Change Aversion: Another recovered memory by Christine

A few years ago, Taylor and I went to Zupan's, a high end grocery store in the high rent part of Portland. As we headed in, we saw a woman come out of the store with her groceries. Just before she got to her giant SUV, she pulled her hand from her pocket and threw a handful of coins on the ground. It was not as if she was giving them to a begger, she was just discarding them for some reason I can't fathom. Taylor and I watched in amazement, waited until she drove away, and then scrambled around the parking lot picking up all the coins.

Conclusion: Some people just can't stand change.

har har har

No Place for me in Paradise

Preface: My "family of origin" includes one Mother named "Mom", one father named "The Dick", one sister named Becky, one brother named Mark and one me named Xtine.

Last weekend, Taylor and I got together with my mom, Mom, for brunch. Mom told me this: "Your father bought four spots in Paradise."

Mental calculation: Mom, him, Becky, Mark. No spot for me?

Ok, this is no surprise. The Dick has written me off for having the nerve to not be a right wing republican, among a few other, minor (heh heh) infractions. But you didn't know he could ace me out of Paradise, did you?

Well, it turns out that Paradise is in Pennsylvania. Really! In the Alabama section, according to James Carville, who says that PA is just Philadelphia and Pittsburgh with Alabama in between. My father grew up in Paradise (this defies explanation), where his father was a preacher at a presbyterian church. His parents are buried in the cemetary there. That's the point, to spend eternity in Paradise. The Dick and the rest of the clan (the GOOD ones) will spend eternity there too. I said to Mom: "Don't worry about me. I have more friends in that other place anyway." Mom just looked exasperated.

February Recap

I noticed I've been falling off on my bloggerizing. I hope I haven't lost all my fans. Anybody who's given up on reading this, raise your hand now..... har har

Warning: If you don't know me, you may find what follows almost as boring as those who do know me find it.

Ok, here's the news:

In February, the weather was cold and scroungey. Not much playing outside going on. Taylor has to get up really early for work and walk in the scroungey weather a mile to work.

We had a flurry of activity over President's day weekend. On Saturday, we got together with long time friend and former camp counselor (yes, summer camp counselor from WAY back in the 70's or 80's or some such) Rodney. I made shake & bake and we had a nice evening catching up. On Sunday morning, Taylor & I left early and headed on a three day road trip. First, we met my mom for breakfast. Only, it turned out there was a small problem with the nice restaurant my mom picked: it opens at 5pm. Well, that's ok. It's at a hotel, and it turns out that the hotel has a nicer-than-average free buffet for the guests. Problem solved! We had breakfast and a good visit, although the food wasn't exceptional. But the price was right! Oh, and for the record, Mom DID ask at the front desk and they said we should feel free. har har

After that, we went and visited another summer camp friend, Andra. Had fun with her, and her cute little pip squeeks. Carly ran me ragged in the mall. Ryan tried to kill himself tumbling down a cliff. I scared the kids by pretending that a ground hog was attacking me and dragging me into its hole. And Andra was glad to have conversation above the 5 year old level. It was a normal day in suburbia. Andra's husband, Chris, is a drug pusher (pharmaceutical rep). He kindly supplied me with some cool paraphernalia. My favorite is the (large, fat) ball point pen that says VIAGRA on it. There's a wireless mouse that says Xanax and a Detrol clock, presumably reminding us that we'll have more time for life if we take Detrol to reduce our over active bladder problems.

We went from Andra's in Delaware to my sister's place in Philadelphia. Becky has fixed the place all up, I am please to say. She bought a townhouse about 4 years ago in a sketchy area of Philly for $40k. She's fixed it all up, and when the city removed the end unit that was falling off, that helped significantly. On Tuesday, I went to a database seminar while Becky toured Taylor around the historical and cultural sights of our country's first capital. So much fun.

Had dinner on Tuesday with college friend Lloyd and his partner Doug. They are both IT geeks. We had scintillating conversation about due-dilligence in information security and fried grilled cheese sandwiches.

Then we came home and rescued the bored kitties. We were glad the apartment staff had fed the cats and not noticed that I've pulled the fire alarm off the wall and suffocated it in a plastic bag. Taylor was SURE we'd come back to find our stuff and the cats piled on the curb with a note saying: "You agreed not to tamper with the fire alarm." Being of calmer disposition (ha!), I was never worried about eviction. I figure: They don't want to get rid of us. They'll just fine us a few thousand dollars and let us stay.

