Barb’s Burblings

It’s 11:15 on a Friday night and instead of doing something fun, like seeing a movie or playing Super Mario Bros. or watching John Oliver’s stand-up show, I’m working. (Or, you know, taking a break from working.) I have a freelance project that’s due Monday. I’ve had this to work on since December 22. So there I was with a choice: Work on it over the holidays, when I theoretically had more time, or wait until now.

Naturally I waited. I’m a procrastinator at heart, but this was less a case of just putting it off and more making a conscious decision to not worry about it until this week. I had a busy week off–dentist appointment, trip to the Newseum, gathering with friends, cleaning. I wound up with really not much time to sit around and do nothing, and I grabbed at that chance. I spent last Sunday watching a 6-hour documentary about Monty Python, laying on my couch in my pajamas. It was so worth it.

But it is a trade-off. I was asked to take on another project. I could definitely use the money, but I had such an incredibly busy December that I figured my sanity was worth it. I needed some time without work hanging over my head like that. But it’s a hard decision to make, because it really is gratifying getting that check. (The work itself isn’t too bad, either. Generally.)

Similarly, I also need to finish Anna Karenina for my book club on Monday. I have a good 300 pages to go. Plus this project. Plus volunteering both tomorrow AND Sunday. And then I went and got a ticket to see The Fantasticks tomorrow night. A little crazy? Sure. But I want to see it and it closes this weekend. And this way, I have a good 3-hour window in which to read between finishing at Ford’s and heading to Arena. There’s a method to my madness.

But again, having fun tomorrow means focusing tonight. And break’s over.

I realized something this afternoon. I’ve been going over a few conversations I had this weekend, trying to figure out why they were sticking with me. It’s not like they were about anything particularly deep or personal…and then I realized it’s because they didn’t totally skate on the surface.

I’ve met a lot of people over the past couple of weeks, and everyone’s been very nice and I’ve hit it off with a few people, which is great. (Huzzah! I do have some social skills! I’m not forever doomed to standing around awkwardly, though I do continue to excel at that.) I found myself talking to someone whom I hadn’t talked to much, and what strikes me in retrospect is that the conversations went a bit deeper than what I’m used to when talking to someone I don’t know. Or even, really, people I do know. We didn’t get into anything particularly personal, but instead of just staying on the edges of a topic, we went into it. It wasn’t, “Who’s your favorite president?” but “Why?” “What interests you about that?” “How do you feel about this?” “Why do you think that is?” (Though not at much of an interrogation as it might sound.) Maybe it helped that there was an age gap; maybe he’s just better at making conversation than me. (This wouldn’t take much.)

But it makes me think about how shallow a lot of my conversations can be, even with close friends. Not that I don’t have more in-depth discussions, but it’s rare that a conversation about something not personal made me think–actually challenged me a bit.

Now, don’t get me wrong–I also prize my conversation about Doctor Who and traveling the world. But having a more in-depth conversation…it’s almost like college again, you know? In a good way.

One of my favorite charities is DonorsChoose. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s a website where teachers submit requests for money for specific projects for their classes. You search for one you like and give whatever amount suits you. I usually give to projects involving history and/or theater. (One project was for kids to see plays, one of which was about Jackie Robinson. Total win!) And if you’re the one who completes a project, you get thank-you letters from the students, pictures, and a note from the teacher. It’s fun. Plus, it totally breaks down exactly where your money is going and there are charts of where you’ve donated (for example, I’ve given exclusively to high poverty schools, and mostly grades 3-5). You can search by topic or location or highest need or projects that are close to completion. Anyway. It’s cool.

I gave money a while ago to a teacher who wanted to buy books about the American Revolution for her students, one of which was My Brother Sam Is Ded, which I read in elementary school and still own. I recently got the thank-you notes. They were all very nice; they obviously were working off a template, so everyone had the same first and last paragraphs, but each could write about which book he or she was reading, its plot, and why he or she likes it. (Not liking it is obviously not an option.) Some of the answers are adorable:

I like this book because it’s about a war and it tells you about a boy who goes and fights people. I also like this story because it has shooting in it.

I like this book because a kid is finally in charge of adults. Next, I want to see if the dad’s son can be brave. Finally, I like Social Studies.

I like this book because I really like it when colonists or British tell stories of how they won the war.

This book helps me understand about how life was like back then, it was simple yet hard and parents did not take any [business? laziness?]. The character Sam is a little like me because I get into silly little arguements with my father, he said I would make a good lawyer someday.

But a couple really got me:

I like this book because I like fighting and wars. Another reason I like this is cause my father was in a war when he was younger. I don’t think he got hurt.

Also, I like this story because it teachers about the Revolutionary War. I also had a relative who went to the Army and changed when he came back.

I stayed a bit late at work on Monday because I had my book club that night, and we weren’t meeting for dinner until 6. I figured I’d leave around 5:15. So I sat at my desk working, vaguely aware of people leaving, tossing off a casual goodbye as the people around me took off. I wound up heading to the Silver Spring Metro around 5:10. The platform was full of people waiting for trains going either direction. I made my way down the platform; I’d be going to Gallery Place, and the exit I wanted to take would be at the back of the train. But the signs weren’t indicating any approaching trains, and in the announcement, I could make out the words “Shuttle bus” so I decided to take a bus.

(Side note about the ride itself. It followed Georgia Avenue, and I noticed this fun spelling of the word “Georgia” at one of the stops.

