May Angels Lead You In

I picked up a copy of Good Magazine over the weekend and was completely taken in with the content. Reading about Hasan Elahi and his effort to track every minute of his existence was not only intriguing but mind-blowing in a completely paranoid way. Most definitely a victim of profiling in this post-9/11 world, he's turned the need for the Patriot Act on its head and taken blogging your life to the extreme. After reading the piece and learning about how the FBI's keen interest in him led him to start the project, I decided to visit his site. Insane. Using a Terraserver/GoogleMap type thing, he allows us to know exactly where he is at any given moment. He's outside of Houston right now, apparently on an airplane about to leave.

Then, just when my paranoia was getting the better of me, I turned a few pages and discovered a piece on the cameras that track our daily lives. Entitled the Path of Least Surveillance, the piece contends there are thousands of cameras (ATMs, traffic lights, buildings) everywhere that can track us throughout the urban landscape. Evidently iSEE has mapped out routes of least resistance for those interested in navigating the city sidewalks out of the camera's eye. I'm not that paranoid*, but I think it would interesting to walk some of their suggested routes. Or, better yet, why not walk the path with the most cameras and vogue for each and every one as you pass?

*Though every now and then I get this feeling of never being able to escape, hide. Anyway.

Dear Catastrophe Waitress

The metro has turned me into a woman on the edge. The confusion generated yesterday over the Smithsonian station closing would have been laughable had we all not been tired and hot and ready to be home. As I was headed out the door, I heard rumor of backups on the orange and blue lines but also knew I had to risk it anyway. When I got to McPherson Square, it was pandamonium. People coming up the escalator were telling people headed into the station to turn around. Surprisingly the platform wasn't freakishly crowded because so many people were afraid to even pass through the stalls.

No sooner had I made it to my side of the platform when we all noticed the blue line train that should have been on our side pulling into the station on the opposite track. Mass chaos. Everyone racing up the escalator, beating a path to the other side. They must be single-tracking it, right? Would have been too easy to actually make an announcement. Wait. What was that? An announcement about my orange line train coming on the other side just as I made it to the other platform? I pulled my own Amazing Race as I spun around and ran right back up the escalator to the other side in a matter of seconds. Running en masse, a number of us made it onto the orange line train toward Vienna wedged in a corner with bicycle handlebars poking me.

Because I was pressed up against one of the doors, it was my irritated face people saw as the train pulled into their station and they were deciding whether to press their way on. I get really annoyed when people push their way on an already overcrowded train, and last night, I felt like I had some sway in not making our situation worse. Maybe I was just punchy, but I started shaking my head no as we would pull into stations, indicating their was no fucking way any more people could squeeze into our car. I met my match at Rosslyn with a guy who didn't buy my 'no' and forced his way in (and right up against me). So, here I am on a hot, crowded train with the handlebars of a bike in my ass and an older guy in Docs practically pressed against my chest.
We continue to feel like cattle as we pull into Vienna and are forced to make our way up the one escalator open as people coming into the station try to make their way down.

Thinking this morning would surely be better, I got on at my usual stop only to have to listen to two grown men go at it. "Have you got a problem? Is there something you want to say to me?" "I don't have a problem." " I think you have a problem. Have you got a problem?" "It's common courtesy not to stand in front of the train doors." It went on and on and on (for three stops). I was to the point of breaking. Seriously, boys, just pull your dicks out and compare size and get it over with. All I want is to ride to work in a modicum of peace and was on the brink of saying all of this when the train pulled into McPherson Square.

I tell you...a woman on edge.

Where It's At

9:15 on a Sunday evening, and I'm quite literally sucking mocha syrup out of my cell phone. A wild party gone awry?

Grace has never been something that has come to me with ease. I am more ackward and clumsy, less nimble and fluid. Last night was no exception. Eager to get home, I was graciously pitching in at the "Starbucks" at my part-time job by hauling the steel canister of mocha syrup to the back. Karma bit me in the butt because, as I was complaining to someone about another employee, I managed to shift my grip on the canister in such a way that mocha syrup was beating a path into the pocket of my jacket without my even knowing. This would be the same pocket where I keep my phone (re: lifeline).

