Hair.

I am very particular about my hair. So, it was with some trepidation that I moved down to Washington, knowing that I would have to leave behind my amazing stylist, whom it took forever to find, and who was quite reasonably priced to boot (as much as I'm particular, I'm also thrifty, which will win out every time).

The Washington salon scene is really out of control. Even ridiculously bad haircuts cost way too much, and you can't even afford a serious hair cut at a place that doesn't smell like it also cuts dog hair during the slow times. And, some places don't let you add the tip to your credit card. They only accept cash tips. Hey, I'm sorry you have to report your tip to the IRS. I can make your life easier by not tipping at all.

So, after a number of disappointments, I decided to take some drastic action: I ordered a nice set of clippers for about the cost of two haircuts, and decided to take matters into my own hands.

Or, actually, Michael's hands. Because, let's be honest: no one can cut their own hair.

So, we gave it a shot. Trepidacious at first, as the locks flew, we became emboldened. And, the result was quite satisfying. For the past several months, we've been cutting each other's hair and it's been going alright.

But, two weeks ago, I attempted what no one should dare: I was impatient, and tried to do it myself. With my head down, things seemed to be going pretty well. The hair was coming off, I felt the customary abandon and liberty that comes with doing things for yourself, like fixing a leaking faucet or figuring out how to rewire a light socket: I was not helpless! I was empowered to control my own destiny!

Then, I looked in the mirror: The hair of Matt Lauer, in his cancer patient 'do, was sitting on top of my head! I had ranked on my scalp too hard, and sliced down my poor follicles to stubble. It was a wasteland from the eyes on up.

Well, on half my head anyway. I tried to experiment with styling, combing, product, but in the end, I had to cut it all off. Then, I mourned the loss of my sightly coiffure. I prefer to think of my new 'do as more Justin Timberlake-esque . However, I'm happy to report that I lack the odd hairline that Justin exhibits here. Or the disgusting veins apparent here. Please notice how his old haircut was strikingly similar to my old haircut. However, we can all be grateful that my hair never looked like this.

I remain at the fashion vangard. Albeit, sometimes unwittingly.

Homeless No More

Sorry for the lack of recent postings. Hopefully you'll just me just a bit of slack, as I have done more in the past two weeks than in all of 2004. I felt like my 2004 Christmas year-in-review was a bit boring, but rest assured that I will be back in form for this year's letter, what with all of these life-changing events on the heels of one another.

The bad news, since the last posting, is that the sellers of that third floor condo in the Palazzo decided not to sell after all. Something about one of the owners possibly losing their job, then not being able to qualify for a new mortgage. I was really sad for the rest of the week. I had mentally started decorating, thinking about placement of our random assortment of furniture, and actually looking at home design websites for paint colors. I knew that I shouldn't be doing it: you just can't count your chickens, can you? But, I couldn't stop myself. I felt like everything was going our way, all the pieces were falling into place, and that we were just destined to have that place. Alas.

The following weekend, there was absolutely nothing for us to look at. Seriously, there was not one single residence in our area, in our price range, that was two bedrooms. Even the terrible place with fluorescent green walls and a random extra hallway leading to a bathroom with no ventilation on the ground floor had sold. I was really disheartened, and started thinking that maybe we'd have to move out of our neighborhood or something drastic.

On Monday morning, our realtor Warren sent me one lonely new listing for a place that was too expensive, too small and too far away. How depressing.

At about 10:30 that morning, I took a little break from the computer, and glanced at the listings. Much to my surprise, there was a new listing! In the Palazzo - the same building that we had put the offer in on the other place! And it was the same size unit! And it was cheaper! And it was on the top floor!

My heart was thumping in my chest. For about 15 seconds, I circled my mouse across the screen as I tried to get myself to think and act. Then, I sprang into action. I called the realtor, who pulled up the listing, and agreed that it was perfect. He had a closing after work, so that was no good. I said that it had to be lunch time then, because we had to put in an offer today before something happened to it. Warren said he would see us there, and would bring all the paperwork with him. I hung up with him, called Michael and told him the situation. Said goodbye, and all of us scrambled to get over to the building to see the place, and sign the offer.

