Solo Spicy Ramen: A Notable Dining Experience

It was a rainy late morning last week. I had just spent the morning at a sterile, chemical-smelling doctor’s office, and grateful to be in the fresh air but famished, I was pondering my food move when I overheard someone on the bus say somewhere in a lunch-related sentence, “ramen.”

I have always been skeptical of the food ­fads that flow in and out of popular city foodie life, so I had yet to make the effort or have the craving to try what this fancified version of the dorm-room and starving-artist staple was doing with their own restaurants, and at $12 a bowl no less. But, I decided this indirect bus suggestion was the work of fate, and it was time to board the boat.

I didn’t want my first ramen experience to be a bust, so a quick UrbanSpoon search for DC’s best pointed me conveniently to a spot a couple blocks from my apartment – Sakuramen Bar on 18th Street in Adams Morgan, whose ground-level basement awning and entrance I had oddly never noticed, despite that I have strolled past hundreds of times.

Sakuramen is a small room of Asian décor with a modern twist. A community-style long bar table slices through the center of the space, donned with a bed of black stones and modern columns running through the middle of the table center, giving a relaxing, contemporary vibe that suggested serenity and peace reminiscent of a spa. An upbeat playlist of my favorite pop artists like Jason Mraz, Ingrid Michaelson and Matt Nathanson was chiming through the speakers at the perfect level of volume, and the room was filled lively chatter. Everyone in the place seemed to be in a good mood, and I immediately felt at ease – which can be hard when you eat out solo.

It was the height of lunch time. It was packed tight with diverse young professionals and families. With no host stand for seating, I wriggled my way through a large waiting party of students waiting for a table and flagged down one of the servers who immediately sat me towards the end of the center table. I was soon joined by a lively young conference-lanyard-donning crew and two fellow young women, who were alternating taking photos of each other with their spicy buns (<-- not a euphemism).

The menu is small, with just a few appetizer choices and a handful of ramen dishes with various vegetable and meats, making it clear that ramen is what Sakuramen is about. A ramen virgin, I was stumped, but starved. All I knew was I wanted something warm, spicy and hearty, so I quickly ordered the only thing on the menu that sounded somewhat familiar – the Spicy Miso and a cold ginger tea. My ginger tea came almost immediately. I was delighted to find it was fully fresh, with chunks of ginger root smashed into the base of a generous glass, releasing a perfect hint of sweet and spice – but not too much of either.

My piping hot bowl of ramen came not long after. A small, red, perfectly round “fireball” of spice sat atop the broth like a little planet amongst soft, fatty pork, corn, scallions and thick curly noodles – the fat, much happier cousin of the instant ramen kind of noodles I knew and (sort of) loved. So, this was definitely ramen. The smell tickled my nostrils and I was ready to dig in immediately, until the sight of my utensils struck me with anxiety.

It was chopsticks and a flat-bottomed spoon. I had learned from my travels to Korea (and from my sister, who lived there and tried desperately to teach me how to use chopsticks properly, to no avail) that eating a noodle soup with the right tools is an art. There is twisting, dipping, and shoving involved, all in a very particular order. Plus, the slurping – in Asia, the polite and proper way to eat – but which I was raised to know as the biggest no-no of table etiquette.

But my stomach beckoned, so challenge accepted. I mixed my fireball into my soup, shambolically maneuvered my first bite onto my spoon, and took a splattery slurp – and was completely surprised by my delight.

It was hot, sweet, salty, and spicy. The noodles were a perfect al dente texture. The tender pork, lined with unapologetic fat, pulled apart and melted with the slightest touch of my tongue. The corn and scallions gave a welcomed crunch of texture, as the chewy noodles softened with the broth in my mouth. Without expecting it, it was complete soupy bliss.

Perhaps it was the magic of the ramen’s perfection or my just my will to want it in my mouth, but I was soon somewhat gracefully getting evenly distributed bites of spicy miso via my utensil devices. My nose started to run and I removed my sweater as the heat as the spice ball slowly accumulated on my tongue. The servers, spotting my frequent snot breaks, brought me more napkins with a smile, offered another ginger tea and checked on me a few times, all with a friendly chuckle.

In the meantime, I noticed my aforementioned tablemates debating the menu. They were fellow skeptics of the ramen craze, but had heard that the Spicy Miso here at Sakuramen was all the rage I overheard. I couldn’t help but intervene with a hearty second of the rumors, telling them, “it’s freakin’ ridiculous.” Soon enough they were all slurping their own Spicy Misos, moaning “yums” as they chewed, sweating and sniffling along with me as we occasionally looked up from our bowls at each other in smiles and comments of agreement. As we ate, our shared ramen elation turned into an exchange about food and then some, and for a few minutes I conversed with complete strangers – something I think we should all do more often. And when is a better time to do so than over a shared meal, deliberate or not?

Needless to say, as far as ramen is concerned, I am a convert. My friends are getting an earful about it, and Sakuramen is going to see a lot of me – and who knows, perhaps I’ll make a new friend over my next solo Spicy Miso.

Sakuramen Bar is located at 2441 18th Street NW, Washington DC 20009

Happy Day-Makers

I know I'm a major slacker on my blogging. I don't even want to talk about it.  Moving on ...

