22 1 / 2014
- 1: um so you got a sec for big sister advice...
- 2: YUP
- 2: ugh caps again
- 1: haha someone's in inews
17 1 / 2014
"POTUS: 11:32:53 We know that the intelligence services of other countries - including some who feign surprise over the Snowden disclosures - are constantly probing our government and private sector networks and accelerating programs to listen to our conversations, intercept our emails, or compromise our systems. Meanwhile, a number of countries, including some who have loudly criticized the NSA, privately acknowledge that America has special responsibilities as the world’s only superpower; that our intelligence capabilities are critical to meeting these responsibilities; and that they themselves have relied on the information we obtain to protect their own people."
15 12 / 2013
""We teach girls shame. Close your legs, cover yourself! We make them feel as though by being born female they’re already guilty of something. And so girls grow up to be women who cannot say they have desire. They grow up to be women who silence themselves. They grow up to be women who cannot say what they truly think. And they grow up-and this is the worst thing we do to girls-they grow up to be women who have turned pretense into an art form." -Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Thanks #Beyonce)"
09 12 / 2013
27 11 / 2013
I found myself in Terminal 3 of LAX Tuesday evening. It’s a strange terminal with a large restaurant and bar called Gladstone’s.
Gladstone’s appears to be the only alcoholic game in town.
I’d eaten before I got to the airport so I attempted to breeze past the hostess and make my way to the bar for one of those beers that you can upsize for ONLY $1.50. (The fine print, of course, is the original sized-beer costs a gajillion dollars but that’s NBC’s problem really.)
But back to the hostess stopping me mid-breeze-by. Yes. She stopped me and told me there was a wait for the bar.
I probably gave her my half-quizzical, half-skeptical face as I said, “For the (pause) bar?”
Yes. A wait for the bar.
I was torn, the purist in me wanted to walk away.
(Unless there was a capacity or fire code issue, I don’t understand discouraging people from spending money. If I have to stand to exchange currency for a malt beverage, so be it.)
However, the alcoholic in me wanted that d*** upsized beer. So I allowed the woman to put Shawna-party-of-1, on the list.
A moment or two later she looked up at me and asked if a table was ok.
And that’s when I really almost did walk away.
Here’s the thing, the beauty of an airport bar is the ability to talk to people you’ll never see again about God-only-knows-what at any hour the airport is willing to serve you.
At an airport bar on a Wednesday at 8am, if you’re drinking a strong spicy bloody mary, you’re not an alcoholic. You’re in transit.
At 11pm on a Sunday night, if you’re slamming a beer as your flight is boarding just “to help you sleep,” you’re not an alcoholic.
You. Are. In. Transit. (Over-enunciate that line in your head. Olivia Pope-style.)
And as we found out with Edward Snowden, transit zones are no-judgment-wonderlands.
But I’m a firm believer that the magic only works if you’re sharing that wonderland, shoulder to shoulder with Pete from Boston who works in advanced beer distribution systems or Kevin from Chicago who works at the United States’ train system’s version of the FAA.
(Those names have been changed, but the occupations are literally what men I met in an airport bar and shared a drink or few with, did for a living. The names were changed because I don’t remember them. No. Neither of those stories end in a similar fashion to the first episode of Six Feet Under. Look it up.)
Sitting here at this table for one next to another person at a table for one who has obviously found himself in this same odd predicament, I’m sad for the people I may have met and subsequently forgotten.
When you’re all being lushes together, nobody is a lush.
It’s lonely at this table for one. Just me and my comically oversized beer writing this on my blackberry because I still don’t like typing on my iPhone.
And up until this point, I thought an airport bar and a beer and a credit card assured you friends until your flight took off.
Or until you missed it.
You know, due to the conversation and the need for just one more beverage before that crosscountry flight.
15 11 / 2013
- 1: really? You had me click on that? [www.buttgenerator.com]
- 2: click on the butt
- 1: i did sir
- 2: the color changes!
- 1: I know
01 11 / 2013
"From: Olivier Knox
Sent: Thursday, October 31, 2013 6:28 PM
Subject: Ghoul Report #6 — Halloween
No news. Two audible comments from POTUS. A crazy amount of costumed cuteness.
