So Very Meta

I just saw State of Play. In the theater in Chinatown in DC. At one point, a car in the movie DRIVES PAST the theater.

Woah.

In terms of the DC on film part - I was happy that they made the weather so unattractive - though it could have been windier. And the season clearer. But it showed both Mt. Pleasant and Adams Morgan as residential neighborhoods. And it made Crystal City vaguely sinister- which I've always found to be true. In terms of the day's lesson in the death of newspapers, it was all too real (in the most obvious ways). In terms of liberal anticorporate diatribe - so-so. In terms of choices for a way to spend a hot afternoon - pretty good. It makes DC look good in that it makes DC look dramatic, even if there's a little bit heavy-handed, and I only spent about 10 minutes hiding my face in my hands - it's PG-13. Yeah, I know.

Also - there's a preview for a movie about John Dillinger that's coming out in July - Johnny Depp plays Dillinger, Christian Bale is an FBI agent. There may or may not be a re-creation of a shootout between Dillinger's gang and the FBI that took place at Little Bohemia (and Bohemia as in region, not as in free love or beat poetry), which is a restaurant in Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin, which has a) preserved the bulletholes and b) has the tale spelled out in pulpy detail on the placemats. From the preview, it appears that this IS the case, but since Dillinger got into trouble all over the midwest, who knows if it's the serene lake and pine forest where I've eaten so many helpings of wild rice soup (or at least - half-helpings - it's made with cream, and a touch heavy). The only part that I'm not that excited about: it appears to have been shot on video. If ever there were a time period or subject matter worthy of film stock, I feel like gangster movies set in the 20s and 30s were it. Men in hats deserve more color saturation than video can provide.

The Syncopation of the Trucks in Reverse

I had planned to write about how I went to a really good talk last night that made me think I should work harder at reading and writing, perhaps going back to the Middle East and maybe give up on my current career wheel-spinning, though left little hope that I will ever overcome my newfound jealousy of Angelina Jolie. Walking home from the talk, I had some deep thoughts about master narratives and academics who try to steer the question period into a discussion of the books he's been reading and are happy to talk about alternatives to the contemporary nuclear nonproliferation apparatus instead, and to gracefully handle a declaration that a young questioner's friend converted to Islam after reading his first book (for the record - you should read No god but God -if you're at all interested in Islam or good writing - if it makes you want to convert, at least you know now that you have company) by taking 5 minutes to talk about another element of her question. Then I had some shallower thoughts about how hip professors probably own both orange leather jackets wtih lots of zippers (like 70s singer songwriters) and tweed blazers with leather elbow patches (like 70s academics) and comparisons between hip professors and actual rock stars (it's cool to be seen reading the professor's book before his reading, less so to be seen listening to the rock star's cd, but, on the other hand, even if the professor is a fictional anthropologist, it isn't really cool to show your huge fan status by, say, subtley writing "I love you" on your eyelids, but such professions are entirely acceptable where rock stars are concerned).

This was all going to lead somewhere. Really it was.

But then I woke up this morning. Early. To the sound of construction nearby and the sinking feeling that the temperature was on its way up. And I had work to do. So then I did my work, to the beeps of the backing up trucks and the banging of earth movers interspersed with the dulcet sounds of NPR reporting on swine flu. Around 9, a new element was added: the lawn mower at the Cuban interests section. Directly under my open (by necessity of the fact that I have neither an air conditioner nor a fan) window. And that is to say: loudly. Loudly enough that I could just barely make out the sounds of the two trucks at the construction site backing up at slightly different times (beep beep beepbeep beepbeep beep beep beepbeep beep beep).

On the bright side, it made the construction noises - which now seem to involve some sort of drilling or welding -seem dimmer, more pleasant, more background-y. But that doesn't exactly put me in a good or a focused state of mind for any of the writing I want to do, press lists I need to do or gymming I probably should do (I keep thinking about how, when tired, my right foot gets sort of lazy and I risk tripping - ok on the sidewalk, not so ok on the treadmill), I instead want to throw things, whine, swear or, when thoughts of packing and my pending, ungraceful exit from town, cry.

