First Photos of my Newly Purchased Palace

This is what the seller of the house had to say about the house I just bought:

"Bring your ideas to this as-is home and make it the perfect home for you. It has a lot of great features to offer. View online photos and call."

Let me know if you would have made the plunge to bring your ideas to this as-is home. Not sure what great features he was referring to...

Living Room

I love uber-dark living rooms. My mom nearly fainted when I told her I was considering keeping the blood red, velvet curtains.

Kitchen + Den

This is the first part of the kitchen with stove, countertops, and cupboards...

And now, welcome to the second part of the kitchen (conveniently located in a den adjoining the first part of the kitchen). Say hello to your stove and fridge!

Staircase to Upstairs

This is a view of the staircase from the living room. Now that's what I call a giant vanity mirror!

More paneling. Classy.

View into the Dining Room

Oops, tiny leak from the upstairs bathroom. Let's just paint it over mom!

Master Bedroom

Sarcasm aside, the master bedroom is pretty cool. Not sure who came up with the brilliant idea of painting the wood floor two different shades of brown though.

Guest Bedroom + Crib Room + Den

Grandma's staying in the guest room! She'll be right at ease with the curtains from the 1970s.

The upstairs has a charming den with wood panelling. This is where I can envisioning smoking my future cigars. So sophisticated!

Bathroom

One word: Groovy.

Here's a close up of the skylight that the owner decided to close up. He then added a fluorescent light and cheap plastic sheeting. Please note the dark specks which are carcasses of dead flies and other interesting insects.

Basement

My friend calls this the "future billiard room".

So yes, this is the house I bought.

Thank you to Ammo for braving the creepy house to take these first photos!

House

Oh, and also, I bought a house.

It was a pretty arduous process, and maybe one day, I'll bring myself to write it all down. Took me 1 year to find it, 3 contracts that feel through, 2 months to close, 1 month to get the money to fix it up, and so far, 1 week at my parents house while I wait for it to be liveable.

A few recommendations when looking for a house (they seem basic, but trust me, many people don't follow these simple rules):

1- Don't Buy Above Your Budget

D'uh right? Well turns out millions of people boought houses that were way too expensive for their salaries, and ended up defaulting on their mortgage. Take me for instance. My monthly mortage is probably about $400 more than it should be. I have to get a roommate. No big deal... Except that my house is in really bad shape, so until it's liveable, I have to pay to 100% of mortgage by myself. Therefore, I am living with my parents (sorry mom and dad). This is not an ideal situation, and I obviously didn't take my own advice.

2- Get An Inspection

Not getting an inspection is like buying a used car, and not checking under the hood to see if there's a motor in there. Seriously, never, ever, ever buy a house without an inspection. It's not worth spending $200,000 - $600,000 and not checking on your investment. You're paying for it for 30 years, don't be an idiot, check it out beforehand.

I got 2 inspectors, and a termite inspector. And I'm still not confident with my investment :)

3- Don't Get An Adjustable Rate Mortgage

These are loans that cost you, say 4% per month in interest rate, but can be adjusted by your bank after a certain amount of time. So you pay 4% for the first year, and then... Surprise! the second year, your bank decides to charge you 10% in interest. That kind of sucks, and your monthly payment difference can be more than you can reasonably afford (especially if you're barely making your payments with the 4% interest).

4- Get a Realtor You Like

This is important because, when you're looking for a house, it feels like everyone's out to get you. Seriously, the termite man wants you to buy a warranty (even if there's not one termite to be found), your loan officer and realtor makes a huge cut from your closing costs, your contractor overcharges you to fix a leak, and your friendly neigborhood services provider reminds you that your tiny uncut plot of lawn can cured and cut for a monthly fee of...

Well you get the point. Many people's salaries hinge on your home purchase. So do yourself a favor and pick a realtor who can tell you the truth about houses (not just praise them), explains the process of home buying patiently, has time to show you around neighborhoods you like, and can recommend contractors/appraisers/inspector without pushing their services on you.

I started with an nice realtor who just didn't have enough time to show my places. She was often 30 min to 1 hour late, and obviously didn't know the more "up and coming" (sometimes downright ghetto) neighborhoods I wanted to visit. She would spend the first 10 minutes of each car ride speaking to her daughter on the phone in an annoyingly gushy baby voice (ok so that last one is not a deal breaker, but man was it annoying).

My current realtor was honest with me in letting me know what was a good deal, could sense when I was just forcing myself to settle on the wrong house, was encouraging when I lost bids on contracts, and was available to me by phone and by email for the most inane questions on home buying.

