tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19434470181798833482024-02-19T20:10:02.098-05:00city of notionsadwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-56387804084067986392009-01-22T16:36:00.005-05:002009-01-25T22:45:58.446-05:00homebirdI’m home.<br /><br />The rideshare I eventually ended up taking was with a photographer and an artist. The photographer ended up being Brett from San Francisco, who is the photographer of the political blog 538. (I could never get into 538 because I don’t process statistics very well without a great deal of feeling behind them, but Brett is very cool nevertheless.)<br /><br />And the artist was Beth Ann Shannon, sister of one of my favorite Pandora artists (these being the artists I would never have heard of without Pandora), Sarah Shannon. Post War Hope is one of the songs I find emblematic of my thesis revising semester in fall 2007, when everything – apart from my uncomfortable living situation – was so bright, I had to wear shades.<br /><br />I loved driving when I first started; there is so much possibility inherent in being on a highway with changing landscapes rolling out in front of you like time itself. When I was demoted from the Land Shark (my name for my parents’ 92 Mercedes 420 SEL) to my first and last car, a stick shift Toyota Corolla, that joy was lost in worries about whether or not the car was going to simply stop in an intersection and the constant threat of getting hit by another car because I was simply so much smaller than they were now.<br /><br />My anxiety has not been lessened in the past year by Zipcar expeditions – which added temporal and monetary penalties for dawdling or getting lost – or the singular terror of taking nearly all of my driving trips in Portugal with someone who thought nothing of rolling a joint (<span style="font-style: italic;">hash</span>, not pot - even worse!) from scratch while piloting a service van through the fast lane. This trip was the first time in a long time I’d felt the satisfaction of all that space and time and story and history scrolling forward at every moment, so conscious of my position in the nation now, and now, and now now now now now.<br /><br />Beth Ann was fun, if excitable, and her slightly ramshackle life was exciting to hear. But I found Brett really inspiring, in a very quiet way. Brett is 25, and yet his photographs have gotten national exposure. He went a long way towards finishing a degree in English Lit before switching to photography, but his latest project has nothing to do with any of that – he just made a documentary about Lawrence Ferlinghetti.<br /><br />I frequently struggle with the fact that my life, my career trajectory and what have you, doesn’t make much sense. And I further struggle with a vague but pressing and dense sense of failure that I haven’t lived up to the predictions of those who knew me when I was five years old and precocious, that I’m not one of those kids who gets a PhD or owns a restaurant or writes the great American novel by the age of 25. I feel like a haphazard drifter, with lots of potential but not much focus. But the fact is that 25 is not here yet for me.<br /><br />And the biggest thing holding me back from throwing myself passionately into those things I’m interested in and seeing where they lead (like Brett, the bulk of whose photographic portfolio outside of 538 stems from a trip he took after graduating from college wherein he simply drove from San Francisco to Argentina, documenting things along the way) is fear of committing – and of failure.<br /><br />Part of the reason I love being in Genova is the way that all of my friends are passionately doing something. Acting, writing, directing, singing; chairing their own radio shows or gaining prominence as stand up comics, and even bringing surfing as a serious competitive sport to the rocky, lonely beaches of the Ligurian Sea. They all scoff at Genova and bemoan the lack of opportunity and infrastructure, the dearth of resources – when the truth is that they <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> the resource, and precious. Amid all of the difficulties they face, and that I would face if I wanted to move there and make something of myself, learn to believe, no one ever tells anyone he or she can’t. And all of them are constantly telling me that I can.<br /><br />I think it might be that support and unconditional belief in my strength that has forged my bond with that city; it is as important as the narrow winding streets, the darkly foreboding romanticism, the gruff embrace of its tall grey stones and the enigma of its homes retreating into the mountains even as its businesses and famous port slope down into the sea.<br /><br />This drive with Brett felt a little bit like that. I never identified myself as a writer, and certainly not as a photographer; I have a crippling shyness that stems from not wanting to be seen as a dilettante, even though it cuts me off from many things I love (this is, in some ways, the story of my life up to this point, and it’s one I’m trying to tear from its foundations and throw down). But his quiet statement of his interests and past projects, his confidence that was neither brash nor desperate in fields that are largely talent driven – and therefore have a certain “Mother, May I?” quality to them that I’ve always been too self-conscious to claim – was a salve.<br /><br />It is, in fact, a new day, for me as well as for my country. And one of the most poignant lessons from this coda is that we choose, every day, what the shape of the morning and the lowest lows of the nights will be. This shaped up to be a trip that was shattering in the simple and life-changing way that it made me fully conscious of the fact that while I sit or stand, the earth is moving. I felt every rotation in the axis, was conscious of each degree we moved around the sun.<br /><br />I hope to keep the clarity I gained in that quiet car, as we wandered from Maryland through Delaware and Pennsylvania, through the snarling tangle of New York by way of the mismatched brackets of prim Connecticut and the Dirty Jerz. We dropped Brett’s photos off at Harvard, and then he walked me up to my door. When he put my suitcase down and left, I unlocked my apartment door and opened all the blinds as the sun set on this last day outside of time. <span style="font-style: italic;">Hello, apartment</span> – my daily litany.<br /><br />I was overjoyed to see it, missing all its little unfinished quirks and the ways in which it smiles to greet me after some wide travels. Whatever came from this weeklong journey, through the crackling and inspiring messiness of it all, I’m eager – and rejuvenated, and ready – to dive back into the raw fabric before me and shake it out, stitch it up, turn it into the shaped honesty of a life.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-32050143361202725032009-01-22T02:27:00.004-05:002009-01-25T22:26:42.626-05:00rendez youTryst is amazing!<br /><br />I held this evening clear in my schedule to spend time with a friend from massage school, Kim. I adore her and I always have a wonderful time when our plans line up, but Kim is a disaster at staying in touch, making plans and sticking to them. I’ve tried, at her urging, not to take this personally, but at a certain point in all relationships, there is a conscious choice to either make them a priority – or, not.<br /><br />There comes a time when that failure to make time to involve yourself in someone else’s life does become personal; not necessarily cruel, but it is a signal to me that clearly, my energy is being wasted on this person, and might even be making them uncomfortable due to his or her own lack of responsiveness. I reached that point in my relationship with Kim over a weeklong sojourn to the District of Columbia when calls went unanswered, texts were returned perfunctorily if at all and, on the night she’d said to plan to hang out, her silence (as opposed to my cell phone) was the only thing that rang out.<br /><br />So there I was, wandering lonely as a cloud, wanting to leave DC with a bang but not knowing how, and criminally bad at feeling comfortable hanging out alone in public. The home is so much the center of the social life for me that if I leave it, it is because I am going somewhere to do something, usually something that can’t be accomplished in my house. Sitting around updating my blog and uploading copious <span style="font-style: italic;">International Herald Tribune</span> articles to my Facebook page not being among the number of things that require social locations, I was at a bit of a loss to understand what to do or where to go.<br /><br />Lauren suggested Tryst, a small place in Adams Morgan, and I’m so glad I mustered up my courage to go. I walked from her house cold and indignant, checking my phone for messages from Kim that never came, getting lost and asking directions in an airheaded way from a gentleman in a fetching scarf that was only black and white checked (but I figured I could still trust him to steer me in the right direction because of the nearness of his garment to those I sought in Houndstooth Watch 2009). I walked in and moved seats three times in the first ten minutes, but then comfortably settled back into the holy grail of seating comfort: a couch by a lamp and not one, but two tables, in a small alcove of two couches and three chairs, with its back against the wall.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlJ7Axnrwc45wDbdlYOhjhSfnGZ2DYsfC9DBX29BZEqL3I3RHGE2zmBgWVRSb4wLOmiTB8VGoVFQdpA5NUXSB8A05PiEq4RHcnel_UsnvPqEOqgLZGexiNcoFfNA7kIelEAT9RAktovU/s1600-h/IMG_0270.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlJ7Axnrwc45wDbdlYOhjhSfnGZ2DYsfC9DBX29BZEqL3I3RHGE2zmBgWVRSb4wLOmiTB8VGoVFQdpA5NUXSB8A05PiEq4RHcnel_UsnvPqEOqgLZGexiNcoFfNA7kIelEAT9RAktovU/s400/IMG_0270.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295438031595617842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSC9nG9W_qh5kGtfM-j9ODvRAjjkGtBM_dJnFzzwAwuM1ih1I5DmXBcuvdYpcQQc0Wxe5aTBFFMJo6wXhi7YYqnxNrl_HgAckMjtPAkm-KpPxPnZ9qx6t7msJ6o9BD8o7jqWXr6Oc3bHo/s1600-h/IMG_0271.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSC9nG9W_qh5kGtfM-j9ODvRAjjkGtBM_dJnFzzwAwuM1ih1I5DmXBcuvdYpcQQc0Wxe5aTBFFMJo6wXhi7YYqnxNrl_HgAckMjtPAkm-KpPxPnZ9qx6t7msJ6o9BD8o7jqWXr6Oc3bHo/s400/IMG_0271.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295438022000821154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NANFd9vgAJySYzU10pEX8FtP26jqWiX2hVY2lG3m4nNAMLlJBuJAXq7aIGsYOQT_yQ8pM4VnXKJDUT-jCCcJTjQkz9ujjnipbCHpRX6UlFEkJsxG26EjXgbyoRGihId6lE-9TXTKVr8/s1600-h/IMG_0273.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NANFd9vgAJySYzU10pEX8FtP26jqWiX2hVY2lG3m4nNAMLlJBuJAXq7aIGsYOQT_yQ8pM4VnXKJDUT-jCCcJTjQkz9ujjnipbCHpRX6UlFEkJsxG26EjXgbyoRGihId6lE-9TXTKVr8/s400/IMG_0273.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295438018578168178" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Tryst is a coffeehouse whose décor makes me happier and more comfortable than I thought any one place ever could: most coffeehouses focus far too much on ease of stacking and cleaning, and content themselves with uncomfortable desk chairs that don’t encourage a very long stay. This place, on the other hand, is a mishmash of parlor scenarios, fabulously fallen old antique couches and chairs with ridiculous lamps and tables thrown in for flair.<br /><br />The jumble means that you can sit, as I did, alone between two groups of people having private conversations, two of whom were sharing a couch with me, and not feel alone or forlorn or bereft. I felt, instead, enigmatic, mysterious, alive and completely at my ease. The piped music (loud, hard-edged) was interspersed with live, a jazz bassist, keyboardist and trumpeter, whose cheeky instrumental rendition of “Happy Birthday” instantly conjured up Monroe’s breathy delivery of same to another young president, so many years ago.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsxpZhWQmXCbomxDPPZOyZI9z6t6y5fwYKLnPoqLhhVv7d-RHyjWd8GKRUL4j8ckOyDBZ24y9wiGbBHYglo2G74Ir0CBoBTwHxx8EbbkvL1IcXcEWeXQ4YE9cNGOuf0fvuS2pBEsEjcI/s1600-h/IMG_0275.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsxpZhWQmXCbomxDPPZOyZI9z6t6y5fwYKLnPoqLhhVv7d-RHyjWd8GKRUL4j8ckOyDBZ24y9wiGbBHYglo2G74Ir0CBoBTwHxx8EbbkvL1IcXcEWeXQ4YE9cNGOuf0fvuS2pBEsEjcI/s400/IMG_0275.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295438015072887650" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Lauren joined me later and delighted, as did I, in our sweetly ditzy waiter - seen above, trying to explain the mystifying Chartreuse - and the delicious drinks he brought us. (Because, although up to Lauren’s arrival I had focused on the aspects of the menu such as vegetarian quesadillas, chocolate roulade and an amazing homemade chai that would have made pickier tea drinkers even than I weep, once she arrived it was time to get krunk.) We chatted, marveled, joked and dreamed, and caught each other up on the last many years.<br /><br />I don’t think I’ve seen Lauren since we both went off to college, at a meetup of friends on our first extended break from school in December of 2003. So much has changed since then, but it was so lovely to rediscover this friendship in full flower, and delight ourselves with all the things that have remained the same – or gotten even better, with age and time. I began the evening in a fit of pique over a relatively new friendship that I hoped would provide me with the wild night that I ultimately never had on this trip to our country’s stoic fortress.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb6fScD5RVxi6Psu5RBxg18FOyhFTf9SlxwHeSXtkZO91yNGEKUt2pSRF5Dv9xSYJKpgubgpQxpgdivYC_YCuknfmJ87_0wxY8OaDlCk7dSw1m_2lNuE1A3DkLmNbC6Eu1cssmaMu9pPI/s1600-h/IMG_0277.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb6fScD5RVxi6Psu5RBxg18FOyhFTf9SlxwHeSXtkZO91yNGEKUt2pSRF5Dv9xSYJKpgubgpQxpgdivYC_YCuknfmJ87_0wxY8OaDlCk7dSw1m_2lNuE1A3DkLmNbC6Eu1cssmaMu9pPI/s400/IMG_0277.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295438008295684738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But it was an unexpected pleasure, just as this whole sojourn has been both unexpected and full to bursting with pleasure, to discover an old friendship that has survived the test of all this scratchy time. Unmindful of either of us, like a field of wildflowers neglected to tend to a demanding orchid, it continued on its cycle, flowering in a matter of fact way as if to suggest that there are things in life, sunrises and a good night’s sleep and springtime, that march on forever while we get down to the business of moving those stones that take drudgery and patience. They will be there, in reserve, when we take a moment to lift our eyes from all that toil and see.