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Showing posts from February, 2011

Code Orange

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Photo by adactio via Flickr In honor of Valentine's Day, I'd like to share a cautionary tale of love and woe.  Last week, I caught up with some former coworkers for dinner and drinks.  While we were there, we ran into another former coworker who had a "friend" in tow.  This "friend" had just opened up a business in the area and was looking to do some promotion.  I've long wanted to do some freelance consulting, so I gave him my card.  Little did I know what was to come . . . The following day, at my desk, I got a phone call from The Friend.  He wanted to set up an appointment to discuss what I could help with.  And then he dropped the other bomb. He really wanted to get the contact information for one of my friends who was at dinner that night "for business purposes."  Since she hadn't specifically given it to him, I said I'd have to ask her first, or he could find it on the organization's website.  I pinged my friend and she

Remembering A Hero

Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.                                                                    --Dr. Seuss Sometimes it's hard to believe how fast time passes.  I don't really feel any older.  High school feels like yesterday . . . when in reality, I graduated almost 18 years ago.  I was reminded of the passage of time today when I saw a friend's Facebook post remembering one of our teachers.  Mr. Campbell died 17 years ago today, and yet it feels like it just happened.  Mr. Campbell was one of a kind.  He taught sociology in a way that was so far ahead of its time.  He always treated us like adults, even when we didn't act like them.  He was honest and thoughtful and tolerant beyond belief.  No other teacher tried to understand us, tried to know us, tried to really reach us, the way that he did.  I had the pleasure of taking his class my senior year.  It was a class that was so coveted, students would fight to get placed in it. 

Flashed in Flash

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"Have you ever been flashed?" WH asked me tonight.  "No," I started to say . . . and then I remembered a time when, in fact, I had been flashed.  I think it was so traumatic I blocked it out of my memory.  But now it's back, so you get to hear all about it.  At the beginning of my sophomore year of college, my family and I were driving back to my school in the middle-of-nowhere Ohio.  My parents were in the front car and my sister and I were following them, cruising along, top down, in my beloved Mustang , Flash.  I had recently procured a CD of TV show theme songs from the 70s and 80s, and we were singing along at the top of our lungs to The Facts of Life theme song (the irony of this is not lost on me).  Suddenly my sister started screaming.  "Look, look!  That man is showing us his . . ." and lo and behold, driving next to us in a beat up old sedan was a creepy pervert driving with one hand (going somewhere around 70 mph, no less) while the othe

Here's the Kicker

In the context of a project we were working on, my boss was telling me a story today about a party she was at with Supreme Court Justice Breyer.  You know, a typical Washington story.  I'll bet you'd never guess where this party was?  If you guessed at The Watergate, you'd be right on the money.  Because where else do you suppose Supreme Court Justices party? This got me thinking about a party I attended with a Supreme Court Justice.  Yeah, that's right, I'm from Washington and I can name drop too! A few years back, the organization I worked for was having its annual conference, and Sandra Day O'Connor was scheduled to speak.  It was customary to invite the speakers to attend the receptions, but they never actually did.  Flash forward to the reception: I was waiting in the receiving line with some of my colleagues to greet and congratulate the president of our board of directors.  It was nearly our turn when this little old lady walked up and cut in line in fr