Carl Kasell is my press secretary

Earlier today at 11, the venerable Carl Kasell delivered his final top-of-the-hour newscast for NPR's Morning Edition.  Although he'll still serve as scorekeeper on Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me and will travel the country fundraising for local affiliate stations, I cannot express enough how much I'll miss him as part of my morning commute.

Hearing Kasell read the news lent every story a sense of dignified gravity.  It's not that Jean Cochran or Paul Brown or Lakshmi Singh deliver the news poorly.  To the contrary, I really like the split-second of anticipation that precedes the start of a news update, wondering who among the large cast of characters will be reading the headlines.  I appreciate the different styles, the range of vocal tones, and, of course, the subtly varied ways of saying "From NPR News in Washington..."

But, at the same time, this diversity only serves to underscore the greatness of Carl Kasell.  I treat his unflappable composure and deep, rich baritones as the gold standard of radio newscasts.  As consistently excellent as the rest of the field is, no one can match this.  Beginning my morning without Kasell's calming, authoritative voice is going to take a lot of getting used to.

I'm sure I'll eventually become familiar with hearing someone else.  I've only been a daily NPR listener for about a year and a half, and I can remember feeling similiarly saddened by the departure of Marketplace Morning Report's Scott Jagow only to become accustomed to Steve Chiotakis relatively quickly.  But replacing a 30 year institution is no easy task, and, even as I integrate a new voice into my morning routine, I doubt I will soon forget the pleasure of listening to Carl Kasell.

I had grand plans of sneaking out of work to catch the 11:01 am newscast in my car this morning.  Unfortunately, when I glanced at my clock it was already 11:09.  Though I felt deflated at first, I was able to download the audio of the newscast from NPR's website.  It was mostly flawless, but the audio technician flubbed one of the recorded segments.  Naturally, Kasell took it all in stride and then, with a swift "this is NPR News," he signed off.  Carl, you will be sorely missed.

Now a related aside that absolutely made my day: Mark Memmott spent the morning live-blogging the final newscast and the following party for npr.org.  In addition to learning that a huge crowd gathered to watch and celebrate and that Steve Inskeep was enjoying a piece of white frosted cake with strawberries while laughing with Carl, Mark also mentioned that everyone was sporting "Carl Kasell is My Press Secretary" buttons.

I have wanted one of these buttons since I knew they existed (which, unfortunately, came after the period of time that they were available as a free promotion connected to the 2008 election season).  After scouring ebay and craigslist without success, I even resorted to asking Santa Claus to find me one.  So this morning, when Mark mentioned the buttons, I submitted a question asking if there was anywhere that we could purchase them online.  He said he would look into it and then, moments later, said that he had grabbed a couple of free ones and would mail one to me, along with any other interested Kasell-fans.

Our subsequent email exchange went something like this:

Me: Thanks so much for doing this, here's my address.  Can I pay you for postage?
Mark: You're welcome.  Don't worry about the postage.  It's my gift to Carl.
Me: My gift to Carl is going to be a fatter-than-usual donation to WAMU when I renew my membership this February.  Thanks again.

The point of this tangent, I suppose, is that Mark Memmott is cooler than Santa Claus.  I was not kidding about the donation, though.  NPR continually wows me with the quality of its programming (and its newscasters), but this small, fleeting act of personalized attention impresses me even more.  Perhaps, judging by my level of excitement over a lapel pin, my loyalty is easily purchased.  But I'd prefer to think that this experience says more about NPR than about me; that an organizational culture of treating people well begets donations, just as well-produced, informative radio lures listeners and likeable, long-tenured newscasters breed fans eager to wear kitschy buttons.

Yet another reason I love outer space

Google-hosted blogs have recently been blocked at work, which has more or less canceled my ability to write postings for the past two months.  I'm hoping to get a computer at home soon, so I'll be able to write more frequently.  In the meantime, check out this exhilarating article about SETI and the shifting views on the societal and scientific value of the search for extraterrestrial life.

I've said it many times, but I truly believe that dreaming about the possibilities of outer space inherently inspires a profound sense of unity for humankind that we could sorely use here on Earth.

A year later, feeling a little blue (and green)

Today marks one year ago that, choked up and tingling, I went to the polls and exultantly watched Barack Obama seize the presidency. At the time, and in the months that followed, I was filled with idealism and hope. Progress and reasonable compromise seemed to be on the way.

Ten months of reality has somewhat dampened that feeling within me. Though I have been largely happy with Obama’s performance so far, I’m discouraged by the success that the shrieking opposition on the right has had in vilifying the president and his agenda. I can understand not agreeing with the principles of something like healthcare reform. In fact, I too very much worry about the effectiveness of allowing the inefficiencies of bureaucracy to encroach on the healthcare system. But a big part of what appealed so much to me about Obama’s candidacy was the prospect of embracing pragmatism in favor of partisan bickering, and this has not been the case. I don’t doubt that Republican political calculations are largely to blame, but this is disappointing nonetheless.

Now, following decisive Republican victories in the Virginia and New Jersey governor races, I cannot help but feel a little glum about Democrats’ chances in next year’s midterm elections, when many more seats will be at stake. Though I strongly agree that the punditry is overstating the predictive value of these results and that, more than anything, the suffering economy is to blame for the anti-incumbent mood of the electorate, this is still a lousy day to be a liberal.

Perhaps most demoralizing was Maine’s rebuke of a law that legalized same sex marriage in the state. As I’ve stated before, I can’t understand how reasonable people can justify opposition to marriage equality. It’s truly an issue of facilitating the happiness of people who love each other. Nothing more. Though feeling crushed, Andrew Sullivan helps to put this in perspective:

I am heart-broken tonight by Maine, and I'd be lying if I said otherwise.

Somehow losing by this tiny margin is brutalizing. And because this is a vote on my dignity as a human being, it is hard not to take it personally or emotionally. But I also know that the history of civil rights movements has many steps backward as forward, and some of those reversals actually catalyze the convictions that lead to victories. A decade ago, the marriage issue was toxic. Now it divides evenly. Soon, it will win everywhere.

I know for many younger gays and lesbians, this process can seem bewildering and hurtful. But I'm old enough now to be able to look back and see the hill we have climbed in such a short amount of time, and the minds and hearts we have changed. Including our own.

Finally, today also marks the 30th anniversary of the start of the Iranian hostage crisis. Though I’ve meant to several times, I’ve never quite gotten around to writing about last spring’s election in Iran. The ongoing unrest there suggests that something powerful has been ignited within the populace. As they protest their repressive government and organize around what they believe is right, I’m struck by the parallels to Obama’s rise. The circumstances are, of course, completely different, but the unifying sense of empowerment is the same. While it’s impossible to predict the ultimate outcome of this movement, as a young Democrat feeling somewhat jaded by current events, it is heartening to be reminded of the ability of hope to change the world.

Fall in the capital 2009

It's striking to me how different Rock Creek Park is from New York's Central Park. Both bisect major cities, but the former seems untamed and wild when compared to the manicured lawns and paved paths of the latter. One is not necessarily better than the other, but I think it's pretty amazing that I can walk 15 minutes from my house in Northwest D.C. and be hiking on hilly, forested trails. The autumn foliage makes it even better.

Look both ways

Last night on the way home from work, I nearly struck a pedestrian. Shortly after turning onto 16th St. from Georgia Ave., I noticed a woman jogging on the right sidewalk. I was in the left lane and had a green light, so I thought nothing of this and continued driving. The next thing I knew, there was a gray sweatshirt in front of my car and I was slamming on the brakes and blindly swerving into the lane next to me. After nearly causing an accident, this hooded women had the audacity to glare at me. Had my window been open, I would've screamed something rude.

Feeling shaken up about this when I got home, I decided to go running myself (in a gray shirt, no less). I've actually been jogging a lot lately, since we've had such nice weather this fall. Growing up, I always thought I hated jogging. Sprinting over short distances to beat my cousins at races was one thing, but sustained exertion was always quite another. But these past couple months, I've discovered that I like it a lot more than I ever thought I could.

For one thing, it's nice to know that I'm getting some exercise. It's probably been about a decade since I last had any sort of regular physical exertion in my life. Combined with my love of food, I know how unhealthy that lifestyle is. Long term health benefits aside, exercise also just makes me feel good. Part of this might be endorphins, but I think a lot of it is mental too.

