurie would want to take my ceiling fan which, although I hate it, would make my room hot and humid in the summer. Oh, wait. Now I'm getting my blog confused with my house. Never mind.

Oh well. Come on in and sit down for a spell. Put up your feet and tell me what you think.

Photo copyright: Interior Design US Foundation.

New Take on an Old Tradition

2007-02-25T07:19:00.000-05:00

Last Sunday, I attended a worship service at the National Cathedral of Saint Peter and Saint Paul with one of my blogging friends, Suzanne of Zanne Ado. It was the last Sunday of Epiphany, which means today is the first Sunday of Lent. I'll come back to that in a moment.

Many of you may or may not know that Mormons do not use a prayer book or follow a liturgical calendar. That's not to say Mormons don't celebrate high, holy holidays. They do. There's Easter and Christmas, of course, but from a liturgical, ritualistic standpoint, they're pretty simple and there's not a lot of lead up to these special days like there is in the Catholic and Protestant denominations. There aren't 40 days of lenten sacrifice ushering in the blessed morn of Easter, if you're a Mormon. Easter is usually signalled by one of two things: someone reminding you that, oh yeah, next Sunday is Easter and don't forget to wear your shiny new Easter outfit or you're reminded that the Church's semi-annual General Conference is going to fall on that exact weekend. And that's pretty much it. I'm not saying it's wrong, but I'm also not saying it's right. It just is.

Now, getting back to Lent.

Today is the first Sunday of Lent, which--as I understand it--actually began a few days ago with Ash Wednesday. Lent is a 40 day period of fasting and prayer leading up to the commemoration of the trial, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, who Christians believe is the Son of God and the Savior and Redeemer of humankind. It's a contemplative period that comes on the heels of a celebratory period--Advent and Epiphany--highlighting the birth and anointing of Jesus. During Lent, the faithful are meant to "sacrifice" something at this time of year. By sacrifice, it is generally understood that the penitent will give up a habit that is detrimental to their spiritual growth.

Every year, my former admin from my days at the Big Industry Trade Association, gives up sweets for Lent. A noble sacrifice, as it results in improved physical health and clarity of mind for her. And, it is a struggle for her. Others may give up alcohol or television or some other thing that they feel is not benefitting them positively.

All that to say that last Sunday I asked Suzanne what she was going to "give up for Lent." She said, in essence, "Oh, I don't do that anymore. It's so negative in its focus." She then went on to mention a friend who, several years ago, gave her a whole new perspective on Lent. She said, "Now for Lent, I take on something that I want to add to my life or that I want to improve on, which is much more positive in focus."

In other words, instead of a sacrifice that implies there's something wrong with her life, she takes on something that will improve on her strengths and make her a better person. Maybe it's the same thing and it's splitting hairs here, because either way she accomplishes the goal of Lent; i.e. becoming a better person through sacrifice. But I like the idea. Rather than focusing on what I'm doing wrong that's holding me down, I should focus on what I do well and how that can bring me up.

I had a conversation this week with my friend, Diana, about a job I'm applying for and how the position is very much outside my realm of ability. In other words, I was focusing on what I wouldn't be doing and how it was beneath me. She, on the other hand, smacked me like Cher and said I should focus on what I do well and find work that let's me shine. This said on the heels of one of my clients who said the same thing, which came on the heels of my mom who said something similiar.

That said, for Lent this year, instead of giving up, I am taking on. Because ultimately that's what Lent is suppose to be about. It isn't a celebration of giving up, of resignation. It's a celebration of taking up something new or building on what is already good about each of us, about myself. To some small degree, too, I suppose it's about giving to ourselves the best we can be and giving to others the best that we are. At least, that's what I'm taking up for Lent.

Blessings!

Photo copyright: Janet M Kincaid

D.C. Crime Victim

2007-02-24T08:23:00.000-05:00

Those were the words I read the other day on a button pinned to the lapel of a man’s coat. He was on Metro and got off at the same stop I did. His button gave me pause for thought and left me feeling incredulous. On the one hand, I know what it’s like to be a victim of crime. On the other hand, I choose not to be a victim.

In 2002, I had my car stolen. Crime is never a fun experience to deal with. First, there’s the disbelief that something like this could happen to you. You think, “Maybe this isn’t happening…” In my case, I thought, “Maybe I didn’t park my car where I thought I did…” I looked up and down the street, hoping it would be in a space I hadn’t remembered parking it in. But alas, no.

