I have the unfortunate experience of having one parent of France origin (mom) and one of South African origin (dad). Any reasonable person would assume my mom to be the lighter skinned one, but oh no. You see the French, though they will not admit it, have some Northern African influence in their gene and tend to develop a nice, olivey skin when exposed to the sun.
My father on the other hand, was born and raised in South Africa. His parents are both English and have traveled extensively (his mom for one was born in India, his dad was in the army and moved around I suppose). Which means that -when his hair is not gray- he is red-headed with tons of freckles. His skin looks tan, but upon closer look, his freckles have only blended with each other, making it look like a solid, orangy color.
I studied genetics in undergrad and I understand that assortment of the genes for skin color is incredibly complex. So, by some genetic freakiness, I have developed skin that is much whiter and more sensitive than my mom and even my dad's.
This is quite unfortunate for a family that enjoys being on the beach. My parents caught on quickly that, as a baby, it was safer and wiser to place me in the shade, with a hat, long sleeves, a thick layer of sunscreen and plenty of water to drink. Yes, I was that freaky kid that couldn't make sand castles with others and went in the water with full clothing.
I went to the beach as a baby with my cousins once, and to this day, my uncle says I owe him hundreds of dollars in sun cream.
I can't remember how many times I was so sunburnt that it hurt to lie on the sheets. A good dermatologist will tell you that if you have been strongly burnt more than 3 times, you are very likely to develop skin cancer. Try being severly burnt at least 40 times.
I remember taking antibiotics once and going shopping in the strong French sun. The sun was weirdly intense and every ray that fell on my face and arms felt like little needles digging under my skin. When home, I developed a painful headache, and my hands swelled up with hundreds of itchy pimples. The next day, I went to see a pharmacist who flinched when she saw me and quickly reached behind her counter. She came up with two products: 1) Biafine cream which is given to burn victims and chemotherapy patients to cool their skin, and 2) SPF 100 that she routinely gives to albino people. I swear this is completely true.
To this day, I still have people that say to me "I don't believe you can be so white. All you need is to expose yourself progressively to the sun". Not many things annoy me in life, but I CAN'T STAND IT when people say that. Trust me buddy, I've tried it for the last 25 years and it just ain't working for me.
Needless to say that at 29, I know exactly when I have had too much sun. My body temperature hits a certainly level and I know it's time to go home, despite my darting in and out of the shade all day and drinking like a camel. It's just time, that's it.
Yesterday, enthralled by the Folklife Festival organized by the Smithsonian on the Washington D.C. Mall, I spend 4 hours in 92 degree, humid weather. When I hit my peak of sun, I decided to go home but was swayed by the various cultures represented in the festival. I stayed one hour too late and:
1-Instantly developed a throbbing headache behind my eyes and in the back of my head
2-I noticed that I barely sweat in the whole 5 hours there
3-Felt weak and had a hard time holding onto my bike while taking the bus home (some dude made fun of me for not biking home--asswipe!)
4-I couldn't get enough air into my lungs and sighed a lot
5-Took a cold bath and went to bed
6-In bed, the headache worsened and I constantly changed position for comfort
7-I tried to drink but water was making me nauseous (this is a telltale sign of sunstroke for me)
8-Threw up violently three times
9-Finally slept like a log for 10 hours
I feel so much better today! And this morning, I still can't believe how stupid I am for overstaying my welcome in the sun. After 29 years, you would think that I would have learned my lesson. But no, I obviously haven't.
OK time to get ready to go to the last day of Festival!
July 08, 2007
Pfew, the Show went well
So the photo expo I had two weeks ago went very well. In my estimate, close to 80 or 90 people showed up to support me, with the obligatory unknown, old people in tow (who came for the company and for a free meal of wine and cheese--I swear, they were at the cheese table just munching as fast as they could).
Thank you so much to all who came to visit!
A few people came to congratulate me on the pictures, one came to ask me about the Congo as she was going to move there incessantly, and an old friend from high school came to reconnect with me after 10-years!
The only minor mishap was that a picture had fallen to the ground before the show and the frame had fractures. The glass cover was thankfully intact so I came with some superglue, only to find that a large paperclip kept it together nicely. The music was 80% NOT Congolese but blended nicely in the background and no one faulted me for this.
The evening was very relaxing (something I did not expect) but it's blessedly over.
For a montage of the 20 pictures I exposed, see below! They are still on display until the September 10, 2007.
Thank you so much to all who came to visit!
A few people came to congratulate me on the pictures, one came to ask me about the Congo as she was going to move there incessantly, and an old friend from high school came to reconnect with me after 10-years!
The only minor mishap was that a picture had fallen to the ground before the show and the frame had fractures. The glass cover was thankfully intact so I came with some superglue, only to find that a large paperclip kept it together nicely. The music was 80% NOT Congolese but blended nicely in the background and no one faulted me for this.
The evening was very relaxing (something I did not expect) but it's blessedly over.
For a montage of the 20 pictures I exposed, see below! They are still on display until the September 10, 2007.
July 07, 2007
June 25, 2007
CONTACT INFORMATION NEEDED
FOR YOUR KIND ATTENTION.
COULD YOU PLEASE CONSIDER TO HELP ME TO RELOCATE THIS SUM OF FIVEMILLION,THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS(US$5.3m) TO YOUR COUNTRY FOR ESTABLISHING A MEDIUM SIZE INDUSTRY IN YOUR COUNTRY.
THE SAID 5.3 MILLION DOLLARS WAS DEPOSITED IN OUR BANK BY MR MORRIS LAKE AN AMERICA CITIZEN WHO DIED IN A PLANE CRASH IN 2000.WE HAVE TRIED TO CONTACT HIS IMMEDIATE FAMILY TO COME FORWARD FOR CLAIMS BUT COULD NOTSUCCEED.
WE DISCORVERED THAT THE LATE AMERICAN DIED ALONG SIDE WITH
HER HUSBAND AND CHILDREN WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HER NEXT OF KIN.
CLICKHERE(http://www.cnn.com/2000/US/02/01/alaska.airlines.list/).
I WILL GIVE YOU ALL VITAL INFORMATION CONCERNING THE AMERICAN AND THE 5.3MILLION DOLLARS IN OUR CUSTODY SO THAT YOU WILL CONTACT OUR BANK FOR THEM TO RELEASE THE MONEY TO YOU.
YOU CAN COME HERE IN PERSON OR YOU CAN REQUEST THE BANK TO SHIP THE FUNDS TO YOU IN YOUR COUNTRY DIPLOMATICALY.
I AM A MANAGER IN THIS BANK,I WILL PLAY A ROLE TO MAKE SURE THAT THE 5.3 MILLION DOLLARS IS RELEASED TO YOU.
AS SOON AS I RECIEVE YOUR REPLY,I WILL GIVE YOU A DRAFT APPLICATION WHICH YOU WILL FORWARD TO OUR BANK.
REPLY AND LET ME KNOW YOUR
FULLNAME,AGE,ADDRESS,OCCUPATION,YOUR AND FAX NUMBERS IFAVALIABLE.
I AWAIT YOUR URGENT REPLY.
MR MOUSA HAJI.
Hi Mousa,
Your kind email in my inbox this morning was quite a surprise. Perhaps it was the FULL CAPITALS used to convey a sense of urgency but instead made me feel like I was being screamed at, that bothered me? Or was it instead the confusion over the deceased person's gender: is the person a "Mr. Morris" or a female as implied in the "late American and her husband?"
So let me get this straight. Mr./Mrs. Morris died in 2000, depositing a lot of money in my bank account, and you are contacting me seven (7) years later? Bastard! I thank Mr./Mrs. Morris for the large sum of money bestowed upon me, but really he/she shouldn't have. No, I mean it, he/she really shouldn't have, seeing as I don't know him/her.
Also, I am a little confused with your request. On the one hand, you need my personal, intimate information to release this money from the bank to me, right? But you also want me to lend you the money to establish a medium-sized industry in my country (which happens to be the United States incidentally)? And what if I don't want to help you, Mousa, to build a medium-sized industry here? Do I still get the money? Do all bank managers say "hey, can I personally borrow that money you are depositing in my bank? I need to repaint my kitchen?". No! It's my money, you don't get any of it!
And please, if you are going to be writing such an important letter, do spell-check. The word "discovered" is spelled as such, not discorvered". Same goes for the word " diplomaticaly". Check it the dishionarie. That's not how you spell it.
Please excuse the ironic tone of this email, I'm just trying to make you better at your job.
Best Regards,
007 in Africa
Ah, scammers. A little lazy. A little amateurish. But thank God for them. OK, back to work, I need to send my name, social secuirty number, maiden name of my mother to Mousa before the day is over.
COULD YOU PLEASE CONSIDER TO HELP ME TO RELOCATE THIS SUM OF FIVEMILLION,THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS(US$5.3m) TO YOUR COUNTRY FOR ESTABLISHING A MEDIUM SIZE INDUSTRY IN YOUR COUNTRY.
THE SAID 5.3 MILLION DOLLARS WAS DEPOSITED IN OUR BANK BY MR MORRIS LAKE AN AMERICA CITIZEN WHO DIED IN A PLANE CRASH IN 2000.WE HAVE TRIED TO CONTACT HIS IMMEDIATE FAMILY TO COME FORWARD FOR CLAIMS BUT COULD NOTSUCCEED.
WE DISCORVERED THAT THE LATE AMERICAN DIED ALONG SIDE WITH
HER HUSBAND AND CHILDREN WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HER NEXT OF KIN.
CLICKHERE(http://www.cnn.com/2000/US/02/01/alaska.airlines.list/).
I WILL GIVE YOU ALL VITAL INFORMATION CONCERNING THE AMERICAN AND THE 5.3MILLION DOLLARS IN OUR CUSTODY SO THAT YOU WILL CONTACT OUR BANK FOR THEM TO RELEASE THE MONEY TO YOU.
YOU CAN COME HERE IN PERSON OR YOU CAN REQUEST THE BANK TO SHIP THE FUNDS TO YOU IN YOUR COUNTRY DIPLOMATICALY.
I AM A MANAGER IN THIS BANK,I WILL PLAY A ROLE TO MAKE SURE THAT THE 5.3 MILLION DOLLARS IS RELEASED TO YOU.
AS SOON AS I RECIEVE YOUR REPLY,I WILL GIVE YOU A DRAFT APPLICATION WHICH YOU WILL FORWARD TO OUR BANK.
REPLY AND LET ME KNOW YOUR
FULLNAME,AGE,ADDRESS,OCCUPATION,YOUR AND FAX NUMBERS IFAVALIABLE.
I AWAIT YOUR URGENT REPLY.
MR MOUSA HAJI.
Hi Mousa,
Your kind email in my inbox this morning was quite a surprise. Perhaps it was the FULL CAPITALS used to convey a sense of urgency but instead made me feel like I was being screamed at, that bothered me? Or was it instead the confusion over the deceased person's gender: is the person a "Mr. Morris" or a female as implied in the "late American and her husband?"
So let me get this straight. Mr./Mrs. Morris died in 2000, depositing a lot of money in my bank account, and you are contacting me seven (7) years later? Bastard! I thank Mr./Mrs. Morris for the large sum of money bestowed upon me, but really he/she shouldn't have. No, I mean it, he/she really shouldn't have, seeing as I don't know him/her.
Also, I am a little confused with your request. On the one hand, you need my personal, intimate information to release this money from the bank to me, right? But you also want me to lend you the money to establish a medium-sized industry in my country (which happens to be the United States incidentally)? And what if I don't want to help you, Mousa, to build a medium-sized industry here? Do I still get the money? Do all bank managers say "hey, can I personally borrow that money you are depositing in my bank? I need to repaint my kitchen?". No! It's my money, you don't get any of it!
And please, if you are going to be writing such an important letter, do spell-check. The word "discovered" is spelled as such, not discorvered". Same goes for the word " diplomaticaly". Check it the dishionarie. That's not how you spell it.
Please excuse the ironic tone of this email, I'm just trying to make you better at your job.
Best Regards,
007 in Africa
Ah, scammers. A little lazy. A little amateurish. But thank God for them. OK, back to work, I need to send my name, social secuirty number, maiden name of my mother to Mousa before the day is over.
June 18, 2007
Smile!
I witnessed a really weird scene in the metro on Friday morning. A 40-something woman -weary from the day’s work- sat on an empty seat with a book, behind a quiet looking 50-year old. As she settled into the cushion, he turned around with his cell in his hand, positioning it just so. Caught in the moment, and realizing that he was about to snap a picture, she stood up straight, and gave him her little, polite picture smile. Snap!
