Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
East of Elon
Check out the East of Elon brewing co-op, Mark and Ian's new venture into home brewing.
http://eastofelon.blogspot.com/
http://eastofelon.blogspot.com/
barf bag.
** Warning: Content is disgusting and may be unsuitable for those with weak stomachs **
Barf.
This is how I started my Friday last week. The Friday I had looked forward to for about a month because it involved traveling to Asheville for a romantic weekend away with Mark.
And I was greeted with barf. Lots of it.
How's that for an introduction? Here's what happened:
Since I was leaving for the airport directly from work, I had packed up my orange suitcase and rolled it diligently for .6 miles from my apartment to the Woodley Park Metro stop. Because the bag was heavy (I'm not usually an over-packer, but for some reason I was one this week), I struggled down the broken escalator. Don't even get me started on that front. It's another ranting blog entry waiting to happen. It's been broken since January. 'Nough said there. But I digress. I struggle down the broken escalator and hop on to a train that pulled up right as I did. I find a seat and precariously make my way with my bag to sit down. I pull out my book, and begin the 30-minute journey to work.
About a stop later, a guy gets on the train and comes to sit next to me.
And wow. Um. Something stinks. In a city, particularly one with such an extensive transit system that's, until recently at least, fairly reasonably priced, you get to mingle with the unwashed masses. My friend Bridget and I have started keeping tabs on the weird/disgusting/odd/bizarre/only on the Metro-type encounters we have. We've actually talked about starting a blog about it. We encounter that many. Anyway, unwashed masses.
This guy stinks. Like. Bad. Hopefully he'll get off soon. And as if my silent prayers were answered. He did. About three stops later.
But it still stinks! What is going on? His stinkiness rubbed off on the seat. Gross!!
About three stops later -- I'm about four stops from work at this point -- I make up my mind to get up and walk to another seat. At exactly the same time, a Metro employee gets on the train and walks up to me and stares down at me with all the guile of someone about to pummel the living shit out of me says, "Ma'am, you need to move. Now." I look up from my book, and stunned, say, "I'm sorry, why?"
"Because someone vomitted next to you. You need to move."
Vomit?
Yes. Vomit.
I look down and there it is. A big old, stinky pile. And of course, I freak out. Jump up, and immediately drop my sweater on to it. The sweater that I have to wear all day at work. That I have to wear on the plane and then for a two-hour drive to Asheville.
I move myself, realize I've stepped in it, and check my sweater for incrimintating spots. Miraculously enough, there was only a pinky fingernail sized smudge that wasn't fiber-deep. And my shoes. Well, of course they were brand new, but the nastiness was limited to the bottom. OK. Gross. But I can deal with this.
I get to Silver Spring and run straight to the bathroom. I clean everything with scalding hot water and enough antibacterial soap to kill a small country. The shoes are clean, and the sweater, well, it's clean enough for me to feel comfortable putting it back on after it's dried and I've checked it for smell, spots and any semblance of the foul substance that was there an hour before. I sit down in my cube and start working, horribly mortified by the insanity that I've just experienced. And then. I smell it.
By some odd impulse, I sense that it's on my luggage. My beautiful orange luggage that's traveled with me to London, Prague, Italy, Ireland and everywhere in between. I gingely walk to the other side of my cube where the bag sits, and flip it over to see the bottom. And of course. There it is. Cow-patty sized splat of barf. And I lose it.
Images of Chunk in The Goonies crying about a barf-o-rama flash through my head. I'm laughing, crying and gagging all at the same time. It's horrible. It's ugly. It stinks and it's on my bag. MY BAG.
All the girls come running to see if I'm OK and I manage to control myself enough to take the bag into the women's room to begin the arduous task of cleaning the foulness off the bottom of the bag. Luckily, there was a really kind woman who took one look at me and helped me on hands and knees until every last bit of grime was Clorox-wiped, Lysol-ed and scrubbed.
So by 9:30 a.m., I could finally start my day vomit-free. The rest of the day wasn't any better. My flight was two hours delayed and we didn't get to our bed and breakfast until 1:30 a.m. But the weekend made up for it in spades. Photos of the fun to come soon.
Just another day on the Metro, and in the words of my friend Heidi, "Brings whole new meaning to the term 'barf bag.'"
Barf.
This is how I started my Friday last week. The Friday I had looked forward to for about a month because it involved traveling to Asheville for a romantic weekend away with Mark.
And I was greeted with barf. Lots of it.
How's that for an introduction? Here's what happened:
Since I was leaving for the airport directly from work, I had packed up my orange suitcase and rolled it diligently for .6 miles from my apartment to the Woodley Park Metro stop. Because the bag was heavy (I'm not usually an over-packer, but for some reason I was one this week), I struggled down the broken escalator. Don't even get me started on that front. It's another ranting blog entry waiting to happen. It's been broken since January. 'Nough said there. But I digress. I struggle down the broken escalator and hop on to a train that pulled up right as I did. I find a seat and precariously make my way with my bag to sit down. I pull out my book, and begin the 30-minute journey to work.
About a stop later, a guy gets on the train and comes to sit next to me.
And wow. Um. Something stinks. In a city, particularly one with such an extensive transit system that's, until recently at least, fairly reasonably priced, you get to mingle with the unwashed masses. My friend Bridget and I have started keeping tabs on the weird/disgusting/odd/bizarre/only on the Metro-type encounters we have. We've actually talked about starting a blog about it. We encounter that many. Anyway, unwashed masses.
This guy stinks. Like. Bad. Hopefully he'll get off soon. And as if my silent prayers were answered. He did. About three stops later.
But it still stinks! What is going on? His stinkiness rubbed off on the seat. Gross!!
About three stops later -- I'm about four stops from work at this point -- I make up my mind to get up and walk to another seat. At exactly the same time, a Metro employee gets on the train and walks up to me and stares down at me with all the guile of someone about to pummel the living shit out of me says, "Ma'am, you need to move. Now." I look up from my book, and stunned, say, "I'm sorry, why?"
"Because someone vomitted next to you. You need to move."
Vomit?
Yes. Vomit.
I look down and there it is. A big old, stinky pile. And of course, I freak out. Jump up, and immediately drop my sweater on to it. The sweater that I have to wear all day at work. That I have to wear on the plane and then for a two-hour drive to Asheville.
I move myself, realize I've stepped in it, and check my sweater for incrimintating spots. Miraculously enough, there was only a pinky fingernail sized smudge that wasn't fiber-deep. And my shoes. Well, of course they were brand new, but the nastiness was limited to the bottom. OK. Gross. But I can deal with this.
I get to Silver Spring and run straight to the bathroom. I clean everything with scalding hot water and enough antibacterial soap to kill a small country. The shoes are clean, and the sweater, well, it's clean enough for me to feel comfortable putting it back on after it's dried and I've checked it for smell, spots and any semblance of the foul substance that was there an hour before. I sit down in my cube and start working, horribly mortified by the insanity that I've just experienced. And then. I smell it.
