Change is in the Air.

The election results have finally sunk in. We're going to have a President Obama. I thought I would post an email that I wrote to my brother on November 5, 2008. I think it sums up what I was feeling right after the election: shock, delight, hope, anticipation, patriotism, pride, joy.

Here it is, unchanged:


"I am still in shock. Speechless. Awed and proud and patriotic. I am incredibly touched by what a huge moment in history this is, by the fact that we are a part of this movement that is bigger than ourselves. Obama is its leader, but he is also a product of it.

After watching the returns come in last night, and hearing Obama's acceptance speech, I went down to the White House with some friends and was amazed to see a crowd of tens of thousands of people already there. The atmosphere was electric. People were cheering, cars were honking, there was singing and laughter and so much energy. Strangers hugged and high-fived. We even sang a few choruses of "na na na na, hey hey hey, good-byyyyyyye" toward the White House (and I even heard some audio of us singing on NPR this morning -- definitely recognized my friend's voice so I know it was us!). It was unbelievable. The city was SO electric. Everyone really senses that change is in the air! I even hugged my newspaper guy this morning -- people are just so happy. I am so happy. Happy and SO PROUD."


Alright. Tis the season of Hope and Change. DC is definitely a good place to be right now. :)

Done and DONE!!

LSAT = out of my life. Booyeah.

I am slightly overwhelmed at the prospect of having more free time than I know what to do with, now that the 1.5 months of studying are behind me. Finally I can rid myself of the guilt complex that I had every time I would go to happy hour, thinking "damn, I should be reviewing right now...".

I think I shall fill the time drinking heavily. And riding the sweet new bike. And perhaps just sitting on my butt. Doing crossword puzzles.

I realized when I was back home in Denver that living in DC seems to bring out the Type-A side of my personality. Ick. While that was all well and good for making me very diligent about studying, I think my summer goal is to totally decompress and get back to the pattern of SoCal slackerdom I cultivated to perfection at Pomona.

Totally Irrelevant Interlude.

It's a slow work day. Ever since college, time spent on Facebook seems to be inversely correlated with time spent doing meaningful things. Naturally, I've spent longer than I should have this morning pining for more people to change their profiles. Tis a sad state of affairs when I'm trapped in a windowless office with no means of occupying my brain except for doing LSAT problems (which, at this point, cause my gag reflex to immediately kick in...).

I guess I have no real reason to post these, other than they amuse me, and therefore will amuse you. There's no agenda to the post, I have nothing insightful to say about online social networking, and I don't have a corresponding funny anecdote to relate.

Enjoy the distraction!

Two Weeks and Counting!!

I was doing some LSAT prep last night, and stumbled across this review question:

"Which one of the following persons might not be spoken of favorably on the LSAT?

A. An Eskimo priest

B. A Mexican sculptor

C. a female activist

D. a white Protestant businessman

E. an African environmentalist"

No, I didn't make that up, and no, I don't think it's a joke. Not that it isn't true -- the LSAT is notorious for its self-conscious efforts to be PC -- but come on. Seriously?! If you don't have the common sense to figure that one out without a practice question, then you don't deserve to be a lawyer in the first place. Just my two cents.

Speaking of the LSAT, it is two weeks away from today. That is both terrifying and amazingly exciting. Either way, precisely fourteen days from this EXACT MOMENT, I will be recovering from the four hours of testing by going to the Indigo Girls concert in the Denver Botanic Gardens. I can imagine it now... drinking a bottle of wine single-handedly, staring at the expansive Western sky, and forgetting that I ever learned what a contrapositive was. Ah, now that's the life.

Two more weeks and counting... 

(As yes, I do realize that being uber-pumped for the IG concert makes me a 15-year old lesbian. At least I won't get made fun of on the LSAT!!)

A Friendly Solicitation... ;)

I truly don't want to harass anyone, but in case you are interested in supporting my new adventure... http://pages.teamintraining.org/nca/nattri08/kwamboldt

An Omen.

Regardless of who you're rooting for, this is pretty funny:

"Hillary Clinton's pick to win horse racing's Kentucky Derby, Eight Belles — the only female horse in the race — finished second, broke both front ankles, and subsequently was put to death on the track. The first place horse was Big Brown. Go nuts." (wonkette.com)

"To Err Is Human, But It Feels Divine."

In the theme of updating its message, a Vatican spokesperson announced the addition of seven new deadly sins to add to the list of no-nos. In addition to the classics (Pride, Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, Lust, Sloth, Greed), recovering Catholics like myself now have these new friends to avoid/feel guilty for failing to avoid!!

1. Polluting

2. Genetic engineering

3. Obscene riches

4. Taking drugs

5. Abortion

6. Pedophilia

7. Causing social injustice

(Did they really have to specify that abortion was a deadly sin? I mean, it's not like the Vatican's stance on that is unclear or anything... but I digress.)

To celebrate, my friend Laura is throwing a Fourteen Deadly Sins party. Proper theme party etiquette dictates that you wear a costume, so I've been tossing around ideas today at work. Let's just say this lead to a little inappropriate g-chatting, excerpted below:

***
laura: i want you to be pollution
me: if you have plastic cups there
me: then everyone can be pollution!!
laura: true
[Her away message changes to: i would expect no less from krys "if you have plastic cups there then everyone can be pollution!!"]

***
me: that wasn't the one i picked though
laura: what'd you pick
me: causing economic injustice
me: i'll be the monopoly man, and wear a top hat and monocle

***
me: my first idea was to actually BE a sloth
me: and put on three huge nails
me: and JJ thought i wouldn't be able to drink
me: so i shot that down

laura: ewww

me: dude
me: how else would you dress as a sloth?!

***

laura: brandon and i threw around a pedophile costume
me: i veto it
me: even without hearing it
me: i veto it

***

laura: i hope no one comes as abortion
me: i certainly hope not
me: if there's a tasteful way to dress up as abortion, i have yet to hear it
laura: someone could bring a baseball bat and be the aborter
me: i think you need to research how abortions are actually performed, hon
laura: someone could bring a vacuum cleaner
laura: is that better?
me: coat hanger?

Fin.

Given my penchant for compulsive eating and tendency towards inertia, it should come as no surprise that my personal favorite sins have always been gluttony and sloth. Sadly, these seem to necessitate dressing like a slob to the party, so I'm on the lookout for better ideas. Anyone?

Note: the tagline is from Mae West, and while I'm at it, I might as well highlight some more of her wit, to put me in the right mindset for a Deadly Sins party...

"When choosing between two evils, I always like to pick the one I never tried before."

"I'll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times to make sure."

Oh Snap.

I did it. I accomplished my goal of naming all 192 member states of the UN in under 10 minutes (story below). Actually, I did it with ONE MINUTE AND THIRTY NINE SECONDS to spare. (Not that I'm one to brag or anything...)

Yes, I am the master. Yes, I can now die complete.

Screen shot included as proof of this super-human feat:

Yours, the self-proclaimed Champion of the World

Happy People Deceive Themselves.

Here's what's been on my mind all weekend.

I heard of this experiment conducted by two psychiatrists in the 1970s. They wanted to look into the idea of self-deception, so they created a questionnaire that would be so embarrassing that it would make people answer dishonestly. (The questions include, "Have you ever enjoyed a bowel movement?" "Have you ever questioned your sexual adequacy?" and "Have you ever thought about raping/being raped by somebody?")

They assumed that most people, if absolutely honest, would probably admit that they had experienced at least some of these thoughts, if not all. The people who answered "NO" to all of the questions, then, were thought to be lying to themselves. Let's call those people the "self-deceivers."

So they give this survey to tons of people in all walks of life: athletes, businesspeople, you name it. They find that the lying group, our "self-deceivers," do better at EVERYTHING. This group is found to be more successful, make more money, be better at sports, and -- here's the kicker -- to report the highest levels of happiness.

Did you all catch that? The people who lie to themselves on the survey are happier than the people who did not. Now I know we could get into a discussion of methodology, and whether all of the many assumptions the experimenters made to get these results are actually valid, but let's ignore that: what this experiment suggests is that in order to be successful in life one needs to be able to lie to oneself. (An audio clip of top swimmers preparing themselves for a big meet shows them repeating things like, "I am the best.") It takes a certain kind of focus to be able to hold onto these ambitious ideas while occasionally contradicting the facts in front of you (like, say you aren't actually the best swimmer...), but it is this focus that helps driven people succeed. Perhaps, also, it means that people who think they are happy are really just lying to themselves about it.