Then he turned back around to fiddle with the cardboard box that just held his new phone. She turned to me, gave me a slightly quizzical, bemused eyebrow-raise, and continued to read her book.
I mean it’s not Guiness-Book-of-World-Records weird, but it was a little disconcerting to watch. Isn’t picture-taking a somewhat intimate action between two people who know each other? And yet, it was refreshing that the moment wasn’t more complicated than that.
Then he turned back around to fiddle with the cardboard box that just held his new phone. She turned to me, gave me a slightly quizzical, bemused eyebrow-raise, and continued to read her book.
I mean it’s not Guiness-Book-of-World-Records weird, but it was a little disconcerting to watch. Isn’t picture-taking a somewhat intimate action between two people who know each other? And yet, it was refreshing that the moment wasn’t more complicated than that.
June 07, 2007
Gangs of New York
Well, not exactly New York but the new Columbia Heights. On my way to the metro, I see a tree, completely obscured by electric pink , white, green and multi-colored stuffed animals tied around its trunk. A candle is slowly burning in the cool of the morning and sitting on a picture of a smiling kid with thick braids.
In have my haha moment, when I read this:
Columbia Heights Shootings Cause Alarm
By Elissa Silverman and Clarence Williams
Washington Post Staff Writers
Monday, June 4, 2007; B04
A 13-year-old youth was fatally shot and a man was wounded Saturday night in Columbia Heights, less than a day after a teenage girl was shot and wounded on the same block, authorities said last night.
Terry Cutchin was standing on the street when shots were fired from a passing vehicle, hitting him and a 23-year-old man nearby, police said. Police said they were searching for a dark sport-utility vehicle in connection with the attack, which took place about 10 p.m. in the 1400 block of Girard Street NW.
The youth, who lived in the 1300 block of Columbia Road NW, was pronounced dead a short time later. Police said the injured man was driven in a car to Washington Hospital Center, where he was treated for a gunshot wound to the right arm. His name was not released because he is a witness.
The violence, coming on the heels of another shooting, provoked alarm among authorities and residents.
"Here you have two shootings two nights in a row," said D.C. Council member Jim Graham (D-Ward 1), noting that a 16-year-old girl was shot in the ankle on the same block shortly after midnight Saturday morning.
The two shootings were part of a particularly violent weekend in the city. Two people were shot and killed in separate incidents in Northeast Washington on Saturday, according to police. Early yesterday, police fatally shot a man in Northeast Washington after he allegedly pointed a gun at an officer.
[...]
Columbia Heights, a rapidly gentrifying part of the District, has been the scene of several bursts of gun violence that have wounded and killed teenagers in recent months.
Police have a surveillance camera mounted in the 1400 block of Girard Street, and they said they would review images looking for leads.
Terry Cutchin was a straight-A student at Lincoln Middle School and lived with his grandmother, Geraldine Cutchin, said Nancy Jenkins, his aunt.
He had returned home from a visit with his mother Saturday afternoon and was excited to download music on an iPod he had just gotten, Jenkins said.
He left his grandmother's apartment about 8:30 p.m. and met several friends who planned to hang out at one of their homes, she said.
Later that night, Terry's grandmother heard gunfire and left her apartment to search for her grandson. All of the youths except Terry were accounted for .
Jenkins questioned why there wasn't a more visible police presence on the block. "Someone just got shot there the day before," she said.
[...]
"There shouldn't have been that kind of desperate need to pull that car away."
Graham said he returned to the block yesterday afternoon and did not see any police.
A police cruiser was parked on the block later in the evening.
In an interview, Lanier said police have been well positioned across the city. "I feel the officers are in the right places at the right times," because they respond quickly when violence occurs, she said.
Neighbors said violence has gotten worse in Columbia Heights over the past year. In late April, 18-year-old Edwin Ventura of the 1400 block of Harvard Street NW was fatally shot while with friends on Sherman Avenue NW, a few blocks from his home.
"I've been living around here since I was in diapers," said Chinata Nesbit, 21, who lived in an apartment across the hall from Terry. "It's never been this bad."
I guess I'll take the long way home from now on.
In have my haha moment, when I read this:
Columbia Heights Shootings Cause Alarm
By Elissa Silverman and Clarence Williams
Washington Post Staff Writers
Monday, June 4, 2007; B04
A 13-year-old youth was fatally shot and a man was wounded Saturday night in Columbia Heights, less than a day after a teenage girl was shot and wounded on the same block, authorities said last night.
Terry Cutchin was standing on the street when shots were fired from a passing vehicle, hitting him and a 23-year-old man nearby, police said. Police said they were searching for a dark sport-utility vehicle in connection with the attack, which took place about 10 p.m. in the 1400 block of Girard Street NW.
The youth, who lived in the 1300 block of Columbia Road NW, was pronounced dead a short time later. Police said the injured man was driven in a car to Washington Hospital Center, where he was treated for a gunshot wound to the right arm. His name was not released because he is a witness.
The violence, coming on the heels of another shooting, provoked alarm among authorities and residents.
"Here you have two shootings two nights in a row," said D.C. Council member Jim Graham (D-Ward 1), noting that a 16-year-old girl was shot in the ankle on the same block shortly after midnight Saturday morning.
The two shootings were part of a particularly violent weekend in the city. Two people were shot and killed in separate incidents in Northeast Washington on Saturday, according to police. Early yesterday, police fatally shot a man in Northeast Washington after he allegedly pointed a gun at an officer.
[...]
Columbia Heights, a rapidly gentrifying part of the District, has been the scene of several bursts of gun violence that have wounded and killed teenagers in recent months.
Police have a surveillance camera mounted in the 1400 block of Girard Street, and they said they would review images looking for leads.
Terry Cutchin was a straight-A student at Lincoln Middle School and lived with his grandmother, Geraldine Cutchin, said Nancy Jenkins, his aunt.
He had returned home from a visit with his mother Saturday afternoon and was excited to download music on an iPod he had just gotten, Jenkins said.
He left his grandmother's apartment about 8:30 p.m. and met several friends who planned to hang out at one of their homes, she said.
Later that night, Terry's grandmother heard gunfire and left her apartment to search for her grandson. All of the youths except Terry were accounted for .
Jenkins questioned why there wasn't a more visible police presence on the block. "Someone just got shot there the day before," she said.
[...]
"There shouldn't have been that kind of desperate need to pull that car away."
Graham said he returned to the block yesterday afternoon and did not see any police.
A police cruiser was parked on the block later in the evening.
In an interview, Lanier said police have been well positioned across the city. "I feel the officers are in the right places at the right times," because they respond quickly when violence occurs, she said.
Neighbors said violence has gotten worse in Columbia Heights over the past year. In late April, 18-year-old Edwin Ventura of the 1400 block of Harvard Street NW was fatally shot while with friends on Sherman Avenue NW, a few blocks from his home.
"I've been living around here since I was in diapers," said Chinata Nesbit, 21, who lived in an apartment across the hall from Terry. "It's never been this bad."
I guess I'll take the long way home from now on.
June 06, 2007
XDR-TB: And the plot thickens
So I guess I should have been more cautious in my previous post on XDR-TB (Extremely Drug Resistant TB). I was initially very angry at Mr. Speaker who alledgedly knew about his TB, but chose to travel to several countries in Europe, Canada and the U.S. anyways.
He defended himself today and swears no medical officials told him he was a risk to anyone. In addition, he made everyone including his doctors well-aware that he was planning to travel for his honeymoon.
You can hear his testimony here.
Where did the public health system fail? And the plot thickens.
He defended himself today and swears no medical officials told him he was a risk to anyone. In addition, he made everyone including his doctors well-aware that he was planning to travel for his honeymoon.
You can hear his testimony here.
Where did the public health system fail? And the plot thickens.
June 04, 2007
Getting ready for an Exhibit
I have been searching the internet for tips on how to prepare for an art exhibit. There is surprisingly little information out there. These are the steps I think are essential to preparing a photography expo:
(1) Find venue in which to expose pictures (status: done)
(2) Take pictures (status: done)
(3) Think of a theme and a title for the expo (status: done)
(4) Buy 20 simple frames with matting (status: I bought 15, I am planning on buying five more this week)
(5) Create press announcement that can be circulated to interested parties (status: done, and submitted to the Alliance Francaise)
(6) Create informational pamphlet, print and place in venue (status: pamphlet created)
(7) Invite friends and family. Don't mess up the time and the location (status: done through evite.com)
(8) Choose 20 pictures and correct color if too dark (status: I only chose 12 pictures)
(9) Write captions and a blurb about the context and author of the expo. Print on cardboard paper (status: 1/2 of the captions are done)
(10) Translate captions into French, and print also (status: not even started, yikes!)
(11) Set realistic prices for pictures (status: kind of done)
(12) Create a small binder with pictures-buying sign-up sheet. This will allow interested parties to order pictures when you are not around (status: not done)
(13) Choose enhancing materials such as Kuba cloths and masks (status: kind of done but I need to mount the cloths on firm structures such as wooden beams)
(14) Print out all pictures and frame (status: not done)
(15) Hang on nails (status: not done)
(16) Attend the opening, try not to bite nails, and try not to pretend you are not the author of the expo (status: uncertain)
Yikes! I'm getting so nervous! There's so much left to do!
Questions to readers
Question 1: Can you think of anything else I need to do to prepare?
Question 2: If you were at an art show and wanted to buy a picture from a no-name photographer, what would you be willing to pay for a framed picture? for an unframed picture?
(1) Find venue in which to expose pictures (status: done)
(2) Take pictures (status: done)
(3) Think of a theme and a title for the expo (status: done)
(4) Buy 20 simple frames with matting (status: I bought 15, I am planning on buying five more this week)
(5) Create press announcement that can be circulated to interested parties (status: done, and submitted to the Alliance Francaise)
(6) Create informational pamphlet, print and place in venue (status: pamphlet created)
(7) Invite friends and family. Don't mess up the time and the location (status: done through evite.com)
(8) Choose 20 pictures and correct color if too dark (status: I only chose 12 pictures)
(9) Write captions and a blurb about the context and author of the expo. Print on cardboard paper (status: 1/2 of the captions are done)
(10) Translate captions into French, and print also (status: not even started, yikes!)
(11) Set realistic prices for pictures (status: kind of done)
(12) Create a small binder with pictures-buying sign-up sheet. This will allow interested parties to order pictures when you are not around (status: not done)
(13) Choose enhancing materials such as Kuba cloths and masks (status: kind of done but I need to mount the cloths on firm structures such as wooden beams)
(14) Print out all pictures and frame (status: not done)
(15) Hang on nails (status: not done)
(16) Attend the opening, try not to bite nails, and try not to pretend you are not the author of the expo (status: uncertain)
Yikes! I'm getting so nervous! There's so much left to do!
Questions to readers
Question 1: Can you think of anything else I need to do to prepare?
Question 2: If you were at an art show and wanted to buy a picture from a no-name photographer, what would you be willing to pay for a framed picture? for an unframed picture?
May 31, 2007
Summertime and the Crazies are Out
Ok it’s time to talk shit about my neighborhood again. A few weeks ago, Carl the Pilot was in town and drops me off from late night dinner. I suddenly hear what sounds like a cracker or a burst-tire echo in the night. It sounds incredibly close and I am concerned enough to flex my arm and leg muscles, and fumble for my keys (strange how the fight or flight reflex gets turned on within 2 seconds). Carl rolls down his window and yells “GET BACK IN THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW!”. My whole body feels flushed with icy blood (in other workds “my blood runs cold”) and I clumsily manage to open the inside gate, rush in and open the front door to my house, as another shot is being fired.
Carl had just witnessed the owner of a gun fire excitedly towards a departing white car. Now, I should add that I hear gun shots about once every three days in my street, but that I was never caught outside of my apartment when it happened.
Yesterday around 12:00 p.m., I hear screeching in the street, followed by a sudden dull crushing sound. Peering from behind my curtains, I see a car crashed into a parking fence with a cop car behind it. A skiddish policeman gets out from his car, grabs a flashlight, and walks along the long perimeter of the fence, throwing arcs of light beyond the parking lot and around the oversized dumpsters. I can only conclude that the police car was chasing the person in the car, the car tried to outrun the police but hit the fence instead. The driver fled the vehicle and ran into the night.
These incidents and many more, have been increasing at an alarming rate. The police (whom we call every time there’s an incident) have been blaming the nice weather for the increased activity in the streets and gentrification for the loss of drug-dealing territories.
Alls I can say is “Man, I am paying way too much for my room in Columbia Heights” and “please, please, please, go back to bed people and let me sleep”.