Well, if the stupid smoke detector didn't go off every time I make shake-n-bake, then this wouldn't be an issue.

Ok. Then we were home and back to work. There was snow. I worked from home Thursday & Friday. Very nice.

Last weekend, Feb 26 & 27, we went on a walk through Georgetown. I love the old architecture and the tobacco shop that sells hookahs and bongs. They have one hookah that is about 6 feet tall and has eight hoses or tubes, or snorkels, or whatever they're called. I really need to bring my camera on these excursions.

On Sunday, I cannot remember what, if anything, we did. And that has NOTHING to do with the Hookah Hut in Georgetown.

This coming weekend, we are going to help marshal the Alexandria St Patricks Day parade with some friends from my work, unless the weather is crappy and I bail. I'll report on that in a month if I remember.

And that's all the news from Capital City. Well, all the news that won't depress the shit out of you.

Overheard on the Metro

Truly important events are rarely publicized in the mass media. In order to find out about them, one must ride public transportation and overhear "private" conversations.

Overheard by me on the DC Metro Red Line recently:
Use and abuse of Power
"I have to go on tours of a dozen national parks to 'research' a park protection bill sponsored by several senators. It seems that the main sponsor owns land adjacent to a park and doesn't like airplanes flying over his property."

That is a cool job, where do I apply?

Overheard by me once on the Portland Light Rail train:
Yentl sighted in the Fast Lane
"There's gonna be a giant rave this weekend. You should come. I've been dating somebody I met at one a few weeks ago. I'm not sure if they're a guy or a girl."

The January Headlines

I've been slacking on the blogging thing lately, and some news has piled up. My resolutions didn't include blogging.

1. Inauguration/Coronation preparations
Now that I'm living 2 miles from the W-House and across the street from a high end mega-hotel, I get to watch the most expensive and intensely policed inauguration in history unfold. The inauguration is one week from today. The downtown area is full of bleachers constructed along the roads, extra road barricades (more about those later), and of course, W's elite fighter force, members of his G-had roam around looking menacing.

Yesterday, I saw three robo-cops in Metro Center with machine guns! Well, I am no gun expert, being a pansy liberal peace nic type. But they looked like what I imagine machine guns would look like. Don't point that thing at me. Another strange occurence is that the advertising posters are all covered with tape and plastic as if an explosion is expected. It makes me wonder if I should resume walking to work.


2. When a saw horse is not just a saw horse
Last week, Monica and Kate visited from Oregon for a single evening. After dinner, I convinced them to go on a driving tour of the downtown sites. Site seeing at night is not entirely conventional, but it's all we had. After getting somewhat lost on the way to the mall and having the Oregonians interpret the map for me, we found our way to the Lincolm Memorial and drove around the back of it. Taylor has a big thing about the Lincoln Memorial and wanted me to drop them off in front of it for a quick look. At that point, we were driving away, and the opposite direction appeared to lead to a nice little lot right next to the steps. The yellow line was blocked with saw horse traffic control things. Monica, bless her helpful heart, pointed out where one was down, so we made a U turn and headed for the lot. That's when a big truck put on it's high beams and started right toward us with police lights flashing. Not wanting to look like a terrorist, I stopped the car. As the terminator put his hand on his gun and approached us, I apparently said (according to later reports of eye witnesses in the back seat): "Show your hands and look harmless." He came over and said: "Did you see the barricade you just drove through?" I was thinking: "That's not a barricade. It's a frickin saw horse." But what I said was: "Um, yes sir." He requested my license and, whilst examining it, asked: "So, when is the last time you got a ticket?" I thought for a second and said: "I've never gotten a ticket." This is where the good part happened. While I am trying to avoid an all-expense paid trip to Guantanamo Bay, Taylor pipes up and says: "Yes you did! You got that ticket in Ashland!" I had to defend myself: "It didn't make it onto my record. " I was tempted to say: "Oh, yeah. While you're at it, maybe you should mention that dirty bomb in the trunk."

Thankfully, my license and plates are from Oregon and we apparently did a very good and genuine impression of hick tourists who just didn't get the seriousness of saw horses in DC. The kindly SS officer gave me a lecture about driving etiquette in the seat of super power and let us go.

Needless to say, Kate and Monica did not get to tour the Lincoln Memorial.


3. Literary Critic at Large
On the day after Christmas, I went to a play with my mother. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Here is this critic's review of the play:
If a doctor told me I had only one day left to live, I would go see Carousel at the Olney Theater Playhouse. That way, my last day would seem like eternity.