The contrary is that those people who strive to be more honest with themselves can't easily overlook the negatives in life, and are reportedly less happy on the whole. These people see that life has a lot of badness, that things aren't fair, that there is complication and poverty and ugliness, and since they can't shake those facts, they often become depressed. The "honest" group also fails to gloss over their own shortcomings; they recognize that they might not be the smartest, or the best, and know that they will never become the top ballerina or CEO or whatever. Maybe this honestly makes them stop trying to achieve those goals, so there is some complication in the cause/effect cycle here.

I'm relating this story because I would put myself squarely in the strive-for-self-honesty category. Under this little model, this has me doomed to unhappiness and less prestige, although perhaps a more realistic outlook on life. This is not necessarily a bad thing: French philosophers for years have been striving for The Truth even when seeking it means more complication, more nuance, less, well, fun.

So I'm opening the debate: what is more important ultimately, happiness or truth? (Or is that an unfair and silly distinction?) Would you rather (a) be a true success in life and never know it, or (b) be unsuccessful but think that you were truly great?

In Case You Want To Know What I Do For Fun...

Some people have alcoholism. I think I may have developed a debilitating addiction to this game. I'd say it's definitely a healthier obsession, both for my liver and my brain!

Colleen (my roommie), Ben (her BF) and I are in this epic competition to see who can accomplish it first. Currently, we're all about tied around the mid-teens. For some odd reason, I always seem to repeatedly forget the same few countries: Fiji, Bahrain, Samoa, and - inexplicably - Belgium. (Pierre Englebert would never forgive me for that... clearly I was not a worthy enough advisee of Pomona's IR God.) That said, I've developed the tremendous skill of correctly spelling Liechtenstein and Kyrgyzstan correctly on the first try -- I always was a bit partial for words spelled with abnormal amounts of Ks and Ys ...


UPDATE: As of March 13, 2008, I now have it down to two countries remaining: damn those forgettable Marshall and Solomon Islands...

My Blog Just Got 800% Better.

It's like I've found my inner muse... I always wanted to express myself like this, but just never found the right words. Wow.

Thanks go to Tom for translating my page!!

Facebook Mystifies Me...

Wow, so, just when I thought I had the hang of these crazy techmologies, someone throws a wrench in the works and screws everything up. Basically, I'm still pissed at Facebook for adding a bazillion and one useless applications.

Currently, I have TWENTY FOUR pending requests to join groups ranging from "Which Foreign Guy Should You Date?" to the pointless-seeming "Pillow Fight." Somebody wants me to join Team Zombie, and someone else wants me to join Team Pirate. If I join Team Triumph, I can supposedly "build up armies and attack other players and compete to take over the world!"

Other programs seemed geared to rank my hotness/smartness/political savvy against my friends, and still others appear to want to get to know me better by making me list every book I've read, movie I've watched, alcoholic drink I like, or song I listen to. (Note: just ask!!) I'm still intrigued by what the "Are You Interested?" application could possibly mean, but I'm not entirely sure it's G-rated...

What are all of these ridiculous applications?!? Does anyone understand them?! Do people like me better if I join them?

Sigh. Back in MY day, Facebook used to be about stalking cute boys in your classes, and looking at drunk pictures of people you went to high school with, laughing at how much better your life turned out. Now it's all complicated and irritating and... weird.

But I suppose the upside of having umpteen million random applications available is that I'm learning about my friends' quirks by what bizarre things they ask me to join. The "I am Green" and "Obama 08" apps are perhaps a bit more up my alley than the one that claims that my birthday "makes me HOT!" (Which it of course does, but I digress.) The person who sent me a "Traveler IQ quiz" clearly has a handle on what nerdy things I dig.

But let's just say that the person who invited me to join Knighthood ("Krystyna, you will love this game. I just gave you a Title of Nobility at my court. Claim your title and play this game with me.") might not actually know me all that well...

"Every Andorran Will Remember your Generosity, and Stupidity..."

Well, I suppose I'm mostly happy that our president is in Africa. Talking about malaria eradication in Tanzania is a good thing, as is discussing poverty reduction and the engagement of the private sector in Ghana. Commemorating the 1994 Rwandan genocide in Kigali is basically just the same old refrain that the "West" likes to repeat while it idles in the face of preventable human catastrophe ( "never again"), but nevertheless, not a bad place for the U.S. President to visit.

What is NOT cool is avoiding Kenya (~1,000 dead in the standoff following the Dec. 27th election debacle) and Chad (coup attempt that sparked waves of refugees). Not going to Kenya is a particularly poor decision, in my opinion. Sending Condi there is just not a good enough substitute for having the so-called leader of the free world throw his weight behind the peaceful end to Kenya's post-election violence, which really can (must?) be brokered by heads of state. If the United States is really committed to democratic values - as we damn well ought to be - then our president putting pressure on Kibaki and Odinga to broker a power-sharing agreement is imperative.

The President really ought to consider where his public diplomacy could have the best effect. Instead of trying to find a place to house our new military installation by visiting American protégé Liberia (the only place that has expressed interest in Africom), I'd suggest that the U.S. focus on some good ole' democracy promotion in a non-OPEC country, for a change.


Nation Of Andorra Not In Africa, Shocked U.S. State Dept. Reports

Oh, and that video is just hilarious.

SOTU tonight. 9pm.

Bush's last State of the Union. Believe it or not, even though nobody can shut up about Clinton and Obama, neither has been elected yet, and Americans have one more opportunity to be reminded that G-Dubs is still our Commander-in-Chief. Tonight, though, I imagine we'll hear a collective sigh resounding through the nation, "Thank God his presidency is almost over!"

Let's review highlights from the State of the Union speeches over his previous 7 years...

- Championing "No Child Left Behind"
- Forgetting about children/alienating other countries in post-2001 crisis, introducing the infamous "Axis of Evil"
- Proclaiming that Saddam Hussein had WMDs in Iraq (they didn't, says US Army)
- Proclaiming that Saddam Hussein had sought uranium in Africa (it hadn't, says CIA)
- Pushing an ill-fated effort to privatize Social Security, roundly shot down by public
- Promising to throw all the weight of his position behind helping victims of Hurricane Katrina (oh wait... he never said that. Never mentioned the hurricane at all, come to think of it...)

Now... what will this year's speech bring? It's an election year, plus he's on his way out, so no new big policy initiatives will be pushed. He will probably push to institutionalize/renew some of his lingering unpopular measures (i.e. NCLB). No doubt he'll be forced to admit he screwed up the economy real big, and ironically try to argue that his mismanagement and tax policies did not in fact contribute to the impending recession (at this point, even Republicans disagree). He might even suggest that his recent trip to the Middle East is going to miraculously produce some sort of murky peace agreement before November (surprise!!).

My guess is that for his farewell address, he's going to try to summarize the accomplishments he's made since 2000. (What, beyond breaking the record for time spent on vacation?!) He'll talk about how the country is safer and stronger than it was when he took office, and give his best last-ditch effort to convince people that going to war in Iraq was good for the security of the country and the world. Since there are maybe only four Americans left who still buy this, it'll be a painful reminder for many members of the GOP of the sorry direction their party has taken since 2000, catering to an angry, vocal, and fringe base of oil men and evangelicals.

I'm going to laugh every time Bush says something and C-SPAN zooms in on a Republican in Congress who's awkwardly trying not to clap too hard for fear of losing his/her seat in the general election. The tides are sure turning Blue these days.

How Much Do You Wish You Were in Brazil?

So I stumbled across this video which has left me alternately giggling quite loudly and scratching my head.

Apparently there is a dance trend spreading like wildfire across Brazil called the funk da cueca. Somehow this became immortalized via YouTube as a coordinated boy band-style routine by some teens with clearly too much time on their hands. 

I simply cannot imagine how this came about: were all these fourteen year olds just sitting around, thinking, "Hey, wouldn't it be a great idea if we all danced around in unison? In our skivvies?? What if we filmed it!!" This has me thinking about cultural differences between our prudish Northern customs and those sultry Brazilian ways. Surely no band of (presumably heterosexual?) teenage boys in America would participate in this, but I'd say the world might just be a better place because of the borderline gratuity of this video. Plus, I like the song (despite myself). 

