Blooming 2

Today I saw a tree in bloom for the first time this year, and was excited enough to stop and take a picture (not shown). There is one thing I expect to miss when summer comes, though, which is the kick-ass view from my room and balcony. Here's what dominates the skyline at night now. Between me and the Capitol is a large tree, though, which I expect will dampen the effect in a month or two.

Unlucky 2

This past weekend I had strep throat. If you're thinking, "hmmm, I haven't had strep since I was 12," there's a reason for that: Adults rarely get strep. If, like me, you're an adult with no tonsils, your odds are even better. But there it is: I had strep.

Which wouldn't have been so terrible--ok, I could barely swallow, but I spent a couple of days sleeping a lot and watching DVDs--except that I was supposed to test for my black belt on Saturday afternoon, and I missed it. My next chance to test will be in June.

Not that being a black belt would make a large material difference in my life. It would make a small material difference, though, not only because I'd get to wear an actual black belt to class, embossed with my name, but also because I'd have the privilege of wearing a black uniform. Not that I'm a workout fashionista, but that would be a vast improvement on what I've had to wear for the past four years. These pants don't flatter anyone, but they're particularly unkind to those of us who are well-endowed in the gluteal region.

At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that there is literally a black belt with my name on it, waiting for me in the studio office.

My stats

Here's an email I just got:

subject: [Coloradan], you are more desired than 79% of all people.
mailed-by: facebookmail.com

This email was sent by Social Profile. You can disable emails here.
---
In total, you were reviewed for dating 5 times and 2 people expressed interest in you.
You are more desirable than 79% of 23,337,936 people.

Check your Social Profile

I have to say, I thought the "compare people" application on Facebook sounded potentially dangerous and tactless when I first heard about it, but then TOWWAS made it sound all fun and wholesome. And now look where I am: trying not to think too hard about who those five people might have been. Cousins? Ex-boyfriends? People I just don't think about, you know, that way?

I wish I'd saved the Social Profile email I got a few weeks ago, which offered unsolicited observations about my "strengths" and areas I needed to work on, based on my rankings (fortunately, not the dating rankings that time). Strengths included that people wouldn't mind being stuck in handcuffs, stranded on a desert island, or just hanging out with me for the day. (It feels good to be tolerable.)

Things I'm ranked very low on include being outgoing, being powerful, and (quel horreur!) having a nice laugh.

Cross-cultural

There's an old Chinese man who plays outside various Metro stations with a traditional-sounding instrument (I think it's called an erhu) and a recorded accompaniment. I like it when I catch him--it adds a touch of the exotic to my day.

This morning I was riding up the escalator and heard him playing, so I took out off my headphones to listen. As I got closer it became clear that, yes, he was playing Celine Dion's theme from Titanic. Yikes.

Google analytics

It's a huge day for my blog if it gets 10 visits. So I was fascinated to learn that on January 11, 139 people landed on this page after Googling "died in a knitting accident."

The Internet is weird. People have also gotten here after Googling something along the lines of cats afraid of vacuum cleaners why.

Spam

It's my opinion that spam is a greatly under appreciated pop art form. For example, I have to admire this choice piece of email (from one Dr. Jerry Gutierrez, JerryGutierrez@denisehamilton.com) for its complete lack of subtext:

Your woman shack up with your mate that's why you are alone.

His device is bigger than yours and this is the main reason of leave.

Don't worry fellow. At present you have marvelous chance to Lengthen your jang length.

Enlarge your instrument length and you'll forget about problems for sure.

[Web address]

While I give this ad an "A" for clarity and directness, it gets an "F" for targeting.

Primaries

I was feeling like a bad Washingtonian for choosing my preferred candidate based on his or her charisma, so I decided to take this handy quiz to see who I'd vote for if I were judging based on Issues. And, well, I defy anyone to find meaningful differences between the Democratic candidates' positions on just about anything (I didn't attempt to slog through the Republicans).