So I'm going to the movies.

UPDATE: I just fixed the link under the Angelina Jolie reference. I realized that it was wrong halfway downtown. oops.

Keeping Moving

I got back to DC last night, and I sent a check this morning, so, if all goes according to plan and we don't all end up quarantined, I'm moving in a couple of weeks to the borderlands between Boerum Hill and Park Slope and, I guess, Gowanus. And undoubtedly reading The Fortress of Solitude shortly thereafter. My commitment at this point is only through the end of July (though could extend a whole year after that), so I'm retaining the same one foot out the door stance (admittedly, an awkward way to stand), at least for a little while longer. After a weekend of Craiglist-induced hiking around Brooklyn in sandals (because I wanted to look cool even if they made my feet hurt), it feels satisfying, even if I remain somewhat ambivalent on so many levels.

Among the other places I looked at, however, were what I thought would be the top-contender, but turned out to be a co-op with borderline creepy old-person-decor (there were framed photographs from probably the turn of the 20th century), a twin bed inexplicably propped up on cinderblocks, and a word about how they usually keep the kitchen "spotless;" another place with a falsely advertised "beautiful" room in a really nice part of Cobble Hill . . . with 5 19-20 year olds and windows that faced walls; and an 8-foot wide walk-through where one clearly paid (and oh, how one would pay) for the "Prime Park Slope" location. There were a couple of others that were less obviously wrong, but ever so slightly too expensive or commitment-heavy (i.e. would have involved buying a couch), and a final one that required a credit check and then didn't end up showing me the room and now has me worried about identity theft (even though I'm pretty sure that that's difficult to do with only a credit report to go on). Also - at almost all of them, it seemed like the people renting the rooms were willing to give them to me on the spot if I had a check - this is very unlike any craigslist search I've done before, and, having just read an article in the Times about how Americans are not relocating at the moment, I might have been alarmed.

One More from the Road

The driver started the ride off with a lecture about how we're all married for four hours, then get to part ways, so just be polite and don't make too much noise on your cell phone. He also assured us that he was not, in fact, the driver of the car, but that God was, in fact, the one to call with any objections. We just stopped for a quick break and he went back to the marriage trope - "I'm a divorcee. The reason I bring this off is I have no problem leaving people. So make sure you're on the bus in 15 minutes." I wonder if he's been practicing his shtick? Since Jim Lehrer, who was the speaker at my brother's college graduation, graced us all with his calling out of a bus schedule from Midland (I think), Texas in the mid-60s (his first broadcasting job), I've often wondered about the relationship between bus transit and other forms of creative, captive-audience necessitating, expression . . .

Dance Class, Theory, Practice

My gym has this deal for the 22nd of every month - "member appreciation" which means a) free guest passes and b) free breakfast, but there's pretty much no way that I'm ever at the gym in time for that. This month, they got kind of smart about the chronic overcrowding in dance classes - which is only heightened by visitors - and did a 2 hour block of bhangra and zumba on the basketball court. The dudes who come for the hoops were none too pleased, since they clearly failed to notice the 10 signs posted around the gym saying that there would be no basketball on Wednesday evening. I did the exact same thing with the signs about the water being shut off on Tuesday in my building, so I sympathize. Anyway - when it became evident that they weren't going to get what they wanted, a couple of them (who must have been about 18) joined the class - giggling. They even stuck around for the second hour. Anyway - as an experience, it was half horrible 7th grade gym flashback (what with the non-basketball on a basketball court) and the snickering girl who works in the membership office and stayed to watch for most of the first hour, drinking coffee through a straw (I'm pretty sure she was there to laugh at the other staffers but really - how unnecessary) and the poorly ventilated room (clearly not designed for the body heat generated by maybe 100 people dancing) and half almost-fulfillment of my long-standing fantasy of walking into the last scene of a dance movie. Also - probably the most diverse gym class I've ever been to - sure, still mostly women, but more than a token few dudes, and among the women, a real range in both age and race. It even supplied an answer to a question I've long-wondered - what do hipsters do for exercise clothes (because some hipsters, clearly, must exercise)? Answer: American apparel leotards and leggings, with yellow running shorts over them. Half-ironic, but the 70s-style leotard pattern was far too flattering and enviable to have been purchased for the its retro-appeal/statement on the ridiculosity of the gym as plebeian institution alone.