Another aspect of running that I've come to appreciate is the rhythm. Building a jog into my daily schedule provides another familiar wrinkle to my routine, even if I don't choose to run every evening. Beyond that, the physical act of jogging - feet pounding on the sidewalk, heavy breathing - is soothing. I often find myself turning this sounds into a pattern in my mind, repeating the same couple bars of a song that's stuck in my head. All of this is very conducive to uninterrupted thinking, much like driving with the radio off.

What might appeal to me most about running, though, is the sense of exploration associated with it. Maggie and I used to talk about how envious we were of our friend Tom for being able to just trot around for miles and see new places at will. Even though I barely jog for more than a mile, and almost always take the same route through the neighborhood, I've started to feel hints of this. Running after work, I'm occasionally treated to the savory scent of dinner wafting from the windows of houses. As I pass people and trees and schools on the sidewalk, my mind is constantly stimulated: "That's a friendly looking dog." "I'd hate to have to mow that lawn." "Those leaves are a really nice color." Jogging is freeing.

As the weather gets colder, I'm not sure if I can keep up the habit. I'd certainly like to, and if I can manage to jog semi-regularly over the winter, I've promised myself new running sneakers next spring. I'm having fun doing something healthy. And, despite my gray tshirt in the dusk, I am always careful not to dart out in front of oncoming traffic.

The Torah did not tell you to burn olive trees

When confronted by news on the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, I am often tempted to take the side of the Palestinians. They seem, to my admittedly uninformed eye, to be victims of Israeli bullying in many cases, which lends a sympathetic angle to their cause. I typically try to temper this urge, recognizing both the absurdity of strong, uneducated opinions and the fact that it would be easy to offend the many people who are very passionate about this issue. But every once in awhile, I'll come across something that strengthens my convictions.

I find it almost impossible not to be infuriated by this piece from NPR's All Things Considered. It describes how Jewish settlers in the West Bank have been reacting to the Israeli government dismantling their illegal settlements: by violently destroying local Palestinian property. They call this movement "the price tag." Even the name reeks of disgusting vigilantism to me.

The article acknowledges that many settlers frown upon the practice, but an aggravating, underlying stubborness is nevertheless pervasive. Perhaps most obnoxious of all is this statement, attributed to a teenaged settler:

We are here to show that we can build freely. The land of Israel belongs to the Jewish people. We are settling here and in other places because it's our right.

This defiant attitude is, in my opinion, the biggest obstacle to peace in the Middle East. Yes, radical groups like Hamas are also guilty of violence against civilians. But Israel is a stable, Westernized nation-state. It is ridiculous that the government does not have more control over the destructive rampages of its wayward citizens.

Them rat bastards make me sick

I've been meaning to write something condemning right-wing extremism for the past several months. Though I still haven't had a chance to formulate something well thought-out, I read this and this earlier today and could not let it sit any longer.

Both of those postings, combined with the atrocious recent hanging of a federal census employee in some backwater area of Kentucky, make me feel sick. I do not understand how any rational person could identify with what is currently touted as mainstream conservatism. It has taken a dangerously radical tone, under the false guise of patriotic populism.

I do not dispute the fact that there are loony segments of the left as well. Despite agreeing with some of his views, I look down on Michael Moore as a mostly obnoxious rabble rouser. And being accosted by a screaming woman from Greenpeace in a whale costume in Chinatown was nearly enough to turn me off to environmentalism for awhile. But the difference is, what most of these people propagate is at least somewhat based in truth. Lack of gun control does facilitate (if not necessarily cause) violence in schools and climate change is certainly a pressing issue. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the current "tea party" conservative culture.

The vitriolic healthcare debate of the past few months has been utterly Palinesque. This is incredibly unfortunate, because I feel that there are some important substantive arguments against the plans favored by progressive Democrats. None of them, however, should involve the words "socialism" and "Nazism" (which are not even remotely the same thing and, in any event, have nothing to do with a debate about healthcare).

Like Palin's farcical campaign last fall, the loudest opposition to healthcare reform has been focused on drumming up mass anger and inspiring people to rail against Obama without knowing what they are arguing about. Although manipulative, Rovian Republican strategists would have these idiots believe differently, the debate over healthcare reform is not about a "government takeover." A single payer system has never even been on the table. But all that the people at these town halls and rallies seem capable of doing is parroting back the lies and zingers that they picked up from watching Sean Hannity. Being duped by scare tactics is not a reasonable substitute for formulating a well-informed opinion.

This doesn't even address the fact that it is stupid to oppose healthcare reform completely - medical care in this country is expensive and the system sucks. If people disagree with the shape of reform, then they should proactively suggest alternative fixes. But Fox News has convinced half the country that it is more productive to yell than to try to actually solve this burgeoning social and economic problem.

What is really worrisome is when the scope of this misdirected anger expands to encompass everything that the government or, more specifically, Barack Obama does. Some of the rhetoric on the extreme right is absolutely chilling. This differs from liberal opposition to Bush because, in many cases, Democrats were telling the truth. Liberals whined about Bush's record on human rights because he was, unequivocally, suspending due process and torturing prisoners. They complained when he fabricated a reason to go to war in Iraq because Saddam Hussein was, in reality, not harboring any weapons of mass destruction.

All Barack Obama has done to draw such potent ire is try to deliver on one of his most pivotal campaign promises - to reform the nation's healthcare system. Asking Congress to pass a bill to this effect does not, in any way, make him comparable to Adolf Hitler. This laughable comparison offends my rational and historical sensibilities, but it also terrifies me. There is far too much venom flying around right now. God forbid any wingnut should choose to act on the violent extremism promoted by the rhetoric of his or her party. The current lack of civility is truly frightening.

We slept in a carriage house

After getting bogged down for hours in traffic near Washington, PA and trekking across most of Ohio, my college friends and I reached Piqua, (former?) home of Alex. I was moved to share this photo by one of her recent postings, which I liked a lot. In it, she questions the meaning of "home," particularly as it relates to the town where she grew up. It's amusing how my connotation of Piqua (little, cute, warmly colored) is so much simpler (and decidedly more positive) than Alex's nuanced take. But I suppose that just illustrates the difference between spending a long weekend and an entire childhood in a small, Midwestern town.

Whispers in the hallway

I originally intended to title this posting “Never forget,” because I strongly believe in the importance of embracing history and drawing on it to make sense of current events. But I could not get past the connotation of that phrase, co-opted as it has seemingly been by xenophobic war-mongers. Instead I chose to reflect on a personal memory of that day, eight years ago.

Walking between second and third periods, I passed a guy named Jake on the stairs. Jake was the type of person who would say anything for attention, so when leaned towards me, shouting “They bombed us! The Pentagon and the twin towers,” I was understandably skeptical. Shaking my head ruefully, I distinctly remember thinking “God help anyone who would try to bomb the Pentagon.” Convinced that Jake was an idiot, I kept walking to class.

But as I made my away across the school to the remote first floor orange hallway, where Mr. Leveille’s class met, I began to notice something different. It’s difficult to articulate what exactly caught my attention. Maybe it was the passing glimpse of students, huddled around the TV in a classroom. Or maybe it was snippets of overheard conversations, echoing in the quiet hallways. Concrete reasons aside, by the time I strolled into 4th period Foundations of Programming, I knew that something seemed very off.

Idly chatting with my fellow classmates about this, a girl named Ashley thought something was wrong too. We approached our teacher and asked him if we could turn on the TV, because that we thought that “something might have happened.” Though a little confused, he shrugged and flicked it on, agreeing to let us watch until the bell rang. I will never, ever forget his reaction as he stared numbly at the screen.

We sat glued to the TV for the entire period. Watched, dumbfounded, as the second (north?) tower crumbled to the ground. At one point Mr. Leveille, who at the time couldn’t have been much older than I am now, muted the sound and struggled to find something appropriate to say to us. In retrospect, I cannot imagine how impossibly difficult this must have been, to be tasked with trying to teach at this moment; to make sense out of something utterly senseless. Taking a deep breath, he told us something like, “We’re going to turn the sound back on and watch this for the rest of the day. This is something that, for now, is far more important than Foundations of Programming. What happened today is probably going to change the rest of our lives and we need to pay attention to it.”

