my british airways airplane tray
max in our kempinski hotel room in dar
max waiting for "meat on sticks"
"fun with sunscreen" max: "doesn't this look like arabic?"
greetings from one of those pools that looks like it's on the edge of a building...and overlooks the indian ocean
my first hint of wildlife!
shadow&reflection
journaling by the pool
we ate really good italian food (go figure) at the mediterraneo hotel on the indian ocean with a full moon illuminating the water
bora, muele, amy, max, alwyn
Max playing "WOW"
haha, no dog "fouling"--this is for my dog-walker friends/clients
the oh-so-appropriate blanket in felix's room, where i stayed
secret garden, behind the house we stayed in, where i wrote in my journal
where i slept, in felix's room
out felix's window
That's right. One week from today I will be embarking on my dream trip to partake in my dream job. Ever since my friend, Okado, showed our third grade class a video of him playing soccer in Kenya with his cousins, I've dreamed of going to Africa. Yes, technically I've been to the continent before during my brief weekend in Tangiers, Morocco, but this is different.
At first I was admittedly a little nervous about picking up and leaving for a month. I've gotten too attached to my daily routine and too attached to the dogs I walk. But then I reminded myself, that that is exactly why people need to travel--to break out of their bubbles. And here's what really put me over the edge: I was listening to the radio early this morning while driving into the city from my parent's house. And the DJ asked listeners to call in with their opinions about whether there should be a salary cap on people, like athletes and actors and CEOs, who make over a million dollars a year.
"Joe from Oak Lawn" called in and said, "America is all about making money. That's why we're here!" And in that moment I realized why I need to get out of here. We may be the "richest nation in the world," which isn't even true, seeing as we're in debt to everyone and have a terrible economy, but I don't think that those are or should be the ideals of our country. I think that what is more important than making money is helping people who are less fortunate than ourselves. And it got me really excited to have the opportunity to join forces with surgeons and filmmakers and doctors to help fight against the Malaria epidemic in one of the most remote parts of Africa, along Lake Tanganyika. For more information, you can check out the Lake Tanganyika Floating Health Clinic website HERE and download the malaria net initiative proposal.
The past few weeks, as I walk my dogs, I keep noticing things that I don't usually notice because they're things I, and most people, take for granted...like electrical lines, the radio, my van. I keep noticing these things because I know they're things I'm not going to have for an entire month. And I'm excited about that. Makes life interesting.
I look forward to meeting the cast of The Lion King while there, but I (unfortunately) learned my lesson a few days ago, regarding wild animals. My hand got massively attacked, both gashed and bitten, by a house cat, completely unprovoked. After I got over cursing the cat and cleaning the blood off my throbbing hand, I decided to look at this as a good thing too have happened before I go into the land of wildcats. Knowing me, I probably would have attempted to hug a lion cub. Now that I've seen what a small house cat can do, I will be sure to stay a safe distance from all wild animals while I'm there.
Except giraffes.
Stay tuned...because I'm going to try and post a few times while there.
Until then...keep it real.
My freshman year of college my dad sent me an article he cut out of the Tribune about Found Magazine and attached a Post-It on which he wrote: "This sounds like your bedroom."
Turns out he was pretty accurate in that statement. While some may define treasure as diamonds and gold, I revel in marginalia and ephemera. I love finding notes people wrote, whether they lie hidden in the pages of a novel or on a found piece of paper crumpled on the street. I love imagining the person behind the handwriting, what they were thinking and marveling (and a lot of times laughing) at their choice of words.
Recently, while out dog-walking, I found two things worth sending in to "Found" if I ever get around to it.
The first is a note I found in a crate in an alley off of Crystal Street, just East of Damen. I blurred out the last name mentioned.
[click the images to read]
The next treasure I found a few days ago lying, white side up, on a patch of grass on Maud. I thought it was funny enough to pick up and it turned out it got even funnier on the cardboard side. It was an art pad with no pages.
["Give Me My Money NOW" "You said that you was gonna give me money in the morning."]