By some odd impulse, I sense that it's on my luggage. My beautiful orange luggage that's traveled with me to London, Prague, Italy, Ireland and everywhere in between. I gingely walk to the other side of my cube where the bag sits, and flip it over to see the bottom. And of course. There it is. Cow-patty sized splat of barf. And I lose it.
Images of Chunk in The Goonies crying about a barf-o-rama flash through my head. I'm laughing, crying and gagging all at the same time. It's horrible. It's ugly. It stinks and it's on my bag. MY BAG.
All the girls come running to see if I'm OK and I manage to control myself enough to take the bag into the women's room to begin the arduous task of cleaning the foulness off the bottom of the bag. Luckily, there was a really kind woman who took one look at me and helped me on hands and knees until every last bit of grime was Clorox-wiped, Lysol-ed and scrubbed.
So by 9:30 a.m., I could finally start my day vomit-free. The rest of the day wasn't any better. My flight was two hours delayed and we didn't get to our bed and breakfast until 1:30 a.m. But the weekend made up for it in spades. Photos of the fun to come soon.
Just another day on the Metro, and in the words of my friend Heidi, "Brings whole new meaning to the term 'barf bag.'"
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
the mono.
Yet again, blogging has been foiled by life's little quirks. This time the quirk came in the form of mononucleosis.
Yeah. That's right. At 23, I was afflicted with the disease usually reserved for hormone-crazed 16 year olds.
It's been a rough five weeks. It started with some scariness -- namely involving the doctor's being completely baffled by some impressively active lymph nodes in my groin. A week off work for doctor's visits. A six-hour stint at Suburban Hospital, which included a massive amount of blood drawn, and a CT scan. And ta-da! I have mono.
Really, I'd much rather have mono than any of the alternatives that come with swollen lymph nodes. But still. I'd much rather be healthy, too.
Now, five weeks later, I've almost fully recovered. Still waiting for my liver to cool it and catch up with the rest of my body. And until then, I'm teatotaling it, and minimizing any especially active activities (how's that for redundancy?).
Anyone who's read my blog before knows that I typically like to find a lesson, or five, in the things that I encounter and experience. So here are my lessons, in convenient list form, in no particular order:
01. When you get sick, and you don't know what's wrong, people worry about you. It's an incredibly wonderful feeling to know that there are people who truly care about your well-being and what happens to. I'm not talking about doctors and surgeons, I'm talking about friends and family. I'm so amazingly lucky to have parents close by, and fabulous friends and a boyfriend on-call who would check in daily for updates.
02. Health insurance is a god send. This experience has opened my eyes to just how essential it is to be able to just hand over your card, pay your co-pay and get the care you need. Thankfully, my experience ended in mono, but had it not, I would be even more thankful for health insurance. I cannot imagine life without it, and I'm really glad our government is working toward making it available to everyone. Politics aside, no one should have to worry about getting the care they need.
03. Mono sucks. It's a terrible, rotten, miserable virus. It knocked me on my ass. And it was absolutely amazing to me how little energy I had.
04. Puzzles are awesome. My friend sent me a care package full of "sick activities". A puzzle, coloring book, crayons, play dough. Yeah. I have great friends.
05. Knowing your limits is essential. I've never thought I had a problem listening to my body and knowing my limits. I've always been pretty in tune. But having mono has made me that much more aware.
06. Being healthy is a god send. I have so much respect and admiration for people who grapple with illness their whole lives. It sucks. And I'm sorry. I know I just had mono, but I feel that much more lucky that in a few weeks, I'll be back to normal and feel better. I wish everyone had that luxury.
OK, so I think that's it. I'm sure there are other things that I've learned/realized, but I can't think of them now. Other than the mono, things are going pretty well. Wednesday Night Dinners have continued, and now include another friend who is dead-set on blogging about it. So I'll post about that as soon as it happens.
I know I've fallen off this blogging wagon, and I'm struggling to get back on. So if you're still reading, thanks. And if not, I don't blame you.
b
Yeah. That's right. At 23, I was afflicted with the disease usually reserved for hormone-crazed 16 year olds.
It's been a rough five weeks. It started with some scariness -- namely involving the doctor's being completely baffled by some impressively active lymph nodes in my groin. A week off work for doctor's visits. A six-hour stint at Suburban Hospital, which included a massive amount of blood drawn, and a CT scan. And ta-da! I have mono.
Really, I'd much rather have mono than any of the alternatives that come with swollen lymph nodes. But still. I'd much rather be healthy, too.
Now, five weeks later, I've almost fully recovered. Still waiting for my liver to cool it and catch up with the rest of my body. And until then, I'm teatotaling it, and minimizing any especially active activities (how's that for redundancy?).
Anyone who's read my blog before knows that I typically like to find a lesson, or five, in the things that I encounter and experience. So here are my lessons, in convenient list form, in no particular order:
01. When you get sick, and you don't know what's wrong, people worry about you. It's an incredibly wonderful feeling to know that there are people who truly care about your well-being and what happens to. I'm not talking about doctors and surgeons, I'm talking about friends and family. I'm so amazingly lucky to have parents close by, and fabulous friends and a boyfriend on-call who would check in daily for updates.
02. Health insurance is a god send. This experience has opened my eyes to just how essential it is to be able to just hand over your card, pay your co-pay and get the care you need. Thankfully, my experience ended in mono, but had it not, I would be even more thankful for health insurance. I cannot imagine life without it, and I'm really glad our government is working toward making it available to everyone. Politics aside, no one should have to worry about getting the care they need.
03. Mono sucks. It's a terrible, rotten, miserable virus. It knocked me on my ass. And it was absolutely amazing to me how little energy I had.
04. Puzzles are awesome. My friend sent me a care package full of "sick activities". A puzzle, coloring book, crayons, play dough. Yeah. I have great friends.
05. Knowing your limits is essential. I've never thought I had a problem listening to my body and knowing my limits. I've always been pretty in tune. But having mono has made me that much more aware.
06. Being healthy is a god send. I have so much respect and admiration for people who grapple with illness their whole lives. It sucks. And I'm sorry. I know I just had mono, but I feel that much more lucky that in a few weeks, I'll be back to normal and feel better. I wish everyone had that luxury.
OK, so I think that's it. I'm sure there are other things that I've learned/realized, but I can't think of them now. Other than the mono, things are going pretty well. Wednesday Night Dinners have continued, and now include another friend who is dead-set on blogging about it. So I'll post about that as soon as it happens.
I know I've fallen off this blogging wagon, and I'm struggling to get back on. So if you're still reading, thanks. And if not, I don't blame you.
b
Thursday, March 11, 2010
cooking up friendship
How do you solve the problem of lives that never seem to intersect? Dinner.
She still lives in Bethesda, but works Downtown at Children's Hospital. I work in Silver Spring but live downtown. She goes to Baltimore on the weekends to visit her boyfriend of three (almost four, right?) years who is still at UMBC. And I, well, I'm generally everywhere on the weekends.
We realized one afternoon in the summer before I moved that unless we came up with a standing date in the middle of the week, we'd never see each other.
Enter: Wednesday Night Dinner.
We meet at my place (it's on her way home) and cook ourselves a fabulous meal (sometimes, we've only had one disaster), complete with wine, beer or a stiffer drink if the work week's calling for it. And we talk as we cook. It's girl time. It's cheap. And it's wonderful.
