Digging a Hole

Obligatory Work Blog

2011-12-12T22:22:00.015-05:00

Oh, werd?
I just found out that my job has a blog! Who knew? I am going to use my blog to write and edit a post for that blog. If I get posted, I'll link it up.

Kerry's Work Blog Submission

It's December, and I just saw lightning. At first, I thought it was the strobing LED peppermint candy Christmas lights, but then I got a text message from a trainee:
"Kerry, what do we do when there's lightning?"
Darn.

As a seven year field organizing veteran, this is not the worst weather I have ever seen, but it will definitely crack the Top 20. My umbrella has been shredded, and my clipboard is almost too wet to sign. The last stop of my night is a house with a seemingly endless driveway where a young mother has *not* promised to write a letter and leave it on her door. She didn't say "no" either, though, but she promised to think about the issue after I left and write the letter if she decided she agreed, so here I am climbing her driveway in driving rain because canvassers are inherently optimists.

Currently in New Jersey, our canvass staff is gathering letters to support the Child Safe Playing Fields Act, legislation that would prohibit the use of toxic pesticides on ball fields and playgrounds where children play. It's a great bill, but apparently some NJ legislators are concerned that, without pesticides, the dirt will get so hard-packed that children will break bones when they fall on it. Memo to NJ politicians: In several months of canvassing on this bill, I have heard many concerns raised by parents and landscapers, but not once has someone pondered the femur-shattering power of organic soccer fields.

One thing that young moms do worry about is predatory insects, chock full of the zombie apocalypse virus, lying in wait on the ball fields. The young mom of this December thunderstorm raised that question immediately. Good news! The bill specifically addresses the ball fields and the playground equipment, not the other park areas. Mosquitoes breed in standing water, and ticks like to hang out in wooded areas and tall grass, so unless your local parks and rec team built a swing-set in a swamp or likes to keep the grass on the soccer field at three feet to slow down play, these should not be problem areas.

But what if ticks slather on the sunscreen and venture out of their native habitat and onto the short, sun-washed grass of the local soccer fields? Maybe the tick parents wanted them to learn about teamwork and signed them up for a youth tick soccer league. Maybe there are tick parents preparing orange slices for after the match right now! Well have no fear New Jersey parents. The Child Safe Playing Fields Act provides exemptions for immediate threats to human health, such as tick youth soccer leagues.

What the act is designed to do is protect kids where they play from chemicals that can impact their development or irritate their lungs. Chemical applications for aesthetic purposes are the true target of the act. We can have lovely playing fields for New Jersey's children without covering them in toxins to take out the dandelions. And besides, what is a Little League right fielder supposed to do if there are no dandelions to play with? Pay attention to the game?

Hopefully, the young mom whose driveway I was climbing had come around to this line of thinking, as well. I stepped onto her stoop, looked at her door, and there it was - an envelope stuffed with letters in support of the bill with pictures drawn by her children. I plucked them out of her Christmas wreath and tucked them into my coat. One more mother for clean and safe parks.

Beast vs. Beast

2011-12-04T21:45:00.011-05:00

Oh, werd?
In the cold dark of December canvassing, the shadows can play tricks on an organizer's eyes. The sun sets shortly after our 4pm start, and though Christmas lights are a welcome break from the relentless dark, it is common to feel that you are the only human creature who has dared to venture outside for miles. In an upper income neighborhood of giant "poppin' fresh" mansions, the quiet is even more severe. The ground has been sterilized by chemical lawn treatments, and now winter has sterilized the air as well. The front windows of most houses are dark as they look out from mostly ceremonial living and dining rooms decorated with chairs that nobody uses and pianos that nobody plays. It's cliche, but it's true.
Even the Christmas lights in these neighborhoods are sterile. Neatly spaced on rooftops that no common man could possibly scale, it is clear that the family hired somebody to decorate their home for them. There were no blown fuses, parents dangling from ladders, or mixed breed dogs barking at extension cords here.
In a neighborhood like this one, a canvasser survives relentless torment from the self-assured Right while waiting for one or two magical contacts.

Self-assured man (add your own upper income accent): I can't possibly support this.
KPd.: Okay... well have a happy holiday.
SAM: Don't you mean a "Merry Christmas"? - My dog! My dog is loose!
***tiny barking dog bursts into street***
SAM: Mildred! Mildred come back! Milly Milly! Mildred!
(I am not making that up.)

