There Is No Spoon

Blog Action Day 2010: Blogging for Water Awareness

2010-10-15T11:00:00.001-07:00

What do you do first when you wake up in the morning? After turning off my alarm, I reach blearily for a drink of water. I take for granted that I can and that, if I'm really thirsty, I can guzzle as much as I want. One in eight people - nearly one billion, worldwide - can't do that because they don't have ready access to clean water.

Count the people you see today with that number - one in eight - in mind. The eighth person you passed on the street on the way to work? She can't hop in the shower to warm up first thing on a crisp fall morning. The sixteenth car you passed on your way home? The driver can't splash cool water on his face to wash off the sweat of a long hike under a hot sun. The twenty-fourth person you pushed your cart past in the grocery store yesterday evening? Her kids are always thirsty, because she has to use what little water she has, dirty as it is, to cook enough food to keep them from starvation.

Meanwhile, every hamburger we eat is the result of hundreds of liters of water - for just one meal. (The estimates on the water used during the production of a single hamburger vary widely, ranging from a little more than 100 liters all the way up to 2,400 liters, or about 27-634 U.S. gallons.) Have an iPhone? Every charge uses half a liter of water's worth of electricity. (And there's probably an app for that.) In 2010, 2.5 billion people don't have access to a toilet - and 1.2 billion don't have any bathroom facilities at all - but only about 1 billion people worldwide don't have a cell phone.

I'm not saying that we should give up our showers and our filtered water and our favorite meals in a fit of guilt. That wouldn't do anyone much good. What I am saying is that not enough of us are aware that there's a global water crisis - and that needs to change.

The first step toward solving a problem is recognizing it, and that's what we need to do. We need to think about water the way we think about what we're going to have for dinner, or what one thing we really want to do tomorrow - it needs to be something that's always there, at the back of our minds. That way, when you're washing dishes, shutting off the tap in between rinsing plates will become a habit, if it isn't already. So will waiting until you have a full load to do the laundry, taking shorter showers and turning off the water when you brush your teeth. You might mention to your neighbor that the barrel in your backyard is for collecting rainwater to use for watering your garden so that you can donate your water bill savings to an organization that provides clean water to communities in Africa. He might think, "Wow, that's a great idea," and do the same. Gradually, the message will get out: water is precious and scarce, and we need to help more people gain access to what they need to survive.

So here's what I want you to join me in doing today:

Visit the Blog Action Day website. Read up on water - its scarcity, the hardships people experience trying to get it and ways to start solving the problem. Think about what you read, and share it with a few people you talk to today. (The statistic that touched me most? 42,000 people die every week - 38,000 of them children under five - from not enough water, unsafe water and unhygienic living conditions. That adds up to more people than are killed by violence, including war, every year.)
Monitor your water usage. Be conscious about reducing the water waste in your home, even just by turning the tap off a few seconds faster every time you use it. A great idea my brother's family uses is saving the water from my niece's baths to water their yard.
Lend a hand. Fortunately, there are some fantastic organizations working globally to combat this problem and making some real progress, at least one of which I've written about on this blog before. charity: water, Ryan's Well Foundation and Water.org make it their business to raise awareness and work to get clean water to the people who need it most. As you think about where you might make donations at the end of this year, a popular time for charitable giving, consider them.

The global water crisis isn't something we can ignore without serious ramifications for each and every one of us. With less than 1% of the world's fresh water accessible for human use, every drop is precious. Let's start thinking about that, and doing what we can to help.

This post was written as part of Change.org's Blog Action Day 2010. There are more than 5,016 blogs in 137 countries participating right now - to add yours, click here. Blog Action Day 2010 is also taking place on Twitter, using hashtag #BAD10. To read a travel-centric post about the water crisis and how travelers can help, visit Diary of a Wandering Student.

Recipe Corner: Pumpkin Bread

2010-10-11T05:35:00.001-07:00

I love autumn: the beautiful colors, the crisp temperatures that are just right for curling up with a mug of tea or hot chocolate and the ready availability of various kinds of squash, which I think is delicious. Dealing with the tough hulls of most squashes intimidates me, so I usually settle for recipes that don't involve trying to hack through them. One of my favorites is this one for pumpkin bread, which I made for the first time this season yesterday. Enjoy!

Pumpkin Bread

Servings: ~20 (two 8" x 4" loaves)
Preparation Time: 10-15 minutes
Cooking time: ~1 hour

Difficulty: Easy. Just toss the ingredients into a bowl, stir and pop in the oven.

Ingredients:

3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (I'm debating trying this with half whole wheat flour, but haven't done it yet.)
2 cups packed dark brown sugar (If you want a slightly less sweet bread, don't pack it.)
2/3 cup granulated sugar

15 oz. pumpkin puree (I use one can of Libby's Pure Pumpkin; most recipes for this quantity call for two cups, but I found that it didn't quite bake all the way through on the inside unless I let the outside get a bit too done, so I use just a bit less.)
1 2/3 cup applesauce
2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 - 1 tsp ground nutmeg
3 tsp ground cinnamon

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350°F. Prepare two 8" x 4" loaf pans (I use cooking spray or parchment paper; use your preferred method.)
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients. Mix until the flour has been fully incorporated. Evenly divide the batter between the two pans.
Bake at 350°F for 1 hour, or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove from the oven and cover tightly with foil; allow to steam for 10 minutes. Remove foil and turn out onto a cooling rack. Tent the foil loosely over the loaves and allow to finish cooling. ("Steaming" the bread locks in the moisture of the pumpkin and allows it to set a bit, which is one of the things that makes this bread so delicious. Do give it the full 10 minutes - the first time I made this recipe, I got impatient and turned the loaves out to cool early, which caused one to break in half.)

This bread doesn't really need butter, but adding it (and microwaving it for a few seconds, if you're not eating it still warm from the oven) completes the rich flavor of fall. Add a cup of tea or coffee and pretend you're walking through a forest flaming with the colors of autumn. (Or go for the walk, then have the bread!)

The Good Samaritan Muslim

2010-10-08T17:20:00.001-07:00

Before this past Sunday, I hadn't given the word "Samaritan" much thought. A Samaritan is someone who does good deeds, is kind to others, we should all strive to be one, etc., etc., and I think there's probably something about it somewhere in the New Testament. It's just a word, right?

Apparently not.

I spent a few days this past weekend in my hometown of Manhattan Beach, CA, catching up with friends and family and enjoying the annual Hometown Fair. A tradition of mine, whenever I'm in town on a Sunday morning, is to go back to the church I grew up in - Manhattan Beach Community Church - for services, which I was happy to be able to do last weekend as well. My beliefs aren't 100% in line with what MBCC preaches, but I spent a large portion of my childhood and adolescence there and going back to a community that's open and welcoming to everyone, whatever their beliefs, always feels like going home. Being greeted warmly, whether by new members of the church I don't know or by members who remember me from when I was eight years old, is as comforting a sensation as curling up by a fire on a cold day.

I was especially excited to be there this past Sunday, since a friend of mine who also grew up at MBCC, Joe (now Rev. Joe Zarro!), was giving the sermon. It was titled "The Good Muslim," and as Joe is one of the most compassionate, kind, thoughtful and inclusive people I know, I was eager to hear what he had to say about the haze of intolerance toward people who hold differing beliefs and particularly toward Muslims that seems to be spreading throughout much of the U.S.

Joe read the parable of the good Samaritan from the book of Luke, about a man who is set upon by thieves, beaten and left on the side of the road. A priest and a Levite (a man from a particular Hebrew tribe) each see the man and each passes by on the other side of the road, leaving him there to suffer. A Samaritan happens by and is the one who helps the man, tending his injuries and taking him to an innkeeper, whom he gives the equivalent of about two days' pay to care for the man until he can return.

Today, that doesn't seem like an exceptional story: the Samaritan is so called because he helped the man who was injured - he was a good Samaritan - right? Wrong. Joe explained that Samaritans were actually part of a religious sect (and they number about 700 worldwide today), one that was reviled by Judaism and treated with the same intolerance and fear with which Muslims are met in much of the world today. For the skeptical Jewish lawyer who asked "Who is my neighbor?" when Jesus instructed "Love thy neighbor as thyself," the idea that the Samaritan was his neighbor and deserved to be treated with fairness and respect was as radical as suggesting to a member of the Tea Party that a Muslim is his or her neighbor today.

The takeaway from this is that if a Samaritan, a man widely hated just because of the personal beliefs he held and not because of anything he had said or done, was the only person with humanity enough to stop and help a man who couldn't help himself, what does that say about prejudice and intolerance? If the Samaritan - or the Muslim, to use a modern example - hadn't existed, as the injured man himself - let's update him to a Christian - may have wished at some point in his life before that day on the road, what would the man's fate have been? The priest and the Levite - a pastor and a rabbi, in our modern example - would have passed him by and he would have continued to lie there, bleeding. The Samaritan (Muslim) demonstrated more compassion than anyone else in a society where he was regularly scorned and we remember his good deed, having long since forgotten that we ever despised or mistreated him.

This may be a parable from the Bible, but it also sounds a lot like common decency.

When it comes to organized religion and worship, I'm not a particularly active participant. My beliefs are my own and I usually prefer to keep them private. What I do share is my faith, a word I think is sadly under-utilized: my faith in the strength of community, my faith in the love of my friends and family and my faith in the basic goodness of humanity. In all of the shouting matches the past few months about how terrible it is that masjids (mosques) and Islamic community centers are being constructed around the country, amidst all the slander against Muslims as a single evil entity rather than a diverse group of people like any other, I haven't heard one critic mention a single Muslim he or she knows personally. And I have to wonder how anyone can hate more than one billion individuals they don't know - it seems to embody the very extremism these critics profess to stand against.

This wave of intolerance, hatred and bigotry worries me. But I have faith that neighbors will stand together against the mob and not only protect the people that mob seeks to cast out, but speak out on their behalf. I have faith that, if one person in that mob, and then another, and then just one more, stops shouting long enough to meet one of the people they've been shouting about, that they'll fall silent, realize that this person is their neighbor and turn to stand with, rather than against, him or her. I have faith that every one of us who shares space in this society can coexist, more or less peacefully. That faith has nothing to do with religion - mine or anyone else's - and everything to do with believing that people are basically good and, when face-to-face with another individual, whatever they look like or believe, will usually choose to accept, rather than hate, one another, because the commonalities that unite us almost always far outweigh the differences that we choose to let divide us.

If you're reading this, you're my neighbor and, although we may not always agree, I believe that we're more than capable of respecting one another for who we are. And I promise that if I see you bleeding on the side of the road, whoever you are, I'll stop and do what I can to help.

Bookshelf: Foreigner

2010-08-19T12:40:00.000-07:00

I read a little bit of everything; I always have. My dad loves science fiction, so I read some of that. My mom likes historical fiction, so I read some of that. You already know that romance novels are among my greatest guilty pleasures. I went through a phase in middle school where I read Madeleine L'Engle and any kind of poetry I could get my hands on, almost exclusively. I'm a compulsive shopper in bookstores and libraries: if it looks interesting, I'll take it. Shakespeare? Absolutely. Hosseini? You bet. A random book on the psychology of women? Why not? The latest take on the relationships between the founding fathers? Yes, please!

So when my dad and my brother both suggested a sci-fi series that starts with a book called Foreigner by C.J. Cherryh (one of their favorite authors, whom I had never read before), I shrugged and figured I'd get around to it eventually. When they mentioned the series is about an interpreter, I opened the first book the next day. And, just so you can't say you weren't warned: sci-fi series + interpreter living in a foreign culture + author-invented language = this is going to be a very geeky post.

The basic premise of the series, the first book of which was published in 1994 and the most recent of which - the 12th - came out this year, is that a human spaceship gets lost on its way to a potential colony and, after much struggle (which is greatly abbreviated in the beginning of the first book and fleshed out as it coincides with the present-day storyline throughout the series), finds its way to an inhabited planet in another solar system. Much infighting later, some of the colonists get tired of living on a ship and make their way down to the planet, where, predictably, clashes with the native population (the atevi) ensue. Fast forward 200 years (part of that "greatly abbreviated" portion) and you have a human population that's confined to a specific geographic area where the atevi are not allowed to venture, and one human who serves the aiji (the atevi leader), and by extension the entire atevi population, in the capacity of cultural and linguistic interpreter (known in Ragi, the atevi language, as the paidhi).

When the storyline's present day begins in Foreigner, it's a 20-something man named Bren Cameron who holds the position of paidhi. The plot starts out complicated and becomes more so, but is interesting and fun to follow through the lens of Bren-ji's (a familiar form of address, in Ragi) flexible and seeking mind. I'm in the middle of the third book, Inheritor, and am very glad I won't have to leave Bren and his friends (although that concept does not exist in Ragi, something with which Bren struggles frequently) anytime soon.

I'm not actually sure what the average sci-fi reader would appreciate most about this series. Maybe the fact that the atevi culture is so well-established in the author's mind, and that the focus is much more on them and the paidhi's growing understanding of them than on the human population, which mostly lurks in the background and pops in and out of Bren's thoughts with telegrams and memories. Maybe the fact that the human population in the story originated from a time when humans were space-faring, but have lost their ability to reach space and the entire world, the atevi foremost, is on the brink of achieving that capability together.

I'm not sure how the average sci-fi reader views this series because I'm so captivated by Cherryh's treatment of Bren Cameron's psyche as an interpreter immersed in a foreign language and culture that I can't seem to stop geeking out about the storyline on a linguistic and cultural level long enough to geek out about it on a science fiction level.

As far as I can tell, the Ragi language is Cherryh's invention, of which - at least at the back of the first two books - she explains the pronunciation. You pick up bits and pieces of the structure and cadence of the language throughout the books, both from the scattered phrases Cherryh includes in Ragi, and from Bren's thought processes about the language, its ties to and expressions of the atevi culture and the specific difficulties he experiences when he has to switch back to Mosphei', his native, human language. In the book I'm reading now, pieces of the language are laid out a little more explicitly, since Bren is teaching it to another character.

Equally as interesting as the Ragi language itself is Cherryh's grasp of the psychological impact of acquiring fluency. The frustration Bren struggles with when trying to deal with what should be his native language and culture is exactly what I felt when I came back to the U.S. after a year in France: things that should have been normal annoyed me, I fumbled trying to communicate in my own first language and generally felt like there was a wall of one-way glass between me and what I had once considered the every day. In Inheritor, one passage in particular made me burst out laughing at its accuracy:

There were moments lately when not only the right word wouldn't come, no word would come, in any language... Deep fluency started by spurts and moments.

This feeling of a total inability to communicate, in any language, is something that hit my friends and I somewhere in our second or third month of immersion and cropped up at random times for the next month or two. We called it the "black hole" between French and English and, fortunately, were able to laugh about it, frustrating as it was, because we were all going through it together. Finding the same experience in a sci-fi book was completely unexpected, but gives me even more respect for C.J. Cherryh and her thoroughness.

So if you like sci-fi, or culture, or language, or are just looking for a reading list to keep you busy for a while, I definitely recommend picking up a copy of Foreigner and letting it suck you into the series, and into the complex world of Bren Cameron and the atevi.

(Bonus: Ms. Cherryh, a former Latin teacher, has Latin lessons on her website. Far from traditional, but they're very interestingly and effectively put together!)

Found in Translation

2010-07-30T10:00:00.008-07:00

Is it just me or does 2010 seem to be speeding by? I've just gotten my head wrapped around the fact that it's summer, and all of a sudden, August is two days away.

I'm six months out, give or take a week or two, from my departure for Australia, and anticipation is building by the day. I've bought hiking boots (although those are practical for Arizona, too), found a new rolling duffel after bidding a fond farewell to the most beat-up of the two that saw me through four years of college and nearly three years of post-grad life and - after considerable research - have chosen a pack in which to lug more of my stuff to the other side of the world and been fitted for the right size. I filled out my housing application last week and am nervously toying with ideas for scholarship essays. I've loosely planned out my course schedule for the two years of my Masters program. I'm so excited, both to travel in a new part of the world and to study subjects I love, that some days I feel like I'm going to burst.

One thing I realized I haven't done, however, is explain my choice in courses of study. My choice of school was one thing, but I haven't touched much at all on why I want a Masters of Translating and Interpreting with a Masters of International Relations in the first place. (On a side note: every time I babble out that mouthful to someone who asks what I'm going to be studying, there's a moment of stunned silence while they try to digest what I've just said. It makes me feel a little ridiculous.) So, here goes...

My one required course my second semester abroad in college was French to English Translation. Translation was a scary word. And, actually, it sounded kind of boring. Why would I want to take someone else's words and plug them into another language when I could write my own, in either language? I dreaded that class throughout first semester, when two of my friends were taking it, despite their protestations that they liked it. About halfway through my first translation, an excerpt from David Sedaris' Holidays on Ice, a light blinked on in my head. This is translation? This is fun! What was I worried about?

Translation became one of my two favorite classes that semester, not least because of my professor, a professional translator in her own right, and one who understands that languages can - and should be - fun. What I learned from her, and through the practice of translating several pages of varying material each week, was that translation is a far cry from something as simple as transposing a word from one language into the matching word in another.

Like people, language has baggage. Words have a history that's tied to the places they come from, the places they're used and the evolving cultures of the people who use them. And finding the right way to communicate not just the meaning of the word itself but all the nuance of its baggage requires an understanding of cultures on both sides of the translation. (Of course, this doesn't apply quite as often or to the same degree when you're talking about translating instructions for assembling a piece of furniture, but we've all laughed at the stilted language in manuals for things manufactured in another country.)

Part of the translator or interpreter's job, especially when it comes to literary translation (which is feared by translators far and wide as the black hole of the industry, in which you lose yourself and never make any money - so, naturally, it's my favorite type of translation) and diplomatic interpreting, is having a firm grasp of the historical and cultural baggage of both the language he or she is translating from, and the language she's translating into. That knowledge, and the ability to translate nuance and background without interrupting the flow of the text - or the speaker's rhythm, in interpretation - is the mark of a good translator. Which means, when you're dealing with a good one, you won't even be aware that they're there, and you'll be able to read or listen to the thoughts of someone from thousands of miles away, with a background that may be radically different from yours, as though they lived in the house down the street.

And that - that bridging of physical, cultural and linguistic space - is why I want to be a translator and an interpreter. I tend to view the world in terms of relationships, between people, between words, between cultures. What's the same? What's different? How does what's different relate to what I know and understand? Usually, what's different has some point of reference to what I know, that makes what might at first seem alien at least something I can grasp, if not fully comprehend. And it's those points of reference, those connections between languages, that let us bridge the gap between cultures and appreciate the lives and thoughts of men and women to whom we may never have given a passing thought, but whose lives - and livelihoods - are inextricably linked to our own.

Our world is getting smaller, and the need to communicate more effectively, more thoroughly and more often with others is growing. Much of the world is in crisis, whether humanitarian, environmental or economic, and that isn't a reality that's going to change anytime soon, especially if we don't talk to one another across the political and linguistic boundaries in which we've barricaded ourselves. There are great ideas out there, in every corner of the world, and translating them, language by country by continent, can only help our collective future.

I dream about a world where every idea - an environmental solution, a discovery in astronomy, a humanitarian cry for help, a literary daydream - races from person to person around the globe within moments of its inception, sparking interest, aid and inspiration. Largely thanks to the internet and affordable international travel, we're closer to that dream than we were thirty years ago, but we still have a long way to go. In becoming a translator and an interpreter, I hope to bring us just a little closer to making that dream a reality.

Beautiful Places: Mt. Rainier National Park

2010-07-09T12:15:00.000-07:00

If my love affair with the Pacific Northwest was launched by a specific event, I can't remember what it was. It might have been a ferry ride, a whale-watching tour or a particularly gooey-sweet pastry. I don't remember not loving the region. I've spent some of the most enjoyable weeks of my life between the coziness of downtown Portland and the stark beauty of British Columbia's Desolation Sound.

One of the best parts of the Pacific Northwest, whether your definition includes Northern California and Alaska or not, is its national parks. And Mt. Rainier National Park - just a couple hours' drive from Seattle - is one of my favorites.

With its peak reaching 14,410 feet above sea level, Mt. Rainier dominates views from throughout the area on sunny days - I've seen it from an eastbound ferry leaving the Olympic Peninsula, for half an hour prior to landing in a plane headed into Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, on runs between Lake Sammamish and the Issaquah Alps, from Lake Union in the heart of Seattle and from a bridge around mile 19 of the Rock 'n' Roll Seattle marathon. But I've also been in the park, staring straight at the mountain, and seen nothing at all - like at Denali in Alaska, the cloud cover can be impossibly thick.

But Mt. Rainier is far from being the only attraction at the park that bears its name. Mt. Rainier National Park covers 368 square miles of land, lake and mountain, with more than 260 miles of trails. You can go from sweating at the park entrance to staring at snowbanks outside the Paradise Visitor Center an hour later. You'll see marmots and pika, hummingbirds and northern spotted owls, shaggy mountain goats, timid black-tailed dear, black bears, elk and various species of salmon. You might find views of fields of wildflowers in brilliant bloom, or of the icy blue heart of one of the park's 25 named glaciers.

Spending time at Mt. Rainier is a sort of live-action Choose Your Own Adventure book. You can eat a picnic lunch at White River Campground and picnic area or browse through the Longmire Museum or one of the three visitor centers. You can take a short, easy walk above the tree line on the Nisqually Vista Trail (named for its views of Nisqually Glacier) or under the shade of enormous old-growth cedars and Douglas Fir at Grove of the Patriarchs (with the bonus of beautiful views of the Ohanapecosh River, particularly from the trail's short suspension bridge). You can join the crowds of cyclists pedaling their way up to Sunrise (if you pick that one, though, I'll meet you at the top, ready to pour water and Gatorade down your throat when you collapse outside the visitor center) or over to Mowich Lake. You can trek to Glacier Basin and back in a day or take the challenge of backpacking the 93-mile Wonderland Trail (the National Park Service recommends a minimum of 10-14 days - longer, with snow or bad weather) around Mt. Rainier itself. Whatever your preferences, the park can keep you busy for as much time as you have to spend there.

For those unfamiliar with our national parks, Rainier is a great place to start getting acquainted with them. I've been hiking and camping in national parks throughout the country since I was in the womb, and this one has been in my top four since my first visit at the age of eight or nine (it has a great Junior Ranger program that will have your kids lecturing you on wildlife and scolding you if you set a toe off a marked pathway or trail). It's breathtakingly beautiful, home to an enormous number of species of flora and fauna and its staff is genuinely concerned with finding the balance between helping visitors discover all that the park has to offer and protecting its delicate ecosystems.

If you ever find yourself in the Seattle area, your visit won't be complete without at least a day trip to Mt. Rainier National Park.

For more information on Mt. Rainier National Park, visit the National Park Service's official site: http://www.nps.gov/mora/. All photos taken by and property of J. Pinneo.

Food for Thought

2010-06-10T13:00:00.006-07:00

I'm in California this weekend - in Davis now, for Gina's graduation from vet school (!) and off to Manhattan Beach, my hometown in Southern California, on Saturday to see family and friends. So it seems like a good time for a quick "Food for Thought" update! Here's what's on my mind this week:

I haven't said much about the oil spill in the Gulf because I just don't know what to say - the damage being done to the delicate ecosystems there is terrible and heartbreaking. But one potentially positive idea (well, positive in a "we've got a lot of lemons, so we might as well make lemonade" kind of way) is this: What if BP trained people put out of work by the oil spill in cleaning the affected marshes, coastlines and animals? It would get some of the innocent bystanders whose lives are being turned upside down by this tragedy back to work and would help move the clean-up process along. What do you think?
The Art of Non-Conformity's Chris Guillebeau has a great post up today about transitioning from one place to another when traveling and the memories that last long after you've left the place behind. One thing he touched on that I forgot to mention when I posted about my "Map of memories" is the sometimes enormous cost of traveling. Many people don't understand why anyone would spend hundreds or thousands of dollars just to go stand on an island, hike a mountain or swim in a lake. Why not buy something tangible that you can use or show off? Beyond the experience itself, you're paying for the memories, Chris says. I agree with him, and those memories are worth infinitely more to me - and most travelers - than any big-screen TV or fashion-forward handbag.
A little more than a year ago, I recorded my "story" for Translator Tales, a project that's creating an audio database of how translators became interested in translation and why they do it. I had mostly forgotten about it until I stumbled across a posting about it on the American Translator Association's website. I don't know that it's of much interest to anyone outside the industry, but if you want to hear me geek about translation, you can go directly to the recording here.
Soccer is about the only sport I watch with any regularity, so I'm psyched up for the World Cup, the first games of which take place in South Africa tomorrow! I'm cheering for the U.S. and France, although I don't know that either will make it to the final matches this year. One of the things I love about the World Cup is that it's kind of like an international team-building exercise. We all take a break (well, to some extent) from yelling at and arguing with our international neighbors and let ourselves get caught up in the power struggle on the field instead. Fans of opposing teams heckle one another (mostly) good-naturedly, players clasp hands amicably with opponents who are citizens of countries with which their own governments are locked in conflict and everyone focuses on having a good time that's rowdy and intense in a completely different way from the international arena's norm. What matches are you looking forward to, and who do you think stands a chance to take home the Cup?

Embracing the Twitterverse

2010-06-08T12:03:00.010-07:00

Remember my disdain for Twitter? Well, I might have to eat my words on that one. I've been using Twitter much more regularly for the past six or seven months, and I'm a convert.

The problem with my Twitter usage prior to this past winter was that I wasn't really committed. (Yes, that sounds slightly obsessive, but bear with me.) I looked at Twitter as Facebook-light and started out by just following people I actually knew. Big mistake!

One of the best things about Twitter is that, except for the very small number of people who block their tweets from everyone but approved followers, you can follow anyone, and anyone can follow you. Rachel Maddow, Joel Stein, The New York Times - all I have to do is click "follow" and I can see everything they post! (Not that any of the three are following me, but then, their tweets are a lot funnier/more interesting than mine.) Breaking news, project updates from my favorite non-profits, latest posts from columnists and bloggers I love - what's not to like? I stumble across great people to follow all the time, either by looking at who my friends are following or seeing an interesting re-tweet and following the account that originally posted it.

And it turns out Twitter is a great local resource. One of my public lists is compiled of accounts that feature great things to do in DC, from my (former - sniff, sniff) Pilates studio, which tweets great deals on classes to Curbside Cupcakes, a cupcake truck named Pinky that drives around the city and tweets its location and the flavors still in stock.

Basically, Twitter does a great job of accomplishing one of social media's most difficult goals: it creates a solid sense of community online, often among strangers. If I'm watching NCIS by myself and want to geek out about something that happened to someone other than my cat, I can tweet, tag it #NCIS and follow that hashtag to see what other NCIS-watching tweeps (Twitter peeps - yes, the Twitter lexicon is a lot geeky and a little scary) think about the episode. I often tweet about running and list "runner" as a descriptor in my profile, which has led to running/outdoorsy Twitter accounts following me, which has in turn led me to some great resources for running support networks, runner-friendly recipes and articles on giving my training a boost or preventing injury. (On the flip side of all the great content I get by following new people, I can also share my own content - namely, this blog - with people who would otherwise never come across it. It's a nice give-and-take.)

And, as weird as it seems on a platform that limits you to conversing in 140-character bursts, Twitter conversations are kind of fun, whether they're with friends about how much fun you had with them on Saturday, people you haven't seen in years about a shared interest or hashtag discussions about race etiquette for runners. Of course, there's also a lot of daily minutiae (my most recent tweet at the time I'm writing this is about a woodpecker in our front yard), but there's so much other content that comes with it - TIME articles, amusing sarcasm, political updates - that it flows by quickly and enriches the whole experience.

Long story short: I've come to love Twitter and I highly recommend giving it a chance.

I've temporarily posted a gadget in the left-hand column that links to my Twitter account, @JessalynP. I think it looks a little odd, so I'll probably take it down in a week or so, but for now you can see all of the random inanities I send out into the Twitterverse without actually going to Twitter.

Recipe Corner: A Fresh & Easy Summer Salad

2010-06-01T12:30:00.003-07:00

It's impossible to not love summer. School and the sun are out, pools and patios are open and everyone seems just a little more relaxed. Not to mention, your local farmer's market and grocery store are starting to pop with the colorful (and delicious) fruits and veggies of the season.

I'm not a big traditional salad person - lettuce is hard to keep on a fork, it needs usually-bad-for-you dressing to give it flavor and sometimes, no matter how much you scrub the leaves before tossing them in a bowl, they retain a faint parfum de dirt. Ick.

I'll eat salad, but I'd rather sauté some zucchini, steam some green beans or just chomp on carrots and hummus to get my vegetables. There is one salad I can never get enough of, however, and summer is the perfect time of year for it. (My mom and I have been making this once a week since I arrived in Arizona. Even my dad, who usually denounces veggies as "rabbit food," likes it!)

Fresh & Easy Summer Salad

Servings: 4-6 as a side salad, 2-3 as a main course
Preparation Time: 5-10 minutes
Cooking Time: None!
Difficulty: Easy. If you can wield a knife and sprinkle cheese, you're good to go.

Ingredients:

2 tomatoes (I tend to buy on-the-vine, but have also made this with cherry tomatoes, and any kind will work)
1 large cucumber
1/4 cup crumbled feta

Optional ingredients, to taste:

basil
brown rice
cous cous
minced garlic
chopped onion
tofu
extra virgin olive oil
Greek dressing
(kalamata) olives

Directions:

1. Wash tomatoes and cucumber.
2. Cut tomatoes and cucumber as desired (For me this means removing the tomato seeds and chopping the tomatoes into small pieces. I don't mind the cucumber skin but my mom doesn't like it or the seeds, so we've been peeling and chopping those too.)
3. Combine tomatoes and cucumber, add feta and serve!

My two favorite things about this salad (other than the fact that it's delicious) are:

It has so much natural moisture and flavor that it doesn't need dressing.
You can toss pretty much anything into it and it will continue to be fantastic.

