Halloween

In February, when my boyfriend moved here, he found a federal government job almost immediately. They pretty much offered it to him instantaneously, with a catch: it was going to take some time for them to be able to get all of the paperwork done and have him start. Well, we know how this goes -- government budget issues, threats of shutdown, yadda yadda yadda. So, in the meantime, while waiting for the government to get its act together, he found a job with a moving company -- at the beginning he mostly worked as a mover, but now, most of the time, he schedules and supervises the movers. His job sucks, mostly because he generally works 12 hour shifts starting at 7 am.

This morning, on his way out the door, he told me he hoped that he would be home early tonight. I said, "Of course. Who moves on Halloween evening?"

In all seriousness, he said, that they have one job this evening. A guy named Vlad.

This can only end poorly.

Adventures in Carsharing

After much debate, I sold my car. I had been thinking about it for a few years, as I barely drive, but it was somehow reassuring to own a car, just in case. Plus my car -- my shiny blue Volkswagen -- seemed to be a part of my identity. So I kept the car -- for ten years (and only 47,000 miles).

When boyfriend moved in, we found ourselves with a new problem -- two cars and only one parking space. It became a constant cycle of searching for -- and paying for -- parking. Saturday mornings were the worst, since neither of us had to get up for work, but one of us had to get up by 8 to feed the meter, and you know, sometimes you just want to sleep in.

Last weekend, I finally wound up selling my car to a friend of mine who had recently bought a place just beyond the beltway. So this week, I embarked on a new, car-free era. I will walk, take metro, and ride buses. Perhaps I will take cabs in case of emergency. And, to some extent, I can use boyfriend's car -- on mornings when he works and I don't (Sundays and the occasional holiday) if I need the car, I can get up early and drive him to work.

There's also car sharing. Zipcar is in abundance in my neighborhood -- pretty much every street corner has at least one of the orange signs indicating that a zipcar lives there.

Today was my first zipcar experience. When I enrolled, I got a credit that expires at the end of the month, and so, I decided to rent a car as "practice," so that when I really need the car, I won't have to figure out the process -- or worse, figure out that some part of the process doesn't work right. And so, this afternoon, I brought lunch to my boyfriend at work.

The car-sharing process was the easiest thing. (1) Apply for zipcar membership (which took about a week). (2) Reserve car (using internet or iPhone app). (3) Walk to the car (when you reserve, you are told which car and where it is parked). (4) Use your zipcard (or iPhone app) to open the car. (5) Drive. (6) Return car. They even sent me a text message 30 minutes before my reservation ended to remind me to bring the car back because someone had a reservation right after me. And if I needed to put gas in the zipcar, it has its own gas card.

The only downside that I experienced was that, when I went to go make my reservation this morning, I found that of the 20-or so cars parked within a six-block radius, only two were available. I wound up reserving a silver Nissan Sentra named Sinbad, parked about three blocks from my house. (Yes, all the zipcars have names. How quaint.) So the lesson learned was to reserve early, or face the possibility that a car will not be available.

So, car-free week one was a success. On to week two . . . .

Ancient History

I live in a city obsessed with history: Washington, DC is, in many ways, entirely focused on preserving it, interpreting it, making it, and sometimes even rewriting it. It's strange, though: The history we focus on here only goes back, at maximum, 400 years. When I was living in London, I was constantly overwhelmed by just how old everything there was. And that was nothing too -- when I was in Jerusalem, everything was even older. All that history makes me feel somewhat comforted as I'm heading into another birthday.

The years that end in zeroes and fives are the most stressful. And this time, I'm about to be in another age bracket -- the victim of an unwarranted demographic shift. All of a sudden, I am less valuable to advertisers. But I feel so young -- except when I look at the gray hairs, or when I hear my back and my knees crack and creak when I get up in the morning, or when I realize that some of the people I knew in high school now have teenage children. How did this happen? And, more importantly, how did it all pass me by? When did I become middle-aged? It seems like I was just having my mid-twenties crisis, but no, I'm far removed from all that and instead, getting closer to a sports car and an inappropriately young lover. (Does that even apply to women?)

