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One day, our descendants will think it incredible that we paid so much attention to things like the amount of melanin in our skin or the shape of our eyes or our gender, instead of the unique identities of each of us as complex human beings.
– Franklin Thomas, in Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellion, by Gloria Steinem
I interrupt our regularly scheduled programming (that would be Vegas in Four Parts) to bring you this dispatch from my local Social Security office.
It is not often that I’m a noticeable minority. While I have plenty of accquaintances and casual friends of other races and ethnicities, my closest friends are all pretty much like me. I don’t know what that says about me – do I need to get out more? Do I need to make a more concerted effort with the people I do know who aren’t like me? Probably both.
In any event, because I spend most of my time with – let’s be blunt – white people, I found it sociologically interesting today when I had to spend my morning at the Social Security office. I don’t mind telling you that when I lost my hearing and went out of work on disability, my then-employer required me to apply for Social Security benefits. I didn’t want to; I thought I was perfectly capable of working (though I’d soon come to find out that no one wanted to hire me), but it was policy since I was receiving disability payments from my employer. So I did.
Fast forward five-and-a-half years. I’ve finished law school and I’m working. The way Social Security works, you get to keep your benefits for a specified period of time if you start working, no matter how much money you make, to be sure that you can maintain what they call “substantially gainful” employment. I called them when I started working and gave them all of my employment information and was assured they’d get my salary info directly from my employer and notify me about when my benefits would cease. I accepted that and went on my merry way.
Well, as you’ve probably guessed and I probably should have expected, they never actually did get the information from my employer, so my benefits never stopped. When I called again earlier this month, the woman told me they have no record of my prior call or of the fact that I’m working (which boggles my mind, because I work for the federal government – seems like it’d be really easy for them to check up on that, but I guess one hand doesn’t talk to the other in big bureaucracies) and that I would have to bring my W-2 to the Social Security office for them to determine when my benefits should have stopped and “how much [I] have to pay back.” Awesome.
Ok, so on to the point of all of this. I arrived at the office at 8:55 this morning. It opens at 9. The lobby was already open and there were already about 30 people in the waiting room. So much for thinking if I got there right when they opened I wouldn’t have to wait so long. I had forgotten to bring a book, or anything else to occupy me, so I took the opportunity to people watch. And the people watching at an agency like this is good, let me tell you. This was how I came to realize that I was:
a. one of the youngest people there (there were plenty of kids with their parents, but I mean of the grown ups);
b. one of fewer than 10 white people over the course of the two-and-a-half hours I was there (and the turnover was pretty high while I was there); and
c. one of the few native-English speakers.
The other thing I noticed was that nearly all of the interviewers and people who worked in the office were white; I saw two black workers and one Hispanic worker.
I don’t know. I must be out of practice at writing, because this is not the post intended to write when I was mulling over this experience in my head today. I wanted to talk about what it felt like to see all of these people there and not see my face reflected in any of them. That doesn’t happen to me. But I bet it happens to them a lot, and I wonder what that’s like for them. It didn’t bother me, but that’s probably because I knew on some level that as soon as I left that office, the status quo would be restored.
I wanted to talk about watching two Asian men for whom English was obviously not a first, or even second, language try to explain to the greeter what they needed, and how touched I was at her patience with them and how impressed at her refusal to speak to them the way Americans often speak to people who don’t understand them – loudly, slowly, over-enunciatingly (this is, perhaps not coincidentally, the way people often try to talk to me when they discover I’m hearing impaired).
I wanted to talk about the beautiful, 8-month-old Hispanic baby who was next to me for much of my time in the waiting room, and how I distracted him so his mother could fill out her forms. He had these giant brown eyes and big, goofy, toothless smile, but his face was more like that of a little boy, not a baby. He was so happy the whole time, hardly fussed at all.
I wanted to talk about the couples – so many couples. I like to watch couples to see if I can discover their dynamic. Many of them today were elderly, and the way they gingerly held each other’s arms, or shuffled slowly behind one another as they made their way through the waiting room, or huddled together talking quietly, moved me in a way I hadn’t expected.