Voilà!

All things German

So, we have a family friend staying at the house for a few weeks, who's German. I never really thought much about Germany, save for those torturous hours in high school trying to learn the language of France's neighbors.

All of a sudden, every since his arrival, every article and conversation seems to talk about Germany. The Economist published a huge issue devoted to Germany, the Express yesterday had several funny vignettes about Germany, and my father was comparing the pros and cons of Germany cars this morning.

On a seemingly unrelated note, I receive a word a day from an online feature called "A.Word.A.Day." from Wordsmith.org. This week's theme? All words borrowed from German. I swear, this is true.

Wednesday’s Word

Gotterdammerung

PRONUNCIATION:
(got-uhr-DAM-uh-roong, -rung)

MEANING:
noun: Complete destruction of an institution, regime, order, etc.

Thursday’s Word

Realpolitik

PRONUNCIATION:
(ray-AHL-paw-li-teek, ree-)

MEANING:
noun: Politics guided by practical considerations, instead of principles or ethics.

ETYMOLOGY:
From German Realpolitik, from real (real, practical) + politik (politics).

Coincidence? I don't think so.

My sister's adventures in Wadeye, Australia - part 2

From my sister's latest email:

Hi guys,

So the university decided to pull me out (kicking and screaming!) of Wadeye. I'm pretty gutted, but I respect their decision. For the duration of my placement, I'll be working at an aboriginal clinic in Darwin. It'll be interesting to compare and contrast what I've seen there and what I'll see here.

While I was up there, I did an interview with my friend Marc about my first impressions. I thought you might find it interesting:

http://www.mrscienceshow.com/2010/03/ep-123-remote-medicine.html

She has very interesting observations, check it out above!

Source

My Funny Valentine's

Two top pictures taken by Ammo

So I thought my Valentine's Day would be sad this year, given that I've been single for longer than I can remember...

But instead, I went cross-country skiing with a friend in the Adirondacks. Unfortunately, it turns out that cross-country skiing is completely different from downhill skiing, and there was a lot of falling down involved. It was mostly OK, until the last fall, which felt like my bum dropped from 1,000 meters, straight onto a sheet of iron (turns out I fell from less than 2 meters on ice, but hey I'm entitled to be dramatic).

Fortunately, my friend braved the Emergency Room and waited for me while a reeeeally cute Physician's Assistant took me through to be X-Rayed. And checked out my bum. That's right, you read it right. A cute PA checked out my bum on Valentine's Day. And no, it isn't a script from "Day of Our Lives". This happened in real life! To me! On Valentine's Day!

The conversation went like this:

PA: [to my friend] Does your friend have a bruise on her backside?

Guy Friend: [Embarrassed shuffle, extreme staring at the floor, reddening face, followed by "..errrr"]

007 in Africa: Actually, that's my friend. I don't usually ask my friends to check out my bum. [Shamelessly] Do you want to see it?

PA: Yes.

So, my coccyx is broken and it hurts like hell to sit down, get up from sitting down, bend over or reach objects that are placed beyond my reach, but it doesn't matter. It's been the best Valentine's Day so far :)

PS: We drove back home a day early, and I've been sitting on my donut pillow (essentially a rubber, air-filled pillow in the shape of a donut) ever since. We got a gigantic piece of pizza, made some salad, and drank corked wine (that's me trying to driving the cork INTO the wine bottle - just my luck).

My sister's adventures in Wadeye, Australia

All pictures taken by Victoria

This is a recent email from my sister about her first week working in a clinic that serves Australian Aborigines in the city of Wadeye, in the Northern Territory, and her unfortunate experience with being robbed. She seems in the good spirits though.

From Wikipedia:

Wadeye (pronounced wod-air-yer) was formerly known (and is still often referred to) as Port Keats. The town is remote, situated on the western edge of the Daly River Reserve more than 200 km south west of Darwin, with road access being cut off by flooding during the wet season. Year round access is via light aircraft or coastal barge only. At the 2001 census, Wadeye had a population of 2,322.

[…]

Wadeye is mainly inhabited by Indigenous Australians. It is the largest indigenous community in the Northern Territory. The inhabitants include seven language groups, the main language that is spoken being Murrinhpatha.

It reminds of my time in the field, and I thought I would share her adventures…

*****************

Hey guys,

Sorry about the scare last night.

So just so everyone knows what happened:

I was woken up by my bedroom door creaking.

By the time I realized I was awake, I jumped up and ran to the front door-- which was wide open.

