Culture War

Ladies and gentlemen! Get ready for a battle royale, a clash of the titans, a fight to end all fights.  In this corner, we have the world superpower--The United States of America!  In the other corner, we have the mythical land to which our beloved author recently traveled--The European Union!  Place your bets now on which contender will rack up the most points and be dubbed the victor this very heated culture war.

Round 1--Monetary Units
European countries have sported largely coin-based currencies for decades. America has tried to adopt a coin culture multiple times, only to have the masses turn up their noses at the idea with a snooty sniff and a roll of the eyes. We love our paper money, and our small change coins are merely afterthoughts.

Stupid coins, stop making my purse heavy.

I have to admit, to carry around all those coins in Europe--€2, €1, €0.50, €0.20, €0.10, €0.05, €0.02, €0.01--is far too much. The commonly used 1 and 2 Euro coins bear a fair amount of heft and weigh down my purse. And is it really necessary to have both a 1 and 2 cent coin? That just seems egregious. I'm sticking with my light American paper money, which prevents me from throwing out my back every time I get change.
Point: USA

Round 2--Restrooms
I'm not a fan of public restrooms as a rule. But if I have to use one, I'm even less of a fan of having to pay. Although I first thought it was mainly just a practice in Paris, apparently many European restrooms still force people to pay to pee.

Granted, these restrooms trump ours in that they do not have vagrants living in them and are typically clean due to employing a bathroom attendant. However, there's a reason American cities started doing away with pay toilets, and even outright banning them, in the 1970s. I would rather hold my breath in a smelly stall than have to fish around in my purse for a stray coin while crossing my legs and doing the pee-pee dance at the entrance.
Point: USA

Round 3--Hygiene
Some European countries have developed less than savory reputations due to the smell of their residents. I have embarked upon all of my overseas experiences with an open mind and have concluded the following:  sometimes stereotypes are in place for a reason.

Countries with cooler climates have definitely fared better on my stink-o-meter, but places with temperatures above approximately 65 degrees tend to produce ripe residents. I just don't understand the widespread aversion to deodorant. A quick swipe of the stick once a day keeps pungent odors at bay. It's very disheartening to see some of the most beautiful people in the world in Portugal, only to be repulsed by the stench when Mr. Incredible Hottie lifts his arm to open a door for you.

This is the only thing a bidet is good for.

And don't get me started on bidets. Look, if those devices actually did their jobs, toilet paper companies would have gone under long ago. Think of it like a car wash. Just spraying the undercarriage with water isn't going to do a whole lot. You need to soap and scrub to get the unseen parts in satisfactory order.
Point: USA

Round 4--Public Transportation
Americans love their cars, and thus dislike public transportation. Europeans have embraced public transportation and make it an art. Their trains are clean and ridiculously on time. Everyone rides the bus, not just degenerates. Walking or riding a bike seems to be the preferred way to travel. Public transportation is so well used that cities spend a lot of money to make it expansive and functional, and it shows. I looked around with mouth agape in every train I was in, and marveled at what a joke DC's Metro is in comparison (obviously if you read my other posts you know I hated the Metro before, but this just firmly cemented my opinion).  Every form of public transportation is cheap, easy, convenient and more eco-friendly than cars.
Point: Europe


Round 5--Tipping
Anyone who dines out with me knows how much I dislike America's tipping culture. A tip used to be a reward for good service, but now has morphed into a compulsory act. Not to mention, amounts of expected tips have risen sharply. In most European countries I have traveled to, tipping is not the norm because it's included in the price of the dining experience. Thus, no extra calculations are necessary, and there's no frustration at feeling guilted into handing over extra money when the service is mediocre.
Point:  Europe


Round 6--Languages
I am a lover of languages and try to learn as many as I can. But I fully realize that in America, I am in the minority. English is king here, and anyone who doesn't speak it is an outcast. I've always admired other countries which teach children multiple languages right away, better preparing them for adventures and work situations later in life. I was utterly amazed at the Dutch and their grasp of the English language. Not only did they speak it beautifully and flawlessly, but they had an incredible knack for the nuances, idioms and humor. Plus, most seemed to speak at least one other language. For all of its boastfulness about education, America desperately needs to step up in this regard.
Point:  Europe


Round 7--Sense of Order

Even a crazy line is better than no line.

For being as organized and nice as they were, I was quite disgruntled at the lack of order the Dutch exhibited. I first noticed this on my honeymoon last year, while staying at an all-inclusive resort in Curacao, which is a Dutch island. The Americans, British, Spanish, and basically everybody other than people from the Netherlands would line up in an orderly fashion to get drinks. The Dutch would saunter up and plop their arms on the bar, expecting service before the queue of 10 others patiently waiting. This attitude prevailed in Amsterdam as well, even to the extent of getting shoved to the side while getting on buses or trying to walk through doors. This is not rocket science, it's just a matter of respect for others.