I feel really bad for the kids who live on my street.
Carl had just witnessed the owner of a gun fire excitedly towards a departing white car. Now, I should add that I hear gun shots about once every three days in my street, but that I was never caught outside of my apartment when it happened.
Yesterday around 12:00 p.m., I hear screeching in the street, followed by a sudden dull crushing sound. Peering from behind my curtains, I see a car crashed into a parking fence with a cop car behind it. A skiddish policeman gets out from his car, grabs a flashlight, and walks along the long perimeter of the fence, throwing arcs of light beyond the parking lot and around the oversized dumpsters. I can only conclude that the police car was chasing the person in the car, the car tried to outrun the police but hit the fence instead. The driver fled the vehicle and ran into the night.
These incidents and many more, have been increasing at an alarming rate. The police (whom we call every time there’s an incident) have been blaming the nice weather for the increased activity in the streets and gentrification for the loss of drug-dealing territories.
Alls I can say is “Man, I am paying way too much for my room in Columbia Heights” and “please, please, please, go back to bed people and let me sleep”.
I feel really bad for the kids who live on my street.
Extensively Resistant Tuberculosis Incident
In May 2007, a man with tuberculosis that is extensively resistant to normal antibiotics (also called XDR), met with the Center for the Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and was strictly forbidden to fly.
If know much about TB, here a few basics you need to know (from Wikipedia of course):
(1) Tuberculosis is a common and deadly infectious disease that is caused by mycobacteria, primarily Mycobacterium tuberculosis.
(2) Tuberculosis most commonly affects the lungs (as pulmonary TB) but can also affect the central nervous system, the lymphatic system, the circulatory system, the genitourinary system, bones, joints and even the skin.
(3) Symptoms include a productive, prolonged cough of more than three weeks duration, chest pain and coughing up blood. Systemic symptoms include fever, chills, night sweats, appetite loss, weight loss and paling, and those afflicted are often easily fatigued.
(4) TB is spread by aerosol droplets expelled by people with the active disease of the lungs when they cough, sneeze, speak, kiss, spit or use the unsterilized eating utensils of the infected person.
(5) Treatment for TB uses antibiotics to kill the bacteria. The two antibiotics most commonly used are rifampicin and isoniazid. However, these treatments are more difficult than the short courses of antibiotics used to cure most bacterial infections as long periods of treatment (around 6 to 12 months) are needed to entirely eliminate mycobacteria from the body.
(5) I had to take Isoniazid for a period of 1 year because, when tested, it was found that I had the antibodies for TB (which means that I likely was exposed to the disease). I think it was because I received the BCG vaccine in France, a vaccine that is thought to boost your immune system against TB. It was hard to take a pill everyday for a year, and I gained a lot of weight while taking the drug.
(7) Drug resistant tuberculosis is transmitted in the same way as regular TB. Primary resistance occurs in persons who are infected with a resistant strain of TB. A patient with fully-susceptible TB develops secondary resistance (acquired resistance) during TB therapy because of inadequate treatment, not taking the prescribed regimen appropriately, or using low quality medication.
(8) Drug-resistant TB is a public health issue in many developing countries, as treatment is longer and requires more expensive drugs. Multi-drug resistant TB (MDR-TB) is defined as resistance to the two most effective first line TB drugs: rifampicin and isoniazid. Extensively drug-resistant TB (XDR-TB) is also resistant to three or more of the six classes of second-line drugs.
(9) TB prevention and control takes two parallel approaches. In the first, people with TB and their contacts are identified and then treated. Identification of infections often involves testing high-risk groups for TB. In the second approach, children are vaccinated to protect them from TB. Unfortunately, no vaccine is available that provides reliable protection for adults.
With these facts in mind, consider the following incident: the man decided to go against CDC recommendations and went on a honeymoon with his new wife...From Atlanta, to Paris...From Paris, to Athens, to Rome, to Prague, to Montreal, to New York, back to Altanta! This man epoxed thousands and thousands of people through his travels and international flights.
Source: The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Published on: 05/31/07
I think this guy should be put in jail--he knowingly put people at risk, exposing them to a disease that is extremely difficult to treat, spreading this extremely drug resistant disease. Shameful!
If know much about TB, here a few basics you need to know (from Wikipedia of course):
(1) Tuberculosis is a common and deadly infectious disease that is caused by mycobacteria, primarily Mycobacterium tuberculosis.
(2) Tuberculosis most commonly affects the lungs (as pulmonary TB) but can also affect the central nervous system, the lymphatic system, the circulatory system, the genitourinary system, bones, joints and even the skin.
(3) Symptoms include a productive, prolonged cough of more than three weeks duration, chest pain and coughing up blood. Systemic symptoms include fever, chills, night sweats, appetite loss, weight loss and paling, and those afflicted are often easily fatigued.
(4) TB is spread by aerosol droplets expelled by people with the active disease of the lungs when they cough, sneeze, speak, kiss, spit or use the unsterilized eating utensils of the infected person.
(5) Treatment for TB uses antibiotics to kill the bacteria. The two antibiotics most commonly used are rifampicin and isoniazid. However, these treatments are more difficult than the short courses of antibiotics used to cure most bacterial infections as long periods of treatment (around 6 to 12 months) are needed to entirely eliminate mycobacteria from the body.
(5) I had to take Isoniazid for a period of 1 year because, when tested, it was found that I had the antibodies for TB (which means that I likely was exposed to the disease). I think it was because I received the BCG vaccine in France, a vaccine that is thought to boost your immune system against TB. It was hard to take a pill everyday for a year, and I gained a lot of weight while taking the drug.
(7) Drug resistant tuberculosis is transmitted in the same way as regular TB. Primary resistance occurs in persons who are infected with a resistant strain of TB. A patient with fully-susceptible TB develops secondary resistance (acquired resistance) during TB therapy because of inadequate treatment, not taking the prescribed regimen appropriately, or using low quality medication.
(8) Drug-resistant TB is a public health issue in many developing countries, as treatment is longer and requires more expensive drugs. Multi-drug resistant TB (MDR-TB) is defined as resistance to the two most effective first line TB drugs: rifampicin and isoniazid. Extensively drug-resistant TB (XDR-TB) is also resistant to three or more of the six classes of second-line drugs.
(9) TB prevention and control takes two parallel approaches. In the first, people with TB and their contacts are identified and then treated. Identification of infections often involves testing high-risk groups for TB. In the second approach, children are vaccinated to protect them from TB. Unfortunately, no vaccine is available that provides reliable protection for adults.
With these facts in mind, consider the following incident: the man decided to go against CDC recommendations and went on a honeymoon with his new wife...From Atlanta, to Paris...From Paris, to Athens, to Rome, to Prague, to Montreal, to New York, back to Altanta! This man epoxed thousands and thousands of people through his travels and international flights.
Source: The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Published on: 05/31/07
I think this guy should be put in jail--he knowingly put people at risk, exposing them to a disease that is extremely difficult to treat, spreading this extremely drug resistant disease. Shameful!
May 30, 2007
Onoir
Last weekend, my parents and I drove for two days to Montreal to see my sister graduate from University. It was, as you can imagine, a touching event, with the obligatory misplaced speech, Scottish bagpipers, and really good-looking young adults going on the stage to be lightly tapped on the head with a feathered hat.
My brother and I remembered how full of hope we were on that day, confident of our knowledge and our eventual role in life. It was, you may say, the climax of our lives. Little did we know that we in fact knew very little, and that the rest of our lives would become a complex set of equations and priorities. We were happily in the dark.
Which brings me to the restaurant my sister invited us to, the night before:
Restaurant ONoir (a play on the expression "in the dark" in French)
1631 Sainte-Catherine Street West
514-937-9727
www.onoir.com
A seriously sensorial experience, ONoir succeeds in seducing both your taste buds and your imagination. Meals are served in total darkness (cell phones, matches, luminous watches or any other light-emitting apparatuses are strictly forbidden) to heighten your senses and understand, for the duration of your meal, at least, what it is to be blind, like the staff who serves you.
The concept is the brainchild of Jorge Spielmann, a blind pastor from Zurich, who would blindfold dinner guests to give them a taste of his own dining experience. ONoir donates 5% of its profits to local organizations that serve blind or visually impaired people of all ages. Sundays feature the talents of Les Ombres (that’s “shadows” in English), a group composed of a mystery singer and blind musicians.
Source
What an appropriate choice!
My brother and I remembered how full of hope we were on that day, confident of our knowledge and our eventual role in life. It was, you may say, the climax of our lives. Little did we know that we in fact knew very little, and that the rest of our lives would become a complex set of equations and priorities. We were happily in the dark.
Which brings me to the restaurant my sister invited us to, the night before:
Restaurant ONoir (a play on the expression "in the dark" in French)
1631 Sainte-Catherine Street West
514-937-9727
www.onoir.com
A seriously sensorial experience, ONoir succeeds in seducing both your taste buds and your imagination. Meals are served in total darkness (cell phones, matches, luminous watches or any other light-emitting apparatuses are strictly forbidden) to heighten your senses and understand, for the duration of your meal, at least, what it is to be blind, like the staff who serves you.
The concept is the brainchild of Jorge Spielmann, a blind pastor from Zurich, who would blindfold dinner guests to give them a taste of his own dining experience. ONoir donates 5% of its profits to local organizations that serve blind or visually impaired people of all ages. Sundays feature the talents of Les Ombres (that’s “shadows” in English), a group composed of a mystery singer and blind musicians.
Source
What an appropriate choice!
May 25, 2007
Photography Exhibit
So, I will be having a photography exhibit in just about a month at the French Alliance in Washington DC. So far, I bought frames and sent the Evite.
Not much considering I still have to:
1-Develop the pictures
2-Write a press release
3-Design and print simple pamphlets
4-Choose Kuba cloth to hang from the walls
5-Print captions, translate into french and laminate
Not much considering I still have to:
1-Develop the pictures
2-Write a press release
3-Design and print simple pamphlets
4-Choose Kuba cloth to hang from the walls
5-Print captions, translate into french and laminate
The text of my Evite is as follows:
Host: 007 in Africa
Location: French Alliance in Washington DC2142 Wyoming Avenue NW, Washington, DC
When: Monday, June 25, 6:30pm
Phone: (XXX) XXX-XX-XX
Dear Friends,
You are invited to join me at the opening of my photography exhibit Colors of the Congo, at the French Alliance located in Dupont Circle.
I will be exhibiting 15 photos from the Democratic Republic of Congo, where I was working last year. The photos portray people and surroundings of rural regions of the country.
If you are not interested in the Congo and are not a francophile, please do at least come for the wine and cheese and convivial atmosphere...
Don't expect something too fancy, my pictures will be hung in the stairwell!
The event is free and about 12 minutes walk from the North exit of the Dupont Circle metro stop. Thank you for passing this around, all are welcome.
Yikes! I'm getting nervous already!
May 21, 2007
Don't Look at Your Belly Button
When I’m tempted to be hypochondriac about my health, body, life and soul, my mother says “Il ne fait pas toujours se regarder le nombril” which literally means “one should not always look at one's belly button”. Loosely, I think it means that it’s a little selfish and useless to over-analyze everything about yourself.
That may be true, but this weekend was the 4-year anniversary of my first post on this blog. For this occasion, I think that it’s a forgiveable offense to do a mental rewind of my life since that date. Allow me, if you will, to look at my belly button.
May 2004—Graduation from a Masters
In May, I graduate, fresh-faced, and remarkably unbeaten down from graduate school. It is such as exciting, scary time—I feel like a bird that has been let loose from a cage with all the world waiting to be discovered.
At this point, I have lived in France, the USA and Canada. I have taught in Japan and often visit cousins in France and South Africa. Hardly "developing" countries experiences. And yet, I ache to live in a developing country and be a witness to poverty and suffering. I am very eager to do my part in alleviating poor health in those that can’t fend for themselves.
August 2004 to March 2005 - First Real Employment
This is not my first job but certainly the first one that means something to me. I turn down a good paying job located in Rockville, and decide instead to work as a fellow (aka an “intern”) in an American NGO. I am paid pennies but am offered a position overseas. I can’t believe the NGO is crazy enough to send me abroad to represent it!
My “relatively” stable family life, suddenly dissolves. My sister goes to study in Canada, my parents go live in Madagascar with frequent back and forths to France, and my brother takes very responsible job in London with trips to the Middle East for consulting.