I've discovered lately that my day improves dramatically with the attention to a few very simple elements.  Elements that are, shockingly, in my control.  Now that I'm a working woman and all that, the monotony of days, despite the fact that I'm overwhelmingly busy 95% of the time, can make my week just completely unfun. And that makes no sense because I spend the majority of my time/week/life in the office. Sad, really ...

It's very self-help-guru-like, I know. I think I was inadvertently inspired by the O Magazine I flipped through last weekend. I'm becoming more aware of what gives me an extra boost when the day is more boring than watching CSPAN (sorry, DC), or more stressful than awaiting a metro train when the digital predictor lists no incoming trains (sorry, DC).  Here are some of my successful happy day-makers:

• I take a hot second, at least, to give a cahoot about what I look like in the morning. I wear my best clothes, try new combinations of jewelry, try a new eye shadow color, or even just use a differently scented body wash or spray.  The good news is that in these hipster days, I can get away with wearing a lot of things and be accepted, so I feel like my options have expanded.  Probably not, but the point is I try to walk out the door feeling like a hot mama, and I wind up feeling more confident and, subsequently, in a better mood.  Yes, I do care about what others think of me.  So shoot me.
  
  I read an article that said women make the impression of being smarter when they look nicer.  The feminist in me grumbled loudly, but the columnist actually had a point. If you have taken the time in the morning to put yourself together on the outside, you appear to be more prepared for the day on the inside--you got a decent amount of sleep, ate breakfast, and are more alert and ready to rock and roll. Of course, these assumptions probably aren't true (my nemesis of a decent bedtime = OnDemand), but you can at least fake it until you really are awake and alert ... around lunch time.

• I designate something entertaining to do on my commute. It actually makes me (gasp!) look forward to the time spent on the train or bus. For example I totally dig the Washington Post Express news, found everywhere in seat crooks and from modern-day newsies. The crosswords are nerd-tastically fun and I arrive at the office fully aware of current events.
  
  I also have tried to designate the listening of my favorite podcast, Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me! (you're welcome, NPR) for my time on the train or bus. Yes, I may be laughing out loud at seemingly nothing to my fellow transit riders, but I know all those who stare at me are just jealous that I'm having fun on my commute, and they're not.  

• Spotify.

• I have fresh fruit and/or veggies to snack on throughout the day.  I made a grocery trip just for my work fridge and stocked up on crunchy carrots, celery, cucumbers, etc.  It prevents from filling my hunger with the readily available office candy, and instead eating a snack that crunches like a food label mom would approve. It makes me feel way better about snacking. Even better, I negate all the calories I burn by chewing said veggies by absolutely drowning them in ranch dressing. Nom.

• I make a huge effort to actually take a lunch break, and to use it to get a change of scenery, and get some fresh air.  It works wonders to break up a day to stop looking at a computer screen and get out of the zone. Of course, I'm currently writing this from my desk computer during my lunch break.  Erm ...this is not a good example.

• G.Chat. 

• My desk is decorated with photos of my family, prints from my travels, a pretty calendar, and some posters/images/quotes that make me laugh.  It feels homey, comfortable, and better about being in my office when it's pitch black outside at 5:30pm.  Not cool, wintertime! 

So there you have it: a potential recipe for a day that's a little bit happier.  Because happiness is the core of everything.

I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet

Two earthquake-related thoughts about human nature

1. The first thing that happens after we encounter an earthquake is to wonder if anyone else felt it. The need for group validation is widespread and happens for events that don't involve earthquakes as well.
If those in the tribe feel something, we're likely to as well. That's why people look around before they stand up to offer an ovation at the end of a concert. Why should it matter if any of these strangers felt the way you did about the event? Because it does. A lot. Social proof matters. 

2. Organizations are busy evacuating buildings, even national monuments. Even though experience indicates that the most dangerous thing you can do is have tens of thousands of people run down the stairs, cram into the elevators and stand in the streets, we do it anyway. Why? Because people like to do something. Action, even ineffective action, is something societies seek out during times of uncertainty. 

[from Seth's Blog. Mad props.]   

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What a better time to resurrect my terribly neglected blog than the biggest natural event (can't quite call it a disaster) to happen to the east coast in a while?  Yes, what's been coined the "East Coast Earthquake" (flows well, doesn't it?) has "shaken" me back into blogging mode.

So, what can I blame for my neglect of my favorite writing space?  Summer?  Big life changes and new friends? Visits to and from some of my closest and favorite old friends and family?  My new job (yup, goodbye internship, hello salary!), the frustrating yet eventually fruitful hunt for a new apartment in downtown DC?  Increase in Twitter use?  My new-found obsessions with Spotify, Millionaire Matchmaker, or the Hunger Games trilogy?  (Yes, I finally got on that boat.  About to start the second!).  Alright, let's just go for all of them.