That brings me to a slightly different, yet related topic--personal space. I know Americans are often considered cold and needy when it comes to personal space. You know what? I'm OK with that. Europeans: don't get all up in my business, don't crowd me, don't reach over me, don't walk so closely that you're stepping on me, don't breathe on me and don't lean on me. Especially when, as previously mentioned, you clearly don't display hygiene that is up to my standards.  Step back, and get in line.
Point:  USA


Round 8--Worldliness
Every time I travel abroad I am amazed at how much other countries know about us and our culture. We don't reciprocate, and don't even pretend to. We are grossly under-educated on the daily doings of other nations, much less an intimate understanding of their governments. I was blown away when a 22-year-old Dutch man rattled off more about Obama's policies, the Tea Party and state governments than the vast majority of American adults I have met. I hardly knew the Dutch even had a government.
Point:  Europe


Tally:  USA--4, Europe--4
Well, I guess it's a dead tie in the culture war, based on my criteria. Clearly, there are pros and cons of living anywhere, whether it's across the street, across the country or on the other side of the world. Much of what we find "normal" is based on what we grew up with, and really there is no truly right answer.

Many, many times I envy certain systems or lifestyles prevalent in other countries.  But until I discover a place that perfectly blends the aspects I love about America with aspects I enjoy about other countries, I'm staying put.  I may never actually find that perfection, and quite frankly, that's fine with me.

Tourist Trouble

At this time of year, I often feel like I'm caught in a classic Bugs Bunny episode. "It's wabbit season." "No, it's duck season!" "No, it's wabbit season!"  It's even worse, folks.  It's tourist season.

Those of you who currently reside in, or previously have resided in, prime tourist destinations can understand my pain. The yearly influx of oblivious, obnoxious individuals is enough to make me long for winter. And you KNOW how I loathe winter.  Of course, when I lived in Miami, winter was prime time for tourists, so I suppose it's really a no win situation.

Granted, some a scant few tourists actually believe in researching the cities they will visit, and also employ manners and courtesy. But isn't it the case that most of us lose sense of ourselves when caught up in the excitement of a trip, and end up being THAT guy once in a while? You know, the stereotypically annoying traveler we all are so happy to see leave, we might even pay for his cab fare to the airport?  This is why people in foreign countries hate us. Are you entitled to a lovely vacation during which you can loaf around to your heart's content? Absolutely. Are you entitled to act like a jackass just because you're on vacation? Absolutely not.

Because at times we could all use a little refresher, here are some simple rules to bear in mind while enjoying time off. Some of these are very DC specific, but most are general enough so you can, and should, use them at any travel destination.

1. Do not take up the entire sidewalk. I don't care if you have 2, 6 or 12 people in your party, spreading out and monopolizing the whole sidewalk is unacceptable.  Remember what your parents told you when you were younger: SHARE.

2. If I'm in a hurry and try to nicely squeeze past you while you're dawdling, do not ask "Hey, where's the fire?" and then proceed to make some snarky comment about people always being in a hurry.  If you don't move out of my way so I can get to work on time, I'LL be on fire with anger.  I can appreciate that you are working at a slower speed while taking time off because I do the same. Unfortunately, we aren't all on your lovely vacation and still do have to work for a living, so please move aside without commenting.

Stinky pits not welcome here.

3. Shower. Please. I understand that you are trying to relax and your hygiene may be relaxed as well. However, our sense of smell is certainly not taking a hiatus and we don't appreciate your funk while pressed against you in the subway or other crowded places.  DC in particular is ridiculously hot and humid in the summer and you, no matter what you may think, are not immune to the bodily changes which occur at such temperatures.  This is especially the case when exerting energy to walk all around town.  Trust me, you'll feel better too once you get the sweat, dirt and smog off of your body.

4. Respect the rules of the subway. Common sense should tell you not to stop on the platform the second you set foot off the train. There are dozens of people behind you, and you blocking the exit doesn't help. The same applies when getting on the train and arriving at the top of the escalator--keep moving.  Once on the train, do not rest your entire body on one of the vertical poles.  Nobody wants to have to squeeze their hand against your sweaty back just to grab hold of the bar.  You are allotted one hand space on the pole, that is all.  And if you value your life, do NOT "escaleft."  I know there's no sign telling you about this rule, so I'm giving you a freebie. The escalators are like those moving walkways in airports--stand on the right and walk on the left.  You may enjoy our subway, but I guarantee it's an imperfect system.  Missing a train means being stranded on the platform for who knows how long.  If I miss a train due to you standing on the left and blocking everyone trying to walk, I cannot be held responsible for any physical harm that may befall you from angry passengers you have made late.  I know the system is not easy to understand.  However, there are many people you can ask for help instead of simply plowing into the subway full steam ahead, only to find you're clueless.

4. If you don't know, please ask. One of my favorite examples of people who should ask for advice/information/directions/mental help/a slap alongside the head goes as follows: I had just left work and a man behind me was telling a group of people (whom I didn't turn around to look at, but from the context of conversation thought they were business partners) that "this vice president guy rides the train every day from where he lives in New York City to Washington DC for work." I thought he must be talking about his company's vice president, and felt sorry for the man for having a 3.5 hour commute each way. I then turned around to discover that it was actually a father telling his whole family about America's vice president. Be proud of me for biting my tongue instead of making this man look like a fool in front of his family. (As a point of clarification, Joe Biden USED to ride the train every day when he was a senator. Since becoming vice president he lives here and no longer makes the 1.5 HOUR commute to and from his home in DELAWARE every day.) Countless ridiculous stories can also be heard about the cherry blossoms, monuments and American history in general.  Do ask questions instead of spouting off glaringly incorrect information to the masses...