As a 16 year old high school student, I had no capacity to understand just how true this was. September 11 fundamentally altered the Bush administration, to say nothing of the overarching course of world history. Indeed, without 9/11 we’d have had no Afghanistan, no Iraq, no secret CIA torture prisons, no Patriot Act, and maybe no Barack Obama.

Many have used this anniversary to reflect on the far-reaching consequences of the terrorist attacks. But what I find most striking is their impact on an individual level. If I can recount, in such vivid, flashbulb moment detail, my memories of that bright, sunny morning, I’m sure that every other American can too. Much attention is paid to the heartbreak of those who lost loved ones in the attacks, or to the two wars that form part of that day’s brutal legacy. And rightfully so. But September 11th impacted everyone, if, for no other reason, because each of us can remember exactly what we were doing when we heard. Wouldn’t that make a moving collection of short essays – a broad selection of simple memories?

In this way, beyond its obviously visible impact on politics and war and many family’s lives, 9/11 imprinted itself on our national consciousness. We will never forget. Not because we have been given a mandate to tear apart our nation and the Middle East in search of extremists. But rather because we cannot, and should not, lose sight of the most formative and meaningful moments of our lives.

No substitute for naan

Judging by the number of cookbooks I got for Christmas last year (three), I think it's safe to say that people think I like cooking. Whenever someone says this, I generally try to deflect attention by saying something along the lines of, "Well, I really love eating, and I don't live at home anymore, so I kind of have to fix my own food." Which is true, but I think I also enjoy the process more than I tend to let on. Weeknights are tough, because we rarely have fresh ingredients on hand and it's hard to make a delicious meal and eat at a decent hour when you don't get home until 6:30 (or later).

But given the luxury of an otherwise lazy weekend afternoon, I get a lot of pleasure out of taking the effort to fix something more involved than, say, pasta. Tackling a challenging meal helps make improve my overall cooking skills and also creates the opportunity for cooking with friends. It's really, really enjoyable to crack open a beer, chop some onions, and chat with a good friend. As I get older, and further removed from the college lifestyle, I'm convinced that it's important to make a more concerted effort to stay in touch with the people you care about. Happy hours and nights out remain a big part of this, but group cooking can play a part too.

Alex, Joe, and I got together last night and hung out in the kitchen for awhile. The payoff of about four hours of cooking: a delicious, multi-course Indian feast. Some lessons learned: start earlier in the afternoon so we're not eating at 10 pm again and whole wheat pitas are certainly not comparable to naan. On deck: Middle Eastern or Mexican? Either will be excellent. Feel free to join.

I always hate cyclists

A friend at work forwarded me a list of "random thoughts of our generation." Though the primary purpose of the list was humor, I found it interesting that I agreed with so many of them. I don't know if these observations are all specifically applicable to my generation or if they speak to human nature in general. But a lot of them are kind of astute. Some examples:

1. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.
   
   Yes, agreed. This makes me uncomfortable and forces me to decide what I value more at that moment in time: extracting a shallow rhetorical victory by pretending to know what I'm talking about or rolling over and admitting defeat. One guess as to which of these impulses typically wins out.
   
   
2. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the f was going on when I first saw it.
   
   This happens to me all the time.
   
   
3. There is a great need for sarcasm font.
   
   I have always thought this, particularly because I am kind of sarcastic and always afraid that when I type the exact opposite of what I mean, people will take me seriously.
   
   
4. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
   
   
5. Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot.
   
   When giving out my email address for work, I think I've resorted to "L, as in... lollipop."
   
   
6. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.
   
   Even if this isn't true, it feels that way sometimes. And whenever someone asks "how are you?" in the morning (or any time), one of my fall back responses is "I'm alright... tired, though."
   
   
7. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.
   
   
8. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.
   
   
9. It really pisses me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and the link takes me to a video instead of text.
   
   
10. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what someone said?
    
    
11. Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out.
    
    I never had Nintendo, but reading this kind of blew my mind. How did everyone know to do that? Word of mouth, I guess. It must rank up there with Homer's epics as one of the greatest oral traditions of all time.

Kind of amusing, I thought. There were others that dealt with wanting an "avoid ghetto" route option on google maps, loving napping more as a grown up than as a kid, and a well-deserved mocking of the band Nickelback.

September is here and the weather has been gorgeous all week (and will continue to be for the next several days at least). College football season starts this weekend. Labor Day (and accompanying day off and barbecues) falls on Monday. I went to the Orioles game yesterday with Sam and am now going to leave work and go outside into the warm, humidity-free sunshine. All is good.

Summer in the capital

The months of July and August are not typically very pleasant in D.C. Humidity sets in and makes hot weather feel hotter. Maybe it's because this summer has been relatively mild, or maybe I'm just more tolerant than before, but this year has not bothered me too much. And even when it's miserable outside, there's something distinctly nostalgic about summertime - long days, bright green leaves, delicious tomatoes, and frequent barbecues. Also, the end of August means that fall, my favorite season, is not far away. (And doesn't Tyser Tower look awesome??)

The hope still lives...

I woke up this morning as I do most mornings: sometime around 5:58 am, when NPR begins to emit softly from my radio. Typically I hear the closing lines of the Marketplace Morning Report, and maybe a few bars of the Morning Edition theme song, before being overtaken by sleepiness and spending the next 45 minutes lapsing between dozing and vague snippets on the economy or Iran. Every once in awhile, something catches my attention and piques my interest enough to interrupt this daily snooze button-esque ritual (a recent story on college team colored Bud Light cans comes to mind).

This morning, around 6:17, I caught a segment on the accomplishments of Senator Ted Kennedy. Knowing, on some level of my sleepy consciousness, what this probably meant, I quickly woke up. A few minutes later, Steve Inskeep confirmed my assumptions – the senator passed away last night after a long battle with brain cancer.

To say I feel remorse is an understatement - Ted Kennedy was the third longest serving senator in history. The last scion of America’s most iconic political dynasty, he labored tirelessly for liberal causes like education and healthcare, while simultaneously maintaining strong personal friendships with his colleagues across the aisle and committing himself to the bipartisan pragmatism necessary to get bills passed. Though I did not personally live through the Kennedy tragedies of the ‘60’s or Teddy’s 1980 presidential primary campaign, the story of this family is tied inextricably to modern American history. I could write at length about my respect for the career of Sen. Kennedy, but I will leave that to those far more qualified than I. The news coverage is sure to be extensive. Instead, I’ll reflect briefly on my one personal experience with the venerable senator.

On January 28, 2008, coming off a busy period at work, I decided to take a large swath of the afternoon off to metro downtown and meet Jimmy at American University. Though the presidential campaign had been dragging on for months, the actual primaries had only recently begun. Maryland’s – where I was still living – was scheduled for February 12th and no one really had any idea, at that point, how long the primary battle would stretch. I had struggled for awhile with supporting Barack Obama’s candidacy – though I had read both of his books and very much wanted him to be president someday, I was worried that his effectiveness would be limited by the inherited quagmire from Bush. Regardless, I had decided that I preferred Obama to Hillary (and either of them to McCain).

So on that bright, chilly winter day, I was playing hooky from work to watch Barack Obama speak at AU. He was to receive a formal endorsement from Sen. Ted Kennedy – a big deal because the assumption, at the time, was still that Hillary was probably going to win the nomination. The support of the embodiment of the Democratic establishment was symbolically very important, to say nothing of the tangible benefits of having the backing of a Kennedy. Introduced by his niece, Caroline, Teddy Kennedy stepped up to the podium and blew me away.

The event was so crowded that Jimmy and I ended up crammed into a room in the student union, watching raptly on TV with a crowd of hundreds of others. It wasn’t so much that his speech was inherently great, but, to me, the sense that his booming baritones seemed heavy with gravitas. Indeed, Sen. Kennedy spoke with the weight of history – the stolen potential of his murdered brothers, his own derailed national ambitions, the wisdom gained from his decades of leadership in the U.S. Senate, and, at the forefront, the momentous significance of the presidential candidacy of the man standing next to him on the platform.