Click to enlarge, then marvel! People, hire proofreaders.)

It wasn’t until I got to the restaurant and Becca called that I started to get an inkling of what was going on. She was the one who told me about the collision; she was the one who said that people had died. My companions went to their iPhones for details; we fielded calls from family.

The city wasn’t sure how to work without the Red Line. There were long lines at bus stations up and down 16th St. I squeezed onto one, and just in the nick of time–we had to pass stops because the bus was full. (I also got to deal with a fun young woman. We were all packed into the aisle of the bus and she was standing in front me, passively-aggressively bitching into her phone how men wouldn’t give their seats up for her. [You know, because she's a woman.] The guy next to where she was standing said that he had his hips replaced, which she related to her friend, then said, “But that doesn’t explain why the guy next to him isn’t giving up his seat.” Because clearly that would be super easy to maneuver. After a few minutes of this, I finally said something like, “Why should they? You seem to be fine” and she was all, “That’s just how I was raised, we don’t all have to think the same about this,” and I was like, “You’re right.” We gradually made our way back in the bus as people got off and a seat opened near me. She was totally gunning for it, and I gestured for her to take it. She responded to this by saying, “That’s why you don’t have a man.” And then spent the next 5 minutes bitching about me to her friend, taking particular triumph when I myself sat down. Good times!)

Anyway. I made it home and saw the coverage on tv and was thankful that I was safe. Because who would take of my cats if something happened to me? Colin isn’t the easiest to love.

Then, Tuesday morning at around 10:55 we get an email. There’s an emergency all-staff meeting. In 5 minutes. We immediately know that someone from the office was involved in the accident. Standing around the conference room, I look around, looking for the people I know well. The room is pretty much silent. Then the CEO came and said that one of the crash victims was Mandy Doolittle. Mandy, whose office is literally across from my cube. Mandy, whom I had distractedly said goodbye to the evening before. Mandy, whose laughter annoyed me, but was so sweet, so caring, so lovely, so interested in other people, and so quick to laugh that I couldn’t help but like. We weren’t close (except for the physical proximity of our workspaces), but…what? How?

It’s not a surprise that someone from my office would’ve been on one of the trains. Heck, one person in my department was on one of the trains behind the trains that crashed. But there’s something just incredibly surreal about it. Seeing her picture on the cover of the Post? Having the news come to video some of us and the memorial someone set up? You know that obviously there were victims, victims who had family and friends and coworkers. But it’s not supposed to be someone you know. It drives home the whole “You never know” concept. Because…it could’ve been me. Easily.

I grieve for Mandy and her friends and family. Though we’re used to coworkers disappearing through normal turnover, there’s something so incredibly different about this. There’s no sticky on her door saying when she’ll be back.

Instead, there’s a sticky on the door with a heart on it.

Overall, I’m pleased with how President Obama is doing. Sure, I’m not happy with the whole “Don’t ask, don’t tell” thing, but for the most part, he’s doing OK. However, I was not pleased to see this headline in the Washington Post the other day: “Obama signs bill to create Reagan centennial panel.” I’m sorry, what? No no no no no.

From the article:

Obama invoked the 40th president’s trademark optimism, calling him a leader who understood that the bonds that unite Americans are stronger than the disagreements that divide them, the political parties included. He also said Reagan’s sunny outlook was sorely needed during a difficult time of economic and global challenges.

OK, no. Optimism is no reason to salute the guy. Obama should in no way give any encouragement to that group of whack jobs who want to rename everything in the world for Ronald Reagan. (I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with “Reagan” Airport. It’s “National Airport.”) He doesn’t need a SECOND $1 coin; he’s getting one along with all the other presidents. Good Lord. I guess I should be happy that they’re not trying to give him the $20 or something (though I’m sure someone somewhere is). Dude was not that good a president. Kudos to Obama for the whole bipartisan thing, but…no. Stop it.

And while I’m being vaguely political, I recommend checking out the op-ed Richard Clarke wrote for the Post last week. And then watching this clip from the Daily Show:

They may seem completed unrelated, but the most recent batch of kittens at the Itty Bitty Kitty Committee and the new sitcom Community inspire similar feelings in me.

See, those kittens are possibly the most cute things in the world. Even knowing that a) they would have to leave eventually; b) I have two cats of my own, who are pretty darn cute; and c) even if I didn’t have cats, I live on the other side on the country so logistically couldn’t adopt the kittens, I was still totally bummed when they left. Luckily there will pictures of the Lovejoys for a while, but it makes me sad. They’re so adorable! I want them!

And thus it is with John Oliver, the British correspondent on The Daily Show. He’s been cast in Community, which has been picked up. Now, that’s a good thing–he’s seriously funny and the show looks pretty good. (Joel McHale is awesome!) But that means he’s probably leaving TDS, which sucks. I’ll miss him on the show, and he’ll be moving across the country. Which, naturally, lessens the possibility that we’ll meet, fall in love, get married, and have babies. Boo!

Now, naturally, I don’t believe that will happen. Not even should he stay in New York working on The Daily Show forever, coming down to DC on occasion. I think it’s sort of like buying lottery tickets; it’s not that people expect to win, but man, it’s fun to fantasize about it happening. But then something like him getting cast in a sitcom is like taking away the Lovejoys…it doesn’t really affect me directly, but does make me a little sad.

(Of course, after I heard the casting news, I saw on John Oliver’s MySpace page that he’s listed as “In a relationship.” Of course. Sigh.)