Humming Bobby “Boris” Pickett’s hit “The Monster Mash,” your pooler was ushered through the doors of the Palm Room, past the Rose Garden, and to a space on the South Lawn. We stood just outside the South Portico of the White House, done up in Halloween splendor for an estimated 5,000 area schoolkids and children of military families.
Turns out that at least one Obama Administration web operation has its act together: A large, inflatable black-widow spider hovered above the door, and a dozen more of the eight-legged creepy-crawlies swarmed over the balcony’s columns, escorted by bats and crows. Two large autumn wreaths hung nearby.
At about 5:30, kids walked up the driveway and formed a line that snaked from near the main door, past the East Wing, down the driveway as far as the pooler’s eye could see.
President Obama, first lady Michelle Obama, and her mother Marian Robinson emerged shortly thereafter. “Hi guys! Come on down,” POTUS called out. He was wearing an orange shirt, black sweater, and khakis. FLOTUS was in an orange and black top, orange pants. Mrs Robinson was in orange as well. All three carried baskets with the White House treats wrapped in individual clear-plastic packages.
Nearby, bales of hay were home to four carved white pumpkins spelling out B O O ! under the vigilant eye of an inflatable black cat.
Not far, one cobweb-festooned pumpkin bore the carved message “LET’S MOVE!” (When your pooler was growing up, that and the fact that Pres. Obama proclaimed Nov. 2013 to be National Diabetes Month a few hours ago might have served as a warning to skip That House, lest you get 14 pennies in a UNICEF envelope and a near-its-past-due-date bag of baby carrots. But as you know from the White House handout, the Obamas gave out real treats, including boxed White House M&Ms, and orange butter cookies shaped like the White House, as well as a dried fruit mix. A junior administration official shared a piece of cookie with your pooler. Cookie = tasty).
The procession of kids began with Nakaiya, 10, who was dressed as “a goddess.” She clutched a green plastic jack-o-lantern treat basket. The most popular costumes (at least during the stretch of time when your pooler was present) seemed to be Mario (of video game legend) for boys and Dorothy (with ruby slippers) for girls. But there were pirates, fairies, a few LEGO Ninjago Ninjas, a helmet-less Darth Vader, a Waldo, a couple of Captain Americas (one asked for his treat to be placed on his shield). There was a Big Bad Wolf, a superbly convincing Madeline, a dad, mom, and three kids as Smurfs. Harry Potters and Hermione Grangers outnumbered Thomas the Tank Engines. Parents in the pool swooned over a homemade Abraham Lincoln costume.
The president’s comments were mostly inaudible, except when he recognized one little girl in a white flowing outfit and a hood or hat that resembled an iconic hairstyle: “Princess Leia!” he called out, grinning.
The Babka family’s home-made costumes may have been your pooler’s favorites: Mom and Dad as graham crackers, kids as a Hershey bar and a marshmallow. Those S’Mores are originally from Ohio, but he is a Marine stationed in Virginia.
There were grown-up actors clad as Wizard of Oz characters – perhaps most notable was Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, in a giant inflated clear plastic bubble. Other costumes: Zebras, Snow White, a luchadora, a penguin, a flamingo, Dan Marino, a stoplight, Scooby-Doo, Indiana Jones, the Wicked Witch, the Tin Man.
The Black Bear Combo brass band from Chicago entertained the families in line. The musicians wore skeleton make up and black outfits with skeleton outlines painted on in orange.
The first dogs were represented. A Sunny statue, made of ribbons, was dressed as a sunflower (…). Bo, made of pipecleaners, was a pirate, complete with eyepatch, saber, hat with a bone decoration, and striped trousers.
On the South Lawn proper stood a ring of ghosts (they appeared to be sheets supported by posts). In front of the East Wing garden, 14 carved pumpkins spelled out HAPPY HALLOWEEN.
Your pooler’s plans to dress as a late 1970s US diplomat, astride a wrecking ball, fell through. But surely “Miley Cyrus Vance” will be relevant in 2014?"