4. I just know there is something I'm forgetting. More later.


5. My new boss, who happens to work from Eugene, Oregon, seems amenable to the idea that I can do my job from Portland. I'll keep you all posted. My target timeframe is still about a year out. I know you'll miss the DC stories. Here is what I have to say about my time in DC:
I am very much looking forward to sitting in front of my fireplace in Portland telling stories about our time in DC.


6. Demolition in progress.
I remember what the other thing is. This is so cool! There is a building I can see from my window. It's about 100 yards away. It is being demolished, and it's fun to watch. Over the last couple of months, the interior of the building was stripped, which wasn't anything to watch. But on Monday, a crane came along. It had a hook. Guys inside the building catch the hook, wrap it around parts of the building sheething, and then the crane pulls it apart. It looks like a car bomb went off. On Tuesday, they replaced the hook with an actual wrecking ball and started pounding away. They've been pounding the building for three days now. They don't swing the ball into the side like I've seen on TV. They just pull it up and drop it straight down. Today I finally remembered to bring my video camera. Unfortunately, I missed the best part. The wrecking ball fell OFF of it's tether and became free range. So it's a good thing they aren't swinging it around.

More news as it happens.

Public Display of Playboy

On Christmas Eve, Taylor and I went out to run some last minute errands and enjoy the relative emptiness of downtown. We got on the metro with the other last minute shoppers and poor sods who didn't get the day off. At the same time, another guy got on and sat down in a front row seat. He proceded to dig around in his backpack and pull out, in plain view for everybody to see, a Playboy magazine. He opened it up, holding it with a tilt that made it completely visible to me, and started reading.

Is it illegal for somebody to read material with adult themes in public view? Well....what if it's in braille and can't be read by prying eyes?

I figured: I guess it's true, men do get Playboy for the articles. Taylor said: Don't assume there's no centerfold in there. I bet they can do that in braille.

Then we got off.

The train, that is.

Divinely Delicious

My work buddies Vanessa and Arul and I went to tea at the appointed hour of 2:30. At tea time, the conversation meandered, as it will, to the topic of the portrait sandwich. Remembering the recent eBay sale of a grilled cheese sandwich emblazoned with the likeness of the Virgin Mary, we wondered if the cook would make one for us. The natural question arose: If you could choose any diety to grill onto your lunch, which would it be?

Nominations?

Special Delivery and The Ultimate in Upscaling

Now that we live in a city with an inifinite number of cars and a finite number of parking spaces, we can't go out to the store just any time. I have no other option but......to have everything delivered. In my old, frugal days, I would never have paid for that which I could do myself. But, if there's nowhere to park, then I can't do it myself, can I? Therefore, I simple MUST: order my groceries from www.peapod.com, order my clothes from www.landsend.com, order my books from www.amazon.com and order my movies from www.netflix.com. In fact, just about everything can be mail ordered. It's the new American Way.

So, yesterday I signed up for Netflix. It's only $18 a month. Sure....we COULD watch free television or walk down the street to the video shop or exercise or do volunteer work or do the macarena. But for a few extra pennies, we can have mindless, commercial-less entertainment delivered right to our door. For our first selection, I chose "Plan 9 from Outer Space". Here is the description. Be sure to watch the trailer. Note the distinction of being not one, but two-time winner of the Turkey Award for worst film. It's gotta be good. When that award was being decided, the panel obviously didn't watch "The Four Cheerleaders of the Apocalypse". Taylor rented that while I was recovering from surgery. I had to take extra percocet for the pain.

In other news: Up until a few years ago, Lorton Maximum Security Reformatory in Northern Virginia served as a repository for violent criminals and others in need of new direction. Apparently, a few years ago the institution finished reforming all inmates and closed up shop. In a cruel move, somebody had the building and grounds declared "Historical". Who thinks this stuff up? Now, Fairfax County has to figure out what to do with the cell block. Answer: Upscale condos in a community setting. I am not making this up. The cells will be studio lofts and the recreation yard: a pedestrian mall. And, of course, there's already a gym on the property. I can see the ad copy now:
Luxury Condominium Community: Solid construction, secured building, onsite gymnasium, completely open floor plans, loads of character, each unit sleeps four to eight.

They can have Martha Stewart do the interior design and decorating touches. Her next theme: Decorating for small spaces.