About two months into it we instated the 1-new thing rule. We must cook one new thing every meal. It can be something we've had before, it can even be an old family recipe, but we cannot have ever made it ourselves. So now, about 7 months later, we're really becoming chefs. We even grilled for the first time last week. A huge accomplishment for someone who's only ever watched her dad grill (me) and someone who grew up a vegetarian (her). They say you should do one thing a day that scares you, well, we do one thing a week. And it's not scary because we have each other.
A quick list of successes:
I've realized as I get older that when you're not seeing your friends every day at school, maintaining friendships, particularly really close, meaningful friendships, becomes harder and harder. It takes effort and time, and in our case, it takes lots of olive oil.
She and I are thinking about starting a blog about our dinners ... complete with recipes and photos and stories ... so stay tuned!
She still lives in Bethesda, but works Downtown at Children's Hospital. I work in Silver Spring but live downtown. She goes to Baltimore on the weekends to visit her boyfriend of three (almost four, right?) years who is still at UMBC. And I, well, I'm generally everywhere on the weekends.
We realized one afternoon in the summer before I moved that unless we came up with a standing date in the middle of the week, we'd never see each other.
Enter: Wednesday Night Dinner.
We meet at my place (it's on her way home) and cook ourselves a fabulous meal (sometimes, we've only had one disaster), complete with wine, beer or a stiffer drink if the work week's calling for it. And we talk as we cook. It's girl time. It's cheap. And it's wonderful.
About two months into it we instated the 1-new thing rule. We must cook one new thing every meal. It can be something we've had before, it can even be an old family recipe, but we cannot have ever made it ourselves. So now, about 7 months later, we're really becoming chefs. We even grilled for the first time last week. A huge accomplishment for someone who's only ever watched her dad grill (me) and someone who grew up a vegetarian (her). They say you should do one thing a day that scares you, well, we do one thing a week. And it's not scary because we have each other.
A quick list of successes:
- Shrimp curry
- Fattoush salad, kafta and tzatziki sauce with home-made pita chips
- Lettuce wraps P.F. Chang-style
- Pad Thai
- Roasted asparagus with creamy mustard chicken with grapes
- Chicken with balsamic glaze
- Shrimp scampi
I've realized as I get older that when you're not seeing your friends every day at school, maintaining friendships, particularly really close, meaningful friendships, becomes harder and harder. It takes effort and time, and in our case, it takes lots of olive oil.
She and I are thinking about starting a blog about our dinners ... complete with recipes and photos and stories ... so stay tuned!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
snowy misery on foot
Warning: Mild-mannered rant to follow
Snowmagedden '10 has made it very obvious that there is very little respect for pedestrians in this city.
Taking to the streets to walk basically anywhere means taking your life into your hands. If the sidewalks are actually scraped clean, which about 50 percent are not, then they have random icy patches. Those that aren't scraped are landmines of ankle-rupturing pits and valleys. I understand that the roads are the first priority, but the roads are, at this point, at least passable by one lane of traffic. This isn't the case for the majority of sidewalks.
My usual commute to and from work takes me across a bridge on Connecticut Avenue. It's the "lion" bridge in Woodley Park for you Washingtonians. The bridge is incredibly high, and as a result is terribly blustery. There are sidewalks on either side of the bridge, as with most bridges. The roads have been clear since last Friday. The sidewalks are still dangerously covered in snow. As a result, pedestrians are forced to walk either in the street, being dodged mercilessly by ruthlessly fast traffic, or they must trudge laboriously through on the sidewalks, which are now slushy and incredibly hard to walk on. I nearly broke my ankle three times yesterday night. I'd forgotten about the mess and got off at the "wrong" stop. My alternative to falling and possibly pitching over the side of the bridge is walking an additional 1/4 mile up-hill from Dupont Circle. Not really that big of a deal, but at 9 p.m. when it's about 20 degrees out, that extra 1/4 mile sucks. A lot.
And let's not forget about the fear inspired by those in their 1-ton vehicles who are so pissed off that their commute is taking them 2 hours instead of 1 that they're ready to mow over any helpless pedestrian who happens to get in their way. Today, while walking up the hill in high heels carrying 1/6 of my body weight in groceries in 20 degree weather, I had to stare down a driver (who then gave me the finger) so he wouldn't hit me as I crossed with the light in a cross walk. I'm sorry, but you're sitting in your heated car. I'm walking up-hill in high heels carrying groceries and it's cold. You're honestly going to give me the finger? Seriously?
Now, I understand that no one is happy right now. Snowpocalypse has ruined our routines, and forced us all to languish over the possibility of high energy bills, broken ankles and thrown-out backs, 3-hour commutes from hell and any number of other snow-related stressers. And I know that DC has never been known as the kindest city, but come on!
The snow will melt. The road crews will scrape the sidewalks. Until then though, can we try not to kill each other? And can we maybe all band together to petition the city government to scrape the sidewalks a little faster so I can stop walking in the street and get out of your way?
The snow is ugly. It's like a brown slush-ee. Not so great. But why fight it? Yeah it sucks, but maybe if we all just tried to smile a little more, and understand that eventually it will be spring, and eventually we will see flowers and sun, and hell, grass, again someday, we can get through this.
And please watch out for pedestrians.
Snowmagedden '10 has made it very obvious that there is very little respect for pedestrians in this city.
Taking to the streets to walk basically anywhere means taking your life into your hands. If the sidewalks are actually scraped clean, which about 50 percent are not, then they have random icy patches. Those that aren't scraped are landmines of ankle-rupturing pits and valleys. I understand that the roads are the first priority, but the roads are, at this point, at least passable by one lane of traffic. This isn't the case for the majority of sidewalks.
My usual commute to and from work takes me across a bridge on Connecticut Avenue. It's the "lion" bridge in Woodley Park for you Washingtonians. The bridge is incredibly high, and as a result is terribly blustery. There are sidewalks on either side of the bridge, as with most bridges. The roads have been clear since last Friday. The sidewalks are still dangerously covered in snow. As a result, pedestrians are forced to walk either in the street, being dodged mercilessly by ruthlessly fast traffic, or they must trudge laboriously through on the sidewalks, which are now slushy and incredibly hard to walk on. I nearly broke my ankle three times yesterday night. I'd forgotten about the mess and got off at the "wrong" stop. My alternative to falling and possibly pitching over the side of the bridge is walking an additional 1/4 mile up-hill from Dupont Circle. Not really that big of a deal, but at 9 p.m. when it's about 20 degrees out, that extra 1/4 mile sucks. A lot.
And let's not forget about the fear inspired by those in their 1-ton vehicles who are so pissed off that their commute is taking them 2 hours instead of 1 that they're ready to mow over any helpless pedestrian who happens to get in their way. Today, while walking up the hill in high heels carrying 1/6 of my body weight in groceries in 20 degree weather, I had to stare down a driver (who then gave me the finger) so he wouldn't hit me as I crossed with the light in a cross walk. I'm sorry, but you're sitting in your heated car. I'm walking up-hill in high heels carrying groceries and it's cold. You're honestly going to give me the finger? Seriously?
