How to be Creative

Last night, I dreamed that I was having trouble being creative and that the only solution was to put the cake on top of the frosting.

I Was There: The Obligatory Post-Inauguration Post

I wish I could tell you all some awe-inspiring story about being on the National Mall for the Presidential Inauguration. While history was being made, I was focused on keeping my mom from tripping, spilling hot coffee on herself and others, or poking anyone with the American flag she received from an inaugural volunteer.

After some Tuesday morning waffling, Mom and I made up our minds to get on the Metro and go. After all, she'd come half way across the country with plans to attend. To back out at the final hour and just watch things from a suburb in Virginia just didn't seem right.

So after a snail-paced ride on a surprisingly un-crowded Metro car, we arrived in DC proper and made our way to the Mall. We found a spot just east of the Washington Monument, near 14th St NW between Madison Dr. and Jefferson Dr.

We heard the swearing in, Aretha Franklin, Yo-Yo Ma and Perlman, Warren and the beginnings of Obama's speech before I decided we'd better leave. I wasn't the only one with that idea, so it took forever to get back on the Metro.

I'll admit, it was heartening to see all the cheering people standing around the base of the Washington monument. The general good spirit and sense of community in spite of the freezing air and all the hucksterism, the pedestrians crossing bridges over the Potomac ice, and the face of one woman who cried she looked at the Mall, with Obama's speech echoing off the surrounding buildings, with stay with me.

So I guess it was worth it.

Oh, why the hell not?

"Oh, why the hell not?" is my current motto.

Oh, why the hell not get on a bus bound for Washington D.C. today? It's not the craziest plan I've ever concocted.

Nibbling Away My Soul

Doing data entry is nibbling away my soul. As they say, "I'm too old for this shit." Come back, work study students. Come back!

Like a Sheena Easton Song

This week I'm commuting into work from the 'burbs. Taking the morning train then taking another home again is not so bad.

On Monday, I purchased my freedom card. (That sounds so 19th century, doesn't it?) from PATCO. So far, I give PATCO a B. They would earn a higher grade if they gave a volume discount on their fares and put hand rails in their cars to accommodate standing passengers at rush hour. Instead, they charge you more for using the freedom card--five bucks for a card. Still, the card is easy to use. SEPTA gets a C-. I think I'm being generous there. After wandering around gloomy corridors beneath the Gallery Mall looking for an atm because the little both that sells weekly passes is cash only, I have to wonder if SEPTA is every going to "get there," as their sad slogan promises.

I know I'm asking for the moon here, but the SEPTA/PATCO/NJ Transit axis needs to be much better integrated. Ideally, I could buy one card that would allow me to transfer seamlessly between these systems. I don't know of any megalopolis that handles this well, but nothing can stop me from dreaming.

Is That So Hard?

Here are some facts that I have trouble accepting:

• A completed task feels better than blown off task.
• The actual act of exercising is much less unpleasant that the thought of exercising.
• Knee and back pain are more unpleasant that the exercises that alleviate and prevent knee and back pain.
• If I start working on a project now instead of waiting for the perfect time to start, chances are I will get more of it done sooner.
• Fruits and vegetables need not be difficult to prepare (step one: wash, step two: eat) nor boring to eat.
• I am less likely to come off as bitchy if I clearly state what I actually want rather than worry about what everyone else might want.
• It is more economical to watch part of a bad Netflix rental choice or not watch it at all and return it right away than to keep it until I feel like watching the whole thing. Cases in point: Thank You for Smoking and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest.

While I still need to work on understanding these basic things, I must congratulate myself for finally mastering this concept: It takes at least an hour and a half to do the laundry.

Not My Mom Yet

Today I am another year older.

Lately, the strange feeling that I'm turning into my mother is stronger than ever. After actually preparing a holiday meal in my home, I noticed more signs of the phenomenon.

1. I decided to carry a load of heavy books with me to an outdoor activity.
2. I have an overwhelming concern that people at the table include green foods on their plate.
3. I am squinting more than ever.
4. I am getting subscription to a magazine.

Fortunately, I still possess many traits that should prevent me from becoming my mom, including:

1. I am over 5 feet, 4 inches tall.
2. I have little interest in perfume.
3. I only have a bachelor's degree.
4. I have not given birth to myself.