I think we'll try to go down there and take the tour. I'll see if I can't get some pictures and figure out how to post them. It's free advertising for the developers. However, I think I'll hold out for an island loft with a lovely sea breeze and a view of the Golden Gate when Alacatraz goes condo.

New Name

I got tired of the old name of my blog. "Tales of the Unexpected" sounded pretentious. Plus, many of the things that occur in my life are not entirely unexpected. For instance, I KNEW I was going to see Oompa Loompas at the chocolate factory. But the tunnel of chocolate love ride was unexpected. So, it's some of each.

And while we're here, I'd like to say that I don't much like the sound of the word "blog". I think it's because it starts with the sound "blah" and ends with the sound "awhg". There's nothing likable about it. blog blog blog blaug blawg blaw blah

So, it's not a blawg, this is my online journal. It is pretty much the same as letters I used to write to friends. Now they are to everybody. And...it is based on a true story.

The Pilgrimage

Preface from the Author: Thank you to those who emailed and left comments regarding a verb tense issue raised in my last post. To summarize: the verb should match the subject. Now, all join in a chorus of: DUH! One helpful reader noted the superfluous use of the term "very". I have considered this issue, and shall try really hard to avoid its use.

Of all the really significant places on the East Coast, Taylor wanted to visit the Hershey Chocolate factory first. So, yesterday we undertook a pilgrimage to Hershey, Pennsylvania to worship at the Chocolate Altar. The weather cooperated with really sunny skies despite predictions of snow. We paid for it, though, by way of a really cold wind.

The Hershey attractions consist of several really, REALLY gigantic parking lots, a cheesy amusement park, and a tourist trap called Chocolate World. Taylor was really disappointed to learn that the public is no longer allowed to tour the chocolate factory. The public gets to go to Chocolate World, which is essentially a really huge candy store plus a consolation ride through a reenactment of the chocolate making process. For those of you who are familiar with DisneyLand, imagine what would happen if "Mr Toad's Wild Ride" and "It's a Small World" got together and had "Mr Hershey's Chocolate World".

After learning all there is to know about the Great American Chocolate bar, we wandered over to the amusement park. I was really content to stroll around listening to the Christmas tunes piping over the PA system and trying not to freeze to death. But Taylor wanted to go on a ride. Shortly, we found ourselves on a choo choo train. It took us on a really short trip around the park at about 2 mph, except when it stopped for ten minutes to fix brake problems. During this time, I finished freezing to death whilst wondering why a train that tops out at 3 mph needs brakes at all.

On our way out of town, we drove down main street in Hershey to admire the really famous Hershey Kiss street lamps and sniff the renowned chocolate air. For our final hurrah, we took a loop around the actual factory, savoring the Hershey aroma. And outside a warehouse door, I saw a couple of Oompa Loompas taking a smoke break.

Really.

Fun for the Whole Family

The very most special part of Christmas are (is?) the TV specials. We're watching Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer right now. You know, the one with the Burl Ives snowman.

While watching, we're engaging in that venerable family tradition: "The Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer drinking game." You have to drink every time Rudolph's nose whistles. Bottom's up!

This family value laden holiday special contains some social commentary that I missed as a kid, what with the cruelly-teased, nasally-gifted star; the gay dentist elf oppressed by the elf role of toy making; the misunderstood monster whose real disability is a toothache; and a herd of underloved, island-dwelling toys pining to be played with. And just like in real life, everybody comes to love and appreciate each other for a wonderful happy ending....


PS: I spent quite a bit of time trying to decide if the verb in that first sentence should be singular or plural. Guidance would be appreciated. Thank you for your support.

Measuring consumer confidence

According to "reliable" sources, the American economy is great and consumers are feeling just super. So...brimming with rediscovered consumer confidence, Taylor and I ventured out on Sunday to Bethesda to find some of the legendary thrift shops, feeling confident that we could bring ourselves to part with five or ten dollars on some kitchen equipment. We found one shop that dared to defy the day of rest and open on a Sunday. The place, cleverly named Deja New, occupied a large old wooden colonial style house that looked at least one hundred years old and gave the impression that nothing had been thrown away since the day it was built. The two story, several thousand square foot house was wall to wall "treasures" piled precariously all the way up to the ceilings. The overflow covered the front yard three feet deep. We went into a porch area with a concentration of kitchen implements. The floor was tilting and the whole room felt like it would fall off if just one more George Foreman grill was added to the pile. I found a hardhat, aptly placed in the kitchen room, and donned it for a measure of protection. We managed to dig up a few scroungy pieces of pyrex, and I scored an ice cream scooper. The whole event set us back three dollars. We failed to located two items on our list: a large covered skillet and ear muffs (the latter is not a cooking implement, not even for me).