I passed by Ford's Theater today -- the place where President Lincoln was shot. All of a sudden, I was brought back to my eighth grade trip, to standing on that very corner, with a cast on my arm and a pink denim jacket. Who was that thirteen year old girl? Where has she gone? What transformation could possibly have turned her into me? How did I possibly get here?

Driving to work

Today marked the end of my four-month long experiment with driving to work. And to be honest, there are a few things that I'm going to miss about it. I'm going to miss being able to stay in the office late and not have to worry about walking to the train or how long the wait is going to be. I'm going to miss being able to drive somewhere straight after work without having to work out the logistics of going home to get my car. Most of all, I'm going to miss not really having to worry about how comfortable my shoes are to walk in or whether my outfit is appropriate for the weather.

But as a whole, I'm not going to miss driving that much. I'm looking forward to not being stressed out about traffic and not having to fill up my gas tank every few days. I'm looking forward to being able to go places after work without having to figure out the parking logistics. I'm looking forward to walking a bit more.

More than anything though, I'm looking forward to what I'm going to get back. In the last four months, I've managed to finish approximately four books, because instead of spending my commuting time reading, I've been spending it sitting in traffic, listening to the radio. So I'm really looking forward to the quiet time with my books. It's been sorely missed.

The Summer Meme

(Courtesy of Restaurant Refugee)

1. You’re about to get into the Cash Cab in NYC. You can choose any two or three people (from your actual life) to be with you. Name the people with you and why? My aunt, since she thinks she knows everything and would make for great (read: annoying) reality tv, and my seven year old cousin, since it's his favorite show.

2. The TV gods have appeared before you in the form of a burning remote. They instruct you to select any canceled television show to be returned to the airwaves. You do, however, have to make your case to them. What show, what’s your argument in favor? Veronica Mars. It was smart, funny, original, and it had a lot more story left to tell. It's also the reason that I'm still boycotting the CW.

3. It’s not summer in DC (or your city of origin, or your favorite city if you wish) without _______________? It's not summer in DC without Screen on the Green. Thank heavens they managed to save it.

4. The best summer accessory in your repertoire is? Sunscreen for my fair, fair skin, since nothing's worse than a horrible summer sunburn. And giant sunglasses.

5. It took you a while to get on board with the _______________ trend but once you did, you don’t know how you lived without it. Flip-flops. I used to be totally against them, but now I can't imagine commuting with anything else on my feet.

6. The song to which you are embarrassed to admit that you know all of the words? Embarrassed? Me? Never. I am proud of the fact that I can sing along to just about any 'N Sync or Backstreet Boys song.

7. Your favorite memory of summer is? Trying to catch lightning bugs with my siblings. Every time I see lightning bugs now, I smile.

8. The memory you would love to create this summer is? A vacation. Any vacation.

9. According to Confucius, real knowledge exists in the understanding of what one doesn’t know. What don’t you know? I don't know what the future holds. But I'm starting to understand that it's the process of getting there -- and not the result -- that really matters.

10. What question do you wish were included in this meme? Favorite summer food or beverage. And I'd probably respond with ripe watermelon. Nothing is better when you're outside on a hot day.

The value of having alternatives

This evening, I came out on the winning side of a negotiation with a ticket scalper. And, in retrospect, I think that almost all of my negotiations with scalpers turn out well. So, I've decided to pass my wisdom on to everyone here.

Here goes:

To win in a negotiation you have to have alternatives. If you are desperate to buy or sell your tickets, YOU WILL LOSE.

Here's an example. I was in Pittsburgh several years ago, and wanted to go to a Pirates game. It was about 7:15, 10 minutes after the game started. I was walking across the Roberto Clemente bridge, on my way up to the stadium ticket office, and the scalpers started trying to sell to me. They weren't giving me any kind of deal, so I kept walking. One finally asked me what I wanted. I said, "The game's already started. I can buy a ticket from you, or I can buy a ticket from the gate. You can't get a refund on the tickets you're holding. So it's your choice whether you want to deal with me." I got the ticket, lower deck behind home plate, about 1/3 of the way down, for $10.