Then I started noticing things were missing: the TV, my pens, sugar.

Then I called [007 in Africa], who told me (very sensibly) to call the police already.

I called the police, they came over, with my TV in tow (found on the side of the street as they were driving over!)

Today I called University of Darwin to tell them what had happened. I also went back home and jimmied the lock... the door opened easily. Also my set of keys didn't include a key for the padlock. I called the university back, who said they're already sent a man to fix all of these things.

I also filed a police report. Everyone at the clinic was really supportive, and tonight I am crashing at a young nurse's house, whom I met and got along with really well over the weekend. If or when I go back, another nurse told me that I could borrow her dog until I feel comfortable (yay).

Soooo that's where everything stands with THAT. About the community itself, I am going to be a little lazy and copy and paste from another email that I've just written:

"I've been lucky here so far. I went to check out the footy [soccer] yesterday and met the village elder, who's invited me to go fishing today (it's too rainy though-- got to watch out for crocs, so maybe next week). The nurses and doctor at the clinic are truly phenomenal. It's so inspiring to see what they do -- for so many people -- with so little. It's funny; people who come out this far are either really great, or seriously sketchy.

I had dinner with some local white people, only to realize quite early on that although the wife was lovely, the husband was 1) Christian fundamentalist, and 2) exceptionally racist. Some gems of that evening include:

"Yeah [my wife] has been trying to learn the local language. Me, I couldn't care less. I don't think they should be teaching it at school at all. I mean, who speak Murrinh-patha anyway? It's useless. They should just speak English, it's the dominant language anyway."

(I stayed mostly quiet because I'd just landed in town and I was at their house, although I did mention that he should be wary of saying such a thing to anyone Polish, for instance).

Here's another local [friend 1] who set up the footy games 3 years ago. It's amazing how the town's changed since then; Wadeye use to be dangerous. I mean, it's still not rainbows and butterflies, but at least on the weekends everyone rallies around their teams, gets exercise, and has something social to do. They still do riot over footy... but far less than they used to riot over, well, anything. There are also some gangs in Wadeye, and a lot of the things we see at the clinic are fights over girlfriends and ex-girlfriends, in young adults. We also see a lot of sick, sick babies. And, of course, everything else: fractures, diabetes, foot sores, heart attacks...

[Friend 1] loves it here. He's been adopted--literally. He has a skin name and a totem and an indigenous mother.

As for the Intervention [name of the project] so far? I've heard mostly good things. It was bad at the beginning-- undoubtedly, especially for everyone who remembers the stolen generation-- but from I've heard said, there's been a real effort to speak to local elders, see what they feel is needed, and work locally. It's also poured in a lot of money in general, which was seriously lacking before then (the [Government from the Northern Territory] is pretty shocking). However, it has added a lot of bureaucracy and heaps more agencies, which can be a hassle. I'm keeping my ears open to try to get a better picture of what's really happened with the Intervention.

Love,

[007 in Africa’s sister]

Linking Family Trees

There are two or three people in my family that are very interested in recreating their family trees, reaching out to the far ends of the world to discover new branches and information about relatives.

My father is South African, and my mother is French. Upon hearing that my dad's family may have a French branch to it, I wrote the following:

From: 007 in Africa
Sent: 12 February 2010
To: A variety of people
Subject: RE: DNA Testing easy in USA

Please tell me there won't be a chance my parents are related....

*Shudder*
007 in Africa

She quickly replied:

From: My aunt
Sent: 12 February 2010
To: 007 in Africa; a variety of people
Subject: RE: DNA Testing easy in USA

Be sensible – it’s impossible. You’ve studied genetics and should have realized ages ago your father is not from this planet. I suspect he’s actually an orphan my parents found in Roswell, USA, sometime in the fifties and adopted. He’s odd, but we still love him very, very much. (Only aliens listen to Mahler for relaxation)

Peter says now, at last, he understands why I always spend so much time in the kitchen.

Love you all lots!
Your Aunt

The Shovel Brigade

Yesterday afternoon, a lady with a small car tried to drive down our unplowed street. Very bad idea. Five big guys (including a policeman) came to her rescue, shoveling the road so she could drive 1 meter, and get stuck again. They repeated this pattern 4 or 5 times.

It was obviously frustrating work and the guys worked really hard and diligently to get the car moving, shoveling and pushing the car along the way. It must have taken at least an hour to get the car moved 10 meters.

Until a big white van drove down the street and stopped right behind the car. It beeped a couple of times, seemingly irritated by the situation, having only waited one minute for her to budge. The policeman irritatingly shook his fist in the van's direction, shooting at the driver.