5. ...But don't get angry if I don't know either. If you are from a smaller area, you might not realize just how expansive some cities are.  Try as I might, I definitely don't know every road, train line, nook, cranny and fun fact about the area.  I will certainly try my best if you try not to get huffy if I say I don't know.

6.  The volunteers and workers at the museums are not your personal babysitters.  Neither are any of the other people in the city you're visiting.  As a volunteer for the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, I see all types of bad behavior.  Running around, screaming, touching exhibits, and basically just a general lack of respect for ANYTHING.  I really do dread volunteering at this time of year because students are in "summer off" mode and parents are frazzled.  But being frazzled does not permit you to deposit your young hellions in my hands-on exhibit and then proceed to disappear.  I can't tell you how many times I have been asked, "I'm just going to walk around a little bit, you can watch them, right?"  Wrong.  They're YOUR kids, I'm there for two reasons:  to make sure they don't destroy the exhibit too badly, and at least TRY to impart some shred of knowledge upon them.  Usually, it's a double fail.

7.  Use volume control.  This applies to subways in particular, but also other public spaces including (but not limited to) restaurants, museums, monuments, etc.  I promise you, nobody else finds your story about "how things are done" in Middle-of-Nowhere, USA nearly as amusing/witty/hilarious/interesting as you.  Nor do we care how tired/thirsty/bored/unimpressed/wannabe drunk/well endowed/horny you are.  (Yes, these are all things I have heard actual tourists loudly talking about, thinking they were cool for making a scene.) Locals recall their first grade teacher's advice and use their inside voices when riding the train and in public, so please do the same.

8.  Yes, everything is more expensive here.  Trust me, we know that and we hate it, so it's not necessary to lecture us for 10 minutes on what a rip off everything is.  All that accomplishes is making me sad that when you return home, you can go out and spend just $10 and have 5 beers, while I am stuck having one for the same price.  Please also keep in mind that nearly all of our world-class museums and countless other attractions are free.  Let's just say it all evens out for you.
   
9.  Try not to drive or ride the train during rush hour.  DC has some of the worst traffic in the country, and adding extra cars full of people who aren't familar with the roads is frustrating.  The same goes for the train.  I've heard many tourists comment about how grossly overcrowded the train is at rush hour.  You'll preserve your own sanity by simply heading out a little later or earlier.

Locals don't wear these. Neither should you.

10.  Nobody, I repeat, NOBODY who lives in a city ever wears a t-shirt highlighting that city.  Rest assured, your "You Don't Know Me" shirt from the Spy Museum does nothing but label you as a tourist, or a homeless person who is grateful for any clothing s/he can get.  Although, if you're worried about the comparison, one sure way to be dubbed "tourist" instead of "homeless" is to get everyone in your group matching tees.  Oh wait, you already did that.  Please remember that being labeled as a tourist makes you a target for crime.  I'd recommend saving that big, bad "FBI" or "I heart DC" shirt you picked up from a street vendor or tourist attraction until you get home.

I think the common thread in all of these guidelines is the following: If you wouldn't do it in your own home, please don't do it on vacation.  We really do welcome well behaved tourists to explore our cities and experience all they have to offer.  But losing all elements of sense and civility on vacation is not something to strive for.

I know I previously wrote a blog about not being judgmental.  Please note I am not trying to judge frivolous things like wearing short shorts, pulled up dark socks, sandals and a fanny pack.  I'm suggesting consideration to make life easier for everyone.  Other locals will be far harsher with you than I am, so I'm giving you fair warning about what not to do as a visitor.  Should you choose not to follow these guidelines, that's your business.  But don't be surprised if your picture ends up on the internet as an example of "Don't Be This Guy"... or in another blog post.

What a Waste

As an American, I appear to have a love/hate relationship with waste.  I probably waste more time/money/goods than I think, but I hate it when I recognize it.  Particularly problematic for me is food waste.  This is probably what leads to my consistent overeating--the immense guilt I feel at throwing away valuable, perfectly good food.

Much to my chagrin, I experienced a glaring example of waste at work today.  When I entered the lunchroom this morning to make some coffee, the vending machine man was restocking.  I smiled, turned to make my coffee, and thought nothing of it.  While I waited for my java, I looked around the room, and just happened to glance into the giant garbage can right below the coffee makers.  It looked like a large number of used individual chip bags, so I figured maybe some department had to stay late the previous night and had ordered sandwiches and chips for the employees. 

Those Cheetos were calling to me.

But then I realized the bags were full.  Having not had my morning coffee yet, it took a while for the gears to start turning, but I figured out that the vending machine man had thrown out all these bags, probably because they had "expired."  If I were in a more lucid state of mind at 7:15am, perhaps after a cup of coffee, I probably would have inquired as to why the man threw out all of those instead of giving them away, or some other less wasteful alternative.