Tonight was no different. At work, I told one of my coworkers that it would be my goal to trade my two decent upper-deck seats for one good seat in the lower deck.

So, when I got out of Metro this evening, I turned to the first scalper who asked me if I had extra tickets and told him I had a pair. He asked me what I wanted. I said "Face value." He said he couldn't give me that, the best he could do was half. I started walking. He then offered me an extra $10. I told him no and kept on walking. This exact same scenario played out a couple of times.

Finally, the last scalper decided to have a conversation with me. I told him that I had a pair of tickets, and would part with one or both of them, but not for less than face value -- and that I knew that there were plenty of Red Sox fans willing to pay. At first he protested. He explained that he couldn't pay me face value because then he wouldn't have any room to negotiate with the buyers.

Since this guy took the time to explain his predicament, rather than walking away, I explained my position: I wanted to go to the game, but I had alternatives. I could sell both tickets, at a premium, and try to buy a single ticket. I could use one ticket and sell the other, probably for less, but still for a fair amount. Or I could use one ticket and trade in the unused one for a different game -- which means I'd get full value for it.

In other words, I had alternatives, all of which were more palatable than selling him my pair of tickets for less than face value. If he wanted my pair of tickets, he'd have to give me what I wanted.

So finally, he offered a trade. One ticket in the lower deck, on the first base side, about halfway down, on the aisle. A $40 ticket for my pair of $20 tickets.

I took him up on the offer. I got exactly what I wanted.

Observation #4: Tragedy and Humanity

I was riding the Metro into work this morning, and my mind naturally drifted to yesterday's tragedy. My heart goes out to the families of the victims, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a sort-of kinship with them, in a way that only people who have lost others in a very shocking and sudden way could possibly understand.

Then I looked across the crowded train and had a moment of clarity: Other than perhaps the very smallest children, every single person on that train has, at some point, been touched by tragedy. Maybe big, maybe little, maybe someone close, maybe indirectly, but this shared experience of loss is one of the main things that makes us human.

Observation #3

If you go to a moderately-sized, reasonably-priced restaurant in a relatively busy part of the city on a Friday night at 6:00, and you are practically the only people in the restaurant, there is a high probability that the food is going to stink.

Baby steps

I worked on my novel again today, for the first time in months. It was just a chapter, but it felt like something major.

I applied for a promotion at work last week. It seemed like exactly what I needed to do to get back on the right track.

I spent time with my friends, some that I haven't seen in months, over the past several days. I went to happy hours and parties, had some drinks, ate holiday foods, laughed, and told stories. And the schedule of events on the horizon looks promising.

And yeah, I flirted. I had almost forgotten how good it can feel.

Christmas Spirit

I am, at heart, a non-confrontational person. Yeah, I'm guilty of offhand sarcastic remarks and quips when things annoy me, but most of it is meant in jest. For me to really get aggravated -- and speak out about it -- things really really have to bother me.

Today, I was bothered.

On my way to pilates, I stopped at the UPS store to drop off a package. I was returning one of many, many catalog purchases of late. Apparently, one of the ways I dealt with not getting a birthday present from my mother was to buy new clothing and shoes. But I digress.

The package was prepaid. So, I just wanted to run in and run out of the store so I could get to my class, but there was no parking, so I wound up driving around for a couple of minutes looking for a spot. When I finally parked and ran up to the store, large box in front of most of my body (The box was 2 feet long -- no joke), I noticed that there was a very long line of parents and kids, most of whom were holding red and green balloons.

I quickly gathered that none of the people in line were actually there to conduct business in the store. You see, as luck would have it, the UPS store is in a neighborhood that was having its annual Christmas Tree lighting ceremony, and the store itself hosted Santa. So after exchanging brief words with some of the parents, I decided to bypass the line and go straight to the door.

Of course some blond woman yelled at me, "How rude! Don't you see that this woman with a stroller and a baby is trying to get out? You should have let her out first."

