Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Monday, December 19, 2005

Thanksgiving

So, Thanksgiving pictures! Not the greatest shots of anyone, but it's the spirit that counts.

The boys, who gravitated toward the couch as the meal progressed: Fares (all the way from Jordan) on the left, my jet lagged but adorable brother in the middle, and my fabulous father on the right.

The girls: my gorgeous mother, the delightful Fatema, and Seema of the Magnificent Hair:

And me, listening intently to something my mother was saying, although I forget what it was.


Oh! And the food!

Charles retrieves the cork from the wine...


Mushrooms!




And other ingredients.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Chronicles

I don't understand people who 1. never read Narnia or 2. never read it more than once or 3. read it and didn't care much for it. I think there is something fundamentally different between Narnia-lovers and those who have never *gasp* fully appreciated its wonders. People in the first category may be forgiven-perhaps it was their parents' fault. But the second and third...I donno. I am suspicious of them. But I think we can still be friends.

I, being raised in a Christian home, was aware from my first reading of the Christian themes. Aslan tearing off Eustace's dragon skin. Aslan's sacrifice on the round table. Aslan telling Lucy that even if the others don't, she should follow him. The parallels are obvious and, to me, meaningful and absolutely wonderful.

So I am thrilled that the movie, which I will see soon, looks like it sticks to the books. I know the books so intimately, having read the entire series every year for...my whole life, that I think it will be great to see how much of the movie matches my imagination.

I am not thrilled, however, at the latest battle in the culture wars that is surrounding the release of the film. People screeching about the Christian themes being offensive or detracting from the story. (Um, duh. Of course it's Christian-Lewis was a Christian. So...what? Christian themes can't be used in entertainment?) Or trying to use it as a conversion tool a la The Passion (Lewis himself says it wasn't a proseletizing tool, but a fantastical children's story: What if Jesus had come in a different sort of world? He denies that it is an allegory, even.) Or musing about C.S. Lewis' personal life and sexual habits. (Because that has *everything* to do with how good the story is! Oh, wait...) The list goes on.

You know how when you have to explain a joke, it stops being funny? SO CAN WE ALL STOP WITH THE PSYCHOANALYSIS AND JUST ENJOY THE STORY?

Thank you. Pass the popcorn.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

The Holiday of Stuff

Some fun links that I thought might inspire creative gifts. In case you, like me, haven't started shopping and have no idea where to start:

Gallery Byzantium
De Nada Design (I already linked it in my last post, but whatever.)
101cookbooks.com recommends... for the culinarily inclined. Also, a list of nifty cookbooks on the right sidebar.
Vintage Vixen
Planetary Design for the, uh, coffee-ly inclined. I totally want one of these.
Magellan's for the internationally inclined.

And, because I know you ALL are just sitting at home wondering what you can get for me from, say, Amazon.com (Charles, brother, dear, I'm talking to you): my Amazon wish list.

Good, now I have the materialism out of my system.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Three links that make me smile

Support local artists! If you live in DC, check out Virginia Arrisuenos' handmade purses. They're Very Cool. Excellent Christmas gifts. Spread the word.

--

This made me laugh.

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For a new perspective on a material Christmas: The Holiday of Stuff.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Advent and Tradition

I grew up in a Christian home, and went to church, and did Christian things, but the kind of denomination we tended towards was, how do you say...? Loose. It was of the "come as you are" variety. Jeans are appropriate for Sunday services. We met in strip mall churches. Relationship, not religion. Liturgy was eyed warily. We preferred projectors over hymnbooks. We worshipped as the Spirit led.

There's nothing wrong with that, and in fact, probably very many things right. But I never really knew about the more structured face of Christianity until I
1. Visited an Eastern Orthodox church and thought, what is with the icons and the ceremony? And then someone explained them to me. And
2. Visited Palestine/Israel: my inner (and unspoken) disdain at the gaudiness of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was mildly rebuked by someone's words, "We Protestants might think this is gaudy... but remember that whenever God builds himself a house, He makes it pretty extravagant. Think about the Temple." Hmm. And
2. Went to college and met all these ... Catholics! And Episcopals! And people who knew about Lent! I didn't even know what Ash Wednesday was.

And occasionally I'd hear a snippet of older, non-American Christendom: a doxology, a hymn, a liturgical prayer, the Apostle's Creed, and I started to feel that there was a rich well of Christian history that I was somehow not a part of. I was always suspicious of the Catholics and their traditions, liturgy, religion. Episcopals, too. Excess ceremony! I think it had just been subtley instilled in me. Then I discovered G.K Chesterton, Catholic. St. Thomas More, Catholic. Tolkien, Catholic. C.S. Lewis, Anglican. Hmm.

I studied in Jordan in 2003 and happened to be there during the month of Ramadan. When people asked me, a Christian, about our religious traditions, I was a little stumped. We have Christmas, yes. And Easter! My favorite! Other than that, I said, we don't...really...do much. I mean, we're religious, but not...scripted. I noticed also that Arab Christians, those I worked with in Palestine and met in Jordan, seemed to have a better grasp on church history somehow, like they had found significance in tradition. Maybe they didn't focus on specifics, maybe they didn't know where the tradition came from, but it was there nonetheless.

I think we are a race of ritual. There is a reason we have seasons, feast days, holidays. Why shouldn't the church be the same? Why are we (many among us, anyway) so worked up over the fight for allowing Nativity Scenes in public places while forgetting the rest of the traditional church year? Christmas has been commercialized, of course (anyone up for another round of chesnuts roasting on an open fire...? Anyone?) but so what? Does that mean we can't celebrate the birth of Christ? And is Christmas itself the important thing, or is it the season as part of the church year? The fact that we have this specific time, each year, to focus on the observation of our faith? The Christian church has long used the seasons of the year as an opportunity for festivals and holidays, sacred time set aside to worship God as the Lord of life. It's deeper than just reading the Christmas story from Luke before you open your presents.

I'm not Catholic for a few reasons: transubstantiation and the exalted status of Mary, to name two. I think the Reformation was a great idea. Martin Luther was fantastic. But let's not throw the baby out with the bath water: hundreds of years of Church history has to count for something: another way to celebrate Jesus, another way to tell people about our faith, a deeper understanding of that great cloud of witnesses (Heb. 11:1.) Ritual is not always bad. Icons are not always idols. Liturgy is not always passion-less. They are but tools to focus your attentions on Him--tools that can be misused, of course, but you shouldn't shun something simply because it can be misused.



So what, you say? Yesterday was the beginning of Advent and the beginning, therefore, of the church year. I think I'll celebrate with others this year-or at least glean some insight from others observing Advent. Happy new year!

Thursday, November 17, 2005

In the "Um...duh..." Category

Obesity pills work best with diet and exercise. YES. REALLY. I know. I didn't believe it either.

Ever read Goodnight Moon as a kid? Well, the author smoked. He smoked! And there's a picture! Of him smoking! All the innnocent little kids who ever saw a picture of the author smoking are being ENDANGERED! We had better remove the offensive picture.

Please.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Things to Keep in Mind if you are Flying to Colorado for Oral Surgery

1. Even if you get up hours before sunrise and leave before 5 AM and catch the *very first* metro train of the day, you will still not get to the airport in time for your 6:30 AM flight.

2. If you do not catch your 6:30 AM flight, the lady at the Continental desk will accusingly inform you that you could have checked in online at home and saved some time. (This will not do you much good, since you are neither online nor at home, but standing in front of your gate looking at the plane you are supposed to be on.)

3. Do not think that the reason the pastries available at the coffeeshops in Reagan National Airport are stale is that you just got there too late to enjoy the fresh ones. No, even the pastries available before dawn are stale. And the coffee's no good, either.

4. If you get delayed in Houston, try the chorizo tacos at the fast food taco place in Terminal B. And the coffee. The coffee is good there.

5. It is nicer to fly through Atlanta than to fly through Chicago.

6. Delta airlines gives you a *choice* of snacks! Sometimes you can even choose TWO. And when you get a drink, they give you the whole can instead of just a little plastic cup! And they have lots of leg room.

7. If a dentist/orthodontist/prosthedontist/oral surgeon ever says that you are very nearly done with treatment, or you have only one more appointment, or that the whole process will be over in a certain amount of time, DO NOT BELIEVE THEM. IT IS A LIE. Your treatment will NEVER, EVER be done.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

How could you stay inside when the outside looks like this?

East Coast in the Fall + Rock Creek Park + beautiful Saturday afternoons =





Tuesday, November 08, 2005

If it's on the Internet...

...it must be true: Mathematical proof that Bill Gates is the Antichrist.

He might be, or it might be Hillary Rodham Clinton. Heck, it might even be my own brother. The mathematical proof...well, it gets fuzzy sometimes. At least I can be sure it's not my mom.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Lattes make the world happier

It's almost time to start whistling Christmas carols: Starbuck's gingerbread latte has made its annual debut.

