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.
Friday, September 30, 2005
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.
----
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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?
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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.
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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.
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.
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