Hot Damn! Summer in the City!

Actually, there is no sun today, which made my walk to work a bit more tolerable. The thing about the humidity here is that it hangs in the air like sticky smog. It’s actually rather nice, in a third-world kind of way.

Enough about the weather; I should muse on the fine city of DC for the benefit of my foreign contingent in Switzerland. DC is a remarkably segregated town, with plenty of crime and incompetent governance. “We” (as in district residents) are represented in congress by a delegate who does not have voting privileges (http://www.dcfordemocracy.org/index.pl/dc-voting-rights). Our local government passes legislation (most recently a ban on guns) which is then overturned by congress. Some people put signs in their car windows reading “no stereo, no ashtray, no nothing” while little piles of car window glass appear regularly along the curb in our gentrified neighborhood. Less than a month ago, DC Police Chief Charles H. Ramsey had his Crown Victoria stolen (police responded by handing out flyers to try and locate it http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/06/20/AR2005062001003_pf.html). The district theme song is one continuous police siren.

Although a substantial Latino population lives only a few blocks away, our neighbors in Mt. Pleasant are pure white. If we want white people groceries (tofu, fresh salads, organic anything…), we go one mile West to where the rich white people live. If we want brown people groceries (chorizo, queso fresco, chile…), we go one mile East. Both directions are uphill.

Now let me just say that if DC people aren't exactly bubbling over with personality, they do have a very specific look about them. The majority seems to have just stepped out of a J. Crew magazine, complete with pastel sweater worn around the shoulders. Most are meticulously dressed, with coordinated shoes, belts, handbags, and pooper-scoopers. Tourists are easy to spot: they carry cameras, wear polo shirts, shorts and tennis shoes, are overweight and ask you for directions. Others, like the woman I passed up on my way to work the other morning, belong squarely in the “diplomat” category. She was most likely Latin in origin as the scent of her cologne lingered for an entire block behind her. She wore zapatίas with her elegant white suit and carried shopping bags from the Diplomatic Duty Free Shop.

DC is all about impressions. To be taken seriously here, you have to look and act the part. This is where I erred in deciding to come here (“Lola! You look so….comfortable!”). When I look at the mangled, band-aid covered feet of women all around, I smile inside knowing I’m wearing The European Comfort Shoe. That’s right, the only time I turned heads in this town was the day I walked home with a towel around my waist.

Just this morning, two young, well-dressed female interns discussed the pros and cons of using the word “partner” to describe one’s significant other. Both had noticed their co-workers using the term and agreed it was awkward, as if those people were trying to avoid acknowledging the “real” nature of their relationships (which is…?).

But I digress.

In other news, Karl Rove is a sad loser. And in other news, Karl Rove is going down. And in other news, Karl Rove is the subject of a grand jury investigation and I am suffering from news junkie-itis.

Things to do before I’m dead; PART 1
Defect from the United States.
Learn at least three more languages.
Do humanitarian work in the third world.
Become a teacher (English, then yoga).
Write something that gets published.
Live on a farm with a goat named Chuck.
Learn to dance.
Spend three months camping on an island with my Swiss Contingent.
Travel across Northern Africa.



Enough! This city is melting my brain! Only 11.5 months left on my lease!

Ciao