["You are bad! You are sad.
Phillip Carter
When are you giveing me
my moeony big fat man
You get nothing
Yes I do Dont say that
--big Head
Phillip Jason Carter
You are A Faty"]
And just for kicks, I thought I'd finally scan a map--of our DRIVEWAY--my dad once left on our kitchen table for a neighbor who was house-sitting. Although it's technically not a "found object," it's one of my favorites, a prized possession if you will.
Five years ago I was midway through my semester abroad in Madrid, when I woke up to hearing my Señora frantically talking to my roommate, Lisa, in her kitchen. All I could pick up on was the word "bombas." I figured I must have heard wrong, that surely I would have known if bombs had exploded. I figured wrong, I learned a few minutes later.
I just dug up my journal from that international time in life and below is what I wrote on that day. Although I sound disconnected from the events, the repercussions ended up being eerily similar to those of 9/11. I still seem to involuntarily shiver any time I enter a train or train station and my brain automatically assumes one or the other is going to explode. Comes with the territory, I suppose.
"March 11, 2004. Exactly 2.5 years, to the day, after experiencing the worst terrorist attack in the U.S., I just lived through the worst terrorist attack in Spain. It's remarkable how similar the two days started out...it was like de ja vu. Around 8 a.m. I woke up with a bad stomach ache and went to the bathroom. I was so mad that I was awake cause my alarm was set for 10, that when my Sñra knocked on my door soon after I reentered my room, I ignored her. Even when she frantically said, "Alyse?!" three times, I pretended to be asleep. At 10 my alarm rang and about 5 minutes later Lisa came home. I heard her talking to Sñra in the kitchen and then she came into our room.
"Bombs exploded in Atocha Station, most likely ETA terrorists."
I was going on day-5 of my constant headache and my stomach was still upset. I crumpled onto my bed, still holding the hot pink pills, and stared up at the ceiling.
"Why?" is all I could think of to say.
"Probably because elections are this week," Lisa said.
The flashbacks began. Brianna coming into our room freshman year--"A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center!" I decided to go to school despite the news, mostly because I needed a computer. Skipped my shower and breakfast, wore my glasses. When I went out to the bus stop, I took my phone out to text message Sheri since it was 3:30 a.m. back home. As I started my phone rang like I had a message. So I stopped typing and listened. My mom, as usual, woke up and read online about the bombs before I had a chance to call home. She was hysterical, telling me to call her asap even though it's the middle of night. So I called her back right away and she couldn't stop crying. I felt really bad.
When I got to school I sent out a mass e-mail letting people know I was okay, since most were still sleeping. Then, for part of Spanish class time, we had a "news briefing," but I don't remember most of what they said. Walking onto the patio I had lost my balance and scraped my elbow really hard against the rough wall. So that hurt and was bleeding and I was just in such a daze.
I felt bad for Raquel (Spanish teacher) because she said something like, "I don't even know if all my friends are alive. I don't want to teach grammar." So, for awhile, we talked and then, because NYU sucks and wouldn't let her end class, we learned the words for body parts...as grossly ironic as that is.
The rest of the day was very unlike 9/11. Yeah I saw some news coverage on TV, but it wasn't like NYC where I then ran to the window and watched it in person. And there was no suffocating smell. And the weirdest thing was the city seemed to function as normal.
On September 11, I walked down FIFTH AVENUE and nothing was going on. The whole day I had horrible flashbacks of 9/11 and selfishly that's what disturbed me most. I feel very detached from what happened here. I am just baffled that I've now lived through two terrorist attacks...unreal. When I got off the bus and walked to school, "Ooo child, things are gonna get easier..." came on my CD and I thought, I really don't think they are and was overwhelmed by survivor's guilt for the third time. I mean seriously, what is the point of life? Nothing makes sense. One could argue--love. But usually that's about as non-sensical as you can get and your lover just ends up dying too...
