Archive for October, 2009
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Donks
About a month before moving away from Shreveport, Aquarius and I were at the U-Haul store making a truck rental reservation, when we saw a Grand Marquis rolling down 70th Street with the Windex logo emblazoned on its passenger’s side door. I am familiar with the concept of announcing one’s personal beliefs with bumper stickers or using a company vehicle to advertise a business, but promoting a favorite cleaning product was a new one for me. I wondered if this was similar to people adorning the back windshield with a sticker advertising the brand of stereo they are blasting. Look how shiny my windshield is! I use Windex.
In the weeks that followed, I began noticing more of these cars around town. One driver proclaimed his love of the breakfast cereal Trix, while others sponsored candies such as Skittles, M&M’s and Snickers. I even saw a car painted green with Shrek’s portly figure airbrushed on the hood. Unfortunately, I did not get any pictures of these billboards on wheels, but my new favorite blog, As Seen in Shreveport, has reported on the numerous logo cars which have appeared since my exodus. Apparently, these are a subset of cars referred to as “Donks.”
For those with a sweet tooth, we have Nerds and Oreos.
For those who are thirsty, we have juice drinks such as Hawaiian Punch and Everfresh…
…or alcoholic beverages like Crown Royal and Miller High Life.
Hello Kitty for the ladies.
We must support our sports teams in style.
And my personal favorite, complete with fake bullet holes – Gangsta Mickey, because Disney characters should be used to promote gun violence.
I have not seen anything like these cars in the DC area. I am wondering if this is unique to Shreveport. If anyone has seen these in other cities, I would be interested in hearing about it. Also, if you do decide to visit the Port City against my previous advice, keep your eyes peeled for unusual paint jobs – or mice that be packin’.
References:
http://www.asseeninshreveport.com
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/10/23/milks-favorite-donk/
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/10/16/its-good-to-be-the-king/
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/10/14/nerds/
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/10/09/m-i-c-i-see-you-like-disney/
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/09/11/the-knockout-punch/
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/09/10/the-champagne-of-trucks/
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/09/04/gotta-support-the-team-part-2/
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/08/25/questionable-freshness/
http://asseeninshreveport.com/2009/08/21/well-hello-there-kitty/ -
Reasons I May Hide You on my Facebook Mini-Feed
Facebook is probably the greatest inventions ever for keeping in touch with long distance friends, and one of its greatest feature, in my opinion, is the status update. Now that I have moved away from my hometown, I am able to keep up with people of whom I would otherwise lose track. However, another great feature of Facebook is the “hide” button. There are several types of status updates that will result in my hiding you and, thus, losing track of you.
1. You quote random Bible scriptures without context or explanation. This would be like me taking a random quote from the middle of the novel I am currently reading and posting it as if it speaks for itself. Unless the quote is a maxim or a proverb which can stand alone, consider yourself hidden. This goes for random song lyrics as well.
2. You consistently use poor grammar. We are all guilty of grammatical mistakes, but I am talking about egregious errors that render your status incomprehensible. Here is an example that I copied and pasted straight from a friend’s status: “it’s all good gonna so much needed words from god too.” I do, however, make an exception for my dyslexic cousin. This, along with number 1, seems to only be a problem with friends from the South, and I am generous enough to have a “three strikes and you’re out” policy.
3. Your status updates are too predictable and boring. Every Monday you inform me that you are back at work just like all the rest of us. Every Friday you announce the end of the work week. On Wednesdays, there is something about humping and on Sundays something about church. In between there is nothing of interest because you have a sad life.
4. You mention your boyfriend’s name in every post. If I wanted to keep track of your boyfriend, I would be friends with him as well.
5. You keep me posted on your toddler’s potty training, sleeping habits, and incoming teeth. I am tempted to write back, “Today, my cat made a big poopy in the litter box. Then he slept for eight solid hours in his own bed without meowing at me. I am so proud of him.”
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Bed Bug Solution = Move!
I mentioned in my first post that Aquarius and I just moved into a new condo. One year ago we escaped the vortex of the Deep South where education is for snotty northeasterners and good jobs for college grads are becoming extinct. These were only some of the catalysts for our departure. I felt very certain that I was moving to greener pastures. It was definitely time for an upgrade – a change of latitude.
When Aquarius visited Maryland for his job interview a little over a year ago, he had two days to find us a suitable abode. As our good luck would have it, an aunt who is very familiar with the area was willing to help. She pointed him in the direction of Ellicott City claiming it was the most desirable zip code in all of Maryland and citing its historic district as evidence. I am still wondering if she has not confused the definitions of desirable and despicable. It’s a town full of snotty white people and antique shops. After three days of driving cross country with two moaning cats, we drove up to our new apartment.