It's the only reason I ever go to Starbucks anymore, and I am not even ashamed to admit it, such is the wonder of this latte. Sometimes I even ask for whipped cream on it. Yes! Whipped cream! With sprinkles!

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

How Not To Woo Fair Maiden

1. Start pillow-talking before you know her name and before there are even any pillows involved.
2. Ignore the fact that she has a boyfriend
3. Invite yourself over to her place
4. Invite yourself over to her place and tell her that you will permit her to make dinner for you
5. Invite yourself over to her place and tell her that she is also permitted to order out, if she doesn't feel like cooking.
6. Chalk up the fact that she ignored you for months to the simple fact of female forgetfulness.
7. Tell her that her religion, and by extension, she, is no fun.

---

A few months ago I spent some time getting rid of a persistent admirer (and I use the term "admirer" loosely) at a certain place I like to dance. It started off innocently enough, because he was a good dancer, and I was having fun, as I do when I dance. We exchanged numbers, since we had known each other over the course of a few dance classes.

But later that night our "So, how long you been in DC?" evolved (or devolved) into (loosely recalled):

Him: You are so beautiful, I just cannot take my eyes off you.
Me: Ummm...Did I mention I'm seeing someone else?
Him: You are, like, the only person in the room. No one else matters!
Me: I think I have to go now.
Him: You do not want to take a chance with me?!
Me: No. (as I try to wiggle out from my chair and head for the door.)
Him: No, no, do not leave, here, I will go to your apartment with you.
Me: ...Um, no, you will not.
Him: I don't want to DO anything, you know, I just want to sleep holding you! I just want to get to know you!
Me: I like to get to know a guy over a cup of coffee, NOT by inviting him to my apartment when I don't even know his name. And not, for Pete's sake, by sleeping in the same bed. Good bye.
Him: You just don't take risks! You are missing out on life! You need to allow yourself to love!
Me: (leaves)

I shuld mention that somewhere in there he blamed my religious beliefs for the fact that I "don't know how to take risks!" To which I answered, "I lived by myself for 6 months in the Middle East. Don't talk to me about risks." (Never mind that those six months were conspicuously risk-free, it did shock him into silence.) The whole conversation took about 10 minutes, and my opinion of him went from "Nice guy, good dancer" to "Creep, I'm leaving."

The next day he called me and said, "I just keep thinking about you! I need to see you. I will come to your apartment tonight, and you can cook me dinner."

No, really, he said that.

And I shrieked, "What?! I will make YOU dinner?! If you're so keen on dinner, make your OWN dinner!" And then he says, "Well, you could order out! I don't know how to cook!" And I just...couldn't...fathom...so I said, "I am not having this conversation anymore." And I hung up. The next day he called again. I picked it up just so I could hang up on him again.

Three months later: last Monday. I run into him at a Halloween shindig. He approaches me and says (I am not making this up):

"I haven't seen you in so long! I thought you forgot about me!"
...
Mister. I didn't want to sleep with you. I didn't give you my address or invite you to my place. I didn't even want to talk to you. I yelled at you over the phone. I hung up on you. Twice. I didn't call you. Ever. I. AM. NOT. INTERESTED.

I wonder if his method works on any other girls? Do girls really go home with strangers who say, "I just cannot take my eyes off you! Make me dinner!" Seriously, does this work for him? Because I don't know a single female soul who wants to hear that.

Turns out that he's a little notorious for being obnoxious. Turns out he uses that same line on a lot of girls. So seriously...does this work? Didn't he suspect that if you use the same line on every girl, eventually the girls TALK to each other and figure that out? Could I have been any more obviously not interested? IS THIS GUY FOR REAL?

Monday, October 31, 2005

Masquerade

I went through a phase (at about age 12) where I listened to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack endlessly. And ever since then, I have wanted to go to a masquerade-not only because of the Phantom song, but because what could be better than dressing up in sparkles, feathers and swirly skirts and dancing to music played by a live orchestra and drinking sparkly drinks in long-stemmed glasses? NOTHING.

So when I got the e-mail from the International Club of DC announcing their Fall Masquerade Gala, well...you know what I'm going to say: I signed up. And I bought a mask and I got out my dancing shoes, and I tried really hard to make my un-formal black cocktail dress seem Very Formal. And I think I succeeded:



And not only were there sparkly drinks in long-stemmed glasses, but there was a dinner buffet, a dessert buffet, and gads of tuxedo-ed men who knew how to dance. At first I was a little wobbly on the dances I didn't know, which included...well, everything except salsa and tango. But I picked up on the waltz, hustle, cha cha and foxtrot, which are all pretty straightforward. And FUN. Because how can you not have fun when you are dressed like this



and feel so mysterious and seductive?

---

In movie news, I went with some friends to see The Legend of Zorro on Friday, and I Netflix-ed Baran yesterday. Zorro is, as you would expect, full of swords and horses and ragged emotions and beautiful people. The little boy is *adorable*. Catherine Zeta-Jones is gorgeous and wears pretty dresses while fighting bad guys. And Antonio Banderas is dreamy. Who cares that the timeline is historically questionable? See it anyway.

Baran is, well, NOT Zorro. It's an Iranian film about Afghan workers in Iran: a young teenager discovers that his fellow construction worker is actually a girl and he falls in love with her, despite extremely limited circumstances. This movie is beautiful. More is said in Baran's eyes than in the dialogue (Well--I could be wrong about that, since it's subtitled, but I think it's a fair bet) and the film makes subtle points throughout about love, sacrifice, humanity and generosity. Very moving, and very sad, because foreign movies with snow are always sad. Always. And you should see it, too.

Friday, October 28, 2005

The contents of the parcel



Look at what a happy parcel it is!

(And if you don't know about the parcel, you need to read my other post, Misery Loves Company.)

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

What to do on a glum day when you can't go outside but must keep busy...

Something to do if you find yourself with a lot of Jell-o on hand.

Something to listen to. I really like this--Evangelicals Out of the Box. At last, for those of us who don't want to be lumped in with the popular stereotype. I think I'll write more about this later, when I digest it a little.

And something else, for the bookworms. I think it is the Type A in me that is so fascinated by this.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Misery Loves Company

It has been a rough week. And by "rough," I mean, "often miserable." We need not explore this further, but I would like to mention - and thank - a few people who made my week significantly less miserable:

1. Lisa. Lisa, if you were not aware, is a wonderful human being. The kind of wonderful that makes you glad you are not the only one who thinks that way, and isn't the world full of beautiful and interesting things, and by the way, isn't this a marvelous cup of tea? Moreover, the kind of wonderful that makes you feel that way even if you have puffy eyes and incoherent speech.

2. Rami. A down-to-earth, genuine, encouraging gentleman. When one is feeling complicated and complex and like one can't think about anything anymore because one might collapse into a soggy mess and one won't even have solved any of those complicated problems for all that thinking, all one needs is a visit with Rami. Because Rami will remind you that life is better when you take it at face value and that this, too, shall pass. He will also remind you that true gentlemen are alive and well in the world.

3. A really cool Iraqi Fulbright Scholar that we met at an utterly Washingtonian dinner last night. More about him later. He deserves a whole post.

4. Chocolate and Zucchini. Not the blog, although the blog is great. The forums are what made my day. Let me explain a bit. It was an inspired idea by one of the forum readers to do a "Blog by Mail," sort of a Secret Santa idea, where we each get assigned a name of someone far away, someone who also reads the forum. We go out and spend 10 - 20 dollars on yummy local food items and package it up nicely and pop it in the mail on October 10, and then a week later (give or take) each of us would receive a lovely parcel in the mail filled with good things from far away.

Well, as you know, I used to live in Fritwell. And my package arrived from Birmingham, a mere hour from Fritwell. And my Secret Santa had, ingeniously, googled my name, found my blog, read my Fritwell post, and then GONE TO FRITWELL to collect things for my parcel. YES. Including: beermats from the local pub and autumnal dried leaves from the very streets I grew up on. Also included in the box were: MINI CHRISTMAS PUDDINGS. Scotch whiskey and accompanying truffles. Cadbury's sweets. Organic Bombay snack mix. An orange leaf-shaped candle. A nifty spatula. Rooibos tea bags in a neat little pouch. Lavendar jelly. Blueberry and pansy jam. Homemade pear chutney. And little chocolates shaped like Christmas puddings. And a picture of Fritwell, an assessment of the local pub food (a postive one, I must say), and a homemade CD with autumn flavored tunes. Really! Could it be more delightful?! No, my friend, it could not.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Things That Make You Think

Aha! I'm glad I didn't stop reading Friedman totally, even though I was mad at him for a while and even though NYTimes.com now CHARGES to read op-eds. His most recent contribution, Leading by (Bad) Example, is great. It'll be on Lexis-Nexis, etc, if you, like me, don't want to pay FIVE DOLLARS to read the NYTimes.com post. It's also printed in various other places around the net. I found it via Google.