Then all of a sudden, the van's door opened, and 5 guys with shovels come out. They added their manpower to the team, and got the car freed in less than 5 minutes.

The men then dispersed swiftly, in every direction. It was such a weird scene, I felt like I was witnessing a swift, efficient mobster operation of The Shovel Brigade.

We're Running Out of Food

I use to scoff at people who panicked at the thought of snow, running to the store for food, toilet paper and water. Well, I'm not so proud now. I still have a good amount of food, but would kill for cereal and lettuce. Except my friend sent me these pictures of the Whole Food in 14th and P street:

My roommate and I have invited him for a walk and dinner to chase away the cabin blues. She still has lentils and flour, so she's planning to make curried beans (chick peas, and kidney beans) and roti. We're scraping the end of our fridge for this meal.

Apparently, we're due for snow again, and then we'll really start to go for the canned food.

Pictures taken by Peter Mamacos.

D.C. Snowpocalypse 2010

But only dad was around for the second heavy snow, otherwise dubbed the D.C. Snowpocalypse.

I enthusiastically (some would even say a little too giddy - like my roommate who was not going to be convinced to put her nose outside) started off my day, hoping to walk from Columbia Heights to Georgetown and back (I succeeded the 8 miles)...

These are the treacherous stairs from my apartment to the street. What you can't see is how steep and how many steps there are to the bottom. Looks waaay easy to climb down than it was.

View of my street, Girard Street to 14th street. Great plowing guys.

Statue of some proud, crotchety old man in Dupont Circle.

David and Goliath, seriously. This little bitty jeep pulled out a huge-ass truck with a cord. It was an impressive feat.

View of Reservoir Road from Wisconsin Avenue.

The Georgetown Cafe

A snow bicycle.

"I'm going sledding. Get out of my way."

Rock Creek Parkway.

"13 seconds, 13 seconds! Cross the road buddy!"

I think this is what L. Frank Baum had in mind when he wrote about the "cowardly lion."

First Heavy Snow

Man! We've had some pretty heavy snow here in D.C. The first heavy fall was during Christmas. Here's how my family coped with it:

My dad was glad for the exercise...

My mom was proud to show off her share of the work.

My sister was stoic, having recently come back from 4 years in Montreal.

And my brother was surely and unamused.

Another One on Our Side!

Back in the day, when I lived in Congo, I told Carl the Pilot that I had just recently become a naturalized American citizen. He immediately said "Yes! Another one on our side!" while pumping his arm in victory, with a large grin on his face.

I looked at him quizzically, and he explained that he was always excited to hear that good people became American. I laughed at this explanation, envisioning him as a captain in the Second World War, proud to find more recruits for the war, or perhaps a high-school team captain who gets to choose his teammates and picks the best of the bunch first.

Anyways, every time someone tells me they just got naturalized, I say "Yes! Another one on our side!"

My colleague's Albanian dad just passed the test (minutes ago), and of course, I sent her some congratulations, along with my usual motto.

For her though, it must be particularly special, as she and her siblings have been raising each other alone in the United States for more than 10 years, while her parents worked in Albania to provide them with a better future.

One Where I am Evil

Another one of colleagues tells good stories about her dreams:

Source

Ok, been wanting to tell you about my insane dream, but you been soo beezee :) (it’s a good thing)

Had a dream we were here at work, and I was telling you how dry my hair was because of the stupid organic gel ive been using (from whole foods), and then you were like, ok let me take a look, so you take out scissors and cut my hair!!!

I was yelling, and started running away, and was cursing, and you were completely indifferent, as in whatever, I did you a favor. Then for some reason we were on the 3rd floor at [office location] and there was a festival, and an old school mate I had a crush on (gorgeous large African American male) came up to me while you and I were talking about the whole hair situation, put his derrière in my face, and started dancing.

The end

A common element of these two stories is that they both finish with "The end". And they are both crazy of course.

Herb, the Albino Frog

A colleague of mine sent me this story, about her cherished family pet. She was reminded of it when we were discussing the frozen geekos in Florida that literally fall from trees and go into hibernation.

A welcome respite from work, especially in the midst of the terrible news from Haiti's earthquake... I added a few paragraph breaks, for ease of reading, but otherwise, the story remains untouched:

This is pretty amazing and it is interesting how reptiles can survive so much!

That reminds me of a funny story (something about getting older makes me want to tell more stories, so listen up youngins :). We had a big fat albino frog named Herb for years. I planned to get rid of the aquarium because it was so much trouble once all the fish and the frog died.