It's always been strange to think back at the things that happened the day or night before something like this happens. For instance, the night before in my cities class, my teacher passed around a special edition of "Time" magazine dedicated to why "SPAIN ROCKS," why it's become such an amazing and innovative country. Then, when I left, I was waiting at the bus stop and there was bad traffic because of the Real Madrid vs. Germany soccer game. There was a young girl watching two cars slowly roll by, decorated with politician faces and megaphones playing music and declaring the possible presidents' stances. And, I don't know why, but I thought--"If suddenly these cars were shot down, like JFK style, when I got around to finding words to describe what happened, I would write from that girl's perspective."
After dinner (on 3/10) I talked to both my mom and sister on the phone. My mom excitedly announced, "9 days!" and when I talked to Sheri I was like, "Are you so excited to come here?!" She was."
3/15/04
"...At dinner Maria told us the bombs were from Al Queda, not ETA. I almost threw up on the table...I wish I would have been here this weekend to join the protests [I was in Paris] and vigils and take pictures...yesterday were the elections, Zappatero won, the Socialist party...apparently public opinion changed overnight...this should be a slap in the face to Bush as far as supporting the war against Iraq...or so I hear..."
I remember going to view the memorials a week or so later and thinking, "Man, this is like 9/11 in Spanish." I remember seeing a drawing that a kid made with markers of a train on fire and dead stick people lying on the ground. I was so overwhelmed, that I penned a letter to Joey back home. I recently found out he never received any of the letters I sent him while I was there, which still blows my mind, but as I've been paging through my journal, I've found multiple excerpts from those letters that I transcribed as entries for myself.
So, in closing, here's another entry:
"excerpt from 3/19 letter to Joey:
...How do you possibly explain to a child the terrible things that happen in our world...that there are people who will ruthlessly blow up cities without an ounce of remorse. Last summer I worked with this guy Tim who was the most negative person I've ever met. He hated everything except cigarettes and soup. On more than one occasion he mentioned hating kids, but I distinctly remember him saying once why he would never have his own--because he wouldn't want to 'subject another human to this fucked up world.' At first I just rolled my eyes, but later I actually found myself thinking about what he said and that maybe had a valid point. I thought of that today when I was looking at that kid's picture. I guess it's just another one of those 'what ifs...' or 'why bother...' thoughts. What if I had a kid and he/she ended up a victim of senseless violence? Or what if I didn't have a kid because I was scared, but he/she would have been able to change the world? Why bother letting yourself fall in love when it might end in heartbreak? Because as cliche as it sounds, nothing is for certain and every day should be lived how you want it. I don't know why I'm still here after all that has happened around me--survivors guilt times two--but since I am, I hope I can someday die knowing that I've positively impacted at least one life...I think that is probably the purpose of life--to help others live and love."
I pride myself in having quite an eclectic collection of music. My itunes library has just under 7,000 songs, and if I was to import ALL of my CDs, I'm pretty sure I could probably boost that number up closer to 8,000. Ranging from Bessie Smith to Outkast to Amalia Rodrigues to Bob Dylan to Andrew Bird to Brittney Spears to Talking Heads to Run DMC to Dixie Chicks, you get the idea.
So when Abbi proposed going to see a two-man improv show at Second City's Skybox theater (a smaller room than their famous mainstage) that revolved around putting an audience member's ipod on shuffle, I enthusiastically said I'd go. I also was pretty adamant about insisting I wanted "a-pod" (the name of my ipod) chosen. Even during the ride to the show, while driving six passengers in my van (yes! owning a minivan in the city finally served a purpose!), I still thought it was beyond a good idea for my music to be the soundtrack to "Soundtrack."