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-76983072371914567492009-01-21T18:13:00.006-05:002009-01-25T22:40:54.885-05:00what to expect when you're expecting things to be the same<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCM-2o1po7dcgWWFuvic9CrbrGx3FafcoTrRCA45yobsIn5tdIv-BEeTUSW0t_qtynqKHlvA3t6t27KlgMxwhNugkKpqD1x7qFaIRJHCtz_IOhnNkP9pLVjBMJfQT_TzIOtSjxbW2GDY/s1600-h/IMG_0221.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCM-2o1po7dcgWWFuvic9CrbrGx3FafcoTrRCA45yobsIn5tdIv-BEeTUSW0t_qtynqKHlvA3t6t27KlgMxwhNugkKpqD1x7qFaIRJHCtz_IOhnNkP9pLVjBMJfQT_TzIOtSjxbW2GDY/s400/IMG_0221.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435842964279106" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgciL5EqvMTB1Zmk9Tc8GDcMpgocOCSMaqKfQDXDjBF-l0KQuAJB2mh3ZttkTDg05ueKjxp1DdQGh0kxUzgw3maZ_HHzDNxV0t0gVeQ6ZoqawK8C92iyeAcp1LHNiVJsWtZw2QpKj9rKHw/s1600-h/IMG_0222.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgciL5EqvMTB1Zmk9Tc8GDcMpgocOCSMaqKfQDXDjBF-l0KQuAJB2mh3ZttkTDg05ueKjxp1DdQGh0kxUzgw3maZ_HHzDNxV0t0gVeQ6ZoqawK8C92iyeAcp1LHNiVJsWtZw2QpKj9rKHw/s400/IMG_0222.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435839114607986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYM6oOD-MVm_Xs8Xa2Owc9RmL04cIAvEeouYW-7dVz_JgSdEa6fFN9OvBcp57hklhHYHUo8hisRjvSX6w4uErccck4T_kOSuTWtdMDm0W2Obfj4uvFSnlJMrWvnf85Ot__IWV7D3KGAcY/s1600-h/IMG_0223.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYM6oOD-MVm_Xs8Xa2Owc9RmL04cIAvEeouYW-7dVz_JgSdEa6fFN9OvBcp57hklhHYHUo8hisRjvSX6w4uErccck4T_kOSuTWtdMDm0W2Obfj4uvFSnlJMrWvnf85Ot__IWV7D3KGAcY/s400/IMG_0223.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435837483400898" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvsRl2apI231bI5Oumhq37qy9EKhkme8uhuDzfmgAxDLJ4oNRfi3KVC_wwq4o1js7YE-SZjnVjaL5TE7egMufRLxKEI-sEK_TI-Z-imraiNEW1_ulq9nZJ-R8NXRvQ5OwVKvcdR-wIHU/s1600-h/IMG_0225.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvsRl2apI231bI5Oumhq37qy9EKhkme8uhuDzfmgAxDLJ4oNRfi3KVC_wwq4o1js7YE-SZjnVjaL5TE7egMufRLxKEI-sEK_TI-Z-imraiNEW1_ulq9nZJ-R8NXRvQ5OwVKvcdR-wIHU/s400/IMG_0225.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435833368704786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCIJWjAq89-hTaJh_nLxhbT4ZN9ZEDey1DUoqFdkOqXJbLWbyOKDpFyZysO1Uj11CePy0uaXskFruJuUNau_Gt5ujU2aU33MM19xwHg9TQZNNVUlbjeiF7NmTuEuNiSi0SXgAWxkTW9Y/s1600-h/IMG_0226.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCIJWjAq89-hTaJh_nLxhbT4ZN9ZEDey1DUoqFdkOqXJbLWbyOKDpFyZysO1Uj11CePy0uaXskFruJuUNau_Gt5ujU2aU33MM19xwHg9TQZNNVUlbjeiF7NmTuEuNiSi0SXgAWxkTW9Y/s400/IMG_0226.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435832196960642" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I ended up finally leaving the house and, after an eye-popping walk around Lauren's neighborhood, heading to the National Mall to meet a friend.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid7r6qJgxmxWmw-UUVUP_cdFK1scSRao9o0_qRtYt6bsoUk8Q0cLDHco3YeZ7_8Dpx2Sdgy_3oZVLjJy1HlgKBnryHUzmjPiTfDRNBco_WkOLD74A0rPZJM-H2yd1WVe-GZLoGlt_ixTo/s1600-h/IMG_0228.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid7r6qJgxmxWmw-UUVUP_cdFK1scSRao9o0_qRtYt6bsoUk8Q0cLDHco3YeZ7_8Dpx2Sdgy_3oZVLjJy1HlgKBnryHUzmjPiTfDRNBco_WkOLD74A0rPZJM-H2yd1WVe-GZLoGlt_ixTo/s400/IMG_0228.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435371996889938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoI6ljIGc2Ca6WL5jrW8JIphHLioBP0Vg0GQgOrMQGbtK2DqoFLSyH0Bynowrc7XpP91njbO3kSkKQG8IH4AhZrANntnUOJmO9PRlMYWdpVlqCOIueSrdVRXv0gYy9GjD_TVi7FsKeRY/s1600-h/IMG_0229.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoI6ljIGc2Ca6WL5jrW8JIphHLioBP0Vg0GQgOrMQGbtK2DqoFLSyH0Bynowrc7XpP91njbO3kSkKQG8IH4AhZrANntnUOJmO9PRlMYWdpVlqCOIueSrdVRXv0gYy9GjD_TVi7FsKeRY/s400/IMG_0229.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435363246806082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEd91dm-Nk3XzJteo08XAMTjoOBdVQhn2X_hXMLGYzelz9oOdveJxLttkvBcXw_yzVvhgvdP0LHsAGDjywWBlT0ajCYXAtgVfOl9mEaNXNDwm8mUr59QD4-H4Xvn6R-zFIPEYJlGD704/s1600-h/IMG_0230.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEd91dm-Nk3XzJteo08XAMTjoOBdVQhn2X_hXMLGYzelz9oOdveJxLttkvBcXw_yzVvhgvdP0LHsAGDjywWBlT0ajCYXAtgVfOl9mEaNXNDwm8mUr59QD4-H4Xvn6R-zFIPEYJlGD704/s400/IMG_0230.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435362062045954" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqYtcIZK4oKfkh36qqSgiw8AoO8pH-jTBugTOJeHs4bmkQqlOF0xpBTB9n5czpwyEDPXqyYR-StSoaD1H2keDvtx9LkBQsFSsJtkd5yE4cD9wBB6kv64GYQyuqbsyKP6Yc6zpz7H_Cvw/s1600-h/IMG_0232.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqYtcIZK4oKfkh36qqSgiw8AoO8pH-jTBugTOJeHs4bmkQqlOF0xpBTB9n5czpwyEDPXqyYR-StSoaD1H2keDvtx9LkBQsFSsJtkd5yE4cD9wBB6kv64GYQyuqbsyKP6Yc6zpz7H_Cvw/s400/IMG_0232.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435360837417106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was good to see Adam; we wandered around the Museum of Natural History (love that elephant!) and through the Hirschhorn, two of my favorite pieces of the Smithsonian pie.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnh3Ry_C4mJLU6kqEx46He1XWOstFUayKJ0Uc-UXlBMRq16IPI0Ds4nd6VIu-e0V7ljdjRbYFYTD687_R_RyTLFX80I2TR3a9SGg6VZGN3PhITkHyoeTg2b5atENsi_Wa8NBfqxZ9dG4U/s1600-h/IMG_0235.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnh3Ry_C4mJLU6kqEx46He1XWOstFUayKJ0Uc-UXlBMRq16IPI0Ds4nd6VIu-e0V7ljdjRbYFYTD687_R_RyTLFX80I2TR3a9SGg6VZGN3PhITkHyoeTg2b5atENsi_Wa8NBfqxZ9dG4U/s400/IMG_0235.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435355891086642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafy3GF9vSFFntl6t_ORX6kB_fzQSaa5H_evy7ztltoF0C7By5I1GipPwhu5w6ADQXvMprJDtzeYjnpgYWNQ4g9MZ8jvujojsKG4iizkFWDZCRdROyT7_xFW6_3OoqS7WvOaDT4ZnBgZY/s1600-h/IMG_0238.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafy3GF9vSFFntl6t_ORX6kB_fzQSaa5H_evy7ztltoF0C7By5I1GipPwhu5w6ADQXvMprJDtzeYjnpgYWNQ4g9MZ8jvujojsKG4iizkFWDZCRdROyT7_xFW6_3OoqS7WvOaDT4ZnBgZY/s400/IMG_0238.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295435004703263538" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEy_SCQzNJD5Q4dmq2_uyHFpU2baq3lkhvr8nWeaxPD5nvdBB7X4h1GkPPude80t1V5PsAIF19qzn9ZsYAo4RqPtPFqfM7L1GEjfG2w03GCeAvox092O7TVM-fYDXEnrqBXCcHfWQQzs/s1600-h/IMG_0246.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEy_SCQzNJD5Q4dmq2_uyHFpU2baq3lkhvr8nWeaxPD5nvdBB7X4h1GkPPude80t1V5PsAIF19qzn9ZsYAo4RqPtPFqfM7L1GEjfG2w03GCeAvox092O7TVM-fYDXEnrqBXCcHfWQQzs/s400/IMG_0246.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295434998451207922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCwfECGXUDDsyDk5iXMWheN8BDn1R8fvQ-_b7ycklelZ7aQQWrur2ZVDeVPHq9wsWC_mF5TwhBYK5-v7QXn3MogbqDg7iI7F1MPKgD76Wk8sy6kPQFs6DfTZ6kGqlDT15LzU0kavKg_g/s1600-h/IMG_0252.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCwfECGXUDDsyDk5iXMWheN8BDn1R8fvQ-_b7ycklelZ7aQQWrur2ZVDeVPHq9wsWC_mF5TwhBYK5-v7QXn3MogbqDg7iI7F1MPKgD76Wk8sy6kPQFs6DfTZ6kGqlDT15LzU0kavKg_g/s400/IMG_0252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295434994981968786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It’s a little funny though; it seems like nearly every time I come to DC, I spend time with someone (from RIT or from high school, or sometimes just my sister) who renews my consciousness of the fact that I am not the same person I was when we met and became friends. The old status quo of our relationship, the uncomfortable things I was apparently okay with at the time that I would never take lying down now: they fascinate me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGb5NQ9Do2nwIlVw4JpIS5TG5FPsEjcq-wGgRQj6KmvQdPdxbNGlvJW3KmgnA-ShzoCYer20gsmrEZXgK0LUjhcLDE_mkwNsrpEwi3fO-MbcRKVJamvB9L6UOHOTU3Zsmv9sktTdgetfo/s1600-h/IMG_0261.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGb5NQ9Do2nwIlVw4JpIS5TG5FPsEjcq-wGgRQj6KmvQdPdxbNGlvJW3KmgnA-ShzoCYer20gsmrEZXgK0LUjhcLDE_mkwNsrpEwi3fO-MbcRKVJamvB9L6UOHOTU3Zsmv9sktTdgetfo/s400/IMG_0261.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295434990893882098" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxn8oblnbGxo4vI4NpfNPRjtQ49X5MUToDln5MpFzzmRF_9JqpdpuoA3umzwhYQhyphenhyphenfobcJgFd2khV9njGGFWOYTt7mZr9cpW34x-mncC3nx_ffhYBGrgtNH-yrt0EsB1lQAnRsjfLE-U/s1600-h/IMG_0263.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxn8oblnbGxo4vI4NpfNPRjtQ49X5MUToDln5MpFzzmRF_9JqpdpuoA3umzwhYQhyphenhyphenfobcJgFd2khV9njGGFWOYTt7mZr9cpW34x-mncC3nx_ffhYBGrgtNH-yrt0EsB1lQAnRsjfLE-U/s400/IMG_0263.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295434988525588994" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I’ve changed so much so quickly, especially in the past five years, that following my development has become a bit like tracking that of a very small child. I see myself, for better or for worse, every day – but sometimes it’s only by seeing the past specters of myself that don’t quite fit, and aren’t quite right, that I fully comprehend how much I’ve grown.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-58957099336459591082009-01-21T13:24:00.000-05:002009-01-25T22:09:41.343-05:00hitchcock, where you at?I am surrounded by birds!<br /><br />I slept in after Lauren went to work and Julie left to catch her bus (and go to the temptingly named OBAMA SUPERSTORE), then woke up to start loading the images from my inaugural dérive. Lauren’s stolen internet and I were having a bit of a Cold War standoff for most of the morning and early afternoon, exacerbated by the incessant squawking of the birds (who clearly disapproved of my slugabed ways).<br /><br />I just got off the phone with Lauren, who encouraged me to head to a café in Adams Morgan to work; I suppose she’s right. I’m ironing out details of my trip back to Boston (tomorrow), but this is my last full day in DC and I want to make good use of it while I can.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-38287885035029788062009-01-20T23:43:00.001-05:002009-01-25T22:08:16.890-05:00extra goldenAfter the inaugural, we walked for what seemed like ages. I still couldn’t feel my feet, so we made our way from the Mall to the Waterfront metro stop, which Google maps tells me is about two miles. It felt like it. Have you ever walked two miles with absolutely no feeling below the ankle but a jarring, numbed up sense of absence? I find I can’t recommend it.<br /><br />We made our way to my sister’s office, my phone officially giving up the ghost along the way. Huddled there for a few hours to regroup, we found when we were getting ready to leave that my chemical warmers, hitherto having been given up for dead, were piping hot. Lesson learned: buy them early and start them up hours before leaving the house.<br /><br />After a great Thai dinner and putting my cousin on the bus back to New York, we made our way back to a tense house. I half-decided, half-realized that the situation necessitated, that it would be best to spend the rest of my time in Washington in the city proper. The problem was that the city was not exactly a sparsely populated place the night of the inauguration and all the balls, parties, and out of town visitors that that implied.<br /><br />I felt, laden with my carryon suitcase and brimming big blue IKEA bag, like the donkey that the family of Christ might have ridden: no room at the inn. I left in a hurry, meaning I was still wearing the great dress, tights, coat and jacket I’d rocked to the inauguration – but instead of my scruffy smart vintage cowboy boots, the outfit was capped with SERIOUS snowboots that made me look like I was a runaway from the lunar landing.<br /><br />Schlepping along attired exactly like a bag lady, I made my way towards the welcome of my friend Lauren. We’ve known each other since middle school, and like many friends I made during that time, although our paths have diverged and we only see each other once every few years, our senses of humor are still mysteriously in sync and my comfort with them never falters.<br /><br />Arriving at Mount Pleasant’s Gastropub in all my sketchy glory (I seriously looked like I was off to go sell knockoff handbags on a plaid blanket by the waterfront), I met and chatted with Lauren and her lovely friends Julie and Patricia, and mostly managed to forget the fact that I was a domestic refugee.<br /><br />I have a certain anxiety about traveling, possibly because I don’t have a lot of money, but I think it comes from a lot more than that. There is a fundamental insecurity in not <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> knowing much about the bed you will sleep in the next night or the next night or the next, about the environment in a home that’s not your own or the likelihood that you may or may not be imposing on someone else’s kindness, hospitality and, ultimately, patience.<br /><br />The frequent discouraging factor in mini-excursions or nights out on the town – how am I going to get home? – takes on a vivid extra urgency when I don’t even really understand what home currently is. And so it was that instead of going out and painting the town red (or blue, as the case might have been) on the night of inauguration, we squeezed three (and, briefly, four) girls into a full sized bed for girl talk and conversation.<br /><br />Lauren has three birds, and the need to reinforce the darkness was stronger for their presence. So we crowded in and spoke in whispers about travel, music, love, satisfaction and dreams of the future and time. I thought I would need a crazy night out with bars and strange people and some kind of physical catharsis to mark the change in eras, the change in me: dancing until I couldn’t stand up straight, or my own reenactment of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Unconditional Surrender </span>of 1945. But in the end, the changed world was represented no less fully, no less tangibly, by the world we wove of soft voices, painting landscapes that shimmered and glistened in the air above our heads.<br /><br />I felt the world resettling itself around me like a blanket of safety, and when I stopped to consider the fact that I could feel this safe anywhere in the world but my own rabbit’s den, I realized that the changes I’ve seen recently go beyond a new party, a new administration, a new president, a new year. The catharsis I was looking for has already begun, and it’s inside me. I’m anxious and eager and curious to see what happens next, to peer into mid-morning on the dawning of this fresh and bright new age.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-83191404235665794732009-01-20T18:48:00.003-05:002009-01-23T01:51:58.439-05:0044 - destined to witness<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZYvsqI_zRrky8k-C6phsbpJqqx7ZeITun663O7WdcGriGcCFJhA_ENapNq1b9tS3oQ-tYRt64czZ7hGNKhJQjVI4spM3-po1ffZHT2_VIb50UkVFRYtgaEDlG7WZBQHuThohGK33MQ1o/s1600-h/IMG_0045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZYvsqI_zRrky8k-C6phsbpJqqx7ZeITun663O7WdcGriGcCFJhA_ENapNq1b9tS3oQ-tYRt64czZ7hGNKhJQjVI4spM3-po1ffZHT2_VIb50UkVFRYtgaEDlG7WZBQHuThohGK33MQ1o/s400/IMG_0045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976958050116258" border="0" /></a><br />we start before dawn.