Now, I understand that no one is happy right now. Snowpocalypse has ruined our routines, and forced us all to languish over the possibility of high energy bills, broken ankles and thrown-out backs, 3-hour commutes from hell and any number of other snow-related stressers. And I know that DC has never been known as the kindest city, but come on!
The snow will melt. The road crews will scrape the sidewalks. Until then though, can we try not to kill each other? And can we maybe all band together to petition the city government to scrape the sidewalks a little faster so I can stop walking in the street and get out of your way?
The snow is ugly. It's like a brown slush-ee. Not so great. But why fight it? Yeah it sucks, but maybe if we all just tried to smile a little more, and understand that eventually it will be spring, and eventually we will see flowers and sun, and hell, grass, again someday, we can get through this.
And please watch out for pedestrians.
Monday, February 15, 2010
way too long.
Goodness it's been ages since I've done this ... and for that I truly apologize!
It's funny how when you actually have something to write about, when life is finally busy enough to be interesting -- you don't have any time to write about it.
Suffice it to say: My life at the moment is busy, but in a non-stressful way. Interesting, but in a non-dramatic way. And fun, exciting and all the other things people look for in moments of "good" in their lives.
I recognize that it's important that I keep up with my writing. The muscles will start to atrophy after a while, just like all other muscles. I can already feel the disintegration. Lately, my writing has been comprised of emails, the occasional memo and other random snippets at work. This just isn't going to cut it.
There will be more. I'm going to do it. It's time.
It's funny how when you actually have something to write about, when life is finally busy enough to be interesting -- you don't have any time to write about it.
Suffice it to say: My life at the moment is busy, but in a non-stressful way. Interesting, but in a non-dramatic way. And fun, exciting and all the other things people look for in moments of "good" in their lives.
I recognize that it's important that I keep up with my writing. The muscles will start to atrophy after a while, just like all other muscles. I can already feel the disintegration. Lately, my writing has been comprised of emails, the occasional memo and other random snippets at work. This just isn't going to cut it.
There will be more. I'm going to do it. It's time.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
gratitude
In the vein of http://1000awesomethings.com/ and Mama Cass's Gushing with Gratitude, here are the 10 things I'm thankful for this week. I encourage everyone to participate in the practice of saying thank you (it doesn't really matter to whom you say it -- just projecting it is a good thing), because I've realized that even when you feel like you're living in a land of suck, there are always things, no matter how small (and some of mine are small), that make the world a better place.
Without further ado, my 10 good things of the week:
10. I just turned on the TV to my favorite part of Caddyshack. I changed the channel and landed on my favorite episode of Friends. Changed the channel again to find my favorite scene of Top Gun.
09. There is a beautiful tree outside the window of my cube at work. It's been steadily changing colors, from green to gold, to orange, and now it's a rich burgandy. Tomorrow I fully expect the leaves to begin to disappear -- but it's been absolutely gorgeous while it's lasted. Seeing it makes my day brighter, more colorful.
08. Because I haven't been to the grocery store in about two-three weeks, I've been forced to be really creative about what I cook in the past week. And the results have been generally tastey. I'm proud of my ingenuity and impressed by my cooking skills.
07. I'm finally, finally, going to send my friend a care package. I'm thankful for finally finding motivation to just send it!
06. I figured out an awesome Halloween costume that is the right blend of creative, funny, clever and scary (with a bit more modification).
05. I got one of those coupon inserts from the paper in my mailbox yesterday, upon looking through it, about 1/2 of the coupons were for things that I need to buy in the next few days/weeks. I've estimated that I'll probably save more than $15 simply because I got some junk mail that I took the time to look at before I tossed it in the recycle bin.
04. I made it safely to and from Elon this weekend. The car survived and so did I.
03. I had lunch with my 91-year-old Grandma.
02. My yoga instructor's topic of guided mediation made me recognize a need to refocus, realign and rebuild. Her message: Surrendering to what is, is not the same as giving up, rather it's a realization and acceptance of a situation with the intent to move forward toward the better; and finding the courage and strength to surrender is an incredible and powerful ability.
01. I'm convinced I have the best friends in the world.
Without further ado, my 10 good things of the week:
10. I just turned on the TV to my favorite part of Caddyshack. I changed the channel and landed on my favorite episode of Friends. Changed the channel again to find my favorite scene of Top Gun.
09. There is a beautiful tree outside the window of my cube at work. It's been steadily changing colors, from green to gold, to orange, and now it's a rich burgandy. Tomorrow I fully expect the leaves to begin to disappear -- but it's been absolutely gorgeous while it's lasted. Seeing it makes my day brighter, more colorful.
08. Because I haven't been to the grocery store in about two-three weeks, I've been forced to be really creative about what I cook in the past week. And the results have been generally tastey. I'm proud of my ingenuity and impressed by my cooking skills.
07. I'm finally, finally, going to send my friend a care package. I'm thankful for finally finding motivation to just send it!
06. I figured out an awesome Halloween costume that is the right blend of creative, funny, clever and scary (with a bit more modification).
05. I got one of those coupon inserts from the paper in my mailbox yesterday, upon looking through it, about 1/2 of the coupons were for things that I need to buy in the next few days/weeks. I've estimated that I'll probably save more than $15 simply because I got some junk mail that I took the time to look at before I tossed it in the recycle bin.
04. I made it safely to and from Elon this weekend. The car survived and so did I.
03. I had lunch with my 91-year-old Grandma.
02. My yoga instructor's topic of guided mediation made me recognize a need to refocus, realign and rebuild. Her message: Surrendering to what is, is not the same as giving up, rather it's a realization and acceptance of a situation with the intent to move forward toward the better; and finding the courage and strength to surrender is an incredible and powerful ability.
01. I'm convinced I have the best friends in the world.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
be here now.
Lyrics are beautiful. Music is beautiful. The whole show was beautiful. Ray Lamontagne, you've stolen my heart.
Friday, September 4, 2009
practicing the art of an open palm
The image of the open palm is universal. It has different meanings across pretty much every culture: Buddhism has about six different mudras (hand positions) that use the gesture of the open hand, and each has a slightly different meaning. Catholics use the gesture when recieving the Euchrist to signify an openness to the glory of the body of Christ and a sense of wanting. The list could go on and on, but if we were to draw a common thread across the cultures, the open palm is a symbol of a sense of willingness to accept what is given.
My grandmother had a saying: "You can hold sand in the palm of your hand forever, but as soon as you close your fist and try to hold on tight, it will all fall through."
Lately, I've been attempting to practice the art of an open palm. In my yoga class, my instructor often asks us to focus on acceptance of the moment and things within our power to control. Does your leg hurt? Move it to the left. Are you cranky? Maybe you're hungry, eat something and drink some water. Are you tired? Take a nap.
If only all of life's questions were that easy, right? But I think, to some extent, maybe there is something to it. I think maybe when we get frustrated, we're not asking ourselves the right questions. We're frustrated because we're asking ourselves questions we cannot answer. What do I want to do with my life? Why am I here? What am I doing in this job that I hate? When is he going to marry me?