It wasn't until we were sitting front and center that I started to get nervous--mostly that obscure tracks would come on, like Hebrew rap or Amy's Answering Machine--but also that I'd be judged by a bunch of people for my taste (or lack thereof) in music, just as I would have judged whoever ultimately got chosen. So when Tom Blandford and Mark Piebenga walked on stage and announced that this was their last show and, "Before we get started, we'll need an ipod from someone in the audience," I totally second-guessed my initial confidence and didn't raise my hand. My friends and sister immediately yelled, "ALYSE! RAISE YOUR HAND!" In response, I did the timid I-don't-actually-want-to-be-volunteering-myself-right-now raising of my hand only to shoulder height. Because I was sitting so close, one of the actors saw my ipod sitting on the table and despite first pointing out that someone's hand "shot up" in the back, chose me. As soon as I handed over my ipod, I slunk down a few inches in my seat, already regretting my decision.
Just as I feared, neither I nor anyone else in the room knew the first song. I guess this made their stage presence all the more humorous, but I felt my face growing hot and was glad no one could see me. "What is this, Alyse?" I heard Lisa, who's friends with one of the actors, ask from the row behind me. I turned around and said, "I have no idea."
Somehow he turned those interpretive dance moves into a skit about being obsessed with roller derby, and that theme carried throughout most of the hour-long show. The rest of the songs chosen at random, which served as interludes where the actors improv-danced between skits, went as followed:
2) "Not Ready To Make Nice" by the Dixie Chicks
3) "Ballad of John & Yoko" by The Beatles
4) some instrumental song that sounded familiar and foreign that I couldn't quite place
5) "Hard Knock Life" from Annie (of which more than one person later said to me, "I was totally expecting it to be the Jay-Z version, but nope, it was from the actual musical..." I totally forgot about Jay-Z's rendition of that.)
6) "Play With Fire" by The Rolling Stones
7) "Jai Ho" by A.R. Rahman from the "Slumdog Millionaire" soundtrack
8) "Wind Cries Mary" by Jimi Hendrix
9) "Burnin' Love" by Elvis
10) "Opposites Attract" by Paula Abdul
11) "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" from "Mary Poppins"...I lost it laughing when this came on. Could you think of a more potentially embarrassing selection??
12) some song by Led Zeppelin I didn't know by name
Ben tapped me on the shoulder towards the end and said, "So Oldies or Soundtracks, huh?"
"Pretty much," I replied, laughing.
All in all it was hilarious, and the actors both thanked me at the end for the "awesome" songs. Not so sure "awesome" would be the right word to describe that particular collection, but as long as they were satisfied, I felt fine about it. I wish now, for humor's sake, that something from "Fiddler On The Roof" and/or "The Lion King" had also made an appearance.
What would your soundtrack be? Put your ipod or itunes on shuffle and write down the first 12 songs.
I know I've already posted twice before about Writers Week, but it just never fails to be magical and calming--to the point where I'm so grateful to be immersed in spoken word again that I feel on the verge of tears standing in the shadows watching these word-wizards speak.
It happened to be that the only hour I could attend Writers Week this year coincided with three of my favorite former English teachers (and it turned out the other two were also in attendance) were reading. Perfect timing.
Afterward, I got to listen to most of Chuck Perkins' electric performance of his N.O.L.A.-centric poems, complete with a jazz band and Indian drummers, who danced around in elaborate costumes full of colors and feathers.
Because I haven't written much in the way of poetry lately, I am going to post two of my new favorite poems. The first was copied into a handmade journal by my friend's mom and it's one of those pieces I wish I would have written myself. I just learned the title and author by Googling the first line.
And the second poem, "Parallel Universe," was written by my cousin, Ellyn Maybe, who I'm proud to say, makes her living as a real-life poet. She recently shared a link to a magazine that published this poem. I love it because I can relate to how I feel like I could never live without music and how some people just don't get it.
Enjoy.
Summons
Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up. Come any hour
Of night. Come whistling on the road.
Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
Tell me the northern lights are on
And make me look. Or tell me clouds
Are doing something to the moon
They never did before, and show me.
See that I see. Talk to me till
I'm half as wide awake as you
And start to dress wondering why
I ever went to bed at all.
Tell me the walking is superb.
Not only tell me but persuade me.
You know I'm not too hard persuaded.