That day re-awoke within me a long-held certainty of the importance of the ‘08 campaign. It helped me to view the possibility of a President Obama as more than just a pipe dream, ruefully expressed every time I watched the 2004 DNC speech or picked up Dreams from my Father. Many people speculate that Sen. Kennedy saw Barack Obama as a contemporary torchbearer, driven to carry on the family legacy of inspired hope and dogged public service. His unwavering belief helped me to rediscover mine.

Because of my youth, this is what I expect I will remember most intimately about the late senator. In his own famous DNC speech, in 1980, Kennedy reassured his supporters that, despite his concession to Jimmy Carter, “the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die.” These often repeated words embody the spirit not only of this dignified politician, but of the remarkable nation to which he dedicated his life.

Brown thumb

From a young age, I’ve been rather fascinated by raising plants. A plant is, in some ways, like an inanimate pet. Properly nurtured, it grows and thrives.

Despite this enthusiasm, I have never really been very good at keeping my plants alive. My first potted plant - a unique looking combination of rounded, waxy looking leaves, soft, cactus-y growth, and little red flowers – sat atop the bookshelf in my north-facing bedroom. Without sufficient sunlight, the cactus-looking part of it immediately died and the rest of it remained a dull shade of olive for years, cascading over the lip of the pot and shedding dried leaves onto my unvacuumed floor.

The next plant in my life, an evergreen sapling brought home from school on Earth Day in 4th grade, swiftly succumbed to the lawn mower. In college, I had to send two successive Ikea plants home due to lack of sunlight – Akimbo and Charlie. Luckily both recovered, and Charlie now adorns my sun-drenched bookshelf.

Recovery at the hands of my dad is a common theme for my plants. Growing up, I germinated a lemon seed in a plastic cup lined with a wet paper towel (a trick I have attempted to recreate, unsuccessfully, many times since). It has since grown into a tall, skinny lemon tree, kept indoors and incapable of bearing fruit because of the Maryland climate. But, if you rub your fingers against its leaves, it smells like lemons!

Ignoring past failures, I decided this spring that I very much wanted to grow a basil plant. Dreams of a summer filled with homemade pesto and caprese salad spurred me to buy a packet of seeds. In early May, I filled a pot with soil, stuck in the seeds (ignoring instructions on proper spacing), added some water and set it in front of a window to grow.

At first, my basil seemed to be doing quite well. Dozens of little green sproutlets sprung out of the dirt, growing taller every day. I went to Germany feeling quite satisfied with myself, sure of the fact that we would be enjoying freshly picked basil by June. But the plant stopped growing. The shoots began to wither and die, and continued to do so all summer. Now, a whopping four and a half months after planting, only one sprig of basil remains. It is about two inches tall, and has maybe three small leaves. On the bright side, it seems to be growing, which leads me to believe that maybe the packet was right about needing several inches in between each plant. In the meantime, however, we’ve still been buying $4 packets of basil at the store.

Uncowed, Steve and I have already begun to discuss plans for next spring. We have a couple planter boxes for our deck’s railing at home, and I’ve been thinking that they would look awfully good adorned with a host of fresh herbs. Why stop at basil when you could have mint and dill too? To solve the pesky problem of my brown thumb, we’ll buy pre-grown baby plants from the farmers’ market in early spring. And give them plenty of space to expand. And lots of sunshine and water. And maybe, just maybe, next summer I’ll have a success story to share.

Is that an airplane?

My rate of blogging has been rather tepid this summer, but I'm making a concerted effort to post more frequently. By recently re-examining the reasons I enjoy keeping a blog, I hoped to reawaken some of the novelty that inspired me to post almost every day last fall. Another tactic: fresh design.

I've been toying with the idea of freshening the look of my blog for awhile. Aside from a couple minor changes, it has featured the most basic, pre-packaged default color scheme available. Though this means the page can look somewhat bland, particularly when compared to the many other blogs that look the same, the simplicity of the colors is also what appeals to me. So, for now, rather than dramatically alter the design of the blog, I've added a new title block. I like it so far, but maybe I'll make more changes later.

I have a lot of topics that I'd like to write about in the coming weeks - healthcare reform, being two (plus) years out of college, summer in the D.C., the nagging desire to travel this October, the impact of seemingly small decisions on our lives... Unfortunately, several of these ideas have been lingering in the back of my mind for months, prevented by laziness from taking shape. But I'm going to try!

Twist on a personal favorite

Growing up, some of my favorite dinners were when my mom would make a roast. Though this was partially because I liked the steak, it was also largely due to the side dishes. In addition to salad, we would often get to enjoy double starches - baked potatoes and mushroom rice. I love mushroom rice. Last night, when Dave decided to grill up some steak, I began to fixate on it. Unfortunately, we had no mushrooms and I was not craving it quite enough to justify a trip to Safeway. So, I improvised and created a Toasted Pine Nut Rice dish.

1. Using a toaster oven or maybe the broiler, toast some pine nuts until they just begin to turn golden brown.
2. Melt about 1 T butter in a deep skillet with a lid and saute a few cloves of minced garlic and salt.
3. Meanwhile, heat 4 c. chicken stock (or water with bouillon, or just water with extra salt) in the microwave til hot, about 5-6 mins.
4. Add 2 c. uncooked rice to the pan and warm a couple minutes until it begins to lightly crackle.
5. Pour the warm stock into the skillet. Stir, let it come to a boil, then reduce heat to low and cover the skillet, letting it simmer for about 15 mins.
6. Uncover and stir, adding in the toasted pine nuts and finely chopped green onions.
7. Place a paper towel across the top of the skillet (not touching the rice) and replace the cover. Simmer for about 10 mins.
8. Stir and serve hot.

In case you can't tell, I was pretty impressed with the way this dish turned out. The pine nuts added delicious flavor and the green onions gave it some inviting flecks of color. To make the mushroom version instead, all you need to do is omit the pine nuts, green onions, and garlic (though I don't see how garlic could hurt), and add in slivered mushrooms with the butter in step 2. I haven't been cooking dinner as much this year as I did last year (due in large part to living with roommates who enjoy cooking), but I'm in the mood to challenge myself and try some new things. On the horizon, perhaps: an Indian food feast?

Why I (continue to) blog

This fall will mark a year that I’ve been writing this blog. Although I’ve been neglecting it lately, that’s been more a function of a lack of time at work than any lessening of interest. In fact, this blog has been far more successful than I ever imagined it would be. Not because I’ve accrued vast numbers of readers (I have not, though I find it somewhat flattering that people look at it once in awhile), but rather because I strongly doubted my ability to keep this up.

Looking back at some of my earliest posts, this blog was very, very political. I think I knew at the time that one of the primary drivers behind starting a blog was my desire to have a place to sound off about the election campaign without risking arguments with my Republican friends. After the election frenzy faded, I struggled a bit to find topics about which I felt like writing. I still have this problem. It’s helped, though, that I’ve gradually added quite a few semi-regular “features” – traveling photos, recipes, and music – that I can post with minimal effort when lacking time or inspiration to write something thoughtful.

A happy, albeit unintended, consequence of blogging has been my ability to keep in touch with other friends. When separated by distance, it can be easy to fall out of regular contact with people that I care about. Though reading a blog is no substitute for an actual conversation, it helps me feel that I’m connected to my far-flung friends. Each of their blogs provides a window into their lives. It sounds voyeuristic, but reading about my friends’ thoughts (and knowing they occasionally read mine) mitigates their absence from my day to day life.

Best of all, I’m pleased with my blog’s ability to reflect various aspects of my personality – love of food, music, and travel; stubborn yet (I hope) reasonable political liberalism; fascination with outer space; and a strong, yearning desire to experience and celebrate the sense of possibility engendered by the American Dream, filled as it is with patriotism, inspiration, disappointments, and hope. There are parts of my life that do not make it onto this blog. Indeed, I almost never write in detail about work, or my roommates and family, or my weekend social life. But these are things that are immortalized elsewhere – on facebook, in family photo albums, and in the collective memories of the people I know well.

I started this blog with the stated intent to use it as a snapshot of my life, a recording of thoughts, feelings, and impressions that might otherwise be lost to the forgetful passage of time. With more time and a computer at home, I could do a much better job of this. But, almost a year in, I’m fairly happy with where things stand.