My friend Bridget says that the best way to talk to kids is by asking them questions they can answer. They'll never learn to behave if you start off by asking them why they did something wrong. They have no clue. You have to ask them things that they know: Are you hungry? Are you tired? Are you thirsty? Do you have to go to the bathroom? Now, I am, by no means and expert on parenting, but I feel like most of the time, the source of the problem is probably somewhere within reach after a few rounds of those sorts of questions.
I feel like we (adults) are probably about the same way. I think it's about asking the right questions of ourselves at the right magnitude. We cannot arrange world peace, end world hunger or make someone love us. But we can do things to change and affect the way that we participate in the world.
To me, acceptance, or allowing the sand to lay in our palms, does not mean complacency. It does not mean blindly ignoring the world and allowing it to trample us. Practicing an open palm, to me, means knowing when action is needed and when it isn't.
My grandmother had a saying: "You can hold sand in the palm of your hand forever, but as soon as you close your fist and try to hold on tight, it will all fall through."
Lately, I've been attempting to practice the art of an open palm. In my yoga class, my instructor often asks us to focus on acceptance of the moment and things within our power to control. Does your leg hurt? Move it to the left. Are you cranky? Maybe you're hungry, eat something and drink some water. Are you tired? Take a nap.
If only all of life's questions were that easy, right? But I think, to some extent, maybe there is something to it. I think maybe when we get frustrated, we're not asking ourselves the right questions. We're frustrated because we're asking ourselves questions we cannot answer. What do I want to do with my life? Why am I here? What am I doing in this job that I hate? When is he going to marry me?
My friend Bridget says that the best way to talk to kids is by asking them questions they can answer. They'll never learn to behave if you start off by asking them why they did something wrong. They have no clue. You have to ask them things that they know: Are you hungry? Are you tired? Are you thirsty? Do you have to go to the bathroom? Now, I am, by no means and expert on parenting, but I feel like most of the time, the source of the problem is probably somewhere within reach after a few rounds of those sorts of questions.
I feel like we (adults) are probably about the same way. I think it's about asking the right questions of ourselves at the right magnitude. We cannot arrange world peace, end world hunger or make someone love us. But we can do things to change and affect the way that we participate in the world.
To me, acceptance, or allowing the sand to lay in our palms, does not mean complacency. It does not mean blindly ignoring the world and allowing it to trample us. Practicing an open palm, to me, means knowing when action is needed and when it isn't.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
into the bin
I moved this past Saturday. Unlike all the moves I've done before, to and from college, this move was particularly special. I moved into my own place. A place that I pay for with my own money, without help from anyone else. This is a big deal for a number of reasons. For me, it means insurmountable increases in independence that had be lost since moving home after graduation. It means learning about unclogging toilets, hammering nails, painting walls and calling Pepco when our power is out. And it means that never again in my life is my parents' home "my home." I will, in all likelihood, never again live with my parents for longer than a week.
And that, in so many ways, is incredibly bittersweet.
I could go into all the sappiness about how I feel about being left to my own accord with rent payments and such, but that's not really what this post is about. What it's about is all the stuff that I found when I started packing up the bedroom I've occupied since I was 8 years old.
We moved to the house we live in now the summer after I was in fourth grade. I think this is significant because I feel like the age of 8 is sort of when, developmentally, you start to have things that are significant to you on a new level. Sure when you're little you have your pacifier, or your special blankie, or pilly if you're my cousin Melanie, but I think after about fourth grade, you start to have things that you collect that are significant because of things that happened to you.
Now, I'm not a scrap-booker. I never have been, and I sort of never want to be. But I do save things. Most of them end up on bulletin boards or in boxes. My anti-scrapbooking mentality has nothing to do with any lack of creativity, it has more to do with a lack of time and a desire to allow the objects and things that I save to speak for themselves. I've always felt like I was a photo/memory minimalist. Let it stand for itself. No frills, lace or goofy catch-phrases needed.
Now, let me clarify. I am, by no means, a hoarder, a pack-rat or anything else along those lines. Things that I save are things that would normally go into a scrapbook, like a Charlie card from a visit to Boston. A button from a march in DC. A drawing a friend gave me in seventh grade. Random things that hold value and importance to me.
So this past week, as I was packing up, I started uncovering the stuff. The bits and pieces of my life that I'd saved for who knows what reason. The cool thing is that most of the stuff, I could tell you right away where it came from.
But then came the hard part: I had to get rid of it. It couldn't come with me to my little apartment, and at some point, my mom would want "my room" back to use for something else. It'll all have to go eventually.
I had to physically throw away the odds and ends, trinkets and stubs, of my childhood and adolescence. And the weirdest part of it all was that for the most part, I was OK with it. There were some things I kept, just because they were very, very significant. But most things ended up in the trash bin with the old pair of flip flops, the broken picture frame and the other refuse that had been collecting dust in my room since the 1990s.
I'm sure there are somethings I'll never be OK with tossing, and I think that's normal.
And that, in so many ways, is incredibly bittersweet.
I could go into all the sappiness about how I feel about being left to my own accord with rent payments and such, but that's not really what this post is about. What it's about is all the stuff that I found when I started packing up the bedroom I've occupied since I was 8 years old.
We moved to the house we live in now the summer after I was in fourth grade. I think this is significant because I feel like the age of 8 is sort of when, developmentally, you start to have things that are significant to you on a new level. Sure when you're little you have your pacifier, or your special blankie, or pilly if you're my cousin Melanie, but I think after about fourth grade, you start to have things that you collect that are significant because of things that happened to you.
Now, I'm not a scrap-booker. I never have been, and I sort of never want to be. But I do save things. Most of them end up on bulletin boards or in boxes. My anti-scrapbooking mentality has nothing to do with any lack of creativity, it has more to do with a lack of time and a desire to allow the objects and things that I save to speak for themselves. I've always felt like I was a photo/memory minimalist. Let it stand for itself. No frills, lace or goofy catch-phrases needed.
Now, let me clarify. I am, by no means, a hoarder, a pack-rat or anything else along those lines. Things that I save are things that would normally go into a scrapbook, like a Charlie card from a visit to Boston. A button from a march in DC. A drawing a friend gave me in seventh grade. Random things that hold value and importance to me.
So this past week, as I was packing up, I started uncovering the stuff. The bits and pieces of my life that I'd saved for who knows what reason. The cool thing is that most of the stuff, I could tell you right away where it came from.
But then came the hard part: I had to get rid of it. It couldn't come with me to my little apartment, and at some point, my mom would want "my room" back to use for something else. It'll all have to go eventually.
I had to physically throw away the odds and ends, trinkets and stubs, of my childhood and adolescence. And the weirdest part of it all was that for the most part, I was OK with it. There were some things I kept, just because they were very, very significant. But most things ended up in the trash bin with the old pair of flip flops, the broken picture frame and the other refuse that had been collecting dust in my room since the 1990s.
I'm sure there are somethings I'll never be OK with tossing, and I think that's normal.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
inspirational words.