I am assigned to Senegal, a country that dramatically challenges my understanding of “developing countries”. The Senegalese are proud businessmen, gently Muslims, great musicians and wear their national clothes like princes. What a great country to start with! There are, of course, people who live in abject poverty and the most marking aspect of Senegalese society is the utter misery in which some children live. They are often sent by their despairing parents to be taught in Muslim school under tutelage of a “teacher”, who transforms the fleet of students into beggars and sources of revenue.
My social life is colorful and varied. My job, on the other hand, is not very interesting and I haven’t really made a difference in people’s lives.
March 2005 – August 2006
My company offers me a job in the Democratic Republic of Congo, a country about which I know next to nothing. I barely look at a map before I enthusiastically accept the position. Immediately, I am thrown into the thick of things. In an environment where staff morale is very low, logistically difficulties seem impossible to overcome, and the management is unable to respond to staff concerns, the environment quickly becomes oppressive.
There is an overwhelming amount of work to do, we are understaffed. There are frequent electricity outages and security issues. Trips to the field are trying as schedules changes at the last minute depending on whether the vehicles still work, the main plane has crashed, or email contact with field partners can be made. And yet, my field visits and interaction with Congolese from rural areas are incredibly fullfilling and filled with magic and wonder.
I struggle and fight to get things done, especially when I think of my hard-working field partners, and don’t hesitate to work weekend and evenings. There are things to do in the evening (restaurants, pool, hanging out at other people’s houses) but no way to get out of the capital. I made very few excursions and the stress builds up like a slow-pressure cooker.
I am often incapable of surmounting logistical obstacles and am often distressed about not being able to do more. Though I never credit him, my boyfriend in the United States is an immense source of comfort and support. I decide to go back to the US and my heart breaks at the betrayal of leaving a country that needs so much help.
August 2006-October 2006 - Readjustment
The readjustment is not what I expected it to be. Sure, the shear number of cereal boxes at Giant is impressive, but that not the troubling part. The part that troubles me is that I am just so happy to be back. To be able to walk alone in the street and have unguarded time for myself. I am superficially avid to buy tons of fashionable clothes while experiencing a lot of guilt over every purchase.
October 2006 – April 2006 – Period of Mediocracy
I get a job in an african development agency. I work part-time for meager hourly wages (that amounts to less than what I was paid as a receptionist…4 years ago). The hours allow me to aggressively pursue my job search. The environment is pleasant but the lack of challenge in my job actually weighs on me.
April 2006 – Present – Back to Square One
After what feels like months and months of searching, I finally get a good job in Washington DC. Meanwhile, my parents come home permanently from Madagascar. My sister graduates and comes back to DC for the summer. My brother takes a hiatus from his very demanding job in a consulting firm and goes to India for 6 months to work in development.
Now that things have finally settled down, I find that things aren't exactly working out with my boyfriend. I also wish I had more of a direction in life. I feel in suspended animation, but have no idea what I am waiting for.
That's All Folks!
That may be true, but this weekend was the 4-year anniversary of my first post on this blog. For this occasion, I think that it’s a forgiveable offense to do a mental rewind of my life since that date. Allow me, if you will, to look at my belly button.
May 2004—Graduation from a Masters
In May, I graduate, fresh-faced, and remarkably unbeaten down from graduate school. It is such as exciting, scary time—I feel like a bird that has been let loose from a cage with all the world waiting to be discovered.
At this point, I have lived in France, the USA and Canada. I have taught in Japan and often visit cousins in France and South Africa. Hardly "developing" countries experiences. And yet, I ache to live in a developing country and be a witness to poverty and suffering. I am very eager to do my part in alleviating poor health in those that can’t fend for themselves.
August 2004 to March 2005 - First Real Employment
This is not my first job but certainly the first one that means something to me. I turn down a good paying job located in Rockville, and decide instead to work as a fellow (aka an “intern”) in an American NGO. I am paid pennies but am offered a position overseas. I can’t believe the NGO is crazy enough to send me abroad to represent it!
My “relatively” stable family life, suddenly dissolves. My sister goes to study in Canada, my parents go live in Madagascar with frequent back and forths to France, and my brother takes very responsible job in London with trips to the Middle East for consulting.
I am assigned to Senegal, a country that dramatically challenges my understanding of “developing countries”. The Senegalese are proud businessmen, gently Muslims, great musicians and wear their national clothes like princes. What a great country to start with! There are, of course, people who live in abject poverty and the most marking aspect of Senegalese society is the utter misery in which some children live. They are often sent by their despairing parents to be taught in Muslim school under tutelage of a “teacher”, who transforms the fleet of students into beggars and sources of revenue.
My social life is colorful and varied. My job, on the other hand, is not very interesting and I haven’t really made a difference in people’s lives.
March 2005 – August 2006
My company offers me a job in the Democratic Republic of Congo, a country about which I know next to nothing. I barely look at a map before I enthusiastically accept the position. Immediately, I am thrown into the thick of things. In an environment where staff morale is very low, logistically difficulties seem impossible to overcome, and the management is unable to respond to staff concerns, the environment quickly becomes oppressive.
There is an overwhelming amount of work to do, we are understaffed. There are frequent electricity outages and security issues. Trips to the field are trying as schedules changes at the last minute depending on whether the vehicles still work, the main plane has crashed, or email contact with field partners can be made. And yet, my field visits and interaction with Congolese from rural areas are incredibly fullfilling and filled with magic and wonder.
I struggle and fight to get things done, especially when I think of my hard-working field partners, and don’t hesitate to work weekend and evenings. There are things to do in the evening (restaurants, pool, hanging out at other people’s houses) but no way to get out of the capital. I made very few excursions and the stress builds up like a slow-pressure cooker.
I am often incapable of surmounting logistical obstacles and am often distressed about not being able to do more. Though I never credit him, my boyfriend in the United States is an immense source of comfort and support. I decide to go back to the US and my heart breaks at the betrayal of leaving a country that needs so much help.
August 2006-October 2006 - Readjustment
The readjustment is not what I expected it to be. Sure, the shear number of cereal boxes at Giant is impressive, but that not the troubling part. The part that troubles me is that I am just so happy to be back. To be able to walk alone in the street and have unguarded time for myself. I am superficially avid to buy tons of fashionable clothes while experiencing a lot of guilt over every purchase.
October 2006 – April 2006 – Period of Mediocracy
I get a job in an african development agency. I work part-time for meager hourly wages (that amounts to less than what I was paid as a receptionist…4 years ago). The hours allow me to aggressively pursue my job search. The environment is pleasant but the lack of challenge in my job actually weighs on me.
April 2006 – Present – Back to Square One
After what feels like months and months of searching, I finally get a good job in Washington DC. Meanwhile, my parents come home permanently from Madagascar. My sister graduates and comes back to DC for the summer. My brother takes a hiatus from his very demanding job in a consulting firm and goes to India for 6 months to work in development.
Now that things have finally settled down, I find that things aren't exactly working out with my boyfriend. I also wish I had more of a direction in life. I feel in suspended animation, but have no idea what I am waiting for.
That's All Folks!
May 18, 2007
Angélique Kidjo
I went to see Angélique Kidjo yesterday and it was electric.
Kidjo was born in Ouidah, Benin but relocated to Paris in 1982 following continuing political conflicts in her country. She's a Beninese (from Benin) singer, songwriter whose style is a strange mix of rock/pop and piercing African voices, instruments and beats.
Angélique is so electric, that she manage to get people up and dancing everytime (this is feat in a crowd full of self-important Washington DC suits). By the end of her concert, 1/5 of the audience was on the stage, booty-shaking along with her. She was moving in and out of the thick crowd, creating a strange symbiosis of people, lead by her powerful, but bodiless voice.
It was bitter sweet for me as well, as it coincided with the break-up of a person I admire and appreciate greatly. In a recent email to a friend, I wrote:
It's such a cop-out when people say "my boyfriend and I broke-up " because, at the end of the day, it's a lot more than a school crush. It's a break-up with a good friend, a carer, a lover, and a future father. It's also a leap of faith to leave someone who loves you and whom you love. Who's to say that someone else will love you again? And find your bad habits charming?
Kidjo was born in Ouidah, Benin but relocated to Paris in 1982 following continuing political conflicts in her country. She's a Beninese (from Benin) singer, songwriter whose style is a strange mix of rock/pop and piercing African voices, instruments and beats.
Angélique is so electric, that she manage to get people up and dancing everytime (this is feat in a crowd full of self-important Washington DC suits). By the end of her concert, 1/5 of the audience was on the stage, booty-shaking along with her. She was moving in and out of the thick crowd, creating a strange symbiosis of people, lead by her powerful, but bodiless voice.
It was bitter sweet for me as well, as it coincided with the break-up of a person I admire and appreciate greatly. In a recent email to a friend, I wrote:
It's such a cop-out when people say "my boyfriend and I broke-up " because, at the end of the day, it's a lot more than a school crush. It's a break-up with a good friend, a carer, a lover, and a future father. It's also a leap of faith to leave someone who loves you and whom you love. Who's to say that someone else will love you again? And find your bad habits charming?
May 14, 2007
I'm LOST, 2 years late
Since my last post, I have managed to become completely addicted to the TV show Lost. It strikes me as ironic that, while I was visiting the deep, lush, impenetrable jungles of the Congo, foxy Matthew Fox and the shell-shock crew of the crashed passenger plane were also inexplicably drawn to the Jungles of the mysterious Island.
And yes, I realize that, much like a surviving Cast-Away coming home, I am quite late in catching up with the latest TV shows. But I am immeasurably glad not to have been exposed to the grueling sounds of the thing in the forest, the wild boars, the miraculous medical recoveries and intense distrust of fellow passengers of the TV show.
Just because I would have been just too freaked out to do my field work. There are crazy things in the Congo too, and you just don't want to ask too many questions. For example, it is not advisable to ask about the tough, gamey, brown chunks of meat mysteriously showing up on your breakfast plate. It's 8:00am, you have a long day ahead--and I'm sure my fellow Lost passengers will agree--you need the protein.
So I don't know much about the Island yet (though there have been 3 seasons, I have only watched 3 episodes) but it strikes me as remarkably similar to the Island of Dr. Moreau, a horrifying book about a scientist who breeds half-human-half-animal creatures on a deserted Island. The creatures are tortured and forced to act human, but they are invariably drawn to let their instincts take over and become wild, violent and incontrollable. Much to the dismay of the humans left on the Island.
Or is it like those Sci-Fi books I read voraciously: humans becoming helpless, clueless pawns in a fascinating social behavior study in a controlled environment? Who knows?
Brillant!
And yes, I realize that, much like a surviving Cast-Away coming home, I am quite late in catching up with the latest TV shows. But I am immeasurably glad not to have been exposed to the grueling sounds of the thing in the forest, the wild boars, the miraculous medical recoveries and intense distrust of fellow passengers of the TV show.
Just because I would have been just too freaked out to do my field work. There are crazy things in the Congo too, and you just don't want to ask too many questions. For example, it is not advisable to ask about the tough, gamey, brown chunks of meat mysteriously showing up on your breakfast plate. It's 8:00am, you have a long day ahead--and I'm sure my fellow Lost passengers will agree--you need the protein.
So I don't know much about the Island yet (though there have been 3 seasons, I have only watched 3 episodes) but it strikes me as remarkably similar to the Island of Dr. Moreau, a horrifying book about a scientist who breeds half-human-half-animal creatures on a deserted Island. The creatures are tortured and forced to act human, but they are invariably drawn to let their instincts take over and become wild, violent and incontrollable. Much to the dismay of the humans left on the Island.
Or is it like those Sci-Fi books I read voraciously: humans becoming helpless, clueless pawns in a fascinating social behavior study in a controlled environment? Who knows?
Brillant!
May 11, 2007
12 things you didn't know about Micronesia
I frequently come across very interesting tidbits of information at work. I don't know about you, but I don't know much about small Island nations (other than Hawai is a nice place to go for spring break). Here are 12 bits of information you should know about the country of Micronesia (if you count that fact that you didn't know there was a country called Micronesia, make that 13).
SourceSources: the State Department, and Wikipedia
(1) Micronesia is often used to refer to several areas in the Pacific. Here, I am talking about the island nation called the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM).
(2) It is located North of Australia, Northeast of Papua New Guinea.
(3) FSM is made up of 607 islands extending 1,800 miles. These islands are divided amongst are major island groups: Pohnpei, Chuuk (pronounce Choo-k), Yap and Kosrae (pronounce kosh-rye). People from these islands are the Pohnpiean, the Chuukese, the Yappese, and the Krosraeans.
(4) You may have heard of these islands through the television show Lost or by reading Oliver Sacks. Wikipedia says:
The fictional American television series Lost has been linked to the island by some fans of the show. A numeric sequence that has prominence in Lost , known simply as 'The Numbers' (4 8 15 16 23 42), happens to correspond to a geographic latitude and longitude (4.815° N 162.342° E) that is not far from Kosrae.
