Vacation

I bought my ticket to China today. I'm leaving on October 2 and staying for three weeks. Flying into Beijing and out of Shanghai. Beyond that, I don't know yet where I'm going or what I'm doing. I don't even know whether I'll be able to meet up with Deme, or whether she'll be long gone by then. But I do know that it's going to be awesome.

The time, they are a-gentrifying

The very week KFC closed, what should appear in our neighborhood but a cherry picker full of dudes with flower baskets, decorating the light poles. I also noticed that the abandoned houses on our street now have plywood covering their window-holes; not only that, but the plywood is painted the same color as the house it decorates.

This is going to be a classy neighborhood, I tell you. Makes me wish K and I owned our place.

Bulletproof KFC

To this Eckington optimist's post about the closing of a neighborhood restaurant, I would add step zero: remove the bulletproof glass encasing the employees. And perhaps a step 0.5: install tables.

Belted

Yesterday I finally got my black belt. It's hard to take myself too seriously as a result when the test group consisted of me and one other 20-something woman and about a dozen elementary schoolers. Perhaps the hardest part of the test was sparring, in which teenagers kicked my ass in front of an audience of proud, photo-happy parents. But as someone who's been pretty terrible at every sport I've ever tried (with the possible exception of cross-country, at which I was merely mediocre), it's nice to have affirmation that four years of physical training has yielded measurable results.

Afterward I celebrated by hosting a dinner-and-a-movie get-together at Agent V's. Despite my fromagophilia I've lately become a devotee of a cookbook called the Veganomicon, and used its advice to make chickpea cutlets with mustard sauce and roasted asparagus. Then we watched The Long Kiss Goodnight. In my evite I'd described this movie as "a delicious morsel of so-bad-it's-good-ness," but I'd forgotten just how bad--and how good--it really is. Here's a sample.

SufferJets vs. Psycho Dolls

The Ithaca SufferJets took on the Syracuse Psycho Dolls on Friday night at Cass Park, and I was there. This was the second roller derby bout I'd witnessed, so for the uninitiated, here's my one-word summary of the sport: awesome. It's even more awesome when you know some of the competitors, and (spoiler alert) they win.

Several hundred people showed up, which was a pretty impressive turnout considering that few of the audience members could have been familiar with the sport. I wasn't surprised, though, having witnessed Nell's organizational and marketing abilities before. The crowd got into it, too, quickly figuring out when to cheer and chanting "Suff-er-Jets!" during the final timeout.

There was a decidedly un-awesome part of this bout, however: just a few minutes in, one of the Psycho Dolls fell and snapped her femur. Without going into gory detail, I do mean snapped. She was screaming in pain before the ambulance arrived. The crowd clapped for her as she was being wheeled out, and she saluted us with both middle fingers. I thought that was heartening--you wouldn't expect a roller girl to smile wanly and wave, would you?

Terminus Est does an excellent job of documenting the bout here.

Ithaca

Nell loads Franklin the horse into the Blue Goose for his
trip to the bout

I arrived in Ithaca two hours behind the scheduled time. Nell picked me up in the Blue Goose, her '84 Volvo station wagon, and calmly explained that she was in "panic mode." The debut home bout of her roller derby team, the SufferJets, was mere hours away, she'd barely slept, and she should probably be at the rink by now, but she had so much to do, and people kept calling her. Did I mind if we went to Shortstop? Shortstop sounded perfect to me.

I got a small poor man's pizza (PMP) to tide me over until dinner--Ithaca claims to have originated the French bread pizza, contrary to what the French might tell you. We ate our sandwiches in Nell's living room, in what would turn out to be my only indoor meal all weekend. The weather was perfect, and people in Ithaca get excited about nice weather.

It was really nice to be back. I love DC, but I must say, it makes me appreciate how pretty and quiet and unpolluted and cozy Ithaca is. It's so cute how people don't drive like maniacal misanthropes there. Sure, you have to dodge potholes that could swallow a Smartcar, but that's just part of the charm, right?

