So long, for now

I left Washington DC on Sunday, after spending a whole day touring with my parents, taking pictures next to monuments. The weather was hard to bear in the other extreme, when I got here in August, it was humid and too hot. When we were walking on the Mall, it was windy and too cold. Helen hung out with us for part of the time, and she cooked me a breakfast of mimosas, french toast, and veggie bacon. I fell asleep as soon as I sat down in the car, so I did not give DC a proper final goodbye.

But I don't see it as a goodbye, I will be seeing this funny but charming city soon enough. I decided (don't worry, there is good chance I will change my mind again) that I will go to law school, either a specialized program or with a combined masters, after a year or so of working in DC. I concluded this looking at snow-covered pines somewhere in Pennsylvania, thinking that I would like to take my skills anywhere, not just our nation's capital. But, in the meantime, DC is just as fine of a place as any to hang one's hat at the end of the day, and it is one of the few places that has ample jobs for what I have been trained in my undergraduate career: to umm... be critical and political!

So, see you later, DC. Hopefully you will have an affordable apartment waiting for me when I get back. Please?

I smell.

My roommate came into my room to avoid working on her paper. She said something in my room smelled. I told her it was most likely me.

She agreed.

Oh, Lord have mercy!

I am in the midst of writing a research paper on U.S. sanctions on Burma. It is a typical story. Girl has assignment, girl avoids thinking about assignment, writing assignment, up until a week before it is due. Girl regrets her consistent past decisions to not work on her assignment, for it would have made this current week a lot more easy for her. Grant it, this particular story has some sweet plot twists, like this evening, for example.

I finally saw the Detroit Cobras! I manage to miss out on seeing them every time they come by either Detroit or Cleveland, but thanks to my mentor, I had a ball with Jane Claire as we drunkenly twisted and mash potatoed to garage rock covers of old R&B tunes. It was fun to just go out and dance to a live band, and judging by the lack of a crowd, it seems not too many people want to do that these days...fuck them.

I am actually appreciating the process of writing this paper. I wake up, I create, I go out and have fun. Its an honest way to be. A part of me is pained that I am not outside, fully enjoying DC and its first fall of snow. I have about a week left here in DC, and I dare say, I will miss this town. There are so many more museums I have let to see. Hello, Air and Space museum? And all the African American historic sites I never got around to seeing because I am a bad white person! Argh!

No, its not just that. I have fallen for living in a new place, making new connections, living my life. But lets stop beating around the truth. I am smitten by a certain someone, someone I would rather not leave to go back to Ann Arbor just yet, and would rather spend my time with than writing about Burma. The reason I am typing frantically over sanctions and this troubled Southeast Asian country is because I have spent too much time falling in love. I wonder as I write this assignment if I will regret my choices if I do not receive the grade I feel entitled to, if my undergraduate career of last-minute bullshitting will not carry me through. Should I place a footnote for the professor, explaining that being alive is just as important as, if not more than, producing a 20+ page qualitative research paper on some social/political topic? Or perhaps all my charm and graceful encounters with Ifie will rub her the right way and she will give me a good mark. Or she will see right through me. Either way, I only have the moment.

The Keeper let me down

My keeper broke the other day. The tip you pull in order to pinch the base snapped and made it nearly impossible to get out. The whole thing was a messy affair and made me late to work.

My keeper lasted me three years and two months. When I bought my keeper at the tender age of 18, I thought it would stay with me during a formative decade in my life. I imagined being with her long into my ripe late twenties and both of us agreeing what a long, strange trip it had all been before I purchased another rubber menstrual cup. Sad to say, we didn't even make it through undergrad.

Since I keep up the facade with my mother that I still use tampons and pads, I let her buy me some for DC (I figure coming-out as a Keeper user will be an uncomfortable conversation about sanitation). I grew tired of these disposable feminine hygiene products rather quickly and decided that I needed another keeper in my life. Even if I did not save the projected $600+ I would have if my Keeper had not broken, it is still amazing for its convenience alone.

I called up the local Whole Foods to ask if they had Keepers. After explaining what it was to the male sales assistant, he told me that they only had Diva Cups. Being indoctrinated into the Keeper camp at a young age by neo-crunchy feminists, I had a strong bias against the Diva Cup. But I figured that if silicone is good enough for my dildos, its good enough for my blood cup, and would perhaps last longer than the gum tree variety.

Whole Foods only sells the Diva Cup. I felt like I was buying something that could be sold in the same aisle at K-Mart as Barbie and Bratz dolls, based on its packaging and matching accessories. The extra cardboard does not appeal to bleeders who want to cut down on paper use, and the overkill that is the feminine color scheme did not make me any happier. But, alas, my impatience and desire to reuse my menstrual appliances won over my disapproval of the brand's marketing strategies. I went home to find that each cups comes with a cute DIVA flower pin that I can put on my backpack, as well as a cheap and gawdy storing pouch.

Hating aside, there are a few upgrades that the Diva Cup offers compared to its earth-sister cup. The silicone is much softer and thinner than the intimating brown cone of the Keeper. Also, there are markers that measure in oz and ml how much blood your Diva Cup has collected, which reminds me of all those science classes I said goodbye to after I received my high school diploma. Doesn't everyone want to know how much they bleed? Maybe I can start recording it...yeah.

The one downside to the functionality of the Diva Cup is the shortness of the tip, which makes the wearer have to dig a little deeper in order to pinch the base and empty. I realize that my over-reliance on the Keeper tip is what ultimately led to its premature death, now I see with the Diva Cup that all I needed to do was finger myself (a bit more) every time I wanted to gain access.

The makers of the Keeper now make a silicone Mooncup that has the same shape and tip, and I wish Whole Foods would sell this one so I didn't have that silly pouch and pin. I know that co-ops like the one in Ann Arbor sell Keepers, so why doesn't a mega organic store like Whole Foods sell every blood cup our market economy has to offer? Is it the nature of corporate takeover that takes even the most feminist and environmental product and make it another consumerist gender stereotype? Perhaps the makers of the Diva Cup hope that by marketing their product as cute and girly, it will attract women who would otherwise shrink away from the idea of a reusable blood cup or, goddess forbid, touching their own bleeding pussies. Women have to be cool with their pussy blood to handle a cup, and there is so much shame and disgust surrounding menstruation in our culture, that it may take some encouragement to get more women on board. But does it have to be through obnoxiously pink packaging, or the coaxing of a cheap flower pin?

