I Hope for Hope around My Neck

I went to the National History Museum earlier today to get a gander at the Hope Diamond that's on display for a limited time.  I thought the museum would have little foot traffic with the Cherry Blossom Parade being held today.  I did get caught in the wave of the crowd at the parade, though.  Luckily, I drifted right to the steps of the museum.  I had a purpose for going there that went beyond oogling the Hope Diamond.  Ever since Elizabeth Taylor died, I can't seem to get my mind off of her bounty of gems, and this got me wanting to look at sparkly things.  This is my favorite picture of her using her jewelery as a prop.  Oh, how that face could launch a thousand more ships than Helen of Troy?!

The Hope Diamond is encase in a glass box that rotates making it very easy to see as well as get close.  It is a blue diamond that is around 42 carats.  It is set in diamond baguettes.  Dare I say the diamond is relatively small.  I, like others I assume, was a little disappointed in the size thinking it would be the size of my head.  But it's absolutely pure beauty.  With that said, see the beauty for yourself.

The Hope Diamond has several varieties of settings, but it's always a necklace.  The necklace just takes different shape and structure at Harry Winston's whim I presume.  Here are past lives that have been breated into the Hope Diamond.

Government Shutdown: Real Time in DC

On the streets in DC, some people are whispering, some loud, and others too nervous for words.

As it stands right now, the word on the street is that there'll be a shutdown.  The question is no longer "will there be one," but "how long."  Most people think it will only last one week.

Today, the Secretary sent an email to employees at the State Department.  The email, of course, had the obligatory "thank you for your service, these are tough times for us all, etc."  Then, came the batten down the hatches message as in make preparations and get yourself ready for a shutdown.

If this happens, employees will be divided into essentials and non-essentials.  Non-essentials will have to surrender PDAs, blackberries, and any other mobile device that is State-owned.  I'm assuming cars, too.  Non-essentials will not be paid, they cannot come into the office to work as a volunteer, and they cannot use this furlough (without pay) as paid leave that they've accrued for vacation time.  They're not allowed under any conditions to work at home.  About 800,000 employees will be classified as non-essentials.

As for around the city, the Smithsonian Museums will be closed, the National Cherry Blossom Festival parade will be cancelled, trash will not be collected, and streets will not be swept.  National parks are going to close too.  At least that was my understanding.

Problems stymying the budget appropriations include Republicans attaching ideological issues to the bill i.e. cutting funding for Planned Parenthood, provisions on abortion and the environment, etc.  Democrats are holding firm on not signing a bill with these issues attached.  I read a quote in the Washington Post saying that it's basically come down to Congressional members' bumper stickers rather than how to keep the government running.

When walking through Union Station groups were headed to protest on Capitol Hill.  I saw them meeting up inside and outside of Union Station with their signs and tee-shirts promoting their cause.  One of which was Planned Parenthood and a Women's organization (missed the name).

I live across from the Hart Building Senate Offices, and last night all the lights were on until I went to bed around 11:00.  The staffers were burning the midnight oil.

My office is planning a "Party like it's 1996" shutdown party to brighten spirits.  That's the year of the last shutdown (Newt Gingrich up against Clinton). 

I'll keep you posted as this drags on.  Additionally, clearly I'll be a non-essential, but there might be a loophole that allows unpaid interns to work.  I'll find out on Friday, hopefully.

Dog Days

It's days like these that I miss my dog.

There's nothing like coming home to pure fluffy, doggie love on a rough day.

The Who, What, When, Where, and How Paper

When I was in the second grade, my class was assigned a paper to write . . yes, this will lead somewhere, but I have to arrive at it through traveling back into the past.

As I said, when I was in the second grade, my class was assigned a paper to write.  The purpose of the paper assignment was to choose a future career and write a paper answering those five questions--who, what, when, where, and how.  The day papers were to be turned in we were required to dress in the uniform or clothing of our profession and read our paper aloud to the class.