I thought about it at my desk a lot when I should have been doing work.  My conclusion was that if he left them out for our employees to enjoy, nobody would ever end up buying from that machine--they would just wait until switch out day and grab the free goodies.  But why not instead take them somewhere offsite to sell for discounted prices, or even donate them to food banks?  At the very least, hand out the perfectly good snacks to the swarms of homeless people who loiter in the Union Station area just one block away.

Still shirking actual work, I proceeded to surf the web to find out what kinds of rules might prohibit a vendor from giving away expired goods.  I consider this one of my most fruitful learning experiences in some time, because what I found truly surprised me: there is no federally required dating for foods, except for baby formula and some baby foods.  Do note though, that 20 states require some sort of food labeling.

That baffled me, considering the plethora of foods and beverages sporting dates.  Reading further, the USDA website explained that there's confusion as to the meanings of labels, due to the wide variety found on consumable products.  Think of all the different variations of expiration dates: "Use by", "Freshest if used by", "Sell by", and "Best by" just to name a few.  Each of these non-regulated phrases means something different in the food industry.  The words also mean different things to different consumers.  In theory, that could render all the dates we see on packaging as arbitrary.  The one thing that's widely agreed on though, is that nearly all goods can still be consumed after their magical dates.

This made me want to check out what the bags of munchies the vending machine man threw out had printed on them.  I mean, c'mon, that processed stuff could possibly withstand the nuclear holocaust.  Do you mean to tell me that Cheetos should be tossed out as readily as spoiled milk? (I chose to single out Cheetos because it's my one true junk food weakness, so I have to consciously avoid having them in my house.  Plus, I saw them most prominently in the trash and had to fight the urge to snatch up all the bags and devour them.)

Having that not-so-fresh feeling.

A coworker grabbed the discarded snacks when I told him about what I saw, so I looked at a bag.   I laughed when I noticed that sure enough, the date was not actually an "expiration", but rather a "guaranteed fresh by."  So that means potentially thousands of bags of these snacks are tossed every day because they are no longer "guaranteed fresh"?  What makes these preservative-laden, still-perfectly-fresh munchies suddenly non-edible overnight?  And back to the original question:  why did the vendor throw them out instead of donating them?

I figured there might be some law preventing donations of expired items, so I investigated further.  It turns out, not only is there not such a federal law, there is a federal law (The Bill Emerson Good Samaritan Food Donation Act) encouraging donations.  In fact, one portion of the EPA website lists among the reasons for food donation by vendors "expired coupons or code dates," later explaining that the Good Samaritan Act also protects vendors from much liability if one of their donated goods later sickens someone.  So with the protections and tax benefits, donation would seem like a no-brainer, right?  Again, the regulations vary by state.  However, I was hard-pressed to find states which outright banned the donation of foods which had passed a recommended expiration date. 

I know it's not always easy to read all the legal-eze involved in the donation process, particularly in a touchy area such as food or products that could affect a person's health.  But personally, if I owned a business I would do everything in my power to ensure I was reducing my waste by finding legal means to donate products instead of discarding them.  To me, it would be worth all the time and effort.  I also know that, to a certain extent, the American way often involves taking the easy way out.  I would love to see more businesses and vendors bucking this unfortunate American trend, and working to help the less fortunate, while cutting down on landfill clutter at the same time.

Let me know what you think in my poll on the left.  If you have other views or alternative ideas for what can be done about these wasteful situations, leave them in my comments section below this post.

Update: 7 people voted in the poll.  5 said the company should have donated the snacks, 1 believed the snacks should be thrown out, and 1 "other" vote did not specify what to do with the snacks.  Thanks for voting!

Bathroom Blunders

Ladies, please.  Could you be a little less gross in public restrooms?  I know men get a bad rap for nastiness in the john, and it's really quite warranted.  However, we're not far behind.

One of my pet peeves is a sprinkler tinkler.  That is a woman who is so petrified of the toilet seat and what may be on it, that she hovers, sprinkles on the seat when she tinkles, and proceeds to exit the stall without cleaning up the drops.  Perhaps these women don't realize that they ARE the problem.  If everyone just sat their bums down on the seat, we wouldn't have various things ending up on seats that shouldn't be there.

Do I enjoy the idea of plopping unclothed areas of my body down on an item that has been touched by someone else's naked booty?  Of course not.  But common sense and decades of research filter into my head when I enter a stall, reminding me that I'm really not going to catch anything.  And a simple wipe of the seat with toilet paper is more than sufficient to remove any lingering particles.  If that's not good enough, toilet paper makes a nice buffer between your tush and the allegedly diseased seat.

Another character I dislike in women's bathrooms is the foot flusher.  I've recently learned that this concept is new to many men.  For those of you still in the dark, this is the woman who is so disgusted by the thought of touching a toilet handle that she instead hobbles around on one foot, trying to lift the other high enough to flush the toilet.  I've been in stalls next to women who outright fall against the stall or nearly stumble over trying to perform said maneuver.  Perhaps they should think of how dirty the stall walls are before grabbing hold of them for balance, or the horribly repulsive nature of the floor should footing completely be lost and the perp ends up falling into a puddle of questionable contents.