Experiencing serious flashbacks of the bathtub incident of 2006, my heart sank as I realized syrup had oozed its way into every possible crevice. Leonard* was experiencing its own form of cardiac arrest as it continually restarted itself. Never one to give up, I began CPR, unafraid to put my lips to some of the dangerous areas and attempt to suck mocha out and hopefully life back in to my phone.

For the moment, Leonard is hanging on. His symptoms are much like that of a stroke victim. We have partial paralysis on the right side of his body, so the left side is having to do all of the work. I'm already beginning to dread warmer days when the mocha that has surely hardened inside him decides to melt.

*My phone.

Night Drive

I don't usually blog Gilmore Girls; I leave that to Scarlet*. However, I finally got around to watching Tuesday's episode last night** and felt such a kinship with Lorelai in the most recent episode. I realized that Lorelai and I handle stressful situations in much the same way. Lorelai's opening scenes where she talked of how she had been driving and driving aimlessly all night as a response to splitting with Christopher hit home, and I was immediately reminded of the hours I spent behind the wheel driving to OC all because of a boy and how I needed that thinking time, that me time.

What about the scene with Richard and Emily at the dinner table? Using humor to deflect a difficult situation? Check.

There is also how she deals with a difficult situation. Avoidance is key, but there's also the inevitability in her avoidance. She knows what has to be done and ususally hands it with a certain bravado. A great example is her needing to tell Emily about the split with Christopher.

Now if I could just find Luke...(ha)

*Who, by the way, is in the process of writing Gilmore Girls for Dummies. Stay tuned.
**Yes, I am that lame. I spent my Saturday evening watching Gilmore Girls.

A Million Ways*

Where as Hamlet pondered the iconic to be or not to be, my own recent dilemma is more consumer driven than life altering. To ipod or not to ipod, that is the question. I've actually been on the fence about getting one for a few years now and am really no closer to an answer. I love the idea of having all of my music in such a centralized, portable device. However, I wonder if I'd be a music poser. Some people are naturally meant for an ipod. Music is their life...their passion. The device becomes more a removable extension of their body, an extra appendage.

Maybe I'm not giving myself enough credit. Music narrates my life. It makes me walk with a little more spunk and focuses my mind at work. I always have a song in my head and tie music to memories like nobody's business. I also assign songs to the people in my life, songs that remind me of them, songs we loved together, etc. Some people are even made up of entire playlists in my mind.

The thought of being able to tune out the world at a moment's notice is also appealing. On the flip side, though, I sometimes like listening to the world around me. I'm a chronic eavesdropper on public transportation and make up stories for the people around me. Would I lose some of this in becoming a pod person? Would I live more in my memories?

So...to ipod or not to ipod?

*Today's theme song thanks to OkGo and a certain person who recently got assigned this song in my memory bank.

Our Weekend Starts on Wednesday

I'm not Catholic, but every now and then I've given up something for Lent. It's something my church always encouraged, and I thought it sounded like a good idea. This year I've been a bit of a heathen and should probably be giving up quite a bit. When have I ever been good at doing what I'm told to do? I'm obstinate by nature, so this year I figured out a compromise. Armed with a list of five, this year I'll give up one thing and then turn fate on its head by engaging in four more positive activities.

(1) blog every day
(2) flirt every day
(3) touch nothing from the bake case at the Barn
(4) write a letter every day
(5) have a theme song every day*

I reserve the right to add more to this list** at any time during the Lenten season.

*Today's theme song is the title.
**I realize that technically you're not supposed to tell anyone about what your lent thing is, but I think encouragement is a good thing.

Chinatown to Chinatown

Despite having to leap over murky puddles of melted snow and navigate trash piled along the curbs, it was good to be back in New York this weekend. Stepping off the bus in Chinatown and into a street market tosses you right into the different cultures of the city. Navigating the streets with a pink duffle slung over my shoulder looking for a cab to hail just felt right.