Its in the name itself. You have the Keeper and Mooncup, which carries on in the environmental-feminist tradition of the Keeper, owned by many a girl who are or went through an Ani DiFranco phase, are veg, and/or went to summer camps run by hairy college-age feminists. Then you have the Diva Cup, which embraces the image of the woman who still wants to be fabulous and feminine, while also saving the environment or avoid monthly batches of bleached cotton up their vag. For others, it is just the right product for them, it is smaller and more flexible, and you can measure your blood!

So, am I being too critical over this whole Diva Cup thing? Considering its lodged inside me right now, maybe, but I have read one too many Bitch magazines cover to cover to not write social commentary on menstrual cups. Goddess bless.

Going out with the tide

I apologize for falling behind with semi-regular updates on my life in DC, but noting my guilt is mostly an attempt at self-flattery, thinking that I have a readership. All that aside, DC has picked me up in a gust of restless confusion, for everyday I wake up with one idea and fall asleep with something completely different.

I am Dana, and I am a graduating college senior that does not know what she wants to do with her one precious life.

("Hi, Dana")

I came to DC hoping to figure out whether to go to law or public policy school, and to find a job for the year off I planned to take before going on to grad school. Up until a few days ago, I had fanciful dreams of living in China and writing plays about the history of small Oregon towns. It seemed completely possible, and indeed, it still can be, but now, I am back right where I started. I want to either go to law or public policy school, and would like to get a job in the non-profit sector in DC after I graduate. (bitter sarcasm bubbles up to the surface) Awesome, a semester well spent. Now I have it all figured out.

I am not the only one. All my friends are in different states of the same soon-to-be or post-graduated quagmire. Some days, I panic. Sunday I went to a mediation gathering at an Unitarian church with my friend Eunice, and was embarrassed to cry in front of all those meditating strangers. It also didn't help that my cell phone went off right in the middle of the practice and I could sense everyone losing their much sought after inner peace. Sorry, Sangha.

Other days, I am quite hopeful and excited, which is obviously more comfortable, but I know see the necessity of having both the dark and the light with me, or the yin and the yang, if I were to take from my mediation visit or my undergraduate education. Being afraid and uncertain can be inspirations to move and do, while embracing the possibilities makes it possible to find what is right.

In the meantime, it is just so easy to enjoy myself. I thought I would miss Michigan falls, but in DC, the fall goes on and on, and I dare say I am charmed by this funny valentine. There will be sad, and there is plenty of bad in this town, but if I can still see the good and keep the hope, then I am going to make it after all.

(Tosses hat up into the air)

DMC meets NYC

I didn't know if I was out of Jersey, I gazed out of my Chinatown bus looking for any sign of official New York. The guy next to me helped me out by pointing to the Statue of Liberty in the distance. Oh, I guess I am in NYC.

How did I go about 21 years as a young American without ever visiting NYC? Distracted, I was. Shaen was an excellent hostess and has great command of the territory. She led me all over lower Manhattan and out to her Hasidic Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn. I liked the chilled nights we spent wandering and admiring the brownstones and fire escapes. Now I know where all the hype stems from, NYC has it all. I have a greater appreciation for its influence on American and global culture, and I wish more cities could have its energy. Yes, lets work, live, and play all in the same place. I imagine there would be a lot more interesting towns and cities in the US if that were the case.

There are more hipsters than rats in NYC, unfortunately. Before this comes off as a wide brush stroke of hating against hipsters, lets provide a solid definition of hipster and the issues that arise from their grouping in large numbers.

By hipster, I mean an individual that grabs on to the general counterculture scene that takes much of its influence from NYC art and culture, and becomes a drone of sorts. Urban Outfitters and Pitchfork provide them the tools to adopt the mainstream of the non-mainstream and the inability to think for themselves. Going to NYC, I expected to see new and different people from the people in Ann Arbor and DC who wished they were in NYC. Yes, I saw some clever fashion combinations and hairstyles, but they were drowned out by what everyone has become so use to, thank you American Apparel! NYC may be one of the major epicenters of new ideas of culture, and everyone flocks to it because of it. In their migrations, they bring back generic reflections of what the city projected, creating whole populations of walking, breathing echoes of itself.

Besides this lack of visible originality among my peers, I am increasingly concerned over our generation's dependence on irony. But that is for another time.

I do not have issue with all things associated with hipster. I have accepted skinny jeans and...well, I am sure someone could call me out on more things. I would rather hang out at the Black Cat than 99% of clubs and bars in DC. There is a lot of commonality. Its counterculture relates to my lifelong sentiments of not identifying with mass media and so forth. It is easy to understand.
We went to a girls party at the Knitting Factory, and while many of the girls were very cute, they also looked, talked, and acted the same. How American it is to be caught up in individualism, with hipsters being no different. In attempts to question, reject, and go against mainstream society, their culture settles with accepted norms and trends that ultimately go against their original purpose. I would say, "how ironic," but its happened many times before with previous counterculture movements. Hipsters have a heightened awareness of their individuality and are defensive to be labeled or associated with the word. It would be a defeat. The conflict of human desire to be unique and to be part of a larger association, throwing punches in NYC and all over this land.

I agree with Jane Claire, it is much better to go and create "your own scene" than show up to something that is already happening and try to squeeze yourself in. Make a scene, where ever one goes.

Victory: DC Oct. 31st, 2007!!!

What an evening to remember. I strapped on my old blond wig and sensible pumps one last time to visit Club Chaos on a very special girls night, Halloween baby! Hillary Clinton came out (finally!) to a gathering of scantily clad gays and lesbians, and it was divine.

Jane Claire (John Lennon circa Stg. Pepper) and I celebrated the occasion with cheap wine before starting the official campaign. It was truly an experience to meet and shake hands with all the fabulous gays of the DC area, I SUPPORT YOU.

(Sorry, you will have to forgive me. I have been in Hillary character on and off for days now, and sometimes I don't know which person to talk in. I find myself slipping into it...)

GOD BLESS YOU! GOD BLESS AMERICA!!!!

I did not know there would be a costume contest, but as soon as I saw the contestant line forming, I jumped in, cutting to the beginning like a good frontrunner should. I made it through the first round, and kept getting audience applause right up to the end, when it was a show down between me and shower curtain girl.

And with the roar of democracy in its purest form, the voices of the gays were heard, and I, Dana posing as Hillary Clinton, won the contest. I didn't really know what the prize was, or cared really, because I only live for the rush of the win and the blood of the kill. It turns out that all my campaigning was not only to win the hearts and minds of the lovely people at Club Chaos, but also a trip to Florida.

Florida...really?

Yes, five days and four nights of paid hotel rooms in Orlando and the choice of Destin, Daytona Beach, and Fort Lauderdale. Ah...