Don't do it.  Seriously, don't.

I found that most men (whom, I might add, flush urinals with hands that have been handling much more sensitive and germ ridden things.  Think about it.) who hear about foot flushing outright laugh at it, thinking it's a joke at first.  I just find it rather asinine.  The argument I've heard for foot flushing is that there are germs on the handle.  Really?  There are germs on EVERYTHING.  That handle has the same number of germs as the door you had to open to get into the stall, the lock you have to close and then open to get out, the faucet you touch to turn the water on, the paper towel dispenser or air dryer you push to dry your hands and the door handle you push to get out of the bathroom.  We don't do any of these things with our feet, do we?  And considering you really should be going directly from the stall to the sink to wash up anyway, I'm pretty sure that 30 seconds of germs on your hands from the flusher won't kill you.  I'm going to say again that these women ARE the problem.  If everyone used their hands instead of some using feet, the toilet handles would be far cleaner.  No worrying about what some person tracked in on their shoes ending up on your hands.  But again, I stress the practice of going immediately to the sink to wash up after flushing as a cure-all. 

Lastly, (this is not my final gripe about restroom behavior in general, it is simply the last I will burden you with here) I think it is unfortunate that I have to mention the need to flush.  While this is not solely a women's bathroom problem, men clearly need to flush less often in public restrooms, and it's therefore a less pressing issue.  Apparently there are some adults out there who never mastered the flushing concept as toddlers, and somehow as luck would have it, I seem to be in line behind them in the restroom.  There's this not-so-new invention being adopted in more and more bathrooms--toilets that flush automatically.  This innovation saves us from the foot flushers, but is far from perfected.  Few toilets I have used seem to have a fully functioning electric eye.  I have let out more than a few curse words at overly sensitive models that end up flushing three times while I'm still seated and proceed to spray me with who knows what from the bowl.  Then there are the ones that never really seem to flush, even after I get up and get ready to leave the stall.  We've all been there.  But you know what we all HAVEN'T done, apparently?  Reach back to that little button over the electric eye and PUSH IT when the toilet doesn't flush on its own.   This is not a hard concept people, but for some it appears to be rocket science.  You've been potty trained for years, so if you don't hear the familiar swirling behind you after you've done your business, you're not done yet.  Turn around and push that button.

Push the button. You know you want to.

The worst automatic flush offender I have ever experienced was a woman at work.  Our office shares a bathroom with other offices on the floor, so I didn't know this woman, thank goodness.  I was doing my thing and she was next to me and finished first.  She walked out of the stall and there was no flush.  I flushed, went to the sink to wash and noted that she was washing her hands as well.  She must have suddenly realized there was no flush when she exited the stall, so she went back to the stall, held the door open and looked in. Mind you, I can see this all happening very clearly because our restroom only houses three stalls.  She stood there and looked at the contents of the toilet with the stall door open for a full 5 seconds, during which time I could see that it definitely was not "number one" in there.  After standing there and looking at her toilet mess, she STILL DIDN'T PUSH THE BUTTON and proceeded to walk out of the bathroom.  Who does that?  What is wrong with people like that who see what they've done and still don't try to get rid of the mess?  And just plain EEEEEWWWWWWW.

I'm going to completely leave out lesser, but definitely annoying, restroom offenses such as cell phone talking (you better believe I'm going to make a bunch of noise and flush a lot if I hear you on the phone in there), talking to ME while I'm doing my thing (I probably will ignore you so don't try it in the first place), hogging sink space to do your primping while I am trying to get in to wash my hands (I'll probably splash you if you don't move), and of course, choosing a directly adjacent stall when there are others available farther away from me.

Look, having to use a public restroom is never something we really seek out or enjoy.  We do intimate things in there that we have to pretend nobody else sees or hears.  But we can lessen the unpleasantness by just employing a few courteous strategies.  1. You are not a helicopter, so don't hover.  2.  You are not a karate master, so keep your foot down when flushing.  3. You are not a president deciding whether to wage nuclear war, so you SHOULD push the button.

Dirty Thirty

Everything I need to know, I learned in my thirties.  At least, that’s how I feel so far.

As a friend of mine has only a couple of weeks left before she turns 30, she’s reminiscing on her 20s and pondering what lies ahead.  It’s making me take a look at my “dirty thirties”, even though I’m only a couple years in.  So far, I’m liking it at least as much as my 20s, if not more.  That's contrary to my previous belief that my life would completely end at 30.

Kara said she had exceeded her goals, plans and aspirations for her 20s, which I think is certainly an admirable accomplishment.  How many people can truly say that?  She then asked what to look forward to in her 30s.  My response was “Satisfied contentment. Wisdom. Clarity.”  

Back in the old days, when I was actually in my 20s, I had heard “old people” make such foolish statements like their 30s are awesome, they don’t miss the meat-market bar scene, and (gasp!) it’s nice to stay home on Friday nights sometimes.  Now that I am one of said “old people” I have to say it’s completely true.