And
The atoll of Pingelap, located several hundred miles to the east of Pohnpei, but part of Pohnpei State, is notable for the prevalence of the extreme form of color blindness known as maskun. Maskun is relatively rare but often shows up in communities with small gene-pools. Pingelap was featured in the book, The Island of the Colorblind, by neurologist Oliver Sacks.
(5) There are about 108,000 people on the islands.
(6) More than one-half of workers are government employees (imagine if you will, 150,000,000 American people working in the government. Scary).
(7) The country obtained its independence UN trusteeship in November 3, 1986.
(7) The country obtained its independence UN trusteeship in November 3, 1986.
(8) The GDP per capita is $2,018 (compare that to $43,444 for the United States, $2,007 for Senegal and $ 850 for the Democratic Republic of Congo).
(9) FSM does not have a lot of diverse industries. Income comes from fishing, agriculture, and tourism. Income also comes from the Compact of Free Association, a contract of sorts in which the United States gives FSM money until 2023, for the right to monitor its international waters.
(10) The currency is the U.S. dollar, and the common language is English.
(11) Under the Amended Compact of Free Association, Americans can live and work freely in the FSM without the need for a visa.
(12) The ancestors of the Micronesians first settled the islands over four thousand years ago. The Portuguese, looking for the Spice Islands of Indonesia for settled FSM. Then it was sold to the Germans in 1899 and conquered by Japan in 1914. It was seized by the United States during World War II and later fell under the United Nations in 1947. It received it’s independence in 1986.
(9) FSM does not have a lot of diverse industries. Income comes from fishing, agriculture, and tourism. Income also comes from the Compact of Free Association, a contract of sorts in which the United States gives FSM money until 2023, for the right to monitor its international waters.
(10) The currency is the U.S. dollar, and the common language is English.
(11) Under the Amended Compact of Free Association, Americans can live and work freely in the FSM without the need for a visa.
(12) The ancestors of the Micronesians first settled the islands over four thousand years ago. The Portuguese, looking for the Spice Islands of Indonesia for settled FSM. Then it was sold to the Germans in 1899 and conquered by Japan in 1914. It was seized by the United States during World War II and later fell under the United Nations in 1947. It received it’s independence in 1986.
Fascinating! Doesn't it just make you want to go there?
May 10, 2007
Use thick markers, man!
True, my troubles ain't what they were in the Congo. But I still have very real troubles.
From Harvard Street relays my problems exactly when he says :
I put the cans out at the end of the driveway last night around 10pm. At 6pm today, they were gone.
That has happened to me and my housmates twice... for both the recycling bins and the trash cans! It was soooo irritating and rather frightening to think that the rats would be having a field day with the trash we stored, out of desperation, in our garage for three weeks.
All I can say is Use thick markers, man! I put our address is blocky letters and, so help me God, if I find my trash that says 1443 at 1445's apartment, I am going to kick some serious ass!
From Harvard Street relays my problems exactly when he says :
I put the cans out at the end of the driveway last night around 10pm. At 6pm today, they were gone.
That has happened to me and my housmates twice... for both the recycling bins and the trash cans! It was soooo irritating and rather frightening to think that the rats would be having a field day with the trash we stored, out of desperation, in our garage for three weeks.
All I can say is Use thick markers, man! I put our address is blocky letters and, so help me God, if I find my trash that says 1443 at 1445's apartment, I am going to kick some serious ass!
May 09, 2007
Fruit Seller
There's this guy that parks himself and his fruit crates right in the front of our (huge) office building. It strikes me as ironic that he sells things in the same manner as a typical Congolese or Senegalese vendor would--though the fruits are different (apples, chocolate covered strawberries, trail mix versus bananas, mangos and mangosteens)--the crates and the quiet demeanor are the same.
While my Congolese and Senegalese colleagues would flock to vendors for the sake of finding cheap foods, I imagine my American colleagues are looking for some healthy fairs.
This guy must make a killing: the line is always 7 or 8 people long. It's refreshing to see that people are excited about the fresh-fruits-and-nuts-guy instead of rushing to the cheetos-cheetah and snapple-lady.
While my Congolese and Senegalese colleagues would flock to vendors for the sake of finding cheap foods, I imagine my American colleagues are looking for some healthy fairs.
This guy must make a killing: the line is always 7 or 8 people long. It's refreshing to see that people are excited about the fresh-fruits-and-nuts-guy instead of rushing to the cheetos-cheetah and snapple-lady.
May 04, 2007
Bomb Threat Procedures
So I'm reading a cute little brochure for the building in which I work (the dry cleaners, the snickers seller and all that) and notice this rather innocuous-looking item on the back:
Bomb Threat Procedures
If a bomb threat is received, notify Security (xxx-xxx-xxxx) immediately.
Note: Use call trace – to activate this feature, dial “*”, then the numbers x and x immediately after hanging up on the caller.
The employee is to note the time of the call, the line it was received on, and call Security with this information.
Additionally, the person receiving the call should try to gather as much information from the caller as possible. This information should include the following:
When is the bomb going to explode?
Where is the bomb?
What does it look like?
What kind of bomb is it?
What will cause it to explode?
Did you place the bomb?
Why? Where are you calling from?
What is your address?
What is your name?
Did the caller have an accent?
Did the voice sound familiar?
Where there any background noises?
Was the caller male or female, and what would you estimate as his/her approximate age?
Where there any other distinctive traits about the caller?
Any and all information that can be provided will be helpful.
Yikes! If someone calls you with a bomb threat, are you really going to stick around the office to ask all those questions?
Bomb Threat Procedures
If a bomb threat is received, notify Security (xxx-xxx-xxxx) immediately.
Note: Use call trace – to activate this feature, dial “*”, then the numbers x and x immediately after hanging up on the caller.
The employee is to note the time of the call, the line it was received on, and call Security with this information.
Additionally, the person receiving the call should try to gather as much information from the caller as possible. This information should include the following:
When is the bomb going to explode?
Where is the bomb?
What does it look like?
What kind of bomb is it?
What will cause it to explode?
Did you place the bomb?
Why? Where are you calling from?
What is your address?
What is your name?
Did the caller have an accent?
Did the voice sound familiar?
Where there any background noises?
Was the caller male or female, and what would you estimate as his/her approximate age?
Where there any other distinctive traits about the caller?
Any and all information that can be provided will be helpful.
Yikes! If someone calls you with a bomb threat, are you really going to stick around the office to ask all those questions?
April 30, 2007
Washington D.C.’s artsy too!
...In a political kind of way.
Frankly, I'm a little tired of my friends telling me D.C. lacks soul. It does not. I swear. Take for example, these painted televisions that have been popping up in the city:
Painted television at the corner of Harvard and 16th street
Frankly, I'm a little tired of my friends telling me D.C. lacks soul. It does not. I swear. Take for example, these painted televisions that have been popping up in the city:
Painted television at the corner of Harvard and 16th street I have no idea what it is, or what it represents. But it is art, right? Somehow, it feels laden with political meaning. How very D.C.
Now if I could only figure out what it represents...
April 25, 2007
Sssh!! The Potatoes have eyes…
I’ve been working in my job for three weeks now and desperately trying to keep up on health news. It’s hard because your usual websites like CNN and BBC aren’t very scientifically minded, and though The New England Journal of Medicine is pretty detailed in describing protein pathways, well, it’s just not the kind of health news that needs to be on my radar.
But I have to say, the more I know, the more depressed I get. I mean, what are we doing to our poor planet by continuing to drive monster trucks for short commutes to work, prohibiting teenagers from getting the proper Reproductive Health knowledge, inventing reasons to go to war, and completely disregarding the law on gun use?
I finish my work day with a heavy heart and increasingly distressed about life in general. It’s just not healthy.
And you know what else is not healthy? Potatoes that have been left to grow eyes and flower in a bowl in the kitchen. I mean, did you even know that potatoes could flower? It’s just unnatural.
But I have to say, the more I know, the more depressed I get. I mean, what are we doing to our poor planet by continuing to drive monster trucks for short commutes to work, prohibiting teenagers from getting the proper Reproductive Health knowledge, inventing reasons to go to war, and completely disregarding the law on gun use?
I finish my work day with a heavy heart and increasingly distressed about life in general. It’s just not healthy.
And you know what else is not healthy? Potatoes that have been left to grow eyes and flower in a bowl in the kitchen. I mean, did you even know that potatoes could flower? It’s just unnatural.
(Actual picture of Potatoes in a friend's kitchen)
April 24, 2007
My very own Bump Identity!
The author of the Bumps has created a Bump Identity for me! It kind of looks like a mutated marshmellow eating a strawberry cheesecake. Which is increadibly appropriate in a way.
You can read her response here. Thanks!
April 20, 2007
Planting a Seed
A friend from High School started a website called Sprout to showcase her Bumps creatures, artistic talents and consultancy services.
Awww, looks just like those cuddly, cute palm grubs people eat in the Congo
Awww, looks just like those cuddly, cute palm grubs people eat in the Congo I'm not sure how she became so creative because, let me tell you, our High School squelched anything remotely creative, free-thinking and originial in each and every one of us. But I figure something must have planted a seed.
My most salient memory of her is during German class. It must have been in German class because I remember being bored out of my skull and totally clueless to what was going on around me. Although to be fair, that could have pretty much described any classes in High School.
She was sitting behind me and eating a babybel. She took the wax covering from the cheese and rolled it into a perfectly circular, shiny ball. Then she remodeled the wax again and made a little mermaid. I swear this is true! A mermaid made out of Babybel wax. Ahhh, good times.
Anyways, looks like she’s progressed well beyond the food art and into, into... well, weird creature-making. Go check out her most excellent Christmas video of the Bumps or directly on Youtube.
She was sitting behind me and eating a babybel. She took the wax covering from the cheese and rolled it into a perfectly circular, shiny ball. Then she remodeled the wax again and made a little mermaid. I swear this is true! A mermaid made out of Babybel wax. Ahhh, good times.
Anyways, looks like she’s progressed well beyond the food art and into, into... well, weird creature-making. Go check out her most excellent Christmas video of the Bumps or directly on Youtube.
007 in India
Seems like another family member is capitalizing on MY fame. Not satisfied that my sister decided to use 007inCanada as her code name, my brother went ahead and used 007inIndia.
Go check it out!
April 19, 2007
Split Personality
So I started my new job. As an act of kind of kindness to me I suppose, my colleagues have been reluctant to give me too much work the first week...and the second...then I go slammed.
In addition to the slamming of work, I have to commute to two offices depending on my mood and workload. If I go to the Rockville office (Twinbrook metro stop), it takes me an hour by bus and metro. It's far from anything and anyone and there is not a single bar to drink my sorrows away after work. I swear I am not kidding. It's the most desolate place to which I've been. And trust me, I've been to some pretty remote places. But I have my own, lonely office so I guess that's something.
Sometimes I decide to shorten my commute and go to our Washington D.C. office. I work in the "swing" space, which is a poetic expression for a hot and sweaty cubicle. I am in the center of the action and sometimes feel like I am dodging bullets. It's fast, hectic, and panicked.
Having two offices is a bit like have a split personality. One is a sweet 9 year old girl that does as she's told. The other is an old woman who uses her umbrella to spear people out of her way.
In addition to the slamming of work, I have to commute to two offices depending on my mood and workload. If I go to the Rockville office (Twinbrook metro stop), it takes me an hour by bus and metro. It's far from anything and anyone and there is not a single bar to drink my sorrows away after work. I swear I am not kidding. It's the most desolate place to which I've been. And trust me, I've been to some pretty remote places. But I have my own, lonely office so I guess that's something.
Sometimes I decide to shorten my commute and go to our Washington D.C. office. I work in the "swing" space, which is a poetic expression for a hot and sweaty cubicle. I am in the center of the action and sometimes feel like I am dodging bullets. It's fast, hectic, and panicked.
Having two offices is a bit like have a split personality. One is a sweet 9 year old girl that does as she's told. The other is an old woman who uses her umbrella to spear people out of her way.
April 10, 2007
Fingers of an 80 year-old woman
SourceI had to give my fingerprints today. I warned the security office that I have been dubbed “the girl with fingers of an 80 year-old woman”. Indeed, it seems that my fingertips do not have the usual deep grooves and ridges fingers usually have. The security person taking care of my file laughed and told me the office had a new “water-based” machine that could lift the print of off anyone.