The first thing that really struck me about my new home was the dents in the metal front door. I had the distinct impression that ricocheting bullets could have been the cause of these marks. Without any logical basis, I assured myself that this was not possible. Later on, I read about a shoot-out that took place in the parking lot just in front of our stairwell. We should have taken the patched holes in the door as a bad omen and run to the nearest decent looking complex, but we didn’t have the energy.
I will not give the gritty details of our year in the white box from hell, but in a nutshell: the apartment was filthy, there were no window coverings in the living room, the kitchen and the washing machine/dryer were built for a midget, there was always a terrible odor to be battle with candles, the heating/cooling bill was twice what it had been for our house in Shreveport which had been twice the square footage, the toilet rarely worked properly, and the management had lied to us about everything – including the cost of the deposit. So, to top it all off, it was only fitting that a month before escaping our doom we would discover a bed bug invasion.
Wikipedia tells us that bed bugs survive by, “…feeding on the blood of humans and other warm-blooded hosts.” These vampiric insects had been dormant in the wall behind our bed the entire year and had just now decided to come out for a tasty meal. At least that’s what our exterminator said when he pulled our mattress and box spring away from the wall to reveal hundreds of tiny black specks – our DNA smeared all over the baseboard. The evidence had been there for two months, but it wasn’t until red marks started appearing on my arms and Aquarius was being woken up by creepy-crawly sensations during the night, that we called in the experts. The first signs of bed bugs, apart from the bites, are the tiny reddish brown dots on your sheets. Next are the little black spots along the seams of your mattress, and in our case, on the wall. This is your blood in excrement form.
The extermination company wanted hundreds of dollars for three weeks of chemical treatments, but since this was a rental, we took immediate action toward evacuation. The bedroom was quarantined; we slept on a plastic air mattress in the living room while the escape plan was put into action. I washed every piece of fabric in the room: sheets, blankets, comforter, clothing. Pillows were put in the dryer on high heat. None of these items went back into the bedroom but instead into plastic garbage bags. Supposedly heat kills these creatures, so we rented a steamer and ran the wand along the baseboard and carpet. The little critters came out of the woodwork – their fat bodies laden with blood – and instantly died leaving behind their last meal. Our box spring was thrown out as a precaution, and our mattress was put in protective plastic even though it had no evidence of bed bug residence. Evidence being dried poop.
Luckily, our infestation was located in the wall and not in furniture we were taking with us. Our new landlord gave us permission to move in early, and we began checking every box and item for insects on the way out the door. We arrived at our new Silver Spring condo to find a shiny kitchen, a full size washer/dryer, and most importantly, no blood-sucking insects. It has been two months, and so far it seems that we escaped safely. I did find one stowaway a week after arriving, but nothing since. I even took the plastic off of the mattress a month ago because having sex on plastic feels like having sex at camp. We finally made our upgrade from the South, just with a year long detour. Maybe you have to live through hell before you can recognize heaven.
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The Sky is Falling Update: Fall Harder
It has been drizzling again all day in DC, and I must share an observation in defense of the local drivers. This morning, Aquarius and I headed out on our early morning commute just before sunrise. It was darker than normal due to the excessive cloud cover, and we noticed a definite lack of reflective paint and reflective studs on the roads. The absence of these safety precautions gave me an uneasy feeling. I was grateful that Aquarius was the one driving. The wet pavement and oppressive darkness made it difficult to distinguish one lane from another. I can see how frequent wrecks could occur in the dark around here; however, there is no excuse for daytime driving. On another note, there has been no thunder or lightning. It seems like if it’s going to rain, it might as well rain hard. Rain without thunder seems so empty.
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The Sky is Falling: Why I Didn’t Get to See Alton Brown Tonight
Tonight, Alton Brown, the host of Good Eats and Iron Chef America on Food Network, was at the Smithsonian signing copies of his newly released cookbook. I’m not a Food Network addict, but Aquarius and I are big fans of AB. The plan was for Aquarius to leave work a few minutes early and meet me at the Silver Spring metro, so we could ride down together and hopefully make it before 7. I imagined it would be a pretty crowded affair.
Alas, this was not meant to be because at about 3′oclock this afternoon it started raining. And when I say rain, I really mean a light drizzle. Barely enough to keep the windshield wipers on their lowest setting. Aquarius left the office at 5:30, should have been home by 6:00, and finally arrived sometime after 7:00. Since we couldn’t make the book signing and didn’t have anything at home to fix for dinner, we decided it would be fastest to walk somewhere for a bite to eat. I didn’t even need an umbrella, but the street in front of our building was gridlocked. This unnecessary traffic slowdown is always the case around here whenever it sprinkles. Cars creep along at 5 mph and there are wrecks every few blocks. People act like the sky is falling and are scared to venture out of doors. There is mass pandemonium over a few water puddles on the roads. Tonight there were even power outages leaving some streets dark and without stop lights. In the past I have seen cars pull over to the shoulder of the road during a steady shower.