Hilarious and catchy -- my fav!! I've watched this twice, though, and I think that's absolutely plenty... I'll just pass the fun along to you all. 

Fired Up and Ready to Go!!

... was the slogan for the Obama campaign in the final runup to the SC primary election. Many of you have expressed some interest in how the campaign is going on the ground, so I'll give a semi-brief account of my experiences there and some of my lingering reflections, sorted thematically, so you can choose the most interesting bits to peruse.

The Setting.

I spent the majority of the three-day weekend in Orangeburg, a small city smack-dab in the middle of South Carolina and eight hours from DC by car. Population: 13,000. 7 out of 10 residents identify as African-American. 1 out of 4 lives below the poverty line. It's biggest draw is the annual raccoon-hunting festival. There aren't many job opportunities there; one man I met told me he commutes to Charleston (1.5 hours each way) four days a week to work at a restaurant. The town's two historically-black universities are its lifeblood. There isn't much else in Orangeburg besides fast-food joints and churches.

The Campaign Office.

This campaign, like most campaigns, I'm told, is run by a group of extremely talented, driven, energetic YOUNG people. The permanent staffers were all my age, and used to living off of donated food, tiny wages, and few hours of sleep. Much like Pomona College, the group was ridiculously "diverse" across spectrums of race and geographic origin. Everyone was civic-minded and believed that the politics of this country can be fundamentally improved. I felt right at home.

Besides the permanent team, the campaign office was flooded with volunteers from across the country who, like me, were willing to sacrifice a bit of travel expenses and a week(end) to get this man elected president. One older woman from Louisiana rode the Greyhound bus up to be in SC for that whole week -- a 19-hour ride. Lots of DC residents there, unsurprisingly.

Life in the campaign office was tons of fun, but BUSY. I got there wanting to be put to work, and definitely met that objective. Every spare moment not canvassing was spent making phone calls to supporters, designing flyers, and getting the word out for a rally that Obama would be holding in town on Tuesday. Each day, we made about 5,000 phone calls. Spirits were pretty high, but nobody wanted to be overconfident about the election (the Clinton campaign is now trying to lower expectations for SC, and polls are pointing towards an Obama victory, but still. No sense jinxing it.). Lots of laughter. Lots of pizza. Lots of coffee. Actually, I think those two items pretty much made up my whole diet all weekend.

Canvassing.

The "get out the vote" operation is the crucial part of the SC strategy. Since a lot of Obama's support comes from first-time voters, it is especially necessary to recruit/remind people of the primary. I spent all day Saturday going door-to-door in Orangeburg, under a steady, driving drizzle (who knew it could get so cold in the South?!?), which gave us some combination of sympathy/credibility from the people we spoke to.

I canvassed in a pretty rural area, to the point where we had to drive from house to house. Many of the homes were trailers. Many were in the forest. Lots of poverty. Most people were pretty receptive to our message, though, and we got invited inside a lot of homes to warm up. Signed up a couple of volunteers for election day. Got the occasional snarky response, usually when the address we had been given was (mistakenly) a registered Republican household. The worst comment, in stereotypical Southern fashion, involved a white man telling us there was no way he'd be voting for a "[black man]." Pretty discouraging to hear that kind of overt racism, but thankfully, that was the only such comment and by no means indicative of the overall impression I got from the community, which was very pro-Obama. I'm letting the positives override that negative moment for now.

Lodging.

I was extremely fortunate to have been given a room to stay in for the entire weekend, along with two other out-of-town volunteers. My host, a retired black woman who lived alone, was a big supporter of the Obama campaign and offered to lodge us as her contribution. She even woke up every night past midnight when we got home to let us in, and then wanted to stay up and chat with us about how things were going for the campaign. Despite nearly falling asleep on my feet after returning, I was totally happy to give her the low-down.

I am so incredibly grateful for her generosity, as it takes a lot of trust to open your home to complete strangers, and really, without her I couldn't have afforded the trip. It made me think a lot about how the Obama campaign is really bringing out the best in people, and drawing them together for common ideological and moral aims.

Going to Church.

On Sunday, the campaign tried to get Obama supporters in churches all across the state, to increase visibility and potentially recruit volunteers while mingling with the congregations after services. A letter from Obama that spoke to faith as a motivation for doing good works had been distributed to pastors beforehand to complement the presence of volunteers. In that way, I ended up going to a Baptist service in Orangeburg; being one of two white people in the church definitely reminded me of being in Uganda!

Being a preacher in a Southern Baptist church has got to be one of the most rewarding jobs out there. In addition to being affirmed at every other sentence ("Amen, brother."), you are in the extraordinary position of being a leader who can motivate a whole community civically and morally. Truly, the influence these pastors have is impressive, and it's no wonder that gaining the support of the church leadership is so important in Southern politics.


(Obama speaking at Ebenezer Baptist Church in GA, the day before MLK Day. Absolutely incredible speech.)

The reverend at the church I attended essentially gave a stump speech for Obama from the bully pulpit. It was pretty awesome, not only because he was doing a better job talking up the candidate than I ever could, but moreover, because he was telling people that exercising their civic duties (i.e. voting) was a moral imperative for the good of their community. I'll paraphrase his speech as best as I can recall:

"Now, I'm not going to tell you who you should vote for. But I'll tell you who I'm voting for, and let me tell you, he is truly a viable candidate. [Here he said something about the way this country needs a change in leadership, a change in the way politics get done.] I want all of you out there on Saturday, exercising your right to vote! Who needs a ride to the polls? I need drivers here to take our brothers and sisters to go vote. [He then proceeded to recruit about eight different drivers who agreed to shuttle people to the polls on election day.] As African-Americans, we should all be jumping at the chance to go vote! You should all wake up on Saturday and run to the polls! Give yourself the time to get dressed, of course..."

After the service, I introduced myself to a lot of people in the congregation, who welcomed me warmly. One man told me the story of when he first registered to vote: the woman flatly told him that he could not register, and when he asked why, said it was because he couldn't read. He informed her that he taught high-school chemistry, and she responded by turning around a copy of the Constitution and making him read it out loud before she would allow him to register. (Ironic, no?)

Attending that service was perhaps the best way I could have celebrated Martin Luther King Day, reaffirming my civic, spiritual, and moral convictions.

The Rally.

Sunday after church (an epic, three-hour affair), I drove up to the capital city, Columbia, for a huge rally being held in the convention center. It was the third time I've heard Obama speak, and as always, it's a awesome event in the fullest sense of the word. The last time I heard him speak was at a Los Angeles rally immediately after he announced his candidacy for the presidency, and he seemed a lot more tired this time around - understandably - but hit his stride after a few minutes, and got the crowd really going. Check out my cool photo montage:



I really do think his is a one-in-a-generation mind, and that he ought be our next president - if you want to know why, ask me in person. I want this post to be more an overview of life on the campaign trail, and less about stumping for a particular politician (although yes, I'm clearly writing from a biased perspective!).

So many more things I could say, but let's leave it at that. An eight-hour drive later and I'm back in DC, sitting at my office job, mulling over how much I really do enjoy politics. I'll leave you with one last funny story from "down south." We saw a billboard advertising in large letters: "Tax Rebate Checks Cashed Here." The sign was for a fried chicken joint. 'Nuff said.

Holla' from the South, Y'alls

I'm writing from the Barack Obama Campaign headquarters in Orangeburg, South Carolina, where I'm here volunteering. It's now T-minus 6 days until the SC Democratic primary election, and energy is HIGH.

I'm absolutely impressed by the voter and community mobilization here. This is truly a grassroots campaign, and is operating outside of the traditional political machinery, relying on churches, barbershops, and good old-fashioned word of mouth to recruit support.

Details later, but the spirit on the ground is great and people are working really, really hard for the primary. It's uber-exciting. Fingers crossed for next Saturday. GOBAMA!

Hope & Change: Buzzwords, yes. Overrated, no.

We have been asked to pause for a reality check. We have been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope.

But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything "false" about hope. For when we have faced down impossible odds, and are told we're not ready, or that we shouldn't try, or that we can't, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of the people: yes we can.

It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation. Yes we can.

It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail towards freedom through the darkest of nights. Yes we can.

It was sung by immigrants as they struck out for distant shores, and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness. Yes we can.

It was the call of workers who organized, women who reached for the ballot, a president who chose the moon as our new frontier, and a king who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the promised land: yes we can.