I'm writing this on the bus to New York. And that's almost completely amazing and fantastic, except that balancing a laptop on one's knee at 65 mph is a challenge both to the combined forces of heels of my hands/top of my lap and my digestive system. It's way better this time - the first time I took this particular bus, I had my old computer, which managed to freeze 20 minutes into the trip, never to fully recover - but still - if there's one thing that enhances the bumpiness and vague sense of lack of control that goes with the average bus, it's trying to balance an expensive piece of electronic equipment on your knees while also coming up with coherent sentences about a moment of large-group grace and coordination.

Also

I like tulips. This one is called "Olympic Flame" - it's at the national botanical garden (that's what the greenhouse downtown is called, yes?) - which has many markers, most of which elicit the response "oh, hmm, I can see that." Which is part of why I like tulips -they're accessible.

Some Pictures

I'm transfering pictures from my camera into the world, and I like these. They're from the Dupont farmer's market. Also - I spent 2 weeks debating buying peach blossoms and ultimately decided that I liked other people's peach blossoms and the opportunity to take pictures of them. Although I'm holding out hope that one day I'll live close enough to a farmers market to make carrying a 3 foot long stick of flowers seem like a nice flourish, rather than trouble in the making. This is not how I feel about salad greens.

Sunday Night Allergy

I have always always always had trouble getting to sleep on Sunday nights - except maybe when I was in Egypt and the weekend was Friday-Saturday - then Saturday nights were surely a bear. The reasons for this are not too complicated - stay up later on the weekend, anxiety/anticipation for the week, etc, and thanks to sleepless Sunday nights in high school and the cable-less tv in my room, I discovered Tom Waits Austin City Limits appearance from the late 70s - an experience that led me both to a greater appreciation of pork-pie hats and, as a shared reference, helped catalyze my friendship with my best Christopher during our first year of college. However, last night, Waits-less and full of adrenaline (and, admittedly, some caffeine from the latte I had at 4 to offset the sangria I had between 2 and 3:30), I found company in the form of one loud, utterly confused bird who had taken up residence amidst the floodlights of my Cuban neighbors. The lights are on all night - and I can imagine that, to a young bird from the country, they make it seem like city dawn lasts from 9pm until actual dawn. And I certainly feel empathy for that - but really, so much chirping? It started around maybe 11 and, when I finally dozed off close to 4, and it was still going strong. I hope that the rain is providing enough darkness for the little guy to get some rest, but more than that, I hope it, like me, decides that this particular lot isn't really a long-term solution, and finds another tree to lay its head and call home tonight.

Overhearing . . .

At the moment, I live behind the Cuban interests section of the Swiss embassy - i.e. the Cuban embassy-ish. What with all the news about US/Cuban relations these days, this seems particularly timely. Anyway - I have a view of a bust of Jose Marti, which I often contemplate as I consider what form my next few years should take . . . and a whole bunch of lights that are on all night. Also, there is some playground equipment.

Now that the weather is nice (at least for today), I keep my window open, so I've overheard the following in the past two days:

- kids playing - one says "no one is in charge of anyone else" - really. Equal power in whatever combat game they're playing. I don't know if the other kids went along with it, but so fitting. . .

- a kickin sound system - admittedly, this could be from a different nearby building - but hours of salsa recently switched to . . . The Police. I'm trying not to read anything into "Every Move You Make" which seems to have repeated at least once as I've been writing this.