One local mother invited me in a little too quickly. It didn't take much for me to conclude that she was using some version of "mother's little helper".
Local mom: Do you like my lights?! Do you like my flowers?!
Friendly, but intense.

By 8:45 pm, I had had about as good of a night as you can ask for in the poppin' fresh suburbs. I decided to take one last look at a dead end that I hadn't seen yet, just to see if anyone was clearly up and about. One house looked inviting, but it was set back behind some tall shrubs, and I try to be mindful of frightening people at the end of the night. Across the street from me, a large husky barked and patrolled the edge of its invisible fence.
Invisible fences are a potential danger for canvassers. On a large property, an organizer can find themselves well beyond the invisible boundary before they realize that a large dog is tearing around the side of the house. I have taken to whistling and calling out before venturing onto a fresh upper income lawn after a dog bite last spring left a small scar in my right calf.
While the husky barked and stalked the worn grass at the edge of his property, another larger dog barked menacingly from a back deck. I watched from across the street. This dog had been locked onto the deck for some reason, but both dogs were unattended. I took a last longing look at the large, set-back house and decided to call it a night. Just then, the larger dog burst from the deck.
He raced for the property's edge with a snarl that any living creature would recognize as ill-intentioned. Instinctively, I realized that this animal was not planning on stopping at the invisible fence, and was headed straight for where I stood, on the other side of the street. As his collar desperately beeped, warning him that he was drawing close to the underground wire that supposedly enclosed him, the giant rottweiler, easily weighing as much as myself, tore towards me with an intent to injure. I yelled for help, but the sterile darkness of the new suburban community muffled my cry. Buffered by libraries, home offices, and formal living rooms, nobody heard my desperate scream. This was going to be between me and the giant rottweiler. Beast versus beast.
The dog crossed the wire without pause. I raised the only weapon at my disposal, my clipboard, and prepared for battle. The dog moved so quickly that it seemed to surround me. Finally, it leapt for my face. Without thinking, I swung my clipboard across the side of its head. Thwack! The dog was stunned but enraged. It circled again, but then it suddenly seemed to notice the incessant beeping and shocking coming from its collar. Still threatening, it returned to the edge of its "fence" and resumed barking and stalking me. Terrified to cross past that house again, I cut through some woods and walked about ten minutes out of my way along the shoulder of a busy rural road.
Upon hearing the tale, my fellow canvassers high-fived me and offered to buy beers to celebrate. Nobody considered not going back out again tomorrow.
Forget stopping fracking. Forget pesticide-free playgrounds. On this night, I battled a more concrete foe. And won.
I don't ever want a desk job.