Yes we can for justice and equality.

Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity.

Yes we can heal this nation. Yes we can repair this world.


-- Barack Obama, New Hampshire, January 8, 2008

One (More) Song, Glory

After a nearly twelve-year run in the Nederland theater, RENT is taking its final curtain call this June.

I feel as though a part of my young adolescence is vanishing with it. Seeing the news of RENT's imminent close off-Broadway, I am thrown back into the eighth grade once again, reliving the sing-along parties my friends and I often threw. We'd gather in someone's bedroom, and belt out the entire 2-disc soundtrack (which we had all memorized word-for-word), trading roles as the mood struck us. Knowing how popular the show was with our class, our ninth grade teachers even organized a class outing to see RENT, perhaps not knowing that the show revolved around the sexual lives of young twenty-somethings who dealt with HIV, drug addiction, transsexuality, and the ever-present fear of eviction.

Was it beyond our maturity level at 13? Apparently not. I can remember dramatically striking an S&M-style pose at the reference to Mimi wearing handcuffs during her, uh, night job, and enthusiastically raising a toast "to leather, to dildos, to curry vindaloo" right along with the cast without batting an eye. I even went to see the show later with my family, and while the song about condoms and promiscuity was a bit awkward, my parents seemed to knowingly acknowledge that Angel's AIDS-hastened death pulled the young heartstrings of my generation. Though the crises that the characters faced - saying goodbye to one's bisexual HIV-positive lover who strips to get by, for example - may have been incomprehensible for my parents at that age, RENT was an absolutely formative example of romance and loss that shaped my youth. Perhaps the themes of affirmation and acceptance of difference resonate with my adult self still.

So, with many fond memories of Roger, Mimi, Mark, Angel, and the rest of the gang, I bid adieu to my first favorite stage drama. "We raise our glass, you bet your ass, to.... la Vie Boheme!"

J'adore la France!

I think we owe a big merci to France, the enchanting country that has shared with the world its brie, baguettes, and the sultry chansons of Jacques Brel, for bringing us the single most interesting story in the news this month: the whirlwind love affair of Nicholas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni.

Sure, he's président of La République, and she's an Italian supermodel-heiress four inches taller than he, but c'est l'amour!

This is a story just too incredible to my American-style prudish political sensibilities. Not only is a sitting head of state DATING, but he's doing so only four wee months after divorcing his second wife (who, incidentally has quite a bit of remaining baggage, and is publishing a book in which she calls him a "stingy philanderer" with a "behavioural problem" who is an "unworthy president" of France, not to mention "a man who likes no one, not even his children." Um, ouch).

And on all accounts, Sarkozy is smitten. The couple, together a mere three months, have gone for romantic dates in Egypt, Jordan, and EuroDisney (the latter with her son and mother... bizarre), and now are apparently (secretly) MARRIED!!

But Carla "Man Eater" Bruni's relationship with the president is turning heads even in France, where the private lives of politicians are sacrosanct, and secret mistresses and love-children draw no attention from the media. Bruni's roster of past lovers reads like a Who's Who list: Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, Donald Trump [ed. - The Donald?? Ew.]. She once shacked up with a French publishing magnate, but one thing led to another and she instead fell for his son, who fathered her only child. In a recent interview, she stated: "I am a tamer [of men], a cat, an Italian - monogamy bores me terribly. I am faithful... to myself!! I am monogamous from time to time but I prefer polygamy and polyandry."

I'll readily admit, I love this story and all its trashiness. I love that this goes down in France. I love that this woman will likely become France's First Lady. I - incidentally - love her music. And most of all, I love trying to imagine the same thing happening in the United States. I honestly cannot for the life of me fathom a similar figure gaining such a prominent role in American politics -- we relegate people like her to the tabloids, not the political pages. Obama's flirtation with drugs years ago is enough to draw our media's focus; it's simply impossible to imagine the electability of someone twice-divorced and in love with a foreign-born supermodel.

This fascination with Sarkozy/Bruni not only says a lot about the prying eyes of moralistic, scandal-loving Americans, but perhaps also quite a bit about just how much the French will permit in their politicians' personal lives. After all, a leftist First Lady who disagrees with her husband's policy choices, denounces monogamy, and has never taken an active interest in politics is an interesting match for her rightist husband. We Americans tend to see First Ladies (First Spouses?) as extensions of the presidents to whom they are married, and envision their actions in the White House as complementary to policy agendas. Through their behavior and example, we expect them to demonstrate certain public values. Disagreement with the president, even over strict policy questions, would be a PR disaster for the White House, and any marital discord presumably seen as emasculating for the Commander in Chief.

Now while I think Sarkozy might be asking a lot from the people of France to accept his spending valuable governing time to woo an Italian beauty, part of me admires the French for accepting the *ahem* unconventional pairing. It wouldn't happen in American politics, and maybe both America and France are better off for that.

Further Proof of My Masochistic Tendancies

I just signed up to donate blood again (see traumatizing story below), moved by the Red Cross's incessant phone calls informing me that my blood type is in hot demand.

I think this makes me a pretty good person, though it also offers clear proof that I have trouble learning lessons from history...

In Which I Resume Exercising to Drop Weight Recently Gained.

Back from NYC!

All told, I'd say it was a pretty successful first business trip. I racked up $2,200 worth of charges, not including my salary, and had what essentially amounted to a delicious four-day food orgy, from which my body is still happily recovering. I actually amazed myself noting how much food I could consume on someone else's dime...

I decided I could (sort of, potentially) envision myself working in NYC at some point, until I realized the gaping flaw in my grand thought experiment: that my future life in New York would certainly not include a luxury hotel on Times Square, a 1.5 block commute, and absolutely free room and board. Plus, taking Manhattan elevators made my ears pop. Soooooo, scratch that thought. No plans to move anytime soon.

The humidity back in DC may do crazy things to my hair, but I appreciate living in a place where any bar in town would be happy to switch on CNN for updates on the New Hampshire primary - that is, if it wasn't on already. Viva la dorkdom.

Worst Thing Is, I Went Right on Enjoying My Evening...

Not more than five hours into my stay in NYC, I am ashamed to say I witnessed a robbery. While walking towards Times Square in search of a restaurant, a young man passed me at a sprint. Within seconds, a second man rushed behind him yelling "Police! Police!" Although I had passed at least four policemen in the last half-block, no one stopped the thief, and I, along with a hundred other tourist-gawkers, heard the man's cries for another several minutes.

I say I am ashamed to report the incident because it struck me as a sad example of stereotypes realized. Manhattan is certainly not the crime-ridden pit that many in my home state are inclined to believe, nor is it the safest place on earth, as New Yorkers often claim. The truth is, as most truths are, neither black nor white, but somewhere in between. There is no reason to be afraid of NYC, nor is there reason to be complacent about your safety (in my opinion, that holds true anywhere you go). I'm still not sure whether most onlookers, including myself, thought of it more as an aberration or an occurrence that, regrettably, is still par for the course in a big city.

The other stereotype that this small incident reinforced, I should sadly note, is that both men involved were black. I can't offer any meaningful comments, but have been wondering what messages about race in America the foreign tourists who saw the incident are going to take back to their homes.

In Which I Visit the Big Apple.

"Can I possibly be grown-up enough to go on a business trip?"

That's the question on my mind this week. Apparently, it has been answered in the affirmative -- by my employers, at least!

I got the rare opportunity to work out of the New York office for a few days to help our firm's team prepare for an upcoming trial. With the constant flurry to get up to speed before the big day, the lawyers need a lot of help obtaining, organizing, and digesting the documents, which is where paralegals enter the picture. As luck would have it, there were no available paralegals to help out in NYC, and I wrangled an invite to come up here - all expenses paid.

I could easily digress into an analysis of my ethical concerns with accepting such treatment. Do I deserve a train ride, gorgeous downtown hotel room, and the promise of fully-reimbursed meals? Am I a critical enough member of the team at this point in my career to warrant it? How do I, in a broader sense, reconcile my tendency towards a life of simplicity with a corporate job?

My inner monologue over the past few days has clearly been one of desert and privilege, and if I ever have an epiphany on that train of thought I'll be sure to let you know. For the moment, I'm convinced of several things: that my assistance was definitely needed in New York, that in the scope of pharmaceutical patent litigation, the expenses I have incurred are both minimal and acceptable, and that despite my hesitations about it, working in the private sector has its privileges. The best thing I can do is to be mindful of my privilege, appreciate it while it lasts, and in the long run, use the advantage it gives me to somehow better the world.