I wanted to be a veterinarian.  I went around the house picking up clothing and accessories for my uniform.  I had a Fisher Price stethoscope, a white lab coat (or a white jacket that passed for one), and a giant stuffed Beagle puppy.  With that one step complete, I moved to the paper or what I thought a paper was.  I remember that I felt like I knew what the objectives of the paper were.  In my mind, they were just answering the questions, and this is, my friends, the pivotal moment when the writing process went horribly wrong.

I took out my Trapper Keeper, got out a loose leaf sheet of lined, notebook paper, and wrote with no. 2 pencil:

1.  Who?
2.  What?
3   When?
4.  Where?
5.  How?

Then, I answered those questions:

1.  Who?  Veterinarian. . .
2.  What?  Animal doctor. . .
3.  When?  When I'm grown. .  .
4.  Where?  Florence, SC. . .
5.  How?  With doctor stuff. . .

Paper done!

I'm taking a poetic license with the answers, but my memory is still pretty fresh to the point I think I'm spot on.

The day our presentations came I was dressed up in character with my dog in arms, stethoscope around my neck, and lab coat buttoned all the way up.  I was proud of my costume.  I felt good.

Then, each student was called up to the front of the classroom to read their paper aloud.  Mrs. Starks went in alphabetical order, which meant I would go after John Ulmer.  The first student went to the front of the classroom and began reading a paper that had full sentences that were fully developed.  I realized right then and there that my paper was no paper at all!  It was one word or, at most, three word fragments.  For Pete's sake, I had numbered my questions and answers.  I realized I had gotten it all wrong.  All the blood rushed into my hot face and I heard a noise in my ears that sounded like I was holding a conch shell to them.  As the students went one after the other, I felt sicker and sicker, more and more desperate for some sort of escape from it all.  A rock to crawl under, a bed to pull the covers over my head, a hole to fall down. 

So far everyone else had followed the assignment.  I was the only one who had messed up.  My last hope was that John Ulmer had messed up like me, and we could share in the humiliation.

Then, John Ulmer went up, and he, of course, had written a paper, too.  He had, unfortunately for me, followed the assignment.  I was next.  My heart was beating so hard it could've broken a rib.  The conch shell sound was still whirring. I heard my name, and I had to get up and get it over with.  The students who were listening wrinkled their brows and looked from one to the other.  I had to suffer through the humiliation.  At seven, I felt humiliation, I felt dumb, and slow. 

I didn't know how to write a paper.  I clearly didn't even know what a paper was.

Now, I arrive at my point in sharing this story of childhood humiliation.  Today, at my internship, I felt that same feeling.  I was second grade me or reduced to second grade me.  I wished for a rock, a bed, or a hole.

Me, Yup it up? Oh, no.

I just want to say that when I first got here I had some serious reservations about all the yuppies.  This is my judgy, judgy testament. 

I thought I had fallen into a Volvo driving, baby jogging stroller pushing, coiffed hair, trench coat wearing galaxy or, rather, a black hole.  I went to Eastern Market my first Saturday and lo and behold if I wasn't wedged between one wire-haired schnauzer after another as I squeezed down the aisles.  That seems to be the fashionable dog breed to own amongst the yup sect.  I'll get to more dominant characteristics.  Just be patient.  I need to set the scene.

Eastern market is like any other market in a metropolitan city--organic vegetables, shade grown coffees, antiques, paintings, artisan jewelry, local art, food vendors, etc.  I thoroughly enjoyed it and bought two lovely wooden cigar boxes to organize my belongings and add some charm to my scant living quarters.  And to munch, I bought some fresh kettle corn. 

While pleased with myself for having a good eye that spotted the cigar boxes tucked out of sight in a hidden booth and smacking away on my popcorn, I looked around and realized everyone looked the same, rather Stepford-esque, but in a modern urbane way not the standard 50's housewife (dare I add kitchen sink alcoholic) way.  I looked to the right, to the left, straight ahead, in the catty corners, and it washed over me.  What washed over me, you ask?  The realization I might not be able to live in this yup infestation.  Thing is I'm used to a bit of eclecticism.  Even in my not small but not medium but not large hometown you run the gambit of various colors, shapes, sizes, attitudes, opinions, and such.