I was born to be incompatible with the state of Florida. I am hairy, can't tan, and sweat easily in hot weather. I would not consider a vacation in Florida, and this prize package does not include airfare. So, I have an incentive to go to Florida, a voucher, but I will still have to invest with my own capital to get down to and back from this state I would otherwise not choose to vacay in, putting me in a situation reminiscent of getting an unwanted sweater from grandma and having to wear it all during Christmas. But, I feel obligated to make this pilgrimage. I did beat out the lesbian gym and grade school teacher duo, after all. I owe it to them. My plans to go to NYC for spring break are now out the window due to my ability to bring out the charisma of Hillary and win the gay vote. I FEEL ENTITLED TO IT, ANYWAY.

I even offered the prize to my parents, but they hate Florida more than I do. So much for an anniversary gift.

I am getting over the, "oh...Florida...thanks..." stage and moving into the "FUCK YEAH, ROAD TRIP TO RANDOM STATE" stage. I have found these trips to be the best in adventure and indulging in some ol' time Americana. My last major road trip was to Alabama, where I and the ultimate frisbee B team explored caves, hung out in Nashville, and listened to country mixes for a week. Now, I will have Florida to cherish...

I love Halloween.

Kurds and Gay

The latest in Mideast upset, the PKK rebels and Turkey, has been most intriguing. It is all one big foreign relations soap opera, with the US torn between declaring Armenian genocide some time after the fact, but wanting to keep its Turkey baby and not upset the only "good" thing it has going, Kurdish Iraq. Its the drama that keeps political nerds like us enthralled, but, who knew the cast would be so stimulating! Meet the ladies of the PKK, ready to fight anytime for their nationalist movement! Forget Itty Bitty Titty Committee, the women of the PKK are my rebel grrrls of choice.

And there is another funny valentine in my pop-culture consumption patterns, and I am beyond loving to hate it and hating that I love it. Now I accept that Tila entertains me as only good trash tv can, and it feels so good. How many stupid things can the guys say, how many times can "lipstick lesbian" and "a bisexual" be said instead of femme and bi? Will there be a glimmer of hope for gender education to the masses of our generation underneath all the stereotypes and red plastic liquor cups? I'm here to see, and watch straight people react to it, which is just as much fun. Tonight my three men-loving roommates sat fixed to the tv, taking in their weekly Tila shot, which trumped SVU. Thats saying something. I also like seeing girls in the gym react to the show, as I see them all intently absorbing the subtitles over the hum and bustle of treadmills, only to justify their interest with, "this show is crazy, what are they going to do next?" Its ok, honey.

Part of me wishes I had made it on the show, so I could infiltrate their lesbian-objectifying good time and send queer messages to the cast and the world with every heart-warming episode. But I probably would get kicked off faster than "hey, girl, hey" Keisha. Caution. So maybe I am not being a good lesbian feminist by not ripping this show apart. Of course, I could write a nice 5-7 page paper on how it is horrible for queer womens sexuality blah blah blah, but, you got to see it to bitch about it. I would label Tila as a guilty pleasure, but I am no a personal mission to let go of that label. A pleasure is a pleasure, whether our culture or religion or feminist ideology says its bad. I say fuck you, if I want to slow down as I drive by the car wreck, I will.

Speaking of other battles I must conquer in order to be even someone productive: they changed the tv channels, and now we have food network.

Goddess, help me!

I care more about who Mr.T endorses...

I guess it is important to many people who Chuck Norris is supporting among the Republican presidential candidates, and now the truth is out. Yes, this "Action hero compares former Arkansas Governor to King David."

Oh, that GOP, doing the same old jig, old Hollywood b-listers with some old time religion associations. Just so old, just like Chuck Norris jokes.

Another reason to be happy I left the hill...

If legislation and the demographics of their supporters weren’t enough verification, congressmen want to verify further that they are not down with the gay, ok? TheHill.com asked Representatives who they thought was the most attractive presidential candidate, and a good chunk gave homophobic answers and/or defaulted to Clinton, because straight dudes can not gauge masculine beauty for some frivolous survey. To quote Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr:

“I don’t know. Because I’m a serious heterosexual I would have to say Hillary — who else would I say?”

A serious heterosexual? A diehard heterosexual? Not an amateur, hobbyist, or one who only dabbles in being heterosexual? Most of these comments came from Democrats, and Jackson's shows the pressure to upkeep hetero masculinity for black voters, but "a serious heterosexual?" Who says that, other than insecure frat boys and others who feel they have to prove something?

Homophobia in the black community aside, we can’t overlook the rush to reinforce heteronormative declarations post-Foley/Craig scandals. We have all responded to their downfalls with amusement, whom can not help but revel in the irony of it all, and how it is helping to bring the conservative movement and the GOP to its knees just in time for a presidential election? For many of us, it is a long awaited exposure of the right’s hypocrisy, but some hold pity for these men. To be in power and with their party and voting base, they denied themselves and felt compelled to live double lives.

But the media and the collective public does not talk about issues of coming out and the overwhelming pressure for many to stay in. Foley and Craig colleagues immediately remove themselves from their fellow Republicans, not because of corruption, but trying to stay in the club while seeking some type of personal satisfaction. They are instead reduced to the plague and a running joke, and exploited to benefit from society's disgust and ignorance of all things not hetero. Their attempts to save face only mocked further as they try to prove their straightness to a world that rejects their gayness. Truly, it is a dark time in their lives, and I hope at some point they find peace.

Most gays would say fuck them, they don’t deserve sympathy for betraying us and using people’s hatred for us for political benefit. And I have to agree: if one is too scared to be honest about their sexuality, then they choose to live a life of the privileges of being straight, but ultimately a lie. You choose not to be brave and true to yourself. But there is something we can do.

Since I have gotten here, I have heard so many cheap shots at gay congressmen. It is used as an easy laugh in mixed company, by older people to appear “hip” in front of young people, or by dudes at a party. There are the jokes that embrace the irony of it all, and then there are the ones with the intent to confirm that gay is weird, gross, and a cultural crime. Craig and Foley become a safe avenue to express homophobic attitudes, and we are in a position to recognize and address them as we would normally, despite whether they are traitors or cowards.

If we do not, then it will continue to be permissible for our elected officials to publicly disrespect the gay community, and feel obligated to make these ignorant statements. Besides, we all know Clinton is not the hottest candidate in the bunch, so why should they feel restricted to gender? It is only keeping us all from aesthetical integrity!

Nonviolence and World War III, all in the same day!