Just like countless other people teetering on the precipice of 30, I encountered a small crisis months, then weeks, then days, then mere minutes before the big day.  I was questioning whether I had accomplished everything I wanted to, and feared the certain rapid decline that lay ahead.  Amazingly, the instant I hit the landmark, everything changed.  I realized instantly that the few things I didn't get around to by 29 could easily happen later in life.  I know that others sometimes continue feeling woeful of lost youth well into their thirtieth year.  However, I was lucky enough to break the painful shackles of age fear as soon as midnight hit that fateful night.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel cheated for staying home on a Friday night instead of mingling with dozens of friends at a happy hour.  It became OK to drink wine regularly instead of cheap beer.  Not just wine, but good wine priced at more than $3 a bottle.  Gardening, cooking and sewing became “fun” instead of “lame.”

Granted, there are definitely downsides to being older as well.  I don’t like having to watch what I eat more carefully.  Gone are the days when I can down an entire frozen pizza, a side of chips and salsa, leftover piece of chicken and half a tub of ice cream.  Although my appetite is extremely healthy even today, I have to moderate my intake to say, just the frozen pizza and a scoop of ice cream. And maybe a little bit of that leftover chicken.  Honestly though, now that I can afford to eat better (instead of working 3 jobs and only being able to buy rice, ramen and cereal) I find myself trying to regulate the junk I put in my body.  I suppose that’s another part of getting older—realizing you’re not invincible, and what you do to your body really will come back to bite you later.

Do I love all of the little laugh lines and creases, saggier skin and dark eye circles?  Heck no.  Am I a fan of being more negatively affected by lower quantities of alcohol?  *sigh* Of course not.  Do I like being called “ma’am?”  Look, you can think I’m older than I am.  You can ask me for advice on life, love and the wonders of being over 30.  On certain occasions, I’ll even allow you to call me a cougar.  But whatever you do, if you value your life, Don’t.  Ever.  Call.  Me.  Ma’am.

Anyway, also disturbing is the decrease in energy.  I’m an active person by nature, so this is the hardest for me to deal with.  My sleep schedule is shifting a bit and I often feel tired for no reason whatsoever (good grief, imagine if I had kids!).  But for every physical drawback, another emotional boon presents itself.   

I no longer feel the need to constantly surround myself with large numbers of people.   Although that’s sometimes fun, sharing good times with a few solid friends is more important.  And about all those lines, creases and sags?  Amazingly, I’m more comfortable with it now than I ever would have been at 27.   People get older, people get less attractive, and life goes on.  There’s something really satisfying about not caring that those extra three chicken wings very well could add an extra three dimples to my thighs.

To a certain extent, I’ve always lived a “who cares” kind of life.  I’m independent, and I love it.  Heaven knows I don’t stand on ceremony and usually speak my mind.  But there’s something about turning 30 that really, truly made me believe beyond my previous surface comprehension that I don’t give a crap what other people think.  I’m happy with my life and who I am, and anyone who doesn’t like it doesn’t matter.  Perhaps that’s a combination of the “satisfied contentment” and “clarity” I told Kara about.

The wisdom part has also proved priceless in the workplace.  All the young-20s hubris which accompanies nearly every person entering the workforce… well that has luckily fallen to the wayside.  I look at 22-year-old Katie and some of her thoughts, and even worse yet, some of the things she said out loud about her place in the workforce and I shudder.  Like most others at that age, at times I acted as though I was the first person to ever do that job, and nobody could present better ways of operating.  I had NO clue, and didn’t even realize it.  Not that I really have one now, but at least I can admit that.

I now look at early 20-somethings when I’m out and watch their hyperactive actions while listening to their conversations, which are windows into how their brains operate.  It’s incredible, because I can remember saying exactly the same things with similar fervor and bubbliness in those same situations.  Now I look back on some of those things and laugh at myself for possessing such conviction about things I knew nothing about, or for just plain being a spaz.

In a way, getting older seems like a fast-forward mode of evolution.  While generations of animals will evolve too slowly to see their own adaptations such as tail loss or the addition of fur, we get to see in mere years how our brains have transformed.  We can see in our 30s the characteristics of our 20s that we have shed or improved upon to become better, more whole people.  

So to my dear friend, Kara, I say suck the last gasps of life out of your 20s right up until the very moment you no longer can.  But don’t look back in sadness, longing or regret.  And don’t look ahead with fear or trepidation.   I really think you’re going to love what you find on the other side of the bridge.  In my opinion, the Dirty Thirties are what I have been waiting my whole life for, and I’m excited to see what else lies ahead.  Ask me what I think of THAT again when I’m in my 40s. 

I'm Judging You Right Now



I'm just going to go ahead and say it:  I'm judgmental.  It's not an attractive quality, and certainly not one I openly admit to very often.  But it's definitely present.

I know I'm not the only one, but that doesn't make it right.  It's one of those things just about everybody denies they take part in.  But more likely than not, we're all offenders, at least once in a while.  It's right up there with prejudice and gossipping on my list of "Top Three Things Most of Us Are Guilty of But Won't Admit."