Well, the earthquake obviously wins as most blog-worthy for the past few weeks at least.  This was my first earthquake, and the experience honestly wasn't much of a doozy as one might think.  But the news and hype that surrounded it made it feel like a much bigger deal than it was, and I think my memory of it may be tainted with some of the overreactions that happened in downtown DC.  Screaming and running? Really?  Well I don't know, but I'm pretty sure my quake experience went as follows:

I was at work, jamming to T.Swift and Sugarland while doing some uploading to our sweet new site, and all of sudden, the house started shaking a little.  There's been tons of construction happening right next to my office building, so we all brushed it off as a big truck or drill.  But about 10 seconds in, it kept getting more intense--I thought my computer monitors were going to topple, and my picture frame had fallen over. Unsure what was happening, we just ran downstairs and out the door.  By the time a few of us got outside, it was over. The whole thing lasted about 20 seconds.

Considering our office is a historical 19th century Victorian House (that once belonged to the families of Robert E. Lee & Elizabeth Cady Stanton), we thought maybe something had gone on with the aged foundation. That was my first thought--that something was wrong with the house, which was why we all ran to get outside. But everyone else in the neighborhood was in a tizzy, and we heard that the building next to us and the grass were seen shaking as well.   Confusion ensued, and then we rushed back inside to listen to the radio.  It was an earthquake. It was really strong for this area--magnitude 5.9!  And what?!  It was felt all the way up to Toronto, and as far west as Michigan?  That's what got me.  I didn't think earthquakes could be that big.

(By the way, besides a couple ceiling cracks, the Cady-Lee held up okay.  This is a photo I took of the house in winter, but now seems like a good time to pause and admire its beauty.)

The first hour after the earthquake happened flew by. No one was really panicking--just confused. Lots of radios were on and phone calls being made--except cell phones were down, and that made a lot of us nervous and reminiscent of 9/11, considering how the 10th anniversary is sneaking up on us.  As for me, after soaking in what had happened, writing emails to family telling them I was safe, and having to restart my computer because my TweetDeck was throttled to the max (searching for "earthquake" was probably not the smartest thing to do) it took a while to get back into "work" mode. The radio and news confirmed that it was widespread, but there were no injuries, and the extent of the damage could pretty much be summed up by this:

I know, it's horrible.  But we're okay.  (If only that photo and association, now going viral, were my idea).  

And at about 3:00 when things were starting to calm down, floating through the office through our intercom was the lovely sounds of the most earthquake-appropriate song ever:

The song's getting tons more hits on YouTube today.  Way to go, Carole!

So, with a healthy dose of stress relief--including a plan to wrap oneself in foam in case of aftershocks-- the whole office was busting a gut.  And, unlike the rest of downtown DC, no one went home early.

Anywho, thank you, quake, for rumbling my butt back into blogging.  The timing is good anyway--just as when I was a student, this time of year inspires me to put my head in the game, turn a new page, and rejuvenate myself with an overflowing but highly enjoyable schedule.  Which will, along with dance, writing, friends, and food, be sufficiently full of earthquake jokes ... at least until Hurricane Irene hits.  Please, Irene, be kind, we've been through a lot.

In the meantime, I'm going to go eat myself some Ranch Quakes. 

A Night at the Building Museum, Part II

This is cross-posted on the Dance Exchange blog.  Check it out.

[Continued from Part I] 

As we waited to make our last appearance at the Building Museum, we were able to hear David Rockwell, founder and CEO of his namesake cross-disciplinary design practice, give his keynote address. In his speech, he talked about architectural projects, commissions, and how such tasks involve one essential thing—play. Rockwell explained play through four elements—inspiration, risk, temporary, and exploration—and I realized that Rockwell’s approach to his projects and the approach to my improvisational experience that night—and to dance in general—were not so different.

Inspiration shows up whether we know it or not, for all forms of art.  Of course in choreography, inspiration leads us to create movement, spacing, picking music, and so on. In an improvisational situation, however, inspiration is much more immediate.  In the Building Museum, we drew on the shapes we saw and created in the space to create movement.  It was a constant conversation of bodies to bodies, bodies to corners, bodies to walls, and so on.  What we saw and felt there at that time was what instigated thoughts and movements—and that constant search for inspiration kept us moving.

Risk exists particularly strongly in improvisation, for so much of it is in the unknown.  At the Museum, I felt as though the stakes of risk were the highest I had ever experienced.  Not only was I in an unfamiliar space with people I had not danced with before, but the environment was full of surprises. I shared dancing space in very close proximity with fragile elements—glasses, noses, fancy clothes.  Thus, I found my spacial awareness as well as my awareness of my own clumsiness on high alert, careful not to knock over a tray of mini quiches or step on the trail of an $800 gown.  Definitely not the usual concerns I have during a performance, but it was a fascinating challenge as it unfolded.  (And yes, I made it through without injuring any party guests or their spiffy attire!).

As Rockwell elaborated on the temporary nature of his projects that moved from place to place, I thought of dance in context of as a performing art.  Dance is temporary in its essence as a performing art. Like music or theater, dance exists when it is physically being created and practiced. When the practice ends, the art ends.  As opposed to visual arts like painting and ceramics, which creates a product that is visitable, preservable, and tangible, no one can hold dance in their hands to keep forever.  I think that’s part of what makes it so organic and authentic, and why so many people can experience such emotional reactions to it.  When it is present, we can enjoy it fully in.  And, as was reiterated for me that night at the Building Museum, dance can happen anywhere, at anytime, with anyone.