I could understand all of these things if we were dealing with a storm that was strong enough to be personified. Personally, I don’t recall having seen a good rainstorm since moving here. In Louisiana, we drive through tropical storms like it’s no big deal, and our power never goes out unless we are dealing with at least a category 1 hurricane. New Orleans even named a drink after these tropical cyclones. That should tell you a lot about our attitude toward water. I remember one rainy night in Shreveport thinking, “it’s starting to come down pretty hard out there.” I woke up the next morning to find out that school was canceled because half the city couldn’t get their cars out of their driveways. And no, contrary to popular belief, we do not own boats for these sorts of situations. Well, at least not in north Louisiana.
I miss sitting on the front porch watching a good rainstorm. There is something relaxing and soothing about hearing the drops pound the roof and feeling the cool air – relatively cool that is. So, what’s the deal, DC and Maryland? Why are you so afraid of water?
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Vous êtes américaine?
“Vous êtes américaine?” asked the middle-aged waiter as he set my café crème on the small, round table. “Non, je suis canadienne,” I lied, hoping that he wouldn’t ask me anything about Canada since I had never actually been there. He gave me the nod of approbation I was looking for, which meant a lot coming from Parisian wait staff. It was March 20, 2003, and I had been striving to blend into French society since I had arrived the previous September. In September my fellow students and I were proud to announce, “Oui, je suis américain,” whenever asked. There was a certain respect and sympathy evoked by those words. Respect for belonging to one of the strongest nations in the world, and sympathy for the previous year’s tragedy. There had been a sudden shift away from this attitude as America’s war with Iraq approached.
As the waiter picked up the three euro coins I had thrown down on top of the bill, my friend and fellow Louisianan, Aries, arrived. She ordered, and we began studying for our Middle Ages Literature course. We spoke only in French, sometimes searching for the right word and sometimes flipping furtively through a French/English dictionary. We would have to meet over the weekend at my tiny studio apartment to complete this week’s translation homework since we always worked out the translation aloud – we would rather not flaunt our unmistakable American accents in public. Aries’s cell phone rang and she quickly explained to her mom in French that she was studying and would have to call her back later. Her mom didn’t speak a word of French but knew that such a response meant her daughter was in public and would prefer not to speak English. I just chose not to answer whenever a non-francophone called my cell in public. Dusk was falling as we finished discussing the myth of Melusine, and we parted ways outside the café making sure both of our routes did not go near the huge anti-war demonstration planned for 6 o’clock at the Place de la Concorde.
My fellow American students and I always felt safe on French soil. We were never afraid that we would be harassed or harmed. We chose to avoid speaking English because we were ashamed. We were ashamed of admitting our nationality; we were ashamed of our country’s chosen course of action. As an American, I felt it was my patriotic duty to defend my country’s decisions, but I never could find the justification. I ran out of excuses and eventually got tired of apologizing for my President.
Yesterday, President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize “for his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples.” As soon as Obama started campaigning for the presidency, the French pity which had turned to animosity instantly turned into peaceful hope. This year while Americans have been concentrating on the crisis of losing jobs, losing homes and losing health care benefits, the rest of the world has been standing behind Obama for peace. I have felt the difference in Europe’s attitude from all the way across the Atlantic via European media and Facebook. I think that it takes the world being unified in the attempt for peace to bring about progress.
I am sure that many of the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize nominees were deserving of the award. It is true that if Bush had not shattered the good relations the U.S. had with much of the world, Obama would not need to repair them, but unfortunately that is how it happened. It will take time for President Obama’s efforts to be fully realized. Ending war is a slow process. Keep in mind that in 1994 two Israelis and a Palestinian shared the prize for their efforts toward peace in the Middle East.
I look forward to visiting France again. I will proudly admit that I am American. I am proud that my country has taken great strides toward tolerance and toward better international relations, and I wholeheartedly agree with Rachel Maddow that all Americans should be proud that our President has been honored.
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Traffic Circle of Doom
Reason number one for leaving the south – resistance to change. These people are nearly impervious to it. Every now and then I check out the latest news and events in my hometown of Shreveport, Louisiana. I stop by The Shreveport Times’ website to laugh at the lack of journalistic ability and to remind myself of why I fled. About a month ago, I learned of the frenzy revolving around the installation of a new traffic circle. Now, don’t take Shreveport for a small town. It’s a city of a quarter of a million, so no one should expect such news to be treated like the first stop light just south of nowhere.