Maybe this is news only to me--I've studiously avoided watching the debates so far. Or maybe people in the blue states are right now passionately debating whether there should be a timeline for troop withdrawal from Iraq, or just a commitment to get out of there ASAP. Maybe I'll be a good Washingtonian and do some of my own research on, say, the candidates' health care proposals, but for now I'm going to make this bold pronouncement: All the Democratic candidates are the same. Charisma is all we have to go on.

Back yard

So yes, K and I moved a month ago. The new place is terrific, and the housewarming party is tentatively scheduled for the 19th.

While the house is nice, I think its most interesting feature is the creepy back yard. Let me take you through the experience of coming home through the alleyway. I took these pictures during the day for illustrative purposes, but try to imagine going through this in the dark (which we often do this time of year).

Why would we come in through the alleyway? For one thing the parking space is back there (I'm still car-less, but K has a newly-sideswiped red station wagon), and for another, it's a shortcut to and from the metro--at least if you don't figure in the time spent locking and unlocking.

The first set of doors to lock and unlock are these, the doors to the parking space:
This brings you to a parking space lined with jagged-topped cement walls:


For extra creepiness, one of the more talkative feral cats will sometimes watch me from the top of one of the walls and meow. Next I unlock the deadbolt on the ivy-grown metal gate on the left; it groans as I open and close it. I step onto the first of the narrow cement steps:

To lock the iron gate I have to put my hand into this jagged hole in the cement wall:


I walk up the stairs and into the leaf-strewn back yard:

There's often a feral cat or two crouching in the shadows watching me, but they run away when I get too close. I walk up the rusty metal stairs, opening and closing a second metal gate at the top and, finally, the house door.

In conclusion, if you're looking for a location for shooting your low-budget horror movie, I'm sure we can work something out. I should say, though, that the house's positive features include a big kitchen with shiny new appliances, reasonably spacious living and dining rooms, and a second floor (!) with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a balcony... that overlooks the back yard.

Changes

It's been an eventful month, so I'll blame my complete lack of blogginess on feeling that my life is in such a state of flux. Also on relating interesting anecdotes to K when I get home instead of sitting down to blog about them. In an effort to make up for it, here's my month in review:

• K, upon contracting a bad sore throat, declared she was allergic to the futon and began sleeping on the floor. She swears it's not so bad.
• K and I found a new place, a rowhouse in a neighborhood few have heard of, and those that have believe to be sketchy. However, it's a rowhouse! That we can afford! In the city! And it's near a metro stop! The move is scheduled for Saturday.
• HSBFF came for a visit, and we spent Veterans Day weekend in NYC. It was cold. We ate a lot, and I introduced HSBFF to Malaysian food.
  
• I saw The Tragically Hip (which henceforth I'll refer to as the Hip, thus affecting an intimate knowledge of Canadian culture), Zappa Plays Zappa, The Taming of the Shrew, the Karelian Folk Music Ensemble, and They Might Be Giants. Also Bad Boys 2. Woo-sa!
• Agent V [this is what happens when you let people pick their own monikers] had K and I over for Thanksgiving, along with a few mutual friends and his parents. The stuffing and company were both excellent (really the only criteria that matter in judging a Thanksgiving, IMHO). I made two pies, trying my hand and making crust for the first time. For a recipe with so few ingredients, crust is surprisingly difficult. But the results weren't disastrous, just somewhat humbling.
  

Boulder

On my long Western journey I went to Boulder for an afternoon. Pueblo and Boulder should really be more than a two-and-a-half hour drive apart; they're about the same size and located in the same state, but going from the depressed desert industrial town to the mountainous hippie enclave gave me culture shock.

For example, you wouldn't find a "women's bookstore" in Pueblo, much less an oxygen bar. The reason I took a picture of this sign, though, is that it introduced me to the word "smartinis." Whatever a smartini is, I want one.

Friday

I flew into Denver on Friday afternoon, and Niffer-bur picked me up from the airport and drove me to Deme's parents' house, where we'd be staying for fifth year reunion weekend. Deme and SGB were already there. We chatted for awhile and then went to our class reception.