Adventures in Small Government

2011-12-01T12:18:00.004-05:00

Oh werd?
The DMV has always been a bit of a hell hole. The rapidly deteriorating 1950s facade opens to grey walls lined with posters from a 1990s New Jersey tourism campaign. I won the New Jersey and You, Perfect Together essay contest in fourth grade, but it lives on in the NJ DMV. Pink plastic chairs dulled by years of impatient behinds are crammed together entirely too closely for an OCD sufferer to feel at home. And then there are the crowds...
On the last day of the month, and perhaps on other days as well, the DMVs overflow with crowds of confused people being bullied by state employees. The crowd itself is a fascinating cross section of North Jersey. Everyone in the license renewal line is essentially randomly selected from the population of Jerseyans who drive. If that analysis is true, we are an even more diverse section of the planet than even I had proudly assumed. The flu virus was flying at me in several dialects as a wide variety of humanity coughed and sneezed in the entirely too closely packed pink chairs.
In order to renew a driver's license in New Jersey, you must report, in person, to your local DMV with your "Six Points" of identification. Once upon a time, the walls were still grey, the chairs were still pink, and the facade was still 1950s, but there were a few more staffers available and residents had the option of renewing by mail. No longer. Now the typical excited 18 year olds fresh from their road tests are joined by octogenarians who can barely stand in line. Perhaps forcing people to alternately stand in line for half an hour, sit in pink chairs for half an hour, and then stand in line again is our secret way of making sure that only the fittest residents receive their renewals.
Aside from calisthenics, the other barrier to license renewal is being able to assemble the Six Points. The DMV website will walk you through the formula, but it appeared that very few NJ residents with November birthdays use the internet because it was rare that someone approached the first desk without frantically combing through a purse or wallet for one last "Point".
"Does my CVS Extra Care Card count as a point?" "No."
"But I have a receipt too!" "No."
The other possibility is that these were all secretly Tea Party activists determined to demonstrate the inefficiency of the socialist DMV, but the crowd was way too diverse so probably not. As I watched one parent berate the desk employee about how her son's Little League card should count, I began to feel a deep sense of sympathy for DMV staffers.
After receiving my piece of torn cardboard with "Wayne DMV" and the number "88" scrawled in Sharpie on one side and planting myself in a pink chair, I took a moment to consider the thought exercise of "could this be done better?" What would a private market for driver's licenses look like? In a free market, I personally would choose the licensing company that made me sit in the fewest pink chairs next to the fewest likely TB patients.
Person next to me: "Cough hack cough phlegm cough."
But that would probably mean not making people show up to renew at all. Would the private market be able to both make me a happy customer and serve public safety?
KPd.: "Oh, hey Eric!"
Eric: "We failed inspection."
KPd.: "Crap. What was it? Brakes?"
Eric: "Oh no. They don't check any of the safety stuff anymore. Thanks Governor Christie. No the only thing they test now is emissions. And we failed."
KPd.: "Irony sucks."
So, in NJ, you still have to show up for inspections, but nothing is actually checked, except air quality. The ghost of liberal governments past.
But if your car is a death trap with a visibly broken windshield and no mirrors? No problem! Another happy customer - er, citizen. I wouldn't mind waiting in the inspection line a tad longer in order to ensure that the car next to me on the Parkway can't explode, but then I'm a fan of Ralph Nader.
After an hour and a half of standing and sitting, I got my new license. I think I developed an appreciation for the patience of the DMV employees, too. But if small government and privatization are not the best guarantors of public safety, could we maybe consider a public/private collaboration in just the waiting area? Maybe someone could sponsor some larger, more well-spaced chairs.

The Fracktivists Cross the Delaware

2011-11-23T13:12:00.008-05:00

Oh, werd?
After months of frantic organizing, letter writing, and occasional text blasts to everyone in my cell phone, we can exhale. The Delaware River Basin Commission decided to delay the scheduled vote to open the river basin to fracking. Huzzah!

On Monday, what was to be a day of mass rallying and civil disobedience became an unexpected celebration hosted by Josh Fox of Gasland. Speakers from Dimock, PA came to ask the crowd for help replacing their drinking water supply. The Catskills Mountkeeper displayed his grizzly mountain beard. And, as Chief Gentlemoon of the Lenape Nation looked on, not one, not two, but three speakers invoked the image of Washington crossing the Delaware at Trenton to push out the "occupying foreigners", the Hessians. Oops. (Also, if "Washington Crossing the Delaware, at Trenton" isn't already the name of a condo development in New Jersey, it should be.)
I don't know about fourth grade history in other states, but in New Jersey, Hessian-hating is one of the best parts of elementary school history. That's our Boston Tea Party moment. It was a nice touch to link Monday's surprise victory in Trenton to the famous icy ambush of legend, but can we all agree to not use "occupying foreigners" language un-ironically again? At least not when the Chief of the Lenape Nation is standing behind you?
The rally concluded with a march to the Statehouse featuring (at least, *I* think "featuring") NJEF Montclair's fabulous, glitter-covered, Jersey Shore themed signs. If there is one thing we do well in the Montclair office, it is making political protest fun.
Josh Fox approved.