If a salad isn't edible for you without dressing, Greek dressing, balsamic or just plain extra virgin olive oil go well with it. You can toss it onto a serving of rice or mix it up with some cous cous (which takes all of about 5 minutes to cook) to make a more substantial meal. I've also added leftover sautéed tofu (cubed, extra firm), which was good and would probably make a great addition to the cous cous dish. My mom and I added minced garlic once, which, if you're a garlic lover, is great. If you like a milder garlic flavor, try browning a minced clove of garlic in olive oil first, then adding it to the salad once it's cool. Or for an easier way to add spice, just sprinkle everything with basil before you toss the vegetables, either a few freshly minced leaves or a few shakes of a can.

Of course, with cucumber in the house, I start thinking about cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches, which my mom used to make for me in the summer when I was a kid...

What are some of your easy summer favorites?

A map of memories

2010-05-27T12:34:00.019-07:00

Matt Gross, the New York Times' Frugal Traveler for the past four years, posted his last column yesterday. In it, he writes about the things he's glad he did, the things he regrets not doing and the different ways people define "frugal" when it comes to traveling. It's a great piece, and it got me thinking about all of the traveling I hope to do while I'm studying in Australia.

I've taken something of a hiatus from traveling, aside from visiting family and sometimes friends, since graduating college. Spring break my senior year, when I made a solo trip to Copenhagen (with a side trip to Malmö, Sweden) and Prague, is my most recent departure from the U.S. A quick trip to my hometown in Southern California last April was the last time I went somewhere for no reason other than that I wanted to. For most of the three years since graduation, I've been too busy - and too busy saving - to think much about traveling, but in the past six months I've started to actively miss it.

One paragraph in yesterday's Frugal Traveler column especially hit home:

[M]ore important, it’s about realizing that your budget — whether high or low — does not determine the quality of your travel experience. To travel well, you need to pack an open mind, a lot of energy, infinite patience and a willingness to embrace the awkward and unfamiliar. No amount of money in the world can buy those things — because they come free.

Reading that, I felt a pang of desire to hop on a plane or a train and go - anywhere - because it's a statement I recognize, and one that I agree with 100%. My most memorable travel moments have had nothing to do with spending a lot of money. They haven't happened when I've been in posh hotels or paying to visit a local attraction. In fact, most of them have happened with no money changing hands at all.

You see, for me, travel isn't about the destination, although entering a country I've never been to or exploring a city I've read about for years is thrilling. For me, travel is about connecting with the people and the culture of a place; learning just one small piece of what it is that defines that place and the people who call it home. More than museums or monuments, what I remember about the places I've been are the people whose lives I've brushed against in passing and what they've taught me about their views on life.

My clearest memories from my first trip to Europe, which I browbeat my parents into taking when I was 15, are of the people with whom I interacted. The Parisian waiter who smiled when I ordered my first croque-monsieur, the man in the Eiffel Tower information booth who patiently waited for me to fumble my way through what felt like the most complicated three questions I'd ever constructed in French and never asked me to switch to English, the dog that spent all day following us around Pompeii with a big grin on his furry face, the waiter in Sorrento who insisted it was a crime for me to not be joining my parents in drinking his chianti. I loved visiting the places - I could hardly believe I was standing at the top of the Arc de Triomphe, in front of the mosaics I'd studied in Latin class, in a German castle - but it was the people who made me want to go back.

My year abroad was the same. Aix-en-Provence felt like something out of a fairytale until I connected with the people there: the fruit vendor at the outdoor market on my way to school who took my euro, waved off the extra nine cents the scale had registered and handed me my pears with a wink; the pre-kindergarten student at the school where I volunteered who, after weeks of shyly refusing to talk, sat down next to me, lispingly asked me to read to her and leaned her head on my arm while I did; the elderly woman who, when three of my friends and I foolishly started to cross the street as a bus started down the hill toward us, lectured, "Attention, les filles !" in a tone that said, "What on earth do you think you're doing, young ladies?"

One of the best moments of that entire year was in late April, when my school's cleaning woman and I were making small talk in the empty lunchroom where I was studying. As she left the room, she paused, turned and said, "You know, if I didn't know you were American, the thought would never cross my mind that you weren't French." That's perhaps the highest compliment I've ever received, because it meant that not only had I mastered the language, but had also learned and begun to emulate the nuances of the local cultural patterns. Few comments have ever meant as much to me.

There are dozens of other moments like these that epitomize the places they happened in my memory: a British fast-food employee who was as bemused by my American accent as I was baffled by his Indian-British one, an Irish bus driver who made sure I had a seat with a view of the countryside, an elderly Italian man who commented on my being left-handed in a quiet plaza under the Florentine sun. Pieced together, these memories are a map of my travels that mean more to me than any souvenir I've purchased.

I know the scenery and the local customs will be very different as I travel through and from Australia. I plan to visit Southeast Asia, a part of the world for which I have no cultural frame of reference, and where I'll stick out like a sore thumb rather than blending in, as I was able to do in Europe. I fully expect to not understand half or more of what's said to me when I first arrive in Sydney, although the Macquarie Australian Slang Dictionary from my brother and sister-in-law will help. But the one thing I can be certain of, wherever I may be, is that it's in interacting with people - whether in English, French or pidgin Thai - that I'll find the heart of the place and make a memory to treasure it by that will last a lifetime.

It's time to move on

2010-05-17T12:30:00.001-07:00

I love Washington, DC. I love its wonkiness, its history and the fact that, for two weeks every spring, it's completely covered in cherry blossoms. I love that everyone here is concerned about the state of the world, and that you're more likely to hear people talking politics than sports on the Metro. I love that that's true even when the people in question are wearing Caps jerseys or D.C. United scarves and are heading to or coming from a game. I love that it's a completely different city in the summer than it is the rest of the year, and that significant amounts of snow are rare enough that the entire population turns into a bunch of five-year-olds and runs out to make snow angels and throw snowballs when there are more than a couple of inches on the ground.

I love this city, but it's time for me to leave.

I initially sat down to write this post in March, when some (probably Metro-related) city hiccup had me frustrated. At that point, the above sentence read "I love this city. But if I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to lose my mind." For months, I had been becoming increasingly annoyed by Washington's inefficiencies, its tunnel vision, its suit-and-tie culture. I took it as a personal affront every time someone stepped into my path, sped around a corner as I was stepping into a crosswalk or sauntered rather than speed-walked down an escalator in front of me. Instead of my usual smile at obvious first-time visitors (well, the non-obnoxious ones), I gritted my teeth and walked past as quickly as I could. I was frustrated, edgy and suddenly obsessive about my personal space.

It's true that the Metro has been hitting more rough spots in service more frequently throughout the past year, which leads to jammed platforms, trains that bear more of a resemblance than usual to sardine cans and irritable commuters. And tourist season started in March, which always adds to city inefficiency.

It's also true that, after almost seven years inside the Beltway, the fact that I am definitely not your typical Washington personality is probably catching up with me. If I'm meeting new people, I want what's happening on the Hill or in the Supreme Court to be part of the conversation, but I also want to talk about what the EU is up to, what's going on in the Sudan, favorite hiking trails, great trips taken or planned and future goals that have nothing to do with running for office. I haven't worn a suit since my first interview for my current job almost three years ago, and that's perfectly fine with me. I sometimes dread the very thought of networking (which, in Washington, is akin to blasphemy).

My revelation that maybe I was just tired of Washington and ready to be somewhere else didn't surprise my friends at all, which came as a surprise to me. "You're a total granola type," they told me, "of course you were going to get sick of politico-mania at some point!" Me, granola? Since when? True, I like to buy local, don't own a car, am into outdoorsy stuff and non-profit work and think Seattle is one of the best cities on earth, but the "buy organic" movement generally annoys me and I haven't worn a peasant blouse since my freshman year of college. And the car thing is largely because, 90% of the time, it's more convenient in Washington to not own one.

I'm still not entirely convinced that "granola" is an accurate descriptor of my personality, but the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that inside the Beltway was no longer the best place for me to be. I'd hoped for some time that I'd be leaving in 2010 or early 2011 to pursue a graduate degree, but last fall even that began to seem too far away.

Fortunately, a solution presented itself, as they usually seem to do, which is why I'm now writing this blog from the Middle of Nowhere, AZ. The lease on my Arlington apartment came up for renewal this month and when I asked this winter about the possibility of renting month-to-month or signing a lease of less than a year, I was told both were impossible. The idea of finding a short-term lease and moving in May, then wrangling all of my stuff into storage at my parents' house in December or January before transplanting to Australia for two years was less than appealing. I talked to my parents and my boss and decided that moving to my parents' house in May and teleworking for the rest of the year was doable.

So here I am in my new home office in the Arizona mountains, with Nala curled up at my feet. I saw a herd of deer, a couple of jackrabbits and a few very arrogant-looking ravens on this morning's run and am listening to the wind whip through the pine trees outside as I take my lunch break (which is actually almost the end of my workday, since I'm keeping East Coast office hours). My mom worries that I'll go crazy inside of a month with no friends my age in the area and the nearest movie theater and grocery store 30 miles away, but I'm thrilled to have what feels a lot like time out of time to spend with my parents, focus on the aspects of my work that I love, read, write and relax before heading off on a new adventure.

I spent my last month in Washington doing typically Washington things: having brunch or dinner with friends, going to happy hour, browsing Eastern Market, attending performances at the Kennedy Center and the Washington National Opera, visiting quirky landmarks like the Mansion on O Street, wandering Dupont Circle, the monuments and the Mall. I didn't sleep much, and set my usual monthly budget aside so I could make the most of my last weeks in the city that had become my home.

As I spent my evenings packing boxes and my days rediscovering my favorite spots in the city, something began to change. I was smiling at tourists again, stopping to offer assistance if someone looked especially lost. When my morning train stopped in a tunnel for the third time, I shrugged and turned another page of my book. Rather than rush in and out, I spent ten minutes talking to the man working in The Guitar Shop when I took my guitar in to be re-strung, and he made my day when he called the same afternoon to say it was ready just because "Well, I liked you."

I arrived in Arizona last Thursday, exhausted but happy. And, unexpectedly, knowing that I'm going to miss Washington like crazy this summer: jazz in the Sculpture Garden, lazy evenings on sunny patios, even the swampy mugginess of my morning runs. Watching the Capitol Building drift by for the last time from a Super Shuttle window was bittersweet, which turned out to be better than being thrilled to leave it behind. It was absolutely time for me to leave Washington, but in preparing to leave I was able remember why I fell in love with it in the first place.

Lending a hand up

2010-04-21T18:30:00.001-07:00

It's no secret that I'm a sucker for a good cause. I love (and, conveniently, work in!) the non-profit sector, and admire the work done by NGOs worldwide. Why? There's probably a lengthy explanation involving my psychological and sociological makeup, but basically the answer is "Because I enjoy it." I like people, I like making people happy, helping them in some way makes me happy, and doing it all around an issue or set of issues I care about increases my level of satisfaction tenfold.

Just working in the non-profit sector doesn't always feel like enough, though, and sometimes I want to get my hands on a good, old-fashioned volunteer project, be it painting schools, teaching a language or stuffing envelopes for a campaign. My life has been a little devoid of volunteerism since last May, so early this year I applied to be a volunteer translator for microlending site Kiva.org. I've been translating for them for about a month now, and I absolutely love it.

If you're unfamiliar with Kiva or microfinance, the basic idea is this: Kiva is a non-profit that brings together a community of people dedicated to eradicating poverty by making small loans (starting at just $25) to local businesses. You'll find Kiva entrepreneurs in 196 countries - from California cities to African communities so small even Google Maps hasn't pinpointed them. There are entrepreneurs asking for $100 and entrepreneurs asking for several thousand dollars.

Whatever the amount of the loan, the process is the same: a local microfinance institution partnering with Kiva makes the initial loan, then informs Kiva, which posts the loan on its site (along with a description, photo and repayment term), where anyone who wants to can read the description and contribute to the loan. Once the loan is fully funded by Kiva lenders, Kiva sends those funds to the local microfinance institution and repayment begins. As the entrepreneur makes repayments to the local institution, those are sent on to Kiva, which repays its lenders, who can either reinvest the funds with another entrepreneur, donate to Kiva itself or withdraw the money from the Kiva system through PayPal.

There's always a lot more going on behind the scenes at a non-profit than it appears from the outside. At Kiva, one of the unexpected parts is the group of several hundred translators and editors typing away each week to get new loan descriptions translated into English and up on the site so they can be funded. Each translator is a member of a language team, with access to a dashboard that shows how many loans in their source language(s) are currently waiting to be translated and some other fun facts (for example, mine is showing that there have been 590 loans translated from French in the past month), as well as a link to the system that doles out assignments. And there's a whole wiki community of resources and discussion forums to help translators sort through unfamiliar localized terms and tricky phrases.

While I miss some of the benefits of more traditional volunteerism, like face-time with interesting people - both other volunteers and the community I'm serving - I love that this is something I can do whenever I have a few minutes, from wherever I happen to be, while helping people who are trying to enrich their lives and their communities throughout the world (well, in my case, throughout the French-speaking world).

One of the first loans I translated was for a Beninese entrepreneur named Geneviève whose loan I wanted to partially fund myself. I looked for her on the main Kiva site shortly after posting her loan, then the next day, then the day after...I couldn't find her anywhere! What happened to the loan description? I wondered, frustrated. A couple of weeks and a Google search later, I realized that I hadn't been able to find her loan because it had been fully funded by a single lender immediately after I had posted it. Curious, I delved deeper and found that every one of the loans I had translated had already been fully funded (I just checked again, and even the loans I translated on Sunday evening have already been filled).

Kiva lenders aren't kidding around! They check the site frequently and lend often because they're dedicated to helping get businesses off the ground that, without microlending, wouldn't have much of a chance. Since the first seven loans in April 2007, more than 184,000 entrepreneurs have seen their loans fully funded by more than 400,000 Kiva lenders, to the tune of about $132.5 million. And the repayment rate is an impressive 98.57%.

As a translator, I'm just a minuscule part of what Kiva does, but I love being involved. I get to read about small businesses thousands of miles away and the lives of the people running them, hone my translation skills and feel like I'm making a little bit of a difference when it comes to lending a hand (and not a handout, but a hand up) to some of the people who need it most.

Kiva loans start at $25 and increase in increments of $25. To become a Kiva lender, visit www.kiva.org/lend.

First thing we do, let's all keep it civil

2010-03-11T10:35:00.001-07:00

When I first heard about a district superintendent in Rhode Island who dealt with an under-performing school by firing 77 teachers rather than negotiate with their union, I was shocked. I still am. When I read CNN contributor Ruben Navarette's "Firing all the teachers was justified" this past weekend, part of me was infuriated, but another part was so sickened by his accusatory, holier-than-thou tone that I just wanted to pull the covers back over my head and tune him out.

Navarette seems to be of the opinion that not only was the firing of an entire school's faculty "justified," it was a great idea. And that this is just the way things should be handled in all struggling bureaucracies, including when it comes to politicians in the federal government (who are largely, um, elected officials, just so we're all on the same page here). His snark touches on the idea that a seven hour teaching day, extra tutoring, more non-classroom time with students and some professional development during the summer isn't an unreasonable request. And he's right, it isn't - if it's accompanied by a reasonable increase in salary.

Teachers already work far more than the hours they spend in the classroom every day. They grade papers and plan lessons at home, they shop for supplies (more and more often bought on their own dime), they arrive early and stay late. Many of them sponsor clubs and other extra-curricular activities for their students, investing more of their own time and money. Do all teachers give of themselves so generously? No. Is it likely that each and every one of the 77 teachers fired from Central Falls High School were among those who are in it only for the short hours and long vacations? Absolutely not.

Whatever, Navarette says, they deserved it. Their students performed abominably and it's up to the teachers to face the music.

Certainly some fault lies with some of those 77 teachers, but not nearly all of it. Probably not even half. Particularly in districts where resources are few and the administration is less than supportive, students are often passed to the next grade level when they shouldn't be. Parents don't understand enough of what their children are studying to help them, and can't afford to get them outside help. Sometimes, parents just don't care, and that attitude gets passed on to their children. Teaching someone who lives with the idea that school is just someplace you go until you're old enough to work and that teachers are wimps isn't easy, especially if you're trying to do so after they've been pushed through a system they can't keep up with for ten years.

You already know I think our education system is broken. Frances Gallo, the superintendent who fired the teachers in Central Falls, isn't fixing that. She's just ensuring that the students in Central Falls High School will be so distracted from their studies by the turmoil she's inflicting on her district that retaining anything academic will be even more difficult than before. I hope someone brings her to her senses before her high school is full of overcrowded classrooms led by a handful of inexperienced teachers who are terrified of losing their stressful jobs.

The content of his "contribution" to CNN isn't my only quarrel with Navarette. I also object - strongly - to the fact that he makes his case so rudely. Snark is an amusing and much-used weapon in the blogosphere (which I use myself when something gets me really fired up). It is neither amusing nor appropriate coming from a member of a newspaper editorial board (The San Diego Union-Tribune) writing for a major news source like CNN.com.

Yes, opinion pieces are an important aspect of the news, but writers whose bylines are following respected names like CNN or The New York Times are generally not encouraged to offend every second person reading their work. Or at least, The New York Times generally doesn't publish those who do; given CNN's rampant use of "iReporters," I suppose they may not actually care, as long as they can add content to their site. A blog's raison d'être is presenting an opinion (or, really, whatever the blogger wants it to be) and creating space for an opinion-based discussion; an opinion piece exists to flesh out relevant news stories with the point of view of someone close to the subject. No dice, Mr. Navarette, try again. Not paraphrasing Shakespeare and Sarah Palin in the same piece might help.

N.B.: I actually wrote this post last week, but was in the midst of a bout with a particularly tenacious rhino virus and wasn't certain it was entirely coherent. Now that I'm on the mend and have tweaked it a bit, here it is. And an update on the situation in Rhode Island: graduates of the school have been protesting the firings and speaking up for their former teachers, which is very nice to see.

Learning to Like the Girl in the Mirror

2010-02-21T11:18:00.000-07:00

Body image and the unhealthy way Americans handle it is an issue I've been trying to figure out how to write about for quite a while. It's a touchy subject, one that we as a society often choose to ignore, although the havoc it's been wreaking for several generations is something that isn't going anywhere until we figure out how to deal with it.

Some people place the blame on the fashion industry with their tiny sample sizes and skin-and-bones teenage models. Some look at airbrushed Hollywood starlets with personal chefs specializing in fad diets and personal trainers on call. Both are part of the problem, but so are we, your average members of society. We've put the fashion and film industries on a pedestal and look at them as things everyone should aspire to, devoting our lives and our bank accounts to attaining the current definition of physical beauty.

It's an unhealthy outlook, and it's not okay.

I've struggled with my own body image for most of my life, whether because I grew up chubby in bikini-clad, Hollywood-obsessed Southern California or just because I'm a product of my generation, I'm not sure. I don't remember when or why my body started to bother me, but by the time I was in middle school it seemed like something that had always been.

I started my first diet - The Zone - when I was twelve, and although after a few months I was probably healthier and certainly skinnier than I had ever been, I didn't feel any better about my body. I look back at pictures from that time now and wonder why. Between dance and marching band, my weight stayed fairly stable through my first year of high school, but after that I started to gain weight, every pound feeling like another albatross around my neck, and my self-esteem began to plummet.

Sure, I was smart and articulate and mature for my age, a talented musician, a steadfast friend, a good daughter - a well-rounded, generally nice person. But my body was ugly, so what did it matter?

In class, I never sat with my feet on the floor, balancing just my toes on the ground to keep my legs from looking fat. After middle school, I stopped wearing shorts. Ever. Department store dressing rooms became my personal version of hell, and clothing sizes the demons that haunted me. I nearly broke down in tears two hours before my junior prom because my dress was beautiful, and my body was ruining it.

That was the year I'd started to hate my body with a desperate virulence that festered in the back of my mind, always whispering in my ear. If there was just some way to make that extra weight go away, I'd be so happy. If I could wear a bikini, all would be right in my world. The month before that junior prom, I ate as little as possible. Breakfast was a SlimFast shake. So was dinner, if I could get away with it. I ate the fruit and sometimes the string cheese my mom packed me for lunch, and handed everything else out to my friends - with teenage boys around, someone was always hungry. My caloric intake was probably less than 900 calories a day, a number that makes me cringe now, because I know how unhealthy it is. And still, I hated myself as I zipped up that beautiful dress.

In January of my senior year, I got on a scale. I don't remember why, because I usually avoided them like the plague. The number it registered, while nothing that would elicit more than a shrug and a recommendation for moderate exercise from pediatricians used to dealing with serious childhood obesity, finally pushed something home: wishing and starving myself were never going to make me either thin or comfortable with my body, and I was going to keep hating myself until I tried some other way to get there.

Not much of a revelation, but since I was done with marching band for the year and had some afternoons free, it got me to the gym a few times a week. At first, it was loathing for my body that drove me. Directing all of that frustration, disgust and anger at a machine was better than having nowhere to put it.

Still avoiding scales, I didn't notice a change in my body until I went - reluctantly, dreading what I might find - to try on my junior prom dress to see if I could wear it again to my senior prom. I couldn't - it all but fell off. I bought a new dress in a smaller size and felt pretty for the first time in years. Digging through my closet, I found that I fit into a lot of clothes from my freshman year - including the formal black dress my mom had made for my concert band's spring concert that year. I wore it again to my senior concert, and although I was still self-conscious, that desperate hatred had retreated.

When I went to the doctor for my pre-college physical in August, I'd lost 13 pounds since that awful day in January. The number on the scale was still frustrating, but after a few months away from the demons in my head ranting about sizes and weights and fat, I had the perspective to recognize it as a personal victory.

The next hurdle was college, and the dreaded freshman 15. I was terrified of that phrase, and vowed that I absolutely would not fall victim to it. I spent thirty to forty-five minutes at the gym three or four evenings a week, and by the time I went home for Homecoming in October, I'd lost another 10 pounds. By the middle of my sophomore year, I'd lost an additional 25 pounds and was wearing the clothes I wanted to, in sizes that were SoCal-acceptably small. My cardinal rules were a) that the number on the scale had to drop a fraction every time I went to the gym and b) strictly limiting myself to 1,000 calories per day (one of the most widely-accepted minimums for what it takes to keep a body more or less my size functioning is 1,200) was a good way to lose weight. I compared myself to everyone around me, and if I wasn't among the thinnest girls in the room, I was uncomfortable.

I panicked when I lived with a host family while studying abroad. If someone else was cooking, how could I keep track of how many calories I was consuming and keep the self-loathing monster in my head at bay? I mentioned my worries about gaining weight to some of my new friends. One of them said "Do your clothes still fit?" "Well, yes, but..." "Then what are you worried about?" Perfectly logical, but it took me by surprise and left me completely without a response. I had always avoided talking to anyone - with the occasional exception of my mom - about how I felt about my body. Now that the issue was at least partially out in the open, it suddenly didn't seem like quite the deep, dark secret I had always felt it to be.

That moment wasn't a magic bullet. It didn't make me see immediately that the way worries about my weight lurked behind my every thought was unhealthy. But it stayed in the back of my mind and when I was being so ridiculous about how I looked that even I was sick of myself, it helped me turn away from the mirror and go on with my day. It wasn't until I had been running seriously for several months and had to drastically overhaul my eating habits in order to not pass out that the way I thought about my body really began to change. Gradually, I was able to acknowledge that it was never going to be healthy for me to be rail-thin, because I'm just not built that way. And as I began to view my body more as a functional tool than a display window, I realized that what I looked like was secondary to how I felt.

I weigh more now than I did at my thinnest in college. I'll probably never be entirely comfortable with how I look in a bikini. I still sigh into the mirror sometimes, or fret over the fit of a piece of clothing. But I accept what I see when I face that mirror and a fair amount of the time, I like it. I understand my body better and rather than struggle against it, I listen to what it's telling me. I don't count every calorie I put in my mouth anymore, I don't skip meals and I don't obsess about the number on the scale (in fact, I generally don't even get on one except once a year at the doctor's office). I eat sensibly and stay active, and both my mind and body are stronger than they've ever been. I intend to keep them that way.

I've come a long way from despising that girl in the mirror because all I could see were her flaws. But I know there are too many women (and probably men, as well) out there who can't see anything else in their own mirrors. They starve themselves, exercise with nothing in their systems to burn and mentally compare themselves to cover models, thinking they should be able to look the same, even without professional photography and airbrushing.

The beginnings of an outcry for average-sized models are rattling around the fashion industry, and some actresses are asking magazines not to airbrush photos of them. But until we, as a society, can accept that health and Hollywood's version of it are not the same thing, we're going to continue raising generations of self-loathing women who spend their lives agonizing over numbers on a scale and scraps of cloth. Rather than what will make us healthy, we're told what will make us look better. Rather than seeing ourselves as we are, we're pressured into looking at ourselves through the lens of someone else's body and someone else's definition of what's attractive. Rather than being encouraged to be comfortable in our own skin, we're encouraged to be prettier, thinner, better. I don't know how we succeed in changing that, but I know we have to start by changing the conversation. I hope that sharing my own struggle with that girl in the mirror will move us just a little bit closer to being able to do so.

Bookshelf: Waiter Rant

2010-02-10T16:02:00.005-07:00

I just finished Waiter Rant: Thanks for the Tip - Confessions of a Cynical Waiter by Steve Dublanica and if you eat out regularly or have ever worked in the food service industry, it's definitely worth a read.

I picked it up late last year because the title and the few pages I read while standing at the "New Non-Fiction" table at Borders made me laugh. It got pushed to the middle of my to-read pile during the holidays, but since today is the DC area's third consecutive snow day - the fourth, for some of us - I've had ample time to catch up.

"The Waiter," as Dublanica is known on the blog that launched the book, has been one since an unexpected career change at age 31. Waiter Rant is definitely a first book, with scattered typos and a lexicon that sometimes tries just a little too hard. And if profanity offends you on principle, don't read it (or ever work at a restaurant).

That said, it's a great read. Dublanica's descriptions of the ups and downs of life as a restaurant server are sometimes poignant, often hilarious and always dead on target. (And although it's sometimes a little out of place in Waiter Rant, his descriptive style, particularly when it comes to the seasons and city streets, guarantees that I'll take a look at whatever he writes next.) Why do your expectations of a big, romantic meal on Valentine's Day fall short? Because there are five gazillion people who all want the same thing, and a limited number of hours and restaurant staff to make it happen. What's the big deal about tips? Well, in New York, where Dublanica works, servers make $4.60 an hour (in DC it's $2.77, unless it's gone up since 2007, when I waited my last table). That wage is there so the government has something to tax - servers are expected to make all their actual income in tips. Waiter Rant illustrates these and other restaurant industry tips and mysteries with anecdotes from the waiter's perspective that by turns amuse and impart wisdom (and possibly shock, if you've never been inside a restaurant wait station).

At the back of the book, Appendix A is (a sometimes tongue-in-cheek) "40 Tips on How to Be a Good Customer" that, if followed, will guarantee you never receive a server's death stare - or poor service - again. Some of my favorites (and personal golden rules):

7. Be polite. Say please and thank you. Be courteous to the hostess, bus people, coat-check girl, bartender, and waiter...
36. If you pay part of your bill with a gift certificate [or receive some portion of your meal for free because of a mistake that was not the server's], make sure you tip on the whole check - not what's left over after the certificate's been redeemed.
40. If you can't afford to leave a tip, you can't afford to eat in the restaurant. Stay home.

When I was waiting tables, full-time for one summer and part-time for another year after that, my muttered complaint on bad days was "Anyone who wants to eat in a restaurant should be required to wait tables first." Now I'll amend that: if you haven't waited tables but have read Waiter Rant, I'd be happy to serve you.

Blogging for Choice: Trust Women

2010-01-22T10:22:00.002-07:00

Dr. George Tiller's murder on May 31, 2009 sent shockwaves through the pro-choice and women's rights movements that are still vibrating. Not, as the anti-choice movement would have it, because we're bummed about not being able to easily murder really-soon-to-be-babies anymore but because a good man was gunned down for spending his career doing something he believed in: helping women.

That the "pro-life" movement has branded itself as the only side in this fight that respects human life infuriates me. Do they think it's easy for a woman to decide to give up a child she hasn't had a chance to know? Do they think it isn't gut-wrenching to be told that, if a woman goes through with a pregnancy, she and her unborn child are likely to die? Do they think forcing a rape victim to carry her rapist's baby to term is somehow going to help her recover, rather than sending her into a psychological tailspin of despair, hatred and fear? Do they not realize the heartbreak involved when a pregnancy that brought joy to a woman or a couple has to be terminated because the fetus has stopped growing and the mother's life has been put at risk? Do they not see the courage it takes for a woman to admit that she isn't capable of caring well enough for herself to give birth to a healthy child?

I have been firmly pro-choice since I understood what it meant. I have never questioned my stance on this issue. And I cringe when I think of an abortion as applied to me, my body, my child. There's nothing easy about it.

From all accounts, Dr. Tiller was a man who understood that. He apparently often wore a button that read "Trust women," a phrase that really struck a chord with me. Why do so many people refuse to trust women? Why do they doubt our ability to know what's best for ourselves and our families, to make the best choices we can, to live our own lives, in our own bodies, as we see fit? Why do they think that what happens inside my bedroom and inside my body is their business? It isn't - it's mine.

Society trusts women to carry their weight - to pay our taxes, cast our ballots, care for our families and be generally responsible citizens. In fact, in developing countries, women are often considered better bets for investment than men. More microfinance lenders trust them because they're more reliable about repayment and they're more tied to the community than men. So what's the holdup, in the United States of America of all places, in trusting us when it comes to our bodies and our futures?

