Perspective

So, this is depressing. I love me some Andrew Sullivan, but the fact that 1 in 5 of my peers are unemployed is just depressing. That, combined with my measly one-hour stint at Mariam's Kitchen last night have caused me to smack myself in the face and be thankful that not only do I have a job, but I have one that gives me generous benefits and lets me use the education that I was so lucky to receive.

Of course, being grateful for what I have doesn't mean I'll stop challenging myself to find a niche in the world that makes sense to me, but perspective is always a good thing. That my generation will never fully recover from this economic situation to fulfill every one of the dreams we may have had when we were 10 and life was good (yeah, Clinton years!) is likely, but we can work hard and be kind and fight the urge to be angry. The latest trio of GOP Presidential debates which featured cheering for Rick Perry's record of executions, cheering for a man who died for lack of health insurance, and the crowd booing a gay serviceman (WTF!?!) make me feel less bad about thinking the right wing of the GOP/tea party guerrilla warriors are horrible horrible people. I'm really just glad I'm not like them. And that I live in a gayborhood, which means I'm unlikely to encounter any GOP primary debate attendees on my morning runs. Or EVER.

So in sum, despite feeling ruttish in the job, I have one. Despite it raining outside, I'm going to Philly this weekend to drink some wine in the countryside, and despite soulless tea partiers, Steven Hill gets to serve his country with honor dignity, and without hiding one portion* of who he is.

happy friday, y'all.



*despite Santorum's implication to the contrary, gay people aren't JUST gay, they're also PEOPLE. Like with jobs, favorite books, car payments, and pets.

Troy Davis and Lawrence Brewer

Troy Davis and Lawrence Brewer both died last night, at the hands of the state.

Troy Davis may or may not be innocent of the crime for which he was executed while Lawrence Brewer was unrepentant in his guilt.

Troy Davis was black, Lawrence Brewer white. Troy Davis was convicted of killing a white, off-duty police officer. Lawrence Brewer brutally dragged a black man to his death behind a truck.

Troy Davis' last words were to ask that God have mercy on the souls of those who were about to kill him and that he was innocent. Lawrence Brewer professed that he would kill his victim in the same way again. The victim's family in Davis' case supported his execution, stating that "justice was done". Brewer's victim's son asked that the state grant clemency to the man who murdered his father because you "can't fight murder with murder".

Troy Davis and Lawrence Brewer were decidedly different in life, but in death they are both symbols of a vengeful America. As long as there are Troy Davises on death row, I can't bring myself to find peace in the deaths of the Lawrence Brewers. The death penalty doesn't work. And we should all be ashamed.

January 25, 2003

My eighteenth birthday was roughly two months before the invasion of Iraq. It was almost a year and a half after the attacks on September 11th, and just over two years after George W. Bush was declared president. I was always going to be a democrat. My blood is full of independent, strong, smart women who broke their own barriers and men committed to serving their communities. My father is one of the most partisan people you will ever meet, but he's smart. Really smart. And when I was 8 or 9 and Nixon died, I asked why this man's funeral was being broadcast on every channel (we didn't have cable, not that that would have made a difference), he insisted that I go read a book. The point is, that I'm part of the generation that came of age in the Bush administration. The generation that is going to haunt Karl Rove.

Columbine Revisited

Before September 11, the defining moment in history for my generation was going to be April 20, 1999--the Columbine shooting. Its reign as single most important memory lasted only a little over 2 and a half years, but it certainly remains a crucial part of how I remember my adolescent life. I don't remember the day Columbine happened as much as that it was during April break, and that there was a meeting of the 8th grade class our first day back to school following the massacre. Guns, violence, and bullying were all discussed. We were invited to share our thoughts, and we were encouraged to seek out help from our teachers and parents should be begin to feel uncertain about our security at school. But what I remember most is the looks on my teachers' faces. The utter horror shielded by vague and forced attempts at calm on their faces haunts me still. They knew they had witnessed a shift in how our generation related to the world. Looking back, I don't understand how they weren't more visibly horrified. A lot has happened in the last decade. Thinking back on that day, I can't help but wonder if we haven't talked about Columbine nearly enough. Replaying that footage of SWAT officers charging a school every time another child opens fire on his or her peers is not good enough. Gun control is not something you can talk openly about in Texas--I still gasp when I see signs on doors of bars reminding patrons that their conceal-and-carry licenses are no good inside--but it's something that we as a nation have not talked about nearly enough. And yes, just removing guns from the equation isn't the answer. But it's a first step. And a far simpler one than trying to figure out what stitch was ill-executed to so greatly disrupt the fabric of our society that kids exercise anger with murder. Everyone who died at Columbine is owed more.