I was Very Cultured lately and saw not one, but two small-ish movies at the Landmark E Street Cinema: Good Night, and Good Luck, about newsman Murrow's fight against McCarthy, and Innocent Voices, about the civil war in El Salvador. Both very good, although the latter is quite possibly the saddest movie I've seen all year. Don't see it if you don't have a strong constitution: boy soldiers, murders, guerilla warfare, all up close and personal. It's very moving and makes its point effectively. Good Night and Good Luck is worth a see, and no boy soldiers or murders take place (which is nice, sometimes) plus, a heftier George Clooney in suspenders, lots of cigarette smoke, a not-so-subtle commentary on modern politics, and that nice cultured feeling you get after watching a black-and-white movie that inevitably leads to coffeehouse discussions.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

In which she makes a fool of herself at her new job

Ok, so it's week 2 of the new job. I am gung-ho. I am excited. I am determined to sweep them all off their feet with my MAD conference planning skills. Uh huh.

So...we have these two meetings coming up. One is a Very Big Meeting with All Our Partners, to be held in March, in Istanbul. One is a very small meeting to be held with a few of our partners, and we don't really know if, where, or when that will be held. However, the same guy-let's call him Antonio-is chairing both meetings. I'm supposed to get these meetings going, and in my enthusiasm I send Antonio a very eloquent e-mail saying how wonderful it is that he offered to chair this small meeting, and how this other guy (let's call him Frank) would also like to chair and wouldn't it be lovely if the *both* chaired, and let's plan for early March in Istanbul at such-and-such college, shall we?

Then I sent another enthusiastic e-mail to Frank, saying much the same thing.

Then my boss e-mailed me and said, "What? We're not having the small group meeting in Istanbul. We're having the Big Meeting in Istanbul, but we don't have a location. We haven't even scheduled the small meeting yet."

Then I realized that I had successfully confused everyone.

Then I had to send many apologetic e-mails explaining that there were in fact TWO meetings, as they already knew, although I did not, and no one knows anything about the location of either, and I'm terribly sorry for the confusion and it won't happen again and please do not hesitate to contact me with questions. Everyone now has about five emails from me in their inboxes taking back what was said in the previous e-mails.

I swear I can keep meetings straight.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Lori and What We Did

There is a certain SoCal artist, with whom I used to live and whom I haven't seen in at least a year, and she decided to visit me this weekend, and sleep on my squeaky futon, and let me tell you about what we did.

We ate a delicious French dinner. And the next night we ate Spanish tapas! On Saturday, we even drank mochas at my favorite coffeehouse, Tryst.



We visited the National Cathedral



and happened upon a BUNCH OF EPISCOPALIANS! One of them was very nice and led us to a seat in the front so we could see, even though we only caught the last hymn.



We ventured to Mt. Vernon in the pouring rain, where we bought apple butter and got very wet, despite our greatest efforts to stay dry.





And we toured Georgetown in our cars so as not to get wet



and then saw the Kennedy's graves, and Rehnquist's newly-dug grave (below) at Arlington before driving (and only getting mildly lost) to Dulles so she could head back to the non-rain in Southern California.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Fritwell

I spent some years of my early life in Fritwell, England. (If you don't know where it is, don't worry. Even Brits I meet don't know where Fritwell is.) I have pleasant memories - the sort that have that fuzzy, warm, dreamlike quality - of my childhood there which was composed, like most childhoods, I imagine, my family, our backyard, and a healthy dose of make-believe. The ditch that ran through our backyard into the large field behind our house, which was spotted with apathetic sheep and knarled trees; the sandbox on our stone patio where my brother and I made sand pies, which are not as tasty as apple pies; the tadpoles that appeared annually and seemed to fill up the entire pond; that one tree, far away in the middle of the field to which someone had nailed a few mishapen boards, creating a ladder of sorts; the vegetable garden in the corner of the yard with the tomatos and sweet peas and morning glories that were taller than I.



Out of curiosity the other day I Googled Fritwell, to see if I recognized any of the pictures that came up. I found my school, which I remember in scattered, but vivid, detail: Mr. Pryor the enthusiastic headmaster, the auditorium where we sang "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me," the foyer where we kept our outdoor shoes when we changed to our indoor shoes. The field behind the school seemed endless. I recall one recess running to the very end of the field and then running back-it took so long that I missed the bell and ran into class late and panting in my disheveled uniform, and the prim and proper, gray cardigan-ed Miss Clark snapped her gray head toward me and raised her eyebrows. I burned in humiliation.


I vaguely remember a trip in our Volvo van to Banbury, famous for its cross: Ride a cock horse, to Banbury cross, to see a fine lady upon a white horse... I remember Banbury being cold and stony, with lots of little cars zooming round the roundabout, and seeing women dressed in hot pink miniskirts with frizzy hair (it was the 80s, after all.) They seemed so grown up and exotic. And none of them wore rings on their fingers or bells on their toes.

I'd like to go back, but I'm afraid that if I do, the dreamy pastel quality of my memories will be replaced by the black and white perceptions of a grown-up. Maybe I will. Someday. The food, at least, might not be as bad as my mother remembers. And if I go around the holidays, there's the Christmas pudding-oh, the pudding! That in itself may be worth the trip.

Friday, September 30, 2005

Jobs, and Real Life

You know how you sometimes find an old diary (or shopping list, or letter you never sent) and you read it and think, "What...was I smoking?" I am sorting through some old papers from this summer's job, which ended on Friday, and I find a sheet that has, in my handwriting, the following:

July 27, 2005
"There's no money in it."
... Beyond the Mundane.
Stew?
Outgoing inquisitive observant talkative dancing.
Decisions! "Oh and by the way." Don't think about Pink Elephants.
Hair things for French Twists---

I have no idea what this means, or why I thought this made sense enough to write it down, but I'd better destroy the evidence.

---

I feel like a grown up. I have a job. It comes with health insurance, life insurance, three ID badges, and a company credit card. The schedule on the Outlook calendar actually applies to me. I even have a name plate. Yes, a name plate.

My “office” is small and beige, like every other office I’ve ever been in, but this one has ample counter space and six drawers, unlike my first think tank workspace. There is a travel poster of Saudi Arabia propped up above the cube walls. I was issued a laptop - presumably because I will need it when I travel…it occurs to me that they may also expect me to take work home with it. And they took my picture and told me how much my relatives would get if I die, and how much will be set aside for my retirement in 2038. That’s why I feel like a grown up.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

I Pretend I Am a Tourist

There are perks to having out-of-towners come for a visit. One of them is the excuse to go see all those touristy things you just never got around to seeing because, after all, you live here. I, for instance, have lived here for ten months and have never seen the Lincoln Memorial, or the WWII memorial, or the Vietnam Memorial and I really had little inclination to do so because I had the vague impression that they were far away from the metro and would involve perhaps a whole morning of walking. But on Sunday we went to said memorials, which were far from the metro, so it's good that we drove, but we went at night, and the air was cool and the breeze was light and the clouds were dense. The monuments stood triumphantly, serenely, solemnly, lit from below. I sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and looked out at the Capitol and the Washington Monument (trying to ignore the little flashing red eyes at the top) and planes flew low into Reagan every few minutes. I love that sound, when the planes fly in and their rumble echoes against the cloud cover. A group of twenty somethings enjoyed a late picnic on the steps below me. The kiosks selling hot dogs and keychains had closed for the night. And I felt glad for my life that had led me to Washington.

----

You should see The Constant Gardener. Really. Go see it.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Two Thoughts on Celebrity

Kate Moss: What? A superthin international model with millions of dollars, a known drug user boyfriend, a reputation for wild, star-studded parties, and a 1998 session at a clinic to recover from said parties...caught using drugs? Shock! Is this really a surprise, Burberry, Chanel, and H&M?

Paris Hilton: Remind me, what did she do to be famous? I forget.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Neither Cosmic Boyfriend nor Garden Gazebo

In a further attempt to alienate myself from mainstream American Christianity-- *looks around cautiously and lowers voice to a whisper* -- I don't like Thomas Kinkade. I never have. I don't get how he became The Christian Artist. I don't know how he got the name The Painter of Light or how he managed to get Painter of Light stores in every single mall. It's the visual equivalent of a Krispy Kreme donut.

But my opinion is neither here nor there. If you like Kinkade, I am happy for you, and I think we can still be friends.

-----

If you grew up in evangelical culture, or you have seen the old 1970s Jesus movies, or if you feel somehow we Christians tend to focus on the trees instead of the forest, you will find this hilarious. (Click "media"-the movie icon on the top left-then click "videos." Go to page 2, click on the "Downloadable versions available here.") It points out, on so many levels, the misconceptions and preconceived notions we have about the church and who Jesus is. Thank you to Melissa for passing it on to me. I love it!