Bus odyssey part 2

The bus from New York City to Ithaca was also over an hour late, for no apparent reason. I lined up for it at around 7:30 am. Half an hour later a security woman came by and scolded us for not lining up single-file. "This line is in disarray!" she said. Once we finally started boarding a woman near me in line, wearing fashionable glasses and a green trucker hat, kept yelling suggestions at the Greyhound workers. "You're causing chaos here!" she said, and, "hey, security, how about bringing some order here?" I was torn between the vicarious satisfaction of hearing someone protest against the unapologetic crappiness of the bus experience, and an introvert's annoyance at the added tension she was bringing to the situation. What was this woman, some kind of Greyhound virgin? Did she actually expect anything different?

After we'd finally gotten on the bus a woman walked up to the Greyhound virgin with the kind of smile one doesn't often see at Port Authority at 8:30 am. She shyly asked trucker-hat woman whether she was Josie from Top Chef, and lo and behold, she was! A celebrity spotting on Greyhound! This made me feel marginally better about riding the bus, even though Josie had only appeared on a reality TV show I'd never watched, and seemed to feel that the hour was too early for recognition. Here she is wielding a knife.

Bus odyssey part 1

I took the bus to Ithaca. Many people pointed out to me that this was a bad idea, but Ithaca isn't an easy place to get to, especially sans car. Several friends in DC suggested that I take the train, which I thought was cute--apparently people in DC assume that you can take the train anywhere. Agent V recently told me he's contemplating taking the train to the Florida Keys, since it's "only" $120 and 24 hours each way.

But there's no passenger train service to Ithaca, and flying to its tiny airport would have cost upwards of $650, since it was Cornell's commencement weekend. I usually rent a car, but last time I rented a car for a holiday weekend there was a very long line involved, and paying $4/gallon for gas was unappealing. Plus, the Greyhound station is within walking distance of my house, and my neighborhood has so few amenities that I was tempted to take advantage of this one.

My bus was an hour late leaving DC, but I didn't mind too much since I expected a long layover in New York City anyway. On arriving at Port Authority bus terminal I spotted this sign. Two thoughts:

1. "Motor stairs"? Is this an expression only New Yorkers know, like standing "on line"? Or is Port Authority trying to accommodate its many patrons who speak English as a second language, and might not know a word like "escalator"?
2. I heard a standup comedian recently say that he likes escalators because an escalator can never really be out of order; it just becomes stairs. Apparently not this escalator.

What I accomplished this week

1.) Doing the splits (front and back--I'm still working on middle) for the first time since I was about 17 and taking ballet.

2.) Keeping my downstairs neighbor's cats alive until his return today. This may not sound like a big deal, but I seem to be kryptonite for cats. One of the neighbor's cats got sick a few days into his three-week absence, I took him to the animal hospital in the middle of the night and then gave him his medicine and canned food as directed, and you know what? He seems to be doing ok. Although the episode has made me even less inclined to acquire a new feline anytime soon.

Ubiquitous

There's someone out there with the same first and last names as me, who has the same email address as me except with a middle initial in it. Some time ago she apparently began putting the wrong email address (mine) on forms left and right. Long story short, I ended up finding out her real email address and now I forward her anything that comes to my inbox that isn't spam but is clearly not for me. (Yes, I can be a nice person sometimes.)

The strange thing is that, judging by her email, my doppelganger lives in several different places. She's supporting Barack Obama's campaign in Washington state, taking her kid to gymnastics lessons in Houston, and, according to the evite I got today, perhaps attending a barbecue in northern New Jersey. Or, more likely, these are three different people. Maybe I will track down all of their email addresses eventually and end up routing their mail like one of those old-time phone operators. Except that it will also feel like that restaurant scene in Being John Malkovich.

Up and coming

I noticed this week that one of the buildings in my neighborhood will be hosting Artomatic this year. A bit of background: Nothing fun really goes on my in neighborhood, as far as I can tell. I was excited last weekend to find out there's apparently a good Thai restaurant... a mere six block away from my place.

A few days after I spotted the Artomatic building, I saw a poster advertising an outdoor Bond film series just north of my metro stop. That's right, every Thursday night all summer long I'll be able to go see a Bond movie, for free, from a hilly overgrown triangle of land formed by two busy roads and a railroad track.

Ok, astute readers may have perceived that I'm a bit dubious about the Bond thing. The intersection of New York and Florida Avenues does seem like a terrible spot for outdoor films, and apparently this series was dreamed up by the same optimists who've attempted to dub this part of town "Capitol Hill North." But I'm also intrigued.

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.