planning ahead

eating fish at a certain burmese restaurant in dc’s chinatown is not something that can be done on a whim. in fact, as the menu explicitly spells out, you must order fish a full day before you plan on dining there. is the restaurant serious? do you or does anyone know what they are going to want to eat the day before they dine? i certainly don’t. i barely even know what i am craving at the moment i am about to put a forkful of food in my mouth.

for a very long time, i considered myself a planner. i knew what i would be doing the next day, two weeks later, and even three years in the future. it was great. i was in control of my life. everything was set in place.
unfortunately though, i realized about a year ago that planning far in advance only works when there are no other people and/or variables associated with the plans. i also discovered at that moment that planning for the future took me away from the present day; my brain’s frontal lobe kidnapped me from 'the now' and hid me in 'the later'.

eager to be freed from the constraints of future dreams, i employed a shiny, pointy sewing pin, and on a warm and august morning, i punctured right through my frontal lobe. a deluge of plans gushed from the white matter of my brain and with it, flowed my ability to control impulsivity.

since then, i have been living blissfully in the moment. i have no idea what i will be doing in an hour, or what i will be doing this weekend, or even what i will be doing when i graduate. i feel free! i feel unrestrained! i feel...

shit! truthfully, i feel lost. i don't know where i am going. i don't know what i want to do when i finish school. i don't know anything.

does this mean that i will never go anywhere? that i will stay in a stagnant pool with breeding mosquitos?


dwight d. eisenhower once said: plans are nothing; planning is everything.

...in my loose interpretation of his quote, i suppose he is saying that planning is great...but you can't be disappointed when the plans don't work out. so, with that being said, i will make plans tomorrow to have fish on friday. and i will make plans on friday to ______ when i graduate.

find a penny. pick it up. all day long...

…you’ll have good luck. right?!?

i’ve actually repeated this process many times in my life. and to tell you the truth, i’ve been incredibly disappointed each and every time as i wait for my day’s luck to come. it never does. even though i wait and wait and wait.

my idea of luck is to have something extraordinary happen to me. something wonderful, unexpected. for instance, i would be incredibly satisfied if at some point during the day that i found a penny, i stumbled into a huge ice cream truck overflowing with soft, smooth, and slightly sinfully sweet cream. and while i slurped up every spoonful of silky sensuousness, a comedian would whisper side splitting epigrams in my left ear. that would be a lucky day.

unfortunately, it seems to me that the days i pick up pennies are no different than any other day.

so, at first, i came to the unsupported conclusion that i was not picking up the right kind of pennies. i.e., they were made in an unlucky year, they were tails up, or they had tarnished to the point that the lucky juices could not penetrate from within the heart of the penny and into my bloodstream.

now and recently, i have convinced myself that luck is relative…and surprisingly but quite rationally, not determined by a chance penny sighting. i no longer rely on pennies for luck. in fact, i no longer rely on luck at all. instead i am taking a rational approach to life. boring, but it has worked for the last 20 hours.

i do realize and respect, however, that some people are still very excited when they find a penny…especially if it’s heads up. for these people, i hope that their fantasies do not include dairy dessert truck alliterations, or witty comedians…because, rationally, lets face it…this combo does not exist. i'd bet one hundred and three pennies on this, for that is how many failed luck attempts i have had in the last year.

oh, and i left the last penny i found on a brick pillar next to reservoir road (see far right photo). 2002 was a good year... so if you find it, pick it up, and all day long you'll have good luck. if you're into that kind of thing.

clusterfuck

ICK uck daddy long
can you count the many legs?
so many ick UCK

sole mates

shoe choice. your selection is determined by when, where, and how intensely you search. it's also abstractly based on more subjective criteria…such as your initial attraction to the pair of shoes, how they compliment your personality, their level of comfort, and finally, their sustainability.

everyone has sole mates out there. but WHERE? are they at your local Wal-mart, at Modell’s, at Neiman Marcus? are they delivered to your doorstep? --where you look for shoes will definitely affect which ones you pick to add to your wardrobe.