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFkiBO7QTmXrlfRR3lkDiKLGsB3P_qa-SvjlY51A7hKPDQXYIaEEJJBwBoM1GxXXBTprFSlAXn79X_6Iq4RYpXIomI1IGOIPlLueaeMUIwnPf8SUj0ji8F_T4T1mkgy366aqPTk68U7k/s1600-h/IMG_0047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFkiBO7QTmXrlfRR3lkDiKLGsB3P_qa-SvjlY51A7hKPDQXYIaEEJJBwBoM1GxXXBTprFSlAXn79X_6Iq4RYpXIomI1IGOIPlLueaeMUIwnPf8SUj0ji8F_T4T1mkgy366aqPTk68U7k/s400/IMG_0047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976955241324386" border="0" /></a><br />ghostly in the gloaming, and cold with nerves and 21 degrees<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhWw0ht8bB8J8VM_0D7inZ4K8j8aqA-XozTgWyRE7shfr3-Up2d2moD2ootInIHC6qNcpiTFcs0189l4m8fLVnDENu7g5d-TYYNAab3y41EgW_hKbc64pkeHtmHyWmmIfTtfg-1po-Hg/s1600-h/IMG_0049.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhWw0ht8bB8J8VM_0D7inZ4K8j8aqA-XozTgWyRE7shfr3-Up2d2moD2ootInIHC6qNcpiTFcs0189l4m8fLVnDENu7g5d-TYYNAab3y41EgW_hKbc64pkeHtmHyWmmIfTtfg-1po-Hg/s400/IMG_0049.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976676230352754" border="0" /></a><br />we pacify our ears, our toes, our bladders - this is not their day. the word of the day (clever doctor dictionary) is pandiculation: it means <i>an instinctive stretching, as on awakening or while yawning</i>. as we do, so does the nation: we awake.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lVxLHtsmeK2lN49D6iy_gGp5jWSw38UwacO0zSgGTJ1X9_DJmvVAdItqY2RM4QrplrpzwbPjQGGJlfFQnxgRRo1SVsFa_gvEqipLRe8kbkfmfBjk9FhtmpswmnIGu_FXKjwv9RJGN6k/s1600-h/IMG_0050.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lVxLHtsmeK2lN49D6iy_gGp5jWSw38UwacO0zSgGTJ1X9_DJmvVAdItqY2RM4QrplrpzwbPjQGGJlfFQnxgRRo1SVsFa_gvEqipLRe8kbkfmfBjk9FhtmpswmnIGu_FXKjwv9RJGN6k/s400/IMG_0050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976674325600754" border="0" /></a><br />the metro has a feel of expectation.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3wQ5CqOggukByqOgdYL9ZI2DnoCtvr8G3gtPMh3AF42KLTJ5m3lUY_RtDZFlw-fSvsa5Bko0wnL8kyvY25PT74zK6ULpvoiN1-Xc1dRGmWOQZWu2JVhhwXg8rpVWixUtEfxoln5c7AU/s1600-h/IMG_0052.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3wQ5CqOggukByqOgdYL9ZI2DnoCtvr8G3gtPMh3AF42KLTJ5m3lUY_RtDZFlw-fSvsa5Bko0wnL8kyvY25PT74zK6ULpvoiN1-Xc1dRGmWOQZWu2JVhhwXg8rpVWixUtEfxoln5c7AU/s400/IMG_0052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976669760818578" border="0" /></a><br />you and i and hope at l'enfant plaza<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKmPX9g7YmfTMaPLaEY3EXd-8Cc-ytFexq_UiUThrP1ENec6t6D_qz1Jn1B6a54pSAMcDyosyHJBj75x8ZdiH_gqd15thyphenhyphenzAa3Y3hTnrjXBtS21AJbJbP3StqgeHlHmSbMvxwp-Y8fuU/s1600-h/IMG_0053.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKmPX9g7YmfTMaPLaEY3EXd-8Cc-ytFexq_UiUThrP1ENec6t6D_qz1Jn1B6a54pSAMcDyosyHJBj75x8ZdiH_gqd15thyphenhyphenzAa3Y3hTnrjXBtS21AJbJbP3StqgeHlHmSbMvxwp-Y8fuU/s400/IMG_0053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976670339832290" border="0" /></a><br />and thousands of our newest closest friends<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4h6fDILWNdVCvDxDRuPDpi3bFRV1KLi64EcTpeqohZ_508Bd0-7mmpYjbsvjrJR4kVSXJxAhWeiySnpzx14l4mr4cQdWK4rEgapHM-WNHBVHE3ho_jB_EytUMe9YynguTq7ZKrnGmN8/s1600-h/IMG_0058.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4h6fDILWNdVCvDxDRuPDpi3bFRV1KLi64EcTpeqohZ_508Bd0-7mmpYjbsvjrJR4kVSXJxAhWeiySnpzx14l4mr4cQdWK4rEgapHM-WNHBVHE3ho_jB_EytUMe9YynguTq7ZKrnGmN8/s400/IMG_0058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976664499921970" border="0" /></a><br />we masses huddle, yearning to breathe free.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBYps_TDPt0YuYw9MCavuTxuKr4-hvb86N22Y3OZMN2oRg94NSufjbvs1109O9p33hinGSSlyzbf3Ty7ra3lHchUTEqeb3fgmqFyJeb5PjcpyUTP09eQvBveyO2ahBoxOdaoINiZtSWU/s1600-h/IMG_0061.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBYps_TDPt0YuYw9MCavuTxuKr4-hvb86N22Y3OZMN2oRg94NSufjbvs1109O9p33hinGSSlyzbf3Ty7ra3lHchUTEqeb3fgmqFyJeb5PjcpyUTP09eQvBveyO2ahBoxOdaoINiZtSWU/s400/IMG_0061.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976183190567458" border="0" /></a><br />snaking up the subway steps i get a sense of how we are unbroken: we the people, on today of all days, stretching in a sense to all eternity, and seeking absolution in the end.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lLNkHX6lxEFMnlGBm3RVmiZGVVeNdfuY9njn3VvbyKBQGGOyuQFiWA4Cm5kn_PtJo507Tn06znMMCs-c4ALnuulT-Ru-FPKEJohDOMMVl3OSnlAS8sTrv7P9giKJbEiQfw_Kor0URDE/s1600-h/IMG_0062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lLNkHX6lxEFMnlGBm3RVmiZGVVeNdfuY9njn3VvbyKBQGGOyuQFiWA4Cm5kn_PtJo507Tn06znMMCs-c4ALnuulT-Ru-FPKEJohDOMMVl3OSnlAS8sTrv7P9giKJbEiQfw_Kor0URDE/s400/IMG_0062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976181502893202" border="0" /></a><br />we are governed only loosely<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkRe5Ax1r73n1tZYkPOrcLz2FGTq7Fh3l6Iv1CGoKKl-lrmCbQnMUDJPf7IrzUMLDeJdVqEXWzHcxm9GxtXi12y50qkCsawHSHjIf_FMxdQLG2u0c1jUX9FRBXwTzpEUr-ZhtqEL68m8/s1600-h/IMG_0063.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkRe5Ax1r73n1tZYkPOrcLz2FGTq7Fh3l6Iv1CGoKKl-lrmCbQnMUDJPf7IrzUMLDeJdVqEXWzHcxm9GxtXi12y50qkCsawHSHjIf_FMxdQLG2u0c1jUX9FRBXwTzpEUr-ZhtqEL68m8/s400/IMG_0063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976176573993026" border="0" /></a><br />and commerce is as healthy as the cold.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rcA5EGf0_ZkhTwVQZjeVFsvH4yKH7g8Jo-lxJ3KjyHBSWNukf-rMkNOUaY6rshJxwLpr3WuZNxKpYqZ_jjTHTbIWz9P2k4iVyK5XEFhDHV0AbIOjXA1RqlbkmWg4xPkk9sbEjjL6XiQ/s1600-h/IMG_0064.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rcA5EGf0_ZkhTwVQZjeVFsvH4yKH7g8Jo-lxJ3KjyHBSWNukf-rMkNOUaY6rshJxwLpr3WuZNxKpYqZ_jjTHTbIWz9P2k4iVyK5XEFhDHV0AbIOjXA1RqlbkmWg4xPkk9sbEjjL6XiQ/s400/IMG_0064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976173090745074" border="0" /></a><br />this is a way to prove our witness tangibly<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbPZ7JhivY1pJwHnEItFvLHj39AThUxZIA4YlNxLdhLbfJeZwHrGINRNHuLcYoHkgw4gWS2xwDX38FusTsA8WxlBQ5ee82jmjd0aD24vgHg4hQA4I3RIZr_jKUvrNoxxrykIpV4Cubsc/s1600-h/IMG_0065.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbPZ7JhivY1pJwHnEItFvLHj39AThUxZIA4YlNxLdhLbfJeZwHrGINRNHuLcYoHkgw4gWS2xwDX38FusTsA8WxlBQ5ee82jmjd0aD24vgHg4hQA4I3RIZr_jKUvrNoxxrykIpV4Cubsc/s400/IMG_0065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293976167884663474" border="0" /></a><br />bearing its trappings with us on our sea.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-oWEdW3SFC7kp11YvOG6HYPqDRc8z1TzkBFoJPjHxUD9wOJYO3xii7HeuKvkyUfcFGQuRLb9lxQ5rUrpuAQVwRQ8ARgr6KqvJkCDnw01rtm8oIndFhUQpKXEVo_YmXqzrA91oo7cGIg/s1600-h/IMG_0066.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-oWEdW3SFC7kp11YvOG6HYPqDRc8z1TzkBFoJPjHxUD9wOJYO3xii7HeuKvkyUfcFGQuRLb9lxQ5rUrpuAQVwRQ8ARgr6KqvJkCDnw01rtm8oIndFhUQpKXEVo_YmXqzrA91oo7cGIg/s400/IMG_0066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293975317949813506" border="0" /></a><br />we move forward.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuqE51vcHLgs6bPkVa2c0JsBqymTMws6XyEnAMD5PWKfYWGwzXah0LB178jIVgInrlC1uMDI1kAToyurniw4U2ufmjflFu51wc41S38berCtaMimVGO_dSEDMHRIQlhW8CE7sAFJK2XU/s1600-h/IMG_0074.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuqE51vcHLgs6bPkVa2c0JsBqymTMws6XyEnAMD5PWKfYWGwzXah0LB178jIVgInrlC1uMDI1kAToyurniw4U2ufmjflFu51wc41S38berCtaMimVGO_dSEDMHRIQlhW8CE7sAFJK2XU/s400/IMG_0074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293975311254591586" border="0" /></a><br />as we shuffle in our thousands,<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivd8oZf-flHIoY57lWzTJ460zIPk2kvjOMlGaG5jLfmjXS9XuMdwvk_Cv1-VHnILOFc9jSJHey1j6x-17ePMetDI7l9_-O5ZIfUoaexUAcFPWcuOVIlOtH-uEtNmvDy3b572IqtNCix90/s1600-h/IMG_0076.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivd8oZf-flHIoY57lWzTJ460zIPk2kvjOMlGaG5jLfmjXS9XuMdwvk_Cv1-VHnILOFc9jSJHey1j6x-17ePMetDI7l9_-O5ZIfUoaexUAcFPWcuOVIlOtH-uEtNmvDy3b572IqtNCix90/s400/IMG_0076.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293975309511025042" border="0" /></a><br />arches rise above us, high<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixjRnNZLMcAYRppI9RJAMO1ybIhGh2ujjlvukqF_RvnADI9XoLya7wFqd1aSo64tyHwQ6P4eUZlWI3ngFmlbpay98AXNmGUZsQSwRXR9BrfE_Kg0xr2nJ83yY2iBQbMQEaENXSxtXErIc/s1600-h/IMG_0077.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixjRnNZLMcAYRppI9RJAMO1ybIhGh2ujjlvukqF_RvnADI9XoLya7wFqd1aSo64tyHwQ6P4eUZlWI3ngFmlbpay98AXNmGUZsQSwRXR9BrfE_Kg0xr2nJ83yY2iBQbMQEaENXSxtXErIc/s400/IMG_0077.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293975304635335970" border="0" /></a><br />and all we are is motion<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3HE1CbnO_Z77WrRDssefjVYDeBcoiMAt2vBZdBtZYbin3u-kdroky_erNHm9G8pSlAAU9UrwlOdh6GYgheoZmFmcdIx1N_pDg30TwqEhSt1bwfd4qwm3wlJiuBFUOGcltEOYybhrlyQ/s1600-h/IMG_0078.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3HE1CbnO_Z77WrRDssefjVYDeBcoiMAt2vBZdBtZYbin3u-kdroky_erNHm9G8pSlAAU9UrwlOdh6GYgheoZmFmcdIx1N_pDg30TwqEhSt1bwfd4qwm3wlJiuBFUOGcltEOYybhrlyQ/s400/IMG_0078.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293975295636437906" border="0" /></a><br />(and sartorial distinction - what a hat! it is the day's first fanciful chapeau, but not the last)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_n7NW4Ma20HnW-KSgLMnhGxL4jN-D7JytYwU0zipE2IinASFVkasL7_-OYR8aMtWj3ZsFegr2_LZO3EPCLCR-AjrheelX1cHeVSCJt6jTDv2iZpt0WoOUEm4XZfsV0rcp53neudu25_Y/s1600-h/IMG_0080.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_n7NW4Ma20HnW-KSgLMnhGxL4jN-D7JytYwU0zipE2IinASFVkasL7_-OYR8aMtWj3ZsFegr2_LZO3EPCLCR-AjrheelX1cHeVSCJt6jTDv2iZpt0WoOUEm4XZfsV0rcp53neudu25_Y/s400/IMG_0080.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293974871225961298" border="0" /></a><br />as these two float away i fidget<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-CCwAA_oQU-wBTjmQbfavueNuIOA2rsALefj7zWfROTfseYPoQEaBCAiOM0WVedSq6saPsZMeBkSI8ge5CLVHhbzvl0aNEjVDswHlDEjQ-5zMzsTB2TvkUlvTUZClkgfF0S4WaXogjg/s1600-h/IMG_0081.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-CCwAA_oQU-wBTjmQbfavueNuIOA2rsALefj7zWfROTfseYPoQEaBCAiOM0WVedSq6saPsZMeBkSI8ge5CLVHhbzvl0aNEjVDswHlDEjQ-5zMzsTB2TvkUlvTUZClkgfF0S4WaXogjg/s400/IMG_0081.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293974867373926754" border="0" /></a><br />fretfully, aware of the sea turtles that await their final resting place, but<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6de7O7S2be64XzoMZB_XVc0PaAdP1mM6a9EXchF7bEpxcd0tsDy_JZKylJrYwAQJFgJ2pB86TtZFXrw7Aae6SW1OsZ3cx_s-NM5gMi_xUg4Jhfii4w9qfWto6AubmrFWt0MDfFmRRVio/s1600-h/IMG_0083.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6de7O7S2be64XzoMZB_XVc0PaAdP1mM6a9EXchF7bEpxcd0tsDy_JZKylJrYwAQJFgJ2pB86TtZFXrw7Aae6SW1OsZ3cx_s-NM5gMi_xUg4Jhfii4w9qfWto6AubmrFWt0MDfFmRRVio/s400/IMG_0083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293974861569486242" border="0" /></a><br />we are moving, washington is with us<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSsgzo8526KtABQBwfEo88wSkkEkFOVeZts-Ti4O5nFApME67v8NhGn4cpaXQo8F6xOjh7Xc4pGv9NPossvHRs_NJ0oEtKspucZ5xOaxFUX_jl2yP0iovXMaa5aUaUwX5xtvVf8ZRxgo/s1600-h/IMG_0084.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSsgzo8526KtABQBwfEo88wSkkEkFOVeZts-Ti4O5nFApME67v8NhGn4cpaXQo8F6xOjh7Xc4pGv9NPossvHRs_NJ0oEtKspucZ5xOaxFUX_jl2yP0iovXMaa5aUaUwX5xtvVf8ZRxgo/s400/IMG_0084.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293974856585755346" border="0" /></a><br />we are found.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpTx-1g_sj7QJ5vRfP50tC2KSL9XLNbG7AZmz-IQuucaq6ikBypYxzA9uDGCUkK2aV6lRxmpPUe8QGmLcsziA4RiD_XdQ5v5x5b7oyRfO9xMZy3F19-bxMKHDMz1cM99TEnoxn9zwjPo/s1600-h/IMG_0087.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpTx-1g_sj7QJ5vRfP50tC2KSL9XLNbG7AZmz-IQuucaq6ikBypYxzA9uDGCUkK2aV6lRxmpPUe8QGmLcsziA4RiD_XdQ5v5x5b7oyRfO9xMZy3F19-bxMKHDMz1cM99TEnoxn9zwjPo/s400/IMG_0087.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293974852843684098" border="0" /></a><br />we are not dignified or elevated, raised on high or particularly near our reason for this hajj of ours today<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82vR4Qz5zMjE2szb8XfHj8tybG1eb4suTZQjs80tUXnsFzehMf7BJr1Eo5g_LAFQUfA8kmzsKPntuJqVceO2yzKmRU0BROOO8yKIbhtX6G4cRo3p4IFQmB7kIIzQjsAhJjROOb31bVIY/s1600-h/IMG_0089.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82vR4Qz5zMjE2szb8XfHj8tybG1eb4suTZQjs80tUXnsFzehMf7BJr1Eo5g_LAFQUfA8kmzsKPntuJqVceO2yzKmRU0BROOO8yKIbhtX6G4cRo3p4IFQmB7kIIzQjsAhJjROOb31bVIY/s400/IMG_0089.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293973628669959138" border="0" /></a><br />we are here to notarize: we came. we saw.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYNhQ914R5MAFFEipmGeKnR0Zq-t4UK03Zp1cQ4bptcK3LVpG7F-zy0SxoajwTWaQPlXElv_Bpfn8gDdxD6Fm70Rkfz5nAi-oePpu41jBhCry1I1sB8ojD0NQnWP5pf8zrkAd1GK8oH4/s1600-h/IMG_0092.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYNhQ914R5MAFFEipmGeKnR0Zq-t4UK03Zp1cQ4bptcK3LVpG7F-zy0SxoajwTWaQPlXElv_Bpfn8gDdxD6Fm70Rkfz5nAi-oePpu41jBhCry1I1sB8ojD0NQnWP5pf8zrkAd1GK8oH4/s400/IMG_0092.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293973627770370226" border="0" /></a><br />washington, even more than lincoln, haunts my mind like one more ponytailed ghost<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXq6dMolACPgg7U3nwJxAxZ1Tzywo8ExbbXCZrKzvOs3YWZLyKC8ZBV8adjW-7GzjhnNnrpb0NDgsYTrqWSrRmSrGk3f5S91ysL4pyOq2Pu7-LRCw3MnAR2sAKxI-wwBPGDJ3_7esi_fE/s1600-h/IMG_0093.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXq6dMolACPgg7U3nwJxAxZ1Tzywo8ExbbXCZrKzvOs3YWZLyKC8ZBV8adjW-7GzjhnNnrpb0NDgsYTrqWSrRmSrGk3f5S91ysL4pyOq2Pu7-LRCw3MnAR2sAKxI-wwBPGDJ3_7esi_fE/s400/IMG_0093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293973614644748546" border="0" /></a><br />in the country that he helped to build, in winter<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvZO7VLph-Z5BpNOvv_mRp8uEGyKx_kbR-7Ky1JhTHMIrPLQ0eet1U43XaOqlGpLSch6iSmhvstkYm5rJSaeP8B3Ia4OZdm7h23P5l6vrr8O6yjwclC23rQQh36yZoxi-9D6h-QMVyRw/s1600-h/IMG_0101.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvZO7VLph-Z5BpNOvv_mRp8uEGyKx_kbR-7Ky1JhTHMIrPLQ0eet1U43XaOqlGpLSch6iSmhvstkYm5rJSaeP8B3Ia4OZdm7h23P5l6vrr8O6yjwclC23rQQh36yZoxi-9D6h-QMVyRw/s400/IMG_0101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293973605832321954" border="0" /></a><br />we are not upon the delaware, but we face a moment no less striking for the lack of blood we shed.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWKTi2fMFhYNKsAcTLZyViM6BKFRqmA2Rg-Krn1tF_SANGsq6gfHoxqGUlzgfYQoYAXGqnnszJ3G5OIiHKLGYxsC85swKZdQ6g5Dyho-_N7EHXWDxRs33JkwSscYyfaB3ypJcz5mPxS8/s1600-h/IMG_0102.