Yes, there are irresponsible people out there and some of them are women. We hear about irresponsible people every day - people who rob convenience stores, who grab people's wallets and purses on the street, who murder doctors. You wouldn't take it upon yourself to personally ensure that everyone who went for a walk anywhere showed no sign of being a mugger. (And as far as I know, we have yet to outlaw convenience stores in order to protect their owners.) You just keep an eye out when you and those you care about are out on the street. This isn't any different - you aren't responsible for the bodies or the actions of women you don't know. And when it comes to the women in your life you have a say, but decisions about their lives are ultimately up to them.

So trust us. Trust your mother, your sister, your wife, your girlfriend, your best friend to make their own choices and live their own lives. Trust them. Trust us. Trust women.

This post was written as part of NARAL Pro-Choice America's 5th Annual Blog for Choice Day, on the 37th anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision. To add your blog, click here. Blog for Choice Day 2010 is also taking place on Twitter, using hashtag #bfcd.

Team Tuffy Tofu Rocks Arizona!

2010-01-20T10:40:00.004-07:00

If everybody had an ocean across the U.S.A., then everybody’d be surfin’ like California...

At any other time, two women running down the middle of the street, belting out The Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ U.S.A.” at the top of their lungs would be cause for concern. Sunday, it was pretty much par for the course since these women were into the last third of the Rock ‘n’ Roll Arizona marathon and were loopy on a combination of adrenaline, aching legs and starved muscles. They also happened to be me and my mom.

My mom was a pretty fearsome athlete before she had me. She ran three marathons in less than two years, regularly placing in the shorter 10K and 5K races she ran. After mostly avoiding the water in her childhood, she took swim lessons in her 20s and 30s, determined to become a stronger swimmer – which she did, moving from marathons to triathlons, including one in Portuguese Man-of-War-infested waters in south Florida.

She kept up her running after I was born, and talked/walked/jogged me through one 5K a year starting when I was about 8 (I could have sworn I’d never want to do a longer race than that first 5K). She encouraged me as I started to run more seriously in college and, with my dad, (and some of my colleagues!) acted as cheerleader through my first marathon in 2008.

She turned 60 in August (don’t worry, I got her permission before typing that) and had been talking for a couple of months about doing another marathon to celebrate. It would be her fourth - and her first in almost 30 years - and I was running my third in October. I started to think that a mother-daughter fourth marathon might be pretty cool.

In September, my mom registered for the 2010 Rock ‘n’ Roll Arizona marathon. When she called to tell me she was really going for it, I mentally cheered, registered before we had hung up, then called my dad the next day to tell him he had to keep the whole thing a secret for four months.

As she sweated and shivered and paced through her training miles at 6,600 feet in the Arizona mountains, I did the same in Virginia and Washington, grumbling about the unusual December cold snap and fibbing to my mom about how many miles I was running. I nagged her into making the drive down to Phoenix on Friday rather than Saturday, saying I’d feel better if I knew she had more time to acclimate to the warmer weather and wouldn’t be rushed. And on Friday night, when she arrived at the house of a friend who was in on the surprise and very generously offered to put us both up for the weekend, she cried when she realized I was there to run with her.

Sunday morning, we pulled on our matching “Team Tuffy Tofu” tanks and were ready to go. “Tuffy Tofu” is the nickname my dad gave my mom when they were dating and she was a vegetarian putting an insane number of miles on her feet every week. Then I was born, and was christened “Tuffer Than Tuffy Tofu” (which was completely unmerited, but funny). My dad had shirts made for us, and the joke came up repeatedly over the years, making it the perfect team name for a mother-daughter marathon.

And there we were, at mile 20-something, bobbing along to our own personal soundtrack of The Beach Boys and waving at the cars that passed going the other direction, cheering deliriously at every mile marker that got us closer to the finish line. We crossed it hand-in-hand, whooping at the top of our lungs. And as we walked off with our medals, I looked at all the people younger than my mom finishing behind us and looking in much worse shape than either of us.

My mom is 60, and she just ran a marathon. How awesome is that?

Helping Haiti

2010-01-13T09:30:00.002-07:00

As you've probably heard from six different news sources by now, a 7.0 earthquake hit Haiti - about 10 miles from the capital in Port-au-Prince - shortly before 5pm yesterday. No one has a solid grasp of the damage yet, but with multiple aftershocks of 4.0 and higher, it's going to be bad. The New York Times' latest update gives Haitian president René Préval's estimate that the death toll will be in the thousands.

Getting aid to Haiti quickly is crucial, and complicated by the fact that many of the aid organizations with offices there are searching for their own missing and coping with the deaths of their colleagues. The global outpouring of support started almost immediately: the German government has sent €1 million, the World Health Organization is deploying a 12-person team of health and logistics experts, Iceland has sent a search-and-rescue team, Switzerland has sent an emergency response team and China is sending $1 million in aid, to name just a few of the relief efforts already underway.

If you want to help, here's a quick-and-dirty list of links (N.B. Humanitarian websites and donation pages get jammed with unusually high levels of traffic after a disaster, so if any of the links won't load right away, be patient. Try reloading every few minutes until you get through.):

The U.S. Fund for UNICEF - unicefusa.org/haitiquake
Text "Haiti" to 90999 to make a $10 donation to the International Red Cross (With mobile giving, the organization sets an automatic amount - either $5 or $10 - that's connected to a numeric code and the keyword you send to it. The donation is sent to the organization immediately, and the amount is added to your monthly cell phone bill.)
Friends of the World Food Program
CARE
Direct Relief International's summary of the situation and donate page.
Habitat for Humanity International is gearing up its response, and is accepting Haiti-specific donations here.

These are the humanitarian organizations working in Haiti that I know the most about and in whose work I have a great deal of confidence. If I've missed any you know and support (and I'm sure there are dozens), please post them in the comments. To stay abreast of the global relief effort, check ReliefWeb's latest updates.

What's next?

2009-12-31T16:45:00.002-07:00

Even though I'm not a fan of making resolutions on New Year's, the end of the year is still a good time to look forward, right?

If I'm neurotic about anything, it's planning ahead. For me, part of the fun of any new adventure is having time to work out the details in my head and get excited about it. Plus, by planning ahead, I can usually avoid that awful "I have no idea what's going on/where I'm going" feeling. So I search early and often for plane, train and bus tickets, haunt the websites of papers local to a potential new destination, buy a guidebook as soon as I know I'm going somewhere new, think about possible life scenarios years in advance and always have a backup plan. Or two.

As a result, there's a new guidebook on my shelf this month, and it's called The Rough Guide to Australia. (And I'll be adding Living and Working in Australia - thanks Santa! - and In a Sunburned Country - thanks big brother and sis-in-law! - to the travel shelf when I get back to DC next week.) Why? Because in 13 and a half months - February 2011 - I'll be starting my grad school program at Macquarie University, located just outside Sydney.

(I've said or typed some version of that statement at least a dozen times since I received my official "letter of offer" earlier this month, but it still makes me want to jump up and down, shrieking.)

So, why am I going down under, not for a vacation, but for a degree? The answer to that starts somewhere in my senior year of college, when I decided that pursuing a career in translation was a definite possibility. I hoped. Actually, the answer starts with my English to French Translation professor during my junior year abroad, Francesca Manzari - one of the most broad-minded, encouraging, quietly brilliant people I've had the pleasure to meet - but that's a longer story.

I looked at programs in Paris and Geneva, but the red tape for non-citizens of the E.U. was daunting. Added to which, translation is a much younger profession in the U.S. (well, much more recently recognized, anyway) than in Europe, and American companies and individuals tend to have a blended definition of translation (written) and interpretation (oral), while in Europe they're two very distinct disciplines. Given that I want to be able to work in the U.S., it made more sense to try to study both.

So I started looking for combined T&I (a common abbreviation for the two industries) programs and found one at the Monterey Institute of International Studies. It sounded like an amazing program, although the price tag made me nervous about the loans I'd have to take out. T&I is one of the sectors that's actually expected to continue experiencing job growth for the next decade or so, but it can still be difficult to break into, especially in the U.S., where people are sometimes convinced that a machine can do the job just as well. (Which it can't - machines and nuance don't mix.) What if I came out of school with a Master's from a stellar program, close to $100,000 in loans...and no job?

By poking around the web, I found another combined T&I program at some school called Macquarie in Australia, and kept it in the back of my mind as a less expensive option. I mentioned both schools to a friend from my study abroad program, and he found another program at Macquarie: a dual Master's in T&I and International Relations. It was the perfect combination of disciplines for me, since translating and/or interpreting for NGOs and international organizations is one of my top career choices. And it was still a two-year program and only marginally more expensive than Macquarie's T&I program alone.

Throughout the last year and a half, I've argued with myself countless times about whether to consider Macquarie or Monterey my first choice. They're both well-rated schools with international reputations. Monterey is more expensive; Macquarie is literally on the other side of the world. Monterey is closer to my family and friends than I've lived in a long time; Macquarie would be an unparalleled experience for me. This summer, I finally sat down and did some serious research. Annual tuition costs and cost-of-living estimates, average annual tuition increases for the last few years, plane ticket prices at various times of the year, average prices of apartment rentals listed near campus, internet and cell phone prices, the cost of buying a car in California vs. the cost of a bike and public transportation (and possibly a car) in Sydney...

Somewhat surprisingly, Macquarie came out as the less expensive option, even with two Transpacific trips per year. And since the program fits more exactly with what I want to do than Monterey's, I finally decided a few months ago that I would apply to Macquarie first, and to Monterey only if I wasn't accepted.

The school year in Australia runs from February to December (logical, when you consider the weather puts that at something like August to June in parts of the U.S.) but I didn't want to start in early 2010, so I asked if I could apply insanely far in advance for the 2011 school year. I collected my transcripts, got a copy of my diploma notarized, filled out the few pages of the application and sent it all off, mentally wringing my hands. With no letters of recommendation, how would they know I'm a good student, a dedicated one? With no résumé, how would they know what I've been doing with my life? Without a personal essay, how could I explain how completely the lone translation course on my transcripts changed the direction of my life? (On the other hand, not having to run around getting all of those things together felt really good, if I could ignore the nerves.)

Two weeks after the school had notified me that my application had been received, I opened my inbox to find an email titled "Macquarie University - Conditional Letter of Offer for Jessalyn Pinneo." My heart jumped into my throat. They wanted me! Sort of? I had to take a French language exam, and as long as my scores were acceptable, I would be admitted to the program. I tried not to get too excited, because it seemed like just the sort of thing that could jinx me into failing the exam.

Not quite two weeks later, I got another email that sent me jumping around my apartment with my hand clapped over my mouth to muffle the elated shrieking that might alarm my neighbors. It began, "Congratulations from Macquarie University!" and pretty much made my year right there.

So, Australia is what's next for me. Thrillingly, nerve-wrackingly, somewhat surprisingly next. There's still a lot of time before I go - a lot of planning to do (woo hoo!) and a lot of changes to make. Some days the fact that I'll be most of the way around the world in a little more than a year doesn't seem real. Other days, I can't believe it's still so far away. Either way, tomorrow is one day closer to my next new start, and I'll be taking today's lessons - and all of yesterday's - with me.

Making Connections

2009-12-30T12:22:00.016-07:00

The general pattern for winter weather forecasts in Washington, DC is as follows:

Forecast snow.
Predict that it will be the biggest storm in a decade, liable to keep everyone at home for days and make it impossible to get anywhere or do anything.
Send broadcasters to report on every single snowflake that falls on or near the District.
Make it sound like the world is coming to an end once the first quarter-inch is on the ground.
Pretend nothing was ever mentioned about a snowstorm once the snow stops after reaching a total accumulation of approximately half an inch.

As a result, DC Metro area residents have taken to rolling their eyes at all reports of incoming winter weather and sarcastically refer to forecast snowstorms as "Snowpocalypse [insert current year here]."

This year, however, Snowpocalypse 2009 actually arrived (on December 18th/19th - I know, I'm very late and have been very bad about posting lately) and sent the area into a frenzy with about 16 inches of snow in less than 24 hours. Which happened to be the same 24 hour period in which I was attempting to leave the area to visit my parents for a couple of weeks.

The snow started Friday evening, but it was drifting down so slowly and looked so pretty that I wasn't worried. Until I tried to schedule a pick-up for my 7:00am flight on Saturday and was told by every cab company in Arlington, VA that they weren't accepting reservations for Saturday - I would have to call as soon as I was ready in the morning and take my chances. Okay, so the cab companies were spooked. No big deal, they were overreacting, just like the weather forecasters, right?

Wrong. I woke up to a terrible scraping noise at 3:00am and looked out my window. A pick-up truck with a plow attached to its grille was clearing my building's parking lot of the four or five inches of snow that had accumulated. (Yes, for normal people in places that acknowledge that they get winter weather, that amount of snow is nothing to worry about. In DC, which - when it comes to weather and food, at least - is adamant that it's Southern, two inches is enough to shut down the streets and send people into a panic.) Oh good, I thought, the city was (inexplicably) starting with my parking lot, but then they'd start plowing the streets and everything would be fine in a couple of hours. I got up a little early and got ready to leave, spent 10 minutes on hold with a cab company and, at 4:50, was given a pick-up time in 30 minutes. A little long for a company whose drivers often park/idle next to my building at night, but no big deal.

By 5:30, I was worried. No cab yet, no call from the company telling me when the cab was coming and their lines were now so jammed I couldn't get anything but a busy signal. I took all of my stuff downstairs (Did I mention that my cat, a total stranger to air travel, was included in my luggage?) and flinched when I looked outside. The wind had picked up since I'd gotten out of bed, the snow was coming down harder and it was quite clear that the streets had not been plowed. Another resident was pacing around the lobby, trying to get through to any cab company while the security guard on duty looked up bus schedules for him. I offered to share my cab, if it ever arrived, and paced in the opposite direction, on hold with the cab company again.

By 5:50, my partner in panic (his flight was also at 7:00) had decided to give either a bus or one of the nearby hotels' shuttles a try. I was ready to walk at that point - DCA is literally down the street from my apartment, 1.7 miles by car according to Google maps - but I had no idea what Nala's tolerance for cold might be and I didn't want to risk giving her hypothermia by spending more than a couple of minutes either walking or waiting for a bus in the snow. I promised my fellow traveler that when (if) the cab showed up, we'd circle the block to look for him.

Shortly after he left, a woman came downstairs headed for the J.Crew sale at the nearby mall, which apparently started at 6:00. She was debating driving or walking and I was desperate enough at that point to offer her $20 to drive me to the airport. She decided she'd rather avoid driving in the snow and opted to walk to the mall.

Another resident pulled into the lot just after 6:00 and I briefly debated physically throwing myself in front of his Jeep and begging for a ride (without letting go of my cell phone, of course - I was still on hold with the cab company) before deciding it was on the edge of too late anyway. He came in as I was debating running back upstairs to call the airline from my land line to ask about a later flight, and the security guard - who had been on hold with another cab company for about half an hour at that point - asked if he would consider driving me to the airport, since she knew him. He was clearly reluctant, having just finished work and a long, snowy drive home, but when he looked at me his expression wavered (I have no idea what my face looked like, but it was probably painful to look at) and I pressed my momentary advantage, launching into a series of - polite, I hope - pleas interspersed with explanations of why I wasn't already outside dragging my luggage through the snow.

This gentleman turned out to be the nicest person on the face of the planet and said he'd drop his work gear upstairs and come back down to drive me to the airport. We left at 6:15, with me thanking him profusely approximately every 12 seconds.

It took Mr. NPE (Nicest Person Ever) and I 15 minutes to drive that 1.7 miles, and we only saw one cab (not from the cab company I was waiting for, which, incidentally, never did call to tell me they weren't coming), trying very hard not to slide backward down the ramp into the airport. Everything else on the road was SUVs. After thanking him one last time (okay, maybe it was more like six last times), I gave Mr. NPE my apartment number for anything he might need in the future - cereal, a cup of sugar, a kidney - and dashed into the terminal at 6:30, crossing my fingers and trying not to jostle Nala.

I got checked in with no trouble thanks to the minuscule size of Reagan National and at 6:45 tore off in the direction of the escalators and the security line, which turned out not to be a line at all, thanks again to the tiny size of DCA and the fact that a number of people were having the same trouble I had getting to the airport. (And, I found out later, to the fact that Delta had canceled all its flights the night before.) I scooped up a confused and fairly terrified Nala and clung to her for dear life while TSA ran her carrier through security, coaxed her back inside, grabbed a bottle of water and pelted down the concourse to my gate, stopping just long enough to hand my boarding pass to the gate agent, who was in the process of opening up all the unclaimed seats on the flight to stand-by passengers.

Fortunately, the woman sitting on the aisle in my row liked cats and cooed over Nala as much as the flight attendants had while I got her situated under the seat and we exchanged "getting to the airport" stories. One of the stand-by passengers claimed the seat between us and joined the conversation. While we laughed with relief over our good fortune in having made it onto a plane that was apparently going to take off, the stand-by passenger looked thoughtfully at Nala and said, "You know, I think I was on a shuttle with one of your neighbors. This guy was trying to get the driver to go past this apartment building because there was a woman there who couldn't make it to the shuttle because she couldn't take her cat outside. He even offered the driver $15, but he couldn't deviate from his route." My partner in panic hadn't forgotten me!

Neither of my seatmates nor I had eaten breakfast, but once we had been de-iced, anti-iced and cleared for take-off, they each bought snack boxes (which, when it came my turn to ask for one, turned out to have been the last two on the plane) and our row had a mini-party with them and the magazines we'd all brought. In between snatches of sleep, it was definitely the most fun I've had on a plane since high school Model UN trips. And although we took off an hour and a half late (de-icing takes a while, and before that the taxiway had to be plowed), we arrived a mere 27 minutes behind schedule.

That Saturday started with the potential to be the worst day in recent memory, but through the kindness, generosity and good humor of strangers, it turned out to be one of the best. Nala and I will definitely be baking a batch of "thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!" brownies for Mr. NPE when we get back to DC. And I'll be happily paying forward all that good cheer with every stranger I meet for a long time to come.

What happened to "Girl Power?"

2009-12-02T11:46:00.002-07:00

I've been thinking about this since my Metro ride this morning. I averted my eyes from the girl standing across from me after one glance, because I didn't want her to think I was judging her. She was probably 16 or 17, was wearing more makeup than I used to wear on stage, had intentional bedhead hair - perfectly curled and carefully tousled - and wore a push-up bra that was beyond extreme and showcased by her shirt, which was unbuttoned to the top of her ribcage.

As I stared out the window, wondering why so many young women feel the need to call attention to themselves in such negative ways, I started to feel sorry for her, and then to feel sad. Teenage girls like her have a sense of self-worth that's obviously wrapped up in their looks, and I feel like they're in the majority these days.

I went to middle school and high school with some girls who dressed similarly to the young woman I saw on the Metro, but the majority of the girls I grew up with valued their minds and personalities above their perceived attractiveness or sexuality - at least most of the time. We came of age with The Babysitters' Club, the first wave of American Girl dolls and books, Jewel's first three albums and Martina McBride's powerhouse voice and feminist message.

Yes, we felt immense pressure to be thin, to be pretty, to fit in, but we were encouraged at least as often to be ourselves, whatever that looked like. We embraced female artists with individualist tendencies, like Natalie Imbruglia and Dido, and snickered at cookie-cutter pop divas like Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson (even if we did sometimes sing their songs). We were still figuring out who we were, but we celebrated the parts of ourselves we knew and did our best to accept the aspects we knew were still changing.

One of my strongest memories that evokes the positive message I remember growing up with is from my 14th birthday party. My girlfriends and I were at my house and, having pushed the dining room table and chairs out of the way, were taking turns lip-synching/singing and dancing to our favorite songs, blasted on my parents' boom box. Five of us got up to do a Spice Girls favorite (I don't remember which one, but best bets are "Wannabe," "Spice Up Your Life," or "Stop"), arms around each other, singing at the top of our lungs into plastic spoon "microphones," grinning and laughing the whole time. Someone snapped a picture and every time I look at it, I remember how strong and happy and loved I felt at that moment.

The Spice Girls' motto was "Girl Power!" It's a pretty good expression of society's attitude toward young women in the 90s, and the women I know who grew up during that time took it to heart and remember it fondly. I haven't been a teenager in a while, nor do I know many anymore, but that positive, affirming outlook doesn't seem to be as evident in today's society. Gender equality was never in question for me, and I think that holds true across most of my generation; the idea that being women meant we had to look or dress or act a certain way never occurred to us. Our mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers had fought to be fully-functioning, completely equal members of society and had won (back then, I didn't hear much about women earning less than men). We were lucky enough to live in a time when all we had to do was enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Now I wonder if we're forgetting, as a society, what those women fought for and why. Women's suffrage and women's lib aren't subjects that are often covered in history classes. In fact, I only learned about the history of the women's rights movement in a classroom twice: when I selected women's suffrage in the U.S. as my topic for a history project in eighth grade, and when I studied Roe v. Wade in American Government in high school. Combine that lack of attention with the number of Americans who identify as anti-choice actually increasing and girls being inundated with air-brushed images of chemically and surgically altered models and performers, and I'm not sure how we can expect being a woman to continue to carry a positive message of independence and strength.

What happened to girl power, and why does it feel like we're slipping back to a time when a woman's face was more important than what went on behind it?

A year, already?

2009-11-20T10:45:00.002-07:00

One year and 78 posts ago today, There Is No Spoon was born. (Happy birthday, blog!)

Most of you who visit know me personally, but some have stumbled across the site via a random Google search. The two most popular searches that land people here? "Netflix vs. cable" takes people to an early post about my love of Netflix vs. my hatred of Comcast, and some variation of "fairy tales bad influence" will land you on this summer's defense of fairy tale princesses. (The puzzling thing about the fairy tale search is that 95% of those hits come from the UK, Australia or New Zealand. Any thoughts on why that might be? I'm coming up blank.)

I'm really enjoying hearing your thoughts on issues from whether or not the Kindle is a good idea to the unfairness of some of the U.S.'s immigration requirements - and I love having a reason to write more often. So keep reading and telling me what you think and I'll keep writing. Deal?

(On a side note, a big thank you to Kathy Sena at Parent Talk Today! After I emailed around asking for help getting the word out about Running for Life, she posted about the campaign and the general awesomeness of charity: water. Check it out!)

Faith healing, or religious roulette?

2009-11-16T10:47:00.001-07:00

Despite the fact that I may not be the most devout of worshippers, I'm not "anti-religion" and never have been, but there are some things done in the name of religion that drive me nuts, and a few that absolutely infuriate me. Most notably in that last category are parents who rely solely on faith healing for their children.

Every time this comes up I'm infuriated all over again, and reading Jonathan Turley's take on the issue in The Washington Post this morning was no exception. If we're picking sides, Turley and I are probably on the same one. He doesn't outright say that he disapproves of faith healing itself, but it's implied in his argument that the parents of the children who die from a lack of medical care essentially get a pass from the law:

In the past 25 years, hundreds of children are believed to have died in the United States after faith-healing parents forbade medical attention to end their sickness or protect their lives. When minors die from a lack of parental care, it is usually a matter of criminal neglect and is often tried as murder. However, when parents say the neglect was an article of faith, courts routinely hand down lighter sentences. Faithful neglect has not been used as a criminal defense, but the claim is surprisingly effective in achieving more lenient sentencing, in which judges appear to render less unto Caesar and more unto God.

Turley writes specifically about the Neumanns of Wisconsin, one of the most recent of these cases to be decided. Their daughter Madeline had diabetes that went undiagnosed and eventually killed her at age 11 last year. He compares the Neumanns to the Washburns of West Virginia, who don't practice faith healing and whose baby boy, Alex, died of an undiagnosed head injury after falling and hitting first his head, then his chin. In both instances, a child who could have been treated - and likely saved - by a doctor died because their parents didn't take them to one. The sentences? The Neumanns will serve one month a year in prison for the next six years and will be on probation for a decade. The Washburns relinquished all parental rights to their remaining children and will be in jail for three to fifteen years. Um, hello, double standards!

I agree with Turley that the "more lenient sentencing" for parents whose neglect of their children involves faith healing needs to stop, but my anger with this issue doesn't end there. I'm not a parent, so I can't fully appreciate the parent-child bond, but I'm on the receiving end of it from my parents and a familial observer of it between my brother and sister-in-law and my niece, and I cannot wrap my head around what kind of logic these supposedly loving parents are using as they watch their children suffer and die.

Faith or no faith, I don't see how any parent who watches their child's life slip away without running - screaming - for a doctor and demanding immediate treatment can possibly claim to love them or to be acting in their best interest. More than that, they're imposing their own religious restrictions on a child who isn't yet old enough to decide whether or not he or she agrees with them. "Making" little Susie or little Johnny give up their Sunday morning to go to Sunday school is one thing; ending their life because you believe if God doesn't save them they were supposed to die is another thing entirely: negligent homicide.

Yes, faith is central to the lives of many people. Yes, many parents can't imagine that their children would ever not carry on the religious traditions of their family. Yes, parents absolutely have the right to impart their beliefs - religious or otherwise - to their children. But no one has the right to watch a child die without exhausting every available resource to save them. Adults have enough knowledge of the consequences to say "Stop, that's enough, let nature take its course" or to sign a DNR. Children don't.

Play religious roulette with your own life, parents; until your children are old enough to decide for themselves whether or not faith healing is for them, take them to the doctor and keep them healthy the conventional way. It's kind of why mankind has spent so much time and energy throughout our history developing medicine. And doing everything in your power to care for your children - including taking them to a doctor when they need one - is one of the most basic responsibilities of being a parent.

Newsflash: 26.2 ≠ 26.2!

2009-10-23T09:38:00.014-07:00

This morning, one of my co-workers sent me the link to a New York Times article written by Juliet Macur and entitled "Plodders Have a Place, but Is It in a Marathon?" He rolled his eyes at the snarky article; I was infuriated by its message.

Macur talked to several "elite" runners who say they can't stand the fact that running a marathon has become such a popular thing on people's lifelong "to-do" lists; that if you're going to take six or seven hours to finish, it isn't a real marathon and detracts from the accomplishment of the elite athletes who finished in under three hours.

Purists believe that running a marathon should be just that — running the entire course at a relatively fast clip. They point out that a six-hour marathoner is simply participating in the event, not racing in it. Slow runners have disrespected the distance, they say, and have ruined the marathon’s mystique.

Excuse me, but in an individual sport where except for the top five or ten competitors of each gender everyone is basically racing himself, isn't participation the point? And 26.2 miles is 26.2 miles. What am I missing here? Most of what elite runners talk about when it comes to speed is their PR - personal record - for varying distances. And breaking that is often their primary goal, win or lose. A win when a seriously competitive runner doesn't break his or her own PR for the distance is a little bittersweet - they beat the field, but they didn't beat their own best time. A PR always feels good, whether your PR is 2:05:38 like the current American Marathon record holder, Khalid Khannouchi, or 7:14:30 like the last person to finish last year's Marine Corps Marathon.

Training for a marathon is an extremely demanding process, both physically and mentally. It affects every aspect of your life and takes up a lot of time. You train in pouring rain, in high humidity, in cold weather, in gusting winds and in soaring temperatures with one goal: taking the last step of those 26.2 miles, the one that puts you on the other side of the finish line. The race itself is no picnic, either. Many runners hit "the wall" around mile 20, making that last 10K feel like the rest of their lives. Between leg cramps, swollen feet, blisters, broken toenails and finding the balance between dehydration and hyponatremia, figuring out how to convince your body to finish a marathon without wanting to collapse immediately afterward is a science - with some luck tossed in - no matter the pace.

One thing I've always respected and admired about runners is that they're such an open, friendly bunch. Yeah, the "elites" blow past everyone else with tunnel vision but most runners - fast or slow, trying for a PR or just out for some fun - are a rowdy, cheerful crew of jokers who are more than willing to lend a helping hand or encouraging word should the need arise. And that's what this article - and apparently some of the world's elite runners - doesn't get.

Crossing the finish line at a marathon is a personal victory, one that isn't impacted by anyone else's race, which is why I don't understand the point of view of the "elite" runners Macur interviewed on the topic. Because regardless of whether you walked, ran or wheeled your way through the course, one thing holds true for every participant: finishing a marathon takes stamina, endurance and a whole lot of heart.

Why do we keep putting education on a back-burner?

2009-10-21T10:15:00.020-07:00

I was raised to believe that there is nothing more important in a child's life than his or her education, whether via the multiplcation tables or a visit to a national park (those sneaky parents, slipping bits of history, geology, geography and environmentalism into something fun!). And that learning doesn't stop when you grow up.

As the daughter of an engineer whose definition of fun includes thinking up new ways to do things that get his name sent to the U.S. Patent Office and a teacher-turned-psychologist who got a second Master's in Industrial Hygiene before diving into the non-profit world of corporate real estate...well, I certainly got the point that education isn't something that's ever "finished." My family wasn't unique in my town: with five out of five elementary schools recognized as California Distinguished Schools and the only middle school and high school (and one elementary school) each recognized as National Blue Ribbon Schools, the school district I grew up in and most of the families who lived there were serious about turning out well-educated students.

What I didn't realize was surprising about my education until I got to college was that it was public. As a Community Facilitator and then a House Proctor in college (two of GW's versions of an R.A.), my residents assumed I had gone to private school K-12, as many of them had. About a year and a half after I graduated, primary education came up in conversation with my boss, who was floored to find out I had attended public schools until college. The stellar teachers, myriad extra-curriculars and demanding course load I had taken for granted were, it seemed, a very tiny exception to a very depressing rule.

I knew public education was underfunded but assumed the ratio of good to bad schools was skewed toward the good, even if "good" didn't always quite reach the quality of education I received. I mean, school was school; it was where I went every day, yawned through some classes, laughed through others and hung out with my friends before going to band practice, a Model UN roast, dance class or home to do copious amounts of homework. Wasn't it pretty much the same for everyone? When I kicked off college in Washington, DC by reading Ron Suskind's heart-wrenching A Hope in the Unseen, I quickly learned that the answer was "Not by a long shot."