We have what we seek, it is there all the time, and if we give it time, it will make itself known to us. -- Thomas Merton
Thursday, July 23, 2009
a penchant for feel-good
I like movies that make you feel good. So sue me. I've seen both of these movies (below) within the last few weeks, and I would highly recommend them. Not only do they make you feel good, but they have great messages of acceptance, love, life, personal growth and understanding. They also have killer soundtracks, wonderful casts and are interesting takes on the standard "summer" movie. Neither of these are blockbusters, which is probably why I love them.
Of the two here, this is my particular favorite for a number of reasons. The sound rack is to die for, including a song by Wolfmother that I have a special fondness for. The story is really sweet, and I think everyone can relate to an unrequited love story on some level. It's funny without being corny, and indie without being emo. All around wonderful film.
The Answer Man
Managed to catch this by accident on a movie channel we get (one of our 700 channels...) and it was really great. Lauren Graham is quirky, as always -- she's pretty much Loralai Gilmore but as a chiropractor, and Jeff Daniels is equally sweet, weird and fabulous as the famous writer, Arlen Faber. It was an entertaining film, both my mom and I got sucked into it.
Usually I'm not a film critic, but I felt like I needed to share these -- they're just so enjoyable and in times like these, who doesn't want to sit and just be entertained for an hour.
Of the two here, this is my particular favorite for a number of reasons. The sound rack is to die for, including a song by Wolfmother that I have a special fondness for. The story is really sweet, and I think everyone can relate to an unrequited love story on some level. It's funny without being corny, and indie without being emo. All around wonderful film.
The Answer Man
Managed to catch this by accident on a movie channel we get (one of our 700 channels...) and it was really great. Lauren Graham is quirky, as always -- she's pretty much Loralai Gilmore but as a chiropractor, and Jeff Daniels is equally sweet, weird and fabulous as the famous writer, Arlen Faber. It was an entertaining film, both my mom and I got sucked into it.
Usually I'm not a film critic, but I felt like I needed to share these -- they're just so enjoyable and in times like these, who doesn't want to sit and just be entertained for an hour.
Monday, July 20, 2009
connectivity.
I'm becoming more and more convinced as I get older that everything is connected, that there will be things in your life that never seem to leave or disappear all the way.
My mom and our family friend Karen and I went to the 50th Anniversary Barbie convention the weekend before last. Yeah, I know ... but my aunt makes reproduction historically accurate gowns for the dolls (her work is some of the best there, if you ask me) and the convention was in D.C., so we went. It was an experience, to say the least, but the best part was the memories it evoked. More than once Karen or my mom would burst with joy at the sight of a doll they'd forgotten they had, or would begin to tell a story about a pair of shoes, a wig set or cutting Barbie's hair.
I was astonished by how few of my Barbies they had. In fact, they didn't have any of the ones I had -- perhaps they're not old enough yet. My Aladdin and Jasmin dolls, my skater Midge and Barbie, my Kelly dolls -- they're just not "vintage" enough yet. As I walked through the tables, I wanted some sort of a jolt of recognition, something from my childhood that I'd forgotten, something that I'd loved and then given up along with the American Girl dolls, Polly Pockets and My Little Ponies. But it didn't come, at least not until the very end.
And then, on a table, there it was, my Barbie poodle. Yes. I had a poodle. He was white (I'm assuming it's a "he" even though there were no anatomical indicators) with legs that bent at the shoulder and hip joints. Matted white "fur" with floppy white ears and white, hard plastic feet and face. He was my dog! I had him! And I had completely forgotten about him. He's sitting in an enormous plastic container in my parents' basement. I'd loved him.
Moments like that one are so bizarre, and they remind us of how strange memory is. How we can be such good friends with someone and then five years later we can still remember the name of their cat, but their name escapes us. We can find our way to their house, or remember their phone number, but their birthday is gone. We can be so invested and yet something happens and the dustbuster in our brains turns on and starts to make space, eliminating somethings and keeping the others, forging hair-thin links between that stuff and other stuff so we can someday access that bit of information in our seemingly infinite rolodex.
I'm thinking about all of this because I've realized that these links don't actually matter unless we pay attention to them. Like anything else, if you ignore it, it might as well just not be there. As I was updating some contact information today for one of IPM's donors, I had a moment's flash of recognition with the organization she works for: The Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria.
It was one of those moments that's similar to trying to remember the movie a favorite quote comes from. Or the lyric to a song where you can only remember the tune -- why did I know this organization!? I've been working with organizations with names like that since I started at IPM. I've even seen that name before, so why was it sparking something now? I don't suppose I'll ever know. But then I realized it -- I know them because of the Corcoran. I worked with them last summer.
The Global Fund partnered with Magnum Photography last summer to produce an exhibition called "Access to Life" that would originate at the Corcoran. I wrote the press release for the show. I stuffed hundreds of press folders for the show. I met people from the Global Fund at the show. Light bulb!
So, I don't really know what it all means or if there really is any significance that it's all connected. But I find it really bizarre how one thing has taken me to the next. How everything seems to be related, whether or not it really is, I guess that remains to be seen. But still, it's these little flashes or recognition, these moments of connectivity, that really surprise and startle me into questioning how many of these moments we miss.
My mom and our family friend Karen and I went to the 50th Anniversary Barbie convention the weekend before last. Yeah, I know ... but my aunt makes reproduction historically accurate gowns for the dolls (her work is some of the best there, if you ask me) and the convention was in D.C., so we went. It was an experience, to say the least, but the best part was the memories it evoked. More than once Karen or my mom would burst with joy at the sight of a doll they'd forgotten they had, or would begin to tell a story about a pair of shoes, a wig set or cutting Barbie's hair.
I was astonished by how few of my Barbies they had. In fact, they didn't have any of the ones I had -- perhaps they're not old enough yet. My Aladdin and Jasmin dolls, my skater Midge and Barbie, my Kelly dolls -- they're just not "vintage" enough yet. As I walked through the tables, I wanted some sort of a jolt of recognition, something from my childhood that I'd forgotten, something that I'd loved and then given up along with the American Girl dolls, Polly Pockets and My Little Ponies. But it didn't come, at least not until the very end.
And then, on a table, there it was, my Barbie poodle. Yes. I had a poodle. He was white (I'm assuming it's a "he" even though there were no anatomical indicators) with legs that bent at the shoulder and hip joints. Matted white "fur" with floppy white ears and white, hard plastic feet and face. He was my dog! I had him! And I had completely forgotten about him. He's sitting in an enormous plastic container in my parents' basement. I'd loved him.
Moments like that one are so bizarre, and they remind us of how strange memory is. How we can be such good friends with someone and then five years later we can still remember the name of their cat, but their name escapes us. We can find our way to their house, or remember their phone number, but their birthday is gone. We can be so invested and yet something happens and the dustbuster in our brains turns on and starts to make space, eliminating somethings and keeping the others, forging hair-thin links between that stuff and other stuff so we can someday access that bit of information in our seemingly infinite rolodex.
I'm thinking about all of this because I've realized that these links don't actually matter unless we pay attention to them. Like anything else, if you ignore it, it might as well just not be there. As I was updating some contact information today for one of IPM's donors, I had a moment's flash of recognition with the organization she works for: The Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria.