So I took a long lunch break to hang out on the West lawn and see the Dalai Lama. It was a beautiful day and thousands of people were there, and allowed for reflection that I would not normally have sitting in front of a monitor. Plus, hey, lots of Richard Gere love concentrated on the hill. Eunice and I were debating recently about Western "obsession" with the Dalai Lama, and if it is at all hypocritical for us to be supportive of a theocracy like Tibet-however benevolent-while discouraging them (or supporting them financially, in case of Saudi Arabia etc.) elsewhere.
But the Dalai Lama, and Tibet, is a different case. While other spiritual leaders like the Pope work to divide and push society backward, the Dalai Lama transcends faith and culture to promote universal notions of humanity and justice. I was happy to see him put on his visor and address us, and how everyone politely sat down and relaxed on the lawn as he stood. I dread his departure from this world, and the future of the Tibetan people and cause, with China planning to choose the successor to gain control in the nation. There is so much at stake for this one monk, his faith, and his people, and while millions love him and are with him, there is only hope for change in his lifetime. Even with these odds, the Dalai Lama preaches the virtues of nonviolence, the focal point of his address to the DC public and world today.

Both George W Bush and Nancy Pelosi personally honored the Dalai Lama with the Congressional Medal of Honor, and express their support of Tibet and their disapproval of Chinese policy. George W Bush, with his low approval ratings that are seven years too late and failures in Iraq, has been standing for a few human rights causes recently. The Medal of Honor for the Dalai Lama and his stance on Tibet has pissed off China, as well as his (and Laura) condemnation of the SPDC of Burma.

Yes, he is doing something other than nothing about Tibet and Burma, but strong words are all talk. The continuation of sanctions on Burma will continue to do what they have been doing: nothing. The administration "strongly urging" India and China to stop trading arms and natural resources with Burma also will have a similar affect. You can honor the leader of a movement with medals and words, but can you really call yourself an ally if you do just that? This country needs to do more if it wants to fancy itself as a proponent of social justice around the world, and to make up for what it has done in its past and continues to do in the present.

Example: don't talk about starting World War III. How can you give a medal and honor a man who has devoted his life to nonviolence and then the same day have a press conference where you shoot the same world-takeover agenda that we all know will lead us to a burning pit of suck in one hot minute? Bush, didn’t you learn anything with your encounter with the Dalai Lama? Did he fail to enlighten you? Your recent scrambles to appear like a swell leader of the free world didn't fool us! Another day of irony in DC...

I'd do anything

To see the Dalai Lama on the West Lawn tomorrow. Why during the afternoon when so many of us DC hacks have to be in our offices? We need secular talks from exiled religious leaders, too!

Damn it, Dennis

The only candidate I would consider voting for with a relatively clear conscience decided to skip out of the Michigan primaries, the only chance to vote for Dennis Kucinich, as everyone keeps telling me he is not going to get the nomination (really?). So now the only people I can vote for in the primaries are Clinton, Dodd, and Gravel. Thanks, arbitrary Presidential primary process! Clearly, states and voters have had enough of the same states having an unfair influence on deciding the candidates every cycle, and need to have a serious discussion and revamping if we are going to have anything resembling a democracy in this country. It is bad enough that our Presidential election, electoral college, and partisan politics leads us to vote for politicians with nothing different between them, but we have the same overly-centralized parties overriding the will of the people to have more say in the leadership of their country. Shouldn't we be coming up with real solutions to these problems, like a rotation of beginning primary election states, and not be shutting out millions of people who actually want to be part of this charade of a democracy?

Decisions like this only work to alienate citizens and demonstrate that politicians are more concerned about raising money and staying on good terms with their party, not voters. While Kucinich may be passing by Michigan in order to save money, I would think that a campaign run only on principle and no realistic hope of victory would screw this partisan pecking order and reach out to Michigan. In a state that has many cities and towns that have undergone the same rust-belt affects of free trade policy, unemployment, and threats to unions as his hometown of Cleveland, I am greatly disappointed by his plan to boycott Michigan and people who can relate to his message and values. It makes me question his motives and dedication to his mission.

Oh well, losing faith in politicians because they yield to politics is nothing new. Its not like I will be able to express my disapproval of Kucinich with my symbolic primary vote, anyway. Who would have thought that I will most likely vote for Clinton, if I decide to vote, which I am questioning for the first time. Part of me wants to be really excited about the potential of voting for a female president, but if it voting for a woman president just to have a woman take on the same role and patterns of power as before, what is the point? Why does she have to be such a hawk, and a closeted one, at that! Every time I hear her give an unspirited, monotone "GOD BLESS YOU ALL" to an audience, I just want to scream, "you fucking liar, you aren't religious!" Give me that supposedly crazy liberal Hillary of the 90s, bad suits and hair and all. Give me the Hillary fighting for universal health care and not to bomb Iran and make Iraq the new South Korea. Women should not be excited about voting for a woman if she wants to continue the same foreign policies, tired arguments, and same mistakes as the men before her. She has to do more, or at least that is what we should expect.

Weather, Cheney Crab Bakes, and Douchebag Justices

How can it still feel and look like summer in October? Maybe its too liberal of me to jump to conclusions that it has something to do with global warming, but dare I say that I am getting tired of this season. I yearn for the crisp air of fall, the changing of the leaves, and not having to worry about sweating buckets in my teeshirt and jeans when I step outside.
This unseasonable weather is also affecting my work ethic. Of course, it is not the nature of humans that I am drawn to laziness over doing my assigned readings and writings, it is this crazy summertime voodoo that still has a hold on me. How I wish for the spell to be broken, but it feels so good. Alas, this weekend will be mostly dedicated to work, and a crab bake.

Yes, a crab bake. Everyone in the program is invited to some alumni beach house in Maryland to eat lots of meat products and ride in a boat. We will also make "connections" and be shown where the Cheneys live. Oh, perhaps I will see one of my favorite gay Republicans, Mary Cheney! Oh, maybe her kid will be there, and either way, I will have the opportunity to go on a huge rant about her selfishness and the unbearable irony of her life in front of plenty of unwilling straight people! This did throw off my Sunday plans to see the WACK! exhibit for free at the National Museum of Women in the Arts (one of the few museums in DC that normally charges admission) and to play ultimate frisbee. Instead, I will eat more free food (this week has been unprecedented in that regard) and schmooze. Too bad I don't have a sun hat. I imagine that would be fitting if I were going to eat crab in Maryland. I will wear a bib even if I won't be cracking the famous crustaceans, because I'm one classy broad. Or maybe I should be prepared with a baby gift, just in case...