Street art

Anyone who has ever traveled with me knows that I like to take a lot of pictures. I'm not too discriminating - my albums are filled with shots of landscapes, buildings, and people alike. Something slightly more offbeat that I am somewhat drawn to: manhole covers. They almost always feature the name of the city and sometimes have a cool looking crest or scene etched onto them. Consider it street art, of sorts.

Amen? Amen.

I haven’t been to church in more than a month. It’s not that I’ve been actively avoiding it – aside from one arbitrarily skipped Sunday, vacation and other commitments have conspired to keep me away. What I’m conflicted about is my attitude towards religion, which, lately, has been fairly apathetic.

Nothing about Westmoreland has changed – the people there are still exceptionally welcoming, admirably involved in the community, and dedicated to pursuing social justice with a progressive bent that closely mirrors my own views – yet I still find myself growing increasingly distant. Forgive me if it seems like my feelings are a little schizophrenic, but I suspect that this latest bout of uncertainty has little to do with Westmoreland itself. I still believe that I’ve found, in that church, a wonderful community well worth joining. It is the larger issue of God and religion that is currently vexing me.

When I first wrote on this topic, I expressed confusion over the role of religion in my life. Though I’ve attended services for more than seven months now, none of that root uneasiness has really vanished. I’ve learned quite a bit about theology and I feel more comfortable now with the idea of church than I ever have in the past. Yet as the novelty of being a part of this new community has faded, I’m reminded more and more of many of the things that made me skeptical of religion in the first place.

My thoughts on this are illustrated quite well by a recent episode of This American Life, in which Dan Savage lambasts the Catholic Church for driving him away from religion with its seemingly backwards stance on many issues, despite a strong desire on his part to believe. To me, the most moving passage follows Savage’s revelation that, since his mother’s death, he’s been tempted to put aside his reservations and return to the church after decades away.

But when I am tempted, when I feel like maybe I could go through the motions, return to the sacraments, take what comfort I can, the pope goes to Africa and says that condoms spread AIDS. Or an archbishop in Brazil excommunicates a Catholic woman for getting her nine year old daughter an abortion, but not the Catholic man that raped the nine year old girl. Or I contemplate how the church views me and the two people I love most in the world: my boyfriend of 14 years and our 11 year old son, and I think “I can’t even think this.”

Though, like Savage, organized religion sometimes offends me, I am as much to blame for my conflicted feelings as the church. Just this past weekend, I attended a beautiful wedding ceremony in the rural mountains of Pennsylvania. The minister’s televangelist-style sermon was, objectively speaking, a little ridiculous. But even without the corny delivery, exaggerated “Amen? Amen”s, and the repeated emphasis on marriage being between a man and a woman, there is little chance I would’ve taken him seriously. I have this problem nearly every time I encounter a church official, be it at weddings, funerals, or on TV. For some reason, I involuntarily recoil from these people, assuming (often incorrectly) that their views are irreconcilably different from my own.

This borderline closed-mindedness leads me to snicker at things like little red pew pencils emblazoned in gold with the phrase “Jesus Never Fails” and roll my eyes at overly long prayers. Perhaps worst of all, however, this immaturity is not restricted to unfamiliar settings. Once, at Westmoreland, I had to fight down laughter when a member of the choir sang a solo titled “He Touched Me.” I realize that, to most churchgoers, this absolutely reeks of blasphemy, but that’s certainly not my intent. It would be one thing if I were a stereotypical, self-assured liberal atheist, confident in my views and content to engage in occasional Bible-mocking. But instead I’m struggling to fit God into my life – a confused 23 year old who happens to find some aspects of organized religion in modern society both anathema and irrepressibly humorous.

This contradiction is a problem, and I don’t know how to make it go away. I can accept that I will never agree with the Pope’s beliefs on social issues. The United Church of Christ is extraordinarily progressive, and reasonable people across all faiths are able to look past the very literal interpretations of religion favored by many extreme right wingers. But I don’t know how to change what’s inside me, or even whether or not I should be trying.

The last time I had dinner with Rev. Bob Maddox, he tried to reassure me, explaining that many members of the church community have unanswered questions about God and that my uncertainty was not at all unusual. This is, of course, somewhat comforting and one of the reasons I’m so grateful for my time at Westmoreland to date. But I cannot shake the sense that I’m acting disingenuously, going to church, reciting the Lord’s prayer, taking Communion. Though I feel strongly that religion should not be an exclusive experience, this does not shield me from the fear that I do not belong. Who am I to sit in church every week, if I cannot definitively answer whether or not I believe in God? I want to, but is that enough? I don’t know the answer to these questions.

To infinity... and beyond!

Today marks the 40th anniversary of the original Apollo 11 moon landing. I wanted to write something more thoughtful about the incredible importance of space exploration, but I'm too tired (and I have already addressed my feelings on this, to a degree).

Buzz Aldrin (whose name makes me think of Buzz Lightyear), Neil Armstrong's lesser known mission-mate, has been campaigning vigorously for expanded manned space travel, particularly to Mars. He speaks in sweeping terms about the potential for scientific research on and colonization of the Red Planet. Though I think some of his ideas are a little far-flung (or at least part of some distant future), this illustrates, to me, the beauty of space travel. It inspires people to dream about the improbable and enables them to view life on Earth in perspective.

From space, we are invisible specks, living on this speck of a planet, orbiting a speck of a star, in a speck of a galaxy in the great, vast universe. It's hard not to feel the desire to team up, as humans, against this unimaginably huge expanse. Like a form of global patriotism, "other-ing" the universe brings us closer together. At its most idealistic, outer space has the power to unify nations towards the betterment of humankind. It's kind of ironic that something with such glorious potential is deeply rooted in Cold War competition.

I realize I'm being overly philosophical, but there are practical reasons to explore space too. Earth is filled with non-replenishable resources, not least among them room for the species to grow. Our industrialized cities already harm the planet in measurable ways. No one really knows what the true consequences of global warming will be, but it seems like it would be prudent to study the options provided by outer space, both for extraction of raw materials and, ultimately, for the expansion of of the human race into new territory.

Thinking about this makes me smile. In fact, I can't think of anything else more exciting than space exploration. It's a shame that I'll probably die long before we realize most of these grand visions. But I suppose that's why we have Star Trek.

Who more than self, their country loved

I love the Fourth of July. Patriotism so often gets co-opted by politicians and used as a euphemism for support of neoconservative foreign policy or belief in American exceptionalism. It can often have a truly ugly connotation. But not on this holiday. Aside from giving us an excuse to grill, watch fireworks, and stay home from work, July 4th provides us an occasion to celebrate the dreams of our nation.

From the somewhat unintentional idealism of our Founding Fathers to the wounds of slavery and civil war, during innovative economic booms and painful recessions, through peacetime and harsh wars, the history of the United States is filled with moments of both pride and shame. It is, of course, important to learn about each. But none of these shared experiences would have been possible without the Declaration of Independence and the Revolutionary War that it sparked. That document, with its self-evident truths and equally created men and unalienable rights, embodies so much of what I think of as the American spirit.

So this weekend I’ll listen to Ray Charles belt out America the Beautiful (a song that I associate with this day even more than the Star Spangled Banner) and eat a burger and some watermelon. But at some point, maybe while watching fireworks explode into the night sky, I’ll be sure to reflect on the founding principles of this fine nation and remember all of the people who have suffered and died to defend and advance these ideals, both domestically and abroad. It is through their courage and determination that we can confidently say that we have a better, more perfect union today than we did 233 years ago. More importantly, this optimism makes me hopeful that the future can only get brighter.

Happy Independence Day.

A lifelong to do list

I have trouble getting through a single day at work without writing a to do list. This helps me focus my efforts and organize my thoughts, ultimately empowering me to accomplish tasks more efficiently. Might the same be true for my lifetime goals? This to do list spans the spectrum from mundane to ridiculous and will undoubtedly change as I continue to grow and re-evaluate my desires.

