the latest news
_______________
[03.31.10]
I experienced a great civic moment this week: I received my census form in the mail! I was so pumped! This is it -- this is democracy. This is what we're all about! They want to count me so that we can have a historical record of who was here; who was a part of this great nation in the year 2010. They want to count me so that they can represent me. They want to count me so that the U.S. Congress and the Virginia State Legislature can have redistricting fights over me. I feel so special! As I was telling Guitar Boy, Cara, and my uncle, this practice goes waaay back. I mean, why was Jesus born in Bethlehem when he's known as Jesus of Nazareth? Oh, because his mom was on the way to get counted in the Census of Quirinius! Helloooo! Look at me with my Bible knowledge! Guitar Boy, Cara, and my uncle all stared at me blankly when I informed them of this. Pshaw. No sense of history! No sense of the monumental meaning of being counted. There's another reason this is a big deal. Though I've paid my own taxes for quite some time now, I feel like the U.S. Government is acknowledging that I'm an adult now. I get my OWN census form to fill out. I will be documented as my own head of household. I will be trusted to let them know just how many keets I have living under my roof. I am equal to the task! I won't let my government down!
[03.18.10]
When I was little, I imagined heaven in this way: you get there, and the first thing that happens is that you get all the answers to the questions that had gone unanswered in life. My seven-year-old self had two burning questions. First, why did all the dinosaurs die out? Boy, would this article have excited me back then. Second, who killed J.F.K? What?? Where did that question come from? I guess I'd picked up on the tension that that question raised. Or perhaps even back then, before I'd seen Oliver Stone's movie, I didn't believe in the single-gunman theory. I think all this is proof that needing "the detes" has always been paramount in my life. I like to have them, and I like to get them.
Some would call this gossip, and sometimes it is. Like gossip, only certain detes are interesting. This is why things like Facebook and Twitter can, while dete-filled, be boring at times. Not all detes are created equal. There is a hierarchy of detes. Potter and I have had extensive conversations about this. There are unwritten rules about the mode of delivery, the timetable for delivery, and the eligibility for delivery. Sometimes I break them, though I really try not to. Just know this--if you're my friend and you've got the detes, you better GIMME THE DETES! And you can expect I will do the same in return. Because for me, heaven is having all the detes, all the time.
[03.11.10]
Recently I've been thinking a lot about how college was ten years ago for Anne and me, and I can't believe it's been that long. Ten years. TEN YEARS. As much as that blows my mind, and as much as I profess that those were the best years of my life, I really don't want to spend 60 more years looking back, and I really hope that I'm wrong about the best years part...
Friday marked another great night at Iota, dancing and flitting about while Juniper Lane played their set. I love these nights. I mean, they are the BEST. Potter and Rooker are almost always right by my side, and the most fun peeps ever come out. In fact, it's always interesting to see who really does come. Now I'm known for the hard sell, and I typically invite everyone I've ever met to come to every Iota show. But I love to be surprised at who comes, brings friends, dances by the stage, and even learns some of the words by the end of the night.
So even though I was sick and snotty and had almost no voice last Friday, it didn't matter. I rocked out. And it occurred to me: in ten, twenty, thirty years, it's these nights--the Iota nights--that I'm going to look back on and think, "That was the best. That was the most fun. That was my happy place. And dammit, were my outfits amazing."
[03.03.10]
(5) Walking by a student wearing a "Pancake House" t-shirt. The 'burg, as you may know, boasts an inordinate amount of pancake houses. I guess he wanted to avoid the pressure of endorsing just one, hence the generic shout-out.
(4) Stumbling upon the 20th reunion of an a cappella group with which I am well acquainted. What?!
(3) Chatting about politics with Nanna, who declared that in her 90 years she doesn't think it's ever been this acrimonious and distasteful. Hence her declaraion, "Sarah Palin? Oh GOD!"
(2) Realizing that by making reservations to eat at the Williamsburg Inn, we were actually attending the prom of a small local private school.
(1) Making (and drinking!) mint juleps with Nanna (see pic below), while gleaning pearls of life wisdom from the coolest lady I know. For instance, the lesson that everything is relative: "Hell, 74 isn't old anymore! I'd love to be 74 again!" Excellent point to keep in mind as 30 looms...
[05.06.10]
I was finally given my Gen X due last night by the person who, previously, had most denied giving it to me. It took Guitar Boy hanging out with a 23-year-old to realize my age group is a lot more like him than we are like her. Apparently 23-year-olds are interested in things like Second Life and that was too much for him to process. I'll admit now, as I've admitted before, that I'm at the tail end of Generation X. I just made it within days. But how can you say I'm not just a little Gen X when I look at a list of 90s movies like this one and get SO EXCITED? Not only have I heard of "Cry-Baby," but I've seen it a LOT of times.
Yesterday our interns were asking Cara and me whether we had cell phones in college. Cell phones in college? Not a chance. (Although super-Gen X Cara had a beeper in high school.) And what would have been the point of having a cell phone? No one else had them either. (Except Chris C., who was so cosmopolitan.) Plus texting didn't exist! We were so proud of ourselves for revolutionizing the usage of IM away messages, and for figuring out how to stalk via voicemail. That blinking red light was enough excitement for us. The interns followed up by asking whether we exchanged actual phone numbers with each other. I told them no, that back in the dark ages we just hoped against hope to bump into each other again. It wasn't a foolproof strategy, but when you go to a college with only three bars, it does the job.
[04.28.10]
For the past couple years, I have been warned via email, IM, and in person that redheads are going extinct. At first I panicked, natch, as many other redheads did -- one innovative ginger started a redhead dating (and presumably mating) site so that recessive redhead genes could have a better shot at carrying on. However, soon after these rumors started spreading, they were debunked. And having just been to Epcot, a Disney theme park to which American and foreign families flock each year by the millions, a place that truly does represent a cross-section of the planet on a daily-basis, I can attest to the following: THE GINGER POPULATION IS GOING STRONG. Oh my GOD, were there gingers. Young, pony-tailed, rotund, mulleted, twin, too-old-to-be-pushed-in-stroller ginger kids of all kinds. I couldn't keep count. I've been to Ireland, the land from which all redheads are assumed to spring have forth, and still I've never seen as many redheads as I did at Epcot. It. Was. Amazing. I was heartened. Of course, hot on the heels of a horrific ginger backlash, during which redheaded children were BEATEN by jealous classmates, some are saying that red hair is back in. Puh-lease, people. Stop kidding yourselves. It was never out.
[04.21.10]
I got lots of good outdoor time in last week before neon pollen was dumped all over the greater D.C. area: reading in Russell Park, runs in Arlington, and a Capitol Hill cherry blossom photoshoot with my super cute niece and gorgeous sister. (Fave pics can be seen here, here, here and here.) Then the pollen smacked my allergies across the face. It's weird -- this occurs every year, yet I continue to be stunned by the severity of it as if it's happening for the first time, causing me to go through the same predictable stages all over again. First, I get angry at nature. Like, really salty. Then I start feeling sorry for myself. Finally, I sort of get used to it and decide I can't let some little pesky, dusty substance dictate my life. So I fling the windows back open, enjoy some meals (and margaritas!) on outdoor patios -- heck, I might even do a little gardening this weekend! In my mind is a visual of Steve-O, of Jackass the Movie fame, taking a scoop of powdery pollen and snorting it, like he did with a glop of wasabi. Now, I would never actually do that, but this is the mental image I conjure up when the pollen taunts me from the roof, hood, and window of every car. It boldens me, it stays me. I can stay strong, despite my labored breathing -- at least until the predicted rain comes and washes it all away!
[04.08.10]