Well, the fish died and Herb lived on for years and years. We thought, “Is this frog going to live forever?” Then, one day, I guess when he had enough of being alone, he jumped out of the tank and hopped off, I guess looking for love or wanting to commit suicide…. Our dog Rudy went chasing after him and we thought he probably ate him for snack.

We didn’t see a trace of him for days. Then Rudy guided us to a corner one evening and there was Herb stiff as a board covered with dog hair. Rudy was a good dog. I guess he preferred to play with Herb rather than eat him.

John took Herb to the sink to rinse him off and was going to give him a proper burial in the background. However, once the water covered him, he started to stir and then he woke up! John cleaned him off and put him back in the tank where he lived another 2 years!

Finally, one day we came home and there was little Herb floating in the tank with his little arms up in the air……He finally died of old age and I finally got to put up that damn aquarium.

End of story……

Hold Please – Putting You Through to the Eighties

Why is it that every time customer service puts me on hold, like I am right now, the background music is some cheesy mix of elevator Jazz, and “sexy” saxophone that is very reminiscent of eighties soap operas?

Seriously, who chooses the music? Arrrrgh!

Homelessness and Nestlessness in Winter

As I'm walking home from a cheerful evening of crabs legs and after-dinner drinks, I grab a bus, and then a metro home, walking in the unusually frigid winter air.

I see five homeless people, bundled in swatling mutlicolored covers, trying to sleep by the metro's escalators, where the artificial heat of the Mcpherson Square station cuts the sharpness of the cold a bit.

Oddly, there is a family of ducks, male with brilliant green plumage against his dark feathers, and three duller females, also catching some Zs on the concrete sidewalk, slightly apart from the slumbering humans, as if wary of them, but trying to benefit from the heat as well.

Meat Thermometer and Blistering Cold in D.C.

It's currently unusually cold here in D.C. (about 28 degrees Fahrenheit, but feels like 20), and has been going on for a few days. I've developed an angry rash on my upper legs, from the bitter wind carving cracks in the upper layers of my dermis. When complaining about how painful the cold was, my colleague said "wait, is it as painful as being in a refugee camp in Darfur?"


Wow, thanks for putting that into perspective.

2010 New Year's Resolutions

Economical Brain

A few days ago, my father and brother were discussing the relevance of London as a financial center, and the many ways to pronounce languages. I was mentioning how my friends complain about French, and used the sound "oh" as an example. In my mind there were 4 ways to spell the "oh" sound in French (eau, au, o, ot). In true one-up-manship, my father said "well there are actually 13 ways to pronounce the sound 'oh' in French."

A little deflated, I turned away from the conversation feeling much less knowledgeable than both of them.

Until I started reading the new issue of the Economist. Which happened to have: 1) an article on the relevance of London as a financial capital, and 2) an article on difficult languages to learn and pronounce (with the anecdote about the French "oh").

Bwwwaha, I'm on to you now! And I must remember to read the Economist before family dinners.

Creative

Washington D.C. got plummeted with snow this weekend. And as per usual, Washingtonian were completely unprepared for the slush, wetness, and ice that came with it. At the end of the second day, snow plows had still not cleared my house, sitting on a relatively large side road. Friends from Toronto and Montreal anxiously called me, to make sure that I had enough food and proper winter gear (I had neither).

However, despite our relative inexperience with snow, let no one say that we are not willing to help ourselves.

As I was walking past a sex shop in U street, I saw a shop keeper in sweats, scraping the icy surface in front of his store...with the empty plastic casing of a dildo.

Now, that's pretty creative.

Awkward conversation with mom

A few months ago, I reported that a quote of mine ended up in a book called We Feel Fine. Having just received the book in the mail, I spend a good twenty minutes flipping through it to find my quote, and proudly show it to my mom.

Impassively, my mom takes a look at it and says "your picture is right next to the quote: 'I feel weird having phone sex' ".

I feel weird having my mom read that out-loud.

Making Great Green Spaces and being famous in interim

So, yeah, I never post anymore.

But when I DO post blogging entries, it's for very important topics. I would like to share an important initiative going on in Washington D.C. right now:

Everyone can name great public places, such as parks, squares, and outdoor markets found in cities across the country. But what makes these places work? Why do people seek them out and congregate there in large groups? And what makes some of public spaces “greener?" In an effort to provide a “decoder ring” to reveal what makes these places so successful, the National Building Museum presents a series of mini-documentaries that identify the specific elements that help make Great Green Places.

http://www.nbm.org/media/video/great-green-places/barracks-row.html

So, what's so special about Great Green Places you ask?