Saturday brunch cocktails provided fuel for our trek through Greenwich, Soho and Tribeca. Despite my frumpy coat, we owned the sidewalks and would have been more at home if we had just been able to get Ravena out of the bloody map. She was the slayer of any dreams I had of not looking like a tourist.

Cupcake sluts that we are, we couldn't not stop at The Magnolia Bakery even though it meant waiting in a line that extended down the block. I can't say I'm generally for queueing up for things like food, but whatever. When in Rome, right? Final verdict on the cupcakes? Good, but Cakelove cupcakes (warm) win.

Walking back to the phat apartment Ravena secured for us*, I lusted over $300 vintage rock tees and cowboy boots in What Comes Around Goes Around and cute bags at Le Sport Sac. Realizing how irrational any of those purchases would be, our journey back to the apartment continued as we each plotted our strategy for the evening that lay before us.

What transpired that evening could a post in and of itself, but perhaps that's for another blog. The short of it is that the Peculier Bar turned out to be a good choice for those hunting the male of our species. Brits, loud Air Force guys, long-haired guys with nice eyes tucked into booths across the room...they made the evening worth it. I want to remember the following from that night: the way 'jumper' sounds, weapons of mass destruction, the sound of two glasses shattering, Scottish beer, the "did I ruin your Banana Republic scarf you imperialist bitch?" chick, and being the more sober one that night.

I miss New York already.

*Said apartment makes one more forgiving of tourist-like travesties.

New tricks

My mom has recently discovered email at work, and it's a hilarious and wonderful thing. At her old job, while she was on a computer all day long, they never had access to the internet or even email accounts. At her new job, she has her own office and personal email account, opening up a world of possibilities. She isn't one to surf the internet or blog like I do (hell, she won't even read mine), but she has discovered the single best way to get in touch with her daughter. Email. Lately we've been navigating the learning curve of a seasoned emailer versus someone playing in the email minors. For instance, I ended a sentence earlier this week with (:-p). What then ensued was a conversation dedicated to me explaining the fine art of emoticons and that that was akin to me sticking my tongue out at her. While she has yet to try one out herself, she has managed a 'right back at ya' and is turning into a fine email buddy*.


*A fine email buddy is defined as one that responds in a reasonable amount of time and provides either information, laughs or another justifiable distraction.

Someone is shitting on my rainbow

I hate that life is difficult sometimes. Why do we have to continue to be pushed to "grow" by traversing the difficult landscape of life? I want sunshine, rainbows and cupcakes all the time. I want life to be emotionally easy.

My mom leaves a voicemail on my phone yesterday afternoon that says not to call that night because my grandmother is back in the hospital and that she won't be home until late. That's it. The heifer says nothing about why my grandmother is in the hospital or not even a clue as to the seriousness. It's not like she's some distant relative I never see. This woman raised me right alongside my mom. I consider her part of my parental unit.

She's been weak and sick lately, a bad bout of arthritis taking its toll on her body. I feel useless being so far away and unable to do anything. Even worse is that I feel the fucked up part of me distancing myself from her emotionally because I fear the hurt that will inevitably come when she is gone. I worry about my mom who has to deal with this all on her own.

I want a pity party where I just sit in a corner and cry but know that will do no good. I have to do the standard and at least appear to be strong. Aren't I allowed to be weak for anyone?

Fair trade is more than just coffee

In cataloguing my books for The Library Thing, I realized exactly how many books I have that I haven’t even read, many that I have no intention of reading. Most of my unread books are advance reader copies I’ve rescued from the bookstore. I have a soft spot for unclaimed books that might have some redeeming value somewhere. So I adopt these books, eventually lugging them back to apartment where they take up residence on my bookshelves.

Well, no longer. These advance copies need homes with people who may actually want to read them. Peruse my catalogue on Library Thing, and look at the books tagged 'advance reader copy'. I’m interested in a trade. You tell me which book you want and what you’ve got to trade me for it. Deal?