In all honestly, though, I can't say that I've been plagued with guilt. I have been enjoying this trip so damn much, and I'm so grateful to have been given the opportunity. Not only am I getting my TV fix (I still don't own one at home, and am consuming enough CNN and TBS to make up for lost time!) and eating sushi every night, but I am giving my imagination a good workout by pretending, for just a few days, to be a young professional working in New York City. Strange thing is, I kind of like that vision.

Fallacy is the New Truth

Combining my love of countdown lists and wordplay, this report bears a mention in the blog. Some random university compiled a list of the most overused words of 2007, and I couldn't agree more with their recommendation to strike a couple of these cliches from our shared vocabulary.

Specifically, I'm glad that "surge," "post-9/11," "give back" (i.e. celebs donating money to Africa), and "X is the new Y" are all on the proverbial chopping block. I kind of like "webinar," though, even though it appears to have absolutely no practical meaning, and certainly I've never seen or used one. It kind of reminds me of The Office, though (**laments the ongoing writer's strike...**), and of other endearing combo words like "tween" and "Gaypril."

May the Yuletide be Gay

Ah Christmas, my favorite time of year. Come December, I torment those near and dear to me with incessant carols and (some say) premature holiday cheer. Spending Christmas in Denver was lovely: cookies were baked, the tree was bejeweled, the Grinch was (re)watched. The weather gods even surprised me with the proverbial White Christmas, giving Denver denizens a clean cover of snow to alternately delight (children, sappy people, me) and torment (drivers, people whose duty it is to shovel driveways, me). In between eating, reading, sleeping, and playing Bingo with the high school crew, I even managed an afternoon of frolicking in the white stuff with my little brother. See pictures for proof of familial happiness.

But all good things (read: excessive leisure time) must come to an end, and I find myself back in damp and dreary DC just in time to ring in the New Year with awesome friends. I couldn't be happier to be back home. (That's right - I had the realization flying back into National that home is no longer the house I grew up in, it's the community I make for myself, wherever that may be. And at the moment, the District seems pretty damn homey, with friends new and less new to welcome me back.)

Since tomorrow is January, it's high time for me to bid goodbye to the "most wonderful time of the year" for year another twelve months, and get on with my life. But before I abandon the holiday spirit, I'm leaving you with a gift courtesy of my brother and YouTube (since what is Christmas about in this country if NOT the presents?!). I can't seem to figure out exactly how this video relates to Christmas, other than a character who happens to be named Santa Claus. After all, there's no push for material consumption, no pretty ornaments, and certainly no baby Jesus. Instead, there seems to be an epic battle of the "Agwars" spearheaded by a laser-ax-toting "Great Woodsman" against some troll things. Oh, and Santa owns a puma. Go figure.

Enjoy, and if you can find any seasonal message encrypted in this bizarre sequence, by all means let me know. Merry Christmas!!!!

I Put Papaya There

Yup, yup. Workin' on New Year's Eve. This is awesome -- nobody is here except for me and a handful of random secretaries. And since the bosses are gone, I'd say the saying "when the cat's away, the mouse will play" certainly applies.

In my case, it means re-watching favorites on YouTube and catching up on world news. There's a lot I could say about this gem of a video (i.e. how awesome it is to have a multicolored dance sequence on a misty mountainside, or how problematic it is that I enjoy watching videos that are only funny because of their non-Western foreignness), but I'd prefer to let the clip speak for itself...

Another Year Wiser?

I celebrated my 23rd birthday this week, and for maybe the first time in my life, didn't think twice about it. Usually, I recall meaningful events of the previous year, freak myself out a little thinking about how old/unaccomplished I am, then get a jump on writing New Year's Resolutions to commit to for my ongoing process of self-betterment. This year, I made french toast for the family, read for a couple of hours, went to see a mediocre play, and avoided eating chocolate for fear of further aggravating a cold sore that's already the size of Louisiana.

What a truly exciting life I lead.

My own mother actually made fun of me for being such a homebody, but I'm at peace with that fact. I've given up on the possibility of ever celebrating my birthday with friends. In late December, people are usually out of town, skiing, or with their own families, and being quite family-oriented myself, I'm OK with that. Last year, after realizing that my 21st had involved me flying 30 hours, having one glass of wine, and then passing out on my couch completely jet-lagged, I was determined to do the "traditional" party thing for the big 2-2. I roped about 20 friends into committing to a night of bar-hopping, and then watched helplessly as a blizzard rolled in that morning, trapping me in the house for three days with my family. So much for a wild party.

It seems quite clear to me that God does not wish for me to celebrate the day of my birth in any way other than at home, sober and in my pajamas. S'cool. Who needs big parties when you have, uh, nifty-ass hobbies like knitting and fiddling to prove how cool you are? Damn straight.

Anyway, thanks for all of you who wished me a happy birthday. It means a lot to hear from all the wonderful people I know, whether I met you a few weeks ago or have known you since middle school, whether you live near me in DC or are spread to the far-flung corners of the globe. I'm continually impressed by the caliber of thoughtfulness and intelligence you all possess, and by the amazing things you are all doing with your youthful energies. Big hugs to all!! (**Awwwwwww**)

Whatever, it's my birthday. I can be sappy if I want to.

And the Winner Is....

True to seasonal fashion, it's once again appropriate to play that all-American pastime: creating lists that document the BEST THINGS OF THE YEAR!!

I think our culture likes doing this every December because it's one way to see how life has moved forward; when summarizing the best, worst, and weirdest events, we prove to ourselves once again that we have made progress over the previous year. (Whether or not we have made any positive advancements is an entirely different question...)

Let's set aside commentary on "normal" compilations like "Top 10 Songs of 2007." You can find those in any magazine, written by any wannabe DJ, and frankly, they're all equally boring. Better is the Oxford English Dictionary's Word of the Year. This year's winner? Locavore, as in a person who eats seasonally-available foods, buys locally-grown ingredients, and shuns the addition of preservatives and carbon emissions that are necessitated when food is flown to the eater from thousands of miles away. Having just finished the thought-provoking Omnivore's Dilemma, and having pledged myself to attempt to be a locavore in so far as my meager budget will allow, I am quite pleased that this word made it in vogue.

(However, outside the tree-hugging community, it seems that not everyone was enthralled about this choice. One disgruntled reader posted a NY Times blog commentary that was a pointed critique of the OED's choice. It reads: "What about vajayjay? Didn’t you folks just do an article on that gem of a word? I mean come on. Who doesn’t love vajayjay?")

He makes quite a compelling case, but the do-gooder in me still says supporting the emerging local-foods movement was a pretty damn good pick, particularly for 2007, year of the Bali climate change talks, PowerShift, and Al Gore's well-deserved Nobel Peace Prize. As long as we are interested in commemorating each passing year by noting its most positive achievements, in hopes of passing those trends on to future generations, or at least continuing them in 2008, this pick by the OED seems like a very fitting tribute to an enviro-conscious year.

Actual Words a Friend Used to Describe My Sense of Humor:

1. Awkward
2. Horrible


In the same sentence.

And they say misogyny doesn't exist...

Ah yes, misogyny is alive and well in our country. Check out this handy little tool crafted especially for the holiday/election season: the Hillary Clinton Nutcracker.

Look, she has scary steel jaws between her legs, a very masculine-looking pantsuit, and a cropped haircut!! She probably doesn't even know how to bake cookies with all the nuts she's able to crush.

Presumably she's meant to be "crushing" her cheatin', lyin', pants-unzippin' husband, but that's not where her maniacal takeover ends. Oh no -- rich, white, land-owning men everywhere, be warned!! Hillary is on the loose and her support in the polls means the beginning of a new feminazi agenda, where Woman, freed from her domestic yolk, is taking on the patriarchal powers that be. I'm reminded of Pat Robertson's wise comment that "Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians." Indeed, Hillary's "assertiveness" (read: "bitchiness" in a feminine context) is truly the #1 threat to this country's national security. Well, after illegal aliens, crazy-man Ahmadinejad, and them terrorists, that is.