The public education problem is nationwide, but DC has a reputation for having some of the worst schools in the country, from reading levels to graduation rates. In a city that is home to inspiring historical moments, beautiful landmarks and some of the most powerful and best-educated elected officials, activists, lobbyists and lawyers in the country, DC students are one of the most striking examples of the dichotomy between city natives and transplants - and one of the many "dirty little secrets" kept about what life is like for those who grew up here. And they know it.

I spent part of the summer after graduation teaching some of the kids considered DC's best and brightest high school students and I left every day wanting to cry in frustration. They wouldn't answer questions unless I refused to say anything else until they did (and sometimes not even then), the few who took notes never looked at them again and - most frustrating of all - 90% of them failed their final project because they plagiarized it.

My students drove me crazy, but I was more depressed than mad at them. Some of them knew what plagiarism was, but most of them had never been told that copying and pasting from a website is wrong (yes, even if you change the sentence or word order). Some of them were very bright, but had never been expected to actually retain anything or put in serious effort, so they didn't know how. Some of them were genuinely interested, but lived in a world where school was a joke and pretending disinterest was self-preservation. Some of them just didn't care.

The program through which I taught these kids was only six weeks long and while I'd like to believe sitting down and talking to them about what plagiarism is, why it's bad and the repercussions it can have made a difference, I know most of them probably forgot about it five minutes after they left the room for the last time.

After all, it has been made crystal clear to DC students (and, I would argue, a large percentage of public school students nationwide) that their education is not a priority, despite the lip-service paid to its importance. They've been shifted from school to school, teachers have been fired, teachers have been moved, and overwhelming numbers of teachers have been "let go" due to a supposed budget crunch (despite the fact that the DC schools' budget for fiscal year 2010 includes a $14.9 million net increase from 2009). In an environment that changes from one day to the next with no warning, how are these kids supposed to learn? And how can any government, local, state or federal, justify giving them such an unstable learning environment?

In a country that demands a college degree, if not a postgraduate one, for the overwhelming majority of middle class jobs but can't be bothered to make those degrees affordable, how are today's students supposed to become the leaders they've been told they need to be? Our education system is broken - has been, for a long time - but it receives very little government attention anymore because we have "bigger" problems. Are there issues facing the U.S. that are going to come to a head sooner than this one? Definitely. But what could possibly be more important than ensuring our country's future - in both a very realistic having-people-who-know-how-to-do-stuff way and a completely idealistic fulfill-your-dreams way?

Blog Action Day 2009: Blogging for Climate Change

2009-10-15T09:39:00.011-07:00

Human impact on the environment - particularly the catastrophic changes our behavior is wreaking on climate systems worldwide - has been an issue of increasing concern throughout my lifetime.

I remember the advent of AOL, Facebook and the commercially available hybrid car, but I don't remember a time when the ramifications of global warming weren't discussed as something the human race needs to confront immediately.

The Kyoto Protocol, first adopted in December 1997 in an attempt to combat global warming beyond the borders of individual countries, is one of the first issues that sparked my interest in international affairs, which eventually became my major in college. This document has been around for roughly half my life. As of 2009, despite its assorted problems, it has been signed and ratified by 183 countries, with another half-dozen who have not yet decided whether or not to sign. The only country that has no intention of ratifying the Kyoto Protocol? The United States. The largest emitter of fossil fuel-generated carbon dioxide per capita? The United States.

Committing to move away from the internal combustion engine-powered consumer culture that has been both the root and the expression of our country's wealth for decades isn't easy. We're lazy, we like things to stay the same and we certainly don't want to give up our luxuries when there's no immediate benefit. But we have to do it, and we have to start now.

In my lifetime, which isn't even the blink of an eye in the earth's history, climate change has progressed from one of those issues society worries about for future generations to something that is happening now and picking up speed seasonally. The increase in tsunamis, hurricanes and droughts, the shift in weather patterns, the fluctuating temperature extremes and rapidly disappearing polar ice caps - these are all documented and scientifically linked to our world's changing climate, which is linked to our abuse of its resources. But perhaps the most frightening thing about climate change is that we no longer need charts and graphs and projections to see that it's happening:

Growing up in the L.A. area, we joked that it was the smog that made for such spectacular sunsets. Flying into LAX in the last five years has become a painful experience. The city is so obscured by smog that the skyline has been all but erased by pollution - even downtown's tallest buildings are difficult to see.

When my parents lived in South Florida 25 years ago, it was a given that January and February would be comfortable enough to turn off the air-conditioning. During my brother's last winter in the same city in 2008, he and his family were only able to turn it off for a week.

During the 18 years I lived in Southern California, any wildfires that started were controlled fairly quickly and never came anywhere near the beach communities that line the coast - even during the seven-year drought the state experienced while I was in elementary school. In the last few years, wildfires have raged out of control throughout the region, decimating communities that have never been considered at risk before.

That the climate is now changing so rapidly that its shifts are visible to the casual observer makes an irrefutable case for the fact that it has moved from a worrisome "potential" problem into a very real danger zone. The U.S. government, led by California's new emission standards, is finally beginning to take action but right now it's too little, too slowly.

The potential for a massive shift in cultural perception is there: in President Obama's plans for green jobs, in the movement toward reusable water bottles and grocery bags, composting and recycling efforts, higher-efficiency lightbulbs and appliances and in the fact that this is one issue where - at least in my generation - party lines are beginning to disintegrate. But this isn't something we can put off until "tomorrow" any longer.

We have the intellectual capital to make the shift to not just a climate-conscious but a climate-protecting society. We have the added urgency of the world's current financial difficulties - some of which could be alleviated by the boost an expanded green industry would give the global and national economies. We have absolutely no reason not to begin this shift right now. Don't you think?

This post was written as part of Change.org's Blog Action Day 2009. There are more than 9,400 blogs participating worldwide right now - to add yours, click here. Blog Action Day 2009 is also taking place on Twitter, using hashtag #BAD09.

Ooh rah, runners!

2009-10-14T09:55:00.007-07:00

The 34th Annual Marine Corps Marathon is less than two weeks away and I'm starting to go into overly-excited hyperdrive mode. I printed my e-confirmation card this morning, drooled over this year's blue-and-white bib - much prettier than last year's army green - and perused the online race program. I signed up my cell phone to receive text message updates of my progress so my mom, who will be carrying my phone, will know more or less where I am on the course.

One of my favorite things about the Marine Corps Marathon is its history: more than 380,000 people have run this race (the 400,000th finisher will receive their medal this year), among them politicians, journalists and a Supreme Court Justice. It's the fifth largest marathon in the country with 30,000 slots that sell out within a few weeks every year (this year, the field was 70% full by noon on April 3rd, 48 hours after registration opened).

The MCM is also full of compelling stories, a handful of which are featured in the annual program. Retired Master Gunnery Sgt. Tom Knoll will be running his fifth MCM and 187th marathon on October 25th. Yeah, you read that right: 187 marathons - that's roughly 4,900 miles in races alone. His reason for running so hard? He wants to raise $1 million for charity over the course of his lifetime. He's past the $800,000 mark at this point, so I'd say he's closing in on his goal. Gerard Michel, a Frenchman who's flying out for this year's race, is running as a tribute to the kindness of an American soldier who handed him an orange in Paris when he was a boy, in the midst of World War II.

This year's MCM is my first repeat marathon and I'm looking forward to feeling less nervous on the course. Rather than wondering where the next turn will be (or staring in dismay up a disconcertingly large hill just after I'd picked up my pace at mile 9, like in Seattle this June), I can put a mental overlay of my memories from last year's race over the course map: I know that the first 10 miles are the hardest, both because they contain the hilliest portion of the course and are the most residential (i.e. have the fewest spectators to keep the runners smiling). But you're still pretty relaxed, swapping jokes with the runners around you and cheering your head off for every wheelchair participant you see straining to make it up one of Arlington's killer hills.

Around the halfway point is when the Marines start to put on the pressure and you find yourself straightening your shoulders and picking your feet up a little higher. By mile 16, near the Lincoln Memorial, the crowds form a solid wall on both sides of the street and you're high-fiving lines of kids (and their parents!) every few strides. Mile 20 is the longest because the entire thing is run across the 14th Street Bridge (really it's the Rochambeau Memorial Bridge, but no one actually calls it that) and all you want is to get off that obnoxiously boring block of concrete.

By mile 23 you're exhausted, your stomach has threatened to revolt when those well-meaning folks at the beginning of Crystal Run offered you beer and you've probably seen at least one runner carrying shoes that their feet are too swollen to wear. But the finish line is closer with every step and by mile 25 you're bearing down, finding energy you didn't know you had and using every ounce of it to push yourself forward. While your mind is still focused on the hill that came out of nowhere at mile 26, you're crossing the finish line and on your way to a "Congratulations, ma'am" from one of the 253 2nd Lieutenants carefully placing a medal around each finisher's neck.

It may be a little sick to get so excited about something that drains your body of all nutrience, tears up your muscles and leaves you feeling like you could sleep for a full day...but I can't wait! During the next ten days I'll be sleeping more, getting all the potassium I can and obsessing, somewhat neurotically, about keeping my feet and legs injury-free. (And continuing to fundraise for Running for Life - it's raised more than $600 so far and I need 177 more people to donate $26.20 by December 3rd to reach my goal.)

Whether or not you're a running enthusiast, I encourage you to go watch a race in your area - a marathon, if there is one. The crowd's enthusiasm is contagious and watching people reach their goals is inspiring, whatever the venue. And without a doubt, your presence will put a smile on a runner's face (especially if you're giving them some much-needed cowbell).

Ooh rah, runners! See you out there!

Blog Action Day 2009: Climate Change

2009-09-27T16:22:00.003-07:00

As I think has been well-established already on this blog, when it comes to social change, I am all about the progressive movement. A great website that exists to promote that type of progress is Change.org, which is made up of individuals and non-profits, all working together to have a positive impact on the world.

Change.org was founded by Ben Rattray in 2005 and has been live on the web since 2007. It deals first with broad "causes" - issues that range from education to genocide to social entrepreneurship - then breaks down into news, blogs, actions, non-profits, videos, jobs and more under an editor for each cause's microsite within the larger scope of Change.org.

For the third year in a row, Change.org is sponsoring Blog Action Day on October 15th, a day when thousands of bloggers from all over the world blog about the same topic to raise awareness. It uses the same concept Change.org is based on: that many people - ordinary citizens - discussing the same issue at the same time can effect change. Most non-profits depend on this same idea, which is why so many of them have embraced Change.org as a place to get their issues out there and let their supporters make their voices heard.

The topic chosen for 2009 is climate change and I'm one of the 1,899 blogs (and counting!) from 99 countries signed up to participate. I hope you'll check back on October 15th to read my take on the issue and share your thoughts. If you have a blog you'd like to register, you can do so at blogactionday.org

Food for Thought

2009-09-25T09:30:00.005-07:00

Since my mind is bouncing around like a ping-pong ball today, it's the perfect time for a quick "Food for Thought" update:

To get vaccinated, or not to get vaccinated? The CDC recommends that everyone ages six months through 24 years get an H1N1 vaccination, even though people in the 19-24 range are usually pretty safe from any dangerous health complications from the flu. I've never gotten a flu shot and have only had the flu twice that I can remember, with more than 10 years between bouts. I'm still not entirely convinced I need one, since I'm healthy and will be out of that age group in five months anyway. What do you think, are you getting a swine flu vaccine?
Remember my quarrel with Metro? Things haven't gotten much better, but a friend of mine over at Eco-City Alexandria was inspired to air his grievances as well after reading my letter, and wrote a wittier, more comprehensive complaint.
I've refrained from copious TIME references for the last couple of weeks, so I'm going to subject you to my love of the magazine again. Just so you don't forget it's out there! The September 21st edition has some great stuff about sustainability and the rise of responsible consumerism, and one of my favorite articles was their spotlight on "Responsibility Pioneers." From an Australian town installing water fountains and banning bottled water to inexpensive stoves that burn straw instead of coal in rural China, people the world over are embracing both the environment and their fellow man.
Also in TIME - did you know that spending time with humans has led dogs to develop social intelligence? That's why they know what object you mean when you say "Where's your ball, Spot?" and are the only animal that can follow your pointing finger. (This explains why Nala ends up looking at me like I'm crazy when I try to point to something...)
My friend Lars' animated short is still battling for first place in FOX's Aniboom competition. "CLASS: The Valentine's Day Special" is currently in 11th place (and has been as high as 2nd!) - if you haven't watched it yet, check it out before the contest closes on Wednesday.

Unexpected outcomes

2009-09-23T10:41:00.013-07:00

I have a confession to make. About a month and a half ago, I went in search of what has become the somewhat funny, slightly exasperating and altogether ridiculous adventure of my summer and fall: I signed up for OkCupid.com. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with the name, it's a dating site - a free one, which is the only thing that made me okay with signing up for it.)

"Why would you do such a thing?" you might ask. Well, at the beginning of August, I decided that my summer was going fairly well but had been progressing rather un-interestingly. After a jam-packed schedule from mid-April to early July, the August lull had me a bit bored, especially since my friends all seemed to be out of town or at weddings every weekend. And of course, no one in Washington talks to anyone they don't already know without being introduced, making the possibility of new acquaintances out of the question.

I've long scorned the idea of online dating. Using a series of arbitrary questions to electronically determine your compatibility with complete strangers? What's the point? But the lack of friends in town to hang out with also made me acutely aware of the fact that I hadn't been on a date in about nine months (yes, really), and that the last guy who had asked me out for drinks and a movie - who remains a friend, and someone I thoroughly enjoy talking to - has been married for several months now. This is getting pathetic, I thought. I'm 24, fairly intelligent, reasonably attractive and a nice person; there's no reason I shouldn't be dating, if I want to be. I'll sign up and just lurk for a while - see what's going on, and how this whole thing works. There's no law that says I have to go out with someone, or even talk to anyone, just because I sign up. And if all else fails, I can blog about it, right? Right.

Two hours after I created my profile, I had a dozen messages in my OkCupid inbox and was bombarded by instant messages - the site has a chat client similar to the one Google built into GMail - the second I signed in. (Obviously, Washington's "dating scene" exists solely online. Very strange.) I felt a little overwhelmed, but not brave enough to be so rude as to ignore the messages. So much for lurking!

I have to admit, as websites go, I like OkCupid. Their staff has a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor that manifests itself in things like the "Stalkers" page, where you can see everyone who's viewed your profile, when they viewed it and whether or not they're on the site at the moment. (They've since changed the page to the more politically correct "Visitors," which I think is a shame.) They're also the same people behind that gigantic "The Purity Test" that made the rounds of every teenage inbox when I was in high school, which means there are all kinds of fun quizzes you can take to pigeonhole yourself on the site.

And it turns out guys are guys, online or off. There are the sleazeballs, who send completely impersonal "Hey good-lookin'"-type messages that make me roll my eyes and click "delete" without looking up their profiles, since they clearly haven't read mine (just like I ignore guys with the poor taste to whistle at me on the street). There are the earnest ones who try just a little too hard, referencing every single movie I mentioned as a favorite. There are the creepy late-30- to 40-somethings who don't seem to understand that the fact that they were graduating high school (or college) when I was born is not and will never be attractive. There are the ones who come off as brain-dead because "lol" is their sole form of punctuation and they end every phrase with some variation of "haha, srsly?" There are the sexists, who message me and then fade away when it becomes evident that I'm not interested in agreeing with their conservative socio-political viewpoints or being their trophy date. And there are the interesting ones, who message me because something in my profile (other than my picture) really interested them, and with whom talking can be an exercise in happily discovering common ground.

I've gone on actual dates with a few in that last category, and for the most part I've had a good time, whether or not either of us has opted for date two. The transition from chatting online or exchanging emails can be a little strange but then, what's a first date without some awkward silences? And it feels good to be dating again.

What I didn't expect was how overwhelmed I would feel, and how often I would find myself saying no or taking a week or more to respond to people. (On the plus side, practicing saying no is good for me, since I tend to do anything possible to avoid being unpleasant, and have in the past sometimes been of the "Oh, you like me? Really? I should totally go out with you, then!" school, which is unhealthy and rather embarassing to admit.)

Nor did I expect the moments of nervous pessimism that seem to hit 24 hours before a date and have my brain and the butterflies in my stomach uniting to make my fingers twitch toward the phone or keyboard to cancel. The battle between nerves and sense goes something like this:

Nerves/Butterflies: You're not ready for this.
Common Sense: Yes you are, you idiot, you've been single for almost a year and a half.
Nerves/Butterflies: It's been too long, you can't date. You've never actually "dated," you've only been in relationships, what are you thinking?
Common Sense: So what better time to start? And that it's been too long is the point. Duh.
Nerves/Butterflies: But...but...
Common Sense: You are not canceling! End of story!
Nerves/Butterflies: whimper

But the most unexpected part of this whole dating experiment is that I've realized I'm truly happy being single. I'm not placeholder happy, waiting for the next guy to come along. I'm not "really, I'm fine!" happy, trying to convince myself and everyone else. I'm not even "I hate boys"/good riddance happy. I'm happy. Period. It's a fantastic feeling.

I'll probably stay on OkCupid for now - meeting new people you have a lot in common with is never a bad thing and being happy single doesn't mean I can't enjoy an occasional date. But I've realized that it's pretty much going to take a bolt of lightning striking when I meet someone to convince me to get back into the relationship game anytime soon. For now I'm having too much fun just being me, happy. And I can't think of any place I'd rather be.

Double Standards in Immigration

2009-09-17T10:06:00.001-07:00

Did you know Gardasil is on the list of required vaccines for women between the ages of 11 and 26 applying for U.S. citizenship?

I didn't, until I heard about the plight of Simone Davis, a 17-year-old applying for permanent residency in the U.S., yesterday. There are 14 vaccines on that list: 13 are against infectious diseases; the other is Gardasil, which protects against the four strains of HPV that between them cause 70% of cervical cancer and 90% of genital warts.

Davis' official objection - which was recently rejected by U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services - is on moral grounds, since she doesn't intend to be sexually active anytime soon. But what appalled and infuriated me about the situation is that the U.S. government is demanding that this young woman receive a vaccine that her American peers can choose to embrace or scorn.

Approved by the FDA in 2006, Gardasil is still a controversial product. Some people object on moral grounds, like Simone and her family (last time I checked, being vaccinated against HPV didn't require you to go have sex, but my objection to that objection is another topic entirely...), some because of the possible side effects - your standard vaccine side effects, plus fainting and an increased risk of blood clots - and some because there just isn't much information available on its pros and cons yet. Personally, it's the last that makes me a little leery but even if I thought Gardasil was the best thing since sliced bread, I wouldn't want it to be mandatory for immigrants when it's optional for American citizens.

Requiring a vaccine that's optional everywhere in the U.S. makes it sound like we're using immigrants as lab rats - because we are. That is not only completely unethical, it's an authoritarian move that denies the freedom we embrace as the heart of the American dream and demonstrates a reprehensible abuse of immigrants' powerless position in society.

I love my country, but sometimes it can be an absolute moron. Let's get rid of the double standards, Uncle Sam, shall we?

As a Matter of Heart

2009-09-11T10:25:00.003-07:00

I confessed my fascination with the blogosphere last winter and it certainly hasn't diminished. One of the new blogs on my list this year is The Frisky, a professional blog edited and written by a series of NYC-based women ranging from more-or-less my age into their 30s and a few men who contribute from time to time. Their tagline is "Love. Life. Stars. Style." and their posts run the gamut from the plight of women in Africa and political prisoners to who wore what on which reality show and all the things guys do that drive women crazy (and vice versa - they're very equal opportunity!).

CNN occasionally features their posts, which is how I first found them, but I keep going back because reading The Frisky is basically like having a perpetual coffee break or happy hour with friends. They have a devoted following of readers who are all very vocal and comment like crazy.

My love of the site aside, a post this morning by Frisky Editor Amelia McDonnell-Parry - "What Do You Remember About Your Worst Breakup?" - really struck a chord with me because it ties in with something I've been thinking a lot about lately. It's an interesting question in a society that's more concerned with "moving on" and catching up to what could be than reflecting on what has been.

My two worst breakups to this point have been the first (of course!) and the most recent. I can laugh about the first now, both because hindsight lets me appreciate all the melodrama of high school and because the other person involved remains a very good friend. It was lunchtime on a Wednesday and he told me "something just didn't feel right anymore." (Yes, I remember. Yes, you will always be in trouble for the fact that it was the middle of the day in the middle of the week!) I managed to find Gina before collapsing at her feet - literally; I have a crystal clear, cringe-worthy memory of wrapping my arms around her legs while she patted my head - and bursting into tears.

The oddest thing about the memory is that I remember exactly what he was wearing and what people said to me in fifth period afterward, but my self - that fifteen-year-old me, as I remember her - is oddly blank. I remember everything I felt but very little of what I thought or said.

The most recent is a different story. I remember leaving the gym that morning and practically humming on my way to his favorite coffee shop, then across the street to bring him breakfast - a ham and cheese croissant and coffee, black. I knew he was stressed about finals and got up early so that I'd have time to swing by with a quick pick-me-up on the way (more or less) to work. I remember the look on his face when he opened the door - completely stunned. In the memory, his expression is tinged with unhappiness, but at the time I put it down to studying-induced insomnia.

I stayed maybe all of five minutes, gave him a quick kiss goodbye and headed to work with a spring in my step. It was Friday, and the first weekend in at least a month that we'd be able to spend some uninterrupted time together was less than twelve hours away. It had been a rough spring for us, between stress, busy schedules and trips, and I couldn't wait to to put it all behind us. I'd missed him.

He got to my apartment as I was debating cooking or ordering dinner that night, and I skipped over to hug him hello. I didn't notice until he said those dreaded words, "We need to talk," (or it might have been "You should sit down," now that I think about it) that he hadn't brought anything with him. I remember him sitting next to me on the floor and holding my hand while I cried. I can't remember whether or not I ate dinner after he left.

The next morning, I woke up with eyes so puffy I could hardly open them. As I held a wet washcloth to my face, the thought crossed my mind that I'd never had any reason to think about the term "cold compress" outside of literature before. I thought about blowing off the 10K I was supposed to run and wallowing in bed instead, but decided I was absolutely not going to be that girl, who let a guy change what she wanted to do. So I went, arriving an hour early and standing under an overhang near the start, shivering in the rain. I remember being vaguely glad that the weather fit my mood. Running I could handle; the sun, mocking me by shining? Not so much.

I doubt I'll ever laugh at that most recent breakup, but what's occurred to me in the past few months is what that day, and everything that led up to it, must have been like for him. It's disconcerting, as I'm looking back, to have a flash of insight about what he might have been thinking or feeling at certain moments pierce the haze of my remembered emotions. Sort of like a particularly rough change in camera angle - perspective, the film buffs call it - during a movie.

And relationships have a lot to do with perspective. We each take centerstage in our own, of course, because we're the omniscient narrator of our own experiences. But there are a lot of other omniscient narrators around us and miscommunication, in its many forms ("Oh, we're just friends. He said we were dating?!", "What do you mean, the way she looks at me? Honey, I've known her for years, I'd know if she felt that way.", "You're blind-siding me with this now??"), stems from those differences in perspective.

Hopefully we glean enough from those other omniscient narrators to have some idea of the big picture and what our monologues sound like from the outside. If we're smart, we learn what we can from the rough spots before leaving them on the cutting room floor, then keep the lessons and - most of all - the good times to play back whenever we need them. In matters of the heart, the next scene may rarely be what we expect but as long as we're paying attention, it will always be interesting.

Running for Life

2009-09-06T11:46:00.006-07:00

Seven weeks from today, I'll be running the 34th annual Marine Corps Marathon - my second time in that race and my third marathon in a year. After last year's MCM, I was proud of myself and glad to be done, and had no intention of running another marathon anytime soon. A week later, I started looking at marathon calendars online to figure out when my next one could be.

Running has become such an essential part of my life that I can't imagine not doing it - it's as natural as breathing. Or maybe a better simile is that it's like drinking a glass of water: I can go without one for a while, make do with other things to drink, but that first sip of water is more refreshing and rejuvenating than anything else.

Not everyone has the luxury of reaching for a glass of water whenever they want. There are people around the world whose only accessible water source is dirty and disease-ridden, but it's all they have so they bathe in it, cook with it, drink it.

In an effort to bring them the clean water I take for granted every day, I'm dedicating this third marathon and my first year as a marathoner to the people charity: water, an amazing non-profit organization, works to help. In the past three years, their water projects - digging wells, drilling wells, protecting mountain springs and the streams that carry their water - have brought fresh, clean water to 725,000 people. Their goal is to have reached 1,000,000 people by the end of the year, and I'm hoping you'll be a sponsor of my project - Running for Life - to help them get there.

(Convinced? Visit my campaign at mycharitywater.org/runningforlife to learn more and to donate. If not, keep reading.)

Through charity: water, $1 is all it takes to provide fresh, clean water for one person for a year. To make my project reflect who I am, I'm raising $5,240, enough to fund an entire community's water project and give 262 people - for the 26.2 miles in a marathon - access to clean water for 20 years.

$5,240 sounds like a lot of money and it is, but it's not impossible if we reach out and work together. You see, if 200 people - less than half the number of people in my high school graduating class - give $26.20 each, together we'll have raised that $5,240 and be able to give a struggling community fresh water and fresh hope.

So I'd like to ask you to give $1 today for every mile I'll run in the Marine Corps Marathon on October 25th, and to share the link to this post (http://tinyurl.com/mwd4q6) or to my campaign (http://mycharitywater.org/runningforlife) with anyone you know who might want to help. $26.20 is a symbolic amount. I know that's a lot for some of you and not much for others, so just know that every dollar makes a difference. And if you can't give a dollar, please pass this on and ask others to help instead.

Running for Life received its first donation on September 4th and will be accepting them until December 3rd. By then, I hope we'll have reached our goal and be well on our way to bringing new life and new hope, in the form of access to clean water, to a community in need. In the meantime, thank you for reading, and for any help you can give this campaign.

Want a laugh? Check this out.

2009-09-03T19:28:00.010-07:00

One of my favorite post-final bell activities in high school was reading the comics a friend of mine, Lars Ingelman, created. They were uniquely illustrated, and written with the same witty, socially aware, slightly goofy and self-deprecating insight Lars applied to everything, and I loved following his characters through their constant misadventures.

Now Lars has moved on to animation and is still doing a great job of turning his observations into humor everyone can enjoy. His video is currently the 17th most-viewed (out of more than 500 entries!) in FOX's latest Aniboom competition, and if he wins he'll not only get a nice chunk of change to advance his animation projects but be able to work on animation at FOX. I thoroughly enjoy Lars' work and am definitely in favor of him getting a shot at doing what he loves for a living - especially if it means I get to watch the next Family Guy- or Futurama-esque hit knowing one of my friends from high school had a hand in it! Check out "CLASS: The Valentine's Day Special" and see what you think.

Watch more cool animation and creative cartoons at Aniboom

Can this relationship last?

2009-09-02T14:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Metro,

We need to talk. Our relationship is in serious trouble, and I fear we may never make it back to those happy, carefree days of our first year together, filled with joy rides to IHOP and the mall.

I've been one of your staunchest supporters for six years, Metro. I've defended your broken escalators, your random breakdowns, your rush hour delays. I've explained your mysteries to countless tourists and respected the whims of your temperamental doors. I've vowed to anyone who will listen that a life with you is a life that doesn't need a permanent car on the side, because you make sure I get everywhere I need to go.

I've demonstrated my commitment to you in hundreds of ways, from buying a SmarTrip after a year to prove I was serious about you to visiting you twice a day, five days a week, virtually without fail in the last two years. I rarely complain about the lack of a seat in the morning and I never use the countless other people in your life against you. Even though they sometimes drive me crazy, I know there's enough of you to go around.

This year, though, you've been treating me shabbily and I don't know how much more I can take. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. You and Washington's cost of living have plotted together to ensure that I can't. And the environmentalist in me doesn't want to buy a car unless there's absolutely no other option.

But you've been wreaking havoc with my schedule all summer. You've made me late to work with trains ten minutes apart during rush hour rather than the usual five (max!). You imposed your own schedule on my happy hour plans every Sunday through Thursday in August, demanding that I either get on a train by 10pm or fight my way through a delayed system to the yellow line, taking more than an hour to get home.

The first glimpse of trouble was way back in February, when you shut down every blue and yellow line station in Virginia from Friday night until Tuesday morning during President's Day weekend, despite my pleas to let me visit my friends on Valentine's Day. And now you're doing it again. I was looking forward to a relaxing Labor Day weekend with friends, maybe some shopping in Georgetown, a quick jaunt to Dupont Circle...until yesterday, when you told me you were closing three stations for the weekend, including mine. You're even closing the National Airport station. During one of the busiest tourist weekends of the year. Metro, this is serious! What is going on?

I know you're older than I am and don't have the energy you used to. I know sometimes you feel like you need a break and some time to yourself, but I depend on you, Metro, and there's no one who can take your place in my life.

Something's gotta give, Metro. Please, help me save our relationship - I don't want us to end up hating one another. I'll try harder if you will.

With love,
Jessalyn
xoxo

Listen up, corporate America!

2009-08-28T10:41:00.001-07:00

I wish corporate America understood non-profit culture a little better. In the strange, circular way the universe sometimes operates, there's a fairly sizable portion of the corporate world that depends on the business of non-profits and NGOs to stay afloat. But NPOs and NGOs don't run on the same fuel (i.e. profit) that corporate America does, which means the latter is sometimes left scratching their collective head over what their non-profit clients want, or why they may not have landed a particular non-profit account after making a pitch that seemed, well, pitch-perfect.

When it comes to attracting business, marketing yourself well is key - the same goes for attracting donors in the non-profit world - and corporate America understands that very well. They just don't seem to realize that the vast majority of non-profit employees and managers care a zillion times more about getting their message out as far and wide as possible than they do about which company is going to bend over backward the furthest to get their business.