another factor that contributes to finding shoe companionship is WHEN you search for a new pair. do you shop when you feel sad? do you go to the store with confidence and determination? how about when there is a sale, or when the new designs are released? both mood and the ever-changing availability of shoes affects what you come home with at the end of the day.

and the INTENSITY of your search definitely affects the quality of the shoe you finally find yourself with. going shopping with a strong intensity, that includes exhaustive and comprehensive searching, might end in a different choice than approaching the search with weak intensity. in fact, one or both levels of intensity might result in no new shoes at all.

at first glance, it seems like there are an infinite number of shoes to pick from in the world -- and many that you might find yourself compatible with on one level or another. however, once you narrow down the selection to those that you encounter in your lifetime, the pool becomes much smaller. when it comes down to it, it seems that one has to pick the pair of shoes that fits the most snugly at any given time and then, as and if they begin to hurt, apply band aids and/or remove them for brief intervals.

a very important aspect of choosing shoes that you must steer away from, however, is choosing those that are already on someone’s feet. if you took them, you would only be kicking yourself in the end.

a bum theory on panhandling

over the past few months i have noticed a new and growing trend around georgetown: the street corners are becoming more and more packed with what i refer to as 'white collar panhandlers'. that's right, these people are upper-crust bums, boys and girls. they don't look or smell like the traditional bums we all know and love - park bench smears of monotone brown that radiate BO from all of their 2,435,986 bodily glands. instead, they shower daily, wear (relatively) clean clothes, know how to spell, and have probably never spent a night on a park bench in their lives.

it seems, from the vantage point of a car, that clean clothes and well crafted signs are all these white collar panhandlers have to offer. traditional bums (i.e. smears of brown BO) are often witty and tell jokes or ask you to 'smiiiile darlin', just smiiiile' (anyone who has walked down M street will understand this reference). others play an instrument. or do a tap dance. or... something/anything to justify their pleads. but these new bums offer only a pathetic look of misery and a droopy, slouched gait. and they expect donations?!?! i don't know about you, but i'm not giving my shinny pennies to this loathsome act of despair. or i didn't. until i needed one to speak:

it was a steamy summer evening and i took the long route home from the lab. i caught a red light at the corner of canal and reservoir in my psoriasis-vulgaris-inflicted '95 Volkswagen golf. my favorite bum was working. a girl.
i wanted to liven up a fairly monotonous day, so i rolled down my window and motioned to her with two quick flicks of the wrist...come hither. she came, and i probed. "are you really homeless?" her answer: _______frown_______. i figured she was holding out for money so i put two Vermont state quarters in her cup. she raised one disapproving eyebrow and i doubled my ante. modestly satisfied, she responded, "yes, currently i am homeless" "currently?!?! what is that supposed to mean? do you mean, since 10 o'clock this morning when you rolled out of bed...you've been homeless since then? because i'm a fairly observant gal, and you definitely weren't wearing that same top the last time i saw you on the corner." "i have a backpack of clothes that i keep in the woods where i sleep" she said in defense. "so if you're living in the woods, where do you shower?" i asked. "that's none of your business." "hmmmf" retorts i. "i'll give you twenty dollars if you'll admit to me that you're not really homeless and that you and your friends that frequent this corner are scamming scammers!" hooooooooonk. honk. hoooonk. the motorists behind me were getting antsy because the light had just turned green. "tell me you're not homeless and the twenty is yours." hoooonk. honk. honk. she was reaching for the twenty. you could see the desire in her eyes. but she said nothing. she looked to the ground with her famous look of despair, hunched her back, and dropped her outstretched arm. i sped off.

her words (or lack of them) disagreed with her actions and my question remains unanswered. so now i turn to all of you. if you happen to see any white collar bums around g-town, please roll down your window, offer a twenty...no wait, offer two twenties and ask the question that these 20th century bums fear. i'll reimburse you double your cost...just be sure to ask me for it with a smile...and maybe a tapdance!