We convened, traipsed through the house for all of 90 seconds, hastily signed the paperwork, and dashed back to our regular lives. Then, throughout the rest of the work day, little dribs and drabs of information kept coming back to me:
1:00 pm: We are the first offer
3:30 pm: There is another offer, so we will have to submit the escalation clause.
4:15 pm: They will review all the offers they have tonight and make a decision.

I had a lecture at The Kennedy Center at 6:30, the same time that they were slated to review the contracts. The Concert Hall has no cell phone reception, so as soon as the lecture ended, my phone started whirring, flashing, and beeping, telling me that I had voicemails and text messages from Michael and Warren. Then I had to get on the elevator...no service again. Finally, I got Michael on the phone. "What's going on?" I asked breathlessly. Michael replied, "I think I just bought us a house."

We had the highest escalation clause, but another seller agreed to waive the appraisal, which we couldn't do because we needed the financing. The sellers called back and said that if we'd kick in a few thousand extra, they would let us have our appraisal. Michael kept his cool well, even if he was freaking on the inside, and made the call: we would beat their offer.

Michael had to scramble into the city to collect me from the lecture, and we dashed back to Warren's house, where he was getting the revised paperwork faxed to him. Over very stiff drinks, we signed our lives away for our first home together. It was a hell of a day.

Since then, we have been working double time to get everything in order for the impending move: T-minus six weeks. That means painting, cleaning and doing some small repairs on my apartment so it can be rented out on April 1. Fortunately, that was the main priority this weekend, and the space is all ready to go. Next, starting to pack our things so they can be moved to the new building, cleaning and prepping Michael's house for rental, finding tenants for his house, finalizing the mortgage paperwork, closing, prepping, cleaning and maybe even painting the new house.

Plus, I signed up for summer school. Just to keep things interesting.

Perhaps I Am Too Busy, the Posting in Which Michael is Very Patient With Me

My life has been crazy, as Michael and I just put an offer in on a new condo last night (among the myriad of other activities in 2005...more later)...the realtor was running late, and a bunch of people were traipsing in and out of the house buying things that we had posted on craigslist. When we finished signing the paperwork for the offer, I realized I lost the cashier's check for $5,000 (!!!!!) that was supposed to be the deposit (and which I just brought home scant hours earlier), and we spent a glorious evening tearing apart my house, which was already in a total state of disarray. We talked through all the suddenly-sketchy faces we had seen that evening...why did the woman buying my bed give me a hug before she left? Was it to give me a pat down and swipe the check?!

We also had dinner plans with Dennis, a friend and former colleague from Jacob's Pillow, for which we were ridiculously late, and had to call to keep postponing. It was probably not the most enjoyable dinner for Dennis, who had by this time been driving for eight hours from Massachusetts. Every five minutes the conversation steered back to how I was such an idiot and now we are completely broke because I lost this check. Thankfully, he was very gracious and sipped away at his martini while we blathered on.

Due to certain distractions (e.g. NOW WE ARE BROKE, THANKS A LOT, JAMIE), Michael was not very impressed with the restaurant, which we were trying for the first time. I said his judgement just might be a bit compromised because he was distracted and woeing our existence, and wondering if he had made a big mistake by agreeing to marry me, the numbskull who loses or has stolen huge sums of money in my own house. However, alter on in the evening, after some digestion, I wonder if he wasn't right...'nuff said.

We went home with trepidation, preparing ourselves for a night of painstakingly slow and methodical searching through random piles and boxes for the missing check. I said a quick prayer, asking that God would let us find the check easily, and thanking Him for bringing this opportunity into our lives to put an offer on this house. I asked Him to let me know if moving in together, and starting our lives together was really a good idea. I asked Him if this was a reminder that things will not always go smoothly, there will be terrible things that happen to us, but was this a reminder that we will get through things together with each other and with Him? I really hoped so...