In my defense, I didn't see the woman with the stroller and the baby. The box was obstructing my view, especially while trying to hold it while keeping the door open. And in all honesty, all of the people and all of their kids seemed like they were moving into the store, not out of it. But on some level, I was not being very observant. I mean, I was surrounded by all of the kids and the noise, and all I wanted to do was drop off the stupid giant box.

I said, "Oh. I'm just trying to drop off this box and I didn't see her." I continued walking into the store, handed the clerk my box, and proceeded to exit. The transaction itself took 5 seconds.

On my way out the door, the woman started with me again. She said "You are so rude."

I was halfway out of the store, but I got annoyed. I spun back around and said, "Excuse me?"

She didn't say anything, so I started walking again.

Of course, then she said, "I guess some people don't understand Christmas."

I stopped again. "You really want to do this in front of your children?"

She glared at me and said, "I can't believe you are so rude."

I got a little defensive. "First of all, I didn't see the woman with the stroller because I was carrying a very big, very heavy box. And second, if anyone has the right to be mad at me, it's her -- not you. Mind your own business."

She said something else, but I don't even remember what it was. All I know is that by this point, I was fuming. So as I turned and walked back to my car, I said, "Well, I guess your kids are learning that the true spirit of Christmas is to be judgmental and rude."

The woman with the baby and the stroller? She was long gone by that point. But if she had said something to me, I probably would have apologized.

Dog Days

So this dog fostering thing? Let's just say that it hasn't gone swimmingly. Or, to be more precise, it has.

On Tuesday (gotta love federal holidays!) I took the dog to the dog park. Actually two dog parks. At the first one, there were three giant dogs that wanted to chase him, and he did not really like that. After seeing if the little guy could hold his own for a couple minutes -- he did surprisingly well -- my friend and I packed him back up into the car and drove to a different park. And PJ was really really good with the other dogs for a few minutes, until one little brown puppy (about half his size) drove PJ to run away -- into the creek.

So yeah, I spent my Veterans' Day fishing the dog out of the creek. And then giving him a bath. (He liked the bath a lot, but did not like being dried off. He growled and snapped at me like you wouldn't believe!)



Of course there's the other thing. The thing where he tries to jump up into my bed over and over again and keeps missing. Eventually he succeeds, but it is really really annoying when I'm trying to sleep. Combine that with the having to get up before the crack of dawn to walk him and let's just say that I am the most tired I've been in months.

Still, I wanted to tough it out with him -- but my neighbors are not in agreement. The dog apparently barks at every single noise that he hears, which, in a mid-rise building in a quasi-downtown area, is a lot. When I'm there and I tell him to calm down, he gets quieter, but when I'm not . . . . And the neighbors have been complaining. So, as a result, as of tonight, the dog is going to another foster home.

Ultimately this dog experiment has been an abysmal failure -- but at least I've learned that maybe it's not the right time or place for me to have a dog and maybe that'll help abate the puppy envy for a while. In the meantime, I'm pretty sure that the agency will find PJ a suitable permanent home, and, as an extra added bonus, I will always have the memory of a tiny little dog humping a giant orange cat-shaped pillow.

Police

So after telling off the girl who cut in front of me in line Friday night, I spent the rest of my Halloween at the Coldplay concert -- which was very good -- and then eventually went home and went to sleep, gearing up for a big excursion to Ikea the next morning.

At about 3 am, I woke up when someone started pounding on my door.

Disoriented at first, I initially thought it was part of a particularly peculiar dream. But then they pounded again.

So I got up and went to the door -- without my glasses. I tried to look out the peephole, but I didn't see anyone, so I said, "Who is it?"

"Police."

I didn't want to open the door, especially since I couldn't see anything. So I said "What do you want?"

They asked for some girl named Emily Carroll. I told them that they must have the wrong apartment. They then said the right apartment number, and I told him that no one by that name lived there. So they left. I never even had to open the door.

I went back to sleep, annoyed and confused. Why would the police be knocking on my door at 3 am unless it was an emergency, and if so, why would they go away that easily? The whole thing makes no sense.