My "bat cave" (I don't actually have an office, I have about 1/3 of our reception area, sectioned off with various pieces of strategically-placed furniture, which a former co-worker took one look at before deciding it looked enough like Bruce Wayne's secret lair to warrant the nickname.) is regularly deluged with marketing freebies. Sure, the pens can be useful and the super-bouncy mini foam football is a good prop for pretending I'm Toby Ziegler when I have writer's block but for the most part, the gimmicky giveaways do me absolutely no good. Same goes for lunch with a corporate service provider who slips and reveals, halfway through the meal, that he actually has no idea what my organization does after working with us for nearly a year. I'd rather have eaten a sandwich sitting at my desk, thanks all the same.

What would do me a lot of good and have me taking a second look at the company, rather than rolling my eyes and practicing my trash can jump-shot, is a company that sends me a letter (better, an email, since most of us progressive non-profit types are suckers for saving the environment) letting me know they've just made a donation ($5, $10 - whatever that ridiculous pad of paper-cum-magnet I've got 20 of cost you to have produced and shipped) and would like to talk about what they can do for my cause. Because, hey, I care about what I'm doing. And I'm much more likely to listen to your ideas on how I can do it better if you seem to care about what I'm doing, too.

With very rare exceptions, the non-profit world is made up of people whose bottom line is wanting to make a difference - we're definitely not here for the money, and we're not going to sign a contract with a consultant or service provider based on the perks they're willing to offer us. We're here because we believe in something, and we want to pull together the voices of everyone who agrees with us while standing up and saying to whatever authority applies, "Hey! People care about this, and they want you to make it happen - we'll help you do it!" If a company not only offers a good product but seems to say "You know, I like what you're doing, keep up the good work," they're on my short list of go-to firms pretty much immediately. Whereas the company that's sent me two expensive, overly-packaged, overnighted gimmicks with business cards tucked inside this week is not likely to ever convince me to sit down and talk to them.

Isn't one of the first rules of Business 101 knowing your customer? Well, corporate America, getting to the heart of a non-profit is easy: know and like what they do. Bonus points if you click "donate now" or "take action."

"Democratic, progressive and patriotic" Senator Kennedy

2009-08-26T10:55:00.002-07:00

Ted Kennedy is a name I've heard for as long as I've been alive, since well before I understood anything about American politics.

Although he was the second most senior member of the Senate and 77 years old, his remains the face that represents the progressive movement in my mind. He came of age in an America that was segregated, where women left the secretarial pool when they got married and where the GLBT community's existence wasn't even acknowledged. He was an upper-class white male from New England, more privileged than perhaps any other group in society, yet he fought relentlessly for the civil rights of every minority group in America throughout his career. What better role model - what better example of an American hero - do we have than one who advocates so fiercely for something for which he has no personal need and which can only serve to lower his own station in society?

Many people will write about Senator Kennedy in the days to come far more knowledgeably and eloquently than I can, but I came across the obituary written by LeMonde's Sylvain Cypel and was touched by the emotion with which it was written, so I wanted to share it with you. A translation of a portion of it follows:

It is not only a major figure in American politics during the last half-century who has disappeared with the death, Wednesday, August 26th, of Senator Edward Kennedy, the result of a brain tumor. He bore a mythical name and inherited a family history that made him - reluctantly, he often gave the impression - a living symbol. That of a confident, peaceful, globally-minded America, conscious of honoring its laws and civil liberties; an America inclined to give priority to a diplomatic solution over a show of strength, yet never balking at giving a demonstration of power should the need arise. A symbol, thus, of a certain political left: democratic, progressive and patriotic.

Kennedy: a name magnificent and heavy to bear. Magnificent because it is that of one of the most celebrated patrician families of New England. Heavy because his father, Joseph, the patriarch of the dynasty, suspected of having made his fortune thanks to contacts in organized crime, a democrat grown isolationist and anti-Roosevelt during World War II, had been sympathetic to Charles Lindbergh's group, America First, denounced at one time for its proximity to the Nazi regime.

A heavy symbol, above all, marked by fate. The two oldest brothers of he whom America called "Ted" were assassinated: John Fitzgerald Kennedy, JFK, in 1963, during a trip to Dallas, Texas, just three years after his accession to a White House to which he restored polish and strength. Then, in 1968, came the turn of Robert "Bobby" Kennedy, Attorney General, killed in the middle of his electoral campaign. Assassinations perpetrated under conditions and for reasons never fully resolved, but which would inflame global opinion, contributing to the creation of this "Kennedy curse," which Ted inherited...

...An acerbic critic of the tax cuts granted to the [nation's] wealthiest by the Bush administration and of its negligence after Hurricane Katrina's devastation of Louisiana in 2005, he was also an opponent of the American war in Iraq - he is one of the few to have voted against it from the beginning - to the point that former President George H.W. Bush asked him privately to curb the tone of his remarks. George W. Bush, however, always took care to be on the best of terms with Sen. Kennedy.

For this champion of the moderate Democratic agenda, whose every public appearance drew a crowd, was a great orator and peacemaker. He made respecting the structure of the American Constitution - its checks and balances - the cornerstone of his political philosophy. His first major speech as a senator, in 1964, concerned the Civil Rights Act that would lead to the abolition of all racial segregation in the United States. Defender of the weakest - the poor, women, the disabled, minorities, immigrants... - and an unapologetic reformist, over time Sen. Kennedy positioned himself as a man of principles and unrepentant pragmatism.

Beloved in the United States and around the world, Senator Kennedy's legacy is a refusal to accept any injustice, a demand for universal equality and a fighting spirit. Let's honor his memory by ensuring that his dreams for America come to fruition.

Kindle: Crave or Scorn?

2009-08-18T09:37:00.001-07:00

We've already established that I'm a complete bookworm. Incurably, unrepentantly addicted to the written word, I am absolutely capable of sitting down (or standing up, or lying down, or leaning against something, or walking down the street) with a book and losing any sense of reality.

I've missed Metro stops, set alarms to keep myself from missing appointments, stayed up all night and skipped meals while in the grip of a particularly good story. I scribble in the margins to argue with historians about their interpretation of the facts, to underline possible foreshadowing and ponder what's to come, or to wonder why, oh why, Elinor Dashwood and her Edward can't get their act together. When the books that pull me in deepest end, I miss the characters (which is why I've read Scarlett and three different writers' takes on what came after Elizabeth and Darcy's happily-ever-after).

I struggle with the idea of ebooks and the handheld devices that hold them, like Amazon's Kindle. On one hand, it's great that you can carry around 1,500 books on the Kindle and as many as 3,500 on the Kindle DX - that's a library that would keep a librophile like me busy for several years (or in the DX's case, several more than several years!). On the other hand, a flat, cold screen will never have the same tactile qualities as a book: you can't fan back through the pages of the e-version of A Ring of Endless Light, stopping whenever there's poetry printed on a page, looking for your favorite of Vicky Austin's musings while your finger holds your place. You can't write in the margins. And when you eventually use up your virtual shelf space, you can't box up your older books and move them to the attic; you have to delete some, or buy a new reader.

Admittedly, the ability to easily travel with scads of reading material is worth some sacrifices. But there's one major sticking point for me that has nothing to do with missing feeling actual paper under my fingers: the Kindle and its sibling devices have access to the internet. Of course, they have to in order to download books anytime, anywhere, which is one of their major selling points. And what's the point of having a wireless device that's only capable of accessing one type of wireless information? But, quite frankly, I don't want to have the ability to look up directions, check my email or watch the latest CNN clips mixed up with my books. If I'm going to sit down and read, I want any interruption to be because I'm ready for one, not because I feel like - since I'm sitting with internet access in my lap - I've gone too long without checking for messages.

So I think I'm still an ebook hold-out. What about you, is Kindle something you'd love to have or want nothing to do with? What are your pros and cons?

Beautiful Places: NoVA

2009-08-17T10:29:00.003-07:00

I was 16 the first time I came to the mid-Atlantic, headed to Georgetown for three weeks as a Junior Statesman of America. Flying into Virginia's Dulles International Airport in early July, I remember thinking "It's so green!" For a teenager who has grown up surrounded by sand and palm trees, and whose concept of natural beauty is based on the mountainous landscapes of Montana, Northern California and Vancouver Island, a mostly flat, green, deciduous forest is fascinating to look at, but not particularly pretty.

I thought downtown Washington was beautiful, with its white marble and broad avenues; I liked the look and feel of the brick in Georgetown and its narrow, tree-lined streets. But looking out my dorm room window at the river and Northern Virginia on the other side just made me think about how uncomfortable I was every time I walked out into the sauna that is summer in the mid-Atlantic.

The Potomac looked the way the air felt: like very soggy mud you'd want to avoid whenever possible and wash off immediately if it happened to come in contact with your skin. The leafy cover provided by the trees reminded me that if I stood under any of them for more than 30 seconds, at least three of the five gazillion mosquitoes who love the area's shaded, damp scenery would inevitably find me and launch an attack.

When I came back to the area two years later for college, not much had changed. The Potomac was slightly less brown, and I did enjoy being able to watch the seasons change, but I still didn't see any innate beauty in the landscape. (With the exception of fall colors. "The leaves are changing color! On that tree, and that one over there, and...all of them! Look!" was pretty much my standard line every time I walked out the door in October, and my dorm mates from cooler climates spent the month laughing at me.) In the six years since, a love of the region has snuck up on me.

I lived in Alexandria my first year out of college, in a decent-enough one bedroom, the one thing about which I absolutely loved was the view. Most of the outside wall in my living/dining room was window, and overlooked the forested rolling hills between Alexandria and Mount Vernon. I didn't pay much attention in the summer, but once the leaves started to change, I would stand at the window and just look every day.

When I started running on the Mt. Vernon Trail, I regularly jumped at birds singing in or flying out of bushes practically at my elbow as I passed. And at the rustling of some small creature in the underbrush. And at the awful, sticky feeling when I was the first person through some of the morning's spiderwebs. My pace slowed by a good 15 seconds per mile on the stretches of trail that paralleled the river, as I watched the herons and ducks come and go and the occasional fish briefly break the surface with a splash.

I still approach potential spiderweb hotspots with caution, but I've stopped jumping at every other manifestation of the region's native species in my path in favor of appreciating them: on long runs, my first moment of levity in the morning comes from the bullfrog chorus I pass heading south; I gauge the progress of the season by the height of the cattails in a marshy Potomac tributary; I know where to look for ducklings to coo over in early summer.

Lately, I've begun to find even the morning haziness that's an omnipresent indicator of humidity in July and August beautiful (even if the humidity that causes it is still completely, disgustingly, damply uncomfortable). It adds a dreamlike sheen to the landscape and makes things like the doe and her fawn playing in a meadow between the river and the US-1/395 bridge this morning feel a little like reality has momentarily bumped up against a fairy tale. Northern Virginia will likely never be the first thing that comes to mind when I think of beautiful places, but it has a lush, green-and-pastel appeal that epitomizes all the best parts of Virginia charm, and makes you wonder if its roots might be in the landscape itself.

"Is that the apocalypse, or is it just my TV?"

2009-08-05T10:45:00.002-07:00

I love when the media realizes how ridiculous it can be, and calls itself out. Or rather, when print journalists use some of their column inches to verbally roll their eyes at their TV cousins, as TIME's James Poniewozik - author of the title quote - does in the next issue, on newsstands August 10th.

Yes, this probably puts me over my quota of TIME references for the past month, but I had to laugh reading Poniewozik's "Media Freak-outs: Every Week is Shark Week" on the Metro this morning, and couldn't resist passing it along. (He starts with a quote from 30 Rock, but sounds like a professional throughout the column. What better happy medium between pop culture and serious journalism is there?)

In honor of this week being Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, Poniewozik relates our fascination with the fear, awe and occasional hysteria these animals inspire in us to the media's sensationalist treatment of issues that are not, in fact, the crises they're made out to be. "To live every week like it's Shark Week...might be a metaphor for living in our media environment," he says.

[T]o spend every week titillated by unlikely threats, getting whipped into frenzies, yawning over high-minded stuff like health-care policy and supping from the delicious chum bucket of hysteria. The President is a secret Kenyan who faked his birth certificate! Terrorists are coming to get you! And the world is going to end, six different ways! But first a word from our sponsor.

(This is where I started laughing, and attracted some nervous, sideways glances from my fellow Metro riders.)

And Poniewozik is exactly right. A lack of education and comprehensive health care will have a much more - and certainly much longer-lasting - negative impact on your life than the inability to buy your dream home for a time because no bank will lend you the money. But the housing market is where the numbers are crashing and burning, and things that crash and burn are what keep the ratings up. Our education and health care systems have been going up in flames for years; that crisis isn't interesting anymore. At least not interesting enough to convince people to stay tuned for the 11 o'clock news.

I rarely watch actual news broadcasts because I absolutely loathe this kind of mass hysteria-inducing reporting that the ratings game fuels. I frankly don't care what issue makes an anchor pull out their "now this is really, really serious, folks" voice. I want the most up-to-date facts so that I know what's going on in the world (which, like, OMG, so totally does not include the status of Jon and Kate Gosselin's love lives as reported on CNN!), and I want to decide for myself what my reaction is. It's the job of commentators like Jon Stewart and Rachel Maddow to comment on the news; a news anchor's job is to report it.

And reporting is important. Even if the day's new record low or high percentage of whatever that the media is screaming about isn't high on my list of things to lose sleep over in the long run, it's still good to know. I could just do without the screaming.

Poniewozik recognizes that the media has gotten off track:

Ideally, the media should help us place our worries in perspective. But often they encourage the disaster mentality by focusing on the trendy menace - the sleeper cell, the Obama-conspiracy e-mails, the pandemic, the shark - jumping on hot-button distractions and rushing to label every new crisis the worst ever.

So in the world of the 24-hour news cycle, ruled by the cable networks, how do we get the media back on track and reporting on the issues that matter in the long-term, not just the crisis du jour?

Happiness is...

2009-08-03T10:05:00.001-07:00

A variety of factors combined in such a way that I spent a lot of this weekend pouting: the weather was hot and disgustingly muggy, with random thunderstorms appearing out of nowhere (not that that's unusual for this time of year), most of my friends in the area were out of town or recovering from vacation and one of my closest friends on this coast - who still not only puts up with but actually feeds my Francophile-ness - moved several states south. I basically set my internal monologue to "whine" after my long run on Saturday and left it on repeat throughout the weekend.

That "there's nothing to do" mentality that, for me, accompanies this kind of pout-fest is one of my least favorite feelings in the world. I'm generally a pretty cheerful person, and getting stuck in that sort of mental funk drives me nuts (which somehow makes it worse, rather than making me snap out of it) and leaves me unfit company for anyone sane until it runs its course.

Fortunately, I woke up this morning in a much better mood and, despite being somewhat punchy from a morning run and commute in 85% humidity, I've been reminding myself of all kinds of things that put a smile on my face, which - surprise! - has succeeded in keeping one there. Here's my "happiness is..." list for today.

Emails and IMs from friends around the globe. (And I'm once again resolving to be a better email correspondent, as a result.)
My new Tropical Kiss lipstick and Prim and Copper gloss, discovered a couple of weeks ago at an Origins "Healthy Happy Hour" that a friend of mine won. The plant-based formulas make me feel better about using them, and the zingy mint in both is a definite pick-me-up.
Photos of friends and family. I have a gazillion photos all over my apartment, but don't always focus on them, since I've kept most of them around my living space for years. One of my all-time favorites is of me and Gina on our last day of middle school, yearbooks in hand, arms around each other and huge grins on our faces (my braces, her retainer and all). I looked at it while I was putting on a pair of earrings this morning and had to grin back at our 14-year-old selves.
Summer dresses, which in my opinion are among the most comfortable articles of clothing in existence.
The "early" crew at work. The first group of my co-workers in the office most mornings is a happy, laid-back bunch that never fails to put a smile on my face. Let me tell you, that's a great feeling to start the workday with.
Pilates tonight!
Splash Zone. I'm sure that makes sense to absolutely no one, so: it's a Linda Arnold CD for kids with songs about sea life, from "That's a Habitat" to "That's A Moray." My niece sings the songs virtually non-stop, and I woke up with "Hold On and Go With the Flow" stuck in my head. Yes, it's a little odd for a 24-year-old to walk around humming "Hold on and go with the flow. That's what the rocky shore animals know!" but memories of my niece singing it at the top of her lungs are superimposed over the lyrics, and are hilariously cute.
Nala's random sprints around the apartment, chasing a toy she's just found and had forgotten about.

What's on your list?

People + Coupons = Groupon!

2009-07-31T09:30:00.001-07:00

High on everyone's list these days is saving money, so the fact that one of my favorite email lists exists is probably not surprising, but still fantastic: the Groupon.

What in the world, you might ask, is a Groupon? Shortest explanation: a group coupon!

It was started in Chicago in November 2008, and has since spread to Boston, New York, Washington, Atlanta, Los Angeles and San Francisco, with groups launching soon in Philadelphia, Phoenix, San Diego, Seattle, Dallas, Denver and Houston. Basically, Groupon collects email addresses of people in a metro area where they'd like to get a group going, then once they hit whatever their magic number is, they start soliciting merchants.

The merchants who agree to offer Groupons are guaranteed a certain number of customers who will purchase their offer - a number I believe they set at however many customers they would need to make the offer profitable for them - and one offer is sent out to each city's list every morning. They range from deep discounts at local bars and restaurants to half off (or more!) a scuba lesson, yoga class or salon treatment.

Everyone who wants to buy the day's Groupon does so online, although no one's card is charged until the merchant's "magic number" of participants is reached - a countdown to which is always visible on the site. Once enough Groupons have been bought, it's a done deal and the following morning, you can print your Groupon and head off for some cost-effective fun. (Each Groupon has an expiration date set by the merchant, but most are at least a month after the purchase date, so you don't have to rush to use it.)

Since the first Washington Groupon on May 26th, I've bought two of them - a $30 5-class card for Mind-BodyFitness (worth $75), the Pilates studio I told you about in last week's Food for Thought, and a $25 offer for $50 worth of supplies and time at Color Me Mine, one of those "pick something ceramic and get creative with paint" places.

I've been tempted by a few more - half off a scuba lesson, half off kayak and canoe rentals, a discounted all-day paintball session - but my practical, frugal side kicks in most of the time and says "Really? When (and where?!) are you going to scuba in the near future? You've never been paint-balling and it's out in the middle of nowhere; would you actually go, Miss I-Live-In-Metro-Mecca-DC-So-I-Refuse-to-Buy-a-Car?" Still, it's great to be able to (occasionally!) splurge on things I really want to do, knowing that I'm getting a fantastic deal.

If you live near one of Groupon's current or future cities, I highly recommend signing up and taking advantage of their amazing discounts. It's a great way to get out, try new things and make the most of what your area has to offer!

Food for Thought

2009-07-22T10:45:00.000-07:00

Since I don't always have time to write a full blog post, a sad fact that results in far fewer posts than I'd like, I'm beginning a new type of post today called "Food for Thought." Basically, it'll be a few quick blips about things that are on my mind and might be on yours, usually written while I grab a bite to eat between items on my schedule (hence the title). So, here goes!

A friend of mine introduced me to charity: water this morning (thanks, P.!) and as she put it, "I want to give them all my money!" This is the second charity whose website has made me cry this year (yes, literally - the first being The Girl Effect) and served as a reminder of why I wanted to go into non-profit/NGO work in the first place.
I'm still loving my TIME Magazine subscription, and read three good articles on this morning's commute: "Moon Walkers," the cover story about the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 mission and a look back at the history of the space program's Apollo missions (the print edition also has nice photos and mini-bios of the Apollo astronauts); "What Price Journalism? What Would You Pay?" that talks about how nothing in journalism is free, including the freebies, and is a different take on the "print journalism is struggling/dying" issue; and "The CIA Is Keeping Secrets. Hello?" written by Robert Baer, a former CIA field officer. The last one is particularly interesting (and the title made me laugh), since it gives a former insider's perspective on CIA secrecy, and makes some great points about hypocrisy in government for appearances' sake, as well as the impracticality of too many checks and balances.
Have you seen Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince or (500) Days of Summer yet? I want to see both despite the fact that I know the latter will make me cry, and have heard mostly-great reviews so far. And just finished a re-read of Harry Potter VI in preparation for the film! I only have that one in French though, so I may (as usual) be a bit confused...
New on my list of favorite places in Washington!: Mind-BodyFitness, a Pilates studio near the Convention Center. They offer both mat and reformer workouts, and both seem to be more affordably priced than most yoga and Pilates studios in the area. Mat workout classes start at $18 for a walk-in and drop down to a little more than $12 each with a 15-class card for $185 - or a $300 pass for unlimited classes for three months. It's been awhile since I've done Pilates seriously (plus, I don't want to be so sore that it affects my running), so I'm sticking with the intro class for now, and after two classes - third one tonight! - I love it. Chris is the intro instructor and is great: I could easily do the entire class with my eyes closed, his descriptions of what you should be doing and how are so good. And the switch from the Pilates Method I learned in college to the BASI Pilates the studio uses has been easy.

That's what's on my mind today! What's on yours?

How are blogging and social media affecting print journalism?

2009-07-20T09:20:00.000-07:00

There's the obvious answer, given the closing of Denver's Rocky Mountain News in February and the Seattle Post-Intelligencer's switch to online-only reporting in March, although I'd argue that has more to do with online news outlets than blogs and social media. But as bloggers and social networking sites become more mainstream, how else are they effecting print journalism?

My mom has subscribed to TIME Magazine for as long as I can remember, and recently took them up on an offer to send a gift subscription along with her renewal - so now I can look forward to an issue of TIME in my mailbox every Saturday (woo hoo!). My mom usually left her copy open on the kitchen counter and made her way through it as she cooked dinner in the evenings or ate lunch on the weekends, and I remember reading pieces of it from time to time as I was growing up. I felt so adult, reading an article out of a news magazine, and learning bits and pieces about what was going on in the world.

I've been receiving TIME in my own mailbox for about a month now, and really enjoy reading it - usually on the Metro, where it doubles as a fan on the stifling station platforms - but I've found myself blinking in surprise a few times over the writers' use of casual language. Writing tone and style are very individual, but there are basic standards that exist for most types of writing. I had to adapt the way I wrote for Honors English my junior year in high school because my teacher didn't like my style, I learned to take a journalistic, reporting tone when I wrote for GW's The Hatchet and had to shake myself out of a formal, academic style after I graduated and started writing email copy for the non-profit I work for.

As a blogger, everything about how and what I write is up to me. I can be as casual as I want, and most bloggers are, using interjections between hyphens or parentheses (I never do that!) and often writing their own opinion - blogging isn't about presenting the facts with a subtle slant.

So I was surprised when I started noticing the same techniques in TIME, in articles of varying lengths, from features to quick blurbs. In four issues I've only noticed it three or four times, but it's been enough to get me thinking about it: is this an effect of the more casual reader-writer relationship encouraged by blogs and social networking? Or is it just a natural evolution of journalism in a society where much of our interaction with others comes in the form of words on a page or screen?

I don't know that I have an opinion on whether this kind of change is good or bad. I lean toward the bad side of neutral, not because I think it does any harm as an occasional thing but because I don't particularly want professional journalists sounding like...well, me. At least not in columns that involve serious reporting rather than a point of view. I want the facts, along with whatever (hopefully minimal) bias is implicit in the news sources I choose to use, so I can make up my own mind about the issues. And then, of course, I'll inflict my opinions on you!

What do you think - what's the source of these snippets of casual intimacy in reporting, and are they okay or should they be a journalism no-no?

"Of course it's all about me!"

2009-07-14T15:40:00.001-07:00

This general attitude had me spending most of yesterday alternately lecturing myself on the importance of positivity and wanting to scream not-so-nice things at anyone who crossed my path.

It was one of those days when every cyclist on the trail zoomed past three inches from my elbow with nary a "Left!" to be heard, I got knocked around by people on the Metro twice my size whose mothers certainly taught them better and, about the time I was trying to eat lunch, half a dozen things suddenly appeared in my inbox that had to be done five minutes ago. (At least this time my case of the Mondays fell on the right day of the week.) Some passive-aggressive tendencies and blind-siding rounded out the day, and I arrived home frustrated and cranky. I reminded myself that it was just Monday, and that if I relaxed and got a good night's sleep, things would look better in the morning.

And they did! I ran with great weather and a beautiful sunrise glinting off the Potomac this morning, regardless of the Mercedes turning left that wanted to play chicken with me while I was obeying the little green man in the crosswalk signal at a major intersection. I even got to work a little early, despite exiting the Metro being its usual exercise in being jostled by briefcases on all sides. And I had time before work to respond to a friend's email about her frustration with the total lack of consideration she's been getting during the last few months, from companies of which she's a customer, colleagues and her state government.

Our frustrations, I think, have the same root: people just don't care about people anymore. (Which has the secondary effect of making me want to, in turn, elbow my way to the front of the line and shout at the top of my lungs until I get what I want. So far I'm well-behaved enough not to give in to temptation. Barely.)

Sure, most people still have a small inner circle of family members and friends for whom they would do just about anything, although we probably spend less time with, talking to or thinking about one another than we used to. Outside of that circle, the general public seems to care not one iota about anyone else they may come into contact with beyond the minimum it takes to get what they need for either personal or professional reasons. Everyone wants to feed starving children in India, prevent malaria in Africa and help educate women and children worldwide, but they couldn't care less about the next 30 seconds in the life of the person waiting in line next to them.

As I put it to my beleaguered friend this morning, "Yay, good, let's make sure people around the world aren't starving or dying of preventable/curable diseases, but for crying out loud, let's not step on everyone we walk past on the street while we're doing it!"

Not everyone acts this way - some of my colleagues and many of my friends are drop-everything-and-help-anyone-in-need types. I try to be one too, but I know I'm sometimes guilty of tuning out the people around me. We're all a little narcissistic; it's human nature to be at least slightly more concerned with yourself and your immediate family and/or friends than with individual people you don't know.

My concern (/rant...) is that it seems to have become not only acceptable but, in some places, standard operating procedure in society to run roughshod over everyone you've decided you don't have to care about. And that's not a good lifestyle choice for society, in general, to make. I've always been of the "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" school (thanks, Mom!), but it seems like it just doesn't work anymore, as far as having any noticeable effect on society goes.

What do you think, is this actually a trend, or am I crazy? If it is a trend, is it a bad one (...and if I'm just crazy, do you know any good therapists?), or is it just the new normal and not an issue? My opinion on this one is obvious, but I'd like to hear yours.

Lifestyle envy

2009-07-02T11:57:00.001-07:00

I have a raging case of lifestyle envy. I'm in the Seattle area on vacation for the second year in a row and last year's thoughts of "Wow, wouldn't it be great to live here?" have not faded - in fact, they've gotten stronger.

I've always loved the Pacific Northwest: the mountains, the coast, the clear air, the national parks, the hiking trails, the general outdoorsy-ness. I spent a lot of family vacations as a kid doused in mosquito repellent and scrambling through forests between Yosemite and Vancouver Island. Between that, the whale watching tours, the omnipresent coffee shops (hot chocolate for me, at the time) with endless delicious pastries and the incredible views, I always had a blast, but Southern California was unquestionably home, so I didn't pay much attention to the natives and how they lived.

Now, at 24, I'm incredibly envious of the way these people, particularly Seattlites, spend their lives. Yeah, the traffic is often terrible and commutes to and from work can be ridiculous. But Rainier National Park is a day trip from anywhere in the area, a plethora of summer fruits grow wild throughout every town in the region, one of my favorite wineries is a car ride away and Vancouver is just a ferry ride across the border.

And then there's Seattle itself, which I could rave about for approximately the next ten years, so I'll skip to my favorites: Pike Place Market, with its deliciously fresh (and local!) foods and unique shops, Beecher's Handmade Cheese, with the best macaroni and cheese on the face of the planet, Tully's Coffee, which is infinitely better than Starbucks and mass-produces compostable cups and sleeves, The Confectional, with its sinfully delicious specialty of cheesecake truffles, which, I believe, are bite-sized pieces of heaven on earth, REI's flagship store, which is the mecca of outdoor types everywhere and boasts a fantastic climbing wall that's visible from the freeway, Northwest Outdoor Center on Lake Union, where you can rent a single, double or triple kayak for as little as an hour or as much as a week, the Center for Wooden Boats, also on Lake Union, where you can rent a sailboat to glide around the lake in, watching the numerous float planes come and go... have I mentioned how much I love this place?

Not only is Seattle a great city, but its residents seem to actually take advantage of all it has to offer, something that Washingtonians are notorious for not doing. They'll work from 5am to 2pm, then jump in the car and head off to paraglide from one of the Issaquah mountains (which they run up on the way); they'll take a stroll through Pioneer Square and stop to spend half an hour sitting outside a coffee shop; they actually shop at Pike Place, rather than relinquishing it to the tourists. Then, they head home to set out their "trash" bins: the largest for recycling, another for compostable waste and the smallest for trash.

Where do I sign up, and when can I start?

Monsieur le Président, reigning theologian?

2009-06-23T16:15:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, Nicolas Sarkozy made the first presidential appearance before the French Parliament since the 1800s. Among his topics of choice? The need to ban the burqa in the Fifth Republic.

According to the New York Times, the crowd applauded enthusiastically, but Sarkozy is already being slammed by the French press and many of his constituents. LeMonde.fr posted reactions from its readers yesterday under the (translated) title "In France, liberty for all, except the Muslims!" June 19th's edition featured an opinion piece by Eric Kaminski on the overall topic that's well worth the read if your French is up to it.

As much of a feminist as I am, I'm solidly with LeMonde's readers (and it seems to me, their editorial staff) on this one: whether or not a woman wears a burqa, a niqab, a hijab, a baseball cap, a scarf or no covering at all when she's out buying groceries or having coffee with friends is not the business of the French government.