Coming off of this Eastern market epiphany, I was a little blue.  Could I live in this city with so much alike-ness?  After all, this is where Brad and I would like to end up.  I kept revisisting the idea of a place called yupdom and, finally, I knew I could not reign over that throne or wear that crown.  And, as I was realizing this, I started to see things I had missed before because I was accentuating the negative rather than the positive.  Something in me switched and I noticed that it's more of an international city with all varieties of ethnicities, and, most important of all, I wandered about and found other little pockets of the city that are not yup dominant, and if I travel a little out of the city (Alexandria), it's a mixed bag of it all.

Before sending this out, I do own a trench, but let me qualify that by adding there is no baby jogging stroller in my near future, my dog is a giant, fluffy German Shepherd, Camry not Volvo, a coiffed hair on Monday but not on Tuesday through Sunday.  Who has time for that with a long commute?  Not I.

With all that said, I have had a change of heart.  Huzzah!

Note of Caution:  Beware, Hipsters (Sheena, cough cough. . .you know I love you).  You may not thrive here.

Haiku for Marshmallow Bunny Peep

This weekend I'll be cooped indoors not exploring in order to finish a paper I'm writing on American labor unions.  It has to do with the bonding social capital produced through union membership.  I was motivated to write on this topic with the recent events in Wisconsin

Writing hated papers usually means I eat junk food and skip meals.

Here is a haiku dedicated to the memory of the marshmallow peep I ate earlier while frustrated and cagey.

Your yellow, blank Face
Fluffy, sugary Goodness
Hop yum yum Bunny

Yes!  I eat gross, nasty peeps.  Don't judge me.  I feel you judging.

Visual instructions on order to eating a bunny peep (only for peep lovers' eyes):

(Finis)

Peter, Aline, and Chad, Oh My!

Peter, Aline, and Chad came to DC to participate in a Model Arab League competition.  For those of you unfamiliar with Model Arab League, it's like the Model United Nations.  A competitor serves as a representative for the leaders of a country that has been assigned them.  They engage is a sort of verbal ju jitsu as they go head to head with their rival countries.

Being that Peter, Aline, and Chad were in town, they wanted to break bread with me.  Being that Union Station is convenient to me, we ate there.  We didn't get too creative with our dining choice.  Company was more important.  Peter and Aline joined me in eating at my favorite Indian booth in the food court.  Throw everything you've ever thought about yuck food court food out the window!  It's scrump-diddily-umotious.  The samosas are fried, bready, potatoey, herby, goodness.  They make me happy for me.

I prodded Aline to talk a bit about Saudi Arabia.  She spent most of her "growing up" there as it presented wonderful opportunities for her family.  Opportunities in Saudia Arabia you say, and I say "yes."  I was curious because a foriegn service officer I've had the pleasure to meet at the State Department spent five years of her career living in Saudi Arabia.  She described it as the worst five years of her life.  Her favorite station as a foreign service officer was Syria for those reading who are interested.  Aline had a different opinion, and lets be glad for that.

We sat around yammering until we were asked to leave the food court since the food court was closing.  After being encouraged to leave, we took a stroll around Capitol Hill where I live.  We walked by the Supreme Court, Folger Shakespeare Library, Hart Building, and one of the Library of Congress's branches.  The cherry blossoms are at their fullest and it was really beautiful to stroll along them with the moon shining and highlighting the white of the blossoms.  I also gave them a tour of Thomspon-Markward Hall.  They were impressed by its history and, well, its floorplan.  Their interest got me to thinking that it might make for a good post.  Just as a teaser, Eleanor Roosevelt cut the red ribbon at a ceremony here celebrating the opening of a new wing.

It was a treat to see friends from Salt Lake.  It's a little lonely here without my goodtime friends.  Thanks for making it a point to see me, Peter, Aline, and Chad.