Taking a picture of a dude taking a picture of Wyclef Jean.
The crowd waving goodbye during Bush's campy helicopter exit.
Union Station's human gridlock.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
text message
"What did u do today? Where do u get to stand or sit tomorrow? Stay warm. Can't
wait to see you and hear stories. Go way early. Take Kleenex. Wear sensible
shoes. Don't get trampled. Love, Mom"
I am going to apply this motherly advice to every day for the rest of my life.
lost my moleskin
Left it on a plane or something!
Have you ever lost your everything notebook?
Hurts four times.
And I can't help but wonder what sticky thumbed mouthbreather is using my deep dark secrets and song lyrics and grocery shopping lists as casual in-flight browsing.
In other news, I'm in DC, I picked up my ticket to the ceremony today, shit hits the fan tomorrow, and the most appropriate way to describe Obamania is that it's like a love riot.
Riots of love.
Have you ever lost your everything notebook?
Hurts four times.
And I can't help but wonder what sticky thumbed mouthbreather is using my deep dark secrets and song lyrics and grocery shopping lists as casual in-flight browsing.
In other news, I'm in DC, I picked up my ticket to the ceremony today, shit hits the fan tomorrow, and the most appropriate way to describe Obamania is that it's like a love riot.
Riots of love.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
lets do some dancing
The joys of credit include making rash decisions.
As of tomorrow night, I will be in landing in the District of Columbia.
As of Tuesday morning, Washington D.C. will be the most densely populated location since last year's Hajj to Mecca.
They're closing the streets to traffic and they're keeping the clubs open all night, as if this city wasn't already poppin.
I plan to end up with a good story or two. I wish I could be celebrating this week with you all, but I got an opportunity to do some investigating. So investigating is what I will do. In between some very long and irrational spells of dancing.
As of tomorrow night, I will be in landing in the District of Columbia.
As of Tuesday morning, Washington D.C. will be the most densely populated location since last year's Hajj to Mecca.
They're closing the streets to traffic and they're keeping the clubs open all night, as if this city wasn't already poppin.
I plan to end up with a good story or two. I wish I could be celebrating this week with you all, but I got an opportunity to do some investigating. So investigating is what I will do. In between some very long and irrational spells of dancing.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
ring ring
"Hello?"
"Hi, Nahzeemiyu?"
"Hi."
"Hi, this is Dustin calling from Keith Ellison's congressional office. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"
"Good. I'm calling to inform you that we have one standing-room ticket to the inauguration for you."
"You're kidding."
"Haha. No. You can pick up your ticket from our D.C. office location on Monday the 19th in between 2 and 3pm."
"Oh my god. Thank you so much!"
"Yep. Buh-bye now."
Woah. Woah woah.
WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH. WHAT?!
WHAT???!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Holy shit. Um. I have to get to D.C. by Monday.
"Hi, Nahzeemiyu?"
"Hi."
"Hi, this is Dustin calling from Keith Ellison's congressional office. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"
"Good. I'm calling to inform you that we have one standing-room ticket to the inauguration for you."
"You're kidding."
"Haha. No. You can pick up your ticket from our D.C. office location on Monday the 19th in between 2 and 3pm."
"Oh my god. Thank you so much!"
"Yep. Buh-bye now."
Woah. Woah woah.
WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH. WHAT?!
WHAT???!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Holy shit. Um. I have to get to D.C. by Monday.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
the spring semester of EXCO is upon us
"At EXCO, the Experimental College of the Twin Cities, everyone can teach or take classes and all classes are free. EXCOtc is a collective of Experimental Colleges in the Twin Cities that shares visions of a better world, offers free and open classes and is building a community around education for social change."
Registration is open at www.excotc.org
There is an awesome selection of classes this term, including Basic Bike Maintenence, 5-String Banjos, Brazilian Drumming Ensemble, Fermentation Basics, Social Justice Advocacy: Beyond the Nonprofit Structure, and Traditional Chinese Concepts of Health, just to name a few.
I'll be taking Citizen Journalism, Yoga for Women, and Existentialism.
I've had really, really good experiences taking EXCO classes in the past. It's important that communities make education accessible in this way, and it's important for us to utilize these opportunities to learn and grow. I wholeheartedly encourage you to take a look at the full class list and I promise once you try something new, you won't be disappointed.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
home.
It's a beautiful thing. And the concept of home is fluid, gaseous almost, as I've just returned to a home, then immediately thereafter started packing up and moving out.
And everything about the meaning of home is entirely relative.
I'm giving up the apartment I've spent two amazing years in. I'm going back to Saint Paul for now.
It's been awesome.
'Twill be awesome still.
And everything about the meaning of home is entirely relative.
I'm giving up the apartment I've spent two amazing years in. I'm going back to Saint Paul for now.
It's been awesome.
'Twill be awesome still.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
throwing in the proverbial towel with the force of a rabid hyena devouring an adorable gosling
I'm in Kenya now, and a seemingly never-ending series of unfortunate and expensive events has left me with absolutely no energy or patience to get home.