Well mainly, I appear in 0.5 second of the video - you can see me on the screenshot on the front page (girl smiling idiotically with pink skirt and brown belt, almost completely hidden by girl with red and black shirt. Which incidentally happens to be my friend. I'm going to have to have a talk about not stealing the limelight).

Also, if you're courageous enough to watch the video, I can be seen in all my glory at 2:26.

I'm so bloggostistical!

Pathetic

I just signed in to Netflix, to read this:

Unique for You

007 in Africa, we think you might enjoy the following movie:

Can't Get a Date

Our best guess for you 3.8 out of 4 stars
Customer average rating 3.2 out of 4 stars

Hum, yeah...

On Becoming

For some strange reason, I've been spending a lot of my time on youtube, looking at people's video diaries, as they transition from male to female; and female to male.

These individuals are usually reflective, often funny, many times insightful.  Concerned with recording their transition, they get excited about voice changes, body fat redistribution, hair changes; or sometimes record the sadness of not transforming quickly enough.  It becomes a rite a passage of sorts, and is fascinating to see their physical changes, and the intense elation that comes with finally becoming something they've always felt cheated out of.

The journeys are hard, physically painful and slow.  The operations are gruesome, and take away the very parts they were born with.  But I've never heard it described with such poetry and spirituality as Unmeasuredinstances does:

And you feel reborn.  And I remember thinking, Oh My God, this is real.  This is real.  It was the sweetest sleep of my life.  I can't tell you how important that process was for me.  A sense of being born, a sense of spiritual awakening.

Makes me understand the intense joy of Becoming.

The Fake Girlfriend

Today, I went for a long bike ride to look at Open Houses in Washington, D.C.  I went with a male friend who's looking for a place as well.

We stopped off at Firehook near the Capitol, where intense young people worked on their computer trying to catch up on their policy work.  On the street and in the coffee shop, we met three of his acquaintances.

This is the conversation that ensued, as soon as they were out of out of earshot:

007: Wow, your friends are ridiculously good looking

Friend: ...

007: Next time, how do I stand next to you, but make it clear we're not dating.  I mean, they probably totally discounted me, because they thought we were together!

Friend: No, you can't make it obvious!

007: Why?

Friend: Because I like having a fake girlfriend!

Random Observations

Thank you Mr. Fruit Man
I know I’ve already talked about him before, but the fruit guy in front of my office is awesome. He comes to D.C. early in the morning with his truck, unloads his carts full of trail mix, apples, cherries, grapes, plums, bananas and pears, and transforms his carts in vending tables.

This morning, I made a special trip to the ATM to get some cash and bought:

-1 apple
-3 plums
-3 peaches

All for $3! OK if you hail from the 1950s (when a cup of coffee cost 10 cents), that’s pretty shocking. But believe me, nowadays, $3 dollars for 6 pieces of fresh fruit is amazing.

Kitchen Appliances - not a bad invention after all
Also, as a follow-up to my post about the utility of kitchen appliances, two nights ago I was preparing meringues with the remnants of egg whites. I measured the sugar and crème of tartare…Only to find out that my roommate had taken the electrical beater to her fiancé’s apartment. I was left with a whisk to beat the eggs into stiff mounds.

After 20 minutes of near constant beating, I realized it was an uphill battle, placed my sloppy mix into the oven, and cooked the meringues for one hour. Needless to say, meringues without an electrical beater aren’t meringues…they’re more like a thin layer of protein and glucose, attached firmly to aluminum fold.

This is not how my meringues turned out at all
Source

I'm going to be in a book!

Two guys, Sep Kamvar and Jonathan Harris, are publishing a book about "emotions", as reported in various blogs on the internet. They contacted me about my quote on May 8, 2006, a follow-up to a post on May 4, 2006:

Due to popular demand, I am reporting today that I do not have that weird worm-like feeling in my throat.

Though I am flattered that my picture will be in a book, I am a little alarmed that:

1) it will be the smallest picture on the page,

2) it will appear in the "weird" emotion section, and

3) my face will be plastered and obliterated with a quote about worms.

Anyways, if you see the book, entitled We Feel Fine: an Almanac of Human Emotion (scheduled to be released on December 1st, 2009), check out page 145.

I think I remember who took that picture in the first place, I'm going to have to thank him promptly and invite him to the launch party in New York.

Accumulating Stuff

I just came back from a lovely 2-weeks vacation to France (Lyon and the South), Croatia and Slovenia, but lost my camera there and unfortunately cannot share some pictures...