• Live long enough to see more exciting space exploration, and maybe colonies on the moon, Mars, and beyond?
• Get married and raise a family.
• Stop losing hair, at least until I'm nearing 40.
• Travel extensively across the world, to all seven continents.
• Live abroad for awhile.
• See our beautiful Earth from outer space.
• Have an "in" at a Chipotle restaurant that would permit me to get free guacamole on all of my burritos.
• Stay in touch with the people I care about, even when separated by distance and time.
• Develop super powers that would allow me to fly, or, in lieu of this, sky-dive or hanglide from high in the air.
• Watch the Terps win more national championships, particularly in football, basketball, and soccer.
• Find a job that I absolutely love.
• Become rich enough to accommodate all of these wishes, especially those involving traveling.
• Be able to take the metro to work.
• Know what truly reciprocated love feels like.
• Speak more languages.
• Hike at least part of the Appalachian Trail.
• Get in shape enough to be able to go jogging for awhile to let off steam, run a 5K/partial marathon to benefit a cause, or just to explore a new area on foot.
• Do a good job raising my children so that they love me and care for me when I'm old.
• Have the opportunity to see the family members that I've lost, and will lose in the future, again, in dreams, heaven, etc.
• Grow the popularity of soccer in the U.S., to the point where our professional league is respected and people will care when we someday win the World Cup.
• See the Orioles field a consistently competitive team.
• Learn to cook a wider variety of delicious foods, particularly creative, unique, and ethnic dishes.
• Read more often, and be able to finish interesting academic books that I start.
• Utter the words, "From NPR News in Washington..."
• Regain confidence in my public speaking ability.
• Practice and become more skillful at playing sports.
• Enjoy the benefits of responsible, smart redevelopment projects that revitalize Southeast around the Anacostia River, the Southwest Waterfront, and downtown College Park.
• Ride in a hot air balloon over a scenic landscape.
• See the Democratic Party dominate national politics by governing fairly and maturely, bringing about lasting reasonable changes such as healthcare and entitlement reform, the protection of gay rights, and improved environmental stewardship.
• Learn to play musical instruments, including the piano, the guitar, something brass, and something stringed.
• Sing sufficiently in tune to be able to hum along to songs while other people are in the car.
• Find a way to eliminate mosquitoes from the world without messing up the food chain.
• Become better at sketching.
• Live to see lasting world peace.
• Figure out how I really feel about religion.
• Live someplace where summers are less humid.
• Bring my lunch to work more often.
• Know the streets and neighborhoods of D.C. intimately.
• Continue tailgating for Terps football games indefinitely.
• Never, ever have a doctor tell me that I cannot eat what I want to eat.
• Do good works for the community in a manageable way.
• Be happy and successful.

So I guess this has developed more into a massive (somewhat unrealistic) wish list, versus an actual to do list. But there's no harm in aiming high. As the greeting on my cell phone tells me every time I flip it open - seize the day!

To boldly go...

After going to the movies for Father’s Day, I have an embarrassing confession to make: I love Star Trek. For those who know me best, this may not come as much of a surprise. Though I would’ve denied it throughout high school, in college I became more comfortable about at least acknowledging that I had watched the show growing up. But I haven’t really been completely honest with my friends about the extent of this love.

To prove my nerdiness: I own dozens of Star Trek action figures and little toy ships called Micro Machines. In fact, I think I have at least three different versions of Patrick Stewart’s Jean Luc Picard alone – in 1st/2nd season uniform with stripe at the top, in ready room lounge coat, and as the old vineyard owner from All Good Things, the series finale. To complement this, I have playsets of both the bridge and main engineering from the Next Generation Enterprise (D, duh) that, when properly equipped with batteries and bulbs, light up and make noise. I owned a large red shirt that had iron-on pips for the collar, used to denote rank. (My mom never got around to ironing them on, leaving me embarrassingly rank-less). In elementary school, I used to parade around the woods with my friend John William, pretending to be Admiral Riker to his Luke Skywalker. We would carry plastic weapons (again, that lit up and made noises) and have exciting adventures of all sorts.

Over the years, I have attended two Star Trek conventions, and even made my own tshirt for one of them by drawing on a white undershirt with fluorescent markers. My favorite part of the family’s vacation to the great national parks of the Southwest was Las Vegas, because we visited Star Trek: The Experience. For fun, I used to read books called Nitpickers’ Guides, which went episode by episode and pointed out bloopers and inconsistencies. I also own a Star Trek encyclopedia, which I would use to make up trivia questions, and a Star Trek version of Monopoly. Buried in my closet at home are five out of the seven seasons of The Next Generation on DVD. All of this has enabled me to name all five iterations of the TV series, as well as most of the main characters and actors for each.

My point in writing this is not to thoroughly embarrass myself, though that is certainly a side consequence. Instead, I was inspired to write about Star Trek because I enjoyed J.J. Abrams’ new movie so much. On one hand, it shouldn’t be shocking that a Star Trek movie would be such a blockbuster. The premise involves exploration and adventure in outer space (something for which I have already established my love). But the problem with this franchise has always been that it’s too intellectual to be mainstream. The crew of the Enterprise grapples with complex issues of morality as often as it battles enemy warships. The plotlines of the TV series, in that sense, are brilliant. They far outshine, say, Star Wars (and the acting is generally much better too).

Unfortunately, philosophical dilemmas are not enough to create great movies. Relying on the inherent appeal of Star Trek’s mantra – “to boldly go where no one has gone before” – works ok for television (though the later spin-offs became kind of tiresome), but for a two hour feature film you need the excitement and glitz of a lightsaber battle. Somehow this latest movie captures both. There is plenty of action, beefed up by modern special effects. But it’s balanced by heady themes that give the production more depth than a normal action movie – the need to balance logic with spontaneity (illustrated by impressively genuine portrayals of Spock and Kirk), a group of young officers forced to rise to face adversity, the sometimes debilitating pressure of being expected to live up to a great legacy.

It’s neat to watch the way that Abrams masterfully pulls in new viewers and longtime fans. Concepts like Starfleet and the Federation and the Vulcan adherence to a logical existence are explained artfully, in a way that makes sense to the uninitiated yet doesn’t feel heavy-handed or forced. As a bonus, the film integrates tidbits that only a shameless Trekker would recognize, similar to the Easter Eggs on Lost (the kobayashi maru test comes to mind). Abrams even finds a clever way to deal with any nagging continuity issues that rabid fans might scream about (so relax, Phil Farrand).

In all, it’s not so much that this is a legendarily great movie. But it’s very good, with fantastic characterization, a beautiful score, and the type of chemistry among cast and plot that hints at the potential for numerous successful sequels. The nearly universal praise for the film suggests that maybe there are many other closeted fans who have been inspired by such an unexpectedly respectable offering bearing the Star Trek name. Paramount Pictures owes J.J. Abrams big time for this. And, as a (newly unabashed) lifelong fan, so do I.

Where noble knights fought dragons

Walking alone around Rothenburg, Germany gives your imagination a chance to take over for a bit. It's tough not to get drawn in by this quaint medieval village. Although the streets and storefronts are now very touristy, roaming around is a transportive experience and it's fun to dream about life here hundreds of years ago.

How I've spent June so far

I've been too busy at work lately to write blog postings, and I'm still too busy. But it's late now, and I have several things I've been meaning to get down. I generally consider my bulleted list postings to be cop-outs, but in this case it'll do.

• The recent Air France plane crash really bothered me. Maybe because I had just taken a long, trans-Atlantic flight myself or maybe because my sister is in Denmark right now. Either way, I found that I was unusually moved by thinking about all of the people on that flight. News coverage so often turns casualties into mere numbers, allowing us to escape the full weight of the tragedy.
  
  Each of those 228 dead people has a distinct life story and, in the days following the crash, I found myself pondering the faces and brief (sometimes imagined) descriptions of some of the passengers aboard my Lufthansa flight: Birgitte, the #2 flight attendant with dyed orange hair, the disagreeable fat man whose personal video screen was broken, the kid in the row in front of me who spent the entire flight feeling sick, the Indian woman with digestive troubles who took frequent trips to the bathroom and seeped unpleasant fumes from the folds of her sari, the guy from Thailand sitting next to me who borrowed my pen to fill out the customs form. All of these people have families and dynamic lives, as did everyone on that Air France jet. Every time something forces me to remember this deep sense of humanity, reading the news gets a lot sadder.
  
  
• I've been out of college now for more than two years. An extensive posting on this topic to come.
  