The first place I wanted to check when we got home was the recycling. I wanted to get the kitchen out of the way, and there really weren't many papers in the bag. Lo and behold, there was the check! Ensconsed in the bank envelope, perfectly fine, and sitting at the bottom of the bag. I had recycled our check! The Lord works in mysterious ways. This morning Michael is dropping it off (we made a rule that I could no longer come in contact with the check), and we are both thankful that I don't have a shredder.

Your Thoughts on Podcasting

As covered in Wired more and more each day (their latest magazine has a large section on new radio phenomena if this is interesting to you), podcasting is gaining in popularity, which means that now next to no one listens to them.

This push-button radioing seems to do for sound what blogs are doing for words...which makes me interested in them right off the bat. If you have never heard of podcasting, it's where you record yourself, then make the recording available as a download for people to put on their ipods and listen to instead of NPR on their way to work.

Also, you may remember that I have more than a passing interest in radio as a medium for communication, fomented by my exposure to Northeast Public Radio, WAMC while living in Massachusetts. WAMC is so many things that contemporary radio is not, most importantly, part of the community. They spend inordinate amounts of time and energy producing amazing local shows that are broadcast throughout upstate New York and western Massachusetts, and licensed out to other public radio stations.

While working at Jacob's Pillow, my long commute allowed me to get to know their on-air personalities and find out about all sorts of random things I never knew I had an interest in, like local politics, or unheard-of books. My friend Jocelyn and I often talked about how we should start an advise show, where people could call in and we would tell them what to do. Obviously, we are naturally bossy, but more importantly, we're always right. Even when we disagree with each other. All of this adds up to great radio. After all, that's what great radio is all about! Conflict!

Of course, we didn't start a show, but we did get some great advise from my very dear friend, the radio and arts guru Philip Szporer, and we formulated much of what would go into making our show a huge success, at least in the middle of nowhere (hey, you've gotta start somewhere).

Which brings me back to podcasting: I have an interest in the medium, it's technologically interesting, and I am thinking of trying my hand at it. But, will anyone listen?! This is where you come in. Please post your comments at the end of this post, and let me know if you think I should go ahead and give podcasting a shot. Thanks for your advise.

"Converting" Dreams to Reality

My friend Mark's blog, Tales of the Sissy, has a post about owning a convertible that will be important for me read every once in a while. He has dreamed of having a convertible since he was a little kid.

Some people are just this way.

If you have never taken a ride in a convertible, you are really missing an experience. In college, my roommate Amy had a convertible 1970-something VW Cabriolet, and I had no car, so we did everything in that tin can. Hauling groceries was a nightmare, because of the tiny back seat, the wind was always biting cold when the top was down, except in August, when you just wanted to turn the A/C on, your hair was always a crumpled Halloween fright, often with smashed bugs in it, and did I mention that the top leaked? When it rained, she would line the floor with plastic bags, and when it snowed, a fine layer of ice would form inside the cab along the edge of the top.

It was hardly a "Pink Moon" time.

Amy grew to hate that car. It's four gear manual transmission was awful on long drives (and all drives in Wisconsin were long). Anything above 60, and you had to shout to be heard through the engine and wind noise. The trunk was laughable...you couldn't even fit a dead possum into it (see how I worked that in!?).

And I was stuck with this crap-ass vehicle by virtue of the fact that I had zero transport, so I had to be grateful to get a ride (for the record, I was grateful...there were just some really low moments).

All of which is to say that I'm none to excited about convertibles. They seem like more trouble than they're worth, and would be the guy who would never take the extra thirty seconds to put the top down, so the whole experience would be wasted on me.

Michael, however, is much like Mark: obsessed with getting a convertible. I'm not sure that Michael has pinned up a centerfold in his cubicle yet, but he definitely lusts after the youthful exuberance of messy hair. He was just getting to the point where he was getting excited about being able to actually get his dream car in the next year, when...we got engaged. As we started talking about how we would pay for it all, his hopes of getting a new car were dashed. It was the first negative thing he said about the whole idea of getting married.