I wanted to talk about my sadness, too, at not being able to hear normally. That is, after all, the reason I was there in the first place. But today wasn’t the general sadness that I always feel on some level; it was more acute. There were so many people there, and many of them were not speaking English, and I was sad that I couldn’t hear the cacophony of languages that was surely floating through the air. I love languages – I’m good at them, and other people’s accents never gave me any trouble – and I wished so much that I could hear everything and try to pick out the different ones being spoken today. I can remember feeling this exact sadness one other time since I lost my hearing: walking up the steps at Sacré Coeur in Paris. It was April 2003, and there were probably hundreds of people there, sitting in clusters all up and down the steps, or climbing to the top. I just knew they were from all over the world, and I longed to be able to wander among them, secretly taking in their unfamiliar accents and strange words.
Today also reminded me of something that often occurs to me, but still amazes me every time. I look at all of these people, many of them quite old, some of them disabled in ways I can’t comprehend, all of them different from me, and I realize that at one time, they were all babies, and then toddlers. For some reason, this thought takes my breath away. I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe it’s that, by the time I come in contact with most people, they’re already grown-ups, and I interact with them having never known them any other way, and so my mind basically assumes they’ve never been any other way. Maybe it’s the idea that there are so many stories out there in the world, and no two are exactly the same. I suspect, though, that it’s the idea that we all start the same way, like Mark Twain said: “We haven’t all had the good fortune to be ladies; we have not all been generals, or poets, or statesmen; but when the toast works down to the babies, we stand on common ground.”
Hmm. Maybe I did ok, after all.
For me, Vegas is a vacation from being overinhibited, in the highly overinhabited yet uninhabitable city of complete uninhibition.
– Tammy Bloemzaken
On the way to Las Vegas, we laid over in Memphis, land of BBQ and Elvis:
Oh! On every plane we were on during this trip (4 total), the safety information directed you not to use your portable record player during take off and landing:
So, you know the Grand Canyon? It really is, um, grand. They aren’t kidding. (Forgive the paleness of the photos; they were taken through the plane window. The colors were much more vivid and vibrant in person.)
After we landed, we went to pick up our rental car. Our choices were a silver PT Cruiser, a bright blue PT Cruiser, a white Sebring, or a silver Sebring. David, being boring and lacking my sense of whimsy, wanted to go for the silver Sebring. He drives a silver car at home, though, and since we were on vacation – in Vegas, no less – I insisted we choose the bright blue PT Cruiser! He acquiesed, and I took the first in a series of photos I’ve come to call “David’s Pouty Pictures”:
We went straight from the airport to an Eagles bar to watch the NFC Championship game. I have never seen anything like this place in my life, but I imagine there must be bars like this in other major cities, not to mention Philly itself. Nearly every person in the bar was in Eagles gear, the wall was covered in Philadelphia sports paraphernalia, and the place was packed. We stood for the entire first half, and people were living and dying (mostly dying) with every play – chants randomly broke out, there was booing and cheering and more booing – it was awesome. We left at halftime because I decided I wouldn’t be able to take the collective heartbreak that would ensue if the Eagles continued their mediocre play and failed to come back. That turned out to be a wise choice.
We checked into the Palms and headed up to our room on the 12th floor. I suppose there weren’t very many people staying there that day, because we got an awesome, huge corner room with two windows and a view of the Strip (and the pool)!
We headed to Ceasar’s first to watch the second half of the Ravens-Steelers game and to lose a bunch of money on Keno. David introduced me to Keno in Michigan over Christmas, and we have a rule that we always play the same numbers – our birthdays and ages (so, yeah, I guess they won’t always be the same numbers then). Anyway, we lost more than we won, but here’s the $6 we ended up with:
Yay, my first Las Vegas gambling winnings!