As expected, I didn't recognize many people there. Appart from a handful of close friends, I somehow didn't get to know many people in college. We did run into a friend who'd lived on our floor freshman year, a Peruvian who's now a lawyer in Miami and going by a different first name. I knew I'd been gone for a long time when he asked me where I'm from originally and I said automatically, "I'm from Colorado," realizing a moment later that I was in Colorado Springs, talking to someone who'd lived there for three years, and could really be more specific.

Other signs I'd been gone awhile: I got out of breath from walking up a single flight of stairs, and though I didn't get drunk off the two glasses of wine I had at the class reception, I did wake up with a headache the next morning.

The other person I recognized at reunion was one of my housemates from junior year, now an artist and hairdresser in LA. Once a self-identified lesbian, she's still with the same boyfriend she was when we lived together. No, I did not ask whether she's still a lesbian.

txt me

Shortly after I moved to DC I signed up for emergency text message and email alerts. I'm not much for disaster planning, but it seemed like a good idea. And while I've gotten my share of completely useless information (DMV closed early due to excessive heat, gas leak five blocks away has been repaired), it's also proved handy sometimes, as when it tells me when the severe weather warning will be over--i.e., when it will stop pouring so I can go outside.

This service entailed paying for maybe five a la carte text messages per month, which made the useless information ones doubly annoying. Then friends starting texting me, at first just once in awhile if they were running late, then more frequently. Some of them seem to use their phones only secondarily to actually make calls. I gave in a few months ago and sprang for the 50 messages/month bundle, which was lucky because my phone company raised the messaging rates to $.15/each at about the same time.

Then this billing cycle came along. Suddenly no one communicates with me orally at all. And why not? Are we European high school students now? Why spend 10 minutes exchanging six text messages when a 60-second phone conversation would be more efficient (and included in my plan)? Was the demise of the phone call a signal of my generation's increasing alienation from our fellow humans? Or was I just doing more stuff that called for texting? Whatever the reason, I burned through 62 messages in a week. I needed to cut back. But how?

Yesterday morning I awoke to this text from alert DC:

3-Alarm Fire @ 2633 Adams Mill Rd. NW. Parts of Coumbia Rd, Calvert St. & Adams Mill closed nearby.

Interesting? Definitely. Useful? Possibly. But did I need to know this at 6:43 am? No!

Well, resistance was clearly futile. I switched to the 300 message bundle that morning, at the bargain rate of $4.99/month. So go ahead, text me. Maybe next month I'll switch to the unlimited plan.

Extra heavy

This post is dedicated to Nell.

Q: What's more yucky than a gallon of mayonnaise?

A: A gallon of mayonnaise that bills itself as "Extra Heavy."

I saw this in the wee hours of this morning in a fast food restaurant that also sells some Middle Eastern teas and canned goods, along with industrial-sized condiments.

Retail therapy

How awesome is this bag?

I've begun to worry that maybe I'm developing a purse fetish. Which is ironic since I didn't buy my first purse until my 23rd birthday, when I decided it was time to quit schlepping my stuff around in a canvas bag. And now look at me: so many bags they barely fit on the back of my closet door anymore. I go into TJ Maxx to buy clothes, and I end up with a bag that costs as much as three tops.

So, I'm kind of a materialist. But at least I'm a materialist with a really exciting sapphire bag.

Bus

Yesterday morning I woke up at 8:00 (as my body still seems to feel that six hours at a time is more than sufficient), and decided to go to the 10:00 tae kwon do class. My bus was early and I had to run to catch it at a light. Once on board I felt around in my bag for my wallet... and felt... and rumaged... and it wasn't there. I had no Smartrip card and no money. I briefly contemplated trying to talk the driver into giving me a free ride, but then how would I get back? The tkd studio is miles from my apartment. So, without giving any explanation, I got off at the next stop, walked back home, and headed down to the basement to workout on the elliptical machine.

Circadian rhythms

For about two weeks now I've had trouble sleeping. It takes me forever to get to sleep, and then sometimes I wake up in the wee hours and have to start all over again. I don't know why this is--I certainly don't have jet lag. It's as though my body has suddenly decided that it only wants to sleep in the afternoon. And no, insomnia detectives, my problem is not an excess of naps: I think I've taken a grand total of two naps during this sleepless phase.