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWKTi2fMFhYNKsAcTLZyViM6BKFRqmA2Rg-Krn1tF_SANGsq6gfHoxqGUlzgfYQoYAXGqnnszJ3G5OIiHKLGYxsC85swKZdQ6g5Dyho-_N7EHXWDxRs33JkwSscYyfaB3ypJcz5mPxS8/s400/IMG_0102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293973602490334450" border="0" /></a><br />resolute<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJWCd7fzdDcV4Dl7AQqApGxe_DhQxzk5jzXyc8pBLLCx3OhH3Xgqbad0vT6uzTLTh9BxSuyExHpA3xAfQvHZUJJbG4-ORxaeuQoFzaZ-5x77ZREu3_2YZKJniTX8EJgQaG1Git3Z_CcQ/s1600-h/IMG_0103.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJWCd7fzdDcV4Dl7AQqApGxe_DhQxzk5jzXyc8pBLLCx3OhH3Xgqbad0vT6uzTLTh9BxSuyExHpA3xAfQvHZUJJbG4-ORxaeuQoFzaZ-5x77ZREu3_2YZKJniTX8EJgQaG1Git3Z_CcQ/s400/IMG_0103.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293972568252861682" border="0" /></a><br />and disbelieving<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrMQPQfBWoBUTkWraBhuzIWCTSoviGnieDfTLwXL0yzBWWZI0HT0rtUSbifyN4JlMqF_LVaTsEqACVMK0YO4bkLHDuRv1oh8ZBVZYRluP3upogeATkW5xozM4-_STJmJVLhCQOg9hMII/s1600-h/IMG_0104.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrMQPQfBWoBUTkWraBhuzIWCTSoviGnieDfTLwXL0yzBWWZI0HT0rtUSbifyN4JlMqF_LVaTsEqACVMK0YO4bkLHDuRv1oh8ZBVZYRluP3upogeATkW5xozM4-_STJmJVLhCQOg9hMII/s400/IMG_0104.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293972563313309778" border="0" /></a><br />cold<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FyO0h-ypb9P1Rrpy5orZ20UadUWMsTJzLIUTCjXkxRzMzhzEVgN388dYWyafW88VvP5M7Mcgc3IjW-FL4-LNEwrWaeiTSHPlfJRKuae5fZ-U-q1g3pTeEKoYwE8muL7M0FAs4ony4hA/s1600-h/IMG_0110.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FyO0h-ypb9P1Rrpy5orZ20UadUWMsTJzLIUTCjXkxRzMzhzEVgN388dYWyafW88VvP5M7Mcgc3IjW-FL4-LNEwrWaeiTSHPlfJRKuae5fZ-U-q1g3pTeEKoYwE8muL7M0FAs4ony4hA/s400/IMG_0110.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293972557707904834" border="0" /></a><br />and massed<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha52iT-HYXueXIDhpz7DMz0gV059jQqErWlcNPCjTOMzswSnJN_ovMXTTunl7h41tnhvq8mQFSXYBKBPe8voDJ6cqI0lpqoEfLOH6P3B8aonTFJh4xW2IHOlrtz1BW2oNfMM4ugpP59Lg/s1600-h/IMG_0111.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha52iT-HYXueXIDhpz7DMz0gV059jQqErWlcNPCjTOMzswSnJN_ovMXTTunl7h41tnhvq8mQFSXYBKBPe8voDJ6cqI0lpqoEfLOH6P3B8aonTFJh4xW2IHOlrtz1BW2oNfMM4ugpP59Lg/s400/IMG_0111.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293972556428021682" border="0" /></a><br />and tired<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpz3REGIq9VtoZj95yjqv2HVUHtJIu2YwJJ2xQkhCiu_PeI3b6jsWMvqXXgwyUlVo2AqvKD5xb80kOwn84La1n8I0XF4UByfXufP_f20GIfoIqxFkFPC1SDOI5a0cHqJ_gs5vQ-pusF8/s1600-h/IMG_0112.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpz3REGIq9VtoZj95yjqv2HVUHtJIu2YwJJ2xQkhCiu_PeI3b6jsWMvqXXgwyUlVo2AqvKD5xb80kOwn84La1n8I0XF4UByfXufP_f20GIfoIqxFkFPC1SDOI5a0cHqJ_gs5vQ-pusF8/s400/IMG_0112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293972548838339874" border="0" /></a><br />we are many.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpv9oLa2h0ddtSRjIWaVpvp-8Cc8EenL0i8E_nimQYZR1u7bCEle3jiO71qKkApN7_MPVvfDFvKUFjRfZ-3PV3HCC-wTwwFU0BnlFlp_PMYkA_fJFVJ7otACQiDFAYiHSTF8eH-daQSb0/s1600-h/IMG_0117.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpv9oLa2h0ddtSRjIWaVpvp-8Cc8EenL0i8E_nimQYZR1u7bCEle3jiO71qKkApN7_MPVvfDFvKUFjRfZ-3PV3HCC-wTwwFU0BnlFlp_PMYkA_fJFVJ7otACQiDFAYiHSTF8eH-daQSb0/s400/IMG_0117.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293971171436914146" border="0" /></a><br />i begin to lose feeling in my toes and go searching for a warming tent.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLUZ6j75-MkxgsTJ2aQ3JSN120wSKGq3vYMtHAhg1XefXD1-7rbkei0xbjaBubg7Nary1sO2RTR9Iyo0LTQk7mH0yZRZqo7VoV7ciQT967j0k0qkvgQndttWTzH5apFkmyjHKGcM_0v4/s1600-h/IMG_0119.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLUZ6j75-MkxgsTJ2aQ3JSN120wSKGq3vYMtHAhg1XefXD1-7rbkei0xbjaBubg7Nary1sO2RTR9Iyo0LTQk7mH0yZRZqo7VoV7ciQT967j0k0qkvgQndttWTzH5apFkmyjHKGcM_0v4/s400/IMG_0119.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293971168778175426" border="0" /></a><br />i find very little that is useful to me, but these soldiers camp in packs, leaving their bags in slowly proliferating huddles, circling the camouflage wagons, seeking the lea of the storm.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyX5EFlp_i4tupmT0ATdqXxHl4c7fCjQVLczUn6-SCGQP6H6osT9zWJsIwgcTQwdWlPVHhrCgaBrJEuqZSG1QRbwZ-fUqDjZUaIPuDyTkkPKS3SmP3lPkiJqpYcH8PiEGfOBBWMzzbfY/s1600-h/IMG_0120.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyX5EFlp_i4tupmT0ATdqXxHl4c7fCjQVLczUn6-SCGQP6H6osT9zWJsIwgcTQwdWlPVHhrCgaBrJEuqZSG1QRbwZ-fUqDjZUaIPuDyTkkPKS3SmP3lPkiJqpYcH8PiEGfOBBWMzzbfY/s400/IMG_0120.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293971163232556178" border="0" /></a><br />i travel onwards.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCP1pHCpciIfkQuVsbjjFcIaa852tBpCPE8zCYgmuYqYj0tVHQSyKJpbA7R2VpbHFhUscysB7zOyRSUXRyCiN7ULoCZgES9kYY0j6sg0DcVnUQ_c3T3Ae4jHv2itSJMlt4gj3yJshCWp4/s1600-h/IMG_0121.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCP1pHCpciIfkQuVsbjjFcIaa852tBpCPE8zCYgmuYqYj0tVHQSyKJpbA7R2VpbHFhUscysB7zOyRSUXRyCiN7ULoCZgES9kYY0j6sg0DcVnUQ_c3T3Ae4jHv2itSJMlt4gj3yJshCWp4/s400/IMG_0121.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293971158775792050" border="0" /></a><br />chris matthews and keith olbermann are not as impressive as you might think in real life, and if it is a case of "real" america versus unreal, i am inclined to believe in the veracity of my fellow sufferers of cold and cramping, waving flags and hoping against hope.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDO3QhzSTXcsjzCgO6-jJ3OwuQvwcNdWSvlXq-IxiiGEABQGGSUyiilYH2WsjjsbZnVeeenTbf_YInfJdT_wJuW3TWWSrCYNleHB1PEuShxJl7aGTw0hwW6CTCGBwr4zX5OVgqXfmOWKg/s1600-h/IMG_0124.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDO3QhzSTXcsjzCgO6-jJ3OwuQvwcNdWSvlXq-IxiiGEABQGGSUyiilYH2WsjjsbZnVeeenTbf_YInfJdT_wJuW3TWWSrCYNleHB1PEuShxJl7aGTw0hwW6CTCGBwr4zX5OVgqXfmOWKg/s400/IMG_0124.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293971155012836690" border="0" /></a><br />still, few find themselves impassive on this day.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKt8LWDlEf__RpnKxy5ZCfY1zOO02RE_b1ZxkJIY0kYC7kNBgEsXthqtMug9wU2LMsvzQjGWRBdz3H7Fagk2q2-KDKGpC-j6dkpPsqS20_nyetnWqdd6rtHDS1Pl6RM6_Pyg1-gh1WbSk/s1600-h/IMG_0127.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKt8LWDlEf__RpnKxy5ZCfY1zOO02RE_b1ZxkJIY0kYC7kNBgEsXthqtMug9wU2LMsvzQjGWRBdz3H7Fagk2q2-KDKGpC-j6dkpPsqS20_nyetnWqdd6rtHDS1Pl6RM6_Pyg1-gh1WbSk/s400/IMG_0127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293968722494215938" border="0" /></a><br />my savior is a soldier after all (thank you, lieutenant harris - from all ten of my still-wiggling toes)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2qXh7hpb4pV_AHR0-l_uKNWcXKQfqcUQaY6xdzYstTMfaCJUfBIazDHmnnqCkB10q28UvLFnZMKfNhYqKJblw0H3Fsk68ahHrFITDFW1M1dR5LbbbwdkWmc4kz4tnVQQIkgoDJi2kCs/s1600-h/IMG_0128.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2qXh7hpb4pV_AHR0-l_uKNWcXKQfqcUQaY6xdzYstTMfaCJUfBIazDHmnnqCkB10q28UvLFnZMKfNhYqKJblw0H3Fsk68ahHrFITDFW1M1dR5LbbbwdkWmc4kz4tnVQQIkgoDJi2kCs/s400/IMG_0128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293968717685621682" border="0" /></a><br />and i return in time to start to see.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZcvSNeAh3PtSfcIK-mZbcZdTSIxE73EPkLp4h5R2FJw9Kimp_jsn2e5vGAaD0jcTUYR08Q2tgboKF6AId2fQQLz1dulUBkem06BFhm9n9vtDp_wCPd5kQNGIEV6VAOiHwyM0K6Ktcts/s1600-h/IMG_0130.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZcvSNeAh3PtSfcIK-mZbcZdTSIxE73EPkLp4h5R2FJw9Kimp_jsn2e5vGAaD0jcTUYR08Q2tgboKF6AId2fQQLz1dulUBkem06BFhm9n9vtDp_wCPd5kQNGIEV6VAOiHwyM0K6Ktcts/s400/IMG_0130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293968710600227298" border="0" /></a><br />as we pray<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6O9nYzwpjN5Y5o9EtSdCocGWP_pXWBZxrBdgVJPZRswGWF2kA1RPgr4MXr29JRrY6QfJ-Z5oQouNE9_t8dCvtEyMFaP0E0BvB-pcRNsrr5Eb6uXP7vJJAY8jg2iNieeCiG_WsT7uigc/s1600-h/IMG_0132.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6O9nYzwpjN5Y5o9EtSdCocGWP_pXWBZxrBdgVJPZRswGWF2kA1RPgr4MXr29JRrY6QfJ-Z5oQouNE9_t8dCvtEyMFaP0E0BvB-pcRNsrr5Eb6uXP7vJJAY8jg2iNieeCiG_WsT7uigc/s400/IMG_0132.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293968707588264530" border="0" /></a><br />or document<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUaMUUi7QeTUfXfjov2kG6PT7ur81lxa-tHsyLn1frOEzlpF5wj7hLM69PY7yPxkog9QwCJIdWwDAv52mRjml1dKLp1-5vLiV2FAkN9LoWROm2a4M_7JInNIg0-mFeklrmMGa2aYX0L8/s1600-h/IMG_0133.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUaMUUi7QeTUfXfjov2kG6PT7ur81lxa-tHsyLn1frOEzlpF5wj7hLM69PY7yPxkog9QwCJIdWwDAv52mRjml1dKLp1-5vLiV2FAkN9LoWROm2a4M_7JInNIg0-mFeklrmMGa2aYX0L8/s400/IMG_0133.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293968708131983442" border="0" /></a><br />and pose<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4U5vzlE8M1IocXejsAdZtg_W3xBRlunfz5AwhJZyoII5ZaK0Fn4Cdz353GJN1vMnvIv1TO8zf4ajbN4WL-iVn-xuUPSwJMXS5LvoAX4Oe1aIwr3XSJ3BjU4SfLKH_e3-7xwjpg1lUd0U/s1600-h/IMG_0137.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4U5vzlE8M1IocXejsAdZtg_W3xBRlunfz5AwhJZyoII5ZaK0Fn4Cdz353GJN1vMnvIv1TO8zf4ajbN4WL-iVn-xuUPSwJMXS5LvoAX4Oe1aIwr3XSJ3BjU4SfLKH_e3-7xwjpg1lUd0U/s400/IMG_0137.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293966441534320306" border="0" /></a><br />(and freeze)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJoWwiCU2qWb2_JUNYG1P8-3OUFhXS76DEalUOSSGVlrv7Gxtc1-SrtpN4m7IjD1DI4vrsuafq7Z8RV5ypE2A_tS6CdEP7S_lnQ_lEuM21k2iE1IcBonTeaWUpJ2WPVu8oYHPY_h9fkYM/s1600-h/IMG_0142.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJoWwiCU2qWb2_JUNYG1P8-3OUFhXS76DEalUOSSGVlrv7Gxtc1-SrtpN4m7IjD1DI4vrsuafq7Z8RV5ypE2A_tS6CdEP7S_lnQ_lEuM21k2iE1IcBonTeaWUpJ2WPVu8oYHPY_h9fkYM/s400/IMG_0142.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293966444287744898" border="0" /></a><br />it begins to become point of fact that the man whose vote we rocked is drawing nearer. he is saying thank you. he is rising.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ETkTuQoRcPBby0SEkmZT4gaTMbFSOfa-owCOBfoh9Udv1khhhG7jjJtDi9RLdiYOjgka8Yw0TVW2OR9WYlwo7FSEH_R7KbQ-M0ifuU9xunTmhWoDeBOQH6qz_DllZ-visLEHdmy7hwc/s1600-h/IMG_0145.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ETkTuQoRcPBby0SEkmZT4gaTMbFSOfa-owCOBfoh9Udv1khhhG7jjJtDi9RLdiYOjgka8Yw0TVW2OR9WYlwo7FSEH_R7KbQ-M0ifuU9xunTmhWoDeBOQH6qz_DllZ-visLEHdmy7hwc/s400/IMG_0145.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293966437905981154" border="0" /></a><br />but on the mall this morning, barack obama is in some ways beside the point.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLF-XOILf_lYOH7cAT06cW_0tiOpKFzCnNIYynLTW0OtoB3LCHDqMh_PkS9IrDEvZ3ViKY-yPhznvWnmNYJpNtGN-SY2DByEISmPWCWMxMjRYXnWKZu5WhCjCZLQl34oHM9-rWgDXfArk/s1600-h/IMG_0146.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLF-XOILf_lYOH7cAT06cW_0tiOpKFzCnNIYynLTW0OtoB3LCHDqMh_PkS9IrDEvZ3ViKY-yPhznvWnmNYJpNtGN-SY2DByEISmPWCWMxMjRYXnWKZu5WhCjCZLQl34oHM9-rWgDXfArk/s400/IMG_0146.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293966433842450498" border="0" /></a><br />this twelve year old boy (who moments later took a break from his call to cheer the entry of sasha and malia obama with the fervent joy of one deep in the throes of first love from afar)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDt0PK8uw8k8P3IK4W1Wa_N9d3jZqySdgfFlvSHfo6N_wS3wTP5UWYJW7MK74IPTbxE0JKjZQdIlqtOsJRSLg2m74ZFCxq4muaBUtvrogP9JcP68vMOWSLv7ISQy15cuKnGdtc7OJ6tw/s1600-h/IMG_0148.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDt0PK8uw8k8P3IK4W1Wa_N9d3jZqySdgfFlvSHfo6N_wS3wTP5UWYJW7MK74IPTbxE0JKjZQdIlqtOsJRSLg2m74ZFCxq4muaBUtvrogP9JcP68vMOWSLv7ISQy15cuKnGdtc7OJ6tw/s400/IMG_0148.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293966431351353890" border="0" /></a><br />and this cool-hand luke-ette<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuTyp8-Bdb15kajnQgkHELcFW1PsSxlAXl9-otwySDeJXPGNleYeXevYaSwuMvJJJY7YqOkiOiIXUZOALmXgcFGTavJQJ6JzQCPino9Fhf_juY6P6z2tfwDxIj329slu9jcuIcuC_qps/s1600-h/IMG_0150.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuTyp8-Bdb15kajnQgkHELcFW1PsSxlAXl9-otwySDeJXPGNleYeXevYaSwuMvJJJY7YqOkiOiIXUZOALmXgcFGTavJQJ6JzQCPino9Fhf_juY6P6z2tfwDxIj329slu9jcuIcuC_qps/s400/IMG_0150.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293964418010077618" border="0" /></a><br />are as much a part of this inaugural as The One.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Ka2NRHEdBS6AilfuxuaNLrjqyeJw7O8s3Lbx1bP4rFIEDuALei99Onz74kcnrvUQsxjcjqAL4D_PTMd9R_SdzjoQ12oFEtprlKDxVfq5E8Aq9Js56y3rz0TfEj2VGGEtqDn81Lyos_c/s1600-h/IMG_0151.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Ka2NRHEdBS6AilfuxuaNLrjqyeJw7O8s3Lbx1bP4rFIEDuALei99Onz74kcnrvUQsxjcjqAL4D_PTMd9R_SdzjoQ12oFEtprlKDxVfq5E8Aq9Js56y3rz0TfEj2VGGEtqDn81Lyos_c/s400/IMG_0151.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293964414758146434" border="0" /></a><br />he is here<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbhXuJkcFP6VNAtD55fOTMda38cnY7D_gjXz4ReNLVGZ6RQKCrNoREI48cPfBJSI0dgL0YS-4rPVmvhZibK1tNnLyLZreWY8i9C6ZXeC0Y5nzTcykKhC01LwKDwGWhnR1nVLRJzvHVBzk/s1600-h/IMG_0153.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbhXuJkcFP6VNAtD55fOTMda38cnY7D_gjXz4ReNLVGZ6RQKCrNoREI48cPfBJSI0dgL0YS-4rPVmvhZibK1tNnLyLZreWY8i9C6ZXeC0Y5nzTcykKhC01LwKDwGWhnR1nVLRJzvHVBzk/s400/IMG_0153.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293964412985244962" border="0" /></a><br />but so are we<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQPk3FybdAtXnKruWTEAxxR1Jr_lBsjNfHrmLXi7Dx_TrFUXF2uqdtwFAlLnrRVZbwNPu7l32-gsrrM77XspGTcCbyPPa-6MJb8lYz1pqHRQ11tdPKpE4TgT4CGGBycE6yVEiNMfabhk/s1600-h/IMG_0158.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQPk3FybdAtXnKruWTEAxxR1Jr_lBsjNfHrmLXi7Dx_TrFUXF2uqdtwFAlLnrRVZbwNPu7l32-gsrrM77XspGTcCbyPPa-6MJb8lYz1pqHRQ11tdPKpE4TgT4CGGBycE6yVEiNMfabhk/s400/IMG_0158.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293964401464228274" border="0" /></a><br />and while his duties are many, ours are:<br /><br />- to be moved<br />- to understand<br />- to see.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj3hFUpNVCKIbxVRMLXzW593gb9VBCbRumB63SXGnDSFMHq-G6ldyhHyQMZnH3ZIYZdN-Ld9LAwrWNAZywZwh4DKULSyLwz4rZykcK7ZN-6wACrjogrjws469R39_Opfiai3I1fTbkiAQ/s1600-h/IMG_0159.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj3hFUpNVCKIbxVRMLXzW593gb9VBCbRumB63SXGnDSFMHq-G6ldyhHyQMZnH3ZIYZdN-Ld9LAwrWNAZywZwh4DKULSyLwz4rZykcK7ZN-6wACrjogrjws469R39_Opfiai3I1fTbkiAQ/s400/IMG_0159.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293964400137915442" border="0" /></a><br />(occasionally we think we are seeing with more stealth than point of fact will dictate)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKUUFuIiRn6f3O7WVKPrJhKPZ7HCbIF6ccj7BjjRvVj9doE87PFIFO2vO0A5bblP9Em5yZsG_I8NImJG52HcV2YBNS7nvAqVZs8R0rDcY3T5Hw9Y_JuI42_PaAztFoyEA60Y6hAj0eXo/s1600-h/IMG_0161.