Electronic Immaturity

So first, my computer, Aloysius, has been on the way out for some time -i.e. maybe 4 months after I got it, when some power struggle between the battery and ac adaptor meant that it would short out and not turn back on without maybe 20 minutes of coaxing, swearing and pushing the power button over and over with the battery out and the power unplugged - then there was the motherboard mishap of 2008, which is in my archives, but painful enough of a memory that I don't really want to go dredging it up again now. At around the same time, the cd drive got stuck open and, when the hinge was fixed, started making a noise like a plane trying to take off every time I tried to burn a cd onto my hard drive (which usually leads to a few tracks transfering intact, and the rest saying they're 700 minutes long or something). Then half of the power cord had to be replaced - so I had a British plug for the last year - which was awesome there, less so since I left in June and became committed to slightly bulky adaptors. Also - it liked to crash my friends' Sara and Sabrina's network, so when I went to their flat, I was uncharacteristically productive - usually more productive than anyone else - because, without internet access, I had no choice but to write. It also fell off of my desk in Switzerland when the power cord got caught up in the power cord for the vacuum - and only seemed to chip a corner - aesthetic damage - a battle scar even.

Since I've been home, Aloysius has caused more trouble - first, crashing my parents' wireless in much the same manner as the one in London- only in Cleveland, it was worth getting fixed - and eventually it did - the tech told me it was somehow failing to connect to the wireless, then trying to set up its own network - and hence, confusing everyone else. He turned off whatever the thing was that was doing that, and since then, I've only been unable to connect to the wireless at Tweaks' house, the wireless at my most recent house (although that seemed to be more of a weak signal issue for one of the networks and an Apple network/PC arm wrestling match for the other), and the wireless in my current house - which it claims to connect to, and then to find "limited or no connectivity" - like it's the network's fault. . . Then there's the part where, ever since I got a new ac adaptor (after witnessing a fist fight at Micro Center), it turns itself off - it does this with the adaptor plugged in, on battery, when I turn it on in the morning, after it's been on all day - i.e. completely unpredictably. Two days at the laptop repair place and several frustrating conversations with the leader of the laptop repair team later (where she says over and over that it works perfectly and there's nothing wrong with it -means that it has the intelligence of, at the very least, a manipulative 12 year old), I decided to give up and get a new one. So I did - only that doesn't come until at least next week. So now I'm using it (per the advice of a family friend whose computer opinions I trust far more than my laptop fixers'), trying to rely only on battery power. And it's been mostly better - except just now when it freaked out and shut itself down twice while on battery - which I think is only a reminder that it knows I still need it.

But now, my iPod, which is named Simon, is going all crazy and a) the computer doesn't always notice it's there when it is, in fact, tethered to the USB drive. and b) it keeps refusing to power off - it isn't freezing exactly (I know how to fix that) - it will play, it will pause, it will even let me pick what I want to listen to, but it won't turn off until the battery dies. Also, c) sometimes the battery only lasts an hour - sometimes it lasts 5. I'll admit - it's taken its share of tumbles due to my active lifestyle and general dislike for gym music (how much Nickleback does anyone really need to hear - even if it's so clearly made for a caricatured masculinity that dwells on the weight floor and likes its pop music growly), and the fact that my jacket's pockets are not that secure; and it IS 3 years old - and in Apple years, I'm pretty sure that's getting up there. However, I can't help but wonder if, when Aloysius is claiming that Simon, isn't plugged in when Simon so clearly is plugged in, it is really whispering secrets and recruiting Simon to its hijinks. It feels a little like 8th grade, except, instead of dreaming of high school, when everyone will grow up a little and there will be more people to become friends with anyway, it's going to cost way more to deal with these guys.