Exploration is at the core of modern dance and improvisation. We explore the possibilities of our bodies, the space, and the interactions that come about by bringing all these elements into our dance as a whole.  And it’s at the core of every art form—creating something is a never ending journey of discovery and questioning.

I love that Rockwell used the word “play”—it reminded me that freedom and happiness are a huge part of creating anything.  And that we don’t have to take everything seriously all the time. Realizing how interchangeable these elements are between two seemingly separated approaches to art was one of my favorite parts of the night.  It gave me a big surge of happiness and a desire to play with my creativity. So, with his conclusion, it was off to energize the dance floor with party guests—and play we did.

Here are some clips of us in action:

A Night at the Building Museum: Notes from an evening of improvisation, Part I

With my new post as intern/apprentice at the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange (yes, it's kind of a big deal), I am finding myself in some awesome dance situations with some pretty talented people.  Not to mention that I've met Liz Lerman a couple times and share a desk space just a few feet from her.  Not kidding.  *Star struck*.  So, when a Dance Exchange company member was desperate for dancers for a site-specific improvisation at the National Building Museum, I jumped at the chance.  Performance opportunity? Check.  Site specific in a ridiculously gorgeous building that's a national gem? Check.  Affiliation with an internationally renowned company? Check.  Chance to meet fellow local dancers? Check. Free dinner? Check.  Hell yes, I'm in.

It was a super awesome experience so I naturally went to town with blog-ness.  It was so long we had to break it up into two parts, but here's how it all began ...

The following is cross-posted on the Dance Exchange Blog. They're doing some pretty cool stuff, I would browse around if I were you.

Tuxedos.  Floor-length gowns.  Cocktails.  Hors d’oeuvres. Draped tables.  And … wait? Is that a barefoot dancer over there?

Last night, I joined six other dancers in a site-specific improvisational commission at the National Building Museum’s annual Honor Award Gala.  It was a spontaneous performance for many of us—I myself found out about it a mere two hours beforehand—but it quickly became one of my most beautiful and memorable dancing experiences.

Totally unaware of the splendor of the Building Museum before this event, I found myself breathless when I first walked in.  If you’ve never been to the National Building Museum, get yourself there as soon as possible, and be sure to bring your camera.  Seriously.  Opening itself to a majestic floor-to-ceiling lobby almost the size of a football field across and 75 feet up, the space is divided by enormous ornate columns—some of the largest in the world.  Look up and twirl around and you’ll see the lobby lined with the buildings floors, fringed by arced décor that reminds of St. Marc’s basilica in Venice.

(photo by Daniel Zook)

As the cast made our way up, down, and around to get acquainted with the building, Dance Exchange company member Sarah Levitt explained that our task for the evening was to transition guests from one segment of the evening to the next through improvisation.  In our improvisation, she continued, we should make relationships with each other and the architecture and shapes of the edges, structures, and elements of the space. “This space is so amazing that really anything will look interesting,” she said in awe of the marbled columns and spanning Great Hall.  No argument on that one, Sarah.  I could tell immediately that a space like that was a dream for a dancer, especially in improvisation.  I was so excited!  Not only were we going to be able to use our bodies to explore the incredible architecture itself, but splashes of luminescent purple and green fabrics draped carefully as backdrops, artfully constructed plates of food, and a giant pyramid-shaped projector hanging from the ceiling were going to be part of our performance space.  Oh, and hundreds of people dressed as if they were walking the red carpet.

(photo by Daniel Zook)

One of the (many) things I love about modern dance is that it is easily removed from a recognizable dance environment and dropped right in the middle of pretty much any situation. In my days I’ve danced around benches along the street, on the quad of my college campus, and even around trees and mailboxes along a street in Italy.  Among party guests at the most glamorous event I’ve ever been to?  That was a new one for sure.  It was going to be a whole new ball game for me. Challenge accepted!

(photo by Daniel Zook)

Following a loose structure of spacing and theme for movement, we began the evening of improvisation by slithering our selves through the crowd of mingling guests, who spilled out of a cocktail room into the hallway during the first part of the event—a cocktail hour.  We slowly stacked ourselves in a line through the crowd, creating and shifting into shapes by relating to each other and the space. With surprised and curious reactions from party guests, we made our around and in between the conversations with shape-inspired movement.  Eventually we moved our way to corners and gaps in space in the hallway and in the party room, continuing to improvise with the space. As guests became more familiar with turning a corner to see a dancer along their path to the bar, we eventually became a part of the scenery that people seemed to enjoy.  Personally I received a few confused looks, but also many smiles, questions, and even a couple high fives as I struck a pose with a raised arm and flat (and apparently slappable!) hand.  I even had a few party guests imitate me as I twirled, posed, and spiraled my way past them, all in a fun and lively spirit.

Eventually, it was our task to help lead guests towards and down the stairs to the next part of the evening taking place in the lobby.  Using gathering and directional gestures, we helped point guests towards the stairs, and draped ourselves along the stairwell as they descended into the Great Hall.  We then welcomed the group into the lobby with joyful improvisation before we faded away to allow the evening’s official festivities to begin.