One Point Short of 30

2011-11-17T12:07:00.004-05:00

Oh, werd?
Twenty. Nine.
Or as Tara and I like to call it, our "late twenty".
Considering that I have not lived at home full-time in nine years, I figure it's time to update the address on my driver's license to reflect that fact. I am at my third post-Walnut Street address, but I can't seem to shake it off my primary form of adult ID. Why?
Well, this story starts ten years ago when, so legend has it, some disgruntled young men with fake NJ IDs decided to go one step further than sneak into a bar in Hoboken and knocked the Twin Towers down. As a result, the New Jersey Department of Motor Vehicles came to the conclusion that laminated pieces of paper are not the most secure form of government ID. Not only that, but in order to receive a new *digital* license, you now need to show "6 points" of identity verification, and, I believe, sign an affidavit saying you will not knock down any major American landmark buildings.
Five years ago, I attempted to collect the 6 points together for my new license. Here's where it got weird. I could not prove that I lived in Montclair with Eric. I am not on the lease. I split the internet with Shamar, but it was in his name, not mine. My cell phone is a family plan, and I don't get the bill mailed here. My pay stubs said "Walnut St" because I needed my official work address to match my driver's license in case I got stopped by the police while canvassing. I didn't have a credit card yet. My bank statements were going to Walnut Street because I am an idiot.
The only address I could "prove" that I lived at was my parents' house. So, despite my best efforts, I was forced to scam the super secure "6 point" system with a false address because I could not prove that I had moved years before. Awesome.
Since that time, I have opened a credit card account. I have switched my official bank address to Montclair. I am now a registered Montclair voter. Last night, I confidently opened the "6 point" website to prepare for my new license.
4 points - Current NJ digital license. Check!
1 point - Social security card. Check!
1 point - ATM card with signature. Che- Crap! My card is so worn that I can't read the signature. Okay okay. I am sure there are other 1 point documents that I have.
-Insurance card with recent pay stub. Nope. My pay stub says Walnut Street to match my old license.
-Credit card bill or bank statements. Shit. I shredded those when I cleaned the living room last week.
-First class mail from a local government. Yes! My sample ballot! Crap! I took out the recycling already!
I raced outside into the rain to go through the paper recycling and retrieve the 6th point. I tore through saturated Arts Sections and Mother Earth News magazines. Alas, drenched in rain water and stale recycled beer bottles, I was forced to admit defeat. I don't have proof of address unless I want to prove that I "live with my parents" again. Sigh...
I still have two weeks. Hopefully, I get a credit card bill.
Also, the 9/11 hijackers did *not* use New Jersey driver's licenses.
Can I have my paper license please?

Kerry-meandering

2010-11-04T12:13:00.009-04:00

Oh, werd?
I like to be informed. I know, for example, that Barack Obama was born in the United States. I am also fairly certain that he is not a Muslim (and that it really doesn't matter). I wouldn't go so far as to say that I entirely understand the health care legislation, but I do understand that that is because I have not done sufficient research, not because it is a socialist plot.
Even though I know that New Jersey's 8th Congressional district is reliably Democratic, I also like to vote, so I proudly marched to the Montclair firehouse to cast my vote for Pascrell. His headquarters had opened across the street from me just a few weeks prior, a testament to how uncontested he is here in the People's Republic of Montclair. I confidently entered the booth, reviewed my choices, and - Wait! Pascrell isn't on the ballot?!
Turns out, I live in the TENTH Congressional District. Surprise! Somehow, my small section of Montclair is sliced off the rest of the town. I would assume that the line runs somewhere between my apartment and Pascrell's campaign headquarters, but it's such a tough line to find that maybe he didn't know either.
A quick voting booth phone call to Ben later, and I now know that I am represented by Donald Payne, who is apparently the 11th most progressive member of the House. Cool! So how exactly did NJ decide to split up Montclair (and a bunch of other progressive Essex County towns!) into Congress? Let's go to the map!
Okay, so here is the district I *thought* I was in. Look! Bloomfield! (I used to live squarely inside the 8th.) So, check out that little missing diamond on the bottom. That's where I live now!
Look how neatly that same diamond perches on the top of the 10th!
So, why is that little part of Montclair missing? Well, for one thing, my neighborhood was really dragging down the 8th's demographics. The 8th features a median income of almost $52,000. We fit much better in the 10th's median income of $38,000. Clearly, when wealthy people from Park Slope are looking for a great suburban voting district, that's the first thing they check out (after the school systems, of course).
On the bright side, while I lost Pascrell, it turns out Donald Payne is pretty okay. Plus, I'm pretty sure that there are no Republicans in my district, since we include all or part of nearly every city in New Jersey. Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark, Irvington, Linden, Union, East Orange, *and* my apartment?! I am clearly more important than I had previously realized.
So, now that I am a proud member of the 10th Congressional district (the Fightin' 10th!), I say why stop there? 2010 redistricting is upon us! Let's see if we can annex Trenton and Camden! I am sure there are still a few wealthy parts of Montclair left that we can ditch.

Where Did I Go?