Boy, I wish I was seeing more famous people around. My roommate saw John Kerry stroll pass an expensive Italian restaurant the other day, and I am never going to see anyone at my new work place on Dupont Circle. I may have been in a sorry state by now if I were still on the Hill, but I would at least know that Elizabeth Kucinich has a tongue ring, be able to go up to Larry Craig and say, "I side with you and the ACLU," and tell Clarence Thomas that he is an asshole and needs to stop trying to destroy Anita Hill's reputation in order to clear his name. What does he have to gain by rehashing the same arguments of racial bias and liberal conspiracy as he and his defenders did almost two decades ago? It was not about him being black, or abortion, or the fault of Hill's character. As nearly every gender/women studies class has taught a generation since that confirmation hearing, the whole event was in Thomas's favor, with the media, black community, and even the liberal establishment on his side. As if being on the highest court for life wasn't a good enough booty prize for the hassle he went though, he has to relive it, in a new era.
Why did he feel this necessary, and why didn't any one try to stop him and his bad judgment? Cultural understanding of sexual harassment has evolved since he was able to easily dismiss Hill in front of America. People can distinguish the credibility of Hill from the catty depictions and accusations found in Thoma's autobiography. What hasn't changed is the media, which continues to present Thomas as a swell guy and miss or under quote Hill, or not consider her at all. CNN, that last island of hope for fair, wholesome "liberal" media, has to make a point that he has lesbian friends and is just lovable to make up for pubic hair comments. I really don't care if he has lesbian friends, everyone should have lesbian friends. Him toting around that he has dyke friends that he keeps a picture of on his desk to prove he is not sexist is like white people claiming they aren't racist because they have a token black friend.
If Thomas does want to bring out his dirty laundry, why doesn't the media give him the hell he deserves? Is that only reserved to blowjobs and Clinton? I can only imagine the type of blast from the past bullshit we will be subjected to in the near future, with Hillary Clinton's recent gains in the Democratic polls. Why not break it all down, how disgusting Thomas's behavior was, how people behave when they have power? Perhaps it fits better into assigned rules to give the benefit of the doubt to the position and gender in power, and overlook the one who questions or challenges it. Both Anita and Hillary are strong women who can take the abuse that our society gives women who stand up to or make steps to obtain that power, but we will continue to see the punishment they face for doing so. In the meantime, please, continue to bitch about Thomas and write to news outlets that give him a break. He certainly doesn't deserve it.

Starting to Warm Up to Me

Washington, DC. It ain't so bad. Even if it did swallow up my bike. I had a great time seeing the Dirty Projectors on Wednesday. The music was just what I needed, and Angel Deradoorian is such a dreamboat. Sench says its just her new haircut that makes her lovely, but truly, she is a hipster Audrey Hepburn. I was quite charmed by the whole experience.

Currently, I am at Busboys & Poets, and was slightly taken aback by their diligent and friendly service here. They sit you down and bring you your coffee, with no requests necessary to have it in a mug. Its the cafe-dining equivalent to having the door held open for you by your date. Compare this to weekday exercises in avoiding starbucks and places like au bon pain. At this point, I just come off as neurotic, so hard it is for me to enjoy a cup of coffee without a guilt trip. That is why I carry teabags.

In other news, Fuck Yeah, people of Burma! Finally, the Burmese people and their religious leaders have had it and are taking things into their own hands. While I am hopeful of the potential the recent demonstrations, I have little faith that international institutions will be of much help beyond the symbolic, especially with China and its interests in keeping the junta in power. Its been such a long time coming for the country, and the momentum continues to build. Bush, with urging from his ever insightful wife, has gotten tough on the country, but much like many things in this administration, its been too little to late. We know from experience that economic sanctions have not worked in the country, only to provide an American scapegoat to their economic and political oppression of the Burmese. And while Bush is trying to demonstrate that the administration wants to promote democratic nations around the world, not just those that contain that Mid-East oil brand, his gestures up to this point have been near non-existent, and are now more vocal variations of the same diplomatic speak. Clearly, it is the Burmese who hold their destiny, and they are taking it and moving forward, while the world watches.

What happened?

When did postcard stamps become 39 cents? That is only two cents than sending a damn letter! I am only 21, but I can sit here in my grandpa sweater with a bitter frown and type away about how I can remember when you could get a postcard stamp for 20-some cents or less, goddamit.

Oh, its getting late. I better send a few emails and facebook messages before I hit the hay.

At some point, I will start acting like a student...

I walked down to Chinatown to pick up Shaen and to beginning a long weekend of playing hostess, wishing I had a bike to make the streets roll past me. DC's Chinatown is nothing more than an attraction, where I was surprised to find on my first week not even a market or discount clothing stores. Instead, its a block or two of Asian restaurants and liquor stores. But that is where my friend's Chinatown bus from NYC was going to drop her off, and that is where we started our weekend.
Thursday I lost my DC bike, and on Friday evening, Jawuan calls me up to tell me that my mountain bike in Ann Arbor got stolen, too! Argh! I suppose this would be the time to reflect on a life lesson centering on the motif that shit happens everywhere, not just in DC. But no, I think I am damn cursed. I refuse to think it is bad karma stemming from the adoption of Ludovic. I DID NOT STEAL HIM. It must be some other unrelated manifestation. Don't take me as religious, karma is just a term I culturally appropriated for my superstitious tendencies.
Any, things started to suck a lot less. Shaen provided us with cinematic entertainment of the highest Sapphic order, and the next day we were shameless tourists. I wore my narcissistic shirt to demonstrate this, and if I had a fanny pack, you know I would have rocked it. We visited a few of my favorite places, like the botanical and sculpture gardens. We also saw some paintings, she just loved Edward Harper and his depictions of isolation!



And, dare I say, we actually had fun at the dyke bar! But I jump ahead of myself, because there was the pinnacle of our tourist day, a trip to the zoo.

We wandered around with our friend Jane Claire for a few hours, expecting to see all the animals the zoo boasted to have. I thought early evening was the time when all the creatures came out to play, but we and the many tired parents with crabby children came only to be stood up by the monkeys, zebras, even the damn invertebrates. But we did see THE PANDAS!!! That is what the National Smithsonian Zoo is known for, hosting the first Panda birth in captivity, after all. Even if all the other animals are a no-show, or what I reckon to be non-existent, you have plenty of Panda observing. So damn cute, even when they are being unabashed exhibitionists, those bears.