I really am almost done ranting about Christian culture, but just one more thing: Lark News. If the above videos are the Christian MST3K, this is The Onion for evangelicals. Like the videos mentioned above, it has articles too weird to be real, but just real enough to be funny. Some poke fun about the silly things churches worry about (when they should be focusing on Bigger Things), some are blistering critiques, and some are just funny. Some are not funny, some cross the line, in my opinion, but on the whole, a good read.

I am done for the time being. I hope all this ranting didn't sound irreverent--I don't mean it to. I think the things I ranted about (or, the things that Lark News and the Jesus films rant about) are legitimate concerns and problems that have popped up in the often-insulated Christian culture. Jesus is about much, much more than church growth, tithes, feeling good about yourself, and judging others for the specks in their eyes. It's easy to forget.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Edible Gifts and Other Birthday Remarks

This is a post entirely dedicated to birthday presents; specifically, the ones I got. Behold!



Now, really, these people must love me. You will notice the tempting Tapas cookbook from my parents. The simultaneously practical and fun French press coffee maker from Lisa. The decadent Godiva Chocolate Truffles from Martin. Yes, they all have to do with food. Could anything be better? No, I tell you. No. Just look!



Thirty-two of them! And even the box and lining is decadent, silky, shiny, and thick. Like fancy lingerie or plush curtains or thick incense:



And the coffee pot! The coffee pot! Because I have been confined to tea at home, albeit good yerba mate ciocollata tea, and Lisa is completely in tune with the important things in life, and in the top five is Good Coffee. And now I can make good coffee, eat a truffle, and plan which tapas to make for dinner.

Does it get better? I think not.

Oh wait, it does! The ever-thoughtful, ever-graceful Anne sends me a Japanese purse in my favorite color:



But those who didn't give me anything so decadent and/or photogenic have given me something better: friendship. Friday night I was surrounded by Vicky, Anthony, Carolina, Fatema, Chaim, Lisa, Rodolfo, Martin, JD...and I got e-mails from gobs of others. There is nothing like feeling that you are remembered fondly. My friends have made my life rich. Even richer than those truffles.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Celebrating Success

Read Fatema's Op-Ed! Op-eds are hard to write and hard to get published. Three cheers for Fatema!

Friday, September 16, 2005

Donut Confession

I am a food snob. I drink organic milk. I buy European cheeses, farmer's market produce, fresh baguettes, and hoity-toity olive oil. I eat antioxidant-laden blueberries and tomatoes and get my RDA for iron, Vitamin A, and Vitamin C each day without taking a supplement. I have a small collection of gourmet mustards. But I have a weakness.

Dunkin' Donuts. I adore Dunkin' Donuts. I love their coffee with cream and sugar, I love their chocolate glazed, their blueberry cake, their apple fritters, and their cinnamon cake munchkins. Every day when I walk into work, there it is, the line of people in front of the garish pink and orange sign and the smell of hot donuts wafting towards me. Every day I think, only 79 cents, and that glazed gingerbread cake donut could be mine...and what's a dollar for a cup of strong, serious, hot coffee? My only salvation is that I am perpetually late to work and I can't justify the time spent waiting in line, even though the line moves fast. The only thing worse than being late for work is being late for work and walking in carrying your breakfast. If I did that, I think I would lose my Food Snob title and it would be hard to earn back. Besides, I usually have a hearty breakfast of Kamut pancakes with wildflower honey or fresh fruit-Greek yogurt smoothie or lox and english muffin. But Dunkin' Donuts never fails to tempt.

I don't like other kinds of donuts, which gives me hope that I may yet retain the food snob distinction. I think Krispy Kremes are appalling, plastic fluffs of airy sugar (or sugary air) which do nothing to satisfy the donut craving, much in the way white chocolate does not satisfy a chocolate craving. Winchell's apple fritters are delicious, but their donuts are sort of forgettable (Tasty, however, and satisfying, and a close runner up to Dunkin'.) Starbuck's scones look better than they taste, so I haven't tried their donuts, and do they even sell donuts? Au Bon Pain has very nice sandwiches, but mediocre donuts. And the donut selections that are sold in boxes in the grocery store--let us not speak of these things.

So perhaps the working-class Dunkin' Donuts really does sell superior donuts worthy of food snobbery? Maybe this is a simple food vice I need to own up to? I don't really care which it is. Pass the munchkins.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Rant: Contemporary Christian Music and Why I Don't Like It

This post probably won't make sense to people who don't listen to contemporary Christian music. Unless the reason that you don't listen to Christian music is that you, like some other bloggers I respect, are tired of hearing it and think it is an insult to your spiritual intelligence, Christianity's rich history, and, most importantly, Who God Is. When I say Contemporary Christian Music (for brevity, let's call it CCM, shall we?) I refer to both the industry (albums, the marketing, delerious?, Passion, WOW, Third Day, etc. You know.) and the songs that are prevalent in pretty much every contemporary worship service. Often, these overlap and we find ourselve singing delerious? in church (alternatively, sometimes we find delerious? singing songs we sing in church.)

This is something I have felt for a long time, actually. With the exception of a few remarkable albums (who can deny that Jars of Clay's first album really is great? And Newsboys "Shine"? A classic) I find most CCM musically tedious. This is not songwriting at its best. Chords, strumming patterns, melody and harmony-after a few of these songs, they all sound the same. There is a startling lack of musical creativity. And this is the least of our concerns.

Consider the lyrics from these popular songs:

1. Hold me close to you / never let me go / I lay it all down again / to hear you say that I'm your friend. (generic worship song)

2. If I could just sit with you a while / if you could just hold me / nothing can touch me though I'm wounded, though I die. (We ignore, for the purpose of the greater good, the fact that "can" is grammatically incorrect and should be "could.") (MercyMe)

3. I can only imagine / What it will be like / When I walk / By your side / I can only imagine / What my eyes will see / When your face / Is before me (MercyMe)

4. I got you and you're putting it all together / And it doesn't get any better as far as I can tell / I got you right now and ever after / And it doesn't even really matter / That I've got nothing else / 'Cause I got you (Third Day)

Now consider lyrics from these popular songs (I admittedly stole the first from Sister Act, but my point remains):

1. I will follow him, follow him wherever he may go. There isn't an ocean too deep, a mountain so high it can keep me away. (Little Peggy March)

2. I've been searching for you / I heard a cry within my soul / I never had a yearning quite like this before. (Lenny Kravitz)

3.I've hungered for your touch / a long, lonely time / and time goes by so slowly / and time can do so much / are you still mine? / I need your love / I need your love (The Righteous Brothers)

4. I got you, babe. (Sonny and Cher)

Hard to tell a difference? Hmmm.

Now consider these lyrics:

1. Three in one, the Godhead see / Hail the incarnate Deity / Pleased as man with men to dwell / Jesus our emmanuel! (Charles Wesley)

2. O love of God, how rich and pure! / How measureless and strong! / It shall forevermore endure / The saints' and angels' song. (Frederick Lehman)

3. That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth; the Spirit and the gifts are ours, thru him who with us sideth. Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also; the body they may kill; God's truth abideth still; his kingdom is forever. (Martin Luther)

In fairness, I am not against CCM, and I have represented here what I think are some of the shallowest of the lot. Also, there are many shallow hymns that probably didn't make it into our hymnals because they were (rightly) forgotten 100 years ago. There are wonderful CCM songs out there that I love to sing and that have decent theological pinnings and encourage a spirit of worship in the church. There are a lot that are straight Scripture, and there are those that echo hymns. But you don't have to be an English major-or a Christian-to notice that the quality of music and lyrics has steadily declined over the years. Where is Scripture? What God are we worshipping when we sing, "I love you, I love you, I need you to hold my hand"? Do these songs prod us to a greater understanding of who He is or do they feed an emotion? Do they edify the body of Christ? Where are the songs about Him? Why do I always feel like I'm singing about myself instead of about Him? (Answer: Because the songs are about me.)

We are selling ourselves short by viewing God as Cosmic Boyfriend. Worship does not equal feeling in love. Feeling in love does not equal Good Christian.

God is not my Cosmic Boyfriend. I don't get butterflies in my stomach when I think about Him. He isn't there to send me flowers and tell me that He doesn't know how He lived without me. He is God who, among other things, lists on his resume: Creator of the Universe, Redeemer of Mankind, Triune, Holy, Blameless, Lion of Judah, Prince of Peace, Lamb of God. Of course I love him (not as much as I should), and of course he loves me (enough to die!)-but is it a romantic love? Jesus is a "friend of sinners," He is the "lover of my soul," but He is so much more than just my pal. (He was, it seems, John's pal, but that's another story.) Does God ever tell Paul that they are best buds? Does Peter talk about feeling romantically in love with God? The love they talk about is not romantic. It's not emotional, it's not chocolate-and-flowers. In fact, it seems like our emotions toward God are rarely even talked about in the Gospels. There are times I need comforting, and then the Holy Spirit comforts, because that's his job, but he doesn't comfort me the way my boyfriend comforts. God is tender, loving, and caring. He is my provider. But we aren't "in love," in the modern pop-song sense, with Jesus (although one can certainly feel in love with Him once in a while) My job is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. My job is to follow him, not because I'm in love with Him, but because He is God, with everything that means. It's love, but it's a reverent, awe-struck, fearful, deliberate love. And when the Bible talks about love, it's usually God's amazing love and mercy toward us despite how wretched we are.