The circle was installed at the bottom of what everyone calls Thrill Hill. This is a residential street that conveniently has two successive, steep hills. I used to love riding my bike down one with my legs stuck out to the side to avoid the spinning pedals and then let the momentum carry me up the other. It was exhilarating for both the speed and the fact that my mom had no idea I was taking such risks. In high school, my brother and I would drive down the hill picking up our feet from the floor boards to achieve the same sense of weightlessness. We had to find some way to make cars cooler than bikes, but nothing beats descending Thrill Hill with wind hitting you in the face. Unfortunately, there is a small cross street in the valley of the two hills. This spot has been the scene of several accidents over the past few years mostly due to drunk drivers using the hill as a roller coaster late at night.
However, the traffic circle has caused more scandal than the accidents themselves. Unhappy citizens have been voicing their opinions everywhere from Facebook to the newspaper. The Times article itself was uninteresting at best, but the thirty angry comments were a hilarious read. One driver complains, “When turning left…you actually have to go to the right.” Absolutely scathing! I believe this to be the generally accepted definition of a traffic circle. Numerous people explain that they had trouble “negotiating” the circle. I truly hope drivers are not getting out of their cars trying to make some sort of deal with other drivers or with the flower bed in the middle. I guess no one could think of the word “navigate.”
I sent my brother, Capricorn, by the new circle to find out if it was really the blight upon the city streets that people claimed, and of course, to check for trolls demanding tolls. He offered to snap a few pictures for me, and it seems that his appearance with a camera stirred things up a bit. A geeky looking guy wearing glasses snapping a picture could only be on official business. Several strolling neighbors assumed that he must be a traffic engineer “documenting the situation.” In DC and Maryland traffic circles are everyday occurrences – never situations. Even when coming upon a traffic circle for the first time, most people can figure out pretty quickly to just keep right. You would think they could at least follow the sign depicting how to handle the situation.
I am not trying to be an elitist; I try to see the good side of every situation. The critics do have a point that the problem could have been solved with a simple four-way stop, but I think the city was trying to bring everyone into the 21st century. They were paving the way for progress because we all know what happens at four-way stops in the south. These are centers of chaos and sickening politeness – intersections at which the world comes to a momentary standstill. Who got here first? Oh, no, you go on ahead, honey. After you, ma’am; I insist. Ladies first. The traffic circle will bring unity. Everyone is equal; everyone must yield. Well, everyone except for the guy who decided to go straight through without stopping.
Picture courtesy of Capricorn
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October is Here
Fall has arrived and I am loving the cool temperatures. Since Louisiana doesn’t have seasons, I have never had the opportunity to pick a favorite, but never having left academia, fall has always reminded me of new beginnings. During August I got tired of everyone in DC complaining about the heat, and I even read several blog rants on this topic. This amazed me. It is important to remind myself that everything is relative. I am sure that Canadian tourists scoff at DC winters in much the same way that I scoff at the summer temperatures. In fact, Aquarius and I found the summer weather to be rather pleasant. At least it wasn’t humid, despite the grievances I heard to the contrary. Washingtonians should be thankful that August temperatures are for the most part in the 80’s, only briefly in the 90’s, and that the humidity is only 60-70 percent. Yes, you should be thankful.
Allow me to describe Louisiana weather. After a short winter with bitter lows of 35 degrees and a few days of school closures due to below freezing temperatures with a simultaneous chance of rain, we start spring off in March by climbing into the low 70’s. While Mardi Gras is considered a winter carnival in Europe, we use it as a rite of spring. Let’s be honest; few women would flash a street full of people unless the weather were warm enough to assure full plumpness. By May 1st we have full-blown summer. It is in the 80’s, your clothes are already sticking to your skin, and it will only get hotter. When it rains in June it seems that it might feel nice to cool yourself off under mother nature’s downpour. But, no, the rain drops feel like they have been in the microwave, and you know the ground is even warmer because visible steam begins to rise up off of the asphalt. Ah, the smell of molten asphalt! July, while in the mid 90’s, is spent dreading August. Locals begin the rituals of taking two showers a day and starting their cars ten minutes before leaving for work so that the AC has a chance to catch up. There is no relief. If you walk out on the porch to let your cat out at midnight, your pajamas will be instantly damp in the 99% humidity, and you will have to take another shower. Many of us believe that humidity does go higher than 100%; we just don’t bother measuring it. Just before school starts in August, we enter the 100’s stint. This is a two to three week stretch in which the AC never gets the chance to cut off. Although the temperatures don’t usually surpass 104, the “feels like” is around 110. At this point most people are practically swimming through the oppressive atmosphere to get from the car into the grocery store. Finally, by October we get enough relief that we are able to wear clothes again, but it is not unheard of to wear shorts to Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.
This is why I step out into the Maryland summer sunshine and smile as a cool breeze whips by. If you ever have the opportunity to visit Louisiana during the summer – don’t. And keep in mind that summer there runs May through September. As soon as you step off the plane, you will beg to get back on.
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