Saturday, January 14, 2006


God. I'm watching Vanilla Sky on tv and boy does it suck, just like everyone tried to tell me. But I had a good laugh at Tom Cruise bellowing "tech support" in an empty building over and over. At least Jason Lee is hot.

Speaking of tech support, C got our internet working again with a little call to Verizon. Now that I can blog all I want, I'm having trouble focusing on a subject.

How about dinner on Wednesday? Chai and I, two of her friends and two of my friends all went to Restaurant Week at Ceiba. The food was awesome, except that I stupidly ordered the red snapper without first asking if it was served as a whole fish. And it was. A big, red fish with a tail curving up off the plate and an eyeball watching me devour its flesh. Mmmm. The delicious shrimp ceviche and chocolate espresso cake more than made up for any awkwardness in the main course.

We had a good time joking and laughing and getting to know the new people at the table. I brought along a good friend of mine from law school and her boyfriend, who she's been dating for two years, so I also know him quite well, too. In fact, he and I are both sarcastic by nature and tend to devolve into constant barbs at each other after a couple of hours together. I think the other half of the table might have been put off by our seeming meanness. I don't know how we got on the topic, but we started talking about Ernest Hemingway and my friend's boyfriend started vehemently defending him, and I was taking him to town for it, which was why it was TOO perfect when I came home to find that google hit on my blog for "hemingway overated author." Brilliant.

Okay, I'm supposed to go out with my roommates tonight, but I'm just getting tired, so maybe I should go try to motivate.


A little anti-climatic, and a little bit cheating, but I accomplished my first thing on my 101 list. Number sixty-one.

I hit 10,000 on my sitemeter earlier this week, but of course, it happened while my internet was out, so I don't even really know what happened. So, to keep it a little parallel, I've added number one-oh-two: Hit 20,000. I know the "hits" aren't something I actually accomplish myself, but I like to think it keeps me keeping-on with the blog-writing.

Friday, January 13, 2006


Internet is down at home. Can't blog at work. Until the situation is resolved, TTtC will be in a holding pattern. Try to hold back the tears.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

I would like to point out...

for no reason in particular, that I came home from a nice Wednesday evening dinner to find that someone hit my site by googling "hemingway overrated author."

too. effing. perfect.

tomorrow, when i have more time to blog about my crazy day, i'll explain why.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Enlightening Conversations

Last Thursday was a great day. One of those for the history books. Or, like, my diary. I had interviews with three different temp agencies, which, let me tell you, is really good for the soul. It's like an ego-lift. A real...kick in the pants.

Anyway. Here's a summary, by means of conversation-snippets.

Scene 1 - On the metro platform, waiting for the red line, I'm leaning against the low wall and a well-dressed young woman you might double-take for Jackie O, head-scarf and all, sees me and walks over:

Jackie O, handing me a business card: Have you ever tried Mary Kay?
Me: (inwardly groaning) Um, no. I mean, no thanks, I'm not interested.
J.O.: Are you sure, I can make some great recommendations.
Me: (let's get straight to the point) Ha, uh, I don't have any money.
J.O.: (looking down at my suit, power heels, and brand new winter jacket) Oh. Do you have a job?
Me: (cough) No.
J.O.: Why don't you work with Mary Kay? Go to the website, it's a great business.
Me: No, thanks, I'm really not interested.
-The train comes, she politely goes in a different door, though it's the same car. We stop at Metro Center and Jackie O walks over to me again with another business card.
J.O.: I talked to this woman yesterday and she was very nice. Maybe she could help you out?
-It was the business card of a recruiter from a temp agency.

Scene 2 - Since I was downtown, I took the opportunity in between interviews to cancel my gym membership at Gold's, since they force you to do it in person.

Me: I need to cancel my membership.
Tranny named John: Oh, is there something wrong?
Me: No, I just never come.
T.J.: Well, what if I could offer you a few months on us?
Me: Thanks, but really, I just never make it in.
T.J.: Free trainer?
Me: No, thanks.
T.J.: What if I made you my special customer and made sure every time you walked in I said, "Girl, you're SO SKINNY today! Woman you need to eat something!"