I placed my finger on the monitor and rotated from one side to the next. The computer showed that there was only a 73% match, but 75% was a passing grade. The picture of my fingerprint on the screen looked minutely grooved and general smooth.
Miffed, we tried it again. Three times. With water droplets rubbed into the tip of my finger, then heavy Vaseline cream. I tried pushing hard, pushing lightly, and pushing my finger with my other index to help it along. Finally we get an acceptable print. After undergoing the same process for each finger (imagine 5 times x 10 fingers), we finally decided to leave well enough alone and kept the best prints.
I must have looked worried, because the man walking past me said “I really don’t think that you have the profile of a criminal so don’t worry about it”. But then I (jokingly) answered “well you never know, the scariest things come in small packages”.
I placed my finger on the monitor and rotated from one side to the next. The computer showed that there was only a 73% match, but 75% was a passing grade. The picture of my fingerprint on the screen looked minutely grooved and general smooth.
Miffed, we tried it again. Three times. With water droplets rubbed into the tip of my finger, then heavy Vaseline cream. I tried pushing hard, pushing lightly, and pushing my finger with my other index to help it along. Finally we get an acceptable print. After undergoing the same process for each finger (imagine 5 times x 10 fingers), we finally decided to leave well enough alone and kept the best prints.
I must have looked worried, because the man walking past me said “I really don’t think that you have the profile of a criminal so don’t worry about it”. But then I (jokingly) answered “well you never know, the scariest things come in small packages”.
D’oh! I’m so retarded.
April 06, 2007
Memories of the Congo
Carl the Pilot was in town a few days ago and had dinner with me. We invited a roomate of mine and proceeded to talk non-stop about our experiences in the Congo for a few hours.
Oblivious to her obvious sign of boredom (yawning, slowly fluttering eyes, fuzzy gaze and faint smile), we just talked, and talked, and talked some more.
I guess our adventures are not exciting as initially thought. Oh well, no matter, it was fun!
I really don't want to spoil the fun, but Carl has some awesome news. Update your bloody blog Carl!
Oblivious to her obvious sign of boredom (yawning, slowly fluttering eyes, fuzzy gaze and faint smile), we just talked, and talked, and talked some more.
I guess our adventures are not exciting as initially thought. Oh well, no matter, it was fun!
I really don't want to spoil the fun, but Carl has some awesome news. Update your bloody blog Carl!
Not Saving the World...Yet
Well, I think that it's safe to say that I'm not saving the world yet. Today in my new job, I have:
1. Gone to the cafeteria and poured over the yellowing lettuce, cheese and ham to decide the best lunch combination
2. Labelled a few pieces of paper into a meticulous well-organized folder
3. Called the same three people 10 times
4. Gone to the water fontain no less than five time to refill my plastic bottle
...excuse me while I go to the ladies room (my fourth time today).
1. Gone to the cafeteria and poured over the yellowing lettuce, cheese and ham to decide the best lunch combination
2. Labelled a few pieces of paper into a meticulous well-organized folder
3. Called the same three people 10 times
4. Gone to the water fontain no less than five time to refill my plastic bottle
...excuse me while I go to the ladies room (my fourth time today).
April 02, 2007
Two music venues
Two days ago, I went to see Toumani Diabate, a wonderful Malian Kora player. Because I am too lazy now to talk about it, I am transcribing the Lisner Auditorium description:
Toumani Diabate’s Symmetric Orchestra
Diabate is the vanguard of a new generation of griots from Mali who are both modernizing and honoring traditional music. Toumani is a performer of truly exceptional virtuosity and creativity and his Symmetric Orchestras id an expert everything from age-old Malian standards to contemporary Cuban-Senegalese salsa.
The best compliment I can pay Toumani is that listening to his and his orchestra’s music --instantly, vividly and for a full 2 hours-- transported me back to Senegal, warm sandy breezes, salt-soaked hair and all.
Tonight, I went to see an Opera called “La Filled du Regiment” at the Kennedy Center. Diametrically opposite to Toumani’s performance of course but immensely entertaining. This is a light, funny piece that had the audience laughing quite often.
The best compliment I can pay “La Filled du Regiment” is that I didn’t nod off to sleep and actually paid attention to the story. And that, my friends, is a feat!
Toumani Diabate’s Symmetric Orchestra
Diabate is the vanguard of a new generation of griots from Mali who are both modernizing and honoring traditional music. Toumani is a performer of truly exceptional virtuosity and creativity and his Symmetric Orchestras id an expert everything from age-old Malian standards to contemporary Cuban-Senegalese salsa.
The best compliment I can pay Toumani is that listening to his and his orchestra’s music --instantly, vividly and for a full 2 hours-- transported me back to Senegal, warm sandy breezes, salt-soaked hair and all.
Tonight, I went to see an Opera called “La Filled du Regiment” at the Kennedy Center. Diametrically opposite to Toumani’s performance of course but immensely entertaining. This is a light, funny piece that had the audience laughing quite often.
The best compliment I can pay “La Filled du Regiment” is that I didn’t nod off to sleep and actually paid attention to the story. And that, my friends, is a feat!
First day at work (again)
(I swear, I've had 4 different jobs in the span of 2.5 years. It gets old quickly).
My first day of work was disappointedly uneventful. Oh, other than the fact that the human resources person who was supposed to meet me in the lobby downtown at 8:15am didn’t give me sign of life until 11:20am. And then only to tell me that she had been sick since Wednesday, and hadn’t she called me to let me know? Nope.
Then I went to the other office uptown (it took me an hour), and just kind of chilled out and thought about how I would decorate my office. Very few people were actually in the office and it kind of felt like London during the second World War. You know the feeling: there ought to be a crowd of people busily going about their business but it's earily silent because a bomb just dropped.
The most stressful part of my day was that my middle toe (noticeably bigger than the other toes) poked a hole in my pantyhose and I had to walk around all day with one toe and a half sticking out of the hose. Very uncomfortable.
I hate hose.
My first day of work was disappointedly uneventful. Oh, other than the fact that the human resources person who was supposed to meet me in the lobby downtown at 8:15am didn’t give me sign of life until 11:20am. And then only to tell me that she had been sick since Wednesday, and hadn’t she called me to let me know? Nope.
Then I went to the other office uptown (it took me an hour), and just kind of chilled out and thought about how I would decorate my office. Very few people were actually in the office and it kind of felt like London during the second World War. You know the feeling: there ought to be a crowd of people busily going about their business but it's earily silent because a bomb just dropped.
The most stressful part of my day was that my middle toe (noticeably bigger than the other toes) poked a hole in my pantyhose and I had to walk around all day with one toe and a half sticking out of the hose. Very uncomfortable.
I hate hose.
March 29, 2007
My family is nuts
So, as you may remember, my immediate family has been in all sorts of different places this year. There was a point in time where:
-I was living in the Democratic Republic of Congo
-My Dad was living in Madagscar
-My Mom was doing the back and forth between Madagascar and France
-My Brother was based in London but worked in the Middle East for a consulting gig
-My Sister was studying in Canada
It was nuts because I never knew where my brother was; I would call three numbers in Madagascar and two in France before I could locate my mom, and I had to send an email to the whole family to let them know when I would in the field and out of email reach.
Nuts!
(I won't even cover the rest of my cousins who are in South Africa, America, France, Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, Bostwana...)
I was going to happily announce that my parents and I are back in the United States, but my brother just announced that he will be conducting a study in India for 6 months! And my sister is likely to go to South America for volunteering in clinics after she graduates.
Nuts I tell you!
March 28, 2007
Shocking news! More fighting in Kinshasa!
OK this is not so shocking news (given that there's always fighting in the capital of the DRC and that this news is a few days old); however, this particularly bout of fighting was particularly violent and deadly.
KINSHASA, Democratic Republic of Congo (Reuters) -- Up to 600 people were killed in the Congolese capital last week in fighting between the army and a former rebel leader's forces which "seriously wounded" the democratic process, European Union ambassadors said on Tuesday.
The fighting erupted on Thursday after troops loyal to former presidential candidate Jean-Pierre Bemba refused an order to disarm. Machine gun fire and mortars rocked the riverside capital for two days before Bemba's forces were routed.
[…]
It was the first fighting in Kinshasa since landmark presidential elections last year -- heavily financed by the international community and aimed at restoring peace to the mineral-rich central African state after a 1998-2003 war. […]
President Joseph Kabila's victory was overwhelmingly accepted as legitimate by national and international elections observers monitoring Congo's first democratic polls in more than four decades.
"This is not necessarily the death (of the democratic process), but the process is seriously wounded," said British Ambassador Andy Sparkes, one of around a dozen European envoys who spoke to journalists.
I feel extremely frustrated by this turn of event and feel like throwing my arms up in resignation – it seems like Congo will never have stability and peace. But mostly, I am worried for my old colleagues – the American ones that regaled me with tales of hiding in each other’s houses, having their children stuck under their desks at school for 48 hours, and needing to rescue their cats before they starved to death. But in am extremely worried for my Congolese colleagues who, though the live in the suburbs away from the city center, are often more vulnerable than American because they do not have stockpiles of food and not guards to defend them.
To catch up on blogs from people stuck in the midst of these events, visit these very interesting accounts at Congogirl, and Light in the Heart of Darkness,
KINSHASA, Democratic Republic of Congo (Reuters) -- Up to 600 people were killed in the Congolese capital last week in fighting between the army and a former rebel leader's forces which "seriously wounded" the democratic process, European Union ambassadors said on Tuesday.
The fighting erupted on Thursday after troops loyal to former presidential candidate Jean-Pierre Bemba refused an order to disarm. Machine gun fire and mortars rocked the riverside capital for two days before Bemba's forces were routed.
[…]
It was the first fighting in Kinshasa since landmark presidential elections last year -- heavily financed by the international community and aimed at restoring peace to the mineral-rich central African state after a 1998-2003 war. […]
President Joseph Kabila's victory was overwhelmingly accepted as legitimate by national and international elections observers monitoring Congo's first democratic polls in more than four decades.
"This is not necessarily the death (of the democratic process), but the process is seriously wounded," said British Ambassador Andy Sparkes, one of around a dozen European envoys who spoke to journalists.
I feel extremely frustrated by this turn of event and feel like throwing my arms up in resignation – it seems like Congo will never have stability and peace. But mostly, I am worried for my old colleagues – the American ones that regaled me with tales of hiding in each other’s houses, having their children stuck under their desks at school for 48 hours, and needing to rescue their cats before they starved to death. But in am extremely worried for my Congolese colleagues who, though the live in the suburbs away from the city center, are often more vulnerable than American because they do not have stockpiles of food and not guards to defend them.
To catch up on blogs from people stuck in the midst of these events, visit these very interesting accounts at Congogirl, and Light in the Heart of Darkness,
March 27, 2007
I finally got a job!
I can't tell you how excited I am about having a new job - though from the tone of my posts of the last 8 months, it's easy to see why this is a good thing. I can't stop being in a good mood. I smile lots. My mouth hurts and I scare people who don't usually see me this bubbly. This is what I wrote to colleagues at my part-time work:
Dear All,
I will be leaving the XXX for a full-time job in YYY at the end of this week. Though this new position fits my interests and qualifications in the health field, I will sad to leave the agency.
I really enjoyed my time here and appreciate having had the opportunity to work with you. I will remember the mission of the agency, the partners in the field, the excitement over new potential projects and, of course, the Friday Happy Hours. I leave with a newfound understanding of how investments in local businesses can contribute to the field of development.
A very special thanks to all those who provided me with guidance and granted me informational meetings while I was undertaking my job search.
Please do keep in touch, I can be reached at my personal email address don't@you.wish.you.had.it.com or on my cell phone at (555) 555-1234.
Thanks again for everything.
Best Regards,
007 in Africa
Dear All,
I will be leaving the XXX for a full-time job in YYY at the end of this week. Though this new position fits my interests and qualifications in the health field, I will sad to leave the agency.
I really enjoyed my time here and appreciate having had the opportunity to work with you. I will remember the mission of the agency, the partners in the field, the excitement over new potential projects and, of course, the Friday Happy Hours. I leave with a newfound understanding of how investments in local businesses can contribute to the field of development.
A very special thanks to all those who provided me with guidance and granted me informational meetings while I was undertaking my job search.
Please do keep in touch, I can be reached at my personal email address don't@you.wish.you.had.it.com or on my cell phone at (555) 555-1234.
Thanks again for everything.
Best Regards,
007 in Africa
March 23, 2007
Some musing on the Bus system in DC
My morning commute really influences the way my day unfolds. Today for example, I waited twice as long for the bus. When it came, there were 3 buses going in the same direction, in a row. Then, when I got on, I heard a person berating another passenger who was trying to board the bus and find a seat. She wasn’t having any of it and defended herself in a no-nonsense kind of way (I wouldn’t have had the guts so I was mentally cheering herself on).