2010-10-14T12:46:00.005-04:00

Oh, werd?
It happened again. Summer was fun, and I stopped going near computers. My email box filled up with emails from Facebook asking me where I went, but I didn't know this until recently because I wasn't checking my email either. Unfortunately for Kevin, this means I missed the flurry of PPP emails about how we had "way too many" tents. Oops. Sorry about sleeping in the car, Kevin!
But, alas, the cold, wet horribleness that is fall weather returns with a vengeance today.
Good bye reading the New York Times in the garden. So long plucking juicy orange sungold tomatoes from the vine, wrapping them in freshly picked basil leaves, and stuffing them in my mouth. See ya next year, outdoor beer garden at Jakes. Silent, until next Memorial Day, is Asbury Park's siren call to pink sand, pinball, and gay bars.

Fall is here. It's time to rip up the tomato vines and move back indoors for the winter.
As I don't have a laptop or a smart phone, indoors is where my internet lives. I wonder if it missed me...

What the Frack?

2010-07-16T11:53:00.006-04:00

Oh, werd?
I can't seem to escape natural gas pipelines. Several summers ago, my compatriots and I began to notice gaping holes in our former Northeastern woods haunts. My friend Sarah's summer encampment at the New York Ren Faire was, literally, blown up to make way for piping. Eric's hideaway at Ten Mile River scout camp now has a gash cleared through it. Clean Ocean Action has wallpapered Asbury Park with stickers fighting a proposed LNG barge off the Jersey coast.
I suppose I knew that, somehow, the pipeline would have to cut through Jersey eventually. I was shocked, though, to read today that a company got a 24 year lease to blast its way through 23 miles of the protected NJ Highlands for $180,000.

http://www.nj.com/news/index.ssf/2010/07/highlands_gasline_approval_to.html

For serious? I can't even find a house for that little in this state.
For those of us who are not natural gas companies, here is a sampling of what $180,000 can get!

Charmer in Hackensack!

A scenic one bedroom condo!

In their defense, the Statehouse Commission noted that the $180,000 was much larger than the original deal of exchanging the destruction of some of our last remaining forests for $45,750.

For a comparison, $34,000 buys you this historic fixer-upper in Newark.

Perhaps they would throw in the house on the right for the remaining $11,750...

Of course, the gas company isn't *buying* the land; they are just leasing it. Borrowing it really. We can totally have it back in 24 years!

Maybe we could use it for like a Rails to Trails type thing.... Gas to Pass! Pipes to... um... Well, we have 24 years to figure out a slogan....

Now, as a New Jersey resident, I have come to terms with environmental disasters. We all have asthma. Unless I get hit by a car on the Turnpike, I will probably die of cancer. As public health threats go, this pipeline is surely not the biggest. Sure, the Highlands contain HALF of the state's drinking water, but the effects on human health from this project pale in comparison to the toxic waste sites, industrial projects, and diesel pollution killing our urban residents.
Still, knowing that the scars of upstate New York are coming to a state forest near me has impacted me on a more emotional level than my near constant exposure to bad air. I need to know that somewhere remains unspoiled.
As our lobbyist put it, "How do you restore 150-year-old trees that will be taken down?"

Youth

2010-06-16T12:20:00.004-04:00

Oh, werd?
On the Monday night of Memorial Day weekend, I finally saw the Lady Gaga music video for "Telephone". The ridiculous ten minute epic was both sleezy and wildly entertaining, but that is not the point of this post. When Eric and I finally made it home through the Jersey Shore traffic and began to wade through our collection of weekend papers, I saw that the New York Times Magazine had published a short piece about online music videos and, specifically, "Telephone". This means that I only watched Lady Gaga gyrate in a womens prison and poison an entire diner three hours before reading about it in the Times Magazine. Because, clearly, a defining line of youth is knowing about something before the paper copy of the Times tells you about it, I beat out full-fledged maturity by only three hours!
It was with this harrowing brush with age that I returned to my job of supervising, mentoring, and training twenty college students. Although my fellow winter staff members and trainers are mostly as old or older than me (and Shamar's a dad!), the summer students never miss an opportunity to define our old age.

KPd.: Yeah, this cellphone is pretty much indestructible. I have had it since 2005.
Student: Wow! You have had that phone since I was in middle school!