Out of Character

I'm not sure whether it's because of my profession or in spite of it, but for some reason, I have evolved into a particularly non-confrontational person. Unless it's of dire importance, I generally let things go -- or, at worst, passive-aggressively complain after the fact.

So, if, for example, someone cuts in front of me in a line, my general reaction is to let them do it. Sometimes I'll turn to the person behind me and say something loud enough for others to hear like "I don't understand why people think they're too important to wait in line," but more often than not, I'll just let it happen and quietly stew.

On Friday, however, I stood up for myself. I was on line to put my name on the list for a table at a busy (and somewhat overrated) restaurant about 90 minutes before the Coldplay concert. Some girl pushed in front of me to get to the hostess stand. Initially I thought that they had called her name for a table, but when she got up to the front, she was putting her name on the list -- the same thing I had been waiting to do, the same thing the girl in front of me had been waiting to do.

It only took me a second to decide to put an end to it. I took a step over to the side and said "Did you actually just push me out of the way to put your name on the list?"

She said, "Oh, I didn't know I did that."

I said "How did you not realize it when you physically pushed me out of the way?"

The hostess had no choice. She took the name of the girl that was really in line in front of me, and then my name. The girl who cut in front? Well, she didn't get her name on the list, and left in a huff, clearly embarrassed.

And I felt vindicated. Maybe I should stand up for myself more often.

Baseball Jackassery

I went to my last baseball game of the season tonight. It was a crappy game -- the Nats lost to the Marlins big time, and almost none of the big name players, to the extent there are any, even took the field. And it was cold.

I left early.

This is unusual for me: I almost always stay until the end of the game -- regardless of score or weather or a dearth of stars. But tonight, in addition to the crappy game, I was annoyed by two things -- people actually -- and just wanted to get the heck out of Dodge.

First of all, our seats are right near this guy that I refer to as "Baseball Wesley Willis." For the uninformed, Wesley Willis was a 300 pound schizophrenic dude who wrote these crazy little songs performed on a Casio keyboard. He is probably most famous for "I Wupped Batman's Ass" -- which is quite possibly the best song of all time.



Okay, I kid. But it's pretty friggin' hilarious. And awesome.

Anyway, Baseball Wesley Willis does his own version of performance art. He stands up, holds either a beer bottle or a pen in front of his mouth as if it were a microphone, and shouts "Can I have your attention please?" and announces each and every pitching change or pinch hitter, and then either (1) makes a joke about their name; (2) comments on the weather or the stadium concessions; or (3) says something unintelligible that sounds like "Oulet creuset boulet boulet."

He apparently started doing this at the old stadium, where the loudspeakers weren't so good. But in the new stadium, where people can actually hear the announcer and read the scoreboard, he is just, well, annoying and loud.

This is even more so since he has taken to doing this while standing right in front of me.



I try to ignore him, thinking maybe he'll go away or stand somewhere else. But the asinine people around me seem to think it's a novelty act, and applaud him -- and he keeps doing it.

Grrrr.

But it gets worse. Today, in addition to Baseball Wesley Willis, there was a girl sitting right behind us who shreiked, approximately once per inning, at the very top of her lungs.

This was not a particularly little girl -- I would guess that she was somewhere between 7 and 10, which means that she was old enough to know better. And her parents were sitting there right there next to her -- but NOT ONCE did either of them do anything to stop this.

In fact, they didn't seem to mind -- not even when people looked at her (and them) in sheer annoyance. If it were my kid, I'd have been mortified.

Anyway, I'd like to thank these people for letting their jackassery totally ruin my last baseball game of the season. But not all was lost: I came home tonight to an email from TINGB, forwarding this article:

Hot Dogs Force Evacuation At Citizens Bank Park

PHILADELPHIA (CBS 3) ― The discovery of several hot dogs in packages outside Citizens Bank Park brought the bomb squad out and forced the temporary evacuation of the stadium Wednesday evening.

According to police, Pattison Street between Darien and 11th Streets was shutdown as officials investigated the discovery of several suspicious packages near a ticket office.

Fans inside the stadium were evacuated, but players remained on the field during the incident.