I think this represents a dangerous trend in the American church in general, the God-as-Teddy-Bear view, a.k.a. The Prosperity Gospel, Health & Wealth, Your Best Life Now, and to a lesser extent The Purpose-Driven Life. The basics are the same: God is there to make you feel good about yourself! He is your coach! Your therapist! Your lover! You will do great if you just listen to Him! I just don't see this in the Bible. I do, unfortunately, see it more and more often in modern worship songs.

And now I am done ranting. What do you think?

P.S. I know many people love him, and I can't really find anything doctrinally wrong with many of his songs, except that I have always found them musically questionable and very hard to sing and I JUST CANT TAKE ANY MORE MATT REDMAN. I JUST CAN'T. I bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required??? WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN AND CAN ANYONE ACTUALLY SING THIS MELODY?

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Garden Party

On Labor Day weekend I was one of the, oh, five people who stayed in Washington. It wasn't really like a ghost town, it was more like the week before school starts, when you know that soon you will have early mornings and homework and autumn and you want desperately to make the most of this last week by doing absolutely nothing and avoiding human contact, preferably while sitting outside in the sun with a book you've read fifteen times. This is about all I did on Labor Day weekend. Except on Saturday night.

Leon's parties are a regular item of conversations among DC dancers. It starts slowly a few weeks beforehand-you might overhear someone at the bar, "...and I'm always there Tuesdays...and yes, of course Leon's party..." "...to Leon's in a few weeks? I will be out of town..." "...I met him at Leon's last party..." And then it picks up speed, weaving in and out of conversation like the cigarette smoke at Habana Village "You've never been to one of Leon's parties...! Girl!" "Yes, and of course, this Saturday, Leon's. Everyone goes to Leon's." "Plans this weekend? Besides Leon's party?" And soon you feel that if you don't go to his party, you will be missing something momentous, some sort of profound dancer's bacchanal, and the decision is thrust upon you: come hell or high water. You must be there on Saturday.

Saturday night was warm and thickly quiet, with a few autumnal breezes. I dolled up in my colorful almost-Hawaiian print dress and I curled my hair and I put on my dancing shoes and I took myself and some homemade cookies (the bringing of food cuts the price of admission) to Leon's townhouse. Tiki lanterns lined the walkway to the front door, lais were distributed at the entrance, and a dancer's baccahanal it was: Two dance floors inside for tango, flanked by two tables of snacks, kebabs, fruit, cookies, and punch. Down the stairs and through the basement, up into the backyard-an outdoor dance floor that took up most of the yard but still left room for benches, more tiki lanterns in a lush border garden, white christmas lights, tables for punch, wine, and a spread of chicken, rice, vegetables, dips, and kebabs. The music echoed from speakers in the corner of the garden: salsa, mambo, cha-cha, merengue, tango. The crowd was all in Hawaiian print, a sea of tropical colors, hibiscus and pineapple. It was what a garden party is supposed to be. I felt like Jay to Leon's Gatsby. I felt like I should drive a Rolls home, or better, be driven. I felt like everyone there was secretly wealthy, but nobody cared because even if they weren't, they knew they'd still be welcome.

The music was cut regretably short because of a neighbor who thought that 11 PM was too late for revellers to be playing music outside - the first complaint in years of such parties. We unhappily moved inside, muttering to each other that if they didn't like listening, maybe they should loosen up, come over, and dance a little: Here, have a lai. But we couldn't keep the momentum, and the crowd slowly disintegrated over a few hours. Next time, Leon says, we'll have to have to gather at 2 in the afternoon, like the Cubans.

...Will you be there? Have you ever been to one of his parties?

---

Friedman really is trying to drive me away: Three most recent articles, "Osama and Katrina," "New Orleans and Baghdad," and today, "Singapore and Katrina." I like you, and I get that there's parallelism. But really, can we liven up the titles a bit? Thanks.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

September

It's beginning to feel crispy here, like autumn, and the previously cloudless summer skies are sporting wispy threads. It's nippy enough that you don't feel awkward ordering a hot chocolate at the cafe anymore, and the idea of a thick beef stew for dinner doesn't sound so overwhelming like it did in August. When I arrived in DC last January I was alone (mostly) and it was cold and wet and gray. Somehow the imminent cold, wet, gray doesn't seem as intimidating now that I know this city and the people. Now it's MY cold, wet, gray.

But it's not quite there yet. Yesterday afternoon as I was walking home from the Metro, I thought, "This really is too lovely a day to stay inside. I think I'll just keep walking!" So I did. It was a nice warmish clear day, just the sort of early September day that makes you want to sharpen a pencil and write something, and it was a nice long walk to Tryst, to whom I give most of my money because I can't resist their big, fat mugs filled with foamy goodness and daintily accessorized with two animal crackers. Plus, they have nifty art on the walls. Last night I was sinking into my old brocade chair in front of one of the more unusual art pieces when a group came over to admire it. I looked up to make sure I didn't trip them with my absurdly large purse and realized that they were speaking sign language. Then I realized that pretty much everyone in the whole cafe was speaking sign language. It was a little surreal for a moment, like I had missed the memo posted on the door, "SIGN LANGUAGE ONLY." But then I asked the guy next to me and he said they were having sort of a sign language club gathering + class of some sort using Tryst's wireless internet + looking at the art because one of their gals had contributed. And that is really cool.

-----

Thomas Friedman needs to stop writing op-eds that are in the form of a "Letter to (The People, The Media, World Leader, Minority Population) From (The People, The Media, World Leader, Minority Population.) I read Friedman regularly because he won me over with From Beirut to Jerusalem, but...is he being clever? Lazy? Smart-alecky? I just don't know.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Just some random thoughts

I'm at work. No one's here-they're all on vacation for the holiday. Because no one's here to give me work, I have no work to do. I asked the Main Boss if I could leave, since I have no work to do. He says no, I have to stay until quitting time. ...Does that make sense to anyone else? Because I don't get it. They'd rather me stay here and use their electricity and be absolutely unproductive than send me home to use my own electricity?

So I've been reading online about - what else? - Katrina and the chaos in New Orleans. It's surreal, isn't it? For those of us who wake up normally, take our showers, eat our breakfast, don't have to worry about anything, it's surreal to think that just a few states away, a city - one of our cities! - is in anarchy. And there's no food, no water, everything's contaminated, looted, destroyed. I want to yell, "I HAVE FRESH WATER! TAKE MINE!" But there's nothing I can do. No- I can pray.

-----

A man after my own heart.

Have you ever seen Joe Vs. the Volcano, that movie with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan? (If you haven't, you should. It's great.) There's that first scene where he's plodding into his factory job with all the other identical workers, through the high chain gates and across the gray cement lot into a gray cement building. The soundtrack plays "Sixteen Tons": Saint Peter, dontcha call me cause I can't go- I owe my soul to the company store. My job isn't as thankless as Joe's, and I certainly don't owe my soul to the DoD, but every time I get off the metro and shuffle along with the hundreds of other people bottlenecking up the multiple escalators, all wearing identical badges and sensible dark shoes, I think of that scene. (Especially when they make me stay despite the fact that I have no work to do...but I mentioned that already.)

Try this. I don't know if it's authentic, but it's yummy.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Those Frilly Miniskirts and Why They Need To Stop

I do not understand the frilly miniskirts that every single girl in the country seems to be wearing. They defy every fashion rule I've ever been taught.

1. They make your legs look short, particularly when paired with flip-flops, which, although a wonderful shoe, do nothing to enhance your gams. Worse, they are sometimes paired with Uggs. It creates the Stubby Leg Effect, and which of us really wants to be known for her stubby legs?

2. They sit below your natural waist and the frilliness begins right above the largest part of your caboose. This has two effects: making your derriere look about twice as large as it is (You know what they say about horizontal lines making things look wider? It's true.) and highlighting that little pudge above your hips and below your waist. I have nothing against the Pudge. It is a natural part of a woman's body. But it's nothing we need to highlight, is it? It can be wonderfully incorporated into an outfit that makes you look slimmer instead of stubbier.

3. They are usually made out of the sort of cotton that pills, fades, and generally falls apart. I notice that the skirts on the street in August are significantly duller than the skirts I saw in June. Maybe it's the bright sunlight. Maybe it's my eyes. Maybe it's the cheap quality of said skirts.