He's really been a trooper: privately mourning the postponement of this milestone, while publicly putting up a good front. But, I know that it's still important to him.

So, I know that I should look over Mark's posting about the joy of convertibles, so that I can stay excited about Michael getting one, so he can stay excited about getting one, so we can make sure that it stays a priority in the grand scheme of things, because what's important to him is important to me, and it's important for us to be on the same page about these things, right?

That's what building a relationship is all about.

Engaged, With Nary a Resource...

This past Valentine's weekend, I told Michael to keep his schedule clear, and that I was going to take him on a trip.

I stole him away to the Berkshires in western Massachusetts, where I used to live before I moved to Washington. We snowshoed in the morning, warmed up with some lunch, then headed up to the Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival grounds to snowshoe on their nature trails and woods.

Jacob's Pillow is the oldest continuous dance festival in the U.S., a huge 10-week international explosion of the best in dance, and where I spent several years as an intern, seasonal staff member, and full-time staffer. The work there is of the highest quality, and the people that work and visit there among the finest I have met anywhere. It's an old farm that was converted to a dance retreat in the 1930's. The original farm house dates from the 1790's, and many of the other buildings were built by the dancers themselves between rehearsals.

I brought Michael to the Inside/Out stage, an outdoor amphitheater where we used to look at the stars on clear nights. We clomped up the steps in our snowshoes, and looked out over the rolling hills. There was a gentle snowfall, and under the clear gray light of the afternoon, I started my loosely prepared speech. About six words in, I broke down crying, and had to take a minute to compose myself. My winter cap felt too tight. I couldn't see Michael clearly through the tears and tried, unsuccessfully, to blink them away. I wanted to rush to the end, but made myself breathe and asked him to marry me. He said yes.

I had deliberated for some time beforehand about what to give him when I proposed. An engagement ring isn't apropriate...men don't wear them. But, I wanted to give him something to commemorate the moment, and so he knew I had given the decision the appropriate heft and contemplation. So, I elicited the help of some close friends and family, scoured the internet, and talked to other gay couples, all to no avail. There is not one resource about gay marriage that addresses the emotional and spiritual needs of the couple getting married! There's plently of Q&As about the legality of said marraiges (in short, iffy), diatribes against said marriages, and lots of news articles rehashing the same information over and over. But, no one has recognized that gay weddings are going to keep happening, so we had better come up with some infrastructure to deal with them.

However, the good news about not having any resources was that I had to look to our own relationship, and the traditions that we've created, for inspiration. The first time we met, as we were leaving each other's company, and without knowing when we would see each other again, I gave him a small compass from my car. I wanted to give him something so he would know that I was serious and so that he would remember me. It was the only thing I could find, so I handed it to him saying that he could use it to find his way back to me.

So, as an engagement gift, I had a pocket compass engraved for him that reads, "May we always find our way together." He said later that the proposal was just what he expected, except the compass. That one surprised him.

Now, we find ourselves muddling through the idea of having a wedding that seems quite traditional to us, but even to some family and friends is a difficult idea to understand. There are some questions that people have right off the bat that temper the joy that we expected to hear when telling people. It's understandable, I guess, and we are trying to be very understanding in answering people's questions and helping them to be comfortable with the idea of 'us'.

The Joy of the Library

I have to take a moment to give a shout out to all the libraries in the house.

I've been an avid fan of libraries for quite some time, but I have to single out the Arlington County Library as being second to none. I get my low- and high-culture fixes from them, totally for free, and I can reserve everything online.

Except multi-disc sets, like the whole first season of The West Wing or The Sopranos. You can only manually reserve the title as a whole, and the online system
doesn't distinguish the first disc in the series from the fourth.

