WashingTina

I love this city. I love it more than I can find words to express.  There are so many awesome things to do, see, and experience here.  None more exciting than the inauguration of the President.  The peaceful transfer of power, the pomp and circumstance never fails to make me feel proud of my country. Every four years, the eyes not just of our country, but of the world, are turned toward Washington to witness history.  This year, I was lucky enough to attend the inaugural ball, to see the President and First Lady up close, sharing their first dance.  It was literally the greatest night I can think of (besides my own wedding ).  I'm going to be high about it for weeks. My exciting experience, and the incredible luck of being able to participate in something so special, got me reflecting on just how fortunate I am to live in this city.  It's easy to forget, when you hear from your friend on the Hill that they had a lunch meeting with the Speaker (of the...

I can't stop thinking about Malala . A little girl who wanted something as simple as an education. And yet, there is nothing simple about education. This I know.  I have education in my blood. My mother was a teacher and school board member. I was a teacher. I work for an education organization still. It's the family business, so to speak. Education has sustained me my entire life -- and yet, I never had to fight for it, worry about dying for it. It was always a given. Not so for Malala and girls like her in many corners of the world. This brave young woman -- still a child, already an activist -- has so frightened a bunch of grown men with her outspoken fervor for learning that she's now fighting for her life. Because with education comes so much more. Power, potential, freedom . . . and I guess that scares some people. Malala, even before the attack that left her fighting for her life in a British hospital, was a symbol for the rights of girls to go to ...

WH and I were at happy hour this evening when we happened upon one of the most annoying characters in the human species.  A character that I like to call the "Bourbon and Cigarettes* Girl."  This woman (not a girl, I suppose) is ever-present wherever people gather.  She is never alone, and she is always loud.  Always. She has that voice that sounds like she's been drinking a bottle of bourbon and smoking a pack of cigarettes a day.  Slightly gravelly, full of vibrato (and for that matter, bravado), deep, and throaty.  You know this woman.  She is the one at the Chinese restaurant, surrounded by friends (all of whom seem to have been striken mute or speak in inaudible tones barely above a whisper), regaling them (and all the tables around her) with full-volume stories of how, "oh.my.god. I was so drunk the other night and I was totally hooking up with this guy, but he didn't want to stay over, because I live in Arlington and he lives in Capitol Hill, ...

It's the Olympics again, and as it does every go 'round, it brings with it delusions of grandeur (see here ).  The Summer Olympics are even worse for me, considering that I played many of the sports, including gymnastics, swimming, field hockey, and soccer.  But I think where I really could've been a contender is in diving.  Ever since I first jumped off the board at age four, I really had something special in me. When I was maybe 13, I joined the diving team at my summer pool.  Two of my friends were on the team, plus diving meets had a way better snack bar than at the swimming meets.  It was a natural fit.  Except that you needed four or five dives in order to really be a contender, and mostly I could just do a front and back dive.  That didn't stop me from trying, though.  I'd get up, do the one-two-three step approach (I mean, hey, even if I wasn't every good, at least I could go through the very professional motions) and give it my all....

I was sitting at dinner tonight with friends of a certain age (and by "a certain age," I mean my age), discussing great concerts.  Somehow the topic of procuring concert tickets came up.  In today's age of getting online and clicking a button, the machinations that the rest of us went through to get tickets back in "the olden days" (aka the 90s) seem slightly ridiculous.  Or nostalgic.  Whichever, depending on your certain age. Sure, you might've taken the easy route by pressing speed dial with the Ticketmaster 800 number, but the die-hard amongst us took a more drastic step.  Take for instance a certain concert in 1998.  The Tibetan Freedom Concert , right here in D.C. Any self-respecting 22 year old needed to see this show.  Spanning two days and with a lineup including the Beastie Boys, Radiohead, Sean Lennon, Mutabaruka, Money Mark, A Tribe Called Quest, Dave Matthews Band, Sonic Youth, Nawang Khechog, Wyclef Jean, Herbie Hancock and the Headhun...

For years, WH has said I remind him of Elaine Benes from Seinfeld.  Played by the incomparable Julia Luis-Dreyfuss, I always took it as a compliment.  Of course, he also always teases me about my abnormally large head.  Devotees of Seinfeld will know where I'm going with this, but for the rest of you, just read on.  Ever since we moved last month, I've had largely uneventful walks to and from work each day.  Aside from one day when I saw a hipster bend over and his pants fall down revealing a little bit of buttcrack, there hasn't been anything really out of the ordinary.  Until today, of course.  I was walking the four blocks to my office, in a state somewhere between lost in thought and caffeine-deprived, when it happened.  A bird.Flew.Into.My.Head. It was one of those this-would-only-happen-to-me moments.  I'm pretty sure I jumped up in the air, flapped my arms and muttered something along the lines of, "Jesus Christ!" I can tell you th...

Today we lost a giant.  We, those of us who trade in words, make words our lives, worship at the altar of words, lost a giant.  Nora Ephron, she of When Harry Met Sally , among others, changed the way women talk in movies, the way people talk in movies. And for that we will never be the same. This got me thinking about words and reading and writing, and where I might be without those who came before me.  I found my voice because of the imprints of those who wrote ahead of me and those who taught me to love words.  I remember when I fell in love with reading, and by virtue of that, words and writing.  Third grade .  My favorite teacher, Miss Massey (along with my parents), pushed me to read more.  It was important.  Our classroom had a "bookworm," Sylvester, who grew each time one of us read a book.  Sylvester "lived" on the wall and grew by one "circle" for each book a kid in our class read.  By the end of the year, he stretched aroun...