We'll drive to Nairobi tomorrow. We'll fly to Dubai on Tuesday. I don't know when I'll get to New York, much less Minneapolis, after that.
Not soon enough.
My time in Uganda and all of its associated awfulness has won this round.
I am down for the count.
We'll drive to Nairobi tomorrow. We'll fly to Dubai on Tuesday. I don't know when I'll get to New York, much less Minneapolis, after that.
Not soon enough.
My time in Uganda and all of its associated awfulness has won this round.
I am down for the count.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
lolchatz
Drew:
HEY SIMI
Simi:
HEY BUDDYYYY
Drew:
ARE YOU IN AFRICA?!
Simi:
YEAH DUDE ITS TOTALLY AFRICA HERE
Drew:
HERE'S WHAT YOU HAVE MISSED WHILE YOU'VE BEEN GONE: JOHN TRAVOLTA'S SON, JETT TRAVOLTA, IS DEAD
HEY SIMI
Simi:
HEY BUDDYYYY
Drew:
ARE YOU IN AFRICA?!
Simi:
YEAH DUDE ITS TOTALLY AFRICA HERE
Drew:
HERE'S WHAT YOU HAVE MISSED WHILE YOU'VE BEEN GONE: JOHN TRAVOLTA'S SON, JETT TRAVOLTA, IS DEAD
the very next thing that happened
I just found out that we'll have to leave Kampala tomorrow, the same time Johan arrives. I'll miss my chance to see him here. I won't get the chance to do the one thing I wanted to do in Uganda. And I will probably never be in Uganda again.
After spending all week seething with hatred for this place, time, and group of people, this was the only thing I had to look forward to. Getting to spend some time with a familiar face. He's the first friend I would have seen in weeks. I was excited to learn about the Ex-pat community in Uganda. I was excited to learn about Johan's family's life in Africa. I had been looking forward to it since October.
We were in the car on the way to visit another one of Auntie's husband's brothers when she told me. I didn't find out until we got to Uganda that we were only here so she could shmooze with her new in-laws.
Our van-full of people pulled up to a hospital. I was livid. You brought us - all of us - to a hospital. That's how we're supposed to spend this day? This is the 4th time I had been brought to a hospital to meet some elderly distant relative. And each time our presence was entirely inapropriate. Obviously.
I said nothing as we got out of the car. I couldn't, I was seething. I walked, instead, into the outdoor patio of a neighboring bar/restaurant. They watched me. I looked at them, still silent, then sat down and opened my book. Silently, the turned and entered the hospital.
I sat and wrote. Fuming. On the verge of tears with frustration. I had known that a low blow would come from that Aunt sooner or later, even before I left Minnesota. I knew to expect this from her.
Buried in my notebook, I'm furious - writing, writing, when the overhead radio starts to quietly, "tick cshh, tick ta cshh cshh,"
I'm frozen. Hell no. Oh hell no.
My head falls into my hands just as the vocals come in, "I can feel like, coming in the air tonight. Hold on..."
"My life," I thought. And then I stopped feeling sorry for myself.
By the time the breakdown had hit, I was laughing out loud to myself. Looking like a damn fool. Cracking up. This is the first and only time I heard this song in Africa.
Phil the fuck Collins. Of all people to swoop in on my moment. So that must be what he's up to these days. Traveling the world in search of ideal moments to seep into speakers playing 80's radio stations overhead sulking young women who sometimes forget how lucky they are.
Oh fuck.
After spending all week seething with hatred for this place, time, and group of people, this was the only thing I had to look forward to. Getting to spend some time with a familiar face. He's the first friend I would have seen in weeks. I was excited to learn about the Ex-pat community in Uganda. I was excited to learn about Johan's family's life in Africa. I had been looking forward to it since October.
We were in the car on the way to visit another one of Auntie's husband's brothers when she told me. I didn't find out until we got to Uganda that we were only here so she could shmooze with her new in-laws.
Our van-full of people pulled up to a hospital. I was livid. You brought us - all of us - to a hospital. That's how we're supposed to spend this day? This is the 4th time I had been brought to a hospital to meet some elderly distant relative. And each time our presence was entirely inapropriate. Obviously.
I said nothing as we got out of the car. I couldn't, I was seething. I walked, instead, into the outdoor patio of a neighboring bar/restaurant. They watched me. I looked at them, still silent, then sat down and opened my book. Silently, the turned and entered the hospital.
I sat and wrote. Fuming. On the verge of tears with frustration. I had known that a low blow would come from that Aunt sooner or later, even before I left Minnesota. I knew to expect this from her.
Buried in my notebook, I'm furious - writing, writing, when the overhead radio starts to quietly, "tick cshh, tick ta cshh cshh,"
I'm frozen. Hell no. Oh hell no.
My head falls into my hands just as the vocals come in, "I can feel like, coming in the air tonight. Hold on..."
"My life," I thought. And then I stopped feeling sorry for myself.