So, you run into problems like seeing the first disc, reserving the second, and getting the third. Now you have a quandry: do you watch the third disc knowing that you'll have no clue as to what the continuing story lines are? Or do you return it and wait for the second one (which is, of course, checked out by someone who has yet to watch disc 1)?

The only way around this dilemma is to have the librarian place the holds themselves, where they can specify which disc in the series you're interested in. Of course, the librarians are quite harried and don't exactly have time to hold your hand as you try to catch up on the past four seasons of Alias. Can you blame them?

Also, I don't understand their 'only 3 DVDs at a time' rule, especially when no such rule exists for VHS. For a while, it made sense because they had quite a small collection of DVDs (but even thn they were getting duplicate stock of the same titles on both VHS and DVD). Now, though, they have an entire rack of DVDs at the branch that I go to, and bunches more at other branches. Their DVD collection is growing quite rapidly, and they keep claiming they're going to remove the restriction. Perhaps it's reasonable to expect someone to watch 3 or less DVDs per week, but I've never been known as emminently reasonable in the entertainment department.

Birth Tax

From Harry Reid's State of the Union rebuttal:

"Too many of the president's economic policies have left Americans and American companies struggling. And after we worked so hard to eliminate the deficit, his policies have added trillions to the debt - in effect, a 'birth tax' of $36,000 on every child that is born."

I think this is a great coinage of a term...this is one of the things that the democrats should work on doing more of: encapsulating the essence of a conversation in a way that has resonance for regular people. Republicans have done it time and again (most recently with the term, 'private accounts'), and it has proved quite effective in skewing debate. Talking about a 'birth tax' is just the kind of political tit for tat we need to see!

Protesting

Lisa wrote in a comment wondering if I saw any inauguration protesters.

Alas, I made it a point to stay home, and as far away as possible from all inauguration proceedings as possible. Perhaps you may think I have missed a part of the history of our great nation. Ah! but you forget: it was colder than a dead possum out there (Margaret seems to think that this is not a southern euphemism, but I am doing my best to change that).

Further, the crowds started streaming in early in the morning, so if you wanted to actually see any part of the parade, you would have to stand outside from 9:30 am to 3:00 pm when it passed you by.

Then, when Bush approached your part of the route, he would quickly hop in his car and roll up the windows so he wouldn't have to make eye contact with the protestors.

Also, the security was tighter than a dead possum being squished by a boa constrictor (you must admit, it would be tight). Protestors weren't allowed to carry anything dangerous, like signs with tall sticks (this is true!). Apparently, they weren't even pleasant people to be around, cursing up a storm and generally making themselves and all things left-y look terrible to people that didn't like them to begin with.

Jamie Goes To School

I started back to school this week, with a fresh lunch pail, and my name bus number pinned on my jacket.

Yes, it's true. I am a grad student.

Perhaps the most annoying thing about college, especially in the first week, is the one student you find in each class who simply cannot bear to have your time together go by without hearing their own nasal voice drone on about some topic only tangentially related to the lecture at hand, because they are such a giving person that they just know that the whole class would benefit from their slight tidbit of useless knowledge, often gleaned from a dubious internet source, or the ever-reliable, "something I read somewhere."

Oftentimes, they have no particular point to make, but just want everyone to hear them and know that they are smart. In fact, they need for you to think that they are smart. Their entire existence depends on the people that they don't even know finding them intelligent. What kind of self-esteem is that?

Perhaps with the plethora of handouts we received at orientation, something from the campus counseling center should have been included, with an ominous title, like, "If You Think You Don't Need Counseling, This Flyer Is For You!"

So, I've made it through the first week of classes, and now have aproximately 9,000 pages to read over the weekend. They certainly don't suffer the fool.

But, it's rather exciting to be a student again. Soon you will see me at 3 a.m. at the IHOP ashing into my half-eaten pancakes and typing away furiously on a paper because, "I do my best work under pressure." It's terribly romantic to put myself in the same league as the students who started the French Revolution and others at the cultural zeitgeist. Discounts at the movies and major attractions certainly don't hurt either.

The Snow Is Attacking!