That night, we just walked the Strip a bit, ducked into a couple of casinos to lose more money on video poker, and people watched. And let me tell you, there are people to watch in Las Vegas. Sheesh. I guess anything really does go.
We barely made it to midnight, Las Vegas time, but that meant we’d been up – minus a few fitful naps on the way to Memphis – for nearly 24 hours. Needless to say, we were wiped, so we headed to bed with big plans for the next day.
So that was Sunday. Up next, the Hoover Dam, a brief foray into California, and more Pouty Pictures!
Las Vegas is sort of like how God would do it if he had money.
– Steve Wynn
Things I did in Las Vegas:
1. Played Blackjack for money for the first time (and won $10 – it would have been $20 if I’d taken a hit and pushed on the last hand instead of losing, but no).
2. Went to the Ghost Bar. Which looks just like it did on Real World: Las Vegas, but isn’t really anything special except for the view of the Strip. Otherwise, it’s your average bar, only with much worse lighting.
3. Lost $20 in the fastest amount of time known to man by betting on War. Yeah, that’s right, War. Like the game you play with your brother when you’re bored on a rainy day. I kept seeing the game and asking David, “How can you bet on War?” Well, finally, one wily dealer got me to do just that, and in 4 hands – at the $5 minimum bet per hand – I was done. So to save you all the money, here’s how it works: You place your bet, the dealer deals you one card face up, then he deals himself one card face up. If his card is higher, you lose. If his card is the same, you lose. If his card is lower, you win. Dumbest. Casino game. Ever.
Things I did not do in Las Vegas:
1. See the dolphin habitat at the Mirage. We kept intending to do it and then we spent more time on our morning excursions than we planned, and then it was too late, and on the last day, we got there 30 minutes after it closed. Boo. This is my one regret about our otherwise perfect trip.
2. Win more money than I bet. I did ok and had some beginner’s luck at video poker (so addictive), and I stuck to my budget, which is the most important thing.
3. Get married. Four people asked if we were going to get married while we were out there. The answer is, of course, no. Not that it didn’t cross our minds, and we joked about it, but in the end, when it happens, we want our family and friends to be there.
Las Vegas looks the way you’d imagine Heaven must look at night.
– Chuck Palahniuk
I’m off! David and I have decided to get away from the sub-freezing temperatures and impending Inauguration madness, so we’re headed to the desert for three days of 60-plus degree weather, sunshine, more gambling than you can shake a stick at, a trip to the Hoover Dam, a visit to the dolphin habitat at the Mirage, and much, much more!
We leave bright and early tomorrow and will land in plenty of time to watch my Eagles take on the Cardinals in the NFC Championship game; we’re planning to head to an Eagles bar as soon as we pick up our rental car. We’re staying at the Palms, and we’ll be back Wednesday afternoon. I’m so excited!
I hope everyone has a good week!
Father asked us what was God’s noblest work. Anna said men, but I said babies. Men are often bad, but babies never are.
– Louisa May Alcott
Young Benjamin turned one on Saturday:
We stopped by Nate’s to watch football that afternoon, so I got to see the tiny people for the second weekend in a row, which is never a bad thing.
Later that night, David and I had dinner with Aimee and Tim at a Japanese steak house, which was so much fun. I had a drink bigger than my head, called a Green Dinosaur, which was basically a Long Island Iced Tea with Midori instead of Coke. It was good. Our chef was fantastic, the food was probably the best I’ve had at a restaurant like that, and for once, I didn’t stuff myself (and I counted everything – I’m back on track, baby).
It was so great to spend time with Aimee again – I haven’t seen her in a while – and Tim and David hit it off, because they’re both kind of nerdy (as Aimee said to me on a trip to the restroom). All in all, it was a great day!
Sometimes I’m confused by what I think is really obvious. But what I think is really obvious obviously isn’t obvious.