~Robert Francis
Parallel Universe
Sometimes I wonder if there are one million people
listening at the same time
to the same Leonard Cohen song.
The one that keeps people from killing themselves.
It's a long playing record
It's a long song
Where do people play each other the songs that will keep them
standing
when one foot in front of the other is more myth than practice?
I once tried to play Beware of Darkness by George Harrison for a
friend,
cause its beauty and pain were singular at that moment and
I wanted to share
I wanted to hear as close as we could the same thing and
make of it what we would
He said he heard that song when it first came out and ran out
to smoke a cigarette
We lost something in that moment
I listen to music alone, but I imagine there are sharp notes
bending the backs of the universe into more flexibility, more love,
more tenderness, more a capella chiropractors
Somebody is strumming 3 basic cords and
somebody will live through the night.
Dumbest Question Award: "Why don't you have a boyfriend??"
What do people expect you to say when they ask that? Oh, well I've thought long and hard and I've come to a few conclusions:
a) I don't look like a swimsuit model
2) My high school English teacher senior year once told me I'm intimidating because I know what I want out of life...?
I guess I should find it flattering that people apparently find the fact that I don't so shocking, but it also feels a little backhanded--can one not experience self-worth without being someone's significant other?
"Oh and by the way, it's Valentine's Day. So if you're watching at home, better luck next year." ~Seth Meyers, Weekend Update
(Here I am at my childhood friend, Shelley's, wedding in December. Her dad called me off the dance floor to tell me, in front of my dad, that he can't believe I "don't have a line of guys waiting to go out with me and that I should really try the online dating scene." Thank you?)
My only response: laugh it up.
First things first. I love road trips. I love experiencing everything that comes along with being on the road. This particular road trip occurred on January 19, which marked George W's final full day in office after eight treacherous years, as well as Martin Luther King Jr. Day. So it really meant something to wind around tree-lined Carolina roads, eating McDonald's breakfast and singing along to Willie Nelson. And it meant something to not feel embarrassed when we passed under an overpass where people stood proudly draping a giant American flag above the road, waving at drivers headed in the direction of our nation's capitol.
Zach and I barely talked the entire drive to D.C. He loves music as much as I do, so the night before I left to meet him in South Carolina, I burned 16 mix CDs in anticipation of our trip. I know I feel completely comfortable around someone when I let myself sing along with songs as if I was alone, full well knowing I don't sound great.
We stopped for gas once at a surreal tourist trap called "South of the Border," just before crossing over the North Carolina state line. Awhile later I pulled off at a rest stop where we met a car-full of guys also headed north for the big day. They started chanting, "O-ba-ma!" when I got out of the car, which I realized later was because our President-To-Be was on my t-shirt. They were driving all the way from Florida and couldn't believe I was only wearing a t-shirt and said they were freezing. One of the guys was even wearing a ski mask!
We made one last stop as we approached our destination, Dunkin Donuts for more caffeine. Our fuel light went on just as we saw the first sign for Dulles Airport, where we had to return our rental car. Since we had already paid for the tank of gas in advance, this was unbelievably perfect timing. There was no traffic and we made it from Point A to Point B in under nine hours. I drove the entire way and apparently was driving, although safely, around 90-100 mph most of the way. We only had to wait behind one person in line for a Super Shuttle and were immediately called to board one as soon as we paid. Everything seemed to be going almost too smoothly, since we were expecting major traffic delays and a mob-like atmosphere at the airport.
I was expecting to get to P.J.'s apartment late at night and we got there before 7 p.m., in time to get some pizza for dinner down the street with him and Ryan, who I didn't know was going to be there and I hadn't seen since high school. P.J. and I have been friends since first grade, and he's currently in med school at Georgetown, so we lucked out with having a free place to crash.