Scene 3 - I made it to my last interview and ran into a bit of a...confusion.

Recruiter: (handing me the recquisite sheaf of papers to fill out) Okay, and you won't need to fill out the tax forms since you won't be on a temp project...
Me: (um, did I hear that right?) ...Okay.
-I filled out the papers and she called me into her office for the interview part.
Recruiter: Alright, so as you know, this job is for a pro-gun firm. You'll be doing work on behalf of the NRA, hunting groups, et cetera.
Me: (mouth agape) Um, what?

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Come and whisper in my ear, give us dirty laundry.

Chai and I went to Frank Warren's PostSecret Exhibit last night in Georgetown. (If you're interested, it closes today, so get your ass down there.) We waited about twenty minutes outside before we could get in. There are a number of different aspects to the exhibit; it's not just the cards taped all along the walls like you might think. Most people waited in a line to read the cards hanging on a clothesline.
PostSecret Exhibit
The walls were lined with blown-up postcards. Chai and I started with these and then snuck in the line about half-way through.
PostSecret Exhibit
In the corner, about a hundred cards hung from strings, creating an interesting mesh of people and arms as they tried to hold the cards still and stretched to reach the high ones.
PostSecret Exhibit
At the end of the exhibit was a wall covered in envelopes and letters written to Frank.
PostSecret Exhibit
Lastly, and what came as a pleasant surprise to me, was a tape mailbox!
Tape Mailbox
You've never seen a tape mailbox?? Then you're not familiar with Mark Jenkins' work. His tape babies and tape stopsigns and tape fire hydrants, which I found via DC Art News one day, was what made me start looking into street art and its varying incarnations.

So, about the exhibit. Chai and I were pretty overwhelmed with the whole thing. Reading hundreds of cards about rape and suicide and image issues and comedic confessions makes you wonder...what's the point of this project? If you are familiar with Post Secret, you know that its biggest contribution - seen by the emails and letters people write to Frank - is the "I'm not alone" feeling. You've got a terrible secret? So does this guy, so put the razors away.

But there has to be something else, because you certainly can't identify with all the secrets. So what do we get out of it? Is it just voyeristic intrigue? I think that's a huge part of it. We love to hear other people's dirty secrets. Even the space in the gallery emphasizes this feeling, because the clotheslines are double-sided, so as you're reading this card that says, "He's been in jail for 2 years for something I did," your eyes stray upward and land on the guy reading cards two feet in front of you. His eyes stray up and catch yours, and you wonder if that's the guy. Is this your dirty laundry? I need to post on my blog and gossip with my friends. Why don't you write a secret card telling us how you hoped some guy failed the bar exam so I can forward the image to everyone I know? Scandalous.

More than anything else, the exhibit just made me sad. It made me feel sad for humanity that we've created the kind of world were people get raped and commit suicide and do terrible things to their loved ones. I used to go to Take Back the Night in college, and it's the same kind of horrific feeling you get when you see all these people you know stand up and describe their terrible secrets. The mass quantity of tragedy in the world is enough to make you give up on people altogether. On another level, the project made me sad that so many of these people thought they had to keep these things secret. That people keep these things inside because the rest of us will treat it like gossip, instead of treating them like people who feel the same things we do. That, in large part, we can't seem to understand people who've had different experiences than we've had. So they're forced to tell their secrets to a guy named Frank in Maryland with a homemade anonymous postcard.

I was kind of surprised how...deflated I felt when we were done with the exhibit. I started to speed through the cards because standing there and studying them, thinking about them, takes a lot out of you. Chai and I discussed most of this over dinner and felt more or less the same way, though she'll probably write it better than me. I'm glad I went, and I will say that the display itself was well done. You can tell Frank is actually an artist (not just a guy on the other side of a mailbox).

On a completely random side note, I hate going to Georgetown. There is no reason why I should have to pay almost thirty dollars a night in cab-fare to travel back and forth over three miles. Viva la metro!

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