The strange thing is that while I've been tired, I haven't really been more tired than usual during the day. Which leads me to wonder if I've suddenly started needing less sleep. I remember thinking around the time I started watching Heroes on DVD that if I could pick a superpower, I'd want to be able to go without sleep. Think about it--you could pack two lifetimes' worth of activities into one! But I also distinctly remember thinking that this would only be a good power if I could sleep when I wanted to, because I like sleeping. Hear me, careful-what-you-wish-for gods?

Signs

CityPaper
Originally uploaded by ChezShawna

You know you live in Washington when... this is the cover story on your weekly paper.

If you're curious what the reasons are, the full article can be found here. I haven't actually read it yet, but something tells me it's intended for mature audiences.

Ithaca is far

I rented a car and went to Ithaca over Labor Day weekend. I hadn't been since January, and decided I'd better make it up for the last weekend of summer. I saw NCSV and Deano and Nell and Jepetto, who'd just gotten his Ph.D. that week. Also some people who don't have names on my blog (yet). And I visited some of the places I've missed, like the Chapter House and the Carriage House and the Commons and (to be a stereotypical girl for a second) the shoe section at Bon-Ton.

Interestingly, almost as soon as I reached the Ithaca city limits I noticed I'd grown bossier. I don't think I'm very bossy in DC, but I'm rarely shy about telling my Ithaca friends what to do. Maybe the move has been good for me...

In which my tastes are called into question, and defended

Last night I was reading the Atlantic, congratulating myself on actually getting through a whole issue rather than just letting it contribute to the Leaning Tower of Pisa on my desk/nightstand like so many other publications, when I came on this article by Michael Hirschorn right at the end. As take-downs of pop culture phenomena go it's rather gentle. I think its fighting-est words are:

Quirk, loosed from its moorings, quickly becomes exhausting... Like the proliferation of meta-humor that followed David Letterman and Jerry Seinfeld in the ’90s, quirk is everywhere because quirkiness is so easy to achieve: Just be odd … but endearing. It becomes a kind of psychographic marker, like wearing laceless Chuck Taylors or ironic facial hair—a self-satisfied pose that stands for nothing and doesn’t require you to take creative responsibility.

Hirschorn's article classified many things I hold dear as "quirk," namely:

• This American Life
• Arrested Development
• Napolean Dynamite
• Little Miss Sunshine
• Rushmore*
• The Royal Tennenbaums
  

Ok, so I agree with him about Garden State and The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou, but proof positive that Hirschorn was talking about me came here (in reference to This American Life):

It’s the sound of Austin, Boulder, Berkeley, Red Hook, Madison, Cambridge, Adams Morgan**—of people who tend to think of themselves as engaged, aware.

Oh the humanity! Oh the italics!

Hirschorn, by contrast, is a man of the people. You can tell because he enjoys Knocked Up and reality TV.

Upon reflection I realized I'm probably guilty not only of patronizing this unmoored quirk, but of propagating it: see my blog entries on signs for dogs, recording examples of risible punctuation, and roller-blading in a parade while dressed as a car.

Upon further reflection I remembered that This American Life does do devastatingly "important" shows, including some great recent ones on the Iraq war and habeas corpus. And I thought about the some of the pretentious schlock I've seen that came out of someone's earnest attempt to make something that mattered (see Crash, Babel), and concluded I'd rather have spent those couple of hours on some meaningless piece of engaged, aware quirky escapism. Because what's wrong with that, really?

*cited as an example of good quirk
**this is where I live

Buffy

Yesterday I watched the final two episodes in the Buffy the Vampire series. It doesn't sound like a great way to spend a gorgeous Saturday afternoon (hey--I went outside, too), but it seemed momentous, given that I'd been slowly making my way through the series on DVD since January 2005.

So what am I going to do tomorrow? Maybe I'll set the world on fire. Or maybe I'll start on the other 213 DVDs in my Netflix queue. The possibilities are endless.