  
• Although I generally believe in most of what Barack Obama says and does, I am getting increasingly worried about the skyrocketing budget deficits. I agree wholeheartedly that healthcare needs a lot of fixing and understand that all of the bailouts are needed to avoid disaster. But it still makes me uncomfortable, both because huge deficits are, in the long run, a bad idea and because I can hear the Republican attack ads already.
  
  
• On Friday I smoked a (Cuban) cigar for the first time. Saturday morning I threw up. And now, on Monday, my voice is still hoarse.
  
  
• If I allow myself to think too hard about 2009 being halfway over, I get somewhat existentially depressed.
  
  
• I recently became briefly fed up with church, but have since decided I was overreacting. The church picnic this past Sunday was great, although I think 11:30 am is too early in the morning to have eaten a sloppy joe, a hot dog, mac n cheese, salad, baked beans, a pickle, 2 slices of watermelon, and Snickers ice cream bar. Watching all of the kids play made me wish (for the umpteenth time) that I'd had the opportunity to experience all of this while growing up.

That's all I can think of right now. I'm hungry and probably too distracted to get any more work done, so I think I'll go home.

I gave my best to you

I actually meant to post this on Sunday evening from Berlin, but wasn't able to get around to it until now. This is a beautiful song from Ken Burns' The War, which I kind of associate with sad, but hopeful, patriotism. Even though I generally consider this a very happy, warm sunshine- and barbecue-infused holiday, I wanted to post it anyway. Happy Memorial Day and God bless those who are gone so that I can continue to celebrate the start of summer this way.

Using chop sticks in Berlin

I arrived in Berlin this morning, and set about the task of finding my hostel, Circus. Rick was not particularly helpful, but luckily I had copied down directions from the hostel's website and was able to follow them without too much trouble. At least Rick's maps didn't actively confuse me, like they did in Dresden.

After checking in, I explored a little bit this afternoon, walking all the way down Unter den Linden, the main drag through old East Berlin. I passed by it all pretty quickly and saw the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag. Tomorrow I think I'll do one of the organized walking tours, so I thought that today I would just roam around at will.

First impressions of Berlin are pretty positive. It's immediately obvious that this city dwarfs all of the others that I've visited this trip, both in size and the humming vibe of activity. There are people everywhere, and it feels very international. Most excitingly, this is reflected in the food. I had a delicious meal at a Vietnamese place tonight. Sitting outside eating soup and yellow curry chicken with coconut milk was a nice change from sausages and sauerkraut and schnitzels. And, perhaps most importantly, this tasty food went quite well with dunkles beer too.

A random aside: this morning, in Dresden, I decided that I could not wait another day before doing laundry. So I headed to a laundromat and puzzled through the German instructions. It was drizzling outside and there were about 400 lost socks hanging from the ceiling. I was listening to my ipod and watching my clothes bounce around in circles in the dryer. As much as I normally hate doing laundry, I don't think I would've wanted to spend the morning any other way.

My life in the Neustadt

I've been doing a lot of moving around the past couple of days. Yesterday morning, I left Munich, which I was kind of sad to do. Munich was a great, well-rounded city. It had a lot of beautiful, historic buildings in the Old Town, along with a vibrant, but manageable "real" area. There were several convenient nearby day trips. My hostel was within easy walking distance of both the sights and the train station, not to mention at least five Döner Kebab shops. I met a lot of people, both in the hostel and walking around with Rick. And the staff at Wombat's Hostel was fantastic - extremely friendly and helpful. It made me feel very welcome there.

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon and night in Rothenburg ob der Tauber, a well preserved medieval village. Rick warned that it was going to be painfully touristy, but I didn't find this to be the case at all. The streets were fairly quiet, and I really enjoyed photographing my way through the town. I stayed at a guest house called Pension Elke, run by a charming old man and his son, who also run the family grocery store down below. It was neat to stay in my own room, and a nice change from the hostels. This place was centrally located to the main town square. In fact, the facade of the store was even visible in one of the postcards I bought.

Today I took a long, early train ride to Dresden. I like it a lot so far. There are a good number of tourists roaming around in the Old Town, but it seems like most of them are other Europeans. My hostel is located in the Neustadt (new town) area, which is a lot more "real people" oriented. Architecturally, these buildings were mostly undamaged by the WWII Allied firebombing, so they're authentic (and many are covered in graffiti). There are also random, blocky communist buildings mixed in all over the place - relics from East Germany. I did some afternoon roaming and had a tasty dinner (and a liter of dark, delicious beer), but I'm looking forward to more sightseeing tomorrow. The history of this city really, really fascinates me.

Traveling alone has been ok so far. I actually prefer it in some ways, since I can do absolutely whatever I feel like at any point in time and there is no one to get exasperated with my constant picture-taking. In other cases, though, especially for dinner and beer, it would be nice to have a friend along. There are a lot of really cool looking bars here in the Neustadt. It would be fun to go out tonight. Maybe I'll meet someone at the hostel...

München on Bavarian pretzels and beer

So here's a quick internet cafe update on my life in Deutschland:

• It is no joke, German beer is delicious
• Big soft pretzels in Bavaria are also the real deal
• I have chatted extensively with four sets of people (making perhaps three potentially lasting friendships) based almost solely on the topic of Rick Steves
• Being spontaneous is working out pretty well, except that i may need to try to reserve hostels farther in advance. Last night I got stuck sleeping in an expensive hotel
  

Time is running out here, I'll write more later. Having a great time.

My next adventure

I've been toying with the idea of traveling this summer for awhile. Initially I was determined to save money for future trips by not taking a long vacation. But a couple months ago I heard a story on NPR about how the cost of airline tickets has been plummeting, and it's been a swift tumble downhill from there.

It wasn't long before I had decided that plane tickets were so cheap that there was no way I could realistically justify not taking a trip. So I checked out about eight travel guides from the library and set about trying to find a destination and a buddy. Although I strongly considered Asia (you can get just about anywhere right now for under $1000!), monsoon season and the desire to take advantage of cheap May airfare convinced me to look to Europe. Since no one was able to come with me, I picked Germany.

Germany has actually never been on the top of my list of places to visit, but the more I read about it, the more I like it. There are castles and beer everywhere, which sounds pretty good to me. It's also close to Switzerland and Scandinavia, which are both on my list. So maybe some cross-border hopping will be in order. The venerable and hilarious Rick Steves has a book on Germany, which guarantees that I'll never be short on cheesy, witty observations and local history. Mostly, though, I think I was attracted to the $375 round trip tickets that kept popping up on kayak.com. So I'm going, alone, in 11 days.

I've never really taken a trip like this alone before. My parents are both convinced that I'll hate it. It's true, I think, that enjoying food and "biergartens" would be much more enjoyable with a friend. But I've actually always kind of been fascinated by traveling by myself. Part of it may be that lingering urge to pick up and do something spontaneous and different. Or maybe I like the idea that I'll have a lot of cool looking pictures to share afterwards that no one else will have seen yet. Certainly traveling solo allows me the flexibility to do whatever I want every day. I'm even considering not booking all of my hostels, so that I can roam on whim (so long as I make my way to Berlin the afternoon of May 25th to catch the flight home).

I hope that, journal and camera in hand and Rick-mandated money belt strapped around my waist, I'll really enjoy the experience. And if I hate it, then at least the ticket was cheap.

Catching a boat to a far-off land

Though this looks like the landing for a ferry in some exotic country, it's actually in Disney World. Which is a shame, but I still like the dusk-y colors in the photo. The gold-hued lanterns lining the wooden dock seem, for some reason, symbolic of an exciting, epic journey to me. In reality, we were "traveling" to catch the 9:00 fireworks show at the Magic Kingdom.

Our national disgrace

Yesterday the Obama administration released several Bush-era memos from the Office of Legal Counsel that detail interrogation techniques authorized for CIA use. These actions include throwing prisoners against the wall, placing them in small containers with bugs for hours at a time, sleep deprivation for more than a week, and, most infamously, waterboarding. They are, unequivocally, acts of torture and they were sanctioned by our government. Thinking about this makes me feel physically ill.