I'm glad to be back in D.C., but I now have to face impending deadlines and stresses I conveniently forgot about during my leave. One of my two roommates is getting married in September, and understandably, she will be leaving our apartment in August.

I am planning to buy a house in the next few months, and thus must:

1- Sort out my finances

2- Reapply for pre-approval

3- Find a house

4- Go through the buying process

5- Move

Oddly enough, the moving part has me the most worried. I am finding myself confronted by two opposing problems:

1-Not enough stuff

Roommate-who's-getting married is, little-by-little, moving her stuff out of our house, and into her fiancé's. And suddenly, we have no more blender. And vegetable peeler. And vanilla essence. And a small strainer.

And though I joked with her that she had more cooking utensils than Julia Child, I'm suddenly realizing that I DO need a blender, vegetable peeler, vanilla essense, and a small strainer.

2-Too much stuff

I'm trying not to put off the inevitably painful task of sorting through my closets and packing up some boxes. These are some of the items that are crowding up my closet:

-various garden tools and plant foods (I never garden)

-tons of Congolese Kuba cloths (I have no more space on my walls to hang them)

-liquors and other strong alcohols (I always end up serving wine with dinner)

-natural cleaning products (they don't work very well so I've switched to industrial-strength ones)

-waxing kits (I generally end up going to a salon to get my legs professionally done).

My room looks spotless, thanks to my huge closets. But I never open them in public, and the amount of stuff they hide will make moving monstruously difficult.

Sigh.

Father's Day

It was Father's Day yesterday. And though I don't often give him a pat on the back, encourage him in his endeavors to paint or refinish a cane chair, I admire my father very much. Maybe it's about time we thank our dads as much as we thank our moms, for sticking through with us, as we grow up to be adults.

Yet, not everyone is this lucky. Some fathers are no longer with us, and some fathers are not able to take care of their children. Obama wrote a beautifully touching letter this year about how fathers, or the absence of them, really shape up people's live:

[...] on this Father’s Day, I think back to the day I drove Michelle and a newborn Malia home from the hospital nearly 11 years ago—crawling along, miles under the speed limit, feeling the weight of my daughter’s future resting in my hands. I think about the pledge I made to her that day: that I would give her what I never had—that if I could be anything in life, I would be a good father. [...]

It is especially powerful because he never had a father, and that makes him even more resolute to be there for his children. Watch his advice to fathers on this father's day:



He's redefining father's day: it's not just a thank you for those dads that are there, but a plea for those that aren't, to step up to their roles as parents.

Remembering the Holocaust

By now you’ve heard, of course, of the crazy man who shot and killed a guard at the Holocaust museum. The shooting happened just a few blocks from my work, so there was a frenzy around the National Mall. The incident was racially motivated, and the man lived his life eaten by hatred and anger.

Today, CNN.com released this amazing 20-mins interview with Eva Schloss. Eva is an 80-year old Auschwitz survivor, and she talks about her experiences of the Holocaust and her relationship with Anne Frank.

“For me, it’s a great insult, because I was there, experienced it, I lost my family. How can people say it's not true? And I think there should be a law to forbid to deny the Holocaust. Because it's not freedom of speech, it's really libel. Because it's proven that it is there. The Germans themselves took documents and photos, and they recorded every day (we got from the Red Cross the dates that my father and brother died). It was recorded by the Nazis. And where are those 6 million Jewish people?"

I call that interview pretty good timing.

On Drones and Cops

Source

I was going to write a post about how people in the metro are complete drones. Here they are, standing in the metro car, sporting their Ann Taylor Loft dress and flip flops, or beige slacks and leather satchel. They slowly move out of the train, and towards the escalator, queuing up nicely by the walking zone or the standing zone. They don’t smile, they don’t acknowledge other presences, and they rush towards the gates, and drop their newspapers mechanically into the recycling cans.

Every morning, I fight an irresistible need to go “Baahhh, bah!” like a goat, as I standing on the moving stairs. But I suspect that no one would even flinch.

As I was walking by my office this morning though, I saw a cop and smiled at him.

Cop: “Ma’am, can I ask for your help?”

I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

Cop: “I need to put this in your bag” as he shows me a can of diet coke.

I stutter and shift on my feet several times, thinking of the stories of unsuspecting tourists stuck in some overseas jail because they accepted to store similarly innocuous items in their suitcases. I look at his uniform several times, trying to see how official it was.

Cop: “I need to test the guards, I’ll be right behind you”.