I am very interested in how the human mind works and I think I dissect people's behaviors far more than the average person.  I've been told I'm excellent at quickly digging through a person's outer layers and figuring out their true personality.  However, I think I can go too far and delve into the realm of judgment instead of information gathering.

Take, for instance, my trip to church on Easter Sunday.  First of all, you can go ahead and judge ME due to my church attendance not exactly being what it should.  But my family was in town, it was Easter, and that's just how I roll.  Anyway, church was packed to the rafters, as it typically is on a holy day, so I was already cranky from the heat and crowds.  Enter the woman and her two children in front of us, and it makes for a judgy scenario. 

This woman caught my eye due to her incredibly large amount of fluffy, yet rather well coifed hair. Mostly though, because of her dress.  It was strapless, quite short, tight and stretchy, somewhat shiny with a ruffled bottom and of a fluorescent orange color, accompanied by very high heels.  Considering this is not something typically seen on any other day in the DC burbs, much less in church, there were many stares--lusty admiration from the men and quiet disgust from the women.  At first with her enormous hair, caked on makeup, and grossly inappropriate dress, I was preparing for an eye roll while wondering if this woman had just come off a stripper shift.

But then I told myself to stop being Judgy von Judgerson.  Maybe she had made a conscious decision to wear this.  I really pushed myself to see past my initial thoughts of being quizzical as to why one would wear such a dress to church, and this is what I found:  A mother who was excited to take her two kids to Easter mass all dressed up. 

Upon further examination, I realized the daughter (I imagine she was around 8) sported a dress of the same shocking orange hue as her mother.  I also noticed that unlike her mother's stretchy fabric, hers was of bridal satin material, and was pinned in the back because it was too large.  The boy (probably around 5) was less fancy, but cute in his cargo shorts and polo shirt of--that's right--bright fluorescent orange.  Both mother and daughter also had big orange flowers in their hair.  While completely ignoring mass, I came to a conclusion that I stick by even now:  The three of them had been to a wedding or some similar event the night before.  I figured that's why they all matched and the mother's hair was still large and done up.  We all know that bridesmaids' dresses are traditionally hideous, and this one would be no exception.  I figured those dresses, no matter how bold and unexpected, were the fanciest thing that family owned, and they wanted to dress up for the big holiday.

After doing this mental exercise, I felt myself physically and emotionally soften.  I couldn't believe that I originally perceived this woman as skanky, especially after briefly talking to her and discovering how sweet she seemed.  Had I not reached inside and shut off the judge button, I never would have noticed how special this day was for the three of them, dressed to the nines.

May you safely escape my gavel of judgment.

I can't figure out why I am so quick to judge.  It's an easy, cowardly way of adults bullying each other without being perceived as overt bullies.  It might make us momentarily feel superior, but really all this behavior achieves is to make us look petty, and to breed anger and hate in our hearts.  I know when I'm in my less judgmental phases I feel happier, possibly because I'm consciously seeking out things to compliment in other people instead of to criticize.  I find it interesting that although judging people is really intended to make ourselves feel better, it only succeeds in highlighting our own insecurities for all to see.  These judgmental tendencies are obvious to others not only when stated out loud, but also by our behaviors and unconscious eye movements and facial expressions.  Simply ignoring our desire to blurt out comments isn't enough; we need to change our inner workings of the mind that cause us to immediately produce judgmental thoughts in the first place.

I have attempted to curb my judgmental comments and thoughts at numerous points in my life.  I've given it up for Lent, I've used it as a New Year's resolution, and have just plain tried quitting cold turkey countless times.  It's an insanely difficult task to undertake.  Once I attempt to correct the behavior, I notice it everywhere.  It makes me wonder if all societies are as judgmental as ours.  I can't help but doubt that women in small tribes somewhere scoff at the loincloth one of their fellow tribeswomen wears.  And instead of laughing or mocking someone for performing a task incorrectly, a form of instant judgment, I tend to think that people in small villages would instead help each other, and teach how to correctly perform said task.

The problem lies in how pervasive judgmental attitudes are in our society.  It's not only accepted, but often lauded.  Our reality shows (don't worry, I will have a future post on my dislike of those) are full of people judging each other and they make crazy amounts of money.  Sarcasm and biting humor has been pushed to the forefront as a preferred comedic style.  Just look at skits like "Really? With Seth" on Saturday Night Live.  For months I swore the writers of SNL had followed me around and stole that skit from my life.  Although I still find it hilarious, I realize the basis of the entire skit is to make other people look like fools by judging them.

Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe it's just human nature to be judgmental, but I doubt it.  I believe people who are truly and utterly happy are the least judgmental.  They don't need to cut down others to feel good. Who cares if someone is wearing shoes that YOU think are hideous?  Who cares if someone talks in a manner YOU find odd?  Who cares if someone has put on a little weight? Who cares if someone chooses a profession YOU consider menial.  We, as people, are diverse and should celebrate our diversity rather than attempting to erase it with underhanded comments.  Instead, we live in narcissistic worlds where we expect everyone else to live up to our personal standards.