Blonde zombies take over DC

Is it just me, or are there more blondes* roaming the streets these days? Everywhere I turn they seem to be moving in packs throughout the city and its bars. As someone so very not blonde, I'll readily admit that I started to wonder if I was missing out and should embrace my blonde roots.

I mean they looked like they might indeed be having more fun. They all had the prerequisite hair flip and smile down. If everyone wants to be blonde, shouldn't I? I know this sounds silly and like I'm making fun (and I am a bit), but I honestly started to question whether I was at a disadvantage because of my red locks.

I had some caffeine and sense finally returned to me. Why would I want to look like everyone else? Don't I have a competitive edge by being different? I'd like to think so. Blondes...watch out ; )

*Blondes are some of my favorite people, so please don't take offense.

Memory lane is really just a sidewalk

Last night was like hopping in the Delorean with Michael J. Fox and taking a step back in time. The "reunion" happy hour I had blogged about earlier was last night, and the best way to describe it really was like a 5-year college reunion. There were the nerves before going downstairs about wanting to look extra hott, the guy who you had the brief happy hour thing with, and the photos of everyone's children now grown up. How odd to be in a room with people who nurtured my early career and taught me pretty much everything I know about public relations and media. I felt a bit like the daughter coming home all grown up. Hearing from an even younger colleague how I had taught them so much and how they found themselves passing down the same lessons brought memories flooding back of nights slaving away under the fluorescent lights of corporate cubes throwing together press packets for a client who was paying way too much money and would show little appreciation. Add to the surreal list a conversation about online dating and botox with a divorced older colleague. It was quite the night.

Disgruntled ramblings

"Corporate America" drives me bloody batty sometimes. The Barn is back on their big dress code kick, posting missives about business casual. The reality is that this part-time retail job requires that I dress nicer* than my full-time job that pays the bills. While I meet their dress code requirements most of the time**, I don't appreciate being told what I can and cannot put on my body. I also find it ludicrous that this particular store is choosing to come up with its own interpretation of the company's dress code policy and expanding upon the employee handbook that I signed when I started.

I'm most angry right now at how this is playing out for other folks. Manager X has a particular style that doesn't sit well with the latest store manager. While she technically meets the dress code according to the handbook, her clothes are baggier than they'd like, and if they're being honest with themselves, probably a bit manlier than they are comfortable with. Recently, they sat her down with a copy of What Not to Wear. I find this a tad hypocritical since the same store manager was known to bare her midriff during the warmer months. If no one counseled an older woman on whether or not she should really be dressing like her teen daughter, what right does she have to girlify another manager not comfortable in tight clothes? I don't particularly like Manager X's clothes, but the fact of the matter is that her clothes and style are her own. Her look offends no one and shouldn't be up for corporate debate.


*with the exception of any important meetings
**flipflops in the summer are my big exception

Too "nonprofit"

An email in my inbox this morning brought the past rushing back. The old public affairs group from my first post-college job is having a happy hour reunion at some old school DC establishment later this month. Immediately I was reminded of all the lessons I learned in the "big 5" PR world and of all of the characters I met. It's place where I learned that who you know really does matter. At the same time, I also learned that hard work pays off (sometimes). Profit and billable hours were my lingo, and even my idealism couldn't protect me from clients who were willing to shell out the big bucks for my pimping services. Three years of being worn down drove me to non-profit sector and a place where idealism is coddled. That said, the people I worked with had staying power. Most were good people who would have your back in a minute. Dare I show at happy hour? Am I too crunchy, liberal to even roll with the big boys anymore?

Cunt...offended?

Tonight our bookclub meets and discusses Cunt. I knew the selection of this title would cause quite a stir, but I didn't really think it would go as far as it has.

I should start by saying that, while this is not my favorite word, it doesn't offend me any more than any other word. It's just a word, and I firmly believe we give words power by making them so verboten*. A good friend challenged me to use it continually over the course of one day, and it totally desensitized me to it. In choosing this month's title, I thought it might give more positive ammunition in fighting the stigma of the word.

