What's next?

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

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

1. Forecast snow.
2. 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.
3. Send broadcasters to report on every single snowflake that falls on or near the District.
4. Make it sound like the world is coming to an end once the first quarter-inch is on the ground.
5. 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?"

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?

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?

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!

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?

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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?

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!

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

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?

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

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?"

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...

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!

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!