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKUUFuIiRn6f3O7WVKPrJhKPZ7HCbIF6ccj7BjjRvVj9doE87PFIFO2vO0A5bblP9Em5yZsG_I8NImJG52HcV2YBNS7nvAqVZs8R0rDcY3T5Hw9Y_JuI42_PaAztFoyEA60Y6hAj0eXo/s400/IMG_0161.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293963786539266610" border="0" /></a><br />we see mistakes<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGu0_1zaASeGDJC_ecRsU0lu5UOjvff_9S1TaVBbFQeEUlg0ZjDjpnmFCU-_Q3r1UyAVstCftiHwM6JdGa_m9T5iPrHg5fsMzgkMZ5F2dZt4DjT5dMzIyqCXALdP4NOuZH0It8JdgXlUk/s1600-h/IMG_0162.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGu0_1zaASeGDJC_ecRsU0lu5UOjvff_9S1TaVBbFQeEUlg0ZjDjpnmFCU-_Q3r1UyAVstCftiHwM6JdGa_m9T5iPrHg5fsMzgkMZ5F2dZt4DjT5dMzIyqCXALdP4NOuZH0It8JdgXlUk/s400/IMG_0162.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293963778733314018" border="0" /></a><br />and we see grace<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb_Cj30VLZ_gE_hFDO7T8hisz3LkLEBSinzo9NImCGVn1MY21Sf8CvkqtEuLZ87xX8IaybNMK6D3pYxx0b9JSEjfdm4r3qo-C8hc58k8IiEVXsK4Zl4svrVRwM8I8LoI4oykQXIhk4Xa8/s1600-h/IMG_0163.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb_Cj30VLZ_gE_hFDO7T8hisz3LkLEBSinzo9NImCGVn1MY21Sf8CvkqtEuLZ87xX8IaybNMK6D3pYxx0b9JSEjfdm4r3qo-C8hc58k8IiEVXsK4Zl4svrVRwM8I8LoI4oykQXIhk4Xa8/s400/IMG_0163.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293963772740999778" border="0" /></a><br />and we see that in some cases it stops mattering<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zXOJmXZs437_ZqGBuoH0IvEZ-btFMgf12l3azfC_cu7lhQGux901j9wSc27UBNSJKgzES8e6nXK8F1lfNiUKzfV8LZwL1eCKdYh7JVbmZdD0A3ZXUE2sL0P8ACqHQprg_qaQ8BU4OEQ/s1600-h/IMG_0164.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zXOJmXZs437_ZqGBuoH0IvEZ-btFMgf12l3azfC_cu7lhQGux901j9wSc27UBNSJKgzES8e6nXK8F1lfNiUKzfV8LZwL1eCKdYh7JVbmZdD0A3ZXUE2sL0P8ACqHQprg_qaQ8BU4OEQ/s400/IMG_0164.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293963769313925602" border="0" /></a><br />we see change.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmrZPHDVNoLimWNv_SJoZc7XnxfrEI_SaHADOKuWetp791pRwUKQC6ixwavPisypdjJbIUkLgPYn27L9XQZtz53lmsTlSeV25sVu_YiHWY5oLoq1vKNbJi82N85hJKOM9JwmxySni-KM/s1600-h/IMG_0165.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmrZPHDVNoLimWNv_SJoZc7XnxfrEI_SaHADOKuWetp791pRwUKQC6ixwavPisypdjJbIUkLgPYn27L9XQZtz53lmsTlSeV25sVu_YiHWY5oLoq1vKNbJi82N85hJKOM9JwmxySni-KM/s400/IMG_0165.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293963764112131250" border="0" /></a><br />all of us are here to bear this witness<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbFTqwo32GqfLb3H3yuU4BQt6xGQ71st7efsq6Ui9oKXgCevKOqsQYuRM_IykxsRPnfjdaWsidT8yu4i8o_yeZM3aNPWfNHxxu2ygSi0U5aiKM6Xz5iuhzRt9LFAYvW5rPCfuKy4MBWa0/s1600-h/IMG_0167.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbFTqwo32GqfLb3H3yuU4BQt6xGQ71st7efsq6Ui9oKXgCevKOqsQYuRM_IykxsRPnfjdaWsidT8yu4i8o_yeZM3aNPWfNHxxu2ygSi0U5aiKM6Xz5iuhzRt9LFAYvW5rPCfuKy4MBWa0/s400/IMG_0167.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293961752946678802" border="0" /></a><br />as if our seeing makes this real<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8Ul9RPS54FaHRS-2AEsjgBLM5PIINYC6HQIiTFkZ28caAs2wjOeIA011_i3MrETRg5AabBBzDCqwmQPVBOvhEHbenobHbOGYhDtSDdEGfP09NI9lpufWBkc3S5T6-P0NqgEYqSFgKfM/s1600-h/IMG_0168.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8Ul9RPS54FaHRS-2AEsjgBLM5PIINYC6HQIiTFkZ28caAs2wjOeIA011_i3MrETRg5AabBBzDCqwmQPVBOvhEHbenobHbOGYhDtSDdEGfP09NI9lpufWBkc3S5T6-P0NqgEYqSFgKfM/s400/IMG_0168.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293961741837826866" border="0" /></a><br />and the fact that this is here to see<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcsXrVWke8UPlo1zCvM6sCjqfWuqmtkmPkIVXQ3qwYiaDcilj3Gy6DneBOV2ATLWeu9KFa8CzJuQiOef2PBCOsx0bpIiAjYiqtn1LLdfmyO4-7J3LSGljbJV1r5slLDuxEthRDV7ilj8/s1600-h/IMG_0169.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcsXrVWke8UPlo1zCvM6sCjqfWuqmtkmPkIVXQ3qwYiaDcilj3Gy6DneBOV2ATLWeu9KFa8CzJuQiOef2PBCOsx0bpIiAjYiqtn1LLdfmyO4-7J3LSGljbJV1r5slLDuxEthRDV7ilj8/s400/IMG_0169.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293961734498424162" border="0" /></a><br />in a way makes our reality more complex and more honest and more true.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlQzNol-Tp9v6DsefalRtohoyb3Hdtu3-SbsLYiplJWTv7PmSeymhG3WYwOpTCY5EOduHNQSfE-CYEJM0bM-wPois_K1gag6wKUwbSSsYQxEVLNoAKEfHwDM1sbWvUjPayNr4KXXbp2o/s1600-h/IMG_0170.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlQzNol-Tp9v6DsefalRtohoyb3Hdtu3-SbsLYiplJWTv7PmSeymhG3WYwOpTCY5EOduHNQSfE-CYEJM0bM-wPois_K1gag6wKUwbSSsYQxEVLNoAKEfHwDM1sbWvUjPayNr4KXXbp2o/s400/IMG_0170.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293961732364807858" border="0" /></a><br />we are all lifted up<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGeYORmp9hV4SP9p1XBaSRgMpvLxmLZm4MC_Cv9elz_6S-FuWzjBMIHv7FAJ1x0tY4xiku761LRnNHNkKYvH6j0WRhLBqi4U5KmdqMcBpvLZ3se7gfBmdwU5VGT1GwkGuDz1WAAczRhWI/s1600-h/IMG_0171.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGeYORmp9hV4SP9p1XBaSRgMpvLxmLZm4MC_Cv9elz_6S-FuWzjBMIHv7FAJ1x0tY4xiku761LRnNHNkKYvH6j0WRhLBqi4U5KmdqMcBpvLZ3se7gfBmdwU5VGT1GwkGuDz1WAAczRhWI/s400/IMG_0171.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293961728334805106" border="0" /></a><br />and held safe, for this moment.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2sQnjoBVBYe7YwfPKdUx6wXRtbvlcnqc6GAn9VaPxrgaaPcOxXMayY3q18SuLm8vv_uQ-E8U2ypiU3cAAsznDtkgRHHrkCNOq_HXgMdmNnVmgHU2giQq_kiUpRa_be12vuwjtYnzPmI/s1600-h/IMG_0172.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2sQnjoBVBYe7YwfPKdUx6wXRtbvlcnqc6GAn9VaPxrgaaPcOxXMayY3q18SuLm8vv_uQ-E8U2ypiU3cAAsznDtkgRHHrkCNOq_HXgMdmNnVmgHU2giQq_kiUpRa_be12vuwjtYnzPmI/s400/IMG_0172.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293960387941986818" border="0" /></a><br />ordinary details make me cry<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6qVmhHj-MmEUzo2MUbls5v5nQeEPDBBjPc2VGrVMPIAvGWi8SRbpPEsKCOuFvUCNogathzj0m-0lw1DCkfmAkldHqyolrbXzPpxKr249gJKGaqeQS43y4VvI0hwE96hmFuKXxKkwsmM/s1600-h/IMG_0183.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6qVmhHj-MmEUzo2MUbls5v5nQeEPDBBjPc2VGrVMPIAvGWi8SRbpPEsKCOuFvUCNogathzj0m-0lw1DCkfmAkldHqyolrbXzPpxKr249gJKGaqeQS43y4VvI0hwE96hmFuKXxKkwsmM/s400/IMG_0183.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293960377501071538" border="0" /></a><br />everything makes me cry<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYfiaGhR4DlGgdFAko239WOgs0BDFpwdLVXv1bEQZvP3g-Swmtuaq_GPX7-wh-4YdCEuDTijWpAkT-q9oU0JQD9-dr3Zsfq1yNpb6xbFu9vaQkU0Ok-7QvRpySYhDgb_Y6VThi62D8c4/s1600-h/IMG_0187.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYfiaGhR4DlGgdFAko239WOgs0BDFpwdLVXv1bEQZvP3g-Swmtuaq_GPX7-wh-4YdCEuDTijWpAkT-q9oU0JQD9-dr3Zsfq1yNpb6xbFu9vaQkU0Ok-7QvRpySYhDgb_Y6VThi62D8c4/s400/IMG_0187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293960374732781394" border="0" /></a><br />but in my weeping, here of all places: i am not alone.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69Hqby3awJIenv13Oz449wvegjbPSi3byhG0FEvTpeBAvZ2xagnhb6HFJHIfagzSaL68wCB7XkNcNi0VYwgMQFoHvAM8rfze0-LkszP7dn3k5Kf6t1kUI93r9VnCGLkPknR9jdViQ078/s1600-h/IMG_0194.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69Hqby3awJIenv13Oz449wvegjbPSi3byhG0FEvTpeBAvZ2xagnhb6HFJHIfagzSaL68wCB7XkNcNi0VYwgMQFoHvAM8rfze0-LkszP7dn3k5Kf6t1kUI93r9VnCGLkPknR9jdViQ078/s400/IMG_0194.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293960370188378178" border="0" /></a><br />we are on the move again, where ambulances ask us "mother, may i?" (we say: <i>yes you can</i>.)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9dGr_2SLOV0Qax5Vvf-yvzMEaXFqxF91HwoRz20Yq7LESph5-0ke03GwrLz4A2MJohS_oq5ipMIJ1vhffNPK-FSCqO62io9VBjFLaBnRXOTa6cUzEXk4YaUkfccy6HPxPGYT0gpXsEo/s1600-h/IMG_0196.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9dGr_2SLOV0Qax5Vvf-yvzMEaXFqxF91HwoRz20Yq7LESph5-0ke03GwrLz4A2MJohS_oq5ipMIJ1vhffNPK-FSCqO62io9VBjFLaBnRXOTa6cUzEXk4YaUkfccy6HPxPGYT0gpXsEo/s400/IMG_0196.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293960370395753522" border="0" /></a><br />taking the exit onto 395 is surreal<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Nhim9Y7as15chUWSO4Uzzrgvya6JqwhlRneDKDA-cvF89NeG7vjKtPzyWLSNuvneoedUEQe-A9xgHu8WGSQgTLIRksdWyk25H-qrSmJeqkAbXzwojpKjGVknQUPn63XNbEClDUEAC5k/s1600-h/IMG_0197.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Nhim9Y7as15chUWSO4Uzzrgvya6JqwhlRneDKDA-cvF89NeG7vjKtPzyWLSNuvneoedUEQe-A9xgHu8WGSQgTLIRksdWyk25H-qrSmJeqkAbXzwojpKjGVknQUPn63XNbEClDUEAC5k/s400/IMG_0197.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959853149870162" border="0" /></a><br />for what should be dangerous is safe for us; we cannot be injured or stopped<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgj9mjKYD9e1y036E9lrMcCDNCn7ecgXUshuDVqXZPSkwTIUpWXLeQiyatflpjThNUQNyTXPahUYgjibafBHedzuTLKIvuasQHNjfj1JsFWos9vthfUCzoH9J33A6jwtgPTbjC8bRQMM/s1600-h/IMG_0201.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgj9mjKYD9e1y036E9lrMcCDNCn7ecgXUshuDVqXZPSkwTIUpWXLeQiyatflpjThNUQNyTXPahUYgjibafBHedzuTLKIvuasQHNjfj1JsFWos9vthfUCzoH9J33A6jwtgPTbjC8bRQMM/s400/IMG_0201.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959856144818834" border="0" /></a><br />in our masses, borne aloft - even as we enter underground -<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg6K51P8idjqgGdO2ImoKYWaL5HDVf5Tsyj2-RvQl91r2gigV0S9kxirjy4m7VmQPwC9n1GEusVN7I0zFW5-XQb70V5YdVfFAIi5_AwsVxpNCCMC7VPafwDtNl_5ZJHl_wZDH6NQqXckI/s1600-h/IMG_0202.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg6K51P8idjqgGdO2ImoKYWaL5HDVf5Tsyj2-RvQl91r2gigV0S9kxirjy4m7VmQPwC9n1GEusVN7I0zFW5-XQb70V5YdVfFAIi5_AwsVxpNCCMC7VPafwDtNl_5ZJHl_wZDH6NQqXckI/s400/IMG_0202.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959849316987794" border="0" /></a><br />by hope<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikRey86HgKCBICycmdEldoGyS0wbfLv_2SLyCXk_R_KkTAfw1BWgix5yI2yL2-O2VW5cpY3DRLJqThtet43RGam4hSuUoIx-VEHlB3E3w5UUn2zTlY5Hg0S92dcyy2Ox5ema5SN17s-88/s1600-h/IMG_0203.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikRey86HgKCBICycmdEldoGyS0wbfLv_2SLyCXk_R_KkTAfw1BWgix5yI2yL2-O2VW5cpY3DRLJqThtet43RGam4hSuUoIx-VEHlB3E3w5UUn2zTlY5Hg0S92dcyy2Ox5ema5SN17s-88/s400/IMG_0203.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959844847882578" border="0" /></a><br />and pepsicola.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2Wn8poqzUtLF3G86d0M8UU1prT-OGSzKwWq-v6_Xz05_BJQX28AudrMxGF18IcfZ3zUleaGrfRcjccobORMQl_tJ42bngj3xwwHWxDLawsofeq48Tfx682wYc_jyH_6PXmG94CmImak/s1600-h/IMG_0204.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2Wn8poqzUtLF3G86d0M8UU1prT-OGSzKwWq-v6_Xz05_BJQX28AudrMxGF18IcfZ3zUleaGrfRcjccobORMQl_tJ42bngj3xwwHWxDLawsofeq48Tfx682wYc_jyH_6PXmG94CmImak/s400/IMG_0204.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959843997052754" border="0" /></a><br />in a way the event is ending and the show is over<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFFSyNP8G1bo9XP2599coTtqxrezpHWYRzwSyoxlnVjSmObOpeavU7JKNHLiIR69pKgQsU_ZaTJRJVmgsceOLni5_0lcpNnSRmq0M7Q16C97-S9ocyvLm77Pi8LQOG__23cR5lJjsoFc/s1600-h/IMG_0207.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFFSyNP8G1bo9XP2599coTtqxrezpHWYRzwSyoxlnVjSmObOpeavU7JKNHLiIR69pKgQsU_ZaTJRJVmgsceOLni5_0lcpNnSRmq0M7Q16C97-S9ocyvLm77Pi8LQOG__23cR5lJjsoFc/s400/IMG_0207.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959216465617586" border="0" /></a><br />but everything is different now, in ways i still don't grasp or play at understanding<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8btIc3fxAuVqq2dyhWmNl4Jcz3C4D43FYFsx4LOS6OiupwRTum84Fkt9POOEUEApvlAnBfurszY1hlr6wUHoxU1Cm7oYqJd1f0FHBUFzEKySYkW7wXwwRh-HCppBtZVxifhENO-ZPpo/s1600-h/IMG_0210.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8btIc3fxAuVqq2dyhWmNl4Jcz3C4D43FYFsx4LOS6OiupwRTum84Fkt9POOEUEApvlAnBfurszY1hlr6wUHoxU1Cm7oYqJd1f0FHBUFzEKySYkW7wXwwRh-HCppBtZVxifhENO-ZPpo/s400/IMG_0210.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959209328850770" border="0" /></a><br />we are moving<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpAzgJMnKIMtUo6MGvhIphy5878DyKyPk7WrMowFD2svllkQQ-Za9vL8YXbfgoU0Xn4eTZt9GAYJDVe_2mtsA-dMK3TwJR7oBOrI7qYM_u9rcV4ouArb7mOnJLd3BZ0-H7p3cRZtQ4eY/s1600-h/IMG_0217.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpAzgJMnKIMtUo6MGvhIphy5878DyKyPk7WrMowFD2svllkQQ-Za9vL8YXbfgoU0Xn4eTZt9GAYJDVe_2mtsA-dMK3TwJR7oBOrI7qYM_u9rcV4ouArb7mOnJLd3BZ0-H7p3cRZtQ4eY/s400/IMG_0217.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959206545166290" border="0" /></a><br />we are moving<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFtA7A1F8ijr_eSNrcNI_w4TEjP8dcH80yCpCT0NJHRmdaN5c1I2deGtAcQNh-mcdkimFt8JLIajenQMhjxgXT4FTSsonrEzXnvW42fb3YHhxjvfBag-A_PGVifPjdnUPM4savDu045w/s1600-h/IMG_0219.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFtA7A1F8ijr_eSNrcNI_w4TEjP8dcH80yCpCT0NJHRmdaN5c1I2deGtAcQNh-mcdkimFt8JLIajenQMhjxgXT4FTSsonrEzXnvW42fb3YHhxjvfBag-A_PGVifPjdnUPM4savDu045w/s400/IMG_0219.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959203408497298" border="0" /></a><br />we are moving<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHNXVkgE-ssCHKws62rGD5acFg7N5HZh62qIe-QEC7Lv9wLQOmpN-0ih4nm0D5426fXz0dr30F2N-etr0lTEkRUD0gNAnhbMRWhOyEpGzta1TvW9chyphenhyphenW5QRvNhqREj80PV3RoKiooxDGc/s1600-h/IMG_0220.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHNXVkgE-ssCHKws62rGD5acFg7N5HZh62qIe-QEC7Lv9wLQOmpN-0ih4nm0D5426fXz0dr30F2N-etr0lTEkRUD0gNAnhbMRWhOyEpGzta1TvW9chyphenhyphenW5QRvNhqREj80PV3RoKiooxDGc/s400/IMG_0220.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293959193020121730" border="0" /></a><br />we have moved a mountain.<br /></div>adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-39500895590585466772009-01-20T01:10:00.001-05:002009-01-20T01:10:38.841-05:00spare change?So – I’m a little lonely. I wasn’t going to write about this, because who needs to know from my loneliness? It’s not Obama’s fault, after all, or even the fault of DC. It didn’t feel like something that was pertinent to other people’s understanding of this inaugural, and that it was something to maybe hide. But: I feel a little sequestered here in Virginia, away from the action, staying in for two long days and nights. <br /><br />My sister and I are squabbling slightly, and my view seems narrow, small. I don’t feel connected at the moment. Tomorrow will overwhelm, but I need that breath of freshness, openness, release. I still have no clue how I’m getting home but I caved and posted an ad on Craigslist, so we’re getting closer. I have no clue what tomorrow will bring. Change, in some form or another. I’ll breathe in and breathe out, and the world will be a little different. It’s a welcome metamorphosis tonight.