We woke up before the sun and left at 6:30 to catch a bus. We got on the first one that arrived, no problem. I bought the $5 commemorative Inauguration-Day bus pass with Obama's face on it and as I sat down next to Zach, I remarked how smoothly this whole plan continued to play out. We got off as close to the Mall as the buses were allowed and walked the rest of the way. This is how the Washington Monument looked as we approached. We found a place to plant ourselves, just past the Monument for the next five hours, where we had a relatively unobstructed view of one of the many Jumbotrons. The screens broadcast footage from the day before of different speakers and performers. Some celebrities didn't quite make sense...like the actor who played Kumar in the Harold & Kumar movies...why does he get to speak at the Inauguration? I don't know. Throughout the morning we kept tabs on Devon, who had pretty much the opposite experience as me and Zach. She drove from NYC to D.C. with a filthy windshield (and had never driven in snow before!), got stuck on the Jersey turnpike, and then in the morning had to stand in a crazy long line to get on a Metro train into the city, which ended up breaking down. But, despite all of that and only semi-functioning phone service, we found her! As we waited for the event to begin, I photographed some of the people around us. Here are some of my favorites. I wore my "Be the change you wish to see in the world" shoes again. By the time the introductions began, we had all been already suffering from numb toes and frozen noses. The last person to be introduced before the President-Elect was former President George W. Bush, emphasis on the former. As soon as his face hit the big screen, the crowd erupted in "BOO!" I was shocked. I mean I've said some not nice things about him, I even sat in Washington Square Park beside a painted sign I made that said, "STOP THE BUSH SHIT, SAY NO TO WAR!" in college during the weeks following September 11. But in this moment, I saw him as a defeated human being and I actually felt bad for him. Today is supposed to be a day of celebration, I thought. Shame on you for Boo-ing! I understand being excited that he's out of office, but then clap it out and cheer for the new one. Because that's why we're here. We're not here to dwell on Bush's mistakes, we're here to support Obama's challenges.
I did join in the collective sarcastic laughter, however, when the moderator said, "You may now take your seats." How few people out of the million there actually had a seat to sit on?
Then came the man of the hour or, I should say, the man of the next four (hopefully eight) years. A poem came to mind that I wrote senior year of high school when I was obsessed with the 60s and civil disobedience. (Note: I am not claiming this to be in any way a well-written poem, but I'm going to share it regardless)
August 28, 1963
Let
Visions of Emmet
Voices of Martin
Screams of Protesters
Gospel of Supporters
This is the place
They all come
This is the place
They all march to-
They
Freedom
March
To america’s
Holy land
With the strength
To pass through
fire hoses
and hungry
dogs
Ring
The King
Steps up to
Lincoln
Turns and faces
the Future
Thank God Almighty,
We Are Free At Last
The swearing in was actually more humorous than emotional because the voices didn't match the visuals on the screen, so it actually looked like Obama was swearing in the "repeat after me" guy. This on top of the whole swearing in slip-up that ended up requiring a do-over the following day. I don't remember much of his speech and I don't have favorite excerpts to share like I did after Election Night in November. But I do know I teared up. And I do remember noting that when addressing, "Christians, Jews, Muslims..." he also included "Non-Believers," which I don't think I've ever heard anyone who's anyone say. And I do know that after everything he said, the woman to my right proudly punched the air and loudly said, "YES!" How pleasant it felt to listen to such an eloquent President. How awesome it felt to stand on the same soil that so many people stood on in the past.
What was poor planning on the Inaugural Committee (if there is such a thing) was waiting until after Obama's speech to let Elizabeth Alexander recite her beautifully-written poem, "Praise Song for the Day," when people were already turning to leave. As soon as Barck's part was over, it was like a mass exodus of the Mall. At least people were in good spirits, despite the cold and despite the length of the ceremony. Well, everyone except this guy. I mean, really? You're going to choose this time to say that God hates a specific list of people? Classy.