Thank you. I am done.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Various Articles for Your Edification

A New York Times op-ed I wish I had written. (For those not yet tired of hearing about the Gaza pullout.)

Why is everyone named John Roberts? What if they get confused? It could be embarrassing...

And this is just weird.

Monday, August 15, 2005

How do you say "daytime television" in Arabic?

In my CSIS days I did a bunch of research on Oprah's popularity in Syria (go figure) and here, I have this to prove it!

On an unrelated note:
Oh, to have Paris Hilton's worries: "It's very heavy," she revealed, "so we got two other bands that are just lightweight for when you're iet-skiing and doing water sports. I don't want it dropping in the ocean." She was talking about her diamond engagement ring.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Six Happy Weekend Events

1. 8 o'clock, summer Saturday morning, good friend Lisa, Tryst coffeehouse, mocha in a tall clear glass with lots of foam and a long spoon.

2. New pair of size 6 jeans. Yes, size six. S. I. X. On sale.

3. www.gizoogle.com and this fresh take on White House news.

4. Habana Village's mojitos with sugar cane and fresh mint.

5. Homemade (by me!) mini peach pies, one for Sunday, one to make everyone at work jealous on Monday.

6. All Things Bright and Beautiful by James Herriot

Friday, August 12, 2005

Maybe it's Just Me

Does anyone else think it's sort of...ironic how some Israeli settlers are so upset that they are being evicted from their homes in Gaza?

From an NPR interview with a settler: "It is a national calamity...if we give away this land to murderers, then we're bringing the terror...closer and closer..."

That's probably what the Palestinians thought when they were evicted from their homes at the creation of Israel.


...That being said, over 50% of Israelis are in favor of the pullout: compromises have to be made for peace!

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

More on Religion: Miroslav Volf

On Sunday I heard a fascinating interview with Miroslav Volf on NPR's Speaking of Faith about the relationship between religion and violence. He articulated so clearly the difference between "thin" and "thick" religion: the religiosity that one can manipulate according to one's own desires is thin. Thick religiosity looks at the contexts: scriptural, historical, and tradition, that don't lend themselves easily to extremes in violent expression, cultural manipulation, or social programs. He argues that the problem with religious violence is a problem of "thin" religion, and he particularly looks at Christianity in the Croatian context, which only makes sense, as he is Croatian. It was refreshing to hear such an obviously intellectual man speak about something so delicate (and potentially inflammatory) with a balance of conviction, intelligence, and godliness. If you have a chance, listen to the interview!

He also questions Thomas Friedman's claim that the three monotheistic religions need to give up their claims to truth in order to get along. What these three religions need to do instead is engage in scriptural reasoning: read their own scriptures together and come to understand each other better (appreciate, challenge, etc.) It is an insult, he says, to say that you can't disagree with someone and still be nice to them! And I agree: obviously, we can't all be right. But it doesn't mean we can't be nice to each other. And if it's intolerant for a religious person to make a truth claim, isn't it equally intolerant to ask that person to give that claim up? In each case, someone is "forcing their morality" on someone else, and we have no clear standard by which to guage which "morality" should prevail: do we go with the popular vote? The one with the longest historical tradition? The person who has the most education? So it's a dead end and Volf's point stands: the way through it is to come to a point as an individual where you decide not to be threatened by other people, faiths, beliefs, and choose to pursue relationships and reason instead of sound byte philosophy.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Coffee?



Hi, my name is Lisa and I'll be your server today. Can I start you off with some coffee?

...Loay, I'm talking to you. (See Jan. 16 post.)

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Poor Luther

The Internet Monk has delved into how evangelicalism is attempting to "throw Luther from the train." It got me thinking.

I grew up in a red-state evangelical environment and scarcely knew anything else until I boldly moved from the Evangelical mecca (how's that for a mixed metaphor?) that is Colorado Springs to a mecca of another sort, Los Angeles. This was a little scandalous, and I was warned about What Could Happen if I up and moved There... but I didn't become a heathen, or get mugged, or get plastic surgery or meet celebrities every day. But I did learn a lot about my faith and I met a lot of people who challenged it and I began thinking about how to apply head knowledge to the practical issues of my life. And since college, I have been questioning the actions of some of the more outspoken Evangelicals. More particularly, I have been questioning the "movement" itself: what people are doing in the name of evangelicalism, which has come to equate, for many people, Christians and non-Christians, "American Christianity."

First a note on the literal meaning: Dictionary.com (it's on the internet, it must be true!) defines evangelical as "1: relating to or being a Christian church believing in personal conversion and the inerrancy of the Bible especially the 4 Gospels; 2: of or pertaining to or in keeping with the Christian gospel especially as in the first 4 books of the New Testament 3: marked by ardent or zealous enthusiasm for a cause." By this definition, I am an Evangelical Christian. But by the modern American connotation of the word, well, I'm not so sure, and I'm not sure the word "evangelical" (or any word) can even accurately sum up everything that a Christian is.

Because if you say "evangelical" to an average American, what reaction do you get? I usually get rolled eyes, or a suspicious stare, or raised eyebrows. I think they equate me with Jerry Falwell, who has somehow become the spokesman for evangelicalism through his poignant observations such as, "Theologically, any Christian has to support Israel…If we fail to protect Israel, we will cease to be important to God." (I just...just...yeah...it renders me speechless. There's enough in those last 14 words for many rants. Next post, maybe.) No matter who they equate evangelicalism with, it's not who I want to be equated with: Jesus. Why is that?

I can't answer that thoroughly, let alone on a blog post. But I think the iMonk is onto something when he lists the ways modern evangelicalism has strayed from Luther's Reformation. To name a few:
-The rejection of confessions, creeds or any meaningful statements of faith for churches or their members.
-The widespread abandonment of constitutional church government, and in many cases the modeling of the church after business models.
-Increasing opposition to accountability relationships and structures, whether through denominations or regional/local oversight.
-The distressing proliferation of the self-credentialed ministers claiming direct authority and communication from God ("anointing") and accountability to no one.
-The steady decline of the place and quality of preaching and the increasing place of entertainment in worship, especially through music, drama and technology driven visuals.
-The decline of the Bible in every aspect of worship and church life, and the increase in the place of secular worldviews or direct spiritual experiences as authoritative.
-The dividing of the congregation into segments based on demographics, "felt needs," and the resulting loss of congregational identity.


So my point is that when Christianity becomes more concerned with attracting new members to church, or making people feel good, or aligning themselves politically, instead of knowing and serving Jesus Christ and living by his Word, the result is those raised eyebrows and suspicious stares. Why should people listen to me talk about Jesus if they suspect that I'm doing it for a political motive? Or if they suspect that I'm not serious, it's just so much cotton candy that tastes nice and then disappears? Or if they think it's just a fad religion, a result of modern society and nothing else?

It is dangerous to forget our history: not only Jesus' teachings (which of course take precedence) but those who have reminded us, sometimes very harshly, of what is important in the faith: Calvin, Luther, Edwards...and all those others we don't really talk about so much. When we forget those, and we forget the Great Foundation Christianity has, we are so much more easily tempted to embrace a feel-good version of religion, one that satisfies our wants instead of teaching the Truth. And if people can't detect the Truth (Jesus) in our lives because it is covered with cotton candy, well, they *should* look at us suspiciously.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Dessert and Coffee


The Guest of Honor, Loay, who is about to leave us for the Egyptian Winter and whom we will all miss terribly.



Lisa in her elegant dress and Jed, who wears fedoras with aplomb.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

The Keeper of The Matrix

My job varies from the very boring to very urgent (and urgent=exciting.) Some days I stare at the computer screen until the gray walls start to throb around me and I can taste the air getting stale. Some days I meet fascinating people and they say fascinating things and I leave feeling like I know a little bit more about the world, or at least know how to ask better questions. Sometimes we have to deal with the beast of bureaucracy.

I am The Keeper of the Matrix. The Matrix, which is our fancy name for an excel spreadsheet, has all sorts of information that is changing every day. In order to eliminate an excess of matrices, everyone is supposed to forward the information to me, and I update The Matrix. Otherwise, we have many matrices, and many informations, and none of them match and that is inefficient times ten. Then I send out the update to everyone who needs to know. This is not that hard. If it were just our office that dealt with The Matrix, things would go swimmingly.

But there is a different office, one who thinks they are in charge of The Matrix, although they clearly are not, since I am The Keeper. They think that they are helping out by taking an old version of The Matrix, changing to format to be more user-friendly, and then sending it out to everyone. This, as you intelligent readers can clearly see, only serves to confuse every single person who gets the e-mail. This New Matrix has different colors and outdated information and then I get to go through it - again - and update all the information, which has already been updated on The Original Matrix. This is a Royal Pain. I keep telling them that it is a pain and that if they do not want to upset The Keeper, they should leave well enough alone and stop messing wth my Matrix without my permission. But they heed not.