The next day, after having a magical time at the dyke bar, we ventured into Georgetown. The neighborhood is a bit unreal to me, although I did stumble across the Mongolian embassy. As some of you may already now, as a child I submitted an application to have a Mongolian pen pal, because I wanted to talk to someone from a sparsely populated region, much like my own. I never got the hook-up, but I have had a sweet spot for the country ever since. Now I have a reason to go back to Georgetown. Shaen convinced my lazy self to go on a canoe ride on the Potomac, which was pretty picturesque, and we both agreed that it would have been ideal if we were actual lovers.

And now, I am back to the working week. I have accepted that I traded in insanity for monotony, but it is no use to regret. Perhaps some people would choose dealing with assholes all day versus less-than-satisfying internship chores, but after tasting both, I prefer the latter. The change in work environment has had other affects, most notably my gender expression. While working at Kucinich's office, I reveled in wearing a pencil skirt and heels, and wore a special low cut number for the day I planned to quit the internship. At the new place, I work alongside a gaggle of girls who could double as J.Crew models (another bonus of the switch, if you ask me), and who always wear the cutest feminine work clothes. I can't compete, nor do I want to, really. So instead, I embrace my inner dandy and rock vests, slacks, scarves, and suspenders. Hooray!

man, fuck this town.

I know I said I was going to forget about it, but while cruising the bike posts on craigslist, I found a $25 Free Spirit that I had to have. I fell in love with Free Spirits when I was working at boys camp a few years ago, and they had a spare one that we could ride around the campus. I have a distinct memory of rolling down the dirt road on a sunny early summer afternoon, wishing to never let the feeling past, and admiring the beauty of the bicycle. I couldn’t resist the chance to have a blue free spirit while living here. The world is so much more alive when you are on a bicycle. You could be in a total shithole of a place, having the shittiest day, but a bike ride, especially at night, will pick you up. And in a city that I have yet to warm up to, and don’t know if I will ever feel at home in, it seemed like a lovely bicycle was in order to make DC seem right.

The bike was mine as soon as I could make it out to the Virginia suburbs, some 30 miles away. My friend Liz was willing to drive me out and store the bike on her rack. The night we drove out, it was pouring rain, and we got lost in shopping-complex America an exit or two before the one we were suppose to take. We tried putting the bike on in the rain, and before we hit the highway, it fell on its side on top of the car, and we had to shove it into the trunk and got soaked in the process. We still had fun though, and even if the fall fucked up my bike, I managed to fix it. I rode my bike to my new internship, which made my already shorten commute a blink. Was I falling in love with a Free Spirit? Quite possibly.

After our first night of what was going to be an affair to remember, I looked down at my Free Spirit from the 6^th floor, and said goodnight to Rusty Blu. I woke up the next day to repeat the same gesture of admiration, and looked down to find…nothing.

Rusty Blu!

I ran outside to see that someone had taken my Free Spirit, which I locked to a parking meter. I didn’t know what else to do but call the police, but they could not do anything to bring her back to me. I walked to work late that day, and felt a pain of loss and jealously when others rode pass me with their two wheels. With my lonely, broken heart, I thought, “everyone has a baby but me.”

This city, what else will it take from me?

Yuppie peer pressure

Today was the first day of my new internship at the Center for U.S. Global Engagement. To sum it up quickly, I am so fuckin' happy to not be taking any more calls from angry liberal and conservative citizens. The heaviest burden has been lifted from my weary shoulders, and now I walk with a pep in my step while whistling a jaunty tune. You have no idea.

How odd it is, on a day like today, that I break one of my strongest habits. I purchased something at Starbucks! What happened, all those who know (and are constantly inconvenienced by) my boycott of the corporate coffee chain may ask?

The people at the office are so much more friendly and helpful than the party I parted with on Friday, one girl even invited me out to an afternoon coffee run. When she said it was going to be to Starbucks, I immediately said no, but thought that I came off as anti-social, and wanted to continue the conversation we had been having. I changed my mind and agreed to go with her, realizing that it was not the time in our relationship or proper protocol to agree to go get coffee and either explain away why one hates Starbucks while the host of the informal outing purchases a cup; or to go there and not order anything and create a similar awkward situation. So I threw more of my ideals to the wayside and drank some sweet tea from a plastic cup and straw. This may not seem like a big deal, but it is. I don't think I have ever purchased anything from Starbucks, and I may have started something I can't stop. What is next, a daily grande latte? Lusting over a SUV? Wal-mart?

Stay strong, Dana, stay strong.

"I recall the experience sweet and sad"

The Answer Coalition organized a march on Washington, starting in front of the White House to the Capital, yesterday. How could I pass up the opportunity?

It was hopeful to see the masses of people gathering to raise consciousness about ending this war, and connecting it to other struggles, from Palestine to Darfur to Katrina. I was also happy to see more than the typical segment of young liberal people, with people from all generations and backgrounds gathered around Lafayette Square, including a strong representation of veterans against the war. But there were some sights and patterns that were disturbing at the march, and played a major part in my personal reflection of the experience and my generation's role in maintaining this war.

Walking around and observing the people at the march, especially my peers, I noticed a strong tendency to appropriate the 60s as a means of fashion, identity, and direction in life and ideology. People my age painted peace signs on their cheeks and wrote Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon quotes on their flower child clothes, and started up choruses of "Give Peace a Chance." In juxtaposition, a band on stage sang original anti-war anthems for the Iraq war, but they just didn't have the same punch. There is an appeal to the 60s, whether it is the hopeful idealism, or the music, aesthetic, or drugs that draw people in initially, it still holds a strong presence in liberal/progressive/activist circles, even among people who were born decades after its heyday.

While I sympathize with those who draw on the 60s for the reasons mentioned above (goddess knows I had my own patchouli oil wearing and Dylan/Hendrix listening phase), there are potential problems with people investing too much of themselves in eras past. Yes, one can draw many similarities between the Vietnam War, an event that drove much of the character of the decade liberals love so much, and the current Iraq war. But what made our parent's generation so passionately against the war? The draft. In essence, there was not anything particularly special about that generation compared to ours, they just stepped up to the plate when people other than those who go to war now (the working-class, minorities) were forced into dying for a bogus cause. By idealizing the 60s, we fail to analyze and critique it so we can learn from its mistakes, and evolve as a culture, movement, and nation. We also sacrifice the chance to create our own original era, with our own culture, hope, and anthems. Perhaps that is a pitfall of the post-modern perspective entrenched in our jaded hearts: being original is impossible, so we must look to the past and make a patchwork quilt of ideas and images to offer to the present.