Easter Recap

I used my Easter quiche-making adventure as a reason to buy whole unpasteurized milk at the farmers market on Sunday - it felt decadent in a vaguely French way - though I suspect that many French people go to church on Easter, so perhaps that feeling only went as far as my cuisine. Anyway - of all holidays, Easter really highlights the limits of my cultural Christianity. I like the bunnies and egg dishes, and chocolate (though I admit - I still feel kind of guilty eating chocolate in animal form), but I don't think I've really dressed up for the holiday since my grandparents were alive - and even then I don't think we went to Mass (though I could be wrong about that). A couple of years ago, my mom sent me an email on Easter saying that it was really the most important Christian holiday, but she and my dad had failed to give us any experience of that, so instead of going to church, I should just go outside. This year, when I told my dad about my six hour brunch, which I stuck with despite looming deadlines and an ongoing waywardness of the soul, he said that that was exactly what the holiday was for, and informed me that he had been "watching the grass grow" and switching between golf and baseball on TV. Which leads me back to the solid ground of not just my cultural Christianity but my specifically not quite Catholic background: guilt abounds and absolution is pretty nice.

Then yesterday I went downtown during the egg roll festivities and, between seeing the Presidential motorcade in person for the first time in this presidency and all of the dressed up children (there was a girl in a purple tutu who reminded me very much of my younger self - stubborn and with an unconventional fashion sense and prone to sidewalk gymnastics), and happy looking parents (I heard more than one parent on the phone with someone somewhere else saying that they had a lot to say about the day and it was just a great time, and so on), that I was almost giddy - a difficult feat for a Monday morning. And also mystified -between the cherry and other blossoms and the festivities and Tweaks' sod centerpieces, DC seems to be uniquely and suprisingly well-suited to the churchiest of holidays.

Yogurt Snobbery on a Budget

I went shopping for Puffins cereal, the only thing that is cheaper at Whole Foods than the regular grocery store this afternoon.

While there, and, admittedly, dragging my feet a little before going back to my scattered work at home (applying for jobs + compiling clips + reading Tom Waits talking to himself while realizing that what I thought was his upcoming tour because it happened a year ago + doing laundry + trying to get Cragislist to deliver me a Neko Case ticket for tonight), I had reason to contemplate the following yogurt dilemma:

Skyr - maybe not technically yogurt (if not, someone needs to explain why, because really - it walks like a duck and probiotics like a duck as far as I'm concerned), but it is both very high in protein/low in fat and perfect in texture and flavor. It also costs $1.99 a serving. And only comes in single servings - although, helpfully, they have a folding spoon in the lid. This adds to the special occasion feeling, but also the excessive plastics.

Greek yogurt - the trend yogurt before Skyr - Nordstrom to the Icelandic Saks Fifth Avenue or Lord and Taylor, perhaps (though the east side of Cleveland doesn't have that many department stores, so I may be stretching this metaphor a little) - is slightly less exclusive, but the nonfat version has many of the same benefits - high protein, good texture (though not as good as Skyr), and still pretty pricey - though you can buy it in larger containers, so you have more say over how much each portion costs in both monetary and environmental terms. And it has multiple brands - and if you know what you're doing (i.e. going to Trader Joe's for the generic), you can actually get it for less than $1 a serving.

Kefir - this is really a drink, and the Vampire Weekend "spill kefir on your kuffiya" line is totally fitting - this is a fancy yogurt for Columbia students who are still trying to find their way through both political fashion and bourgie dairy products. However, beyond the purview of college radicals, it has its place too. In fact, it's quite refreshing and nourishing in DC July, when more solid yogurt becomes kind of repulsive and anything sweeter seems bound to slow you down even more.

Brand-name American organic yogurt: This is what I usually eat - it's consistently cheaper than the internationals, but consistently more expensive than Dannon (which used to be my staple, since it's like $2 a quart, but which I now have trouble eating because it's just not as good as the others and as long as I have my consulting job, I can afford to pay a little more). The texture is decent, it mixes well with the cereal, berries and granola that I inflict on it. This is, normally, Macy's. Except today, I couldn't buy it - my brand was recalled and the cashier was not about to let me go find another one (also, I had a bad experience last time I tried a different brand).

Farmer's Market yogurt: Really good, but again, really expensive - 4 days worth for $6 - i.e. the same as Skyr, but trading protein and texture for the feeling that you are supporting a local farmer.