I think from now on I will put at the bottom of my e-mails, "$20 reward to anyone who finds, tars, and feathers those who are sending out obsolete matrices without my permission."

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Tour de

To the media:
We know that Lance has won 7 Tours de France. We know that "Lance" rhymes with "France." "Tour de Lance" is really not as clever as you think it is.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Ice cream weather

You know when you are outside on a hot summer day eating a nice big ice cream cone and you can't eat it before it all melts onto your hand but you don't really care and lick it off but then for the rest of the day your hand is ice-cream-sticky? That ice-cream-sticky is how you feel when you go outside. It's hot, delicious, buggy, humid summertime. I sort of forgot what non-sticky summer feels like until yesterday when the weather was hot and sunny and perfect, just like LA, and I got a little nostalgic for California and everything associated: sushi, beach, boba, non-sticky sunshine, flip-flops...because even though people wear flip flops everywhere, and didn't even originate in the US, I feel they only truly belong in California.

To celebrate a weekend of non-stickiness, I went to Habana Village with Lisa and Maddy and salsa-ed until the wee hours. And we ate a fancy dinner at their pad on Saturday: Salmon and wilted spinach and cucumbers...homemade hummus...Indian hors d'oeurve things...and I brought a crab-mango-cucumber appetizer. A little white wine, and some peach crumble and cheesecake (both!) to finish it off. From now on I will only associate with people who cook as well as this.

In unrelated news, I love the title of this article. "Don't you do it! Don't y
ou do it! I'll, why, I'll...I'll have surgery on you! HA!"

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Things That Should Not Be Said

*steps onto soapbox*

1. "After all, this is the 21st century!" and variations thereof, when used as a reason for doing, well, anything. For example, "I can't believe that people are still questioning the theory of evolution! After all, this is the 21st century!" or, "How can you still believe in that (moral code, Bible, Koran, Zoarastrianism, absolute truth, hell, right and wrong...whatever)? This is the 21st century!"

What does being in the 21st century have to do with anything? The fact that we live at a certain time in the history of the Earth has no bearing on whether or not something should or shouldn't be done. It has no influence on morals, character, right and wrong, or truth. You may as well say, "After all, this is Tuesday morning!" or "After all, this is 1066 B.C.!"

This does not include, of course, things that actually have to do with time. "After all, this is the 21st century and we have computers to do what they did by hand in 1066 B.C." is acceptable.

2. "But don't all girls...?" Ok. I have heard this from many people of the male persuasion. It usually ends with something like, "...love to shop?" or, "...hoard stuffed animals?" or, "adore cats?" The people who say this are genuinely surprised that all girls do not, in fact, do all of the above.

I admit to having said, for example, "Oh, yeah, guys are so like that!" or, "They all totally do that!" and making sweeping generalizations...but REALLY. Do you really think that ALL girls in the WHOLE WORLD are the same?

This goes for everyone: "But don't all children like cotton candy?" "But aren't all Indians good at math?"

Continued:

3. General petty male-bashing in the vein of, "God made all men the same but gave them different faces so we could tell them apart." Does this need to be said? Do you really believe that? Then don't say it.

...I just don't get it. Just because males have traits that we females don't get doesn't give us the right to put them all down. And it's not like we don't have traits that they don't get. Are their bad traits so much worse than ours?

And even if you DO believe that women are somehow superior to men, men do make up half the human population and are sort of critical members of society. I don't get them either, but name-calling doesn't help.

Plus, usually the females who are doing the male-bashing would be incested to hear a man bashing females in the same way. Equality, people. Calm down. Start behaving like grown-ups. Feminism and women's liberation should be about more than the right to verbally attack the other sex.

4. And a grammar comment: you learned this in elementary school. Subjects and verbs are supposed to agree. "There's many reasons," IS NOT CORRECT. "There are many reasons," IS CORRECT. This is not that hard. Now you try: "There _____ two cookies in the fridge." Good. Now.

5. "Health food," as in, "Ooh, you're into health food," when at the grocery store buying fruits, vegetables, and whole wheat bread and not chips, soda, and frozen dinners.

Fruits, vegetables, etc, are normal food. Normal. From the earth. Given to us by God. This is what people have been eating for millenia. Processed food is a relatively new addition to the human diet. Not all processed food is "junk" and not all normal food is "healthy" and too much of anything is bad, but my point remains: food that comes from the earth is normal food. It happens to be healthier than most, or possibly all, manufactured food, but that doesn't negate my point: it doesn't deserve a new name. I mainly dislike it because it is often said with awe and/or disdain, as in, "Whoa, dude, you're eating carrots, that's so...healthy..." or "Do you really LIKE that stuff?" It bothers me that normal food is suddenly considered special.

Thank you. I am done for the day.

*steps off soapbox*

Monday, July 18, 2005

Please?

I know how the Department of Defense can save hundreds - if not thousands - of dollars this summer.

TURN OFF THE AIR CONDITIONING. IT'S FREEZING IN HERE.

Thank you.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

July 4

Fourth of July on the Mall. Note the cleared plates in front of Fatema-For some reason they were giving away a "Free Feast." And it was honest-to-goodness free, except they did give you a Hare Krishna tract as you waited in line for it. We stayed on the Mall from 2ish to post-firework, at which point they immediately shooed us off the grass and we (the thousands of us on the Mall) spilled over into the streets in search of the nearest Metro station. Seema-the cute girl on the left-and I were horrified at the wait at the Union Station Metro and decided to skip it and walk up Mass Ave. to Dupont Circle, in part to burn off the many, many ginger cookies we had eaten. It was a great 4th, except for the part where the helicopter flew overhead and shone a spotlight into everyone's eyes during the firework finale. I assume it was for security reasons, but I'm honestly not sure how that really protected us...from anything...

Monday, July 11, 2005

Blog Blog Blog

To those of you who read my blog (yes, all three of you) I have an announcement: another blog. But about FOOD this time: cheap, good food. It is a newborn, but I have high hopes for it.

Also announcing my brother's new blog. All about Alaska and the people who live therein. Brrrr.

See you online.

A Sumptuous Weekend



Did you know that there are French restaurants in DC open until the wee hours of the morning? I’m not sure there are even French restaurants in France that are open until the wee hours. Lisa, who really is quite the social butterfly, arranged a wee-hour rendez-vous at Bistro Francais in Georgetown, which stays open until 4 am. When we arrived at 2 am, Georgetown was still hopping and the Bistro was not doing badly, either. I’m not sure I can remember most of the conversation that took place over Lisa and Priyanka’s escargots or our lemon tarts and cappuccinos, but I’m sure it was insightful and sophisticated, because it’s hard not to sound sophisticated when you are eating escargot and moules nicoise. It may be hard to look sophisticated if you have never used the escargot implements, however, which involve a tong-like device specifically designed for holding the shell while you use the long, thin, two-pronged fork to extract the unfortunate snail from his abode. There is something so excitingly unorthodox in eating snails and mussels at 3 am. If you ever get a chance to do this, take it.

Earlier in the evening we-a gaggle of us, some of whom had never met and were friends of friends-went to a potluck gathering in honor of a friend’s friend’s friend. By the end of the evening, of course, we were all friends and had almost forgotten the twisted way we had come about knowing each other (friend’s friend’s roommate’s cousin, for instance.) Seema brought a yummy Pakistani dish, which, if she allows, will appear shortly on my food blog. Lisa made a pasta salad that had neither too much oil nor too much garnish. Homemade spanokopita … Russian pancakes with a frothy cinnamon filling … it was really all very exciting. And the company was terribly interesting, too. I love living in DC because it’s such a hub of interesting, motivated people. The amount you can learn from the people you meet at a simple potluck dinner! See picture-aren't we glamourous?

And then, after this decadent Saturday, I spent Sunday at the pool and the movie theater with Martin, whose 35-hour (yes, 35-hour!) shift at the hospital had earned him a day off. Those who see me often had to listen to me all last week talk about how much I wanted to see him and how despondent I was and how he always has to work so much…so you know how happy I was to see him after a week and a half!

A weekend like this makes the workweek worthwhile.

Thursday, June 30, 2005

Barbeque

The last DMV trip was...a success! HA! I now park legally! And have DC tags! I win, I win.

Washington is notorious for its hot, humid summers and everyone is sure to remind you of this every day, particularly when you are all outside feeling as though you might drown if you take too deep a breath. (Coming from the dry, dry land of the West...the humidity is definitely a change, and a nice one. I never knew my skin could actually feel moisturized naturally.) Today's walk to the metro, however, was cool and foggy, the kind of day where everything is muffled and you don't feel capable of any extreme emotion - Very Angry People seem somehow sedated and Very Happy People seem mellower and the only thing that's missing is a nice cup of tea.