After you’ve realized things aren’t right, you feel a sense of shock and wonderment. Tired, sound bite clichés immediately come to mind and usually start with “This kind of thing doesn’t happen…” But it does. And it happens to all kinds of people in all kinds of places, regardless of demographics. No one is immune.

Once you get over your cliché, you call the police and deal with the endless questions. At some point, the cop or detective is going to ask you about your involvement in the crime, if you’ve had any. As if having your property or person violated isn’t enough, now the cop—albeit doing his job and eliminating suspects—contributes to your sense of victimization by implying that you might be a criminal.

The rigamarole goes on… And it consumes a large portion of your time. Phone calls to your insurance company and your bank. Distractions at work as you deal with details during regular business hours. Juggling how you’re going to get on with the little things in life. In my case, it affected my ability to get around in a reasonable manner. It short, crime is a pain in the ass.

While I empathize with the buttoned gentleman, I wondered at his choice to advertise his plight. On one level, I understand that crime is traumatic and you want people to know you’ve been victimized. The reality is, you’ve been robbed of your voice or your dignity and you want to get that back. On the other hand, by wearing a button that declares your victimhood, it seems you’re declaring that you are still victimized. In other words, you’re choosing to remain a victim.

I don’t want to paint too broad a stroke here and say that people who have had crimes perpetrated against them should just get over it and move on. It’s one thing to have your car stolen; it’s fairly easy to get over that. It’s just a thing. And no one was hurt or killed in the process of it being stolen, at least to the best of my knowledge in my specific case. Hopefully, no one was victimized, hurt, or killed while the thieves were in possession of my car either. More than likely, the person who stole my car felt they needed it more than I did. But, it’s another thing entirely to have a loved one murdered, raped, mugged, or assaulted in any manner that violates and robs them of their humanity, and possibly their very life.

I could see where it would be easy to stay in that victim role after something like that. I don’t know what crime this man experienced. And yet, I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry that he feels he has to self-identify as a victim. I’m sorry that injustice leave us feeling like victims. I’m especially sorry that crime disenfranchises us and often favors the criminal, leaving those in their wake with little recourse and a sense of powerlessness.

They say crime doesn't pay, but when you're one who's on the other end of that crime, it sure feels like you got the raw end of the deal, no matter how you slice it.

Photo copyright: iStock Photos.

In the BIN

2007-02-23T06:00:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote that the next issue of In the BIN would feature highlights from noteworthy blogs I found by clicking “Next Blog” in the Blogger header of my blog. I spent the better part of an evening Blogger surfing and sadly discovered that, just like television and channel surfing, there was almost nothing worth noting (or watching) by clicking on "Next Blog" on Blogger. Barring a Google search for lists in other cities akin to DC Blogs and not wanting to cull through WordPress or TypePad or LiveJournal, I’ve determined that the kinds of blogs I like to read aren’t to be found by clicking “Next Blog.”

That said, I went back to DC Blogs and its blog rolls and decided to work my way through one letter of the alphabetical listings. Feeling contrary, I started with Q. Turns out, there are only three bloggers in DC Blogs whose blog titles feature a Q. So, without further a-que (get it? Huh? Huh? A-que? Ado? Okay, lame, I know), I give you the Q’s.

Normally a blog about software, Q’s Wire takes a detour and writes about the change in color in Wrigley’s gum. Here is The Evolution of Gum.

And then, there’s The Queue. This blog manages to do a great job keeping things really short and to the point. No one particular entry to highlight here. Just check out the whole thing.

Finally, if you hate cell phones like I hate cell phones, you’ll love this one. If you have a cell phone, but you’re too stupid to realize how damn annoying cell phones can be, then you should definitely read this. Here’s Quiet in the Stacks with Can You Hear Me Now? (P.S. When I grow up, I want to write as well as QitS.)

And, this one wasn’t found via DC Blogs, but it’s a gem nonetheless. Whilst looking for a decent picture of Liechtenstein on Google Images, I came across this blog. It’s nice to know someone has found a creative outlet for their exhibitionist tendencies and their photographic skills. I give you Mooner Boy. All I can say is, I thought I'd seen it all, but apparently not...

But wait, there's more....

Apparently, this is an In the BIN I started last week and never finished. So, here it is, for what it's worth...

This week’s In the BIN is brought to you by Wash-Rinse-Repeat.com, which reminds you that even though the words “cleanliness is next to godliness” are not in the Bible, it’s still true. At least to people in red states, anyway.

