Friday, August 07, 2009

Three Stories

Winter 2008-09, walking home from the metro:
Waiting for a walk signal I begin to overhear a phone conversation that the guy behind me is having, something about grieving. We cross and begin walking in the same direction and I am either a few steps behind or a few steps ahead the whole time. I'm not intentionally overhearing, I mean, he's having a cell phone conversation in public, but I wasn't able to escape listening either. We were walking in the same direction and there's only one side of the street to be on. The conversation is about someone who has passed away. Most of it is mundane, I don't gather many details, at first I thought a grandparent, aunt or uncle. Then he says "My landlord is calling, I need to take this." That didn't seem like a time to take a landlord's call - until I discover that the person who has died was his roommate and he is explaining to the landlord what has happened. The roommate was on his bike and hit by a car late at night. I can't imagine. I don't understand how the conversation could be so calm, so metered. I listen, hoping that the landlord is forgiving him on a month's rent until he can find - a new roommate? How to move on? Move out? He lives in the building next to me, so I think at least he lives in a condo unit with an owner and not a large building managed by the man.

Summer 2009, on the blue bus
Preppily dressed gay man gets one the bus, talking on his phone. He's doing a sort of phone interview with someone about AIDS support groups. He runs them. The person on the other end is looking for one. He explains how they work, where they'd be, who would be there. Did he just move to the city? Did he recently find out he had HIV? Sometimes I think the world thinks we have passed the difficult 80s-90s when AIDS activism was so front and center.

Yoga class
I listen to the conversation behind me between two girls and a guy, one of the girls who I had seen there before. They are talking about being in the army, holding guns that are too big for their hands. On the other side of the room is a man with one real leg, one artificial one (the kind people run in). It is patterned in stars and stripes. Were guns too big for his hands too?

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Awkward and the Real World

Real World first:
The whiny bitches who live across the street from the Real World house document a fight that goes on outside:
Yes, I don't like people fighting outside my place either, but the first step is to call the cops, then blog about it (and blog about how you called the cops, because otherwise you look like a douche). What I don't understand is the WSC thing:
They're forbidden from speaking to anyone? What? I just find this weird, like often interactions with people at the gym are kind of awkward anyway, so why does it matter if some guy from the Real World asks to work in a set or when you're going to be done with the treadmill? Seriously.
And, a friend of mine ran into some cast members at a bar the other night. Said friend wants to hang out with them but doesn't want to be on camera. Try the gym maybe?

Awkward last:
In college one summer I dated this guy and would stay at his place every so often, but had to leave around 6am to get home. I got really good at public transportation around Boston that summer. Anyway, on my walk to the bus stop I always passed a crew of Hispanic guys sitting on their stoop (at 6am???) and usually got a shout out. At the time, definitely annoying, and if I had to walk past that every day now I would still find it annoying. But there's something I miss about that (discretely leaving at 6am? having to take the bus? the heckling?)... Ok, not miss exactly. More like I live in a quiet neighborhood across from a well-patrolled park that homeless people don't sleep in, and sometimes my walk to work is uneventful. I was reminded of this when I walked out the door the other day and some guy yelled across the street to me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying and ignored him because generally that's what I do when men I don't know yell across the street at me. Anyway, not sure what he was trying to say, but do know that when he finally raised his voice enough for me to hear him he was telling me that he's in the Army and just be polite, man. Oh wait, I'm sorry. If you're in the Army you should be able to raise your damn voice enough that I can understand what you're saying and not think you're just being incredibly sketch.

Rant over. At least I don't live across from the real world house, bitches!

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Sarcasm Much?

"They're great-looking, and good dancers. I think they're going to fit into D.C. perfectly."
Via Reliable Source

Now let's talk about things that you don't see every day in DC:
1. Great-looking people, like stunning, attractive, dashing, gorgeous. Granted, IMHO the cast is not "great-looking" but maybe they're "hot for DC" which isn't that hard to be if you're youknow, normal.
2. Good dancers. Again.... Maybe good dancers for DC. Maybe? Or they just get really drunk and cut loose (footloose, kick off your sunday shoes) and it seems like they're good dancers because you're drunk too?