Here's some food for thought, M. le Président: what does it matter what a woman chooses to wear on the streets of Paris, Toulouse, Marseille or Rennes when there are still places in your country where a woman who wears a skirt - no matter the length - is considered by the local population to be "inviting" rape? What does it matter that some women choose to adhere to the more austere traditions of their faith when women are still burned alive by men who feel they've been "humiliated," like Sohane Benziane, 17 years old when she was killed in 2002, who was sprayed with gasoline and tossed in the trash?

Yes, countless injustices have been committed against women in the name of Islam. Yes, some women in Muslim countries are forced into wearing the burqa by male relatives - thank you, M. Sarkozy, for apparently reading A Thousand Splendid Suns. Yes, the idea that anyone thinks women must cover themselves completely from public view to ensure that only their husbands can admire their beauty is appallingly sexist and frustratingly outdated.

But, M. le Président, you have far more serious issues to address first if you're going to start on a feminist agenda, added to which it's not really a feminist issue (for you, at least) and it's none of your business.

Any type of religious garb is already banned for teachers and students in public schools, as well as for all on-the-job government employees in France, and I have no problem with that because it meshes with the French version of secularism. However, given the way he argued his case, Sarkozy's statement that "the burqa is not welcome in the territory of the French Republic" is a foot-in-mouth moment that rivals, in my mind, his "slip" with "racaille" ("scum") during the 2005 riots.

Sarkozy presented the issue as a feminist one, saying that his desire to ban the burqa is not religious. Given the tensions that already exist between the (primarily Muslim) immigrant population in France and the "native French," he either didn't think that through or - more likely, in my opinion - I'm calling a big, fat B.S. on that statement. Because, guess what? Most French citizens and residents who wear traditional Islamic garb choose to do so. (Curious? Check out the reaction from LeMonde.fr's readers - same link as "reactions from its readers" above and in French. Sorry!) Added to which, if you're going to object to Islamic garb from a feminist perspective, what about the fact that Orthodox Judaism requires married women to cover their hair? It's the same basic principle - why is Sarkozy only objecting to Islam's rendition?

Personally, I find the idea of wearing even a hijab sexist and insulting, but I'm not Muslim and it's not up to me. President Sarkozy seems to find the idea of a niqab or burqa insulting (but not a hijab, Mr. "This-is-a-question-of-feminism?"), but outside public institutions, it's not up to him.

At least, it shouldn't be. Forcing people to disavow their beliefs hasn't done France any good in the past (Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, anyone? Shortly after that is when my ancestors hopped a boat for the New World and is why they ended up fighting alongside the colonials in the Revolutionary War.) and is in fact part of the admittedly-complicated rationale behind their strict secularism.

The French government should absolutely take steps to ensure the safety and freedom of anyone on its soil who is being intimidated and oppressed - by spouses, parents, siblings or anyone else. But that's a separate and much broader issue that in this instance has little to do with either feminism or the right to wear religious garb and much more to do with the messy immigration-racism-religion triangle of tensions that Sarkozy seems to want to circumnavigate.

If I were living in France, M. le Président, I'd ask you to quit grandstanding in an attempt to avoid the real issues and do your job.

Memo to the D.C. Newbie

2009-06-19T10:14:00.001-07:00

The D.C. Newbie might become aware of an air of hostility tainting his first experience with the District. It isn't personal, Newbie - logically, those of us who live and work here realize that you couldn't possibly be aware of this city's numerous quirks immediately upon your arrival. It's just that there are so many of you, and a very large minority of your cohorts seem to toss common sense to the wind once inside the Beltway, and it gets a little frustrating.

So as someone who realizes that D.C. customs and common courtesies are not always immediately evident to newcomers, a list of tips and unwritten rules:

Washington is not a playground, an amusement park or a museum exhibit. People actually live and work here, and don't appreciate being delayed by people on vacation who don't realize their party of six is inevitably always in the way. (I think this goes for any major city/tourist destination.)
Unless you actually have somewhere to be at 9am, avoid the Metro at rush hour. Similar to #1, the Metro is not a joy ride, it's how people get to and from work. A lot of people, actually, and it's very, very crowded on weekday mornings and evenings, with people who are prone to crankiness. If you're a tourist, find something within walking distance of your hotel to do until 9:30 or 10am. Trust me, if it's your first time in the area, you'll feel uncomfortably awkward during morning rush hour on the Metro. Especially if you have kids. Infinitely more so if one or more of them are in a stroller. Plus, minimum fare is 30 cents cheaper after 9:30am ($1.35, instead of $1.65).
Escalators are a mode of transportation, not a reason to be lazy. Yes, in many other cities in the world (L.A., for example), no one walks on escalators. Here, most people do the majority of the time. No one cares if you stand, as long as you do it on the right-hand side - the left-hand side is the "fast lane." If you stand on the left, you're the equivalent of the VW bus doing 30 in the carpool lane, so don't be surprised if someone asks you, impatiently, to move.
Same goes for sidewalks. The generous width of the sidewalks is not an invitation to walk five abreast, it's a concession to a city with a large number of pedestrians. Just as many people take the Metro rather than drive to work, many people also walk, so stay to one side here as well.
Use the buddy system. Breaking your group up into pairs (with at least one cell phone in each pair, and one person who knows where you're going and more or less how to get there) will save you a lot of frustration. If the large family I ran into post-D.C. United game this Saturday had been using the buddy system, the pairs who were on the platform as the "doors closing" chimes sounded could have jumped into whatever car was nearest them, and those who were still on the escalator could have caught the next train, everyone confident that everyone else would get where they were going within about 10 minutes of one another. (Instead, the two teenagers who got there first spent two or three minutes delaying the train by standing in the doorway, shouting down the platform at the rest of their group to hurry up, delaying the train and cramming their entire extended family into one already-overcrowded car.)
Don't drive. Not because I think tourists or interns are bad drivers (Washingtonians are terribly rude drivers, so driving skills are relative here anyway!), but because it will stress you out, cost you far more than public transportation and probably take you longer. Parking is expensive, the streets weren't built to handle today's traffic volumes and there are so many one-way streets you'll have to drive twice the actual distance between points A and B. (And when you slow down or stop to ask a convenient pedestrian for directions, four times out of five they won't know what to tell you, because they don't drive and so don't pay attention to which streets are one-way in which direction.)
Be aware of where you are. In the summer, I regularly miss trains, open doors and green lights because I have to find a way around groups of tourists and interns who have stopped directly in front of the escalator they've just stepped off, the building they've just left or the curb they've just stepped up on. It's easy to focus on the internal dynamic of your group, but keep an eye on where you are in relation to those around you, too - they'll appreciate it. (I wanted to applaud yesterday for an eight-person family visiting the District who had all stepped back against the wall of a building while one family member bought drinks and hot dogs for everyone from a street vendor, rather than having the whole family crowd both the cart and the sidewalk. Way to go!)
Metro car doors are not elevator doors. Okay guys, this one is crucial: the doors on Metro cars will never - ever - spring back if you stick your arm, leg or backpack between them. They're just not built to do that. Yes, if you're very strong you can force a door to stay open by leaning all your weight on it, but once the conductor closes (or tries to) the doors, you forcing one to stay open won't do anything but break it - and that means every single person on the whole train has to get off and wait for the next one. In which case everyone will be very cranky, and very cramped on both the platform and the next train. So either get on or get off, but when the "doors closing" chime sounds, get out of the doorway.

Interning in Washington is a rite of passage for many American college students, and can be a fantastic experience. But for interns, there are a few more specific tips:

Remember that you're an intern. Interns are great and can be a huge help - but they can also sometimes forget themselves. This is especially true of summer interns on Capitol Hill, who are usually also part tourist, and often leap before they look when it comes to how Washington works. Interns, do a good job at the basics - boring as they are - and keep your eyes open, and you'll get both the good recommendation and the insight into non-profits/law firms/the Hill you were (hopefully) looking for when you applied. Save the rest for when you're a paid employee.
Keep your eyes and ears open. (i.e., Talk less, watch more.) Yes, you've written research papers on several of the issues that are important to the organization/firm/Congressman/Senator you're interning for. But you won't know the specifics of how they address those issues, and you certainly won't know the office culture, before you arrive. Rather than making an early faux pas (that will inevitably become what you're remembered for), observe the inner workings of your new digs before jumping in with what you know.
Intern badges are interesting only when you're not in Washington. (Hill interns, this one's for you.) Any internship that involves a badge or other form of ID requires you to wear them because it's standard operating procedure for whoever you're working for, not because your boss thinks it makes you look cool. Yes, showing such badges to your out-of-town friends makes for good, concrete proof of your awesome internship in the nation's capital, but wearing it out to the clubs on a Friday or Saturday night just makes you look unprofessional, and announces your (probably unpaid) intern status to everyone you meet.
Don't do anything stupid just because you're in Washington. D.C. is actually the worst place to decide to go a little wild, because since it's not a state, every infraction is federal. Fake IDs? Really, really bad idea. Not only will you end up in the federal system for attempting to purchase alcohol underage, but if anyone actually serves you, the establishment could lose its liquor license and the bartender will inevitably be fired and probably charged as well. As a result, Washington bouncers, bartenders and servers are really good at spotting fakes - the hard-nosed ones will turn you over to Metro PD (again, federal offense!); the more laid-back ones will just confiscate your ID and kick you out (or sometimes offer to give it back for somewhere in the neighborhood of $50-$100...and still kick you out). Oh, and your intern badge? Not a valid ID.
dcinterns.blogspot.com is an invaluable, if snarky, resource. Consider it your ongoing summer reading assignment and make it your mission in life to never see yourself there. (For non-interns, it's just hilarious, especially if you've ever lived or interned in Washington yourself.)

All that said - have a blast in D.C.! It's a great city, despite the extremely swampy summer weather, and the history here is not to be missed. Washingtonians don't always come across as the friendliest of people, but smile, ask politely for any information you need and you'll usually be pleasantly surprised. Oh, and always carry an umbrella - the summer thunderstorms are bone-rattling, and can produce themselves from a clear blue sky in 20 minutes flat.

Fairy tale princesses a bad influence? No way!

2009-06-10T10:54:00.002-07:00

Predictably, Disney's latest fairy tale film, The Princess and the Frog, is causing something of a ruckus, this time over the fact that Princess Tiana is African-American (and her prince lighter-skinned, although apparently his exact racial heritage is ambiguous). But Monique Fields, over at the Root, is more inclined to protest the latest Disney character's job description than her skin tone.

On the racial angle, I'm inclined to say "finally" and move on. (Disney is, after all, 45 years behind the Civil Rights Act on this one. And any institution trailing that far behind the federal government, itself notoriously slow, is at least slightly ridiculous.) But protesting the fact that Tiana is a princess because princesses don't make any money, have unrealistic expectations of their future happiness and wear things that sparkle? Hm.

I grew up on fairy tales, and even with as far up in the clouds as my head usually was (and sometimes still is), I never expected to literally grow up to be a princess - in fact, I don't think I ever considered the possibility that it was a real "job." In most democratic countries, I'm pretty sure the socio-political reality is evident enough to make the point in the collective kid consciousness that royalty is something that doesn't exist in their world, even if they remain enchanted with the idea.

What I loved so much about Aurora, Cinderella, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas and Mulan (if we're talking strictly Disney, here) was their attitude - and their ability to dream. In my mind, what modern fairy tales do is encourage kids to dream big and never stop, because who knows what might happen? (Need an example? Go listen to "Just Around the River Bend.") And I can't think of a better ideal to impress upon kids at a young age.

Even way back when fairy tales first started being passed down (whenever that was, given that most of them began as oral traditions and weren't written down until several centuries ago), they weren't intended to make kids aspire to be royalty - they were intended to instruct kids on how to successfully make it to adulthood (common sense lessons like "don't talk to strangers who might try to eat you and your grandmother later" included).

I did an independent study course and its 20-page paper on 17th-century fairy tale/folk literature, so I won't get too far into this, but the bottom line is basically: the shiny, sparkly, I'm-a-princess-because-I-want-to-be-spoiled mentality is a late-20th-century perversion of the fairy tale. Largely created and supported by parents. Yeah, if you buy your kid everything she (or he) asks for, and tell her she's special/a princess in a way that implies better than everyone else (or, newsflash, parents: if you act like you're better than everyone else), she's going to be obnoxious and very difficult to handle, regardless of how many Disney princesses she does or doesn't watch traipse across the big screen, or how many pieces of clothing she owns proclaiming her a "Princess."

If, however, your child's love of fairy tales - from translated Perrault to Disney and all the Brothers Grimm in between - stems from the stories themselves and the flights of fancy they inspire, watching tiara-wearing cartoon princesses is not going to make her turn to "superficialities like glitter and makeup...[to] compensate for any deeper flaws some women try to hide" later in life. Instead, it will probably help develop her imagination and her sense of self. One of the things all fairy tales have in common is that the "princess" must make a journey, often physically as well as emotionally, during which her eyes are opened to the world around her and the character traits necessary to help her navigate it. No one wants to grow up to be the spoiled, self-absorbed, utterly charmless stepsister.

And fairy tale princesses are not pushovers - these women know who they are and they rock their individuality! Cinderella probably could've gone all Type A and gotten her stepmother to pick on one of her own daughters instead with a little manipulation, but she stayed true to herself and stuck it out (and was rewarded - hello, fairy tale lesson #1). Belle was mocked by the whole town for her bookworm habits, but she didn't care - and she was the only one brave enough to save her father from the Beast...and then to look past his physical appearance to his personality (and was rewarded - are we noticing a trend?).

Isn't that exactly the sort of thing we want every generation to learn? To be themselves, not to give in to peer pressure and to always do what they know is right? I certainly hope so. (Oh, and Ms. Fields? Your 4-year-old doesn't want to be an entrepreneur because she doesn't know what one is yet. The same probably goes for the lawyer.)

One thing's for sure: I will absolutely read my kids fairy tales and if they enjoy them, I'll happily take them to Disney movies - I'll probably even cry at the sad parts. And rather than relying on multimedia and the fashion industry to form my kids' character, I'll talk to them about what's important, correct them if they start to think they're the center of everyone's universe and not just mine, and encourage them to let their imaginations run wild when it comes to their dreams.

The Cure for a case of the Mondays

2009-06-05T10:50:00.005-07:00

Isn't it strange (and kind of awesome) how a half-second interaction with a complete stranger can make or break your day?

I've been having a major case of the Mondays today. (Which hardly seems fair - I mean, come on, it's Friday!) Forgot my lunch at home, which I realized about a block from the office. Which is also about the time I realized the belt of my jacket (very un-June-like weather we're having...) had deserted me at some point during the commute. That, fortunately, I found, three blocks back. Then, late to work after the belt hunt, I found myself locked out of our suite for five minutes as I fought with a key that refused to open its lock and called every extension in the office until I hit the one person who was already in.

Still slightly cranky at lunchtime, I headed out to find something to eat, and looked twice at a woman passing me on the street who looked something like a former boss of mine. It wasn't her, but the woman made eye contact and smiled at me as she passed. Something about her smile was empathetic - maybe my crankiness was evident in my face, since I've been told I'm ridiculously easy to read - and I found myself smiling back, genuinely.

It's the kind of moment that regularly reminds me that I like people, that life and people in general are good, and that I'm happy to be who I am, doing what I am, where I am. I walked back to the office with a much more cheerful spring in my step, smiling at tourists and the janitor who opened the door for me.

I've always believed that your reality is at least somewhat impacted by your attitude. If you see the glass as half empty, you're likely to continue putting yourself in negative situations - or interpreting situations you find yourself in negatively. Negative and positive are opposites, after all, so how can you expect something positive to fall into your lap when you're radiating negativity? And, being something of an eternal optimist, I tend to look for the upside to everything. But sometimes I get in a funk and need a little nudge back in the right direction - that woman's smile was today's.

Of course, now I'm sitting in the hallway in front of my office, writing this post and looking longingly through the glass doors at the keys I can't quite see but know very well are sitting right on top of my desk. Nobody ever locks the front door at lunch, but there are only four of us in the office today, two were already out to lunch when I left and apparently the third left shortly after I did and, being a conscientious employee, locked the door.

So I'm sitting here laughing at myself (only in my head, I wouldn't want to scare the other offices up here who are already a little weirded out by me sitting on the floor in front of the elevators) and perfecting my grape toss-and-catch technique. Because of a stranger's smile, I've decided that, sometimes, general ridiculousness and a lot of laughter is the best way to exorcise a case of the Mondays, whatever the day of the week.

Students at Liberty find none

2009-05-27T11:52:00.008-07:00

I apologize, I've been neglecting you all something awful this month! Between a longer to-do list than usual at work and planning for Gina's wedding this weekend (my best friend's getting married!!!), things have been a little crazy.

I promise to get back to something like a normal blogging schedule next week, but I wanted to share an issue that's been driving me nuts personally and professionally since last Friday: Liberty University kicking their chapter of College Democrats off-campus. I just blogged about it over at State of Belief for work, so I'll send you their way to read the full post:

James Madison must be exhausted. The poor guy just can’t catch a break – with all of the government interference in religion (the faith-based initiative-turned-partnership) and religious interference in politics (Propositions 8, 102 and 2), he’s probably been rolling over in his grave nonstop for years...[read the full post here]

And now (well, soon)...back to your regularly-scheduled dose of There Is No Spoon.

Take your workout outside: Part IV

2009-05-08T10:12:00.001-07:00

Since I'm running 21 miles this weekend, it seems like a good time for Part IV of this series, focusing on off-the-road tips for current and aspiring long-distance runners. These will help keep your body (and your morale!) in top condition.

Get your body the nutrients it needs. As a former obsessive calorie-counter (who still obsesses about it sometimes), I have to tell you that you can't worry about eating too much if you're in serious physical training - especially the first time you're training for a long-distance race. Your metabolism is increasing, you're exercising significantly more and your body needs extra fuel to handle everything you're putting it through. If you don't eat enough, your workouts won't be successful. Period. If you're used to counting calories, use a tool like mapmyrun.com to track how much you're burning, so you know how many extra calories you need to eat. There are all kinds of complicated formulas for figuring out the perfect ratio of carbs to protein to fat for runners, but I just listen to my body. I carbo-load the night before a long run, usually with an obscene amount of (whole grain) pasta. By the time I get out of the shower afterward, I'm usually craving either a cheese omelette or a burger, which is my body's way of telling me it needs protein to rebuild the muscles I spent the last few hours tearing up. When I get hungry again, it's usually for something carb-y, because my body's realizing that I pretty much depleted those stores, but I try to toss in some type of protein too. I'm eating less this time around than I did the first, but still significantly more than I was in January, when 20-degree weather kept me inside most days.
Sleep tight! One of the keys to a good run is a good night's sleep beforehand. Running 14 miles on Saturday isn't going to be much fun if Friday happy hour lasts till midnight. (Not to sound like your mother, but alcohol in general is not the runner's friend in large quantities - it's dehydrating, and you're not going to run well if you're hungover.) Everyone's needs are different when it comes to sleep - I function best on seven or eight hours to begin with, so when I'm training hard I try to get eight or nine hours a night. My social life suffers, but my body is much happier!
Psych yourself up to avoid psyching yourself out. New distances are daunting, and no matter how ready your body is for them, a mental freak-out can trash a workout before you make it past mile 1. There are certain numbers that just sound scary (10 and 20 were the worst for me, the first time around), even if they're only a mile or two more than you've done before, so it's best to prep yourself mentally to keep your head from getting in your body's way. Something I started doing at about eight miles last year - and continue to do now at 16+ - was to mentally review my route a couple of times a day for a day or two before a long run. As mentioned in Part III, I generally map my routes at mapmyrun.com before I run them. That gives me a visual, and since the site lets you view maps in street view, satellite view or a combination of both, you can pick the visual that helps you most. I like "hybrid view" - the combo of street and satellite - and use it to remind myself where both on-street turns and physical landmarks will be. That way I can say, "Okay, when I cross that path to the marina parking lot, I'll be at six miles. When I hit the end of the airport fence, that's nine. That water fountain by the memorial is 12," etc. Keeping a general outline of your run in your head - whether it's in the style of an actual map or turn-by-turn directions - can keep your brain focused and let your body do what it already knows it can.
Listen to your body. Even for avid gym-goers, an intense outdoor regimen will put more strain on your body than it's used to, and you need to learn to listen to its cries for help in all areas. The most basic of those is fuel, as mentioned in #1. Then there's physical stress and injury. I can't imagine a training program ever being 100% discomfort-free, but if you pay attention to the low-grade aches and pains, they're less likely to become full-blown problems or injuries. If something hurts, figure out why. Most of the time you can probably do it on your own with basic rest, refueling, stretching, icing/heating and poking around on the web for information. But if it's been a week and nothing is helping, see a doctor - one who specializes in sports medicine is probably the most helpful if you're sure the issue is directly related to your training. Sometimes, a symptom you think is normal turns out to be a chronic problem (keep reading for an example) and you need to take unexpected steps to reverse it.
Give your body a break. My average weekday involves 10 or more escalators, which I generally pound up and down as fast as I can, one to two miles of walking, which I tend to speed-walk since they're part of my commute, and some 9.5-pound weight lifting when Nala decides to dash out the door every time I come in. Kitty-lifting aside, all of that adds up when you're running 35+ miles per week for months on end, and there are days that I leave for work feeling like I'm all but hobbling, my legs are so tired. I'm not a particularly patient person, but since I try to do #3, above, I make myself stand still on escalators (on the righthand side only, in D.C.!) when my legs are screaming at me to give them a break and pull my walking pace back to more of a stroll. And although it doesn't seem like much, it helps, and my shins especially thank me for the difference.

Okay, the example promised in #3: I coasted through most of my first round of training, both mentally and physically. Yeah, I was sore off and on. Yeah, I had some miles when variations of "Why am I doing this?" played on a loop in my head. Yeah, I spent (post-long run) Saturday afternoons collapsed on the floor, reading, watching movies, icing my knees and shins and stuffing my face in my quest to reach a net calorie count of at least "zero" for the day. And yeah, my social life was close to non-existent for a few months. But for the most part, it was pretty easy going.

Until last September, when I'd been training continuously for six months, and my calves started cramping up when I wasn't running. I'm not prone to muscle cramps in my legs, but I assumed it was just because I was reaching the peak of my training, and my body was tired and more than ready for the tapering-off portion of Operation: Run a Marathon. But when I woke up crying in the middle of the night (yeah, really - and I kind of wanted to scream, too) from a particularly painful spasm in my left calf that just wouldn't let go, I stopped thinking it was normal or would "just fade." I poked around on running message boards, WebMD and my best friend's knowledge of animal nutrition (more of veterinary medicine applies to people than you might think!) and figured out that I probably had a potassium deficiency.

Too much potassium can kill you (I'm sure that's been featured on at least one crime-scene drama), so supplements are hard to come by and a bad idea anyway. I researched potassium-rich foods, then stocked up on spinach, bananas, potatoes - it's the skin that's really rich in potassium - and the low-sodium V8 my boss' wife's doctor had recommended when she had a similar problem. And it worked! A few days after starting my effort to flood my system with potassium, the cramps eased up, then disappeared, and I was able to run my 23-miler, my longest training run, pain-free.

I'm back at the most intense month of training (this time for Rock 'n' Roll Seattle), and once again, my calves started getting tight after workouts, but this time I knew what to do. I'm stocked up on spinach and potatoes, alternate between orange juice (450mg of potassium per 8 ounces!) and low-sodium V8 (it's disgusting, but it works) and snack on raisins most afternoons. And guess what? I haven't woken up in pain even once!

The bottom line for successful long-distance training is to be smart, be safe, stay up-beat and keep your eyes on the finish line. Because when you get there? Baby, it's worth every step.

Wanna go Dutch?

2009-05-06T10:39:00.001-07:00

In the interest of intercultural education, I wanted to share a great article from the New York Times Magazine that not only gives an American take on Amsterdam and life in the Netherlands, but that also presents social welfare from a very different perspective than the "They're trying to make us all socialists!"-type paranoia emanating from most conservative politicians and pundits throughout the last few months. From contributing writer Russell Shorto, "Going Dutch: How I Learned to Love the European Welfare State" is a study in contrasts - mostly those between the Dutch perspective on what it means to be a member of society, and the American.

There are two main questions Shorto answered from both the Dutch and the American perspective in his article, whether he intended to or not:

What about quality of life?
What about everybody else?

Number 1 is a question taken very seriously by citizens of welfare states, with mandatory vacation minimums and a culture that isn't centered around work. The monetary price the Dutch pay for a society that considers this question is one that would make any American jaw drop in sheer terror: the income tax in the Netherlands is 52%.

Shorto opens with his horror upon hearing this number, and after briefly trying to calculate whether or not I could pay my rent and still afford to eat on 48% of my current salary, I was in complete sympathy with him.

Actually, Shorto continues, it's not so bad. (What?!) Because income tax is one of the only taxes the Dutch pay. Social security is included rather than tacked on, state and local taxes don't exist, real estate taxes are much lower, etc. Not only that, but you get a heck of a lot of that 52% back in installments for various things from the government (not to mention the virtually free health care): child benefits, textbook accommodations, government-subsidized housing that carries none of the stigma it does in the U.S., vacation money. Wait, vacation money? Yup. Shorto says:

In late May of last year an unexpected $4,265 arrived in my account: vakantiegeld. Vacation money. This money materializes in the bank accounts of virtually everyone in the country just before the summer holidays; you get from your employer an amount totaling 8 percent of your annual salary, which is meant to cover plane tickets, surfing lessons, tapas: vacations. And we aren’t talking about a mere “paid vacation” — this is on top of the salary you continue to receive during the weeks you’re off skydiving or snorkeling. And by law every employer is required to give a minimum of four weeks’ vacation. For that matter, even if you are unemployed you still receive a base amount of vakantiegeld from the government, the reasoning being that if you can’t go on vacation, you’ll get depressed and despondent and you’ll never get a job.

And that's exactly the sort of quality-of-life issue that American society essentially ignores, expecting everyone to create the type of life that suits them best for themselves. The thing is, we don't. We can't, if we want to first make a good impression, then move up, in our chosen fields. I'm not saying I think the government should pay me to go lie on a beach, but in the U.S., the reward for time put in and a job well done is more work. And that kind of live-to-work attitude is a problem.

People with lower salaries may feel less obliged to stay at their desks after standard office hours than those making six or seven figures after bonuses, but the pressure to work increasingly harder in order to continue to prove oneself is society-wide in white-collar jobs. Being a workaholic is fine - if it's what you want to do. When it becomes so much the norm that no one blinks when junior staffers who barely make enough money to eat regularly work through lunch, check work email from home and have stress levels that are through the roof, something is seriously out of whack.

According to Shorto, the professional mentality that goes along with enforced vacation time and not checking email from home on the weekends isn't lax in comparison to ours - instead, the time away from the office (and all office-associated issues) seems to keep people noticeably more fresh, focused and productive when they're actually in the office. Food for thought, don't you think?

Next up, number 2, "What about everybody else?"

The vacation pay example given by Shorto is the sort of thing that Americans love to rail against in social welfare systems, saying it's ridiculous, encourages laziness and forces the hard workers to pay the "idle poor" to sit around and be unemployed. We're a work-oriented culture of do-it-yourselfers (Can you think of another country where the translated equivalent of "DIY" would make any sense at all?), and we hate thinking our hard work is helping someone else get ahead when we never feel like it's gotten us far enough ahead to relax.

But does it really matter who else the money generated by our work is helping, as long as we have what we need (and some of what we want)? Yeah, it grates against the American work ethic and sense of fair-play. Then again, how fair is it that affordable insurance, and therefore basic health care, is inaccessible to somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 million Americans (that's more than six times the population of New York City, by the way)? Or that the vast majority of our public schools don't even begin to adequately educate our children, and the cost of a decent education has been sky-rocketing for decades? If we had a solid education system and health care that worked, I sincerely doubt I'd spend much time worrying about how many single mothers were receiving welfare benefits from my taxes.

Socially, the American system becomes more inadequate every year, which is laughable for a society that's widely considered the epitome of a developed country. We don't need to turn socialist - the Netherlands has a long history of capitalism (the Dutch East India Company, anyone?) - to support our citizens with effective social welfare programs that address basic rights and needs. Welfare, at its most elemental level, is intended to make sure that people are faring well. And isn't it one of the most fundamental responsibilities of a government to take care of its people?

So what about quality of life? Well, I'd like a better one on several levels, with universal health care, public education and Social Security leading the pack. And what about everyone else? I see no reason my work and income can't benefit society in general as long as my family and I aren't lacking for anything ourselves.

No, we shouldn't adopt the Netherlands' or France's or the United Kingdom's social welfare system as a whole - we're a different country, with a government that functions differently and a population that needs different things. But I think the country that showed the modern world how to make the democratic republic work can figure out how to establish a safety net of social welfare programs for its citizens without compromising its national character. Don't you?

Take your workout outside: Part III

2009-04-28T10:32:00.001-07:00

I had intended for Part III to be the last of the "Take your workout outside" mini-series, but since it's devoted to tips for people who want to try their hand (well, feet) at long-distance workouts, which tend to affect all aspects of your life, it would be an extremely long post! So I've divided it into "on the road" and "off the road" tips - let's start with on. (N.B.: Running is the only activity I do at the long-distance level, so these tips are specific to runners, although I imagine a lot of the same things apply for cycling, swimming, etc.)