If it weren't for sports, we'd have to talk about politics.

That's what a sign in the window of the ESPN zone on 11th and F in downtown DC states proudly. You can't fully appreciate that particular sentiment until you've spent a serious amount of time in "the District". People talk about their small town childhoods and college experiences as "bubbles", where everyone knows everyone else's business, people care a ridiculous amount about unimportant things, and the environment itself affects people's demeanors. At the risk of sounding like I hate the city I'm currently calling home, DC has to be one of the most pretentious bubbles in the world. People move here after college because they either think they're going to be President, that working on the Hill means they are special, or they just didn't quite have the balls to move somewhere more intimidating. DC is a manageable city. Small enough to find your bearings quickly, large enough to provide adequate entertainment. However, be prepared to overhear nerdy and mindnumbing bar conversations; they are likely to include the latest house vote, who blew it in last night's debate, and (if you're LUCKY) a new Dick Cheney joke.

I absolutely love DC. I love the history, the monuments. I love being somewhere where things are happening. I love the layout- small patches of green abound, rather than relying on Central Park for your nature-space. There's a strange mix of pompous and naivety in DC, those who think their Ivy league educations entitle them to everything mingle with those who came here with the dellusion that they might save the world from their K Street office. But honestly I'm getting ahead of myself, because for one, I technically live in Maryland and two, I really wanted to talk about sports.

Sports fans connect themselves to the lives of players and teams that they love and teams that they create and players they idolize. It is something that allows you to forget about a disastrous war, credit card bills, and the fact that you actually loathe going to work every day. Sports bring people together, create rivalries among friends, and provide entertainment vastly more entertaining than 90% of the movies and tv shows hollywoods is throwing at us. I happen to be in the middle of the most blissful time in recent history for Boston fans and I have pledged to myself not to take it for granted. When I think about how I became a sports fan, it was baseball first. The Braves were always on TV because Ted Turner owns the part of the world that's not owned by Google or Donald Trump. I remember when Andruw Jones got into the league at age 18. And when Greg Maddux was lights out. In 9th grade French class, I sat in the middle of four seriously hardcore Sox fans. I learned absolutely no French that year, but I learned almost everything I know about baseball. It was around that time that the Sox started to be televised regularly and then Manny arrived and soon I had a favorite team, player, and a reason to watch SportsCenter and Baseball Tonight all summer long. Football was always there but it was my Junior year when I raced home from a school trip to Quebec to see Adam Vinatieri's 44-yard field goal with three minutes left after listening to the whole game on the bus radio. Then the Pats won the Superbowl. A lot. Then I went to Maryland, where school spirit is undeinably contagious and I became an insane Terps fan. I have a group of friends who love Maryland just as much as I do. I got to see bowl games and an ACC basketball championship, and all those times we beat Duke. As an alumna, I'm still into it. It's what keeps me and my college friends together. Tradition. I think 40 years from now, if I happen to be walking down the street and see a person wearing a Duke hat, I'll still have to hold back the urge to trash talk them in the street.

As of right now, the morning after the Sox dropped a must-win game 4 to Cleveland, I'm relying on an extremely anxiety-filled games 5-7 to get back to the World Series. The Terps play UVA for Homecoming this Saturday and if we win out, we could play a top 5 BC at the end of the season. The Pats are unbeatable. We'll see. Regardless of whether my teams keep winning, I'll keep watching, following, and talking about sports. Because it's still less depressing to watch the Sox lose than to watch the news.