Our next appearance helped encourage guests to take their seats, we formed a festive structure called a second line, in which we followed behind a few horn-players from the evening’s New Orleans-style jazz band. Moving away from the abstract movement we know and love, we brought out the jazz hands, swinging legs, and sugar walks to capture the changed and elated energy of the live musicians interrupting the quiet mingling.  As we boogied to the staccato jazz, we each carried a few pieces of blue foam-like blocks in all shapes and sizes, taken from a work-in-progress structure of piled shapes.  We had taken them from an abstract structure sitting in the backdrop of the Great Hall (the evening’s keynote speaker explained later that these were pieces from a playground constructed in a devastated neighborhood as a part of a commissioned architectural project). After making our rounds, we playfully added our pieces to the structure and moved about the shapes, engaging in the parts and the whole as it came together.

Our last task was to encourage guests to enjoy the jazz band on the dance floor, as we were the first on the floor with snaps and claps, eventually bringing some guests to come enjoy the music with us. Once we got the group boogying, we left them to it and called it a night.

Part II will a elaborate on the evening’s keynote address about elements of play, which beautifully parallel concepts of dance.  Plus, I’ll post some video clips of us dancers in action!

America, the beautiful?

When I heard the news that Osama bin Laden was dead, I was scared and confused.  My mind was swimming with fear of retaliation and questions of what this meant for the war on terror and our troops overseas.  Trying to wrap my mind around the news, I quickly turned to CNN and listened intently to fill in the blanks that Twitter and Facebook statuses did not include.  Soon, coverage shifted from the newsrooms to DC streets, showing people literally run towards a quickly growing crowd in front of the White House cheering “U-S-A!”. 

Living in DC, it would have been easy for me to hop the metro to Pennsylvania Avenue to join what looked like half of the city in cheers.  However, I was in no state of mind to celebrate.  In fact, as I watched crowds of people pour onto the streets, my confusion deepened.  Utter joy and patriotism over a death?   I was shocked.  It seemed so unnatural.

No argument here that the world is better off without Osama bin Laden— he was a monster.  However, I don’t think any death, no matter who or under what circumstance, should be what brings a country together. I’m scared that we reacted in a comparable way to crowds in the Middle East who cheered as airplanes flew into the twin towers ten years ago.  For me, that was the most twisted part of that unforgettable day ten years ago. 

A more somber reaction to Osama bin Laden’s death would have served us much better in the eyes of the international community, for the sake of our foreign relations and for the sake of each other.  Instead of feeling patriotic, I feel disappointed in America.  I feel we’ve lost some of our dignity by showcasing to the world this kind of reaction—dignity that we are already working so hard to uphold.

I was also unsettled that many were declaring this event as the "end to the war on terror."  That is a dangerous perspective for us to have, and worries me that we were too easily blind-sighted by the significance of bin Laden's death that we temporarily lost sight of the bigger picture.  Thankfully, we're now hearing less talk of this as an end and more of as a means to an end and a point of transition for the war on terror, which I can agree with whole-heartedly. Though it's been said that al-Queda doesn't have the "smarts" to continue to carry out bin Laden's ideas as harshly, he does have a strong following who I have no doubt that we are making very angry right now.  So, we cannot have our guard down and appear easily distracted.  I say let's relish in this significant"victory", but not lose sight of what true "victory" would actually be for America, and for the world.  If one such true victory does exist.  Does it?

In his official announcement of bin Laden's death, our President, who I greatly respect, stated that "justice has been done." This statement soon become headlining and historical, summing up to a whole in four words.  Justice?  Really?  Is all right in the world now that Osama bin Laden is no longer living and breathing?

I know I cannot speak for those who lost family, friends, and coworkers on September 11^th.  I can only speak for those who, like me, lost their innocence and sense of security on that day, watching people jump from burning buildings from my middle school classroom and not quite understanding why.  But bin Laden's menacing operations and disturbing desires are still haunting all of our lives in some way,  so I am uneasy that we consider the demise of bin Laden as ‘justice’ for all suffering that was endured around the world.

Was this justice for bin Laden himself, though?  Perhaps. I understand the operation carried out in Abottabad was with the purpose of eliminating bin Laden.  I am still coming to terms with that whole concept of a justified murder in the hands of a government, which is odd because if I ask myself, "did he deserve it?", I answer with certainty, "yes."  So, I'm not sure why I'm still thrown off a little by the government's actions. What I do know, however, is that I have deep respect for the individuals who carried out the orders--for their bravery, skill, and risk they put forth to do what they felt they needed to make the world a safer place.  No matter my thoughts on military actions, of which I know I have little knowledge, my hat is always off to those who devote their lives to it.

It's times like this when I turn to (reliable) news sources, blogs, and conversations with and by my peers for help in wrapping my mind around such a historial moment. Luckily for me, I spend my days fishing through news sources for my real job, so I am in no shortage of discussion.  Also convenient for me, news has been all over young people (and vice-versa) involving Osama bin Laden's death, and what followed in the streets of America and college campuses.

It was pretty easy to notice the overwhelming majority of 20-somethings in celebrations all over the country (my tiny Ohioan alma mater even made an appearance on CNN), and the insurgence of young faces and voices has raised many eyebrows and theories in the media.  From what 9/11 meant to us to retaliation against accused apathy of our generation, people are reaching for explanations for this reaction--and some of them, I think, got it.  Maybe it's because I'm surrounded by news sources about young issues all the time these days, but this is the first time I can remember such a significant presence of young voices on a national issue in a long, long time.  But I'm not complaining about that.