I expect more from our generation than this. Perhaps we have yet to experience the traumas that generations past felt, tragedies that will define and shape us. We had 9/11, but that was co-opted before we could make it into something more meaningful than jingoistic propaganda. Who knows what it will take for us to create our own collective consciousness and impression in history, but we aren't going to change anything if we keep rehashing the same old ideas and tactics. Looking back at the past can be an exercise, an inspiration, or a reference, but it has to be done with the intention of going forward. We can march all we want folks, but the people who call the shots have demonstrated over and over again that they are not going to stop what they are doing. We need to gather, to see that there are many of us, but also to exchange ideas of what to do next to reach our goals. That was what was seriously lacking at the march, concrete discussion, organizing. Maybe the old rules are unable to apply now, perhaps, in a time of seemingly unshakable apathy and hopelessness, is the time for the new. Vision, ideas, action. Will it be us who lead it? Who else will?

Internships: Slave Labor with Resume Building Potential!

During the same lunch date where I bit into a pepperoncini and its juice squirted across the table and could have burned an unfortunate eye of someone if they were in my line of fire, I learned the true circumstance of my intern position on the hill. Of course, I did not need someone else to tell me that my work sucked and was far from the "intensive research" opportunity that I had signed up for, but my friend Becca, who interned for a Senator when she was my age, broke it down for me.

"You are a staff assistant. You just aren't getting paid for it."

What is a staff assistant? Why, it is the person who:
-takes calls, and the verbal abuse that comes with them
-organizes mail and faxes
-gives tours of the capital, in heels
-uses the IQ system to produce constituent mail responses and helps stuff them

Thats me!


To think I could be paid for all of this! Sure, sometimes they throw me a bone, like updating a response letter or writing a congressional record (on a deceased marijuana rights activist, no less!), but it doesn't hide the fact that I am an unpaid staff assistant under the title of an intern, and I have to have a different colored ID pass because of it. And part of me did take comfort in leading a tour for two good-hearted Northeast Ohioan women through the capital, where we discussed "the Bucks" and perogies, which they called "very ethnic." Oh, Ohio, you are just the limit!

Needless to say, I am moving on to a greener lawn than this hill gig.

The tragedy of this whole affair is that I never even got to meet the Honorable Dennis Kucinich, between his trip to Syria (which created a hell for all the interns in his presidential campaign and congressional office), campaigning, and what have you, was never at the office when I was. The closest I got to having contact with Elizabeth was talking to her on the phone, where I immediately recognized her accent and had a flutter of celebrity crush, only to be instructed in her kind but crisp voice to transfer her to the press secretary. Oh, Elizabeth, you are so cruel! All I wanted was a photo-op with you and your husband...and months of opportunities to talk to you about our shared religious studies background and hair and peace and be your personal intern and...sigh. I am such a sucker!

I also wanted to snag a copy of Hustler with Kucinich's name on it, but now that I have inside connections, perhaps I can still get that souvenir, at least. But I can't help to think that even that would be a small consolation to my brief time in the office. All I have now is a complimentary letter opener and some post-it notes. So much for that endeavor, but I will still keep my eye out for a short over-the-hill man and his taller and elegant red-haired wife while I am here. I will have my camera ready.

I just want to leave this room with a little bit of dignity

What new pieces of knowledge have I learned during my first week of interning on the hill in our proud Nation's Capital?


Nothing far from what I knew before, but I did gather this: Larry Flynt sends a complimentary edition of Hustler every month to every congressional office. To think that one of the pieces of mail I will have to sort through will be a pornrag. It would not be the most disturbing thing I have come across. Conflict of interest keeps me from saying much about what happens in the office, but I will say this: Dennis inspires and/or attracts people of political and emotional extremes, and I and the fellow interns are stationed at the front lines, dealing with them all.

Despite the initial impact of starting up work again, I am starting to like this town, mainly because I am finding people to enjoy it with. The heat is still obnoxious, and everyone from out of town is immediately disturbed by the obvious toleration of racial segregation here, but indeed, it is possible to have fun. You would have to institute fun making in a city where politics is the heartbeat, we all know how that can be less than heart-soaring from time to time. DC's answer to when the government lets you down is the bottle, with so many bars, nightclubs, and lounges to explore for a smaller city that I will not run out of new places to sip gin and tonics before I leave. But, despite the quantity of watering holes here, I have found little quality. Most of it is due to atmosphere and the poor behavior of the men I have encountered. Take the Science Club, for example. Finally, a club where the music doesn't suck, the decor is not offensive, and there isn't a ever-present pressure to dance with aggressive guys. I was on a lovely date when some dude interrupts to make me aware to the fact that I am a redhead. "When you can tell you have red hair in the dark, you know its really red," he said. I braced myself for what I knew was coming. "So, you must have a magic carpet, right?" ARGH! If I had not already finished my drink, I would have drenched him, but instead, I pushed him away and walked out. Way to go, loser DC guy, trying to ruin my evening at an otherwise cool club.

Needed side note: I told my roommates this story, and was met with the expected "ewws!" and "pervert DC guys!" But I was also asked, "was he cute?" When is asking about a stranger's pubic hair ever a winner, even if you are a fucking supermodel? Oh, straight girls.

Back to the unanticipated charm of this city...

Alexis and I were sitting on a bench in Dupont Circle, taking refuge in the shade and observing one of the million statues in DC, when two teenage boys walk by and one pulls out a bag of weed to admire "the buds." Even for an Ann Arbor resident, this seem brash, and well, stupid. They soon sit down next to us, start up a conversation with a man selling copies of the local homeless people newspaper, and combine their resources to roll and smoke a joint on a busy Saturday afternoon. I was quite pleased. In a town where there needs to be at least five alcohol dispensaries on every block for people to loosen up a bit, there are no cool sex toy stores (seriously, what the fuck?), and people wear pantyhose in 80 degree weather, it was comforting to know that one could enjoy a smoke in public without everyone flipping their shit.

In other news: C-SPAN is still mysteriously muted on the dorm channel system, so what do I do instead during those infrequent periods of down time? I become addicted to America's Next Top Model reruns. Damn you Tyra and all those pretty girls! One episode and I am a gonner! More than once have I sat down with a spread of cucumber, cottage cheese, marmite, and crackers and munch while appreciating all the work that goes into being a model. Ah, marmite. I tried to get my Australian yeast-spread hook-up from the embassy across the street. Alas, they failed to deliver. But I still managed to find a bottle to give me B vitamin nourishment, as I prepare for another week of Kucinich lovers and haters, and avoiding the worse men DC has to offer. Buck up, kiddo!

What this town needs...

This town needs a feminist sex toy store almost as much as it needs a new resident in 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.


More vibrators.....................................less douchebags.

are you going to change your hair color?