– Michael Stipe
1. Parents who ride bikes helmetless but make their kids wear them. Just because you’re a grown up doesn’t mean your brains won’t go splat if you get into an accident. And by the way, nice message you’re sending to your kids. And while I’m at it, if you’re going to go through the trouble of making your kid wear a helmet, why not be sure it fits him right? I can’t count the number of helmets I see on kids (adults, too, actually) that are set at a jaunty side angle or sit too far back on the head.
2. Personalized license plates that tell you what kind of car it is. “Mustng” – “My CRV” – “Benz” – I don’t know why people do this. Do they think the rest of us are too stupid to figure out what kind of car they’re driving? It says it right there on the car, but thanks for making sure I can’t miss it. Have they simply always longed for a personalized plate but are too boring to think up something good? (Side note: the best license plate I’ve ever seen: PHQRSLF)
3. People who cannot be bothered to return their shopping carts to the proper area in the parking lot when they’re finished unloading them. I mean, Christ, how hard is it to walk the cart 200 feet or whatever to the effing cart corral? Are you really so damn lazy that you just hoist the cart up on to the median or leave it in the empty space next to you or squeeze it into the space between the curb and the car in the next space? Give me a break.
4. People who friend EVeryone they know, or used to know, or think they might know, or would like to get to know, on Facebook. I get a fair number of friend requests each week from people I went to high school with. Sometimes these requests sit in my box for days, even weeks at a time, because I’m conflicted. I graduated high school in 1994. That’s a long effing time ago. On a regular basis, I talk to exactly one person I went to high school with, and that’s Aimee. There are a handful of other people I see from time to time, usually through my brother (who is close with several guys from my class), and one or two others I’ve reconnected with in the past five or so years with whom I maintain a mostly electronic relationship.
I’m not one of those people on Facebook who tries to amass as many friends as I can by friending everyone whose name is familiar or who I had 4th period Geometry with or shared the lunch table with in 10th grade. It doesn’t interest me to share the information that I allow to be public on FB with the girl who threatened to beat me up in 9th grade because her boyfriend – who I didn’t even know had a girlfriend – kissed me. And yes, that person recently sent me a friend request, which I promptly ignored.
I mean, really – what is the point? Communication with at least half of the people whose friend requests I do accept, or who accept mine, is limited entirely to monitoring status updates and making the occasional wall post or comment, if that. Usually the people who request to be friends (and yes, I’m aware of how lame this sounds – almost as lame as the (honest to god) 15-minute IM conversation David and I had about changing our relationship status on FB last August) don’t even send a “Hey, it’s great to see you on here, what have you been doing with yourself?” message. And to be fair, I hardly ever send them, either.
So again I ask, what is the point of friending everybody you passed in the hallways for four years? I confess that I occassionally go through my Friends list and unfriend people. This is, in some circles, apparently a devastating thing to do to another person. But if we’ve been “friends” for months, and neither of us has commented to the other on anything, I’m guessing you’re not even going to notice I’m not on your list anymore.
How do you handle friend requests from people you used to know?
5. Why my apartment complex charges pet rent on top of a pet fee. I’m in the process of trying to transfer my lease from a one-bedroom to a two-bedroom. Yesterday, the guy told me that, in addition to the ridiculous “transfer fee” of $700, I’m also going to have to pay a new $300 pet fee, because the fee I paid when I moved in to my one-bedroom is non-refundable and non-transferable.
The lady in administration told me the fee is applied to the cost of cleaning or replacing the carpet before the next tenant moves in. Never mind that Pico, in all his born days, has never peed outside the litter box (except once when he was very young and had a UTI), and has never had fleas, and so it is unlikely that the carpet in my one-bedroom will need to be replaced and that $300 to clean 600 square feet of carpet is highway-god-damned-robbery. But no one’s explained to me, then, if the fee is for the cleaning and/or replacement of the carpet, why the hell do I pay an additional $480 a year in pet rent? One or the other would be fine, but both seems exorbitant to me.
I love everything about living here except dealing with the leasing and administrative offices. Every time I turn around with this transfer thing, there’s some new fee no one told me about the first four times I discussed transferring. It’s maddening, and it’s turning what should be a fun, happy thing into a giant ball of frustration and anxiety.