It got me thinking about how driving a bus is really demanding work. It’s so much more than just driving and stopping in the right places.
A bus driver has to
-help handicapped persons board the bus and get settled;
-make sure mothers and elderly people get priority seating in the front;
-ride the bus with a crowd-full of people hovering around the front door;
-mediate physical and verbal disputes (I have seen this happen often);
-deal with strange people talking to/at them while they are concentrating on driving;
-avoid pedestrians and people running in their direction, desperate not to miss the bus;
-keep cool when a passenger is ranting about the voices in his/her head.
There are so many common courtesies that passengers don’t respect. I think a good media campaign on politeness wouldn’t hurt.
My pet peeves
-People who refuse to move back and crowd the front of the bus. As a result, the bus gets really packed in the front while people in the back just chill out;
-People who get annoyed at you for going around them to reach the empty back of the bus;
-People who are so big they take up two seats (OK that’s not really being rude but it still annoys me);
-People who board the bus in a combative mood and feel the need to start of fight with somebody;
-People who shout into their phones, convinced that everybody else in the bus is fascinated by their drama;
-Bus drivers who are annoyed when you say “good morning!” to them and thank them as you are getting off;
-Guys with attitude who splay their knees open and don’t give you any space next to them to sit.
I know the DC transit systems has been poor in the past (and present), but they really need to spruce up the way they work. I easily spend $100 a month to ride the bus and the metro and therefore feel entitled to make the following recommendations:
My suggestions
-Have more express buses that stop every three stops instead of at every single stop;
-If your bus is 2/3 or fuller, don’t pick up any more passengers. This would presumably help alleviated the clumping phenomenon (see entry);
-Stop your bus and check whether passengers have moved ALL the way to the back of the bus. They will learn soon enough not to crowd the front;
-Create a media campaign on how to behave on the bus. Diffuse these messages on TV, in the newspapers, in metro train, in buses and in elementary schools;
– Post all bus rules on bus walls;
-Implement a Zero Tolerance of trouble-makers policy. This would include no tolerance of passengers who repeatedly and with all seriousness ask you to suck their d*** (this has really happened); passengers who start fight with others, passengers who are too loud and disruptive; and passengers who try to bring in their shopping carts, oversized handbags and foldable table.
I’m just sayin’.
March 15, 2007
The Last Temptation of 007
This incident happened more than 2 weeks ago. But I can only talk about it now because, well become it was pretty traumatizing and I finally sought therapy.
As some of you may know (oh ye heathens, you who don't!) , this is lent season. And I have given up desserts. My mom says that it's not really in the spirit of lent to talk about and complain excessively about what you are sacrificing. But I don't care.
(Incidentally, as in other years, she refuses to tell us what she has given up. Which makes me highly suspicious that she hasn't really given anything up at all).
Two weeks ago, three of my colleagues had birthdays and the sweet ladies in the office brought these cakes. I introduce you to: luscious and sweet Chocolate, tart and crunchy Apple, decadent and sinful Black Forest, doubly conflicted Raspberry Chocolate and Offbeat and Slightly Caffeinated Mocha.
As some of you may know (oh ye heathens, you who don't!) , this is lent season. And I have given up desserts. My mom says that it's not really in the spirit of lent to talk about and complain excessively about what you are sacrificing. But I don't care.
(Incidentally, as in other years, she refuses to tell us what she has given up. Which makes me highly suspicious that she hasn't really given anything up at all).
Two weeks ago, three of my colleagues had birthdays and the sweet ladies in the office brought these cakes. I introduce you to: luscious and sweet Chocolate, tart and crunchy Apple, decadent and sinful Black Forest, doubly conflicted Raspberry Chocolate and Offbeat and Slightly Caffeinated Mocha.
When one of the ladies was placing all the cakes on doilies, she exclamed "And I even brought one for those people that have given up chocolate for lent!"
What about the people who have given up dessert?? Have you brought a cake for people who have given up desert??
What about the people who have given up dessert?? Have you brought a cake for people who have given up desert??
It was utter torture I tell 'ya. I'd like to see Mel Gibson make a movie of this.
I wish I was a little bit taller
I wish I was little bit taller,
I wish I was a baller,
I wish I had a girl who looked good I would call her
I wish I had a rabbit in a hat with a batand a '64 Impala
Does anybody remember that song? Good times.
But I do wish I was a little bit taller. Let me explain the situation. I have a nice place with two roomates. We get along fabulously, more owing to the fact that none of us really overlap when we're in the house than anything else.
The girl is an architect and tends to come home after I have gone to bed. The guy works in connecting architects and builders and spends a lot of time at his girlfriend's house. A lot. So we basically don't see him much. Which is fine by me.
Anyways, our apartment has 9 foot ceilings which kind of makes you feel like you live in a mansion, until you look around and you realize that you are in fact not in mansion and your roommate have terrible taste in furniture and you are eating out of plastic bowls. But that is neither here nor there.
Our living room is perpetually dark because one of the flood lights is mysteriously out. So our living is not very inviting, more reminiscent of Linda Blair's room in the Exorcist than anything else. Needless to say, the living room does not get used very much.
One day, two new flood lights - in their carboard box - appear on the kitchen table. I am assuming that my male roomate felt guilty about not contributing much to the house, and decided to buy flood lights. But I really don't know as I haven't seen him in days.
Well I decided to bring a little light to our living room by changing the flood lights. Except that I kind of forgot that the ceiling was 9 foot tall, and I'm about oh....5'2'' on a good day. So imagine this: me on a small step ladder, desperately, desperately! trying to reach that light bulb.
No go.
So I take matters into my own hands, and add a phone book. I perch myself precariously on the whole contraption...and still no go. So then I raid my architect roommate's library and add Frank Lloyd Wright, Cubist and Cubism, Typologies, Above Washington, the Quilts of Gee's Bend and the phone book on top. I perch myself on THAT contraption...
And then there was light.
I wish I was a baller,
I wish I had a girl who looked good I would call her
I wish I had a rabbit in a hat with a batand a '64 Impala
Does anybody remember that song? Good times.
But I do wish I was a little bit taller. Let me explain the situation. I have a nice place with two roomates. We get along fabulously, more owing to the fact that none of us really overlap when we're in the house than anything else.
The girl is an architect and tends to come home after I have gone to bed. The guy works in connecting architects and builders and spends a lot of time at his girlfriend's house. A lot. So we basically don't see him much. Which is fine by me.
Anyways, our apartment has 9 foot ceilings which kind of makes you feel like you live in a mansion, until you look around and you realize that you are in fact not in mansion and your roommate have terrible taste in furniture and you are eating out of plastic bowls. But that is neither here nor there.
Our living room is perpetually dark because one of the flood lights is mysteriously out. So our living is not very inviting, more reminiscent of Linda Blair's room in the Exorcist than anything else. Needless to say, the living room does not get used very much.
One day, two new flood lights - in their carboard box - appear on the kitchen table. I am assuming that my male roomate felt guilty about not contributing much to the house, and decided to buy flood lights. But I really don't know as I haven't seen him in days.
Well I decided to bring a little light to our living room by changing the flood lights. Except that I kind of forgot that the ceiling was 9 foot tall, and I'm about oh....5'2'' on a good day. So imagine this: me on a small step ladder, desperately, desperately! trying to reach that light bulb.
No go.
So I take matters into my own hands, and add a phone book. I perch myself precariously on the whole contraption...and still no go. So then I raid my architect roommate's library and add Frank Lloyd Wright, Cubist and Cubism, Typologies, Above Washington, the Quilts of Gee's Bend and the phone book on top. I perch myself on THAT contraption...
And then there was light.
Now if I could only figure out how the flood lights showed up on our kitchen table.
Junk Food, defined
Source
It is the lent season and I have sworn off desserts. Not for truly religious reasons mind you, but because I think that a little less sugar intake can only be good for me…in the long run. For some weird reason, it seems that the office has become a huge food factory filled with Birthday cakes, donuts, and cookies
But this got me thinking about Junk Food. What is junk food exactly? Reading this article, gave me some good leads.
When I think of junk food, I instantly think Ranch-flavored Doritos, Oreos cookies, Twinkies, MacDonalds, sodas and peeps. I think most people would agree that these are foods that are high in fat, or have a lot of sugar and salt.
But then again, a nice cube of feta cheese is incredible salty, and yet it’s not junk food is it? Nope, definitely not junk food.
So let’s add that a junk food is something that doesn’t have enough fiber, or of low nutritional value.
Well foie gras definitely doesn’t have enough fiber; it’s fatty and its nutritional value is dubious. But no one would describe it as junk.
So perhaps junk food is defined by all those adjectives, plus things that are made with cheap ingredients, artificial flavors/food coloring, and mass-produced.
But then I would argue that all these words apply to a nice Black Forest Cake from Giant. In my mind, that is not junk food either.
I can think of perhaps one last word that would define junk food in its entirety:
-Perception (or, as the article calls it “snobbery”)
Sigh. Right about now, I am perceiving those cookies in the kitchen to be pretty healthy.
"What ingredients are in Peeps?
Mostly sugar, corn syrup, and gelatin, same as most other marshmallow candies. They do have trace amounts of flavoring, coloring, wax, unpronounceable preservatives and such."
Mostly sugar, corn syrup, and gelatin, same as most other marshmallow candies. They do have trace amounts of flavoring, coloring, wax, unpronounceable preservatives and such."
March 12, 2007
A genuine smile
I have been kind of out of action for a little while now as I have been volunteered to help out for a conference. This conference gathers about 30 Africans and 20 American staff to talk about how the company can be more competitive in the African business market.
Though this is a relatively small conference as far as conferences go, it is incredibly logisitically challenging. Joseph Lukaya wants to stop in Kenya from Tanzania before going to the US. Mrs. Bolemba lost her dad and needs to be flown back home today. Mamadou Wane needs a translator to go to the doctor’s because he caught a nasty cold when walking in 30 degrees weather dressed like a Senegalese…
With a masters background and years on the field, I am instantly asked to…print, photocopy, staple and hole punch 60 presentations in record time. Let me illustrate with a timeline of a typical day:
3am Sunday: powerpoint presentation is sent to my email for the Monday 8:30am session
7am Monday: I come in to print, copy, staple and hole-punch 60 presentations
8:12am: I send an unwilling colleague over to the hotel to bring the stack of presentations
8:30am: workshop begins and participants receive their presentation
9:30am: another powerpoint presentation is sent to my mail for the 10:00am session
....Repeat until 5:30 pm
Of course, every email is followed by two or three frenzied phone calls from my supervisor during his smoking break (and he’s also currently wearing The Patch ®) to make sure that (1) I’ve gotten the email, (2) I’ve printed the presentation, (3) I intend to photocopy, staple and print the presentation, (4) I’ve identified a person to bring it over.
Then he gets his assistant to call me and ask me the very same questions. Of course, I manage to print the d*&^ presentations every time and they slide in the conference room just before the presentation is due.
My supervisor calls me on the phone again and says “It’s another miracle! You’ve saved us again!”.
To which, if I had the guts, I should really respond “Well, you know, it isn’t really a miracle if I manage it every time. I would call it a pain in the ass instead”.
In addition to making these frenzied trips to and from the photocopy machine, I also have to translate documents, help staff figure out how to use powerpoint (really, you shouldn’t be upper management if you don’t know how to use powerpoint) and order huge amounts of supplies.
I get to buy the Africa and Local phone cards downstairs from a nice Chinese couple in a knick-knack store. I literally buy hundreds of phone cards every week. The benefit margin on those cards alone far exceeds what is purchased in the store in a week. And so, when I come down to the store, I get the biggest, widest smiles I’ve seen since…well since Congo. And I like it because I know, it’s a genuine smile.
Though this is a relatively small conference as far as conferences go, it is incredibly logisitically challenging. Joseph Lukaya wants to stop in Kenya from Tanzania before going to the US. Mrs. Bolemba lost her dad and needs to be flown back home today. Mamadou Wane needs a translator to go to the doctor’s because he caught a nasty cold when walking in 30 degrees weather dressed like a Senegalese…
With a masters background and years on the field, I am instantly asked to…print, photocopy, staple and hole punch 60 presentations in record time. Let me illustrate with a timeline of a typical day:
3am Sunday: powerpoint presentation is sent to my email for the Monday 8:30am session
7am Monday: I come in to print, copy, staple and hole-punch 60 presentations
8:12am: I send an unwilling colleague over to the hotel to bring the stack of presentations
8:30am: workshop begins and participants receive their presentation
9:30am: another powerpoint presentation is sent to my mail for the 10:00am session
....Repeat until 5:30 pm
Of course, every email is followed by two or three frenzied phone calls from my supervisor during his smoking break (and he’s also currently wearing The Patch ®) to make sure that (1) I’ve gotten the email, (2) I’ve printed the presentation, (3) I intend to photocopy, staple and print the presentation, (4) I’ve identified a person to bring it over.