This is obviously not done being talked about around the world for a long, long time, so I will continue to figure this out for myself with the help of comments, discussions, and op-eds that I stumble upon.  In the meantime, despite my confusion in my patriotism and the pride we hold as a country, I just hope we can get ourselves together and move forward calmly and rationally so we can continue towards a true end to the all of the terror this world faces.

At Least I Have Street Cred ... and a Snazzy Suit for April 27

This was originally posted on SparkAction.org, a journalism and youth advocacy online site.  Please follow this link to leave comments.  Thank you to all the websites, Twitter-ers, and blogs that picked this up!

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"The Millennial Generation (born 1980-2000) is the largest, most diverse, most open-minded, most tech-savvy, most eco-conscious generation in American history..." 

We are?! Golly gee, thanks! I'm blushing.

When I first read that quote from Van Jones & Lindsay McCluskey's Huffington Post article Graduating Off a Cliff: The Millenial Generation's Fight for Its Future, I gave myself a little pat on the back.  It was nice to hear my generation summed up with such compliments. So I kept reading:

"... Millennials are also the most unemployed, in debt and generally screwed over. Despite their desire to contribute to this country's greatness, Millennials may be the first generation in decades to face worse economic prospects than our parents and even grandparents."

Oh yeah, that.  Well, at least I have some bragging rights, right?   Do you think I could put my status as a Millennial on my resume?  But no, really.

I must admit, it was refreshing to read about my generation's dilemma right there in black and white for everybody to see in this article.  Take it from me: things are cut-throat out here in the job market. More than ever, where you end up relies more on luck of timing, place, and who you know than the degree and experience on your resume.

Considering the years of academic butt-kicking I have behind me, that is quite discouraging.  And this is coming from a girl who was privileged to go to a decent public school district and then immediately to a four-year, private, prestigious university, so I know that my struggles only chip the tip of this massive iceberg. That's what worries me the most about this whole thing.

My mother usually has advice for everything, but even she couldn't help me out much with this "real world" crisis.  I think this is true for many Millennials—our moms, dads, mentors, teachers,etc., entered the job market in an almost incomparably different market; even those older peers who graduated during past recessions or the dot com crash haven't seen it this bad, as recent data shows.

This crisis isn't just about income. Sure, we Millennials dream of the days we can be financially independent, and we'd love to see some money for investing and spending start to accumulate in our bank accounts.  But our ambitions go beyond the dollars—they extend to a desire to contribute to the economy and help make America the strong, pride-worthy country that we once were.  Amid the deficit, war and constant political battles, fundamental and physical infrastructures are falling slowly to pieces.  Without jobs, we can't help our country rebuild.

As Jones and McCluskey say:

"Young people and students aren't asking for any special favors or handouts. They just want the same opportunities that the Baby Boomers and other previous generations had: The opportunity to work hard, get an education, make a living and give their kids a better life. In short, a chance to live the American Dream."

Okay, so, we're "screwed over" as Van Jones put it.

What now, then? What do we do about it?

In part, Millennials, we gotta take this on ourselves.  This is new territory for everybody, and we have no choice but to charge into it. And when things don't work out, dust yourself off and try again (if you immediately started hearing Aaliyah's "Try Again" in your head after you read that, you're definitely a Millennial!) As Jones and McCluskey brag on our behalf (thanks, guys), this economic crisis has revealed the Millennials' steadfast attitude—and that we know how to persevere.

Young people have been speaking out more than ever, and it feels like the powers that be are really starting to listen. The Obama administration in particular has been taking young voices seriously, and allowing them a platform to interact with high-level officials who can actually get things done. I saw this firsthand at the National Youth Summit, an event run by the US Department of Education, which brought over 300 middle- and high-school students to Washington D.C. to share their concerns about education with White House and Department of Education staff, including the Secretary of Education Arne Duncan.

At the Summit, Duncan praised the proactive approach that students across the country are taking and said he hoped that we'll continue to mobilize to get our voices heard in a grassroots fashion (watch Alberto Retana, organizer of the Summit and Director of Community Outreach in the Department of Education, talk more about the White House's hopes for young voices in action here). 

To keep the Summit from being a one-off, the White House has launched a "100 Youth Roundtables" initiative, which encourages young people to get together to talk about relevant issues with a promise that a White House official (maybe even President Obama himself) will make an appearance. They also regularly hold online town halls and live discussions on social media sites like Facebook. 

This is not only in line with the technology-driven times; these are also actions that make participation accessible and appealing to my generation, tech-savvy (and tech-dependent) as we are.  Screens, in all shapes and sizes, are how my generation gets our information and how we interact with each other. Whether or not you agree with what they're saying, the fact that our country's leadership—in the administration and in Congress—is using technology in innvoative ways is both refreshing and much-needed.

Heads Up: Briefcase Brigades!

So, we're putting our smarts to action and are ready to be taken seriously. The "perfect storm" of technology, economic crisis and young talent is leading to, among other things, some pretty creative protest. 

On April 27, Millennials around the country will take part in a super cool, youth-led event called the Briefcase Brigades.