Turns out choosing a book called Cunt** for a Barnes & Noble (officially sanctioned) bookclub raises more than a few eyebrows. List it on the store's community events calendar? Give it the signage normal bookclub books get? Are you kidding me?! Haha. All of the marketing materials were actually printed before one of the store's printers got so concerned they contacted corporate headquarters in NYC. The big bosses up in NY evidently got their panties in such a wad that they called down to the store our bookclub is housed out of to ask what was up. Oh my...can't say I was disappointed in attracting the attention of corporate. I was, however, disappointed that Barnes & Noble is ok with selling and earning a profit from a book but not promoting it. Notice I said disappointed...not surprised. None of this is shocking.

The only thing that has shocked me at all is my discovery that I basically have no freedom of speech rights in the workplace. Perhaps it was a bit Pollyanna of me to think I had some kind of legal legs to stand on. Well, for the record, I do not. The courts have definitely not defined freedom of speech as an absolute. In the private sector, the First Amendment freedom of speech criteria (generalizing here...there are some instances where they may be applied) do not apply.


*I'm a bit of a hypocrite and will readily admit it. While I do believe we have also empowered the n* word, I would never say nor condone saying it.
**I can't say I was all that impressed with the actual book.

tickling itchy feet

It's what the Lonely Planet site has on the header of their WorldGuide, and it's a syndrome that I chronically suffer from. What do you do when you've got an itch? I don't know about you, but I'm a chronic scratcher. Today's top 5 is a list of random towns I want to visit soon.

1. Kutna Hora, Czech Republic
2. San Cristobal, Chiapas
3. Iceland (anywhere now that I've seen the amazing Flickr photos)
4. Bangalore, India
5. Lesotho, Africa

In other news, my trip to the airport late yesterday proved fruitful. After waiting in line at the American counter for 30 minutes, I finally had answers to the questions the Internet could not solve for me and the automated phone system refused to help with. Turns out my the return ticket I didn't use from San Angelo to BWI can be used anytime before December 27 as long as I pay the $100 change fee. I also learned that I can use my voucher pretty much however I want. Talk about a conundrum. I was left wondering whether I should go somewhere exotic alone or get two tickets to somewhere in the states and take a friend. I really want to share Austin with these two but think plans for a quick trip might need to be put on hold. One thing is certain; a jaunt around the globe will happen sooner rather than later.

Flashbacks and other such nonsense

Sometimes I think I'm two different people fighting it out in one body. There is the easy going, laid back Serena who truly is flexible and can roll with the punches. On the flip side of the coin, you have super sensitive Serena who gets her feelings hurt if the wind blows too hard and whose temper can't be blamed on her red hair.

That said, some of the stories I carried back from my holiday travels shouldn't be so surprising. Our first night on the road, we left Austin around 3:30 pm determined to get as close to the Texas border as possible. Roughly eight hours later, we rolled into a desolate* town of Van Horn, Texas. Tired from having spent the morning packing up a two bedroom apartment and driving (or in my case staring at the back of) a UHaul for hours on end, we decided grab a room in one of the 10 or so roadside motels. Who would have guessed that every single person driving I-10 had the same idea. Ten hotels and no vacancies. If I had been pregnant, I would have felt like Mary.

The car was low on gas, so we decide to head to the nearest gas station (re: truck stop) to fill up. Time for a game plan. My traveling partner reminded me that I had mentioned camping and that we could find a place to park the vehicles and camp out in them. No problem. My easy going self was totally fine with that. While I have my high maintenance moments, I'm not a total diva who demands a hotel room and a shower**. The problem arose when I misheard something my friend said. Let's just say I thought he was sending me off to sleep in the vast truck stop parking lot all by myself. Can you imagine? I've seen way too many movies where bad things happen to people in truck stop parking lots****. I was furious and terribly upset***. I'm sobbing and searching for a place to park a Honda Civic next to these gargantuan trucks. The walkie talkie beside me crackles, and I can only manage to sob, "leave me alone." Sobbing still, I wonder how I got myself into this mess and how I'm ever going to sleep parked next to all of these trucks.