Washington DC, psychologically speaking, is not in the Mid-Atlantic.

It’s as southern as grits and dead possum (that’s a southern thing, right?)

This is evidenced by the fact that right now, as we speak, it’s snowing in DC (total accumulation: a quarter of an inch). This means:
-schools close
-liberal leave is in effect at most employers
-commutes take twice as long (avg.)
-SUVs crash through fences to smash into commuter trains (this happened last winter)

If this were Massachusetts or Wisconsin, no one would even notice this weather. In Washington, though, it’s the only topic of conversation. Since it started snowing at 10:30 this morning, it’s the lead story on the Washington Post website.

The lead story!

The fact that DC gets snowed on, though, just makes it like most of the rest of the country (despite what Fox dramas would have us believe…damn you, The O.C.!). The public’s response, however, is what makes Washington southern. Only in the south would winter precipitation (sometimes called “wintry mix” here, which I refuse to say…it was difficult enough just to write it here) cause the populace to ransack the groceries, hauling carts full of Charmin and Evian home, as if this were a great nor’easter, and we might not be able to dig out for several weeks.

The total accumulation is expected to be one to two inches.

More maddeningly, this happens several times each winter. Yet, local governments refuse to buy the snowplows needed to deal with the (inevitable) weather and have the control to run them 24 hours a day. Instead, they rent them by the hour from private businesses, who get to decide how long to run.

And there is the crux of the southern mindset: in the face of overwhelming northern evidence (consistent annual snowfall), the public continues to pretend that the snow will never come, instead of ramping up the infrastructure to deal with it (like they do in the north).

However, Michael says if it keeps snowing, we get chili for dinner!

Someone Thinks I Sound Hot

Thank you to the anonymous commentor to my last posting. Please remember that as of today, exactly three people know that I have a blog. One of those people doesn't have the address. So, I have a pretty good idea of who you are.

This brings up the whole concept of anonimity on the internet. While it's possbile to lie, and undoubtedly some people do, the vast majority of my experience has been that when people are anonymous they are more honest. Sometimes it takes an extreme tone, but overall, it seems that the web is enables people to speak more directly.

The interesting part, of course, is that this happens even when the poster is obviously not anonymous. For example, people are quite honest in their blogs, even when their identities are known or knowable. Check here, here, or here (for an overview) for exapmles of people being fired form their real life jobs for blogging online.

I know I'm not covering new territory, as this has been covered elsewhere in more (and better) detail. My point, though, is that the aura of anonimity 'helps' people speak their mind in ways they wouldn't otherwise.

Personally, I try to always speak my mind. Hopefully as this blog evolves, the content will be the same as if we sat down and had us a nice long chat. Except, of course, that I'm talking a lot, and you're mostly just listening. Eventually, you'll probably tune me out.

This, however, would also mimic reality.

Inauguration Day Fast Approaching

I live near Washington, so with the impending inauguration of our newly reelected president, the city is a-twitter with bustling security officers, mirrors on long handles, and bleachers as far as the eye can see.

A recent tidbit from the Washington Post is that, unlike every other previous predisent, Bush isn't going to pay for his own ceremony, even though it's the most expensive in history (the story is here). Supposedly, the DC city government has enough money in their homeland security appropriation. But, how are they supposed to deal with real improvements in the city's security when unplanned expenses like this pop up?

More pertinent to my own life is that I put my apartment up for rent over the inauguration on craigslist, and so far have only received one response. It was from a Washington Post staff writer who's doing a story on people who are renting out their houses for the inauguration! Is this how the Post gets its leads? Trolling the random classifieds on craigslist? The problem, of course, is that the people who don't have anyone staying in their houses have ads up, and those that have already rented their homes will have deleted their postings...so this staff writer is doomed to interview people who hope to rent their places, but have thusfar been unsuccessful. Doesn't sound like a very interesting article, does it?

The World According to Jamie

This blog is not going to be an attempt to convince you that I'm cool. Just so you know that right up front.