In other words, our country is so scared of a woman having a decent chance to actually win the highest elected office that we resort to mocking her by calling her a ball-buster. That's just pathetic. If you don't like Hillary, fine, but let it be on her ideas and merit, and not the fact that she happens to be a powerful, rather well-spoken woman. I'll admit there may be a lot of "nuts" in government who ought to be crushed, but this whole idea just rubs me the wrong way.

P.S. Don't get me started on the anti-gay quips on the promotional website... ("Sure worked well on the pecans for my fruitcakes.” -Al Gore) Next on Krystyna's Blog: Homophobia: Alive and Well.

Now Down to Business...

OK, be forewarned: this is going to be a serious post, and maybe a little preachy. I'm in a very introspective phase of life at the moment (winter tends to do that to me), and have been spending quite a lot of time thinking about systems and how I/we/Americans/an active citizenry/young people fit(s) into them, what we can do to change them. The holiday season, with its connotations of material acquisition and capitalist-promoted nostalgia, seems to be quite a relevant time to situate myself in some of the broader issues being played out all around us. More importantly, it's been a time for me to re-evaluate my own role in perpetuating/ending/opting out of these systems. (For fear of getting "too Pomona," I'll leave that train of thought at that. I don't really have any answers to these problems anyway. They're just on my mind and bear mentioning.)

A few brief thoughts (maybe prompts for conversations to be continued with you, I hope?...):

- Tomorrow (December 5), is the day the Supreme Court hears oral arguments in the case of Boumediene v. Bush, the next phase of rulings on the status of habeas corpus in this country. They will debate whether the ago-old precept held that people have the right to contest their detentions in court, and to demand the government that holds them imprisoned show at least some evidence of why they are being detained, applies to "enemy combatants," non-US citizens who are for whatever reason swept up in the dragnet of the War on Terror. (For an easy to understand background on why habeas corpus protects every citizen's freedom, check out Habeas Schmabeas , a story from This American Life that prompted me to write my senior thesis on Guantanamo Bay.) Fingers crossed that the Court decides that it JUST ISN'T OK to strip anyone's right to protest their imprisonment, regardless of their nationality or citizenship. While the old system of laws on wartime are certainly going to have to be re-examined in the context of modern terrorist warfare (the blurring of boundaries between war and peace, military and civilian, where "battlefield" can be as far as Afghanistan, or as near as the Chicago airport), this is just not a right that can be waived on command. To relinquish it (the requirement that the government provide evidence for taking away a person's freedom) for anyone -- even potential foreign terrorists -- would be giving the state an enormous degree of power.

- Tomorrow is also the day that the Chief Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court will present to the United Nations a case against some top officials in the Sudanese government for their involvement in the ongoing genocide in Darfur. The evidence is remarkably clear that the killing janjaweed militias are funded, organized, and supported by the government in Khartoum. Clearly, this is something that needs to be protested, stopped, and punished. I'm not exactly sure how to be involved in this as a citizen so removed from the powers that be, but my first reaction has been to look into the (hopefully not too cliched) letter-writing campaigns that exist, particularly as regards targeted divestment in Sudan.

While frustrated by feeling small and insignificant against massive systems of power, I, like so many others, keep coming back to the idea of an active population of citizens speaking out to correct injustices as a way to keep power in check; indeed, this idea is fundamental to our notion of democratic governance. At the same time, it seems SO INSIGNIFICANT to merely write letters, hold demonstrations, and pass out flyers -- but it seems like it's the only option we've got for the moment. I'll keep searching myself for a better solution to "effect change," but really, as it stands, I'm grateful that others have opened up even these meager channels of protest (kudos to some of my activist friends for doing the dirty work).

I'm challenged by something that Barack Obama said, which I think is both troubling and true: that where we put our "time, energy, and money" is the "true test of what we value... regardless of what we like to tell ourselves." Troubling because I need to continually push myself to live up to that, to fight against an inertia of enjoying the status quo. Praying that I can somehow find a means of leaving (some portion of) the world a better place because I have lived in it.

And on that cheery note... happy December!!

Back on the Wagon

I'm BACK!! See?? Updating my blog!!

New posts! Drama! Intrigue! Humor! Relevance! Poignant quips! Exclamation points!!!!!!!!

So never fear, keep reading, and sleep better knowing that Krystyna is once again connected to your life via this strange online medium.

In Limbo

I realize I've been ignoring this blog lately. Not that things haven't been happening in my life. On the contrary, life has been complicated, in both good and bad ways. I'm not really sure what to write about it all just yet, and I don't have the sense that anything can be summed up in one nice, clean anecdote (but it's always so nice when that works out), so I'm going to ignore the blog for just a little while more until something truly post-worthy comes along. (Never fear, the Wamboldts together around the holidays is sure to produce at least one memorable story...)

Until the next/more detailed/more thoughtful/funnier/all-around-better post, I'll leave you with this:

Thanks, Drew Carey!!

“Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar.”

Big Realization

I (finally) came to the conclusion that I want to go to grad school. Some part of me has known all my life that I would at some point have to/be expected to do get some post-grad education, but all summer and fall, I really haven't been able to even stomach that thought. Most of it, I think, was burnout at the thought of going through the rigamarole of more applications, exams, stress and general academic BS, but I think more of it was my being uncomfortable with the idea of my own privilege. I didn't (and don't) want to go on for more schooling just because I could - because I could get accepted and figure out a way of financing it, or worse, because I couldn't think of anything better to do with myself. My guilt at the idea of having too many opportunities available to me no doubt stems from the incredible experiences I've been lucky enough to have so far, from seeing so many people who aren't afforded the same opportunities to "succeed" as I am. Strikingly, it is my own privileged upbringing (due to my parents' diligence and value of higher education) that has made me resent the notion of higher education for myself, of seeing it as a personal indulgence. It's quite a perverse conclusion, if not an uncommon one.

In any case, I think grad school is indeed in my future! I came to the realization that I could actually use the extra training to do a lot more good for others and for myself, and so I'm committed and actually looking forward to the idea. Sadly, I came a little late to the party, and am too late to actually get any apps out this year, so we're looking at a fall 2009 matriculation. Sigh. Let's hope my enthusiasm can last that long... I suppose the silver lining is that it gives me a ton of time to actually prepare myself, and to do my research on programs, make myself a better candidate, etc. Any suggestions on programs/opportunities for school (or cool experiences in the meantime) are more than welcome.

Borderline Sexual Harassment = Bad.

I think I win for obvious statement of the week.

Annoying Attorney A*** is a man who is known by all the paralegals at the firm as the guy you don't want to get stuck working with. He's a little out-of-control with his OCD ("Did you double-check it? Would you check it again? I'm going to re-check that with you one more time."), and has a knack for making unreasonable demands. On one memorable occasion, he told me that my photocopying skills were sub-par because, and I quote, "the black ink isn't black enough."

However, I put up with him fairly well, if only to catalogue all his idiosyncrasies and laugh at them later, so naturally, this means that he has taken a liking to me and frequently asks me to do his bidding. Recently, though, he's made a few comments to me that I am at a complete loss to know what to do with, given their suggestive and borderline inappropriate nature. Keep in mind that we're talking about a very, VERY awkward guy, who I keep telling myself is only trying to be friendly and is inadvertently falling on the wrong side of that delicate line of what is/is not OK to tell to someone who works under you. (Maybe I'm just in denial because I don't really want to consider the implications of what it would actually entail for me if I did eventually decide that he crossed that boundary, but he's a competent attorney -- he's got to know better than to hit on me, right? Right? OK, let's really not think about that. I'll cross that bridge if it ever comes down to it, but I don't really honestly see that happening. God, I hope not.)

He remarked to me about a week ago about how my outfit looked "really good on me," which I wrote off as a compliment that went awry. Yesterday, however, he upped the ante a bit and brought creepy to a new level. I was in his office looking through pictures of the jail (which on a completely unrelated note is much less scary-looking than I had imagined), and when we got to the photos of the shower area, he busted out with this:

"Krystyna, how would you like to take a shower there? You know, with all those guys in the cellblock watching? I guess you'd have that little curtain there, but that doesn't do much. Or you could just take a bath."

I ask you all: HOW THE HELL DOES ONE RESPOND TO THAT?? Answer: By mustering a face that (hopefully) appropriately expressed my utter shock at having my superior insinuate that I would be naked in a shower... with people watching... in a jail context... It was awkward to an extreme. So yeah. Ack. I doubt this will evolve into anything other than an unfortunate pattern of semi-questionable remarks, but should it turn into anything lewder, rest assured that I will deal with it. I am, after all, surrounded by hundreds of high-profile attorneys who would no doubt jump on the chance for a juicy sexual harassment pro bono assignment. That is one bizarre perk of working at a corporate law firm where a tarnished image could turn into a huge liability.