Now, Millennials can't get the credit for the whole idea of the Briefcase Brigades—an event in 1970 in which lawyers stormed Washington to argue President Nixon's decisions on the Vietnam War was coined with the same name.  However, this is the first time that a Briefcase Brigade will take the form of a demonstration, and the suits will be worn by cleaned-up, young, unemployed Americans as a symbol of their readiness to be employed but disappointment that jobs are being cut. 

I can just imagine how it will look: Millennials looking all fancy and professional as they demonstrate for jobs.  It'll be a powerful a visual representation of what the economy is missing out on by having an under-employed Millennial generation. 

And while the Brigade won't solve the fiscal problems that our nation is facing, it will make a statement and help ambitious, energetic young people  make connections and get information to stay actively involved. It can spark some fresh new thought about what we need to do legislatively to invest in jobs and the future.  Because guess what, America?  We're all going to have to take action. The Millennial generation IS your future.  Ready or not, here we come.  And we're armed ... with briefcases.

Get all the details on the Briefcase Brigade on the official website and prepare to get super excited about the event from this "trailer":

Note: If you've been paying attention to the date, The Briefcase Brigades are tomorrow. I'll be there looking fancy with camcorder in hand, in hopes of talking to some fellow Millennials about their plans to attack this job crisis with grace and smarts. Here's my follow-up!

All-Star

I'm so sporty.

As I promised myself I would do, I bought a bike this weekend.  I went the economical way and bought used, and I think scored a pretty good deal.  Can't wait to get my bike on!  Since I like to name things, after I've ridden it a few more times, I will refer to it with a name and as "her" or "him".   Silly it is, but it makes me grow affectionate to my gadgets/modes of transport.  Which, to me, helps me feel better about the money and time I put into using them, and provides for fun jokes.  I have already fondly dubbed my car "Oliver" (/"Lafonda the Honda" when he gets real sassy) and my GPS "Donna", and we tight.

I'm not an athlete.  Anything involving running and balls are great to watch, but getting on a field or court frankly scares the heckle deckle out of me.  So, I did what any sensible girly-girl would do and joined an adult kickball league.  Ha. But I had my first game this week and it was a total blast!   Rules were loose, seriousness was way down, and sportsmanship was all around.  I seriously can't think of a better way of geting out of my comfort zone than mixing the game with friends, a boombox, jorts, and beer. And not only did I play the field for 3 innings, but I also kicked and made it to first base, and we dominated the game 6-1.  Just watch, I'm gonna be a pro by the end of the season.  And I'm going to wear jorts and I'm going to like it!

My involvement in sports greatly heightened my good times this weekend-- after a downtown party for the kickball league last night, I found myself at a DC United soccer game with some teammates. Not only was it a perfect spring night for a game, but the stadium was beautiful and full of devoted fans.  There were painted faces, ginormous flags, and one guy who circled around the upper levels with a bass drum, carrying the rhythm of the entire stadium's cheers.  D-C UNITED! clap clap, clapclapclapclap!  I'm finding a big perk of living in a big city is that there are teams in the major leagues to root for.  What a concept (sorry, Rochester Red Wings ...)!  There was extra excitement for us last night because a high school classmate of friends I was with had been drafted for DC United and started in the game.  Pretty amazing for them to see a friend on the field with the pros, including one particular one.  Oh yes, to my surprise and excitement, playing for last night's opponent, the LA Galaxy, was the only male soccer player I have heard of, obviously because he is uber famous (and hot).  Can you guess?  Why yes, it was DAVID BECKHAM.  Here he is in my stalker-ish photo, thanks to my 12x zoom lense:

*Girly squeal!*  I was way too far up to see any of his specimen-like bod, but it made things a little more exciting nonetheless. At one point, after a rough tumble, he almost started a fight with someone.  Ooo, male aggression.  I was there to support DC United, though, so I was eventually able to tear my eyes away from Beckham to follow the ball (and watch my friends' classmate make some good plays!).  It was a great game, and with a penalty kick in the last minute, DC United tied it up for a draw.  Fans went wild!

And to end the evening of sports, a group of us partook in the most intense, competitive, and skill-requiring game of all:  Catchphrase.  Now that's my kind of game.

Weeee(k)!

This week's been a rollercoaster:

WIN

Valentine's Day.  I wore my Rachel Berry-esque shirt with hearts all over it, and arrived home to flowers & Godiva chocolates from the far-way BF.  Big smiles :)

FAIL

Unreliable Ride-On Bus.

WIN

Survived a Congressional policy brief on Capitol Hill.

FAIL

Metal detector in the Senate office building for said meeting.  3 times through, three layers of clothes down, until I was in my not-so appropriate sleeveless tank.  Damn blazer buckle.

WIN

Annie's Mac & Cheese on sale for $1/box on my first visit to the local co-op grocery.

WIN
60's and sunny!  Mumblings of 70 for the weekend!

FAIL + FAIL

My terrible sense of direction getting me lost on foot in Bethesda + the policeman that furthered my dilemma by giving me wrong directions.

WIN

DC salsa dancers.

FAIL

Missing the very small sign that announced the closing hours of the parking garage in which I parked my car and then left until past said closing hours.