There's no penalty for trying. (This is more off-the-road, but I think it's an important place to start.) "Building your base" is the first step to training for a long-distance race. It's kind of like pre-training - you want to get your body comfortable with more mileage, both at one time and on a weekly basis, before you start the core of your training, where your mileage shoots up at a rate that an unprepared body wouldn't handle well. I started building mine in March 2008, when running October's Marine Corps Marathon was still just something I thought I might want to do. I set up a training plan all the way through to race day, but started out with the idea that I'd just see how it went, and if I hit a point where I didn't feel my body could handle any more, that would be okay - at least I'd have tried!
Fuel up. We've already talked about hydration, but if you're going to be out for longer periods on a regular basis, you'll need energy, i.e. something edible, in addition to water. There are tons of products made for this - energy gel shots are the most popular but they gross me out, so I use Jelly Belly Sport Beans. Always err on the side of taking too much with you until you're sure of your body's needs. Personally, I need to eat about half a pack of Sport Beans (~50 calories) every five to seven miles on any run 10 miles or longer. If I don't, the effects of my blood sugar hitting rock-bottom are unpleasant, as I learned last summer when I had run out of Sport Beans prior to my first 14-miler and thought a 90-calorie Special K bar would be sufficient. I could barely stand up when I got back, spent my shower shaking uncontrollably and sitting down every two minutes, and had to sip at watered-down apple juice for half an hour until I felt like I could successfully get some much-needed food into my system. Ever since then, I keep a supply of Sport Beans handy. (If you find yourself in a pinch, I have a friend who swears by chocolate chips as training fuel. I think it's gross, especially when they melt, but whatever works!)
Cheer yourself on! Long workouts can be as exhausting mentally as they are physically, and I can't begin to tell you the number of goofy things I've done to keep myself going on long runs. Last year, when I was running further than I ever had before just about every other week, being able to make myself laugh - usually at myself - or smile was key. After watching the women's marathon at the Beijing Olympics, I got into the habit of narrating my long runs in my head - pretending it was a professional race, and I was the sportscaster. Ridiculous, but it kept me going. Mostly because thinking of what to fill in and making up facts about my running "career" and my fake opponents kept me distracted, so that I didn't focus on the distance left to go. I don't generally need to resort to that sort of thing anymore, but keeping your brain busy during those first really long workouts can be the key to your success in completing them.
Pay attention to the weather. (This was a toss-up between on and off the road, but since it affects you most when you're on, it wound up here.) We work pretty hard to keep the weather from affecting us when we're indoors, but there's no climate control when your workout is outside. I regularly use weather.com's "Hour-by-Hour" feature to figure out when is going to be the best time of day for a run based on projected temperature, windspeed and chance of precipitation. You'll find your own comfort zone for outdoor workouts - I'm most comfortable in the 45-70 degrees Farenheit range. Stepping out of that zone isn't bad, but don't subject yourself to extreme temperatures if you can avoid it. In the fall and winter, I envy people who can run on their lunch hours in bright daylight and warmer temperatures, but in the summer I find myself suppressing the urge to dump a bottle of water over their heads and another down their throats. Sure, heat makes you sweat more and that's what some people want. But going out at noon when the sun is at its most intense and the temperature is starting to soar is not a particularly smart choice. Around noon, you're more likely to be sunburnt, you're more susceptible to heatstroke and dehydration, and you'll deplete more of your body's nutritional stores, particularly your electrolytes (basically, salt - potassium and sodium being the most common in the human body). Try to be flexible with your schedule, and don't put your overall health at risk for one workout.
Know where you are. MapMyRun.com is a (free!) lifesaver of a website that lets you plot out every step of your route on what's essentially a GoogleMap you can draw on. (MapMyRide - for cyclists - and MapMyFitness - for any type of workout - are basically the same thing, although you can track any type of workout in each of the versions.) Since distance matters when you're training for an event of a specific length, I map my routes before I run them whenever possible. This also means that if I want to know where certain miles (or every mile) hit on my route, all I have to do is check my map before I go. Then when I'm on the road, it's easy to track pace and distance, and - most importantly - to know when and where to turn/turn around. Getting lost or not being sure where you are when your feet are your only means of transportation and you're relatively far from home is not a fun experience, so it's always a good idea to have a firm grasp of your route before you take off. I also find that if I'm not sure of where at least a handful of miles hit, I get poky. When all my watch is telling me is how long I've been out, not what my pace is, I lose the competitive edge that keeps my speed up. (Although really, when you're training for a long-distance race, getting the mileage in is far more important than how quickly you do it.)
Experiment! This applies to any number of things, from what you eat before and after runs to how you pace yourself, but the first thing to experiment with is whether you feel most comfortable running with a group, a partner or solo. Most metro areas have running groups, and the best places to start looking for one are probably Meetup.com and your local outdoor equipment store. Groups are great motivators, and if you can't stand the thought of spending a couple of hours alone on a trail, it's definitely something to try. When training for a specific event, charity groups are extremely supportive (Team In Training for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society is one of the widest-spread), but be aware that you'll be required to fundraise a significant amount of money. If groups strike you as intimidating, finding a running buddy or two can give you some company and motivation on your workouts without making you feel overwhelmed. Whether or not you think you'll enjoy it, try running alone at some point, just to see how it goes - you may be surprised. I started out training solo because the idea of people seeing me sweat and pant my way through a run was mortifying, but I assumed I'd team up with a group once I got into the longer, more demanding portion of my training. I quickly stopped caring who saw me pounding around D.C. red-faced and sweaty, but I never did team up with a group - I found that I really enjoy running alone, using the time to think or just to relax (mentally, anyway). I occasionally run with either my mom or one of a couple of friends and I enjoy the company and the chance to do two things I love at once (talking too much being the second), but I'm primarily a solo runner.

Those are the "on the road" high points when you're running - or thinking about running - long distances! Look for "off the road" long-distance tips (like what to expect from your body when you're logging 100+ miles per month!) in Part IV.

"American" values?

2009-04-24T10:15:00.001-07:00

A little work/life cross-pollination here, but this has been bugging me for the last few days: Burns Strider, the Clinton campaign's faith outreach director last year, has founded a new 501(c)(4) non-profit called American Values Network. American? Great, me too. Values? Good stuff. Faith? Awesome. But faith (read: organized religion) in politics? Not so much.

When I first heard about this new organization, I read Burns Strider's name, then the name of the organization and blinked. Burns Strider is a Democrat. American Values Network sounds like one of the religious right organizations created in the 80s and 90s, who gave themselves benign, all-American-sounding names - American Family Association, Focus on the Family, Traditional Values Coalition - to mask their evangelical fundamentalism, and general bigotry and intolerance. Hmm.

American Values Network's heart is in the right place, so to speak. They want to focus on critical issues like poverty, AIDS and the environment, which, bleeding-heart that I am, I'm all for. It's how they want to go about it that drives me nuts. They look at these issues as "compassion issues of the Bible," and want (Christian) politicians to talk about them in Christian terms, quoting scripture and using biblical texts to inform their work. But these aren't Christian, biblical or religious issues. They're social issues that are impacting the global community and need to be dealt with from a compassionate - but practical and modern - point of view.

Faith-based groups do great work around the world (Habitat for Humanity comes instantly to mind), and, like secular non-profits and NGOs, they often have more impact than government programs because they can avoid much of the bureaucracy and its red tape. Faith-based groups should continue to do that work, because - despite the fact that I strongly disagree with the proselytization they often inflict on the recipients of their charity - it's desperately needed. Faith-based groups should absolutely not suggest that any government representative or program embrace or fund the "faith" part of their work. It's not only exclusive and a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad idea, it's also unconstitutional.

What really gets me about American Values Network is that their main quarrel with the religious right - other than being on the opposite side of civil liberties issues - is that they don't use the Bible enough in their politics. If they're going to come at social issues from a moral, biblical standpoint, AVN says, they need to come at all political issues from a moral, biblical standpoint - that means the budget, health care, etc.

It was after reading that little gem that I really started wanting to bang my head against the wall.

The Democratic Party has been working for going on three decades to overpower the religious right. Up until this last election cycle, the general message from the Democrats was "let's leave faith out of politics, it messes with the separation of church and state, and bringing religion into the political arena just makes it even messier." That changed this time around, with the Democratic campaigns adding "faith outreach" staffers and the candidates working to present themselves as moral, religious people. (I'd argue that morality absolutely does not have to center on or stem from religion, but that's an issue for another day.)

Now this group wants Democrats to not only mimic the religious right's use of scripture and biblical finger-pointing in politics, but surpass it.

The critical point they're missing (aside from the whole being unconstitutional thing) is that not all Americans are Christian. Melting pot? Religious freedom? Diversity? Pluralistic society? Any of this ringing any bells? Oh right, they're all descriptions of America, land of the free. But part of American Values Network's raison d'être is this:

We believe America needs leaders who understand public service is a calling, and who know they will be held accountable not only by voters, but by their Creator. We should not be afraid to proudly embrace the traditional and fundamental values that have guided and defined our country since its inception and helped make America a shining beacon of hope and freedom around the world.

Um, that's nice (honestly, it is - public service is indeed a calling, and public servants do need to know that they'll be held accountable for their actions - and inaction). But whose "Creator" and "traditional and fundamental values?" Oh, your exclusively Christian ones, based on that Holy Bible you've got a huge picture of on your policy page? Not nice, guys. Not inclusive and not, in fact, American.

American Values Network has, it seems, fallen into the religious right's trap of believing that the U.S. of A. is and was founded as a Christian nation, when in fact the whole point of separating church and state in the First Amendment was to keep religion and government from becoming entangled and hurting one another, as they had done in Europe and in the colonies, pre-Declaration of Independence.

The face of America isn't an old white guy (unless we're talking about the Founders, in which case it's a group of pretty awesome old white guys, some of them Christian, some of them not). The face of America is a bunch of ages and genders and colors and ethnicities and creeds, all mixed up together. It's messy, it's complicated, it often involves screaming at the top of your lungs about what you believe is right - and it belongs to every single one of us who calls this country home.

I rail enough against the religious right already - I really don't want to have to start picking on a progressive organization for the same reasons. So please, Burns Strider et al., read up on your American history, read the Constitution and the Bill of Rights already, and quit dragging religion into politics, where they inevitably both wind up in the mud.

Take your workout outside: Part II

2009-04-16T11:22:00.000-07:00

You may remember that in Part 1 of "Take your workout outside" I extolled the virtues of being aware of your surroundings and alerting people before passing them. Well, less than a week after writing that, a cyclist and I put on a spectacular demonstration of why those tips are so important.

A few days after that post, I was out for a six-mile run one morning before work - nothing out of the ordinary, except that traffic on the trail was a little lighter than usual, since it was pretty chilly. I hit my turnaround and - for some completely illogical reason - didn't look over my shoulder before starting to turn, as I usually do. I glanced over as I was turning instead, and saw a cyclist roughly two feet behind me, coming fast. It was one of those moments when everything seems to freeze, and you think "Oh, this really can not be happening."

Unfortunately, it really was. Bikes move faster than you might think, and two feet doesn't give you much more than a second of reaction time, during which I tried to scramble out of the way but happened to choose the same direction in which the cyclist tried to veer to avoid me. My attempt to jump back the other way might have been successful with half a second more, but by that point, the collision was inevitable. In a few more seconds of slow-mo fun, I felt the bike hit me, mostly on my left side, finished getting out of the way, watched the cyclist wobble, tried to grab for him as he fell and missed. He ended up on his back under his bike (which, fortunately, had a light frame), and when I went to help him up, I saw that his head must have hit the trail as well, since his helmet had split. Yikes.

Once we got his bike and the pieces of his helmet off the trail, there was a spate of, "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, are you okay?", "I'm so sorry, I should have looked sooner, I don't know what I was thinking," "No no, I should have let you know I was passing," "I'm so sorry, I feel terrible. Really, are you all right?"

Neither of us was injured to the point of not being able to keep going, but I think we each walked away feeling like it was our fault - I know I did. One moment of carelessness, and forgetting to do something I've done hundreds of times before, and I was stiff and sore for days and left with a couple of bruises that still haven't completely faded. I've been keeping an eye out for the cyclist, hoping to see him again and reassure myself that he's okay, but no luck so far. Here's hoping we've just been out at different times lately.

On that note, here are a few more tips for outdoor workouts - and hopefully you take my advice better than I do!

Watch your feet. Or the road, I guess, if you're cycling. Either way, the point is that you're no longer on a stationary machine, you're out on a road or trail that gets beat up by feet, tires, wheels and tree roots, and it's not going to be obstacle-free. I know the route between my apartment and the trail I run on so well that I can (and sometimes do) run it in the dark, but whenever I'm on a new route, I keep the road in my peripheral vision, so I don't end up flat on my face. Even if you do know the route, pay attention when it's wet or particularly cold - trails can have slick spots, and tend to freeze more quickly than streets, since they don't get the heat from car engines. And bridges freeze the most quickly of all, so keep an eye out for ice!
Take it easy. Any workout that's longer or more demanding than you're used to - whether because of distance, hills or significant changes in temperature - is going to take more out of you. By giving yourself a little bit of a break and reducing your speed, even just a fraction, you'll avoid burning out and won't have to deal with that dragging, I'm-exhausted-why-did-I-come-this-far-and-how-much-longer-till-I-get-home sensation. Longer distances are tiring at any speed, of course, but if you take it easy the first time you go out for a more demanding workout than you're used to, you'll have a better idea of how your body handles it for the next time. If it was really tough to finish, despite slowing down some, try something halfway between your usual workout and the new, challenging one a few times - when you tackle the challenging workout again, you may find it's gotten easier. If you finished with energy to spare, great! - next time, you'll know you can pick up the pace without worrying about burning out.
Smile! Amateur athletes, especially runners (although I may be biased!), are a friendly bunch - it must be all those feel-good endorphins running around in their bloodstreams. So if you make eye contact with a fellow trail-user, smile, or say hi. And there's the habitual "runner wave" - just a lift of the hand and/or a nod of the head meant to acknowledge the other people panting and sweating out there with you.

Next up for Part III: some tips specific to long-distance training!

Why not bilingualism?

2009-04-11T07:06:00.008-07:00

This is a bit beyond the current scope of There Is No Spoon, but I'm so excited about it, we're going to pretend that's not an issue: Blogging on Bilingualism is a fantastic resource, and one of my new favorite blogs. A resource for who? Strictly speaking, for anyone raising, trying to raise or thinking about raising a bilingual child...but really, it's an excellent resource for anyone interested in bilingualism - and multilingualism - on any level, at any age.

I would love to raise my future children bilingual, because the array of extra doors a second (or third, or fourth, or...) language can open is both fascinating and useful. But the idea is a little daunting, since although I have some friends who were essentially raised bilingual - and in some cases trilingual - it was more accidental or environmental than intentional, at least as far as I know. Blogging on Bilingualism offers a forum for discussion and the sharing of an infinite variety of practical information for parents of children growing up bilingual - and an additional source of fascination and information for language geeks like me.

In some of the ways the blog's author, Eve Bodeux, describes how she teaches her children or watches them learn, and some of the comments from other readers about their children, I recognize some of the same tricks I used when I was living in France, although I was 20 at the time. I wanted to read more than newspapers in French without having to reach for a dictionary every five seconds, so I picked up the French translation of Harry Potter. I knew the basic idea of the story since I'd seen the films, so I could follow along even if I wasn't catching every word, and knowing the general context helped me learn new vocabulary. (Of course, when I read the seventh book in English, because I couldn't wait until the French translation was released, I was completely confused. What in the world is Disapparating? It's en transplanant that you get from one place to another, not by using this Disapparition nonsense!) Eve talks about having her children watch familiar films, like Disney's, dubbed in the target language - the second language you want them to learn - and it's the same idea: kids know the story and can follow along, but they're learning new vocabulary while they do.

One of the most interesting points made by Eve and some of her readers is that it doesn't really matter if one parent's use of the target language is less than perfect. As long as children hear a variety of native speakers - whether on TV, in films, or in real life - the slight mispronunciations and small grammatical errors a non-native speaker might make won't affect them. It's hearing the target language consistently, its vocabulary, its syntax and some of the cultural background that go with them, that matters. And I think that applies to anyone learning a second language, no matter their age. There were some grammatical errors that made the rounds of my study abroad program, since we were all American students speaking French and tended to parrot each others' phrases - and inevitably, mistakes - but they gradually worked their way out of our collective system as we interacted more and more with native French-speaking professors, merchants and host families.

You probably know that the U.S. system for teaching foreign language is far from ideal. We introduce a foreign language in middle school or high school, while kids in most other countries are introduced to English or another foreign language at about the same time they start formal schooling. The science behind this is that your jaw solidifies when you're fairly young - I've heard anything from six to twelve on that one - and after it does, it's much more difficult to learn the correct pronunciation of languages that use different parts of the face and throat than your own. (French, for example, uses the mouth a lot more than English does - the sounds are fuller - and of course, there's the hacking, gagging 'r' sound. I tell my students to pretend they're gargling with water.)

We also just don't put the same kind of importance on learning a foreign language as other societies do, and I think it's our loss. Young people from other countries often come to study or work in the U.S. for a time and feel comfortable doing so, because they've studied English since elementary school. In comparison, very few Americans venture beyond our borders for any appreciable period of time, I think in large part because it's so completely outside our comfort zone. We're raised with the implicit (and sometimes explicit) idea that American is the best thing in the world to be and America is the best place to be it - everyone and everywhere else are second best. It's great for our collective patriotism, but as a result, our worldview is severely limited and we miss out on some of the best parts of our global society: the people.

It's a fascination with people as much as with the technical aspects of language that keeps me studying and teaching it. After all, the more languages you're able to express yourself in, the more people you can talk to, even if it's only in a rudimentary fashion. Language - and bilingualism (hopefully multilingualism, eventually) - is something of a hobby for me. Other people scrapbook; I speak, read, translate, teach French. Other people talk about taking pottery classes in their spare time; when I have some spare time, I'll take classes in a third language.

The more languages we can understand, the more people and ideas we can access where they live, so to speak. (I'd love to read The Alchemist in the original Portuguese - as incredibly beautiful as it is in English, I can only imagine how gorgeous it is as Paulo Coelho wrote it.) Because it's people and their ideas that make the world go round. They're constantly reaching out to one another, working together to push the world - and us with it - forward, and the more people any of us can connect with, the more of an impact any single idea can have. So why not bilingualism, as a hobby, or a way of life?

Way to go, Iowa!

2009-04-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

"How can a state premised on the constitutional principle of equal protection justify exclusion of a class of Iowans from civil marriage?"

A sentence from the Iowa Supreme Court's decision on gay marriage, and an excellent question. The Iowa Supreme Court came to the obvious conclusion: it can't. The court filed a unanimous decision today, voiding the Iowa statute that limits civil marriage (and I'm sure you can guess, given my earlier post on this topic, that I'm thrilled with the specification of civil marriage) to "a union between a man and a woman" as a violation of the Iowa Constitution's equal protection clause, effectively legalizing gay marriage in the state. Way to go, Iowa!

The trend that seems to be developing around this issue is interesting: the courts are ahead of the curve (i.e. state legislatures, the national government and in some unfortunate cases, our fellow citizens) on what exactly "equality" means today. And hopefully we won't see a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage show up on the ballot in Iowa the way we did in California - and Arizona and Florida, although only California's supreme court ruled on the issue - last fall.

The decision is actually a pretty interesting read. (No, I'm not in the habit of reading court decisions, but I was curious! ...and I'm only on page 20 of 69.) It addresses the fluid history of "equality" in the United States and cites multiple instances in which Iowa has been well ahead of the national standard: admitting women to the bar, outlawing slavery, ruling against segregation - and now allowing gay couples to marry. One of my favorite quotes:

"The framers of the Iowa Constitution knew, as did the drafters of the United States Constitution, that 'times can blind us to certain truths and later generations can see that laws once thought necessary and proper in fact serve only to oppress,' and as our constitution 'endures, persons in every generation can invoke its principles in their own search for greater freedom' and equality."

Let's hope the rest of the country takes a lesson.

Take your workout outside: Part I

2009-03-26T09:58:00.002-07:00

Now that spring has sprung, you may be thinking about getting out of the gym and taking off for a walk or a run where the scenery changes, and the cool air on your face isn't from a noisy fan. Please do! Being outside is one of the reasons I love to run (and hike, and go to the beach, and kayak...), and it comes with some great benefits: vitamin D and that fresh air your mom always insisted you needed more of, for starters, not to mention the fact that it's free!

But there are some rules of the road you need to be aware of - namely that what applies to cars generally also applies to people - and since learning them the hard way from cranky cyclists and speed demon runners can be off-putting (not to mention embarrassing and a little scary!), take note before you take to the trail:

Slower-moving vehicles, stay to the right. Just like in a car, faster runners, cyclists and walkers will pass you on the left, so keep to the right unless you're the one doing the passing. And when you do pass, throw a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure there's no one even faster behind you (you don't want to veer out in front of a cyclist who was about to zoom past you!). If you're exercising with a group, don't walk/run/cycle more than two abreast - it blocks the way for others, it slows your collective reaction time and it's just rude to anyone else out there with you.
Keep it clean. Despite the thousands of paper cups you've seen runners discard during races, throwing anything on the ground is not a habit to get into. Races, since they're sponsored and generally very organized, despite the apparent pandemonium, have clean-up crews that make sure no litter remains on the ground after the race is over. Trails do not, and they don't even get the weekly street sweeper pass that regular roads do. I've found myself picking up energy food/gel wrappers on the trail the past few weeks (some of which specifically ask consumers not to litter!), because I know otherwise they'll end up in the river, in birds' nests or in squirrels' mouths. It's like backpacking: take out whatever you bring in, or dispose of it properly somewhere along the way!
Mind your manners. Since people don't have rearview mirrors, it's common courtesy to alert someone when you're going to pass them - it also lets them know to move to the right, if they haven't already. You'll hear a lot of "On your left!" and "Passing!" from cyclists, or sometimes just the ding of a bell. I usually say thanks, or lift a hand to acknowledge I've heard them, because I appreciate it - the cyclists who don't make the effort and whiz past three inches from my elbow when there's an entire lane open next to me drive me nuts (approaching bikes aren't audible the way cars and panting runners or walkers are, especially not if there's vehicular traffic nearby). Runners can use the same expression, although usually the sound of your shoes is enough of a warning. When off the trail and approaching pedestrians wandering around the middle of the sidewalk, I say "Coming up on your left!" to give them a chance to move out of the way. (Sometimes it doesn't work and they just stop to turn around and give me a surprised look, but at least then they're stationary.)
Leave the music at home. Say what?! I know, I know, iPods are the greatest accessory invented since running shoes, but they're best left for gym workouts. If you have music turned up loud enough to hear it over your feet and your breathing, you're much less likely to hear approaching athletes - or attackers, on the less pleasant side of things. You're also far less likely to be the recipient of the courtesy described in #3, since if people see headphones or earbud wires, they'll often assume you won't hear them anyway and decide to save their breath. That said, a lot of people use them anyway, although I never do.
Be visible. Reflective surfaces and LEDs are your friend, especially if you're out early or late in the day. My birthday present from my mom was a bright greenish-yellow neon windbreaker that's water-resistant and has reflective strips at the shoulders and back. The thing all but glows and I love it, because I can see people wearing similar gear from a quarter mile or more away, so I know it keeps me visible, even before sunrise or after sunset. I also have a neon armband with a flashing LED embedded in it from my brother and sister-in-law that's great when I know I'm going to be running in the dark - the LED is an extra layer of visibility that's particularly good at alerting fast-moving cyclists (and cars, when I'm crossing streets) to my whereabouts.
Protect yourself. This is a big one, and covers a number of areas. At the most basic level, it means don't forget you're outside. Eye and skin protection are a must, and are more important the longer you're going to be out. On another level, this one means be aware of your surroundings, which is part of why #4 is a good idea. Especially if you're out early in the morning or after sunset, when there aren't as many people around, you need to keep your eyes and ears open for suspicious activity. Unfortunate as it is, some criminals think athletes - especially lone women - are easy prey. The experts all recommend carrying some form of identification - Road ID is a good one that comes in several different forms, and which I keep meaning to buy. I'm not great at that particular safety tip and often forget to take an ID with me, but when I do think of it, I usually stick my SmarTrip (Metro card) in a pocket or waistband. It's registered to me, so if I'm unconscious someone can look up the card number and find out who I am, and it's also emergency transportation back home if I need it.
Hydrate! If you're exercising, you need water. Period. Until you know your body well enough to be absolutely confident in saying, "Oh, it's only x miles, I can rehydrate when I get back," take a bottle with you. There are all kinds of contraptions to make it less of a hassle, from fuel belts to hip packs to hand-helds. I know I'm fine without water for eight miles or less (six or less in hot weather or if I'm not feeling 100%), but on long runs of 10 miles or more I take at least a sip per mile - and I've had ample time to figure out what my body needs.

Those are the high points for someone just getting started on an outside exercise plan - more specific tips to follow! Like any fitness routine, the best rule of thumb for making sure you stick with it is to follow your ideal schedule to the letter for at least three weeks (relying on the general wisdom that it takes 21 days to make or break a habit) before skipping or shortening a workout, no matter what.

If you've rarely or never exercised outside before, you may hate it initially (I definitely missed the gym, at first), but give it at least those three weeks before you run back inside for good. Some people just aren't "outdoorsy" and will always prefer working out indoors, some people love outdoor workouts from the start and some will become converts after several tries. Give it a chance, and find out what makes you feel best.

Twittering (or is it Tweeting?) for Change

2009-03-17T20:20:00.001-07:00

I think we all know that social media is addictive. Facebook is the college student's "time suck" and constant distraction. LinkedIn is full of questions on a myriad of topics, all just waiting to be answered. Care2 and Change.org offer endless opportunities for doing good with the click of a button, whether it's saving several square feet of natural resources or discussing ways to effect change in a certain area of social justice.

And then there's Twitter. Twitter, which is basically a global discussion of everything under the sun, being carried out 24/7/365 (that's 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year in the shorthand of text-speak).

I've had a Twitter account for almost a year (twitter.com/jessalynp), but have only "tweeted" 29 times, mostly because I get so overwhelmed by everything I've missed whenever I log in that I close the window again without doing anything other than crossing my eyes at the page. Today though, I read a great post from Heather Mansfield over at Change.org's Nonprofits 2.0 on how non-profits can use Twitter, and have vowed to dedicate a few minutes a day to tweeting...at least professionally.

On a personal level, all of the everyday mumbo-jumbo that's tweeted, most of which is irrelevant by the time I get home and actually read it, frustrates me more than anything else. Yeah, it's great to keep up with what people are doing and there are some people whose tweets I have sent to my phone as text messages so I can stay up-to-date on their lives in real time, but I'd really rather take five minutes to read and/or send an email than read about someone's day in such an impersonal manner. Backwards. In 140 character bursts.

For non-profits though, I think Twitter can be an invaluable resource.

The standard method of contacting members has, for decades, been direct mail, which works amazingly well but usually takes at least six weeks to get written, printed and mailed. This means the information in direct mail letters has to be fairly generic, otherwise it runs the risk of being completely outdated by the time members receive it. And getting members to respond in a way that's timely and meaningful both to them and to the organization they support is difficult.

A few years ago, non-profits began emailing, which is great - it takes hours instead of weeks to respond to something that's happened and members can express their opinions much more easily, through online petitions, emails to political leaders, etc. But members' responses are still fairly limited to whatever channel the non-profit has open to them at any given time, and non-profits often struggle to stay current in a world that's become used to the 24-hour news cycle.

With Twitter, a 140 character post from Washington about a bill hitting the floor in Topeka or a court decision handed down by the 9th Circuit can get people thinking and RTing (ReTweeting - basically the "RE:" of Twitter) from Honolulu to Tokyo: What will a moment of silence mean for students in Kansas public schools? Should there be one? And why exactly is it okay for that giant cross to sit on public land? ...or is it okay at all?

With a non-profit's followers responding more or less instantly (and the non-profit hopefully replying in return, when a response is applicable), non-profits and their members can engage in real time. They can discuss not only the outcome of situations relevant to their missions but how to influence those outcomes before they take place - and how to move forward after the fact.

In a world that deals in sound bites and tag lines, Twitter might just become the non-profit sector's best friend, and the 21st century tool it needs to effect change, or at the very least to start a discussion about it.

Marriage - who decides?

2009-03-11T10:15:00.004-07:00

I've been trying to stay out of the marriage/Prop. 8 debate, at least in the blogosphere, for two reasons:

It's an issue people can get very ugly about, and while I enjoy a good political debate, virulent hatred makes me uncomfortable.
I don't live in California anymore.

This article in the San Francisco Chronicle changed my mind (since I don't visit their website regularly, it took me awhile to see the article, published last Friday) - on #2 because as a state Supreme Court case, the decision on Proposition 8 will create precedent and thus its impact will extend more concretely beyond California's borders, and on #1 because some things are too important to avoid just because it's more comfortable to do so. So I'm climbing up on my soapbox.

Unsurprisingly, given where I grew up, this is an issue I've been aware of since middle school, and on which my personal opinion has evolved over the years. I started out, at 12 or 13, hesitant to have an opinion, in the "I'm not a member of the LGBT community, can't I just stay out of this?" vein. Then, briefly, and I felt guilty about it even at the time, I thought civil unions were the way to go: "Marriage is a religious institution, after all, and aren't a lot of religions at odds with being gay?" After that, I threw up my hands and went back to not knowing what to think, although I was 100% sure that the LGBT community (and let me emphasize the T part of that acronym, because it's a subsection of the community that's overlooked appallingly often) should have the same rights as married couples - in regard to taxes, next-of-kin, custody, etc. - regardless of what a formal union was called.

That last part has become the focus of my opinion as it stands today: equal rights are a necessity. Not only for the LGBT community, but for our society, which continues to find things to divide itself over rather than focusing on the fact that we're all people, we're all Americans and if we'd just accept that human beings don't come from cookie cutter molds and move past that to see the similarities beneath the surface, most of us would probably get along pretty well.

Personally, I don't think the government should be involved in marriage at all. Marriage is a religious institution, and who religious leaders marry should be a decision of individual religious communities, whether their faith tradition chooses to make such a decision on a global level, a local one or on a case-by-case basis. As far as the government is concerned, whether or not people are married shouldn't matter - whether or not they're committed to one another for the purposes of our society should.

So really, a civil union is all the government should be granting or getting involved with, and any two people who want to commit their lives to one another should be able to enter into one, in my opinion. No restrictions other than basic ones such as age and familial relationship (brother and sister...still not such a great idea, sorry!) should even enter into the government's consideration. Our society isn't geared toward single people - in fact, it can make life pretty difficult for them, financially - and if the government focuses on what will make for the most productive society in the long run, as governments are supposed to do, they'll have to recognize that more formally united couples means a more productive, healthier United States.