On a personal level, what is perhaps most disgusting to me is that very little of what was announced in these memos is new information. Almost all of it was already part of the public discourse about the U.S. government's use of torture under Bush and Cheney. But I have never before felt so bothered, so incensed about it. Andrew Sullivan has harped on this issue for quite some time. Though I certainly have always agreed with him that torture is evil, for some reason reading his tirades and even seeing some of the gut-wrenching photos that he has posted lacked the gravity of yesterday's news.

Government officials and most of the mainstream media have long side-stepped the full brutality of "enhanced interrogation." Having official acknowledgment forces this uncomfortable issue to the forefront of our national consciousness. This nation that I love so much and am very proud to call home has done some exceptionally terrible things. Just because I'm a Democrat and abhor, out of basic principle, much of what Bush and Cheney did to our country does not free me from this collective stain on American honor.

I was planning to write something today ridiculing the recent "tea parties" as baseless and hypocritical, but I don't have the stomach for it right now. The only comforting thing I've read all morning is Obama's statement regarding the documents' release. It is characteristically calming and to the point. Even if you disagree with his policies, I cannot see how anyone could doubt that he has good intentions and approaches each situation with the same measured pragmatism. This seems even more obvious when held in direct contrast with the despicable, pre-meditated inhumanity of the previous administration that has now been brought to light.

A real life Walker

Today is April 15. Aside from it being Kayla's birthday, and tax day, this year it also happens to be a Wednesday. And Wednesday means... Mantracker!

My roommates and I have recently become obsessed with this show. It airs at 10pm on the Science channel, which until a few months ago I did not even know existed. The premise is quite simple. I would paraphrase, but the show's official website explains it far better than I could hope to.

Terry Grant is a full-blooded cowboy living in the wrong century. This Albertan has been a full time ranch cowboy for almost 25 years. An expert horseman and wilderness professional, hunting, guiding and tracking come second nature. Whether man or beast, he will track them down. His keen instincts, intense character, and specialized skills have made him a crucial member of the Foothills Search and Rescue Team. His reputation is always on the line and he doesn’t let up for a second. A steely-eyed cowboy with a killer, never-say-die attitude, Terry Grant is MANTRACKER.

So essentially, each episode features a new pair of people - the "prey." They have 36 hours to travel 25+ miles on foot over rough terrain to the finish line. All the while, they are being stalked by Mantracker on horseback. Though he doesn't know the location of the finish line, Mantracker always has an expert local guide to help him navigate. The guide changes episode to episode, but a personal favorite of mine is Curtis, the braided, Indian horsewhisperer.

The prey frequently tries to leave false trails or to throw Mantracker off with gimmicks such as tape-recorded voices or wolf urine. Invariably, however, Terry picks up their trail and sets an ambush with the help of his guide. You know a confrontation is imminent when the camera angle switches back and forth quickly from Mantracker to prey. Even better is when the prey are shown tiptoeing around and a cowboy hat or horse nose bobs into view through the trees in the background. When Mantracker surprises his prey, he is quick to deliver a corny one-liner, like, "Hello, ladies" or "Busted!" A ragged chase then ensues, with the prey often able to slip away into dense forest.

This continues for an hour until the prey are either caught or they make it to the finish line. With Mantracker's legendary skills, though, the latter is quite rare. Basically this show is amazing. If you get the Science channel, I highly, highly recommend that you check it out.

Skip 'em

Several months ago, I wrote at length about my confusion surrounding the place of spirituality in my life. Without a definitive upbringing to serve as framework, I argued, it has always been exceptionally difficult to feel at ease with religion. I traced this discomfort to a lack of knowledge on my part. Indeed, save one visit to my neighbor’s youth group, a couple of weddings, and touring a number of magnificent cathedrals abroad, I had never really even been inside a church before, let alone experienced a worship service.

This changed, however, in early January. Joe accepted an invitation to sing with a local church’s choir around Christmastime. Though he didn’t at first intend to join the choir permanently, he liked it so much that he decided to continue. Considering our typical Saturday night activities, committing to waking up at 8:00 every Sunday morning is a pretty big deal. We spoke a bit about it and, despite not knowing what to expect (or even what denomination the church was), I was curious enough to join him one weekend.

Since Joe had to don his robe and prepare to sing, I stood alone for awhile in the front entryway (what I would later learn is called the narthex). Unsure what to do, I feigned intense interest in studying the bulletin boards and artwork on the walls. Fortunately, Maryn and Janet, two older women, approached me to say hello. They were exceptionally welcoming, as was everyone else I met that first day – John, the retired Foreign Service employee, Shirley, the perky member of one of the church’s many committees, and Leon, choir stalwart and husband of Maryn. I observed at least four separate people come up and welcome a very old man back, presumably from an extended illness that had prevented him from coming to church. Even at first glance, the community seemed so closely knit – it says a lot that people know each other well enough to have immediately recognized a stranger in their midst. It says even more, I’d contend, that they actively sought to welcome that stranger with open arms.

For that reason alone, I think, I would’ve come back. But the rest of the service was great too, though a little bewildering to my uninitiated senses. During the passing of the peace, for instance, people rise from their seats and warmly greet just about everyone within handshaking distance. “Children’s time” dumbs down the preceding scripture reading to help all of the young kids (and me) better understand it and relate it to their lives. The hymns are kind of fun to sing and the wide variety of music is beautiful. And Rich Smith, the reverend, delivers a great sermon. He’s not overly preachy and is able to realistically relate the scripture to current events and modern, daily life. In fact, on that first Sunday (days before Inauguration), he titled his sermon “An Open Letter to President Barack Obama.”

Over the following few months, I’ve attended services regularly and come to know much more about Westmoreland Congregational United Church of Christ. The UCC has evolved over time from the merger of several Protestant denominations. It is run from the bottom-up, with individual congregations suggesting changes in policy, which are then voted on by an annual conference of representatives. Subsequently, each local congregation is independently able to vote on whether or not to accept these changes. For example, several years ago the UCC voted to recognize same-sex marriages. Westmoreland, in turn, democratically decided to embrace this and become an “open and affirming congregation.” There are surely other local branches of the UCC that chose not to take this step.

I greatly respect this emphasis on individuality. One of the things that has always bothered me about organized religion is the perception that many church-going people are like parrots, repeating verbatim what is written in the Bible. Rather than apply religious teachings to their lives, they allow the church to dictate their views, seemingly without room for dissenting thought.

This is not the case at Westmoreland. Rev. Bob Maddox, who treated me to dinner a few weeks ago, helped me to understand this better. He told me that there are plenty of old traditions at the church, but that the congregation has kept them alive because people enjoy them, not because anyone from the national UCC has declared that it should be so. We were discussing the possibility of me formally joining the church, and being baptized. (Having come from a background as a Baptist minister, Bob was quite excited by this). I was concerned that I might be acting hypocritically – that my enthusiasm for the church community would be somehow cheapened by my uncertainty regarding my internal beliefs about religion.

Bob was quick to reassure me. Westmoreland, he explained, has no creed that its members are required to recite. The Bible, to him, is much more a book about ancient interpretations of God’s teachings than an inflexible doctrine, passed down directly from God Himself. To lack certainty and understanding is natural. Bob promised me that I was not alone in this. Further, he suggested that I use aspects of religion that baffle me as the impetus for greater personal exploration. And his advice regarding parts of the Bible that seem outmoded or don’t sit well with me? “Skip ‘em.”

In a lot of ways, that is all I’m looking for in religion – a supportive source of grounding and stability that makes no judgments about my past or future beliefs. This experience shouldn’t be unpleasant or exclusive – without growing up with a religious background, why would I choose to join a church that made me feel uncomfortable? At Westmoreland, the sense of inclusiveness is profound. And the church’s progressive and active stance on social issues helps to minimize any disconnect I might feel between religion on a theological level and its relevance to everyday life.

Even without having read more than a few passages of the Bible and without fully sorting out my internal confusion, I’m considering joining Westmoreland in the next month or two. And I’m confident I’ll be warmly welcomed, because despite not being a formal member, I already feel like a part of the community.

Spring in the capital

Steve and I had an abbreviated cherry blossom encounter last weekend, before a harrowing journey from the Tidal Basin to the Kennedy Center. D.C. is always really pretty, but spring sunshine makes it even better.