WIN

Kind cabbie let me pay less than what the meter said.

FAIL

Recurring body-jolting hiccups.

WIN + WIN

Lady Gaga + Cee-Lo & Gwenyth Paltrow

FAIL 

The simultaneous lack of both Nutella & peanut butter in my kitchen.

What do you mean it's only Wednesday?

One Saturday Morning

I got my first piece of mail at my new address!  I love it because in addition to the fact that it's from my loverly friend Brittany who I haven't seen for ages, it's a letter.  A what, you say?  Yes, an old-fashioned, hand-written letter with a pretty little stamp.  After years and years of email, it is so nice to actually hold some tangible communication in my hand.  There is definitely something about it that I will to continue to appreciate, especially as the anticipation of receiving contact from people decreases as our instant gratification increases with smart phones and the like. Oh, and the letter is written in scribbly cursive.    How cute is she?

Last night, I had the chance to see my friends who live in the city and check out the downtown nightlife.  This was lamely the first weekend that I actually turned off the Discovery Channel, stood up my lazy butt, and got out like a normal 20-something since I moved here.  It was fun to squeeze 5 people into a cab, discuss crocodiles and midgets with our cabbie, and walk past strips of trendy bars.  Despite the hot, sweaty, smelliness of the crowded club we chose and the $5 beer ("welcome to DC" was the response to my dismay of my debit card receipt), we were able to boogie to some old school tunes.  It was a refreshing change from the generally bad quality pop music usually heard in clubs.  A segment of our sing-along soundtrack went something like:
"my anaconda don't want none unless you got buns hun!" --> "I don't wanna lose your love toniight!" --> "I traveled the world and the seven seas, everybody's looking for somethin"--> "I can call you betty and betty when you call me you can callll meee allllll" -->"bum, bedaboomdop! don't stop til' you get enough!"
... Yeah, I have no idea what those MJ lyrics are.  Does anybody, really?

As my sister would say, noyce.

The evening ended with a very nervous taxi ride.  For those of you who grew up in the 'burbs, you know what I mean.  Riding in a car with a stranger at 2am is bad enough--the fact that I had no idea where I was in terms of orientation to my apartment made me revert to referencing the hours of SVU I watched in my first week here.  This guy could have driven me to Georgia and I wouldn't have known.  I thought I was in the clear until he started asking me where he should turn.  Eek.  After a couple U-turns, we magically came about a street I recognized and was somehow able to navigate him.  But dear lawd, nerves were a-jumping.

Happy Weekend!

I'm a big girl now

Things I did in the past 24 hours that I am proud of:

- killed an ENORME daddy-long-legs.  it was terrifying and disgusting and I will spare you the details.  let's just say it died in more pieces than Rupert & Wanda, and it was not fun going at it alone.
- took the bus to work, and arrived early.
- got hooked up to a 2-monitor computer.  schmancy!
- didn't have to double check the metro map to find out which route I was taking.  I knew.
- took the metro.
- changed my shoes on the metro.
- went to a college alumni event, wore a name tag with my year on it, networked, collected business cards. So adult.
- bought a SmarTrip card that can get me on the metro and busses with an easy swipe.
- used said SmarTrip card.
- in the dark, got off the right stop from the bus without having to ask the bus driver.  though he did look kind.
- ordered my own business cards.

woot.

It starts.

I keep trying to start this entry but I am so distracted by the renewed presence of cable TV in my life,  I have had this "new post" page up for 45 minutes.  It's the third episode in a row of SVU... thank you USA! 

Okay, let's go! (2 hours later) ...

Welp, this is it. The starting of the next pod of life.  Up the hill I go.  I packed up my life into boxes, said goodbye to the home in which grew up, and drove my car to new city to start an internship at an organization I know very little about.  The adventure began right at the start.  After a drudge-like drive on a snowy route 15, we arrived at my new address.  And there was no light to be seen. Yep, there was no power in the house due to the snowstorm.  So, we carried my boxes, bin of shoes, bags of clothes, and more bags of clothes into an apartment that I still hadn't seen.  That was a little unsettling, but it seemed nice in the dark.  With the possibility of a cold night ahead of us, we took a drive around the neighborhood and wound up driving down Capitol Avenue, with the Capitol building right in front of us.  Pretty cool.  Then the Washington and Jefferson monuments showed up.  This is when I realized that I really was living in Washington DC.  It was a pretty crazy feeling (spending the next day walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, taking the bus and metro, and perusing dinosaur fossils at the Smithsonian helped too).  And when we arrived back from our drive, the power was back!  The warmth and lights returned and I was able to take a real look at the place, and it is beyond adorable.

And now here I sit, in a cozy, colorful, and well-decorated basement apartment that is the perfect little perch for a girl like me.  And ironically, like my last apartment, the walls in each room are painted a different bold color--my bathroom is purple, bedroom is yellow, and my kitchen is a lovely, smokey blue.  I even have fancy wood coat hangers, foldable closet-style doors to my bathroom, a lap table for TV dinners, and a red teapot.  Totes adorbs:

My entranceway.

Fancy hangers, paper lamp, coats, & boots.

Kitchen.

Tea & dinner tray.  I'm a grandma.

Cash Cab is on!