Scruffy cats dashed out of old cargo equipment, rusted snowplows and underbrush to eat the food.

On a totally random note, this is just about the most random news article I've read in quite a while, but because I believe in sharing hilarious things, I thought I'd point out this little gem to my devoted readers (all twelve of you).

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Also, Happy Halloween!!!

Little Jaunt to New England

Alright, it's a little too depressing to keep seeing my last post after last week's crushing defeat for the Rockheads, so I think it's about time for an update, lest I keep getting reminded of my silly and optimistic enthusiasm. Ah well. There's always, uh, next year...

I had a little weekend getaway and flew up to Providence for Brown's family weekend to visit Alex. It was a mini Wamboldt-reunion, which was excellent, and I got lots of good food out of the deal. The highlight was a classic "this is why the Wamboldts can't have nice things" moment (if you aren't aware, this is a favorite game to play in my family... Every time somebody breaks something, spills something, trips, embarrasses themselves, embarrasses others, drops food, disobeys social etiquette, makes a faux pas, or generally does something that one might find awkward and hilarious, you just add it to the running list of "why the Wamboldts can't have nice things." It's definitely a little weird, but then, so is my family.). We had gone to Newport for the day, where "summer" is a verb and "salmon" is an adjective used to describe pants color, and decided to indulge in a little lifestyles of the rich and famous tourism. We went to The Breakers, the largest and most famous of the Newport mansions, owned by Cornelius Vanderbilt II, which was basically like a miniature (I use that term loosely) Versailles. It was essentially a European palace, no joke. My favorite part of the tour was that the dining room chairs weighed 70-100 pounds each (depending on whether the detachable armrests were on), and so for their dinner galas, the family would hire 40 men to literally stand behind each chair so that they could help the guests get out from the table. Incredible. Also, I forgot to mention that The Breakers was only a "summer home" for the Vanderbilts, so it got used for only about 6 weeks every summer. Again, incredible. The amount of sheer wealth and vanity that this all requires boggles my mind.

ANYWAY, I was trying to recount the "this is why the Wamboldts can't have nice things" moment. So when we were waiting in line for tickets to the Vanderbilt cottage (also fairly pricey, these dudes have a whole racket figured out, let me tell you), this elderly couple from one of the bus tours that go see every mansion in Newport offers us their extra tickets. Being total cheapskates, we gladly accept, and are all impressed at our good fortune. We go wait in line, smugly thinking that we got out of paying to see some rich people's house, and are quite pleased with ourselves until we get to the front of the line. The primly polished woman taking tickets, who looks as though she has never smiled a day in her life, looks at us, looks at the tickets, and then asks coldly, "Are these the only tickets you have?"

We sort of stumble and say yeah, at which point the woman goes inside and consults with another prissy looking woman, who also comes out and again quite coldly informs us that the tickets we are trying to use are meant for only one person. So much for trying to pawn off our free tickets, couldn't fool them. This is about the point where Alex and I begin to get the serious giggles, and start off a full-fledged family laughing fit. The fact that our family was basically being rejected at the door of a fancy-pants mansion by Newport society women was just too priceless not to make the obvious comment (see above). Shamed and scorned, we had to go actually buy some tickets and re-face the woman taking tickets, who somehow didn't remember us (you'd have thought we made enough of a scene, but no), but eventually they let the riff-raff in.

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On the topic of my career...


Mom: "You should marry rich, get introduced to the President and become friends, and then you could be appointed as ambassador to a really cool country!"

Dad: "You can become a gypsy."


These comments came at different points over the same dinner. I'm not sure if it's possible for me to simultaneously accomplish both, but dammit I'm going to try. I'd hate to let my parents down.

Glory Day for the Mile High City!!!!!

THE ROCKIES ARE GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES!!!

So apparently, hell has frozen over, and the good ole' Rockheads somehow made it to the pinnacle of baseball-dom, or at least are so incredibly near to it. This is tremendously exciting news for someone who remembers going to their first few games back in 1993, and who has cheered them on for at least one home game every season since. Humor me for a second and let me just brag a little about our victory after so many years of mediocrity: the NYTimes informs me that this is only the second time that a team has ever won every game in the post season, the first being in 1976 with the Cincinnati Reds. (And yes, as memorable as that event was, I feel quite certain that this time it really is a victory for the ages, and will be remembered for generations to come. Seriously.) Admittedly, I'm no expert in the field of baseball statistics (pun intended), but this sounds like a sort of big deal to me. I mean, come on -- we just won 21 of our last 22 games!! I wish I were in Denver to join in the festivities... and by "festivities" I really mean drunken people rioting downtown.

I spent a while trying to come up with a clever title for this entry commemorating my dear Rockies' clean sweep of the playoffs, but very quickly realized that any/all would be too corny to dare post with any seriousness. However, our team's name just lends itself to such glorious puns that I just had to compile a short list of the favorites:

- ROCKtober (Var: ROCKtoberfest)
- ROCKstars
- We will, we will ROCK you
- Time to ROCK and roll
- This city's off its ROCKer

There, I warned you. Not clever.

Most of all, I'm just proud that we, a "nobody team/state," is in the spotlight. As the Times puts it, "Perhaps now fans outside of their region will get to know them." Damn straight.

Bad news for we over-analyzers...but beautiful nonetheless.

"I understand it all too well, Ivan: to want to live with your insides, your guts -- you said it beautifully, and I'm terribly glad that you want so much to live," Alyosha exclaimed. "I think that everyone should love life before everything else in the world."

"Love life more than its meaning?"

"Certainly, love it before logic, as you say, certainly before logic, and only then will [you] also understand its meaning."


- The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Mad Scientist by Circumstance, Not Choice

This must be obvious from reading my past postings, but I spend a lot of time thinking about employment: how to get it, what makes it fulfilling, whether it should define your life or merely be a part of it, what about it makes it worthwhile or worthless... I'm at a place where I'm cutting a sharp distinction between the work/life divide, although I hope down the line to somehow integrate those two facets of my life a little more. That is, like most people, I ultimately hope to find the proverbial "perfect job" which channels my skills, talents, ethics, and passion into something that changes the world for the better (and one which I enjoy doing), rather just being employed for the sake of earning money. But that lofty goal can wait for a while. Not an immediately pressing concern.

I met a guy my age about a week ago who had just moved to DC, and was telling me how it was so hard for him to land a job here. He was intelligent, witty, personable, and had just graduated from a top liberal arts college with an engineering degree, so it struck me as strange that he wasn't snapped up by some firm or another right away. (Admittedly, DC may not be the absolute best place for engineers, but there should still be some opportunities, I would imagine.) Anyway, when I asked what he ended up finding, he got extremely sheepish and told me he was just hired by a place called (creepily enough) MetalStorm Ltd. He'll be using his young and talented mind to design new forms of missiles and grenade launchers, which he knows will then be sold to the U.S. government and shipped to Iraq, where he admits that they will presumably inflict staggering damages on civilians and children, among others. I guess I can't hold it against him personally if this really is the ONLY job he can find for now, but I'm really struggling with the idea that he could accept such an appalling job even with the admission that it is, well, evil.

More than anything, I find it more than a little disillusioning (and disturbing) to find out that normal, good people can just "fall into" a profession like missile design. I mean, this really should not be one of those things that smart people just resort to because they have no better career opportunities. Yikes.

Happy Paralegal Week!!!

OK, so I'm actually a week late. Paralegal Week was LAST week, that is October 1-7, but I figure that it's alright to extend the holiday season a little and celebrate this glorious event just a bit more.