Granted, this is all easier said than done.  As I write about being less judgmental, I've already judged you for having so little to do that you're still reading this post.  However, I'm trying to be better.  I'm using my example of the lady in the flourescent orange dress as a reminder that things are not always as they seem, and quite frankly it doesn't matter if I know the true reasoning behind why people do/wear/say things. Hopefully by being less judgmental of others, it will prompt me to be less judgmental of myself.  Seeing as how I'm my own worst critic, I think cutting myself a little slack is a good thing. 

Ultimately, we'll all become happier by spreading around more compliments and fewer dirty looks at that too-short, too-shiny, too cleavage-revealing, hideously patterned, headband of a dress the slightly overweight, tired looking person of merely average attractiveness in front of you is wearing while on the way to her laughably mediocre job, before she goes home to her pathetic life.  That, or we'll all become ugly, weirdo slobs who don't give a crap about anything.  Either way, we'll certainly be happier and smiling a lot more.

The Day the Music Died

It’s no secret that I’m a music freak.  Music moves me like few other things can.  A well executed song can leave me silently introspective, while a rousing live performance can leave me blabbering like a giddy school girl for days.  Music speaks to me, and I truly don’t know that I could survive without it.

It’s really rather surprising to me that I didn’t further pursue musical instruments past my teen years, although I imagine I will learn the guitar at some point.  I mean, that is the first step to fulfilling a goal of mine--coming back in my next life as a famous bass guitarist.  It’ll be grand.

This music love has helped me win countless games of “Name that Tune," as I can oft recognize songs within two to three notes.  As much as I enjoy lyrical genius in songs, what really moves me is the instrumental.  I like mentally picking apart songs to figure out which instruments are being used, which notes are being hit, and what “time” the song is being played in.  It’s dorky, but it moves me.

I’ve sometimes been teased for my musical interests, because many are off the beaten path.  My tastes are quite eclectic; I can appreciate good musicianship in everything from classical to oldies to modern indie bands to some well-liked rock bands.  However, I believe that it’s necessary to explore outside the mainstream to find quality music.  Too often, music pushed to the forefront by radio, internet, MTV (when they used to push music) and iTunes can be canned garbage with no soul.  It doesn’t take much to use a drum machine and synthesizer, then add in some awful vocals tweaked by Auto-Tune.  I think that’s one of the reasons I enjoy seeing live music so much, because I get to weed out which bands actually play music well, and which are simply hacks who can't perform without studio enhancements.

Having said all that, we arrive at the part of this post that pains me the most.  I have to admit the following:  I like Lady Gaga and Katy Perry.

There, I said it.  I’m not proud of it.  What is even worse is that mine is not a casual liking, but I actually seek out their music.  If you can call it music.  But just try playing one of those poppy Gaga songs on the radio and challenge me to not sing along.  You better believe I’ll be bursting out with “Papa, paparazzi!” at random points for the rest of the day.  Katy Perry is even worse.  She puts out precisely the type of teeny-bopper mainstream pop that I would typically turn up my nose at.  But there’s something about her music that creates such a severe brain worm for me, that I get called out by co-workers for singing “Teenage Dream” under my breath.

Even Gaga's meat dress entices me.

Granted, Lady Gaga is actually trained in the arts and plays the piano.  However, I don’t typically find her tunes to be particularly complex or unique.  In fact, when she was on her rise to stardom, I was very anti-Gaga due to her songs bearing haunting similarities to already existing material.  For example, the beginning of “Bad Romance” smacks of the intro to The Offspring’s “Self Esteem.”  And I still can’t hear “Alejandro” without freezing in horror, thinking radio stations might have actually started playing Ace of Base’s “Don’t Turn Around” again.  I thought it was just me noticing such things, but since embarking on my Gaga-bashing campaign a couple years ago, I have found others who quietly make similar accusations.  If only her re-worked songs weren’t so darn catchy.

Both of these women rely largely on their personae, instead of actual musical talent, to sell records.  They’re outrageous and downright tarty.  Yet we can't look away and continue to eat it up, even begging for more.  It's not really their fault, because that’s how the industry works.  Like it or not, sex sells and rockets musicians to the top of the charts more than, and faster than, solid talent. 

Perry's classy moment in "California Gurls"

I can’t begrudge them for doing what they felt they had to in order to fulfill their dreams of stardom.  As ditzy as they both can come off sometimes, I really do think they’re both intelligent.  I understand that there are countless people advising them and marketing them, but they undoubtedly exhibit enough intelligence to know what makes them hot commodities.  If they weren’t smart, they’d allow themselves to have embarrassingly public breakdowns a la Britney Spears.

I’ve recently “come out” with my humiliating admission of Gaga-Perry love.  I was underground for a long time, trying to hide the fact that a 30-something is shaking her booty to the same music as 13-year-old girls.  I’ve taken a lot of flak from fellow music junkies who question my tastes.  They say I’m what’s killing the music industry and good musicians die a little inside every time I play a Katy Perry song.  But I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s OK to have guilty pleasures sometimes, and this one is mine.  So if you’ll excuse me, it’s now time for me to put on an inappropriately short skirt, frighteningly tall heels, oversized sunglasses, and go completely “gaga” over “Poker Face.”