Last night was a magnificent thunderstorm, and I love thunderstorms. Better, I was with My Boy celebrating his birthday and all ten of his immediate family/their significant others/visiting cousin went to a Brazilian Barbeque for dinner. Let me tell you, the Brazilians know barbeque. Not only was there soup (Beef tongue, anyone? Seafood bisque? Oxtail?) and salad (Octopus, artichoke, beans, gazpacho, potato, mussel, shrimp, egg...) and Hot Things (Crab, potato, Yuca flour, fried Yuca...) but at regular intervals they come to your table with various cuts of meat (roast beef, turkey wrapped in bacon, flank steak...) and shave some on to your plate if you so desire, and as much as you desire. And when you can't possibly eat any more, you turn over the painted wooden marker at the end of the table-which was previously turned to green for "More meat please!"-so it is red for "Stop I can't possibly eat any more meat." And then they bring the dessert cart.

But the unfortunate news is that Martin starts The Real Work and had to go in at 4 am, which cut the party short, or shorter than we had originally planned. The post-dinner dancing was nixed and I'm already feeling All Sad that he won't be around much anymore. Maybe I can steal a few hours on the 4th with him. *feels despondent and foggy and wants a cup of tea*

Monday, June 27, 2005

Department of Malevolent Villains

Otherwise known as the DMV. So...I took the afore-mentioned safety inspection certificate, and my DC license, and my insurance card, and my registration, and my car title, and my passport, and my social security card, and my lease, and I went to 301 C. Street, NW, which, despite being the Department of Motor Vehicles, has about three parking spaces. Then I stood in a long line of bored people, some of whom were hanging listlessly off their significant others, most of whom were staring into the abyss that is the Waiting Area. I got to the head of the line. They gave me a number. I slid into the Waiting Area. They called my number. I proudly and resolutely walked up to Window 3 and laid all my paperwork out:

Me: "I am here for a zone 3 parking permit!"
Her: "Do you have your DC license?"
Me: "Yes!"
Her: "Do you have your car inspection?"
Me: "Yes!"
Her: "Lease?"
Me: "Yes!"
Her: "Insurance?"
Me: "Yes!"
Her: "Is your car registered here?"
Me: "Well, isn't that why I'm here?"
Her: "Why isn't it registered?"
I stared at her blankly. "Um...because...I haven't...registered it...yet. But that's why I'm here. Isn't it?"
Her: "Insurance?"

So I got out my insurance card. She looked at it. "This isn't DC."
"Well, no," I said, " I just moved from Colorado, so the new paperwork should arrive next week. But it's still insured with the same company."
Her: "You need paper proof of DC insurance. I can give you a temporary parking pass until you get it."
Me: "I already have a temporary pass. I need a permanent one."

And then she said, with absolute condescention: "Well, you've had three weeks to do this. Why haven't you registered your car yet?"

I wanted to shoot knives out of my eyes. "I know I've had three weeks to do this. I've been to four DMV locations six times in those three weeks and had my car repaired. NO ONE told me that I needed to bring a paper copy of DC insurance to get my parking permit."

She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "Sorry. Come back later."

I left the building and burst into tears, which ruined my mascara.

Then I called my wonderful insurance company, who e-mailed me a copy of my DC insurance paperwork while I was on the phone with her. She also found a way to cut my insurance payments in half. May Laura from USAA, her children, and her children's children be blessed.

So today I will leave work an hour early, get on the metro and go to the DMV yet again. I called them this morning and asked, very specifically: "What exactly do I need to bring to the DMV today to register my car and get a parking permit?"

And when I get home, I will mail my just-drafted complaint letter to the nasties who are in charge of not telling people how to get parking permits.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Le Woe des Autos

I love living in Washington. I love my Toyota. I do not love what happens when living in Washington + owning car = $622.06.

My apartment doesn’t have a garage so I park on the street. No problem. These past three weeks I’ve been using a temporary parking pass issued by the local police station. About two weeks ago I went to the DMV in Georgetown and said, “I’d like to get a parking permit for zone 3,” and proudly produced my lease, my license, and my car registration. “Sorry,” she said, “You need to be a DC resident. And you need to have your car inspected. And you need a DC license. And the car title. And your birth certificate or passport.” Hmm.

So I got off work a little early one day and took myself and my passport to the other DMV, the one in NE that is open until 6 pm. I paid $40 and got a shiny new DC driver’s license. Yay!

Next on the to-do list is the car inspection. No problem, I thought, I have a good little car that even has a new battery. So I went to the car inspection office and then patiently waited for their diagnosis, expecting to hear that it passed with flying colors. When it was done, I went out and the (very rude) man said, “Open this door!” so I opened the passenger side door. “You FAIL.” “…um. Why?” “That dent in your bumper. Safety hazard. You FAIL. Get it fixed and come back in 20 days.”

Granted, it’s a large dent. But I drove from California to Virginia in that car with that dent. It’s 8 months old. It hasn’t caused any accidents and I don’t expect it to spontaneously combust. But what could I do? I need to park legally! I took it to an Auto Body repair shop after work on Monday. They gave me an estimate, and it was about what I and everyone I talked to expected: Parts, labor, paint, time...it adds up. I cringed, but left the car with them.

I’ll pick it up when it’s done on Friday and fork over $582.06. Then I’ll have it re-inspected at 7 AM on Saturday (thankfully, that’s free.) Then I’ll go straight to the DMV and bring my lease and my passport and my license and my title and my inspection certificate and my credit card. Then they had better give me a parking permit

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Back!

All sorts of good developments lately: the removal of the braces, the new studio apartment, the new (paid!) fancy internship, and being back in DC after a two week hiatus in Colorado. The last internship ended on a high note: the wildly successful conference on U.S.-Saudi relations, which was sort of the fruit of my labor, or at least, I worked hard on the little bits for which I was responsible. It's great to be back in DC where my Boy lives only a short drive away and where there are places to go dancing EVERY NIGHT of the week and where it's hot and humid and really feels like a summer. But I will be without my favorite dance partner as my favorite Boy is starting surgery residency soon...90 hours a week is a lot of time at work, and not much time to do much else. I'll miss him, but he will enjoy it and be a Very Good Doctor.

I have a vaguely-explained internship at the Marine Corps Headquarters doing something ... with intelligence ... and foreign language ... ? All my correspondence with my future emplyers has been in vague terms and I'm still not entirely sure what my job description is. Never mind. It's paid. It's in DC. It takes care of my service requirement. If I tell you any more, I'll have to kill you.

It's also great to have my own apartment with a full kitchen, my own entry, an enormous closet where all my shoes can be prominently displayed, and new appliances, close to the metro and Whole Foods (what more could you want?) I plan on having a housewarming shindig soon and inviting everyone I know, which is not that many people, complete with hors d'oeurves and fancy colored drinks. With umbrellas, maybe.

Monday, May 23, 2005

The Weekend...

Outdoors
Outdoors,
originally uploaded by Island Spice.
...was full of fun things, including canoeing (see picture of Martin, looking rugged) and discovering the first Boba place I've seen in D.C., watching Star Wars, playing with a 206 pound St. Bernard, getting sunburned, making arroz con leche, and strolling around not one, but two Maryland lakes.

I'm happy and exhausted.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Fear Factor

Nationals Beat the Mets 5-1
Nationals Beat the Mets 5-1,
originally uploaded by Island Spice.
First, you will note that it's BASEBALL season and I don't care what you think about baseball, I love it. It means summer and hot nights and the sound of balls cracking against bats and the smell of the barbeque. It means flip flops all day and watermelon for dessert. Besides, it's a great game. So, here's a picture of the Nationals, DC's home team (finally).

Second, and most recently:

They say that you have to confront your fear in order to overcome it. I hate making phone calls. Any excuse will do: I have a hangnail and can't possibly call until it's taken care of. I'm sleepy, I'll probably slur my words. Someone is vaccuuming in the basement, better wait 'til it's quiet. It's 4:47, I'd better wait until 5 PM exactly.

Well. Yesterday. We have our weekly program meeting at work. The boss wants us to follow up on the conference invitations that we have sent out because only 109 people have responded. We sent out 615 invitations. ... I'll let the enormity of that number sink in. Yes. That's 506 follow ups, and 506 phone calls. Between Rami and I, it worked out to 253 each.

At 5 o'clock, the boss stops by, "So did you finish all those calls?" I looked up with glazed eyes. "I'm through 175. I'm going home." If I talked in my sleep last night, I bet I said, "Hello, this is Catherine with CSIS and I wanted to confirm that you received the invitation to a conference we're holding on May 25..."

We finished all 515. The number of RSVPs we got proves that it was a successful endeavor. My general aversion to making phone calls persists, and is perhaps aggravated (I never ever want to make a phone call again) but now that I've called 250 strangers in two days, heck, returning a voice mail message? No sweat.