Then he gets his assistant to call me and ask me the very same questions. Of course, I manage to print the d*&^ presentations every time and they slide in the conference room just before the presentation is due.
My supervisor calls me on the phone again and says “It’s another miracle! You’ve saved us again!”.
To which, if I had the guts, I should really respond “Well, you know, it isn’t really a miracle if I manage it every time. I would call it a pain in the ass instead”.
In addition to making these frenzied trips to and from the photocopy machine, I also have to translate documents, help staff figure out how to use powerpoint (really, you shouldn’t be upper management if you don’t know how to use powerpoint) and order huge amounts of supplies.
I get to buy the Africa and Local phone cards downstairs from a nice Chinese couple in a knick-knack store. I literally buy hundreds of phone cards every week. The benefit margin on those cards alone far exceeds what is purchased in the store in a week. And so, when I come down to the store, I get the biggest, widest smiles I’ve seen since…well since Congo. And I like it because I know, it’s a genuine smile.
So what if I can almost see dollars bills in the white of their teeth?
February 28, 2007
African Names
I believe I already mentionned how tough it was to recruit partners in African countries, when everyone seems to have a combination of 3 first and 5 last names. In West Africa for example, imagine having to keep track of Mamadou Diallo, Seydou Li, and Li Diallo's paperwork. Utter Nightmare.
Today, I am preparing paperwork for a lady called Jeanne d'Arc Atanganamadi*. Joan of Arc Atanganamadi. That's a tough name to carry!
*Not the real last name but a similar combination of vowels and consonants.
Today, I am preparing paperwork for a lady called Jeanne d'Arc Atanganamadi*. Joan of Arc Atanganamadi. That's a tough name to carry!
*Not the real last name but a similar combination of vowels and consonants.
February 23, 2007
Washington DC is kicking my ass
I am getting increasingly depressed about my joblessness. OK so I work part-time in a good firm that has offered me a job. But filling-out recruitment paperwork and ordering supplies from Staples really isn’t what I want to do.
This last week I have had a few interviews but people are ehming and ahing about offering me anything concrete. I don’t understand it. I mean, I:
-have shown to be very competent at work
-have work references that only say good things about me
-interview well, am polite but driven when talking to recruiters
-have pretty good hygiene (I wear deodorant, wash my hair, clip my nails and wear tasteful make-up)
-have 3 years work experience, including 2 years abroad
-am bilingual French/English
-graduated with good marks from Hopkins University
-am actively networking to make job connections.
Could it be that I am making people jealous? Is it pure bad luck? Do I have a piece of spinach stuck between my front teeth?
I just don’t know. But Washington DC is kicking my ass. Big time.
This last week I have had a few interviews but people are ehming and ahing about offering me anything concrete. I don’t understand it. I mean, I:
-have shown to be very competent at work
-have work references that only say good things about me
-interview well, am polite but driven when talking to recruiters
-have pretty good hygiene (I wear deodorant, wash my hair, clip my nails and wear tasteful make-up)
-have 3 years work experience, including 2 years abroad
-am bilingual French/English
-graduated with good marks from Hopkins University
-am actively networking to make job connections.
Could it be that I am making people jealous? Is it pure bad luck? Do I have a piece of spinach stuck between my front teeth?
I just don’t know. But Washington DC is kicking my ass. Big time.
February 22, 2007
Evocative
Last night, a friend and I were listening to some music from a Malian guy with a little bit of guitar mixed into the usual drums and kora. It instantly transported me back to the Sahel, with its Muslim influences, smiling faces, and warm, orange, sandy breezes. My heart-rate slowed down and I was entranced by the moment.
February 18, 2007
Fair and Balanced (part 2)
If you haven't yet read the first "Fair and Balanced" post, please catch up on the latest Columbia Heights gossip here.
Two days ago, this was posted on our house door:
It reads:
"To Whomever shoveled the steps.
Please be aware that two people live on the ground floor and you shoveled the ice right onto the steps, effectively causing even more of a hazard"
D'oh.
Two days ago, this was posted on our house door:
It reads:
"To Whomever shoveled the steps.
Please be aware that two people live on the ground floor and you shoveled the ice right onto the steps, effectively causing even more of a hazard"
D'oh.
February 17, 2007
It's my Birthday Today
So, I have the dissapointing obligation to tell you that it's my birthday today. And, as in all the years before, I try to forget about it because I always feel depressed on February the 17th (I know it's weird, but then again, one of my friends feels the same way about Christmas).
Unfortunately, I have nice friends and family that call me up and leave me emails of congratulations. Congratulations for having been born 29 years ago. For having successfully passed through the birth canal. Birthday celebrations are so weird.
So thank you all for your phone calls and emails, and I hope you can forgive me if I haven't replied to them yet. I still have to get over the shock of being a year older.
February 15, 2007
Fair and Balanced
So I've talked shit about my neighborhood for a little while now. But I feel I have to counter with positive things that are happening here too. To keep it fair and balanced.
I just came home from an interview (in black suit, winter jacket and tennis shoes) and optimitistically stopped at a hardware store to pick up a shovel and some de-icing salt. Now, I am getting pretty broke so I chose the smallest shovel and a few pounds of salt.
I get home, hoping to de-ice the thick layers that have solidified on our steep stairs (imagine me holding onto the railing with dear life every morning for work). Well, it seems like optimism got the better of me. No sooner had I finished sprinkling the stairs, that I run out of salt and notice that I haven't bought enough after all. I feel like I used table salt because I barely managed to make a dent in the ice.
I start using my trusty shovel but not amount of shoveling will budge that rock-like ice. Then I really start madly hitting the surface with the sharp sides of the shovel and soon enough, ice sprays are flying around my deranged face. I feel like Glen Close with her rabbit in the movie Fatal Attraction. After all that panting, I am ready to cry: very little has been dislodged.
Then some neighborhood kids run up to me and say "Miss, miss, can we do that for you?". A little taken aback, I say "well sure but let me check whether I have cash to give you". They respond "well that's alright, we'll still start shoveling". In a matter of minutes, the kids start discuss the problem, and get the stairs cleared in no time. I really can't afford to be spending any money right now, but they were so efficient and willing to help that I gave them $10. And took a picture too.
I just came home from an interview (in black suit, winter jacket and tennis shoes) and optimitistically stopped at a hardware store to pick up a shovel and some de-icing salt. Now, I am getting pretty broke so I chose the smallest shovel and a few pounds of salt.
I get home, hoping to de-ice the thick layers that have solidified on our steep stairs (imagine me holding onto the railing with dear life every morning for work). Well, it seems like optimism got the better of me. No sooner had I finished sprinkling the stairs, that I run out of salt and notice that I haven't bought enough after all. I feel like I used table salt because I barely managed to make a dent in the ice.
I start using my trusty shovel but not amount of shoveling will budge that rock-like ice. Then I really start madly hitting the surface with the sharp sides of the shovel and soon enough, ice sprays are flying around my deranged face. I feel like Glen Close with her rabbit in the movie Fatal Attraction. After all that panting, I am ready to cry: very little has been dislodged.
Then some neighborhood kids run up to me and say "Miss, miss, can we do that for you?". A little taken aback, I say "well sure but let me check whether I have cash to give you". They respond "well that's alright, we'll still start shoveling". In a matter of minutes, the kids start discuss the problem, and get the stairs cleared in no time. I really can't afford to be spending any money right now, but they were so efficient and willing to help that I gave them $10. And took a picture too.
View from my window. The kids are discussing how to approach the problem
Still, I'm convinced they managed to shovel quickly because I "loosened" the ice.
Mehico
I forgot to mention that I spent last weekend in sunny Mexico for my cousin's wedding. Please remind me to update my blog soon!
And I will try my best not to steal her thunder :)
And I will try my best not to steal her thunder :)
February 14, 2007
Mentally Handicapped
My computer is being retard... is being mentally-handicapped. Ever since our computer guy has decided to "add memory, you'll see it'll go much faster*", it hums and haws and then freezes completely.
I have already stopped and started it three times manually (yes, even the CTRL + ALT + DEL feature does not work). This always happen. From now on, I'm just going to assume that computer guys say the exact opposite then they really mean.
*Real quote
I have already stopped and started it three times manually (yes, even the CTRL + ALT + DEL feature does not work). This always happen. From now on, I'm just going to assume that computer guys say the exact opposite then they really mean.
*Real quote
A Wintery Mix
It's that time of year again the first snow of the season is falling and everyone is freaking out. To give credit to overly scared people, the roads have not been plowed and are very icy and wet, leading to a number of car accident and slips on the sidewalks. I cannot understand how the capital of the wealthiest country in the world is incapable of snowplowing.
Anyways, the news stations are loving the ensuing panick and describing the weather in dramatic terms. Except that you really need to work hard to make the weather an exciting topic of conversation.
So they've decided to throw around a new word: wintery mix. As in: "the weather this morning is treacherous, we are seeing a wintery mix on the highways. Be safe out there folks, it's an accident waiting to happen".
So, for your learning pleasure, here is wintery mix, defined by me: "A mix of snow, ice and slush that generally occur during winter".
Please use it at will, in panicky situation to create mayhem of dismay over normal winter conditions.
February 07, 2007
God Services
I was assisting an employee in filling out recruitment papers for staff on the field.
She went through a long list of people to hire:
-A Secretary in Benin,
-Business Development Officer and Driver in Mali,
-God Services in Senegal,
-Program Officer in Niger.
I dutifully write this down and do a double-take at the “God Services”. Rather idiotically, I reply “God Services? Is that even possible?”. Instinctively, I wonder how much we’ve budgeted for that.
She doesn’t flinch and repeats “Guards services, we need guard services”.
D’uh.
She went through a long list of people to hire:
-A Secretary in Benin,
-Business Development Officer and Driver in Mali,
-God Services in Senegal,
-Program Officer in Niger.
I dutifully write this down and do a double-take at the “God Services”. Rather idiotically, I reply “God Services? Is that even possible?”. Instinctively, I wonder how much we’ve budgeted for that.
She doesn’t flinch and repeats “Guards services, we need guard services”.
D’uh.
February 06, 2007
Trouble in the Heights
While I am in the living room sipping on my tea and checking my emails, a cop car knocks on my neighbor's house. While he is waiting for someone in the house, two more cop cars arrive in the street, followed by a cop van with metallic grates. This is when I decide to put my tea down and unashamedly gawk at the scene unraveling in front of my eyes.
The neighbor's son is being literally carried in shackles by the cops and placed into a cop van (one cop for the legs, the other for the trunk, and the last one for the shoulders and head). Over the sounds of the wailing man, the mom shouts at the remaining cop ladies in Spanish and they answer her calmly in fluent Spanish. Columbia Heights is so multicultural!
A lady passing by, unfazed by the scene (which she's probably witnessed a few times before), picks up one of his dropped Timberland shoes and hands it to one of the cops. He unlaces it and brings it over to the van.
Last night as well, while I was apparently sleeping like the dead, my roommate witnessed a cop chase in the parking lot in front of our house. She says that, in addition to the cops, metro guards were also recruited for the chase.
Man, I knew what I was getting myself into by living in this area, but I'm now realizing that my rent is waaaaay to high. This sure ain't 90210, so why am I paying Beverly Hills prices?
The neighbor's son is being literally carried in shackles by the cops and placed into a cop van (one cop for the legs, the other for the trunk, and the last one for the shoulders and head). Over the sounds of the wailing man, the mom shouts at the remaining cop ladies in Spanish and they answer her calmly in fluent Spanish. Columbia Heights is so multicultural!
A lady passing by, unfazed by the scene (which she's probably witnessed a few times before), picks up one of his dropped Timberland shoes and hands it to one of the cops. He unlaces it and brings it over to the van.
Last night as well, while I was apparently sleeping like the dead, my roommate witnessed a cop chase in the parking lot in front of our house. She says that, in addition to the cops, metro guards were also recruited for the chase.
Man, I knew what I was getting myself into by living in this area, but I'm now realizing that my rent is waaaaay to high. This sure ain't 90210, so why am I paying Beverly Hills prices?
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