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-36374229559483605132009-01-19T20:51:00.002-05:002009-01-20T01:20:47.056-05:00eyes to seeBoring day today; not much going on. We slept in until noon and I have been frantically scribbling ever since – at the kitchen table, in the car on the way to see my mother in Loudon County (she will be on the parade route tomorrow, shaking Obama’s hand, and is now entirely insufferable). I keep getting emails, notes and messages from people: “I can’t wait to see what you’re writing about the inaugural!” Honey – neither can I.<br /><br />This event has led to another mini crisis of faith on my part. Writing is a compulsion, much like washing all the dishes or locking the doors or making sure the toilet seat is down before I go to sleep at night. It’s not optional, and if I try to skip it it will weigh upon me. I’m excited and grateful that my scratchings are anything that anyone else would want to read, but the fact that I am here witnessing history makes me, in some ways, responsible for imparting an experience to people who cannot be here and see it, touch it, taste it for themselves. It’s an honor and a weight. <br /><br />I worry that I’m not good enough. I worry that my experience is overly narrow and small, inadequate to the force of expectation and insufficient to convey the subtle power coursing through this city in its very bones. I worry that I’m not attentive enough, or not writing enough, or writing too much, or otherwise letting the particular robust, chilly beauty of this time slip away into my memory and be forever lost.<br /><br />Did I tell you how there are signs agitating for statehood for the District of Columbia on every streetcorner, red and white, DC muscling in to stand up for its rights with a sense of “at last, at last, at last it is our time?” <br /><br />And did I tell you how they held the train at Foggy Bottom so that all the passengers would be able to board after the concert, and how even though the car was crowded no one pushed, no one got upset, we all smiled at each other like idiots, so lucky to be alive? <br /><br />Did I tell you about the first glimpse of a Jumbotron, or the blockades along the parade route, and how funny it was to see Keith Olbermann on television trying to be his usual somber self, full of gravitas and self-righteous anger, with people outside and over his right shoulder dancing with glee and waving their arms in the street? And how I wanted to jump through the screen and catch up his hands, singing “People of the wurl, relax!” and dance down the Mall like it was Bastille Day? <br /><br />Did I? <br /><br />Did I tell you?adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-90038059431415452762009-01-18T18:41:00.004-05:002009-01-20T01:10:38.841-05:0013th and changeI took a little walk down 13th street.<br /><br />I woke up at Cathy’s around ten, and then around eleven, and then around noon I think it finally stuck. I wanted to go visit her friend Andrew at his midcentury store in Georgetown, but I also needed that new coat, which is where the Macy’s at Metro Center came into play. To get there, I needed to stroll down 13th; not so bad. The weather was brisk and bracing, but ultimately forgiving. As I walked down N, I spent my time dreaming of all the details of my new coat: a bold houndstooth, heavy and warm, nipped in at the waist, soft and enduring enough to comfort me for the next cold lifetime. When that was done, however, and I took a right onto 13th, I was fully in the city, and I started thinking about the nature of my presence.<br /><br />DC is an old city; it’s seen a type of constant reinvention that is no less pervasive for its subtlety. But I was struck, as I walked, by the way that it is both achingly old and incredibly quick to change its skin ahead of a new beginning.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaWSyKXzr-6okWboFDXI86t86oGONTEgeNA6JSPhOUGaPRgBh_M6bSozG00_UAVTFamU3Qwfc80MTHxwk8Ra34Le3Bc94pXq1MMNYeZWj-wBxXdtzJqlu8tfLTMSGm1HAQrUYEyejmMw/s1600-h/IMG_0027.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaWSyKXzr-6okWboFDXI86t86oGONTEgeNA6JSPhOUGaPRgBh_M6bSozG00_UAVTFamU3Qwfc80MTHxwk8Ra34Le3Bc94pXq1MMNYeZWj-wBxXdtzJqlu8tfLTMSGm1HAQrUYEyejmMw/s400/IMG_0027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293248531716370290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66007qFmF0K4qv5UB_osHKg39BI6y_sxZnWTREX7U16p1_l8Dd2QrsA0k3A53r8KqLgOil8pJDOsdPgNRpj3lIZDXH6VmcqAeECMhty2P56m50WvqdRF30CThgJo5VYNuXOJvO52C8Go/s1600-h/IMG_0028.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66007qFmF0K4qv5UB_osHKg39BI6y_sxZnWTREX7U16p1_l8Dd2QrsA0k3A53r8KqLgOil8pJDOsdPgNRpj3lIZDXH6VmcqAeECMhty2P56m50WvqdRF30CThgJo5VYNuXOJvO52C8Go/s400/IMG_0028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293248535105128290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPYVXhdYjQXu-a99CggFP8sTfLPenil-l3Wz6tCsAIymtJ0-koQC4_qWP-f0y1MOutTUX9aPQ621pikjYCItw6cyUmKCzrUrk5VP-R8_03hYENJLuSQEmUxJ7Wdy-j91Eym05eRcUPH4g/s1600-h/IMG_0029.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPYVXhdYjQXu-a99CggFP8sTfLPenil-l3Wz6tCsAIymtJ0-koQC4_qWP-f0y1MOutTUX9aPQ621pikjYCItw6cyUmKCzrUrk5VP-R8_03hYENJLuSQEmUxJ7Wdy-j91Eym05eRcUPH4g/s400/IMG_0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293248540139664690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHYNLw-sM1V9Mxwn8uKoDJxH9DhIzifN33buKWv-LO7Hu-FmeoDbXTd_zwXneDyVFkxZlJmrfSolvrPa9JamKFZy9QrpOBoF-Xlu_isnAyHBhaCY_lcYbq3FYSeXXGrrbvGzt5SRdKww/s1600-h/IMG_0031.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHYNLw-sM1V9Mxwn8uKoDJxH9DhIzifN33buKWv-LO7Hu-FmeoDbXTd_zwXneDyVFkxZlJmrfSolvrPa9JamKFZy9QrpOBoF-Xlu_isnAyHBhaCY_lcYbq3FYSeXXGrrbvGzt5SRdKww/s400/IMG_0031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293248542724542306" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It is whimsical and playful, tongue in cheek and sly (check out the way the language of advertising is used in that first ad, the one that prompted me to take out my camera and shoot! The black and white, the father and his two young girls - I did a double take. Far more subtle than the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwzpQRUGqrE" target="_blank">new Pepsi ads</a>, the choice of black and white photography alone means that this ad could have spawned an essay by itself). And there is an incredible feeling in the air. I am superlatively well informed - I’d have to be, given that the amount of time I spend on the International Herald Tribune website vs. working is about 1:1 on any given day. I read about policy, philosophy, history, economy.<br /><br />But as I walked down the street, I realized I hadn’t thought about Barack Obama, his policies, his controversies, his appointments or even his White House decorations (<a href="http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/dc/search?q=white+house" target="_blank">Apartment Therapy DC</a>, I’m looking at you) since I arrived in the city. This is his moment, but in many ways my time here has absolutely nothing to do with Barack at all. I am not one to go in for rhetoric, largely because I was well served by the people who taught me to look behind the seemings of things to understand what was being said in the shadows, where words are true.<br /><br />This is an unusual time where something I took for false has risen up from the ashes and is shining. All through the campaign, Obama’s mantra was that the naysayers never understood that his election “wasn’t about me – it’s about you.” Insert cheers, spontaneous chants of “Yes we can!,” campaign donations, etc. But whether or not he believed it at the time, in his hopeful but fundamentally political heart, it has taken on a meaning and a life of its own.<br /><br />My friend Lauren sent me a <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123206567998588075.html" target="_blank">Wall Street Journal article</a> about how to enjoy the inauguration that invites us to suspend our disbelief, something I realized I did without trying, inhaling the freshness of that city street.<br /><br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">What is required for full enjoyment of an inauguration, from opening prayers to speeches to marching bands is, in the great 19th-century phrase, the willing suspension of disbelief. If you don't put your skepticism aside, you will not fully absorb and experience the drama. You must allow it to be real for you. Those two young people on the stage did not really take poison and die, but Romeo and fair Juliet did, and that is the reason the audience, which knows the actors still live, says, with genuine feeling, "Oh, no!"<br /><br />To believe, suspend disbelief. We have been through this before, the flags and fine speeches, the brass donkey paperweight, the glass elephant, the rise and fall of administrations, the coming and going of figures great and small. It's good to put that aside for a few days, to remove yourself from politics, partisanship and faction, to suspend your disbelief, to be grateful that the signs and symbols endure, as does the republic, and raise a toast: "To the president of the United States."</blockquote><br />The article is beautiful, and it is true – but perhaps it doesn’t go quite far enough. This toast is to the presidency, to the dignity of the office and the possibility for good when that mantle is wielded by capable hands.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheu95jIdwh6PHACmo7uV_Dqa6hNUOcp8i9ZX39zKSTElfOJMZfPSMjt_2KZP_Dk-jpycLKjddLVpGSy-wyD4_pYeC4Qfex9wAn59Wvg91FNDAsNpe8gMr0zwrf134wYAnCX4vt0Yc2vxE/s1600-h/IMG_0034.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheu95jIdwh6PHACmo7uV_Dqa6hNUOcp8i9ZX39zKSTElfOJMZfPSMjt_2KZP_Dk-jpycLKjddLVpGSy-wyD4_pYeC4Qfex9wAn59Wvg91FNDAsNpe8gMr0zwrf134wYAnCX4vt0Yc2vxE/s400/IMG_0034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293251129216849010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But it’s just as much a toast to the police officers on the corner directing traffic, and to the seller of ridiculously overpriced chemical handwarmers who gave me directions when I left Dupont Circle already lost. It’s a toast to the Metro conductors, and to the bus driver on the G2 who told me that if I didn’t have the right change, it was okay that I couldn’t pay my fare.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXqoVoW3s_awyOhyxQm734KGRALS4u7rhyf_rtlVmfrN_E_KaXR6aTHduIV5NHq4Z2eZhYqqadSqCAziC0TqAzPo4dpb6aZ6FPgXzB9eBlmmg85Vajr3suRyqmilr3xoEoI6hhFavSbM/s1600-h/IMG_0033.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXqoVoW3s_awyOhyxQm734KGRALS4u7rhyf_rtlVmfrN_E_KaXR6aTHduIV5NHq4Z2eZhYqqadSqCAziC0TqAzPo4dpb6aZ6FPgXzB9eBlmmg85Vajr3suRyqmilr3xoEoI6hhFavSbM/s400/IMG_0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293251121696471522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It’s a toast to Karima, my fabulously tipsy Macy’s makeup lady who got me an extra discount on that houndstooth coat I found, tipping the price from $500 all the way down to $144 and sending me out the door with the admonition “You see that? Just remember that in DC, it’s not what you know – it’s who you know!” <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEIiCgQ5l9By7dR0PVUVisED1pRwDrSdTXb-j00bS6zKEtUe7xFSYEakDV1d6iefqFHHMBuk2pH4JZ6j3am2wPufGYeW3gbhROB02hLQ766W7sAQfvPGsWB3b0WTwk37oHcUUuq-V31s/s1600-h/IMG_0038.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEIiCgQ5l9By7dR0PVUVisED1pRwDrSdTXb-j00bS6zKEtUe7xFSYEakDV1d6iefqFHHMBuk2pH4JZ6j3am2wPufGYeW3gbhROB02hLQ766W7sAQfvPGsWB3b0WTwk37oHcUUuq-V31s/s400/IMG_0038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293251133700819890" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And it’s a toast to me, tripping across bridges like the littlest billygoat Gruff and finding not trolls but treasure, glowing new friendships, a breathless sense of life in a city so sleepy it’s been given up for moribund and dead for eight long years.<br /><br />Look closely at those photographs up there: you will see me. We see ourselves, reflected in the looking glass of the promise of our nation's capital, the bosom of our country, its promised home. DC is inhaling. DC has been kissed, not only by its newest and most famous of residents, but by its visitors and denizens in their millions. DC is stirring. DC is waking up.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-9948555791547409402009-01-18T03:37:00.000-05:002009-01-20T01:10:38.841-05:00(breakfast) at the sevilleWhat a night I’ve had!<br /><br />After my time with the fam (including a bit of a temper tantrum at IKEA when I realized I wouldn’t have time to get a new coat, the thought of which was the only thing sustaining me through the merciless overnight lows), I went into the city for a party and catching up with my friend Cathy.<br /><br />We went to school together, but didn’t really know each other until just before she was due to graduate. (It is a peculiar hallmark of my life that the time just before something ends is usually marked by a ridiculous flowering of friendships, parties, and unforgettable moments; I have very high hopes for my nineties as a result.) Since she left New College and I limped my way through my last year and then fled, we’ve been in sporadic touch (I heart Facebook); I missed her last time I was in the city, but this time I had a more leisurely stay, and this party seemed like the perfect opportunity to hang out.<br /><br />Her apartment is delightful; when I arrive she and her friend Andrew (who I thought she was dating for approximately the first four-fifths of the evening) are in the middle of putting two new chairs together and reorganizing everything. Since I moved to Boston and began to live in the kind of forced asceticism that comes when everything you own was either laboriously shipped to you or procured in the last six months, I have begun to luxuriate in clutter. I love it; I find it perplexingly inspiring. Since Cathy’s clutter is surrounded by my favorite things (oversized furniture and lamps, elaborately quirky assemblages, sweet and forgotten details), it was a lovely way to recharge.<br /><br />The apartment that the party was in is an exercise in a whole other type of luxury. The entire thing is mid-century modern, top to toe, which was really impressive even as it brought home to me the fact that I don’t actually want my home to look like a museum to 1962. I walked in and felt like an awkward wallflower, which is par for the course. But somehow during the course of the evening, I stopped being afraid. One of the things I do very well to remember is that nobody knows everybody, and that on some level we are all a little off our balance at parties. When I realized that, I fell into the mood of it and ended up disporting myself like Holly Golightly (without having to escape out a window in the end).