By the time the breakdown had hit, I was laughing out loud to myself. Looking like a damn fool. Cracking up. This is the first and only time I heard this song in Africa.
Phil the fuck Collins. Of all people to swoop in on my moment. So that must be what he's up to these days. Traveling the world in search of ideal moments to seep into speakers playing 80's radio stations overhead sulking young women who sometimes forget how lucky they are.
Oh fuck.
'I can feel it, coming in the air tonight, hold on'
That Phil Collins song keeps running through my head.
We've been here a few days now, and had to move to a new hotel because of a ton of ridiculous issues, the most appalling of which being when some male staff member of the hotel let himself in our room at 2 in the morning.
I'm healthy, but homesick. And pretty consistently grumpy. I'm sick of being in the constant company of my extended family. Especially in such close quarters.
And it's hard to have fun in a place this dangerous. You have no personal freedoms. Two holidays have passed by me now with little mention and I could care less. I should be in Kenya or at home with the people that I love, but being in Kampala doesn't feel like a good use of my time.
I'm tired. The fascination with being insanely uncomfortable is wearing out. I'm ready to go home and enjoy my life in Minnesota with a shiny new appreciation for all its privileges. And consideration for those that are still here.
I'm glad that Alicia Keys' "Superwoman" single emerged while I'm over here. Sometimes you need a reminder.
I feel like I hate Kampala, Uganda.
We've been here a few days now, and had to move to a new hotel because of a ton of ridiculous issues, the most appalling of which being when some male staff member of the hotel let himself in our room at 2 in the morning.
I'm healthy, but homesick. And pretty consistently grumpy. I'm sick of being in the constant company of my extended family. Especially in such close quarters.
And it's hard to have fun in a place this dangerous. You have no personal freedoms. Two holidays have passed by me now with little mention and I could care less. I should be in Kenya or at home with the people that I love, but being in Kampala doesn't feel like a good use of my time.
I'm tired. The fascination with being insanely uncomfortable is wearing out. I'm ready to go home and enjoy my life in Minnesota with a shiny new appreciation for all its privileges. And consideration for those that are still here.
I'm glad that Alicia Keys' "Superwoman" single emerged while I'm over here. Sometimes you need a reminder.
I feel like I hate Kampala, Uganda.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
we made it to kampala
- and just barely.
The drive into Uganda was stressful. And loooong. It took 10 hours when it should have taken 5. And corrupt officials hustled almost all of our money away on the roads and at the border.
It was foul. But we made it. Broke, but safe.
On Sunday, when we arrived at the hotel in Kampala that Auntie had reserved for us (she had gotten there a day before), we ran to our room like somebody had just called us down on The Price is Right.
We screamed when we saw the fully-functioning, porcelain toilet, sink, and tub - complete with hot water. We screamed when we saw the TV set. We nearly tore our skin off when we saw the pool. It's hilarious in retrospect.
After the last 2 weeks I had lived through, I literally thought I had just walked into a 5 star resort. I felt like I had just won Survivor. It was the beginning of the vacation.
Obviously, the first thing I did was take a shower. Obviously, it was the best shower of my life.
We had roughed it. I mean, really roughed it, with perseverance and without a single complaint. We had pushed ourselves to new limits. And a week at a decent hotel felt like more than we could have ever asked for. Our appreciation was overwhelming. It was mind-blowing.
After a few hours, when my mind had gotten a chance to get resituated, I realized that the hotel was probably the equivalent in quality to a Super 8 back home. But we felt like royalty. In reality, we were 5 women, 1 man, a girl, and two babies sharing a 2 bedroom suite between 4 twin-sized beds and a loveseat. 'Livin it up'.
The drive into Uganda was stressful. And loooong. It took 10 hours when it should have taken 5. And corrupt officials hustled almost all of our money away on the roads and at the border.
It was foul. But we made it. Broke, but safe.
On Sunday, when we arrived at the hotel in Kampala that Auntie had reserved for us (she had gotten there a day before), we ran to our room like somebody had just called us down on The Price is Right.
We screamed when we saw the fully-functioning, porcelain toilet, sink, and tub - complete with hot water. We screamed when we saw the TV set. We nearly tore our skin off when we saw the pool. It's hilarious in retrospect.
After the last 2 weeks I had lived through, I literally thought I had just walked into a 5 star resort. I felt like I had just won Survivor. It was the beginning of the vacation.
Obviously, the first thing I did was take a shower. Obviously, it was the best shower of my life.
We had roughed it. I mean, really roughed it, with perseverance and without a single complaint. We had pushed ourselves to new limits. And a week at a decent hotel felt like more than we could have ever asked for. Our appreciation was overwhelming. It was mind-blowing.
After a few hours, when my mind had gotten a chance to get resituated, I realized that the hotel was probably the equivalent in quality to a Super 8 back home. But we felt like royalty. In reality, we were 5 women, 1 man, a girl, and two babies sharing a 2 bedroom suite between 4 twin-sized beds and a loveseat. 'Livin it up'.
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