An image of me in shackles surrounded by dozens of cops forms very clearly in my mind, so I say:

Me: “OK, sure”

I drop the can in my bag, and walk in the building. I put my bag on the x-ray belt, and flash my badge. The guards say nothing, and let me go on my merry way.

The policeman catches up with me in the elevator, and thanks me profusely. He asks me for his can back, and I say jokingly:

Me: “What, I don’t even get to drink it for my troubles?”

He unscrews the top, and shows me that the Diet Coke can is not a can at all, but a receptacle of some kind, stuffed with tissue. A young man who was riding the elevator with us blanches and quickly steps of the elevator. I try to probe a little more, but all I get is that this is connected to the Holocaust museum shooting that happened this week (about 6 blocks from where I work).

This is more excitement than this drone can take!

On Ambition

I went to dinner with some pretty ambitious folks last night and it was nice to hear of all the places in which they'd studied, traveled to, and experienced.

And though my job is not nearly as glamorous as my last one, I am relishing my newfound evenings and weekends, and reveling in going to happy hours with friends, and signing up to dance classes.

Yet, I feel vaguely dissatisfied that I'm not jet-setting to exotic places, getting a second Masters or a Ph.D. or doing a job where I save children and puppies. I felt slightly ashamed that I didn't display more ambition.

But sometimes I think: isn't it just as ambitious to build solid friendships, fall in love with a vibrant city, take some time to reflect, and balance it all with a job that still pays the bill?

Awesome Job by my Bank Account

My bank account did an amazing job of monitoring suspicious activities on my account. Last week, I bought a wedding present for a friend in the U.K. I rarely buy from overseas, so they sent me this message:




Dear Ms. 007 in Africa;

On regular basis, our Security Department review credit card accounts for activities that may be outside members’ normal purchase patterns. This is done in order to provide protection against the possible unauthorized use of members’ credit card accounts.

They have been unable to contact you to verify a recent transaction appearing in your credit card ending in XXX. Consequently, our Security Department has placed protective restriction on the account until you call or email us to verify the transaction(s) and confirm possession of your credit card. Please reply to this email or call our Security Department immediately at the number (555) 555-5555 (toll-free); if overseas you can call (555) 555-5555 in order to verify the following transactions(s):

05/19/09 $YY.YY “Randomwedding registry.COM” LONDON (GB)

To unblock your account, please provide the last four digits of your social security number and date of birth. Please disregard this email if you have already contacted us. If you have not been engaged in the above transaction(s), please contact our “Lost/Stolen Department” at the number 1-800-555-5555.

Please help us to serve you better letting us know of your travel plans at creditcard@randomaddress.org.

Thank you very much for your assistance. We regret any possible inconvenience caused you by this effort to prevent the unauthorized use of your account.

Sincerely,
Card Services



I have to say, I'm impressed!

OnBeing 2

And here is Gladys Mitchell, remembering Martin Luther King Jr's and his legacy, in 3 minutes 48 seconds.

http://specials.washingtonpost.com/mv/onbeing/53/

OnBeing

Check out this series from Washingtonpost.com where they interview kooky people with interesting points of view: OnBeing.

My favorite so far is an interview with Edward Fahnbulleh, a janitor from Liberia, who works two jobs because "he's not tired yet", and he can give money back to his friend at home to build a school and pay teachers. He seems like he's just having the time of his life!

http://specials.washingtonpost.com/mv/onbeing/69/

Portrait Project

I just learned that some pictures I took from the Congo, and later donated for a Silent Auction, sold at Buy-Out price. OK, so it was for my high school, but still, I'm encouraged to continue taking pictures. I'd really like to start with a portrait idea I have in my head.

I would like to take pictures of my friends. I'm not talking about the kind of pictures that you would put in your yearbook (looking stiff, a little fake, and overdressed), but rather, the ones that display people's personalities subtly, and in a simple and repetitive way.

I'd like my friends to pose against a white sheet against the wall (or on the porch), and a small chair. We'll see how it turns out.

I like how portrait photography can either be highly polished like that of Annie Leibovitz or raw and honest like Diane Arbus.

Source

My Favorite Place by My House

This is the Hi Market right around the corner from my house. It always makes me giggle when I walk by it. True to its name, it sells salty snacks, sports juices, and cigarettes.



This is the basketball court and the super bright kids' park I can see from my barred window. Sadly, a lot of drug deals and shootings happen right there, as it is surrounded by a lot of low income housing, dark street alleys, and has a number of unkempt yards that are ideal for stashing drugs.