As we were heading out, Taylor confessed that she had half a mind to buy a, gasp, NEW covered skillet. Just then, we saw a mall and pull into the parking garage. Maybe I should have taken note of the anchor store, Nieman Marcus. When we emerged from the garage, the elevator dropped us off exactly in front of Williams Sonoma--surely this was the guiding hand of fate. We gravitated toward the skillet display, as if pulled by forces beyond our control (marketers). "This skillet looks pretty good," said I. And then, "Uhh.......Where am I? Why am I on the floor? Are you an angel?" I can't exactly remember what happened, but when I came to, Taylor was fanning me with what looked like a pricetag for brain bypass surgery. It turned out to be the pricetag for the skillet.

In fact, we already have a very nice copper skillet from Williams Sonoma that Taylor's mother gave us some time back. Now I know why she worries that she hasn't saved enough for retirement.

You may be wondering why we need a skillet, if we already have one. Well, Taylor, in her infinite wisdom, decided to protect the precious skillet by leaving it in our storage unit in Portland. I may have to go pick it up and unprotect it. I am not making this up: it would cost less for me to fly to Portland, get the skillet out of storage, and bring it back to DC, than it would to buy a new skillet. I wonder if I could tax deduct the travel as a business expense....

Having failed in the skillet quest, we went hunting for ear muffs. Nieman Marcus seems like a place that would sell a nice muff for the ear. We wandered in, past the guard whose eyes followed us as he whispered into his lapel. I'm sure he was just saying: "Customer assistance needed in the ear muff department", even though it sounded a little like "Joe! Scruffians that smell of thrift store headed your way." Directly, we found a nice display of scarves, hats, gloves and, yes, ear muffs. The scarves didn't look like any scarf I've ever owned. I thought I heard Taylor say she saw Mink Stole in the store, but I looked around and didn't see her anywhere. We're close to Baltimore, so I guess it's possible. We did find a collection of ear muffs. Apparently, before these were keeping DC commuters' ears warm, they were keeping a nice bunny rabbit's own ears warm. At that point, Taylor announced: "I have to get out of here." And we took our animal-loving, cold-eared, skillet-less selves back to the garage and left before our hour of free parking expired.

I guess the conclusion is that our consumer confidence is worth one three dollar bill.

It wiggles at room temperature

If you've read from the bottom up like I told you to, you'll have read the piece about the tutoring program I volunteer for (for which I volunteer...). My student, who shall be called "C", is a bright, polite, studious young man who will, no doubt, one day get his PhD. I've been asked: "Why does he need your help?" Let's assume this is not a personal dig, and say that everybody needs help along the way.

Last week, C and I were going over vocabulary words in preparation for a test when we came upon the term "tepid". C said: "I don't know what a tepid is." I looked at him for a second and he continued: "Is it some kind of animal?" "Nope," I said, trying not to give the answer away. "Then," he asks, "What is a lukeworm?"

Mountains out of molehills

The world has taken a long weekend, leaving little to satirize (ok, I didn't look at the news recently). So, I have a recovered memory to share. Easterners will feel my pain. Westerners will wonder what the deal is.

Anyway, flash back to the long distant past. Taylor and Pixel and Scruffy and I are driving eastward into Pennsylvania on a turnpike, singing songs and playing the alphabet game. Scruffy is winning. There in front of us, in our windshield view of the world, appears that which is called "The Appalachian Mountains." The following transcript is based on a true story:

Me: "These are the Appalachian Mountains."
Taylor: "Mountains???"
Me: "Yes. The Appalachian mountain range runs up the east coast."
Taylor: "I don't think those are mountains. Maybe we're not to the actual mountains yet."
Me: "No, they ARE mountains. Really. They're just old and worn down, like Melanie Griffith."
Taylor: "Nah. This looks like the Willamette Valley. Pretty and rolling, something that lives between mountains, not the mountains themselves."
Me: "I swear. They're mountains. They're just more subtle and sophisticated than the garrish, unseasoned volcanic mountains out west."
Taylor: "Well....ok. I guess they're mountains. Hey, what does that sign by the road say?"
Me: "Summit. 917 feet."
Taylor: "Riiiiiiight......"

Cat Tree Hailed as Success

The following report is submitted by our correspondent on the furry face beat--Taylor.