Monday, July 06, 2009


Say Hello to Underachieving

The NY Times writes this article about kids who can't get White House internships who are then incapable of getting real jobs either and loaf around the house. I a little bit don't feel bad for them. I mean, it sucks that you didn't get a job, but maybe you weren't cut out for a White House Internship. Did you reapply with the company you worked for last year? And they didn't take you back? Hmmm...
Well, if you don't want to flip burgers, and your parents can afford to keep you lazing around the house, maybe you could use your time to VOLUNTEER instead.
No, you will not get paid.
But, you could gain not only something that looks good and altruistic on a resume but some valuable experience too.
And you would be "making a difference." It does feel good sometimes.
Try homeless shelters, summer camps/schools, etc.

This article just annoyed me a little. But then again, I always had a (paying) job during the summer in college. Granted, it wasn't real work - it was day camp, but they paid well, so that was more important than answering phones for no cash just to maybe get a leg up.

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Why Outlook Sucks - A Common Gripe I'm Sure

This is  how the Ed Sector newsletter looks in Microsoft Outlook:

This is how it looks in gmail viewed in firefox:

This is how it looks online:

Size and colors differ between gmail and web, but outlook? Oh lord microsoft try moving into 2005 at least!
Here is Education Sector's website in case you're curious:

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Owen Wilson + Reese Witherspoon FTW

Yesterday started out as the worst day ever. I had a horrible morning with the dentist, who is a jerk, because they don't do fillings with silver (seriously) and my insurance doesn't cover composite fillings. Then after being abused for an hour and having a piece of rubber pulled over my face, I got a third shot of novacaine to my f-ing jaw when the dentist decided that it wasn't working out, that the novacaine was not effective and he couldn't finish drilling and he was going to give me a temporary filling and send me home.
Did he just break up with me? Seriously, I was going to have the upper hand in the dental break up. As soon as I got home I called the dentist who I've lined up for my next cleaning and asked if they could fix my fillings. And I'm in. Fifth dentist in less than five years.... And of course a friend of mine had told me that the filming crew trucks were set up down my our office and here I am at home.

Waiting for Comcast.

And then Comcast decided to F with me. I know, I'm not surprised. Basically they were supposed to come by, but the technician called me to tell me that actualy he won't be coming by because the Comcast phone idiots weren't supposed to send someone out for the kind or error our cable had and that he'd have it fixed within 24 hours and I should call his supervisor if it wasn't working. I know, this is not that bad, but someone could have done that 2 weeks ago when I first called them.

And then the day started to brighten.... We decided to go for the usual run, across Memorial and Key (because we'd heard they were filming) and it was going fine until raindrops started to fall and the wind kicked up. By total coincidence, we ended up under the Whitehurst where they were filming as the trees bent backward, lightning struck, and it started to hail. So we stopped to see what was going on.

AND TOTALLY SAW OWEN AND REESE FILMING. The sucky part? I didn't have my camera because we were out for a run....
They were filming a scene where they walked through the park holding a plate of donuts, in the rain. The funny thing was that they used artifical rain to film it and had to wait for the storm to end before they did the walking.
Owen Wilson is super skinny and Reese Witherspoon is super ittybitty. It was pretty exciting though and I wished that (1) we weren't soaking wet and hungry and (2) that I had a camera and of course (3) that I could have hung out and watched it for longer.

Of course, to put the cherry on top, when we got home, half of the power was out (and my internet). It came back on but of course was out this morning, as was the AC and the hot water. I took a cold shower post yoga...

But, dream is somewhat fulfilled!

Friday, June 26, 2009

Own Wilson Watch, filming in Georgtown

Now onto this movie, we went out on an Owen hunt the other day.
This is Le Pain Quotidien:

Owen was not here.

This is the Four Seasons:

Owen was not here either.

This is Baked & Wired. I love Baked & Wired. Their (barista's) sense of humor suits me perfectly.

Owen was not here either.

(The billboard here is encouraging you to make it 4/20 every day by buying a B&W t-shirt. Hah. The other side said something aout their hippie crack.)

This is where Owen was filming on Wednesday:

Owen was not here. Either.

But his truck was:

So, what have we learned?

Owen is holed up in the Four Seasons eating his Georgetown Cupcakes and going on secret bike rides. Without me. Sigh.