Bomb squad members further investigated the packages and determined they were simply several hot dogs in foil wrappers. Sadly, the wieners were detonated as a precaution.

The stadium was reopened at about 5:20 p.m.

"It was clear from when we looked at it at first glance and when you looked at the debris afterwards, there was packaging and duct tape; I don't see many hot dogs sold here with duct tape," Phillies VP of Operations Michael Stiles said. "We just did what we felt was appropriate."

The Phillies take on the Atlanta Braves at 7:05 p.m. on Wednesday evening.

I guess my night could have been worse: No one had to detonate my hot dog.

Politics and Gender

I've been avoiding politics like the plague this year, but everyone keeps talking about Sarah Palin. Of course, those in the know are now talking about Jon Stewart talking about Sarah Palin:



This made me laugh. But this made me think:

I don't care about how Sarah Palin or John McCain take care of their families. I care about how their policy choices affect my family and millions of other Americans.

McCain and Palin get their health insurance paid for by the government (hers in Alaska and his in Washington). Yet they oppose giving the nearly 46 million uninsured Americans the same access to affordable health care.

John McCain's kids don't have to worry about paying for college. Yet he has opposed every single education support program to help others.

McCain and Palin say they will stand up to oil companies. Yet the only energy policy they support gives millions of dollars in tax breaks to oil companies to do more drilling and he has opposed every piece of federal legislation to explore alternative fuel sources.

McCain and Palin say they will revamp how Washington does business. Yet his campaign is filled with lobbyists and she has cooperated with Sen. Ted Stevens in funneling federal money for useless projects in Alaska for years. And McCain and Palin have no solutions for Americans worrying about their jobs in a fragile economy.

McCain and Palin want us to leave their families alone. Yet they want to make rules for our families by eliminating our right to make our own choices over abortion, eliminate our access to family planning education or domestic partner benefits, and our freedom from discrimination.

They want to control what our kids learn in school about sex and about science. In short, through the policies they promote and the judges they support, they want the government to have more control over our private lives than at any time in history.

McCain and Palin now say their campaign is about change, too. Yet the only real change they have proposed is a change from a suit to a skirt in the vice president's office and one man fighting a misplaced war for another in the Oval Office.

Ms. Rosen is absolutely right: Talking about Sarah Palin's family or debating about how much experience is enough is a waste of time. It's the policies that matter. And, for the record, there wasn't a lot of that in any of the speeches this week.

Sleeping through it all

My dad came to visit over the weekend. On Monday, he insisted that I drop him off a the airport what I consider to be very early -- 90 minutes before his flight. I then went to go run errands, and late that evening, realized that he hadn't called me to let me know he had made it back home. But it was too late to call, so I waited until yesterday.

As it turns out, he didn't make his flight -- not because he got to the airport too late, but because he got there so early. He fell asleep while waiting for his flight to board, and missed the announcement. Lucky for him, Southwest put him on another flight -- through Tampa -- and he got home really late.

Of course I made fun of him. It's what I do.

Cut to this morning. As usual, I was exhausted and running late. I got on the subway heading to my office and -- you guessed it -- fell asleep. I woke up after having missed my transfer station by several stops, and wound up being about an hour late to work.

Circumstantial evidence

Dear Bob Novak,

I know most people want to give you the benefit of the doubt about running over that 86 year-old homeless pedestrian yesterday. I mean, the cops only gave you a ticket for failing to yield, even though you had driven off from the scene of the accident. Still, isn't it peculiar that you wound up doing the very thing you talked about years ago? As a journalist, wouldn't you find that suspicious?

Just sayin'.

A fond farewell

I've lived in my apartment for roughly five years longer than I was planning on staying when I first moved in. It was supposed to be a stop-gap -- and now, six years later, I am finally leaving.

I remember going to look at the apartment with my mom, and how blown away we were at the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. Of course, it was mid-May, so we had no clue about how cold it would be to sit near those same windows in the winter, or how stifling the apartment would get from the western exposure during the summer.

We also loved the giant walk-in closet in between the bedroom to the bathroom. At the time, my mother had no idea how bad my shopping habit was becoming -- and that it would eventually end in a closet calamity.