<br /><br />I think that at a certain point, the number of people I talked to who said something to the extent of “I don’t know any of these bitches, and I’m a little awkward too – and also I am scared I will somehow ruin that original Miró on the wall over there” finally reached a critical mass, and I started to relax into my own skin. This party was also different from Boston parties in that the meat market portion of the evening was entirely absent.<br /><br />Midway through I realized that people were relating to me – and therefore I was relating to myself – as more of a person than a commodity. There was none of that sense of needing to be overtly sexual to be remotely interesting. It may that Boston is too much a college town, or it may be (and probably is) that I’m just going to the wrong parties, but it is rare that I’ve ended up this comfortable in my own skin at a Beantown fete. Cathy’s boyfriend came over and then got a little sick, and Andrew had left, so I ended up having to go back up to the party by myself and it was just as lovely. I’ve learned my lesson about moving to cities based on how much fun I have at parties while I’m there, but this was lovely; exactly the kind of slightly zany but mostly peaceful evening I needed to push my excitement about this weekend into high gear.<br /><br />Around 2 am, I found myself on a balcony in a borrowed, holey sweatshirt discussing urban theory with a redheaded smoker. It was on the side of the building that looked out on N Street Northwest, which runs into 14th (which runs into Pennsylvania like a river meeting the White House or the sea). Both sides of N are one way, spilling their contents into the thoroughfare that is 14th street; I spoke passionately, if increasingly soberly, about the tension inherent on these street corners, the taut vibrant membrane of the city stretched over its grid system and loaded with potential.<br /><br />People were so proud to discuss their metropolis, that night and since I’ve touched down here. There is such an interesting feeling: of suppressed excitement, of expectation, of love and of wonder and luck and the thrill of being in this city, on this night, young and alive, newly old enough to comprehend the history we are making, but still new and green and lovely enough to claim it as our birthright in the end.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-65071318500091297792009-01-17T17:24:00.002-05:002009-01-20T01:10:38.841-05:00bgdoI have just had what my sister calls a Brown Girls’ Day Out: she, my cousin and I have been trekking around the DC greater metropolitan area in search of shoes for the wedding, my bridesmaid dress, the mysteries of the Target tights section, and what I can only refer to as the Great IKEA Massacre of 2009. I can’t really talk about it, because I still don’t know quite what happened, but suddenly I found myself making for the checkout lines with a big yellow bag stuffed with $75 worth of repeating homewares.<br /><br />I have no idea how I am going to get this back to Boston (not least because I still don’t know how I’m getting back, period – please note how efficient I am with the application of my fiscal priorities!), but my heart lifted a little bit at the idea that one could purchase, if not happiness, at least a little organization in a chaotic and lawless world.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-16546291130043807272009-01-17T10:12:00.000-05:002009-01-19T22:57:55.050-05:00just another roadside attractionWe are ensconced at a roadside diner after having been rousted out of bed far too early. When I look back on my visits to Washington, this is what I see in my mind’s eye: a constant stream of television and pizza delivery, eating out at “healthy” fast food places and shopping at big box stores. Waking too early and never ever opening windowshades. Drowning in brown microsuede. Whenever I come home, the textures of my own (decidedly not always healthy) life feel wholesome, grounding, a return to the values of the earth and my place on it.<br /><br />I don’t own a television, and I cook most of my own food. There is a quiet dignity in this that can get lost among the constant barrage of Papa John’s and reality television, a constant striving and the choking belief of a certain type of American that if we watch enough other people better their lives, it will trickle down to ours and we will never even have to leave the couch. When I get home, there is a vital pleasure in bedding back down on my couch with a glass of water and some pasta or fish or soup or veggies I’ve just prepared, a new and promising recipe I’ve just tried, turning on Pandora and eating everything from fine white plates with dedicated silverware.<br /><br />There is not much plastic in my home, and I hate eating with it. Everything is decanted onto nice plates (even Chipotle!) I couldn’t get through The Omnivore’s Dilemma, but what I took away from that book, and from my own struggles with food, is that it must be grounded in pleasure, in communication, in emotion and in healing. Feeding is not enough because existence is not enough – your food, like your daily life, should nourish.<br /><br />This is an argument for a different day, though, and right now I am ordering flapjacks. They come, along with my scrambled eggs (almost assuredly from a carton) and my potato pancakes (the less said about these reconstituted potato chips, garnished pathetically with a meager twist of thick sour cream sealed in paper, the better). They are delivered by a cute waiter, who teases me about my vegetarianism (I fail to flirt back; I have my sensors firmly set to off with family), and I start thinking about how it feels to be working class in the District.<br /><br />This is probably a sign of my own inner snobbery, but no matter what job I was doing, I’ve never fundamentally felt working class as such. I’ve felt more like a dilettante, moonlighting as a restaurant hostess or a call center employee but always looking onward, upward, ahead. I always found myself surrounded by a peculiar feeling of pretense and a slight shame, as if even by being there and doing a job that I didn’t need to pay my bills, I was spitting in the face of someone who might need the money to care for a sick child or make ends meet on a mortgage whose future is in doubt.<br /><br />Now, though, I live on my own. My salary is paying all of my bills, and enabling me to save (a little bit). My rent is over 60% of my monthly income; living alone is an extravagance at the best of times, and in a city like Boston, it is always my biggest indulgence. Although not flat busted, I am frequently broke, and I joke that the percentage of living expenses puts me below the poverty line with a funny feeling that’s half self-mocking and half a wry admitting of the truth. But for those whose primary jobs are the sort of positions that people (me too?) look down on, I always wonder how they feel about things: their lives, their futures, their prospects, dreams and plans.<br /><br />I go back and forth as to whether or not this is condescending. After all, our society is much more oriented towards curiosity about the rich. No one will ever successfully market a show entitled Lifestyles of the Lower Middle Class and Nondescript. But at the same time, it’s easy to be fascinated with rich people, especially the sort who splash up on those shows. The extravagance, the luxury, the expense, and most of all the waste: it’s interesting, or at least it makes for good thirty minute exposés.<br /><br />What I find more fascinating, absolutely compelling, is the idea of living with dignity when titles or money or prestige doesn’t make it easy for you to swan through life never having to trudge through snow (a subject that is sore on my mind of late). I guess I’ve always been curious about the things that don’t get studied, that don’t get seen. While other people stare at male peacocks, I am mesmerized by the million different subtleties in the females’ quiet shades of brown. It is breathtaking, and it is ignored, and it is beautiful in a way that feels richer, deeper, more subtle and honest, inscrutable and true.<br /><br />So I stare at my waiter. I wonder what he’s doing for the inauguration. I wonder if he’s happy, if he’s sad. I wonder about his accent, and I want to point out that even though my sister’s fiancée is attempting to stiff him on the tip and that makes our entire group seem over-privileged and entitled, we are closer than we seem. We are all immigrants, or first generation Americans. We are all striving, rising upwards or drifting sideways but moving, being ruminated upon by the great thoughtful cow that is our country now. We are working through the stomachs; we are being tried by tiny everyday fires. We are compelled to believe that we will reach the other side washed clean.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-49124602453025262492009-01-17T01:25:00.000-05:002009-01-19T22:59:49.011-05:00i can't be cold anymoreWhen the bus pulled up to the corner of 11th and G, I was already calling my sister to find out where she was. I had told her our estimated time of arrival (12:15), so when we pulled in at 12:20 I was already dourly calculating the fact that no one in my family bothers to be on time to pick other people up when they are traveling except for me. I’m spoiled, I suppose; between Couchsurfers and friends, there is someone to meet me at the end of a journey about 70% of the time. And I appreciate it: the smiling face, the way that you can reorient yourself to your new environs by the reassuring compass of someone else’s surety in their city.<br /><br />This is why, when my sister said “We’re ten minutes away – you’ll be fine,” I was sincerely unamused. It was midnight on one of the coldest nights of the year.<br /><br />I found myself huddling in the revolving doors of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Library. (DC is a city of remembrances; in some ways this inaugural is only notable because of the sheer numbers of people who recognize its weight and heft and are here to stitch a piece of this quilt of history.) I hate revolving doors – ever since an incident in seventh grade when I went on a swim team trip to Atlanta and cracked my ribs in the revolving door of the newly constructed Olympic swimming pool, they have been revealed to me as the unforgiving instruments of danger and cruelty that they are.<br /><br />These were particularly cruel because they weren’t going anywhere; the library had been closed for hours, and the best the large V of the doors was doing for me was providing a shelter for me – and the wind – to get cozy and become better acquainted. While I was getting felt up by the bitter cold, I was also getting increasingly wrathful.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Who the fuck does she think she is to decide that I’ll be fine waiting out in the cold because she can’t be bothered to get off her ass and come get me on time?</span> I stamped my foot. My hereditary lack of timeliness is something shared by all of my family members, and seems to stem from a mistaken belief that nothing will ever happen until it’s already happening: the beginning of a party, the arrival of a loved one, the departure of a plane. No matter how far away you are from someone who is supposed to picking you up, neither my sister nor either of my parents can ever be bothered to leave wherever they are until you’ve already arrived.<br /><br />Re-living all those years of being the last kid to get picked up from daycare was bad enough, but I was also freezing. My sister knows all about the problems I’ve been having with seasonal depressions. She knows about my persistent anemia and the biological difficulty I have generating my own warmth (to wit: I can’t do it. My poor functioning blood cells are seriously overloaded, schlepping all the iron and hemoglobin they can, and they do it slowly. When cut I bleed slowly, and the blood is almost always heavy, under-oxygenated and an ominous looking garnet. My body works, after a fashion, but it’s the fashion of a German housewife. It’s efficient, but not fast or flashy, and it doesn’t have time for spare frills such as excess heating).<br /><br />She knew how much I needed this weekend to be an escape from everything that was troubling me in Boston, and, most unforgivably: she knew what time she needed to leave her house to pick me up when I arrived. She knew all of this, and she ignored it. Impotent tears of rage began streaming down my face. Horrified, I tried to make them stop. No dice. Twenty minutes after I got off the bus, my sister finally bothered to make an appearance, at which point I tumbled into the car with the full nervous collapse I’d begun on a downtown street corner of a strange town <span style="font-style: italic;">in media res. </span><br /><br />Back at the house, after tea and a good cry and apologies (which secretly I found completely inadequate, but I was too much of a mess to yell the way I would have hoped: probably a good thing, as it gave the weekend the chance to start on a slightly better foot than it would otherwise have gotten), I contemplated myself. I was in DC.<br /><br />The city is saturated with legend and time, and yet every time I get here I can’t shake the sense that its inhabitants affords themselves a sense of gravitas and importance that they’ve lost, devolving into bad haircuts, staid ugly pantsuits, platitudes mouthed that they no longer believe and an endless stifling of the fact that everyone here has risen to power by wielding either money or their own desperate need to be loved – or, failing that, remembered.<br /><br />Our capital is accommodating in that sense. There is more than enough history for everyone’s follies, foibles, and feats of greatness to be remembered, and everyone who lives here is a custodian of some part of that history, dusting it for their mantels, pulling it out for tea with visiting poor relations from less enlightened corners of the globe. I feel that it’s a fundamentally unhealthy place. If New York is thin, sprinkled with celebrities, models, and the botoxed old ladies who strive to emulate them, Washington is corpulent and marbled, full of wattles, receding hairlines, poor table manners and infarctions waiting to erupt, possibly while on top of a prostitute from the wrong side of the tracks (Baltimore plays this willing role).