Leaving the decision about marriage up to individual religious institutions doesn't make the problem go away - there are bitter debates among clergy and lay people within religious traditions and even within individual congregations about the sanctity of marriage and what exactly it means in today's world. (And then there's the question, "What about people who don't adhere to any religion?" I'd say entering into marriage, a union traditionally believed to be blessed by a deity of some kind through the proxy of a religious leader, doesn't make much sense if you don't believe in the deity and you'd probably be more comfortable with a civil union anyway. But maybe that's just me.)

There are religious traditions that flat-out reject the LGBT community, which I think is bigoted and short-sighted (and hypocritical, in Christian traditions, but that's another topic), and which cause a great deal of pain to the LGBT people who were raised in and would like to be adherent to them. And there are religious traditions that welcome everyone with open arms, regardless of their differences from "the norm." That isn't fair to those who don't fit into their faith tradition's mold, but it's also not a battle the government can (or should, at any rate) fight - each tradition needs to evolve in their own time and on their own terms, not when and how they're told to do so by a legislature or a court.

Doesn't religion adhering to the dictates of government about a religious institution breach our freedom of religion? And doesn't a religious institution being adopted by the government interfere with freedom from religion? Both freedoms are written into the Constitution, and shouldn't that be the answer, as far as the government is concerned?

Recipe Corner: Disappearing Brownies

2009-03-10T18:20:00.004-07:00

In college, I was the brownie baker. Birthday? The brownies outside your door were from me. Party in the lounge for the Super Bowl? I was the one dashing in and out of the hall kitchen, starting a new batch every time my single baking pan was free of the last one. Granted at that point I was just adding chocolate chips to Betty Crocker mixes, but they were still a hit.

Now that I have a real kitchen, stocked with actual baking essentials, I prefer to start from scratch, which I did this weekend - after the cruel, ridiculously early adjustment to Daylight Savings Time (which, at this latitude, means the sun doesn't rise until almost 7:30 - ugh), I figured everyone was due for a sweet treat on Monday. One of my co-workers asked for the recipe, so I thought I'd post it here as well. The name of the recipe is also co-worker inspired, since these brownies never last long. In fact, the first time I brought them in, I don't think I even got one after lunch...

Warning: While I don't mind the occasional sacrifice for healthfulness, I hate doing anything halfway when it comes to baked goods, so these are very chocolate-y and very sweet.

Disappearing Brownies
Servings: ~24, depending on how you cut them
Preparation Time: 10 minutes
Cooking Time: ~20 minutes
Difficulty: Easy. As long as you have all the ingredients, can mix and set a timer, they'll be a hit!

Ingredients*:
1 cup SmartBalance 50/50 (or margarine, or butter)
2 cups white sugar
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 cup Egg Beaters (that's the equivalent of 4 eggs)
1 cup all-purpose flour**
2/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (I've made the same recipe with sweetened cocoa powder when I've realized I'm out of unsweetened halfway through the recipe, and it doesn't push them into the "Yuck! Too sweet!" zone.)
1/2 tsp. baking powder
dash of salt
chocolate chips to taste

*This halves easily if you'd rather make an 8" x 8" or 9" x 9" pan.
**You might also try these with half (or more) whole wheat flour - I haven't tried it, but I think I will next time - and experiment with some brown sugar rather than all white.

Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
2. Cream together the butter and sugar.
3. Add the vanilla and beat in the eggs (substitute).
4. Pour in flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt; stir wet and dry ingredients until well-blended. (Real bakers will tell you to mix all the dry ingredients together in a separate bowl, then blend the dry mixture with the wet - I'm too lazy, hate doing more dishes than absolutely necessary and have never noticed a difference anyway. I dump all the dry ingredients on top of the wet mixture, stir them together a bit on top first, then just mix away.)
5. Stir in chocolate chips to taste. (I think I use about 1/2 - 3/4 of a cup, but you could easily use 12 oz. without it being too much.)
6. Pour evenly into a 9" x 13" pan (I line mine with parchment paper sprayed with Pam - again, cutting down on unnecessary scrubbing.).
7. Sprinkle chocolate chips across the top if desired.
8. Bake 20-25 minutes at 350°F (this depends on your oven - mine is electric and runs very hot), or until the edges start to pull away from the sides of the pan. Let cool before cutting.
9. Enjoy!...and only share if you want to. (Also in this vein: don't forget to lick the bowl and eat a handful of chocolate chips out of the bag!)

What are your brownie baking secrets, or favorite treats?

Introducing: Nala!

2009-03-04T18:18:00.002-07:00

It's official, I've met the love of my life: sweet, always happy to see me, affectionate, well-behaved and just generally adorable, she's everything I've been hoping for. Meet Nala, the newest addition to the Pinneo family:

I adopted her from the Washington Humane S ociety's Georgia Avenue shelter on Friday, and, coming from a family of dog-lovers, have spent the last five days adjusting to living with a cat and panicking six times a day that I'm doing something wrong. Thank goodness for Gina and my mom! Soon-to-be-Dr. Gina has been fielding my frantic emails while laughing at me for being "such a new mom" and my own mom, who was in town over the weekend for a belated birthday visit, was a huge help getting Nala settled in.

The general consensus is that Nala is adorable. She runs to the door whenever she hears the key in the lock and meows in greeting as I open it. (And after one heart-stopping experience when she darted out into the hallway - but came right back in when I crouched down and called her! - she seems content to stay inside my apartment.) She stretches out her front leg and paw when she wants to be petted, putting me in mind of a little kid reaching for an adult and saying "Up!" And whenever I'm not in the immediate vicinity, she comes looking for me every few minutes, tilting her head and meowing at me before going back to whatever she was doing, as if to say, "Okay, just checking!"

Like every shelter animal, Nala has a story: she's six years old, and spent five years with a family who adopted her from another shelter. Her "dad" recently developed an allergy to cats and at the end of November, they decided they couldn't keep her anymore. So she spent three months in the shelter, until I went in to look at another cat I was thinking of adopting and fell in love with her instead.

I grew up with purebred Chocolate Labs - big, goofy dogs with lots of energy and hearts of gold - bought from the breeder when they were puppies, so adopting a pet from a shelter was a different experience for me. The second I walked in, I wanted to scoop up half the animals there and take them home with me because they looked so sad - and the next time I'm looking for a pet, I'll definitely adopt one in need of a good home, like Nala.

If you're looking for a new member of the family, I highly recommend using petfinder.com to see animals available for adoption in your area (and thanks to Gina for sending me there!). Everyone from the Humane Society to the smaller, local rescue groups seem to use it, and the postings often give you the direct contact information of the person fostering each animal.

Any reputable adoption program will spay or neuter all animals before you can take them home, ensure that they're up-to-date on shots and vaccinations and some even offer to microchip them for a lower fee than you'd pay in a vet's office.

I'm thrilled to finally be living with a pet again, and I couldn't have found a better companion than Nala. If you're looking for a pet, please adopt one - there are hundreds of thousands of homeless pets languishing in shelters throughout the country, and they need the loving home you can offer. (And, if you're in the D.C. area and thinking about getting a dog, check out Brody at WHS - scroll to the bottom of the page - I can tell you he's every bit as big-hearted and eager-to-please as he is cute!)

Leader of The PACK

2009-02-25T10:45:00.000-07:00

What's better than puppies and kittens? Not much! (Maybe kids, but it's a tough call.)

A friend of mine just completely made my day by sending me a link to one of the best ideas for a volunteer opportunity I've ever heard of: The PACK, a recent project of the Washington Humane Society.

According to WHS' website, "The PACK (People & Animal Cardio Klub), consists of a group of volunteers who regularly meet at local parks to run with adoptable shelter dogs from either of WHS's two Adoption Centers." The dogs wear bright orange vests that say "Adopt Me" and many of their two-legged pals wear Washington Humane Society t-shirts.

They run every other Saturday in areas that are popular with locals on the weekends, so the dogs get maximum visibility along with their exercise. Check out WHS' web page about the program, or read "Running With the PACK," a blog post by a WHS/The PACK volunteer.

I don't know about you, but to me this sounds like an amazingly rewarding opportunity for everyone involved: dog lovers (like me!) who otherwise may not have the opportunity to do so can interact with a great bunch of dogs, the local population gets some exposure to the great pets who need homes in their area, and most importantly, dogs get the exercise they need and the attention and affection they deserve.

My training schedule (yes, I'm at it again) may not allow me to do too many runs with this group before mid-summer, but I've emailed AsktheTrainer@washhumane.org for more information, and hope to get involved soon. In my book, Washington Humane Society is the leader of the pack (Laugh at me for my terrible pun/80s music reference, but I couldn't pass it up. Obviously, given the title of the post...) in creative volunteer opportunities that do good in more ways than one.

The Changing of the Guard

2009-02-17T10:50:00.000-07:00

The idea of replacing their parents in the workforce, of a societal "changing of the guard," isn't one that generally occurs to children. They play, learn and dream of being astronauts, dancers, rock stars, doctors and marine biologists, thinking of Mom and Dad as one of their most rock-steady constants, perhaps hearing them sigh over getting older but not fully understanding the eventual switch that will take place: one day, they'll wake up and be the ones rushing around, throwing lunch(es) together, coordinating gym shoes and work clothes and scheduling meetings, while their parents will have the luxury of deciding what they want to do that day, where they want to play and with whom.

One of the oddest sensations of becoming an independent adult has been watching that switch take place and strangest of all, being aware of it. My dad's taken up new hobbies to fill his time in retirement as I've given up old ones, sacrifices to the 40-hour work week and its commute in exchange for a salary, benefits and financial self-sufficiency. My mom used to marvel at the number of books I read in the time it took her to get through one, as she struggled to read a few pages in bed at night before succumbing to the exhaustion of working a stressful full-time job, running herd on me and managing a household. Now when she tells me what she's reading, I rarely have anything to add to the conversation - I'm still only halfway through the same books I was the last time we talked about reading.

The thing that initially made me aware of these changes, ridiculous as it sounds, was my caffeine intake. My mom's not much of a coffee person, but she had a Diet Coke at her elbow most hours of the day when I was growing up, and stopped worrying about buying it "Caffeine Free" once I was in my teens and drinking caffeinated beverages with my friends anyway. I scolded her about not drinking enough milk, which I downed by the gallon, and ingesting too much caffeine, as well as carbonation that would make her more susceptible to the osteoporosis that whittled my grandmother down from 5'1" to somewhere around 4'6".

With the exception of my hellishly over-scheduled sophomore year in college and the summer of sleepy caffeine-withdrawal headaches that followed it, I've never found caffeine to be a necessary part of my day. I'm still not physically addicted to it (anymore), but there are days I find myself detouring to Au Bon Pain on my way in to the office, needing a cup of coffee to wake me up, or dashing out for an over-sized bottle of Diet Coke at lunch to extend my morning workout energy kick into the afternoon. There have even been a couple of days when, succumbing to the demands of a muddled brain and a need to be fully functioning, I've done both.

My mom, on the other hand, has stopped buying Diet Coke for herself altogether and drinks milk with her lunch everyday. (My dad, however, is a four-shots-a-day guy (espresso), and guzzles Diet Coke the way I do water - and he's not about to volunteer to break the habit!)

It's this kind of daily minutiae that occasionally make me blink in surprise and realize that I'm now the one wrapped up in the world of work - the ups, the downs, the stress - even though somewhere in my head, "the working world" still means my parents, not me, a distinction reinforced by memories of work-related dinner conversation going back as far as I can remember.

I don't usually think about being an adult, because without a mortgage, car payments (thank goodness for the Metro!) or any insurance premiums other than the annual minimum on my apartment, I don't usually feel like one. My post-college 20s up to this point occasionally feel something like a second round of early adolescence: a little awkward, with one foot still in college, trying to figure out how to be an adult and who, exactly, the adult version of Jessalyn Pinneo is. It can be frustrating, uncomfortable, stressful and confusing, but the reward of discovering who I am and making my own way is more than worth it.

Meditation in Motion

2009-02-15T16:44:00.002-07:00

Ever since I started doing pilates a few years ago, I've been telling myself I should try yoga, because finding that centered calm that's supposed to come with it would probably be really good for me. (I've only tried meditation once, and given that I was 16 at the time and at the height of teenage angst, you probably don't need me to tell you that it didn't go very well.) But when I even think about actually trying to meditate, or holding a yoga pose for an extended period of time, I get antsy, and start to think about all of the productive things I could do instead, which makes relaxation all but impossible.

Exercise has been my way of clearing my mind since my freshman year of college. It warms my muscles, and post-workout stretching gets out the kinks. It gives me a chance to let my mind wander while still doing something I think of as productive, and I almost always end a workout feeling energized, relaxed and happy. When running, my "zone" is usually when I stop thinking about running and just do it, my body involved in the physical aspects of the exercise and my brain off on some other tangent. But in the last seven or eight months, that's started to change.

I was running one morning last summer - I think it was a 16 or 18-miler - and about halfway through, my vision changed. I was focused on the road, but it was slightly blurred around the edges, and it felt as though my visual as well as my mental focus was suddenly much more internal than external. My initial reaction was, "Okay, this is weird..." but I gradually realized that it felt good. I was more tuned in to my body than usual, and felt no compulsion to think about anything - I was running, and focusing on the feeling of each stride was enough.

I've started clicking into this zone more and more often since then, and have come to really enjoy feeling that sudden shift in my vision. It's accompanied by a mentality of "Enough messing around, let's get down to work and run, kid!" My stride lengthens, my muscles seem to stretch further and I'm flooded with a feeling of heady strength that has me bearing down and picking up speed without even thinking about it. The giddy glee of a runner's high bounces around in my blood, but it's coated with a layer of calm that tamps it down and directs all of my energy into that steady focus that pushes me further, faster.

I call it my "runner's zen," since it seems to be just that - a sort of active calm, almost a meditative state, from what little I know of them, but one that directs relaxation into power of movement. It's not something I can trigger at will yet, but I'm able to hold onto it a little longer each time it happens - yesterday, it lasted for the final two miles of my 8-miler, and felt absolutely amazing. Until then I'd just been jogging along - feeling good, but taking my time - when all of a sudden, almost exactly as I hit mile six, my visual and mental focus turned inward, my stride stretched out and my pace picked up.

It's a great feeling, and is as close as I've ever felt to flying. That centered focus is an intense and powerful tool, and one I hope I can learn to use and control as I continue my training. But for the moment, I'm happy just to revel in my runner's zen every time I manage to slip into it - I may not be much for sitting still long enough to meditate, but if I can meditate on the go, this seems like a great way to do it!

Happy Valentine's Day!

2009-02-14T15:19:00.004-07:00

I've always enjoyed Valentine's Day, for no other reason than that it never fails to makes me smile. Yes, I'm well aware that it's a day-long cliché that was more or less invented by Hallmark, and from which florists, chocolatiers, high-end restaurants and jewelers make a killing, along with the zillion other reasons people use to hate it. But in my mind, a day that's all about love can't be that bad. (I know, my hippy side is showing again.)

I didn't actually do anything valentines-y today since Metro, in all their wisdom, decided to make it extremely difficult for anyone to use the blue and yellow lines to get into the city this weekend. But two of my girlfriends and I had a girls' night yesterday, and I had a blast.

We met up for happy hour - at Ella's, for those of you in D.C. - and I brought them both roses, just to be cliché. (I had intended to bring yellow ones, for friendship and as a throwback to the "Happy Just Because Day!" that I created in college - a random day when I ran around taping single yellow roses to my friends' doors, usually when we were all stressed out about midterms or finals. But no one was selling anything but red roses, so I made do with those.) After a carafe or two of (delicious!) sangria, we made our way to a table for dinner, and caught up on work and love lives over spinach salad and a couple of pizzas.

Two of us decided to make a night of it, grabbed some popcorn and went to see He's Just Not That Into You (I know, I know, could we be anymore a portrait of the stereotypical single girl?), which I thought was very cute, and had some hilarious moments and great lines. I don't care how much the critics hate it, it hits so many aspects of life for both couples and singles dead-on that you can't help but laugh and nod in agreement with the characters. Ginnifer Goodwin's Gigi was my favorite overall, although Drew Barrymore's Mary had my favorite line, and Jennifer Aniston's Beth and Ben Affleck's Neil were my favorite couple.

I spent the Metro ride home talking politics with another single 20-something, and considered the evening pretty perfect.

I hope you all had a great Valentine's Day, too! Any highlights, or valentine suggestions for singles or couples in the future?

Update: Becoming a winter runner

2009-02-07T10:30:00.005-07:00

One of my early posts was about my goal to become a winter runner, and since it's now February, which is usually one of Washington's most wintry months, I thought I'd post a progress update.

I haven't been able to run as much as I'd like, since it's dark until just before I leave for work in the morning and gets dark again before I get home in the evening, and running on an unlit trail in the dark isn't safe in any weather. So during the week, I've been making do with the gym. But I've gotten out most weekends to do between 7 and 10 miles, and when I was at my parents', my mom and I ran whenever we could (that's us above, post-run, with our friend the snowman melting off to the right).

I just got back from a 7-miler in this morning's 40-degree sunshine, and I have to say that it felt positively balmy after the cold snap that lasted through most of January and kept the weather in the 20s or lower most days. The sun was out, and with the wind at only about 10mph, I had my sweatshirt and gloves off and my sleeves pushed up past my elbows before I'd hit the two-mile mark.

It wasn't my best 7-miler, or even one of my better ones. Between the bone-chilling, windy cold, a surplus of translation work and being sick, this was my first outdoor run in almost a month (yikes) - the longest I've gone without running in nearly a year. Despite feeling something like a rusty old bike, it felt good to be out, getting my heart and my legs pumping and watching the sun sparkle off the surface of the Potomac.

One winter definitely hasn't transformed me into one of those runners who get out and run whatever the weather - in the dark, in sub-20-degree weather, in rain and sleet. (Although I did run while it was snowing once! Completely unintentionally - I was a half mile out when it started, and decided I might as well tough it out for another 7.5. Lesson learned: snow stings just like sand does when it hits your eyes, but on the plus side, it melts afterward.)

But it has toughened me up - my "no way, no how" temperature is about 30 now, an improvement of at least 15 degrees. And I find myself resenting the gym more and more as the winter goes on, revving the elliptical machine up to 85rpm and wishing I were outside, so I could get a real workout. In short, I feel like I've had the best first season of being a winter runner I could've hoped for. I'm looking forward to spring, but knowing I won't dash back inside at the first sign of winter weather this fall feels pretty good too.

Survival of the whiniest?

2009-02-06T11:24:00.003-07:00

What exactly is $1 trillion dollars? Every time I read that number, I flash back to Dr. Evil's maniacal laugh and signature pinky-to-the-corner-of-the-mouth look in the first Austin Powers movie as he's demanding what he thinks is an exorbitant amount of money from the U.S. government, only to discover that $1 million has become laughably little while he's been out in space. CNN's Christine Romans' analysis of what exactly a trillion-dollar debt means is eye-opening, and a little scary.

Economics is admittedly not one of my strongest subjects (The four classes of it I had to take between high school and college were 585 of my least-enjoyably spent hours ever.), but isn't "rescuing" failing companies sort of counter to the whole idea of a free market economy in a capitalistic society? Isn't the point that the economy and its consumers choose the businesses that succeed through supply and demand, a sort of Darwinism of economics - survival of he who can afford to stay open?

I don't pretend to understand all the details of last year's bailout or the stimulus package currently being debated by the Senate, but what I do know is that it's making me very nervous about the likelihood of my being able to buy a house a few years down the road, or get reasonable loans for grad school. And on a societal level, it kind of makes me want to cross my arms and pout. Why do the automakers get help? It's been obvious for more than a decade that combustible engines are on their way out, but they've been dragging their feet on switching to a type of car that will, in the end, cost the consumer less and may actually sell more in the long run. Why does the financial industry get "rescued?" They seriously messed up in a myriad of ways and spent so much money to do so, it boggles the mind. Then they messed up some more with the money the government gave them to fix it.

So we're doing all of this to prevent companies who made mistakes from suffering the logical consequences of their actions...why, exactly? I know, I know, so the American economy doesn't completely collapse on itself. It still feels wrong, from where I'm standing. And kind of like we're rewarding economic failures for having failed - and then whining about the reality check.

I don't want more tax breaks and I don't need a stimulus check - I pay my taxes without complaint, expect everyone else, individuals and businesses alike, to do the same and all I ask is that if I've paid too much, I get it back sometime in the first half of the following year. Isn't that the way it's supposed to work? What are we really hoping to accomplish, in the long run, by throwing unfathomably large sums of money at businesses and people who have become notorious for financial mismanagement? And what have they done to demonstrate that they're trustworthy enough (I know, what an old-fashioned concept that is!) to deserve it?

The "25 Things" Thing

2009-02-03T11:25:00.005-07:00

Okay, for those of you who aren't on Facebook or don't check it very often, this is sort of the new, social-networking equivalent of a chain letter. (And actually kind of similar to my second post.) In middle school and high school, extensive surveys with completely random questions (from "What's your favorite flavor ice cream?" to "Do you believe in ghosts?") are more popular and - at least in my time (it's depressing that I can say that in all seriousness...) - got sent around to everyone's email lists and often generated rumors about who had a crush on whom, or who might be dating or start dating soon or have recently broken up without telling anyone.

The deal with this Facebook version is that you write 25 things about yourself, covering whatever topics you want, then tag 25 people (including anyone who tagged you - 'tagging' is basically putting them on a list of people you want to read what you're posting), who are all supposed to then do the same.

There's no real point to it, but it's fun - thinking of 25 things about yourself that everyone doesn't already know can be challenging, especially if you talk as much as I do! So consider yourselves tagged, and do with this (your answers, not mine!) what you will: post it on your blog, email it around, go around the dinner table and think of things you may not ordinarily tell your family about yourself or each other...or don't do anything at all, it's up to you!

"I hate peas." Not really, but I do love the movie 10 Things I Hate About You. It might be an addiction.
If I could move to a French-speaking country (or a handful of European countries) tomorrow, with a job or scholarship lined up and none of the hassle of visas, shots, moving things and getting rid of furniture, I would do it in a heartbeat. I have no idea whether or not I'd want to stay forever, since I love the U.S., but I'd definitely enjoy a few more years of living in another culture that feels like home.
I'm something of a hermit. Put me someplace comfortable with books I like, a computer and/or writing implements, and creative things to do (musical instruments, things for knitting, sewing, scrapbooking, etc.) and I would be perfectly happy for at least a week. Probably a month.
But, I also love spending time with my friends. In a perfect world, I would spend every evening at a café, à la française, with a group of friends and talk for hours.
I can't stand the idea of someone not having a positive opinion of me. Whenever I'm afraid someone might think poorly of me, I get really flustered and guilty (I never said it was logical!), and am upset until I can figure out a way to prove to them I'm a good/productive/whatever-positive-adjective-applies person. This makes teaching nerve-wracking for at least the first half of the semester.
I'm really surprised whenever someone pays me a compliment, and my knee-jerk reaction is to deny whatever positive thing they've said (again, not logical). I've been getting better about it in the last few months, but it's still difficult for me to take a compliment.
I would love to live in the same metropolitan area as my family. Our family is small but has generally been very spread out, geographically, and I think being able to do something ordinary like drop by for Sunday lunch or to lend a movie would be amazing.
Books are my addiction. Don't get me wrong, I like clothes and shoes too, but books are less expensive, give you more and last longer. Plus, bookstores are usually fairly quiet, and no one cares how long you spend browsing. Department stores echo, boutiques usually blast headache-inducing music and salespeople try to hurry you along every five minutes.
I want kids, I don't feel like my life would be complete if I didn't have or adopt kids at some point, but I'm not totally sold on the idea of getting married. I think it's a wonderful institution and works amazingly well for couples who genuinely love one another and have solid pre-marital relationships as well as well-established individual identities (of whom I'm lucky enough to know several who've been married for years, and some who are getting married in the next few), but I also think far too many people get married because they're afraid of being alone or think it's just what you do once you've gotten to a certain point in your life or in a relationship.
I hate being sick, and am usually convinced I can ward off illness with willpower alone. I deny that I actually am sick until I've gotten to the point where I can't possibly stand another minute without medicine, then I take the medicine and go back to trying to pretend I'm not sick. By the time I admit that I'm sick, I'm usually carrying a box of tissues and a cup of tea around with me everywhere I go. (This weekend and yesterday being a case-in-point. Ick.)
I can take a ridiculously long time to make decisions and often overanalyze to the extreme, but once I've definitively made up my mind, I'm completely convinced I've made the right choice.
In the same vein...I'm very, very stubborn. About just about everything.
I hate, hate, hate, HATE hot, humid weather (tough luck for 3 or 4 months of the year in DC, right?). I dislike temperature extremes of any kind, spoiled child of the Southern California beaches that I am, but if I have to deviate from 65 degrees and sunny and it involves humidity, I usually prefer 20 degrees colder to 20 degrees warmer. At least when I'm cold, wearing sweaters and drinking hot things can make me warm. Although take away the humidity, and you can flip that. (N.B.: My body gets a little more used to gross DC summer every year, and this past summer didn't actually bother me that much - in part because it was pretty mild - so I may have changed my mind about this by next winter. We'll see.)
Totally at odds with my hermit side... I love talking to people. It stems from being a people person and generally interested in what makes them tick, and is why I actually enjoyed waitressing, particularly in cocktail (that's the tables near the bar, for the uninitiated), because people who sit there tend to be in less of a hurry and are often happy to engage in conversation with total strangers.
As a direct result of that, I'm one of those people who can't mind their own business and will answer a question I overhear in someone else's conversation if no one who's part of it can (like, "How many more stops to the Smithsonian?", "What's the deal with the changing of the guard at Arlington?", "Why are there so many people on the Metro at 5pm??", "Do you think the weather will be better tomorrow?").
I'm a culture junkie, and I mean that in the broadest sense of the word. Plunk me down in the middle of a city or town and I'll happily wander around, people-watching and absorbing the feel of life there for as long as you'll let me.
The first thing I do when I go somewhere new (if it's up to me) is go for a long walk and soak up the sights and sounds of wherever I am. Actually, that doesn't apply only to new places. I walk more or less the same route through Paris right after I get there, whether it's been a month or several years since the last time, just because it feels like Paris, and I love it. And I do the same thing in Manhattan Beach whenever I'm there.
The second thing I do when I go somewhere new is usually decide that I'd love to live there for awhile. So far, the list includes Paris, Arles (even though I can't pronounce it convenablement), New York, Seattle, Victoria (B.C.), Prague, London, San Francisco, Monterey... I think the logic behind that is that during the #17 wanderings I end up falling in love with wherever I am, and want to feel like I belong there.
I was really shy as a little kid (ex: it took me more than two years of attempts to actually join the K-3 kids' choir at church, because I didn't really know anyone and it terrified me), and still have random moments of inexplicable shyness.
Dating completely baffles me and I'm terrible at it, except for the talking to people part.
I desperately want a dog, but don't live in a big enough apartment to have one, or know enough about where I'm going to be for the next few years to be able to think about getting one yet.
My favorite thing about living somewhere with four actual seasons is seeing daffodils (and cherry trees!) bloom in the spring.
Inconsiderate/oblivious people are my pet peeve, and it drives me nuts that there are exponentially more of them in large metropolitan areas than there are in small towns. You'd think living practically on top of each other would induce politeness, because everyone deals with large groups of people on a regular basis. Instead, it makes people more self-centered and prone to stepping on one another, not holding doors, cutting people off, ignoring people who clearly need help, etc.
When I cry for an extended period of time, my eyes get really intensely blue. If they were that color all the time, without the crying, it'd be awesome.
This thing took me a ridiculously long time to finish. Possibly because some of my answers were much more involved than was necessary...

What did I just buy, exactly?

2009-01-27T15:47:00.001-07:00

Here's some food for thought: what exactly are you buying when you "purchase" a song from iTunes, Rhapsody or another music application or website? Those of you who are more tech/Internet-savvy than I am may have known about the vagaries of DRM (Digital Rights Management) for years, but I didn't hear about it - or didn't pay much attention to it - until a few months ago, and I still didn't know anything about it other than that it was basically a service agreement with iTunes.

I first stumbled onto the fact that "my" music, purchased from the iTunes store, wasn't limitlessly mine when I got a new computer at the end of October. I had transferred all of my files, and went to play a song I had downloaded through iTunes, but had to enter my account password before the system would let me play it. iTunes then warned me that I was assigning this computer as one of the five my purchased music could be played on. Five? Why would there be a limit on it? I bought the song, just like I used to buy CDs!

Chris Pirillo, CNN's new tech expert and a self-proclaimed "Geek, Internet Entrepreneur and Shameless Self-Promoter" (among many others), talks about what DRM really is and what he thinks about it with far more humor - and knowledge! - than I'm capable of on techie issues in today's "Digital-music buyer, don't be a fool," which I highly recommend reading.

What got me thinking about the digital music scene today was a co-worker's mention this morning of a new site called Lala - it's a legal(!), internet-based application that allows you to upload apparently limitless quantities of your own music through a free program called Music Mover, and then listen to it from any computer with an internet connection. You can purchase web songs, which are song files that live only on the web, for 10 cents each, and MP3 files (which you can download into the same Music Mover software) for about 89 cents each. If you buy a web song and later go back and buy an MP3 of the same song, the 10 cents you paid for the web song is credited toward the purchase price of the MP3.

You can explore other users' collections and listen to any song once for free before you need to "add" it, which means buying the web song. And you get 50 web song credits ($5.00 worth of music) when you sign up for an account - also free, no subscription necessary.

The best part (as if that weren't enough already!)? Lala.com is DRM-free. So any MP3 you purchase and download is yours forever, and any web song you purchase is yours as long as Lala exists.

I'm still a Lala newbie, but so far, I'm completely sold - what a great idea!