As with so many other things, I know this situation has more than a fleeting connection to economic globalization, I can't helpe but wonder if there's either a parable or, perhaps, an opportunity for economic recovery in mass Skyr production? Or, from another angle - it's good that these are all still on the shelves, and, in terms of my own finances, I can still afford a relatively high-end regular choice (even if it gets recalled - but that just makes it American, right?) while semi-regularly going for the even fancier ones. But I worry a little - how long will this last?

For Quesadillas It's $1, But It's a Lot of Cheese

Such is the explanation for California Tortilla's extra charge for low-fat cheese. Everything else, it only costs $.30 - something about the explanation got at a much larger truth. If you're willing to pay an extra dollar for less fat, are you also willing to pay less for a taco that naturally comes with less cheese? Or maybe you could just ask them to go light on the cheese? Of course not - contrary to the spirit - you want a LOT of cheese. You just want to feel slightly less guilty about it. And of course, not many people really do this - otherwise they'd buy enough low fat cheese for it not to cost so much extra. Right?

Almost-Whitecaps on the Tidal Basin

OK - I thought that this was going to be more dramatic - but maybe you can tell - it was really windy on Saturday. Windy enough to almost turn my run down to to the cherry blossoms and parade and back into a very grouchy walk. But I did manage to make it both ways - and even passed a guy on a bike who was taking up a whole lot of sidewalk space on the 16th Street hill. Which leads me to a question - why is there no bike lane on 16th Street? . . . or 14th or 18th? Hills are a good place for bike lanes, since bikes on hills are so out of whack with the flow of both pedestrian and car traffic, right? As much as I like the confidence boost that running past a bike gives me, even that was shortlived, since he sped past me at the top of the hill. And really, what other benefits are there to this awkward space-sharing?

A Quick Recap

I got back to DC yesterday after a week in The Cleve for a) my dad's retirement parties and b) my interlude between sublets.

My dad retired officially on Tuesday, but the parties were both last week. So there was plenty of time to learn new details about his career - which he likes to say has been 58 years long, without a sabbatical. I know he has been a paper carrier (from age 10), worked for a smoked meat stand at the West Side Market (high school, college?), priest (after that), licensed clinical counselor (or something like that - essentially a psychologist, but without the letters -for most of my childhood), child welfare administrator, and something like a child welfare administrator but with a more specific title (he was supposed to retire three years ago - allegedly- but stayed on for a project to make systems of care work better for the kids they serve).

Of the places where he has worked, I know the smoked meat stand still exists, although with a different name, but both of the parishes where he worked as a priest are supposed to close in the upcoming consolidation of churches by the diocese (along with a lot of other liberal parishes), and the county government isn't going anywhere (though it is trying to get 800 people to retire so it can shrink without any layoffs). I'm not sure what this means - ,maybe it has to do with longevity or totally switching careers at the right time? Or, in relation to the global economy - even the jobs with the most security (i.e. the Church) don't have the longevity that they once did (or the Latin)? Anyway - it was good to be home for, and I'm glad I went, but I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up . . . or where I'm going to live in May.

Cover Letter Mad Libs

I know this seems like a bad idea - everyone always says that you should make each cover letter individual and unique. Like a snowflake, but way less enjoyable for everyone involved (you know clouds just loove birthing snowflakes). But really inspired cover letters do not come from starting from scratch. I feel like there's a better way to break the boilerplate boredom of saying all of the things you're supposed to say. And I think it involves filling in the blanks - freeing oneself from making whole paragraphs that proclaim "hire me, I'm thoroughly competent at balancing real responsibilities with keeping my Google Reader count under control" - in oblique wording and confident tones and succinct, properly punctuated sentences - by narrowing the creativity down to occasional nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs.

I want to test this as a game, but I just tried writing a generic cover letter and the task immediately got the better of me. It was way too much like writing a real one. And that's what I should be doing right now.

I guess it's best to go with a generic one from a cover resume guide? Anyone want to find a good one and take out selected words?