P.S. It's quite possible that, contrary to what I said in the beginning of this entry about not finding anything noteworthy by blog surfing, in fact, I think I found these blogs by clicking on "Next Blog." Hm. I don't remember... Memory loss... The first, sure sign of old age...

It’s a small world, but I think this blog is written by the now-grown daughter of a former Sunday School teacher from my days growing up in Orem, Utah. Here is Whitney Orton. I think she might be Matt and RaVoe Orton's kid.

Apparently, some folks in Peru want to build a bridge to Macchu Picchu. I wonder if they're the same folks who wanted to build that bridge to nowhere in Alaska. Maybe they could build a bridge from Alaska to Peru... That would be worthwhile, right? Here's Inca Link is a Bridge Too Far.

Is Queensland, Australia, small enough that Talking Budgie would know this marathoner-in-training?

I suppose the assumption is that sport in this country is still predominantly a male thing. That said, it’s always fun when you find a woman who’s interested in sport and makes a living from it. Here’s Sleepwalker.

Guymoi’s Blog. Photography from some French guy. Or at least, from some guy who can speak and write in French.

And that's it for this week's installment of In the BIN. Stay tuned next week when I bring you the best of blogging from Canada. (Now, where do I go to find those kinds of blogs???)

Luxembourg and Liechtenstein

2007-02-22T20:04:00.000-05:00

Luxembourg, Luxembourg

An earlier entry today featured a quiz about the European duchy of Luxembourg. I asked three questions:

Name the three countries what border Luxembourg.
Name the official languages of this country.
Name the capital.

Some of you who left answers in the comments section were partially right, but no one scored 100 percent on this. (And, in truth, I had to look up the answers at Wikipedia. Had I taken this quiz, I would have scored pitifully. Which is embarrassing, because I use to know all the countries in Europe, along with which countries border which and what their capitals are.)

Here, for your quiz-checking pleasure, are the answers for the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg:

Luxembourg is bordered by Germany, France, and Belgium.
The official languages are German, French, and Luxembourgish.
The capital is Luxembourg.

For the fun of it, I also pulled up information about Liechtenstein. This country is sandwiched between Switzerland to the west and Austria to the east. Its official language is German and the capital is Vaduz. Like Luxembourg, it is the only other German-speaking country with a monarchy as head of state. Where Luxembourg is a Grand Duchy, Liechtenstein is a principality, like Monaco.

More information on Luxembourg and Liechtenstein can be found by clicking on each respective country.

Vaduz, Liechtenstein

Ladies in Red

2007-02-22T19:58:00.000-05:00

The other day, I wore black slacks, a black-checkered shirt, and a red sweater to work. Later that evening, I went to a farewell cocktail party for one of the lobbyists who is leaving PharmaCo. and going on to some K Street law firm to work as an even higher paid lobbyist and consultant. A couple of the women in our group commented on my red sweater and complimented its colorfulness in comparison to their muted, earth tones.

Having worked in Washington for a bit now, I accepted the compliment verbally, but then also made a mental note. Were they being sincere in their compliments or was this yet another classic, Washington, passive-aggressive way of telling me my sweater was too bright for their conservative tastes and perhaps it wasn’t appropriate for a federal affairs office? (See, this is what D.C. does to you. It messes with your mind and makes you doubt every little thing you say, do, or wear. It’s silly.) I shoved that thought aside, though, and decided I was just going to take it as a compliment—nothing more, nothing less.

The red sweater reminded me of a study that was done several years ago. I don’t remember where I read this, but one day, a professor of psychology decided to engage in an experiment and enlisted his students to help. Each time a student saw a woman on campus wearing red, he asked them to record the appearance and then go up and compliment the woman, telling them how nice they looked. His theory had something to do with power of suggestion and he ventured that within days of this Operation Red, there would be an increase in the number of women who would wear red. Sure enough, about a week into the experiment, he and his students noticed that the number of women wearing red had doubled.

So, what made me think of that study and what does it have to do with my red sweater?

Well… I wore my red sweater on Tuesday and I was one woman who was paid a compliment. Since Tuesday, three more women have shown up in the office wearing red, including one of the women who complimented me. Coincidence? Or a sign that I have good taste and others are following my lead?

Whatever it is, I’m keeping my red sweater, as well as my red Eisenhower-style jacket I bought many years ago at the Pendleton outlet in Oregon. Oh, and just so you know, red is a good color for me; it makes my blue eyes stand out, which then results in a second compliment. All in all, a good color for compliments!

Photo copyright: Declan McCallaugh Photography, 2005.