Yesterday I made it up to U street and had a mixed experience. It is on the edge of maintaining its historical black culture and succumbing to the spread of gentrification from the Dupont Circle area. The contrast is apparent when walking up 14th street, where trendy gardening and "Urban Essentials" stand next to community-centered establishments. One such place was Pulp, which turned out to be a two storied version of Ann Arbor's Middle Earth. Kitchy cards and pope on a rope, you know the deal. After visiting a pawn shop and thrift store to look for a cheap bike (I have since given up on the idea of getting one), I sought refreshment at cafe 14U. Much like the dive bar that really isn't but tries to be, 14U is the hip cafe that really isn't but tries to be. It was irksome to see all these notes from the management encouraging patrons to keep buying stuff in order to continue using their free internet, and the decor of old books and chairs are useless functionally and aesthetically. Equally upfront about its image crafting is Busboys and Poets, which is a huge place that I did not venture into due to the bitter taste of 14U's ice tea lingering on my tongue.

Instead I went into Milla, a hip-hop influenced version of Urban Outfitters or Forever 21. I was carrying around a cool sweatshirt that I found, and one of the women working there comes up to me to say, "that will make you look hot." She immediately followed this compliment up with, "are you going to change your hair color?" I was taken aback, but quickly responded with a nervous smile, "no! This is my natural hair color!" She gave a hmmp and walked away, and I was left with growing feelings of offense. Did I just get dissed about my red hair? No you didn't! I thought to put away the sweatshirt and walk out in protest. But the consumerist in me won out, and I spent a good time after that exchange thinking of all the sassy things I could have said in defense of my hair. Advice of Jawuan: when they give it, you gotta give it back. No more of this Midwestern politeness. No one gives me shit about the color of my hair.
The sweatshirt is hot, though. Perhaps I will be able to wear it here in, I don't know, November.

I spent the evening exploring the nightlife with one of the many former ultimate frisbee friends in DC. Allison and I started off at the dive bar trying to be a dive bar, Madhatter, and went down to the Eastern Market area to the one lesbian bar in DC, Phase 1. A little less painful than girls nights of the past, but still a pretty depressing scene. We ended up in Adams-Morgan, which was insane. 18th street is a string of clubs that spill out into the street with frat, black, and tourist crowds. Cars are bumper to bumper looking for parking and showing off their rides, and the packed streets give opportunity for groping when your not even in the sleazy clubs, yet. We hid in a hookah bar after stepping into the Pharmacy, which is suppose to be the hipster club, but was filled with an older L.L.Bean crowd. What do hipsters become when they get older? Yuppies! Not a surprise.

After that circus, we went our separate ways, I did the number one thing they keep telling us not to do in this scary big city, I walked home alone. There has been so much hype built up about DC and all its bad areas and crime rate by this program, but it is just covering its ass and worrying about "urban" neighborhoods and people. The same vibe surrounded the U street area, where I was warned about going there in the day time. Of course, there is common sense and safety, and knowing your suuroundings, but if we see locals going about their business after the sun goes down, why can't we? There is a difference between being aware and and being afraid. I choose the former.

hit the floor running (but mostly walking)

I moved into the dorms Monday here in DC, with the overall experience being like an older, wiser version of freshman year. So suddenly have the same patterns of constantly meeting new people of my age group and resorting to the series of where are you from/whats your major questions become part of everyday interactions. There is a new one to spice it up, the conversation starter-or-ender "where are you interning?" Despite this unavoidable awkwardness, the people I've met have been gracious and friendly, including all these lovely University of California students, who are more torn up over DC's humidity than the Ann Arbor kids.

That is one thing about this town, it is crazy hot outside, and it will be this way until at least the end of September. Grant it, it's just as sticky in Michigan, but the calling to explore subjects me to long afternoons of learning how to deal with it. I became so use to riding a bike to cut down on my time outside in Ann Arbor, that I look with longing every time I see a young professional or messenger zip by on their two wheels of glory.

But what I do see on foot is worth all the sweat that seeps from my pores. Our program coordinator has made it a point to get us out of bed before noon to see her picks of DC must-sees, which included the Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and the Calder mobiles at the National Gallery of Art. At one point the whole group walked through the Sculpture Garden and pondered the abstract pieces. We came upon Joan Miró's
Personnage Gothique, Oiseau-Eclair, and it was all I could do to keep myself from shouting to the head-scratching and dismissive crowd, "it's a vagina!" I mean, come on. I'm sure we were all thinking it, but it is the first week, and we all want to come off as polite and well-mannered gentlemen and ladies.
In the meantime, this will be one of my favorite "monuments" in this town.

My urge to wander inspires me to spend the rest of the days tramping around the city, being both a tourist and one seeking community. I have managed to cover much ground, from the Capitol where I will be working, to Dupont Circle, north of where I live. And while I have finally gotten into the habit of carrying around a journal to make notes and write down thoughts, I have yet to include my camera in my daily exploration. I will fix this and present you all with fun pictures of Dana May at this statue and Dana May in front of this monument. Because I don't feel touristy enough...

Probably my most touristy feat as of late was visiting the Natural History Museum yesterday. I love dinosaurs as much as the next person, but I hate crowds, and teenage boys who do not touch-but smack and mock-the dinosaur bones. How dare they. Speaking of how I am easily annoyed by children, on the drive over to DC I had an irksome encounter with a tot in the restroom. Somewhere in Maryland, a little blonde rugrat thought it was acceptable and cute to get on her hands and knees and peek into the bathroom stalls while patrons were in the middle of their business. While the granny in the stall next to me dismissed the girl's antics and was so foolishly charmed, I told that little punk straight, even when her vacant blue eyes were looking up at me. "Stalls are built for privacy, ok?" Don't get any ideas, Larry Craig.

In the spirit of not sounding like a Scrooge, I think I am going to like this town. Congress is still in recess, but when it starts to swing again, I can only imagine the amount of celebrity-spotting-for-nerds we all will have. I visited the office where I will be interning two days ago, and found that, despite what the intern coordinator said about the dress code being business, nearly everyone was in jeans. I shouldn't be too surprised, 1) its Dennis Kucinich's office, at least they were wearing shoes, 2) its recess, and while the congresspeople are away, the staff will play, or wear comfortable clothing.

Today I plan to check out the Logan Circle/U street area, where the most interesting music halls, Black Cat and Velvet Lounge, can be found. It is the new Dupont Circle, where there is not an over priced and rated hookah bar like Gazuza. Who knew I would miss Rendezvous Cafe so soon? I am starting to not feel anxious about not knowing the city like I know Ann Arbor, and not try to see everything in a few days. That is the beauty of it, the little risk of ever being bored and restless, as long as I stay moving.