It was one of those moments that's similar to trying to remember the movie a favorite quote comes from. Or the lyric to a song where you can only remember the tune -- why did I know this organization!? I've been working with organizations with names like that since I started at IPM. I've even seen that name before, so why was it sparking something now? I don't suppose I'll ever know. But then I realized it -- I know them because of the Corcoran. I worked with them last summer.
The Global Fund partnered with Magnum Photography last summer to produce an exhibition called "Access to Life" that would originate at the Corcoran. I wrote the press release for the show. I stuffed hundreds of press folders for the show. I met people from the Global Fund at the show. Light bulb!
So, I don't really know what it all means or if there really is any significance that it's all connected. But I find it really bizarre how one thing has taken me to the next. How everything seems to be related, whether or not it really is, I guess that remains to be seen. But still, it's these little flashes or recognition, these moments of connectivity, that really surprise and startle me into questioning how many of these moments we miss.
Friday, July 17, 2009
we get up
When I was in London, the girls I lived with and I began taking what we called "bridge jumping photos." The premise was fairly simple, any time we would cross a bridge, we would take a photo of the group jumping. Everyone's body had to be airborne and we had to yell "1, 2, 3, jump!" because let's be honest, it's pretty funny (in a morbid sort of way) to hear a group of girls yelling "jump" while on a bridge.
The album that resulted from this little activity spans nearly a dozen different countries. Each of us had vowed to take a jumping picture any time we crossed a new bridge.
Until I stumbled randomly upon a blog, "Jump. Because.", I hadn't thought about these photos in a very long time. Run by a few people in Richmond, Va., the blog asks for submissions of jumping photos and then asks the photo's creator to finish the sentence, "I jump because ..."
As I scrolled through, I became more and more nostalgic for the jumping I've recorded over the years with my friends, and I wanted to share a few with you. We're going to share a few with that blog, but I figured I'd include a bunch here also.
Why do I jump? There are so many reasons that I can't even begin to explain, but the biggest: I jump because I can.
(I'll add more as I find them...)
Olivia and I in Prague, CZ
The album that resulted from this little activity spans nearly a dozen different countries. Each of us had vowed to take a jumping picture any time we crossed a new bridge.
Until I stumbled randomly upon a blog, "Jump. Because.", I hadn't thought about these photos in a very long time. Run by a few people in Richmond, Va., the blog asks for submissions of jumping photos and then asks the photo's creator to finish the sentence, "I jump because ..."
As I scrolled through, I became more and more nostalgic for the jumping I've recorded over the years with my friends, and I wanted to share a few with you. We're going to share a few with that blog, but I figured I'd include a bunch here also.
Why do I jump? There are so many reasons that I can't even begin to explain, but the biggest: I jump because I can.
(I'll add more as I find them...)
Olivia and I in Prague, CZ
Olivia and I on Millenium Bridge, London, UK
Mandy and I on a bridge near the Vatican, Italy
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
cubed in silence
Since starting my job about a week ago, I've learned, among many important lessons, how to sit in silence for extended periods of time. This is an impressive feat for me -- I like to talk. A lot.
Let me clarify, I have absolutely no problems with periods of quiet. Like the silence you get when you're on a car ride and everyone's listening to the radio or watching the cars and scenery fly by. I like the quiet you get when you eat with someone and you're so hungry, three words of any sort just get in the way of the fork. I like being so comfortable with someone you can sit in silence next to each other and read a book. That silence isn't really silence to me. It's active quiet -- usually there's some sort of background noise, or some sort of shared appreciation of the void. You aren't partitioned by the silence.
This is the reason why I can't study in libraries, why I write best in cacophanous newsrooms, and why unless there's someone who absolutely needs quiet, quiet it shouldn't be. I actually think better when I have to tune things out. When it's already tuned out, when I'm surrounded by silence, that's when my mind starts to wander, my thoughts start to drift and ten minutes later I realize that I've lost track completely.
I'm currently working the most silent office I've ever been in. The floor is carpeted, the space too large and too spread out, and everyone is cubed.
I've been cubed in silence.
I'm learning to make do. I'm learning ways to be productive like everyone else while surrounded by two walls and no sound. I can't even hear the click of somone else's keyboard.
Then something strange happened yesterday, I looked to the bottom right corner of my screen and realized three hours had gone by. I was so busy, so focused despite the silence, that time had flown and the day was progressing.
Perhaps I was just focusing on the wrong thing?
Sunday, June 28, 2009
fruity drinks
I just got back from a week of mommy-daughter time in the Caribbean on St. Maarten. There are a million and one stories to tell and pictures to come when our waterproof disposable camera is developed (yeah we wanted one that could get stolen and wet if the situations arose, only the wet part happened, luckily). The trip was fabulous, relaxation and tans were achieved. And to top it off, my mom drove on the British side of the road for a day in Anguilla without killing us both. A noble and admirable feat. I'm seriously not kidding about that, because I would have killed us both.
The beaches were absolutely fabulous and the company was, as always so wonderful. My mom, in case you don't know her, is an above excellent travel companion. I love her so much and am so thankful she was willing to travel with me -- Typhoid Travel Bethany. If you know me at all, which most of my readers do, you'll know that I'm incredibly cursed when it comes to the magical and mystical wonder that is air travel. I haven't been on a flight in probably four years that hasn't at least been delayed ten minutes. Nothing ever goes right for me. And it didn't this time either, but nothing so catastrophic that we didn't get there and back within a few hours of when we were supposed to.
But anyway, it was wonderful. If you haven't been to St. Maarten/St. Martin, I highly recommend it, though only if you stay anywhere other than the Flamingo Beach Resort. It was a hell hole. Not only did we have problems with our reservation before we even got there, but it continued on through the week. Check in began at 3 p.m., we arrived at 5 p.m. only to find our room wasn't ready. No biggie, we'll just go sit at the pool bar and have a fruity drink, our first in probably close to 100 during our trip. We came back at 5:30 to find that our room was ready, but that it was situated on the first floor with beach access, but that it was immediately behind the beach bar, which we would have to look through to see the beach. Awesome, I thought, when does it close? The answer was a civilized (to some, heresy to others) 10 p.m. No biggie yet again. We're easy, we're on vacation. The room was really nice, except that the beach bar was under construction along with the rest of the resort. Workers started sawing wood, painting buildings and cutting metal tubing outside our door starting at 7:15 a.m. OK, that one's a little bit more of a big deal. The last straw was when we came back from our day trip to Anguilla to find that the maid had left our door open. Big deal reached. Luckily, nothing was taken and it was an honest mistake -- she'd been called away and then just forgot to come back. But still, not cool. And the worst part, they didn't really do anything about it. Sorry. That's all we got, which was fine since nothing was taken, but still. Some free fruity drinks would have been nice at least. Oh well.
My dad and brother just wrapped up a week of racing our boat, Incommunicado, during Block Island Race Week. They came in fourth overall (PHRF 3) and did really well on Wednesday when they won twice. My brother was interviewed that afternoon for a daily video recap of the races. It was his 15th birthday. He comes in about halfway through the video if you're interested.