This breaking news just in....cat tree hailed as huge success by feline prisoners. The five and a half foot structure just arrived today and the inmates couldn't be more delighted. Already the fleece is flying and there is an air of playfulness returning to the cell block. One inmate we interviewed told us, and I quote: " meaow meow meaow!" Which loosely translated means: "I like it almost as much as the box it came in!"

Only time will tell if the new object retains it's appeal. For now the random frolicking and fleece scratching say more than words ever could. More on this situation as it develops.

Coming to you from the living room--this has been Taylor. And now back to you....

Travelling Backwards at the speed of stupidity

I don't have anything to write about this, I just liked the title. Can't figure out why that might have come to me while riding through DC this morning....

The Results Are In

I have determined which gamble was unnecessary. It was the used catbox. The thing is huge--with a wierd "privacy tent" thing that takes up about as much space as a small coffee table. It is very noisy--so noisy that Pixel is afraid of it. However, Pixel is afraid of noises that humans can't even hear. How's that for neurosis perfected? And, worst of all, the thing STINKS like you would not believe. There are those among you who may be muttering: "Ha! I could have told you that." Well, now I have empirically determined this to be a true fact (unlike many of the "facts" being used to determine domestic and foreign policy). I was taken for a ride by the scoundrel on Craigslist (www.craigslist.org -- check it out).

So, today when I get home, the catbox will be disappeared--like a political dissident--never to be heard of (or smelled of) again. Yay. No more unnecessary gambles for me.

In other news, the mail order cat tree is going to be delivered today. Film at 11....

Bicycle Chic

You read it right. That's chic, as in stylish. Not only is biking to work good for my health and my righteousness, but it seems to be good for my hair. This is counterintuitive, I know. But when I bike to work and take off my helmet, my hair is better than when I ride the metro and take off my helmet...

Is this good or bad? It's hard to say. It is only my own opinion that my hair is better. So far nobody has said: "Hey, your hair looks so great today." Or, "Your hair isn't quite as bad as usual. " Or, what I'm really hoping for: "Have you lost weight?"

The Fortune

The other night, Taylor & I went out for Chinese food. The main point of Chinese food is that it's a way to get dinner with your horoscope. Here is what my fortune says:

Avoid taking unnecessary gambles.
Lucky Numbers 4, 12, 24, 30, 40, 44

What, were you expecting stock tips or something?

I've been trying to figure out what unnecessary gambles the cookie is trying to warn me about. Here are a few possibilities.

1. Yesterday, I bought a used cat box. This is definitely a gamble. It is a self cleaning catbox (sort of). It runs a fork through the litter after the kitty does its thing. It's name:
TURBO CRAPMASTER 3000

There are two features which may qualify this gamble as "unnecessary". First, the previous owner (Chucky the cat), made it very stinky, which seems to defeat the purpose. Second, Pixel is afraid of it.

I was so hoping to be able to say: "Thank you, Crap master!"

2. This morning I rode the metro to work. A gamble for sure, especially since this is the stop where there was a very impressive accident last week which left one train on top of the other. I guess London's not the only place with double decker public transport now.

At the next station, a nicely dress man came into the train and said in a loud clear voice: "Good morning everybody". He then sang a hymn about Jesus and washing in blood and other ghoulishness. He finished by blessing us all and bidding us good day. As prophet was serenading us, on comes a metro employee with a pile of very large placard signs depicting, "The Terror Alert Levels". The sign shows the colors, what each means, and what to do "if something happens that affects the Metro". I was reading it to see if there are instructions for a drive by hymning. I guess the gay pride rainbow is out now, replaced by the terror alert rainbow. Such is progress.

3. We ordered a new cat tree on the web. I don't know if this is a gamble or not. Scruffy will get back to you on that, as soon as she is done destroying the carpet in the apartment.

Fancy pants pot luck

The apartment complex in which we now reside held a potluck this evening. Being devoid of weapons of meal destruction (cook pots), we took a bottle of wine. The dinner was very nice, and everybody was friendly. We met Robins and (um, can't remember the wife's name). These kids are 25 year old lawyers for the federal govt. They referred to me and Taylor as "the older generation." Ouch.

Some diplomats were at another table. As we were leaving, I heard some guy saying that he is from Boston and then asking the probably-diplomat: "So, when you engage in multilateral work, what you doing?" Sheesh. Mr Boston was trying to sound smart I guess. I can only imagine the answer was: "In DC, there is not much multilateral work right now. We're just planning to continue relaxing for the next few years."