<br /><br />But even the grizzled, sweaty, crude and cynical heart of Washington is stirring this weekend. I’m fascinated by the prospect of a president who delights in both words and movement, playing with both of them for satisfaction and pleasure rather than because making speeches and not being obese are two things presidents are supposed to do to keep their power, consolidate it, and pass it on when they go like an ever more battered, ever less desirable baton. It occurs to me that Barack Obama himself is both extremely embodied and highly intellectual; when it comes to finding role models, I could certainly do worse. I’m excited to see what the weekend will bring me, how it will feel, what I’ll hear and see. I go to sleep weary and ragged, but hopeful. This is the start of the reason why all of us came.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-1353675605233991922009-01-16T23:17:00.000-05:002009-01-19T22:59:49.011-05:00taking its wearThis time when I got on the bus, I was one of the last people on. I didn’t get to really pick my seat, which is how I ended up in front of a line of four first year lawyers at a firm. Their conversation reminds me of the people my sister went to high school with. Her private prep school was filled with the sort of people whose money makes them interesting to others, and especially to each other, so they’ve never had to come to terms with the fact that they are entirely stultifying. My seatmate, though, is an improvement.<br /><br />I sat down and he seemed gruff, rude, slightly put upon – in short, the average New Yorker. But as the bus drove deeper into night, and people started to bed down, a little miracle happened.<br /><br />Having lived alone again for a little while, and slept alone for even longer than that, I forgot the funny tenderness that happens when other people fall asleep close to you. The tensions that their faces let go of, the abandon with which their muscles twitch and settle, the warmth and peace they radiate, the inadvertent but fundamental desire we all have to protect each other’s slumber. The wheels of Mr. Taylor’s bus are going round and round, drawing us closer and closer to a city whose heart is set to grow two sizes on Tuesday, and I find myself consumed with the understanding that, just for a little while, just while we are all together, we will all be keeping each other safe.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-2463373216098897602009-01-16T20:14:00.000-05:002009-01-19T22:59:37.637-05:00I hate New YorkMy thirty-nine minutes in the city went just the way they always do: angry recriminations, missing the necessary train, subway ticket machines not taking my debit cards, being surrounded by a depressing underworld of grime, coming out of the subway and immediately getting lost, and the inevitable meltdown on a street corner, roaring “I hate New York! I hate this fucking city!!!!!!” at anyone or anything who will listen, and care, and think of a way to get me out.<br /><br />Nine times out of ten, that person is my lovely friend Daniel, who gets all excited to see me and makes all kinds of plans and then is always on the receiving end of my livid telephone invective. Daniel, I’ve apologized and I’m always apologizing for this, but I hate that I do this and I’m going to apologize again. While your city returns me to a primal state in which I am the embodiment of anger (and then I always end up crying a little bit – every time!), seeing you for three minutes as we hustled to the Bolt bus was one of the higher points of my trip.<br /><br />Now I am on the bus and Mr. Taylor, our new angry bus driver, is much more fun than the last one. Excerpt.<br /><br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">Ladies and Gentlemen: there is no smoking and no alcoholic beverages on the Bolt bus. If you’ve already had you a little nip of something, just take you a nap and go to sleep so you don’t disturb nobody.<br /><br />Also, there are two trashcans on the bus: one in the front, one in the back. The last crowd of folks on the bus, maybe they didn’t understand English so good. There is now Chex Mix on the bus, and I’m quite sure that there are passengers sitting in it. Think of the people after you. Clean up your trash.<br /><br />And one other thing: I will be stopping once, at the Maryland house, for 20 minutes. You need to get back on this bus in 20 minutes, or you will be chasing me down 95 to board.</blockquote>But after all that gruffness, he let a girl on the bus as we were coming around the corner to leave New York; she ran up waving her ticket, terrified she was going to lose her place on the chariot of fire and lightning bearing us all out of that festering hell, the city that never sleeps. He opened the doors. That was my first experience this weekend with grace.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-86209295352283451282009-01-16T18:28:00.000-05:002009-01-19T22:39:20.154-05:00bolt bus confidentialOh my. So I’ve spent the trip down creeping on Craigslist and planning exciting outings with Daniel Mulé upon my arrival in New York – which is getting pushed back by the minute because our conductor (or, as I like to think of him, the PTSDriver) took a “shortcut” and is now well on his way to possible vehicular manslaughter at every corner. Some notable outbursts include:<br /><br />- The time he rolled through the crosswalk like a ton of bricks while running a red light. A pedestrian attempted to exercise her right of way. He screeched past her with the observation “You must have an ass made of rubber!”<br /><br />- We attempt to make a left turn from the center lane. A car in the left lane gets visibly irate.<br /><br />PTSDriver: Too bad; I get to go first. I’m bigger!<br />Female passenger in front of bus (clearly tipsy and therefore unheeding of our danger): Yes you are!<br />PTSDriver: That’s what she said.<br /><br />For distraction from his raginess, I can always indulge myself in my seatmate. When I sat down next to him, he was already half asleep, and I congratulated myself on having picked someone who would be quiet and unassuming (after my trip to Vermont, when I found myself trapped next to an old lady who went on for an hour and a half about how horrible George Bush was and how Barack was going to save the whales and change the world, I have given up on bus chatting).<br /><br />Unfortunately, he got a phone call two hours into the trip, and this was when the quality of my life went quickly downhill. He is a redheaded Canadian dentistry student at Harvard who is clearly as fascinated with his own life as I am disinterested to hear about Canadian dentristry boards and undergraduates and facial surgery – in detail – the horror! Sadly, his fascination with the world seems to extend to me as well, as he is avidly reading everything on my computer screen over my shoulder between bouts of eating unfortunately pungent food and surreptitiously picking his nose.<br /><br />(Do you really believe that no one notices these things? I would appreciate a public service announcement pointing out that the nose, floating orphaned as it is in the middle of the face, is not a place you end up in by accident. You book the flight, pack your carryon, and, either furtively or brazenly, end up in your nose.)<br /><br />In between my dreams of a private car service to deliver me from the more irritating pieces of public transportation, I am looking out on the streets of New York and daring to hope that maybe this time will be different. Maybe I won’t end up rage filled, cold and sorrowful just like every other time I’ve visited (even that time I came in August! I was all geared up to brave the legendary, un-air-conditioned heat of Manhattan in the summertime, and then it was raining and 50 degrees for the entire week. My summer dresses and flip flops were only not laughable because I was so determined to conjure up sunshine with the power of positive thinking, but all that hope I poured into the city eventually crystallized into the fundamental elements of the diamond nugget of hate for New York that I’ve nurtured ever since). Maybe I will meet up with Daniel, and we will have a lovely cup of something warm, and the city will reveal its inner loveliness to me after all.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-51988055702889328282009-01-16T15:47:00.001-05:002009-01-19T22:37:54.456-05:00obama weekend!Today was my boss Jack’s first day back from vacation. (So of course I was 45 minutes late to work instead of my usual 15 – it’s cause I’m classy.) I alternately love and am extremely harassed by the days when he’s just gotten back after a long absence. Things get done when Jack is around; orders get placed, meetings are had, professors who have been dodging us for weeks suddenly misplace their resistance to returning emails and the floodgates of interview and revision information open once again.<br /><br />On the other hand: after two weeks of listlessly surfing the internet all day, I now have four hours to remind my boss how useful and productive I am before hopping on a bus and making history. Three and a quarter hours, actually – my usual brand of punctuality is not serving me particularly well today.<br /><br />I spent most of the day running around like a chicken with its head cut off, breaking to eat a fifteen minute lunch, then lining everything up, putting on my cold weather armor, leaving the building before running back to cram an oversized set of headphones into my purse in anticipation of the Pandora on the Bolt bus’ internetwork, and hopping on the Red Line to South Station.<br /><br />When I arrive in line for my first bus, to New York, a slim, angry man who emanates militaristic psychosis starts yelling about how people waiting for the 3 o’clock bus need to step back! Step back! This is the line for the 2:30 bus only! Not being particularly drawn to rage, I step aside and avert my eyes – bad move, as this gives him the opportunity to give me the full up and down not once, but twice (peripheral vision is both a blessing and a curse – people are frequently disgusting in the margins when they think they can’t be seen), then step up and start trying to flirt. After an awkward, <span style="font-style: italic;">why are you touching me? And now? And have you noticed that <span style="font-weight: bold;">your hand is still on my arm?</span></span> exchange, I board the bus, dismayed to find that he is in fact my driver, and then we’re off.<br /><br />I’m happy to be leaving Boston. It was a little sad to pack up my apartment this morning; I always miss it when I have to go away. I feel like it’s a person I’m neglecting ; after all, I greet it every evening when I come home from work. (“Hello, apartment!” I’m lucky my nearer neighbors are not unduly prone to passing judgment, or they’d have had me committed around November.) But the weather, and the routine, and the sense of motion rather than movement in my life – flailing, to be precise – mean that getting on this bus and going to An Event is breathing a little bit of wind back into my sails. As the bus gathers speed and heads south on 93, it feels slightly valedictory, but also like a tentative beginning.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-21063733229876162362008-07-25T19:44:00.003-04:002008-07-25T19:54:57.172-04:00sex and urban realityyesterday i walked out of work floating on air. i'd just completed my twelfth day at my fancy new job at mit, during which time i:<br /><br />-finished transcribing an interview i'd done with a theory professor examining not just extraterrestrial communication but the actual ideas underpinning communication itself as a social function<br /><br />-finally overcome my fear of my predecessor's filing system and jumped right in, already making plans for how to make it better<br /><br />-given my first solo tour of frank gehry's stata center to a group of twenty upward bound students.<br /><br />i felt witty and urbane, intelligent and snappy. i have brain power, organizational skills, and a phenomenal job, and i was wearing a bright pink dress and heels in the rain. as i strutted along, i passed a group of girls, one of whom said "for my birthday, guess what i got? the complete sex and the city!" <br /><br />and i smiled all full of self-satisfaction and thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">darling, i wrote my thesis on that! it was an insightful, possibly ground breaking look at the ideas underpinning the ways we make ourselves in cities. am i not the most charming, sharp, enviable creature you've ever met? </span><br /><br />and then my heel promptly got caught in the sidewalk, stopping me short while i tried to untangle myself. i may have conceived of my thesis purely because carrie bradshaw is the only other person, living, fictional or dead, whose footwear seems to conspire to put her in her place more often than mine does to me.<br /><br />with that said, it was sweet to think of the way my favorite cities seem to, on a fundamental level, have things saved up to keep me from getting too grand or carried away with seeming, reminding me to focus on what i am: a fabulous, if clumsy, girl who's just learning all of this from scratch. the glamour is fine for a television show, and it made for a spectacular thesis.<br /><br />but every time <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> get splashed by water in an SUV, or stub my toe coming out of the T, i try to think of it as boston's tough love way of telling me to remember: remember the mundane. remember its beauty. ultimately, to remember myself. if that means tripping on the occasional sidewalk, i think i'll take it.adwoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04083575909565508387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-826878395533437032008-06-19T01:57:00.002-04:002008-06-19T02:00:25.099-04:00today i rode the t in a powersuit and sharp, sensible heels and felt jittery and stripped of something essential, worried and on edge, frightened and on the wrong team.<br /><br />tonight i came back to somerville, put my piercing back in and took my bra off, threw on a dress and cowboy boots and went to see jose gonzalez at the mfa. his show was soothing, lush, lulling, quiet, wistful, driving, plaintive, primal and achingly lonely. i closed my eyes and let the patterns of the lights play on the operating theater ceiling of my brain and it was as if a disembodied someone was singing in my ear. it carried me like the gulf of mexico: i felt clean.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1943447018179883348.post-35497890793664521832008-06-08T23:34:00.001-04:002008-06-08T23:34:39.553-04:00five years of college resulted in extensive training in semiotics, photography, installation art, situationist derives, flanerie - and a useless liberal arts degree. now that i've moved to a city, watch me attempt to put my studies to avocational use (while holding down a real job to pay off those pesky student loans).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0