Oh and the most exciting thing of all, I start my job tomorrow. I'm the newest member of the communications team at the International Partnership for Microbicides. I'm a production assistant for the external relations department. It's a great organization, and an excellent cause -- they work in developing nations with pharmaceuticals to promote a medication that has been proven to prevent HIV in women. I'm super excited and ready to go, but that's another post that I've been rehuminating on for a while. It'll come soon.
That about wraps it up, sorry to be long winded.
The beaches were absolutely fabulous and the company was, as always so wonderful. My mom, in case you don't know her, is an above excellent travel companion. I love her so much and am so thankful she was willing to travel with me -- Typhoid Travel Bethany. If you know me at all, which most of my readers do, you'll know that I'm incredibly cursed when it comes to the magical and mystical wonder that is air travel. I haven't been on a flight in probably four years that hasn't at least been delayed ten minutes. Nothing ever goes right for me. And it didn't this time either, but nothing so catastrophic that we didn't get there and back within a few hours of when we were supposed to.
But anyway, it was wonderful. If you haven't been to St. Maarten/St. Martin, I highly recommend it, though only if you stay anywhere other than the Flamingo Beach Resort. It was a hell hole. Not only did we have problems with our reservation before we even got there, but it continued on through the week. Check in began at 3 p.m., we arrived at 5 p.m. only to find our room wasn't ready. No biggie, we'll just go sit at the pool bar and have a fruity drink, our first in probably close to 100 during our trip. We came back at 5:30 to find that our room was ready, but that it was situated on the first floor with beach access, but that it was immediately behind the beach bar, which we would have to look through to see the beach. Awesome, I thought, when does it close? The answer was a civilized (to some, heresy to others) 10 p.m. No biggie yet again. We're easy, we're on vacation. The room was really nice, except that the beach bar was under construction along with the rest of the resort. Workers started sawing wood, painting buildings and cutting metal tubing outside our door starting at 7:15 a.m. OK, that one's a little bit more of a big deal. The last straw was when we came back from our day trip to Anguilla to find that the maid had left our door open. Big deal reached. Luckily, nothing was taken and it was an honest mistake -- she'd been called away and then just forgot to come back. But still, not cool. And the worst part, they didn't really do anything about it. Sorry. That's all we got, which was fine since nothing was taken, but still. Some free fruity drinks would have been nice at least. Oh well.
My dad and brother just wrapped up a week of racing our boat, Incommunicado, during Block Island Race Week. They came in fourth overall (PHRF 3) and did really well on Wednesday when they won twice. My brother was interviewed that afternoon for a daily video recap of the races. It was his 15th birthday. He comes in about halfway through the video if you're interested.
Oh and the most exciting thing of all, I start my job tomorrow. I'm the newest member of the communications team at the International Partnership for Microbicides. I'm a production assistant for the external relations department. It's a great organization, and an excellent cause -- they work in developing nations with pharmaceuticals to promote a medication that has been proven to prevent HIV in women. I'm super excited and ready to go, but that's another post that I've been rehuminating on for a while. It'll come soon.
That about wraps it up, sorry to be long winded.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
we are all trees
So the concert was absolutely amazing. The cause is so inspiring, the musicians are so talented, the company was good, and the venue completely perfect for an acoustic set. The video below is what was played at the beginning of the concert. It features Zimbabwe Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai as he discusses the plight of his country and the importance of giving back to the global community by offering your support to causes locally. As Isabella Cannon, the incredible Elon benefactor would say, "Think globally, act locally."
Below is just one of many awesome moments. Still waiting for them to come out with a CD or DVD. This was pulled from YouTube and it isn't quite the whole song, but it's one of my favorites, and it was PHENOMENAL. To top it off, I was only about 10 rows behind the person filming and on the other side of the theater. There are a bunch more videos of this concert on YouTube -- check 'em out!
Below is just one of many awesome moments. Still waiting for them to come out with a CD or DVD. This was pulled from YouTube and it isn't quite the whole song, but it's one of my favorites, and it was PHENOMENAL. To top it off, I was only about 10 rows behind the person filming and on the other side of the theater. There are a bunch more videos of this concert on YouTube -- check 'em out!
Friday, June 5, 2009
open letter to the Kennedy Center
Dear Kennedy Center,
Your online ticketing server sucks. I was fifth in line to get Dispatch tickets, when all of a sudden, I was 1,873rd. That is both insanely unfair and frustrating. Through some miracle, I was able to get through your phone system, and was placed on the line with Agent 81. Not only was she kind and understanding, but also managed to get me what I think were probably the last four tickets to the SOLD OUT show.
Please use this as a learning experience. I understand that the typical billings for your performing arts center usually do not draw such ravenous ticket seekers, however, in the event that your institution chooses to host someone like Dispatch in the future, please get your act together.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Bethany Swanson
Your online ticketing server sucks. I was fifth in line to get Dispatch tickets, when all of a sudden, I was 1,873rd. That is both insanely unfair and frustrating. Through some miracle, I was able to get through your phone system, and was placed on the line with Agent 81. Not only was she kind and understanding, but also managed to get me what I think were probably the last four tickets to the SOLD OUT show.
Please use this as a learning experience. I understand that the typical billings for your performing arts center usually do not draw such ravenous ticket seekers, however, in the event that your institution chooses to host someone like Dispatch in the future, please get your act together.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Bethany Swanson
Monday, June 1, 2009
life in a nutshell
This week, I've ...
01. graduated from college.
02. moved back to Maryland, unpacked my life and squeezed it into too small of a space.
03. had many a meal with good friends who've gone unseen for far too long.
04. applied to a bunch of jobs.
05. seen "Kung Fu Panda," "Vicky Cristina Barcelona," the season finale of "Grey's Anatomy," and too many hours of TV.
06. mailed a few items that needed to be returned to their rightful owners after accidentally moving back to Maryland with me.
07. gone sailing.
08. had my first Dark and Stormy of the summer.
09. realized that my cat snores.
10. realized that my brother is now 14 and HUGE.
11. realized that I'm ready to start my life and be an adult.
12. realized that number 11 is impossible without a job.
13. realized that without my family and my friends I would be in a panicked state of hysteria constantly, rather than only occasionally.
14. started to understand that making decisions is only possible if there are choices to decide among.
15. come to really love lists.
01. graduated from college.
02. moved back to Maryland, unpacked my life and squeezed it into too small of a space.
03. had many a meal with good friends who've gone unseen for far too long.
04. applied to a bunch of jobs.
05. seen "Kung Fu Panda," "Vicky Cristina Barcelona," the season finale of "Grey's Anatomy," and too many hours of TV.
06. mailed a few items that needed to be returned to their rightful owners after accidentally moving back to Maryland with me.
07. gone sailing.
08. had my first Dark and Stormy of the summer.
09. realized that my cat snores.
10. realized that my brother is now 14 and HUGE.
11. realized that I'm ready to start my life and be an adult.
12. realized that number 11 is impossible without a job.
13. realized that without my family and my friends I would be in a panicked state of hysteria constantly, rather than only occasionally.
14. started to understand that making decisions is only possible if there are choices to decide among.
15. come to really love lists.
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