No one knew where to go. Every direction we attempted to walk, we got stuck. Finally, we joined a group of people who had formed around a fence and were, one at a time, crawling underneath it. That worked. But then we ended up walking ALL the way back to Georgetown. The frozen Potomac was pretty and the Starbucks pit stop was much-needed. It was funny to see everything Obama-ized, such as the drink special at this bar (the Barack-O-Bomb): When we finally got back to P.J.'s, it was after 5 p.m. and we all crashed for several hours, sprawled on the floor and couch. Eventually, we all sleepily rejoined the waking world and mustered enough energy to play Rock Band for awhile. That game is seriously non-stop entertainment. Zach's friend, Joe, who was also down from NYC, met us at P.J.'s and we all piled in a cab to U Street, in search of a restaurant/bar called "Utopia." How appropriate, I thought. Instead, we ended up in a pizza-Indian fusion hole-in-the-wall with disco lights and reggae music. We got huge slices of pizza and watched the new President and First Lady share their first dance at the ball on a small TV suspended in the corner of the pizza parlor. While jamming to UB40's "Red Red Wine." From there, we walked down the street to a bar, where P.J. led us to the basement. The DJ played awesome old music and the small space was packed with elated patrons. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was dancing. Everyone was cheering Obama as they clinked glasses. A guy with a Boston Red Sox hat came up to me and asked to temporarily switch hats. Then this happened. Devon left from there to head back to her cousin's house. I took a cab back to P.J.'s with the boys, where I sat shotgun and interviewed our cab driver on video. It was a long day, but so worth it.
Zach and Joe left early next morning to meet Devon, who was driving back to NYC. P.J. had class, so I spent the day walking around the Mall and going to the Postal Museum. While there I took advantage of their postcard machine and printed and mailed postcards to a few people whose addresses I knew by heart. They even had an exhibit about one of my dream jobs, working in a dead letter office. After the museum, I decided to try and figure out where we had been standing the day before. First I walked to the Capitol Building and had someone take a picture of me. As I walked from there in the direction of the Washington Monument, I realized how close we had been the day before. To be honest, at the time, I didn't even know we were facing in the direction of the Capitol. I tried to take this picture of myself as an approximation, although I think we actually may have been a few hundred feet closer. So I continued walking and thinking about how I wish I had one of the cool nametags I saw people wearing during the Inauguration. Immediately following this thought, I saw a nametag stuck to the gravel sidewalk. Something compelled me to bend down and look at it. My jaw dropped when I saw that it said, "Hello my name is: ALYSE" How crazy is that?! By this point, my mind was blown and my feet hated me, so I sat down on the hill for awhile and took in my surroundings. I then had to walk a pretty far distance in search of a bus back to Georgetown and then had to wait, freezing on a bench, for a long time. P.J. got me a copy of the Washington Post, which was great because the rest of D.C. seemed to be sold out of the paper. He and I met my friend, Marion, at Afterwords, a book store that doubles as a restaurant, and indulged in their special Inauguration Menu. It boasted meals, such as, "Obama Family Chili" and "Biden Pot Pie." As soon as P.J. and I arrived back at his apartment, I went right to sleep because my Super Shuttle was scheduled to pick me up at 3:10 in the morning for my 6 a.m. flight.
All in all, I am so glad I took a few days off work to make this round-about journey to D.C. to partake in such a monumental and historical event. And it meant even more that I got to experience such a day standing side by side with some of my favorite people. I think being in Chicago on Election Night was more exciting, since A) no one knew the outcome and B) the Hometown Hero aspect, but it felt great to also be a part of the epilogue. I am excited to see where President Barack Hussein Obama will lead our country. Hopefully in better, more peaceful, and more logical directions than his predecessor.
The following is an edited (and not very good compressed file) version of my video footage, which I originally put together for groundreport.com
my british airways airplane tray
max in our kempinski hotel room in dar
max waiting for "meat on sticks"
"fun with sunscreen" max: "doesn't this look like arabic?"
greetings from one of those pools that looks like it's on the edge of a building...and overlooks the indian ocean
my first hint of wildlife!
shadow&reflection
journaling by the pool
we ate really good italian food (go figure) at the mediterraneo hotel on the indian ocean with a full moon illuminating the water
bora, muele, amy, max, alwyn