I moved into the apartment on July 27, 2002. I was pretty much completely moved-in within a week -- once the desk and bookcases got delivered -- because I got tired of tripping over boxes -- and let's be honest, apart from clothing, shoes, books, and CDs, I really don't have all that much stuff. And then I bought a little bit of furniture -- a coffee table, a kitchen table, and eventually, a new frame for the futon that serves as my sofa -- which were the first pieces of "grown-up" furniture that I owned. Somehow it all managed to fit in the neat little 750 square feet, although more often than not, I wished for more room -- a guest room, more closet space, a pantry.

In just over one week, I will be closing on the new condo -- which will have all of the things that I wanted, and then some -- HELLO, second bathroom, linen closet, and sunroom! And, in some weird synchronicity, it will be almost six years to the day since I moved into the apartment.

I will miss this apartment.

• I will miss the fun times that I've spent here. (I will not miss the Midori stains in the carpet.)



• I will miss my very short commute and easy access to the airport. (I will not miss walking through the mall every day, especially during the Christmas and Cherry Blossom seasons.)



• I will miss having the Harris Teeter and Noodles & Company downstairs, and the DSW next door. (I will not miss how I could not possibly fit ONE MORE ITEM of clothing in the closet.)



• I will miss the baseball players living down the hallway. (Too bad they play for the Nationals, but that's a whole other post. . . .)

Retail economics

On Saturday, I went to the Shakespeare Theatre to see The Imaginary Invalid. We managed to score a parking spot right next door -- right in front of the Penn Quarter Olsson's books -- which, apparently, is now closed.

Now, I'm not going to write a great lament about the demise of the small independent book and music stores -- been there, done that. Besides, that Olsson's location did nothing for me. The cafe was not very large or good, and there was not a lot of room to sit there and read. The books (and CDs) were overpriced, the selection was not great, and a lot of the time, it was just impossible to find what I came in to look for. And in terms of authors/readings/events, other local stores seem to do a way better job.

So, I guess what I am going to say is that it's a matter of economics -- the small stores generally can't compete with the large chains in terms of pricing, so to stay alive, they need to do something else -- or do it better. Like how some smaller coffee shops are doing well, despite the bad economy causing Starbucks to close 600 stores. Maybe the bookstores and record stores should take note.

Screaming people are more annoying than stupid people

Last night, on Metro on the way home from the ballpark, I caught a "special" blue line train to Virginia from L'Enfant Plaza on the upstairs yellow line platform. To me, this seemed perfectly normal.



Other people were confused. They thought the train was going to go all the way around on the normal circuitous blue line route -- clearly not understanding that, from the upstairs platform, the only thing the train could do is cross the bridge straight to the Pentagon. Or they didn't understand that, at least from Pentagon to King Street, the blue line and the yellow line run on the same route.

Of course, I don't really care what other people do. If they're dumb enough or confused enough, it's their problem, and as far as I'm concerned, they can wait to get on the next yellow line train.

I must be in the minority. Some crazy ass lady on the train with me stuck her head out the door of the train and started yelling at people, trying to explain to them how the train was going to work. And while most of the people tried to ignore the crazy screaming, some of the previously confused people actually allowed themselves to be browbeaten into getting onto a train even though they weren't entirely sure where it would wind up.

Of course, the small percentage of train converts was not enough for the crazy lady. She moved on to the next door and started screaming louder and more insistently. And as they held the train for about four minutes, she went back and forth from the one door to the other screaming at people.

I felt embarrassed for the man that was with her. I felt embarrassed for the people that she treated as stupid children. I felt embarrassed for the crazy lady who looked, well, crazy.

But in addition to being embarrassed, I was annoyed. I hate screaming people. But it's more than that: I hate people that don't quietly mind their own business.

But mostly, I didn't see the point -- and I still don't. Why run around like a crazy person, screaming at people who have nothing to do with you? If they're confused, it's their obligation to try to figure it out. And if they're too dumb, well, that can't really be fixed anyway.