Thanks for letting me vent. Share your complaints/confusions/rants in the comments, if you like.
The bowling alley is the poor man’s country club.
– Sanford Hansell
These are the rad bowling shoes David got me for Christmas:
They were actually kind of a joke, but I love them so much! David bowls in a league (I was disappointed to discover they do not wear matching shirts), and a couple of months ago, I was with him at the pro shop when he was having some work done on his balls (hee), and they had a wall full of bowling shoes. I never knew that the bowling shoes real bowlers wear don’t look anything like the bowling shoes you rent at the bowling alley.
Anyway, they had four or five different ones like this – black with red flames, white with blue flames, black with blue flames, white with pink flames, etc – and these. I jokingly suggested to David that he get the black ones with the red flames and that I get the white ones with the purple flames, and then we could be that couple at the bowling alley with the matching bowling shoes. We laughed and that was it. Little did I know – well, actually I did figure it out – that he went and bought those shoes for me!
We bowled with his friends while we were in Michigan – every last one of them was better than me, even in my fancy new shoes. Turns out, the shoes don’t improve your game – that takes actual practice.
The Conductor is three today!
He has grown into this amazing, funny, sweet kid, and I can’t even put into words how much I adore him.
I can’t believe this tiny baby turned into a whirlwind of a toddler, running all over, laughing his head off, jumping onto to me without the slightest bit of warning. He is the best! When he was born, they took him away for a while – I can’t remember why – so I didn’t get to hold him until the next day, but I remember just being awed at his presence. He was the happiest (and giantest) baby I ever met, and even now he’s just so joyful.
This is one of my favorite pictures of him, taken when he was about eight months old. He still makes this look now, like he’s this close to getting into some mischief.
I’m headed down to Richmond today for his birthday (and a belated Christmas), and I can’t wait to see him and give him a million birthday kisses!
“I’ll come to your birthday party and do an interview for a hot dog and a glass of orange juice.”
– Chris Jericho, pro-wrestler, on his willingness to do whatever it takes to give an interview
I’ve got some pictures and stories from Michigan to get up, but for now, let’s play the interview game. Jane did it first, then Lydia, then Julie, then Lyrically. Now it’s my turn (my questions came from Julie).
1. If you had a genie with three wishes, what would they be? Wishes that you can’t pick are: more wishes, cash, and world peace.
I’m also going to abide by the rules of Aladdin: genies can’t grant wishes to kill people, bring people back from the dead, or make someone fall in love with you.
Hands down, my first wish would be that I could have my hearing back. That’s a no-brainer. My second wish would be that I could, somehow, be able to see how the lives of the Princess and the Conductor, and my eventual children, turn out. My third wish would be to have one year to travel wherever I wanted, all expenses paid (that’s not the same as wishing for cash, is it?).
2. If you could be one person for 24 hours, who would you be and why?
I don’t know. Maybe Jennifer Garner? She’s married to Ben Affleck, and I’ve loved him for a long time. But I’d like to specify that I would not like the 24 hours of her life that involves giving birth to her new baby.
3. What is the one material possession you have that you can’t live without?
I’m not sure there’s anything that I literally couldn’t live without, but I sure do love my iPod and the fact that it connects directly to my processor so that the music basically goes right into my brain.
4. What is your most favorite song ever?
This was hard. I’m going with I’m Alive, by Jackson Browne, but Champagne High, by Sister Hazel, is a close second.
5. If you found a baby on your doorstep, what would you do?
This was surprisingly easy – call the police. One of the books I read recently – Blessings, by Anna Quindlen – was about this exact thing. He did not call the police, but how could you just take a baby in without anyone wondering where it came from?
Want to play?
1. You leave me a comment saying “Interview me!”
2. I choose 5 questions and email them to you.
3. You post the answers on your blog.
4. You include this explanation and offer to interview others.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you email them 5 questions and the fun begins again!
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