Apparently, Paralegal Week happens because BOTH the Mayor of DC and the Governor of Maryland signed proclamations to that effect. Several thoughts:
1. Proclamations still exist?!? I thought they went out of style in 1863 with the Emancipation Proclamation, which was, after all, a pretty bad-ass proclamation. It sort of tickles me that elected officials can still issue proclamations. I wish we could have a "royal decree" in favor of Paralegal Week, too. Maybe they do in the UK.
2. What the hell is wrong with the Governor of Virginia for NOT supporting my valuable contributions to the legal community?! I mean, come on. If both DC and Maryland support Paralegal Week, you'd think VA would want to join the bandwagon too, and reap some goodwill among the toiling masses of entry-level paralegals in the metro area (or worse: the PERMAlegals who do this as a career... shudder). Anyway, just in case you want to register your shock at the Governor of Virgina's complete callousness and utter disregard for paralegals everywhere, I have provided a link to his "contact me" page: http://www.governor.virginia.gov/AboutTheGovernor/contactGovernor.cfm
3. Just in case you still don't believe me that there are actual proclamations, I've posted one of them as proof that absurdity is alive and well. This is the one from the Mayor of DC's office, and it's really slick. See, even while lauding the "trained professionals who provide substantive legal assistance," he managed to slide in a little lefty politics about the voting rights of the District!! (The actual text cleverly reads: "Whereas, paralegals who live in Washington, DC serve the legal profession admirably, despite being denied full voting rights in Congress...") WHOAAAA there it is!! So maybe this whole proclamation thing was only an opportunity for him to promote his own political agenda, and wasn't actually about the paralegals at all!!! Oh my god. This realization is like discovering that the tooth fairy isn't real.
4. Um, don't actually contact the governor about this. OK, maybe that would be pretty funny if he started getting outraged emails over this. Haha.

So anyway, having nothing better to do for Paralegal Week, I decided to make cards for my coworkers, thanking them for their valued contributions to the firm and the legal community at large on my behalf. Then, I spent about three hours one day hand-delivering them to other offices, and chatting for a while, no doubt spreading the joy of the festivities wherever I went. As Xiaolu put it, "You are to Paralegal Week what Santa Clause is to Christmas. Minus the huge belly, of course." I can't think of a better compliment.

Laura thinks this story is scary, but it's really just funny.

I think I've been in a pretty oblivious state of mind recently. For whatever reason, I seem to be trapped in my own head more than usual, which in my case is significant. There is a lot going on right now that merits thinking seriously about - a sign of a fulfilling life - but it is getting to the point where I need to just "live" rather than continually analyze the process of living.

While on the topic of being TOTALLY oblivious to the world around me.... There's this crazy man who habitually loiters in and around the Dupont Circle metro, jacked up on maybe fifteen kinds of substance, who has this crafty little trick of riding the metro back and forth, claiming to need just enough money to get off. He wanders around yelling "One more dollar! Just one more dollar! Please people, can you give me a quarter? One quarter? I've gotta get off this train..." etc. Thing is, he ALWAYS needs "just one more dollar," and I have witnessed this little ploy several times before. Pretty clever, really. I bet if he were marginally less irritating, though, he'd get a lot more.

Anyway, last Thursday, I happened to be on his car in the metro (just my luck), and due to a lot of factors (me being tired, frustrated, hungry, and eager to get home after Arabic class, to name a few) it was just not the right time for me to be dealing with Mr. Nutcase. I consciously decided to ignore him and in order to drown out his steady banter, I turned up my iPod and started blankly out the window into the dark tunnel. (Yes, rude, I know, but then bad moods often trump civility, sad as that may be.)

After a couple of minutes lost in my own train of thought, I notice that the guy is standing RIGHT behind me, no longer chanting "a quarter? a quarter? anyone?..." but instead, something more like "Ma'am, ma'am, it's following you! That's what happens, it's gonna get you. Gonna get you, ma'am, gonna get you." He's grating my nerves at this point, so I pointedly don't turn around until, after maybe thirty seconds, I notice out of the corners of my eye that people are staring at me. Like, everyone in the train is looking at me, and since there's a crazy person behind me (which would normally command far more attention than little ole me) it dawns on me that something is up.

Finally, two people tap my shoulder, and gesture to my hand, upon which a two-inch long, bright red cockroach is perched. It's clearly been chillaxin' there for, oh, you know, long enough for people to notice. I think I pretty suavely shook it off (it landed on the next guy over, who was way more freaked out than I was), and luckily, was able to save some face and escape when the doors opened at my stop a second later (saved by the bell). How it escaped my attention that there was a COCKROACH on me for over a minute, especially when a crazyman is loudly pointing out that same fact to the ENTIRE train, is completely beyond me. But there you go. Living in my own world these days.

The Silver Lining

So after the blood donation fiasco, which I'm starting to think of as God's way of telling me not to try heroin, they wrapped my arm with a bright red gauze bandage.

When Colleen got home from work and saw it, the first thing she said was: "What, you're wearing an armband in solidarity with the Burmese?"

Sigh. If only I were that cool...

A Bloody Fiasco

Today I donated blood. I have donated blood before. It has gone smoothly.

Today was not like that.

I went to the Red Cross station at my assigned time to get my donation on, and dutifully went through all the rigamarole of checking in and giving my sexual/travel/medical history and whatnot. In the process, it is "possible" that I "may" have slightly duped the people into accepting my semi-malarial blood due to omission of details concerning several sketchy places to which I have recently traveled... (KIDDING!!! Even I am not evil enough to trick the Red Cross into accepting tainted blood... sort of.) But I pass the screening and am moved to the donation unit.

I get settled into my chair, and do my level best to remain reasonably calm during the run-up to getting jabbed in the arm. I can't decide if it's better to watch the needle go in, or to avoid looking at my arm at all costs, so I wind up doing both, twisting my head back and forth in a nervous manner while the volunteer sticks in the needle. My veins, I am told, are really small, so in order to find a serviceable one, the nurse had to apply an amount of pressure that would cripple Hercules (or that was my impression, in any case).

She stuck in the needle, and about 10 seconds later, my hand went completely numb. I informed the nurse to this fact, and she was able to reduce the pressure marginally so that the numbness became only a tingle. About thirty seconds after what we shall call "Adjustment #1" I start feeling really dizzy and weak. As someone who has fainted on more than one occasion before, I can recognize the run-up and, once again, alert the nurse. She came to adjust the pressure machine once again, flipped my chair back to a reclining position, and told her assistant to run and get my a Coke to drink for the sugar. As someone not used to being fussed over, I tried to keep a really nonchalant attitude and save a little face. This fell apart rather shortly afterwards, as you shall soon see.

So I finally get settled in my chair, and keep obediently squeezing the little rubber ball that is supposed to keep your blood moving. I relax for the next five minutes, and watch my blood fill the little bag. I thought for a while about what a generous, community-minded individual I am to go through this hassle and become fairly content, basking in my own goodwill... that is, until the nurse happens to notice that the bag isn't filling up anymore as I had imagined it was. It's actually not filling up at all.

The solution? She has to up the pressure yet again to try to make my puny little vein bleed, and, as expected, my arm goes numb. This begins a process of "increase pressure-make Krystyna's arm go numb-reduce pressure-make Krystyna's arm stop bleeding" which repeats about four or five times, each one because I am (politely and meekly) complaining.

At this point, I start getting worried that I'm not going to be able to fill the whole bag and that after all this torture, they're going to throw it away anyway. (This did not ultimately happen, thankfully, as it would have left disastrous psychological consequences and hindered me from persuing further selfless activities for fear of waste and ultimate uselessness.) Somehow, through what can only be described as a miracle, we hit a pressure equilibrium, I stay relatively un-numb, and manage to complete the pint.

The needle comes out, I wait my requisite five minutes before moving, go to the snack table, and eat about two cookies until a wave of intense dizziness hits me. The woman next to me notices my pallor and clear disorientation and flags over a different aide, who has to escort me back to the chair, where they tilt me back to a prone position, cover me with a blanket, and force me to drink water. As if I haven't already caused enough of a scene by commanding the attention of a good third of the Red Cross staff, someone notices that I look flush and then covers my face and neck with cool, wet paper towels. Keep in mind that this is in full view of about, oh, twenty or so people, many of them attorneys who work at my firm. Great.

All I could do was swallow my pride and lie there like the weakling they exposed me to be until I was ultimately given permission to move back to my old friend, the snack table. Ten long minutes later, they pronounced me to be fit to return to normal society, and I sheepishly scamper out of the room, grab a huge lunch, and hole up in my office.

My new theory is that they impose this two-month limit between donations not because that's how long it would take you to regenerate enough red blood cells, but so that you will forget about all the trauma that the effing process actually entails, and by the time the waiting period is up, will have re-convinced yourself that donating blood is a good and charitable idea and go eagerly forward to do it again.

In any case, today was truly a lesson in humility.