Can you see where this is going? The easy going, laid back me is fine sleeping in a car and adjusting to the roadblocks of life. However, there's also the part of me that gets worked up so easily. I was devastated and angry at the way I thought I was being treated all at the same time. The story continues, but you get the drift. Needless to say, we talked the next morning, and I had misheard his original statement. Being so sensitive led me to take what I thought I heard and turn it into this huge THING.


*Not desolate enough, since we soon determined the town was FULL.
**OMG, how I wanted a shower after the sweating involved in loading a UHaul!
***I'm also stubborn and didn't bother to stop and clarify his statement.
****Joy Ride, Thelma & Louise, etc.

Set location

Have you ever been searching for that perfect thing only to find that, at the time you needed it most, it doesn’t appear to exist? We needed a coffee shop; however, not just any coffee shop will do. Two camera-toting adventurers needed the right amount of ambiance, right amount of lighting and a noise level you could easily talk over. Setting out, I couldn’t imagine how finding a coffee shop in Austin, Texas would be difficult. Seventeen coffee shops later, and I was singing a different tune. If there was lighting we could work with, then the music would be too loud. If there was atmosphere we could work with, then we had to contend with staff taking issue with video* being shot in their shop. Looking for that perfect place does get you a unique tour of Austin, the ability to combine Google and GPS while on the road, and a chance to talk to different people in an effort to find their perfect place for coffee in Austin. Looking for coffee in Austin? Try one of the ones with the double stars (**).

Tazza Fresca
Starbucks
Amy’s Ice Cream
The Hideout
Austin Java House (2)**
Epoch**
Jo’s Coffee House**
Flipnotics
It’s a Grind
Freddie’s Place
Flightpath**
Quack’s Bakery
Dulce Vita Espresso Bar
Spiderhouse**
Halcyon**
Kasbah

What do I regret? Not getting a coffee at each establishment, so I could write a proper review ; )

*Saying you're working on an indie documentary goes a long way toward getting you permission to shoot in Austin.

I make noises when I sleep, evidently quite a bit depending on the night. I have been told I moan, snore, whimper and many other things. I was told last week that I screamed. Truthfully, I've always had sleep issues. When I was little I used to walk in my sleep, even going so far as out the front door. As I got older, I walked less and talked more. I also remember having terrible nightmares and never wanting to go to sleep. Someone once told me they think my sleep issues are psychologically based. Isn't that a frightening thought?!

Last night I decided to do something about my noises...or something to start doing something. I decided to videotape myself sleeping. I figure I need to at least hear what other people are experiencing. The downside is that I only had about 55 minutes of tape to spare, so I only caught the first hour of sleep. Here's a recap of what I heard: shift, shift, heavy breathing, couple of light snorts, a moan at minute 18:18, heavy breathing, and some soft snoring. Last night must have been an easy night. I think I'm going to record myself every night this week to see if it changes. Maybe I'll even vary my sleep position. At the very least it's an interesting experiment.

Laugh lines

I never understood the huge to-do made about transitioning from one year to the next, but I do appreciate the opportunity it offers for introspection. 2006 was filled with the ups and downs that generally constitute life, and maybe when I clear the fog that has taken up residence in my brain, I'll record them here. Somehow, though, I feel like I've lived a lifetime in the past two and half weeks. I feel older and wiser for having endured the emotional rollercoaster that was my winter break. I cried A LOT, laughed A LOT, and bonded A LOT. I need to write my "what I did over my holiday break" essay soon, so I don't forget all the little things that were both maddening and sweet.

However, until I manage to do that, I leave you with a meme* I was tagged for by Neil.

5 things you don't know about me:

(1) I've been bungee jumping....twice.

(2) I was kicked out of the capitol building in Texas for impersonating a state representative.

(3) I made up my first boyfriend in 1st grade.

(4) There were drive-by shootings at my house growing up in Texas.

(5) I've sold two paintings (yes, people really do lack taste).


*Remember that I hate memes only do them for the special.