Apparently, having been born in 1982, I am in the same generation, the Millenials, as anyone born up until 2002, but I am already mystified that I could be working with people who were not alive in the 80s, let alone share a generation with today's 8 year olds. To make it more confusing, my boyfriend is apparently part of Gen X along with several of my aunts and uncles (and almost my parents!). Who comes up with this stuff?
As the trainer ambassador to our summer staff of Millenials, I am often struck by just how much older 27 is than 18. As June rightly pointed out though, we all look about the same age to her. So, I decided to embrace my role as mentor and supervisor, and over the past three weeks played a major role in developing our staff of now forty with the goals of both stopping the PurGen coal plant proposal and providing our student staff with a summer of experiences and learning that they will carry with them into whatever career field they choose. I watched the viral internet videos they recommended. I checked out the bands they thought I would like. I fully embraced Lady Gaga. They, in turn, grudgingly let me leave U2 on the radio sometimes. I thought we had an age truce. Then:

Student1: Hey Kerry! When did you graduate from Bloomfield High? You might know someone I know.
KPd.: 2000.
Student2: Whoa! That was TEN YEARS ago!
Student1: I didn't know you were old!
Student3: Whoa whoa whoa! Kerry's not old!
(See? I thought to myself. I'm not old!)
Student3: No way. She's not old at all. I think she can be *honorary* young.
(Oh.)

And with that, I am officially "honorary" youth. I think I will go pick up my copy of the Times from off the stoop.

Bike Yoga

2010-05-18T12:19:00.005-04:00

Oh, werd?
This past Sunday was the annual "Bike Montclair" event. Thousands of residents come together on human-powered wheels to celebrate the increasing bike-ability of our town with a 12.5 mile ride. Prior to the ride, Starseed Yoga prepared the left-leaning riders with some "bike yoga". Whole Foods distributed free bananas and Larabars. REI signed riders up for upcoming bike maintainance classes. It could only have been more Montclair if the bike yoga was accompanied by complementary fair trade coffee and copies of the Sunday Times.
The ride itself was lovely. Eric tore up the route on his aging roller blades to the amazement of the bikers. Friendly MPD officers guided traffic at intersections (and offered to catch Eric at the bottom of a particularly steep hill when his brakes started to melt). At one point, an agressive Subaru (I know, I know... I didn't think I would ever describe a Subaru as "agressive" either. One too many cups of fair trade coffee, I suspect.) honked at a slow pedaling four year old in the road, so his father rode out in front of the car as a sort of human traffic-calming device. Hooray!
The ride takes participants to every corner of Montclair so as to be as inclusive as possible, but as we headed into the South End (or "SoMo" as we call it), I overheard some parents remarking that they had never before been to this side, the poorer side, of town. This reminded me of a conversation I had with a Bike Montclair organizer, and then candidate for mayor, two years ago. As he worked the friendly crowd, he remarked that he wanted to preserve the "funky" side of town. So I asked him:
KPd.: Hi, my friends and I share one car. We all live in one apartment and walk to work, but because we do not drive each day, we were forced to purchase both a nighttime *and* daytime parking permit from Montclair. This costs us thousands of dollars that we can barely afford. We are trying to do the right thing by driving less, but Montclair's parking policy punishes this. What would you do, as mayor, to fix this situation?
Mayor: Well, if you don't have a driveway, you shouldn't have a car. Parking on the street is dangerous for bikers. We need less cars, not more.
With that, he got into a SmartCar and drove off. And that, in a fairly traded, organic nutshell, is the problem in this town.
A table at the end of the Bike Montclair event solicited used bikes and donations to ship them to Africa. Noble, surely, but as I pondered the required minimum donation, I noted the many folks I know that could use an old bike right here in Montclair... and Bloomfield... and Newark. Bikes are not cheap.

On turf yesterday, in a fairly isolated upper-income neighborhood in Cedar Grove, a town next to Montclair, a woman had left a decent bike outside with a sign reading "Free!".
KPd.: Sweet bike. I texted some folks I know who need one.
CedarGroveWoman: Oh good. It's a great bike, but no one in this neighborhood seems to need one.
KPd.: It's funny, when I was a kid in Bloomfield, I had bikes like this get taken *without* a "free!" sign.
CGW: :::laughing::: That's so true! Hmm... Maybe I'll bring it down to Bloomfield or Belleville and leave it there if no one takes it today...

Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

2010-05-01T10:39:00.004-04:00

Oh, werd?
There has been a bit of recent analysis as to who the "Tea Party-ers" actually are. The New York Times recently conducted a poll which concluded that, "Tea Party supporters are wealthier and more well-educated than the general public." My own experience with NJ Tea Party acolytes has been a bit different. In the most wealthy enclaves of the Garden State, the same people that never talked to me still never talk to me. What has changed is the response in the middle/working class suburbs. Only a year ago, right-leaning working-class Jersey folk would cautiously ask, "I'm Republican. Can I still do this?" Now, angry older white people viciously berate canvassers for any number of perceived slights including "Obamacare" and immigration. What the hell happened? What follows are "Kerry's Conversations With the Tea Party in New Jersey".

First, I have to sort the regular right-leaning folk from the Tea Party. Luckily, Tea Partiers identify themselves with bumper stickers such as "Legalize the Constitution" (which I don't really get) and the "Don't Tread on Me" yellow flag. Forewarned, a savvy canvasser is now prepared to strip their rap of any buzzwords like "community organizer" or "environment". Removing the latter word from the conversation can limit me a bit, but uttering it can elicit the same reaction as throwing steak to starving wolves.
Generally, canvassers are advised to disengage from folks who disagree with us, but I can't help it. I hate when people disagree with me not because of a genuine difference of opinion, but because they are factually wrong. So, follow me down the rabbit hole to the Tea Party!

Scotch Plains, recent Friday in April
Tea Party tip offs: "Dont Tread on Me" flag and "Where's the Birth Certificate?" car magnet
KPd.: Howdy! Happy Friday!
TeaPartier: Hello! What are you doing? You aren't a census worker are you?
KPd.: Naw. I'm working on a neighborhood effort to clean up NJ's water for fishing. I'm Kerry. :::extends hand for handshake:::
[Note: Tea Party-ers love a strong handshake.]
TP: Oh... is this going to raise my taxes?
KPd.: Actually, its cheaper to protect our waterways now than to clean them up later. As a person who fishes the Garden State, I know how important it is to keep the trout streams clean.
TP: Oh yeah! I definitely agree with that! I fish all the time.
KPd.: Great! Then jot down your name, and I'll explain how you can help.
TP: Sure no problem.

The Breakdown:
See? In this example, I was able to completely avoid all talk of the "E word". He actually gave twenty bucks, and I gave him some striper fishing updates. The frustrating thing is that protecting trout streams and fishing is one of the main components of the Clean Water Act, so I was, in fact, fairly representing what we do, but had I phrased it as "community organizing for the environment," the conversation would have gone very differently. It ended with him noting that I am "not like those environmentalists," and he offered me a bumper sticker. Sweet!

Parsippany, Thursday
Tea Party tip offs: "Don't Spread My Wealth Around" sticker and "Dont Tread on Me" flag
KPd.: Howdy! I'm Kerry. Getting neighbors involved with making it more affordable for towns to preserve open space!
TP: Open space is usually just the government taking land from homeowners.
KPd.: Actually, we are asking the Governor to veto a bill that would give the state more power over local towns as to how they do their zoning and planning.
TP: A veto? That sounds reasonable.
TP's wife: Don't sign anything! You don't know who will get that!
KPd.: You can read it too if you want.
TP: It actually sounds pretty reasonable, Dear. My wife is very angry about the government right now. Ya know... what you are working on sounds right to me, but those folks in Washington... Taking our money and our rights...
KPd.: Well, I only want a little bit of your money. We're taking contributions.
TP: :::laughs::: I'll see what I have!

The Breakdown:
The bill we are currently working to veto is the gift that keeps on giving. If a liberal answers the door, we are working to stop developers from forcing more strip malls on Jersey towns. If I talk to a wealthy Republican, I can note that the bill we want the Governor to veto was passed by the Democratic legislature. (Eat it Jersey Democrats!) If I talk to a Tea Partier, I point out that the state government is trying to strip the local planning and zoning boards of their power. It's the best. This guy went on to complain about health care reform. I noted that, "I'm not sure what I think yet, but a lot of my friends don't have health care because they are young and got laid off." This isn't entirely true, but anecdotes are a great way to build trust and plant seeds of ideas in Tea Partiers and other rigid fundamentalists. "Really?" he asked. "Hmm..."

Lake Parsippany, Friday, with an African-American trainee
Tea Party tip off: None! Caught off guard here.
KPd.: Hi! I'm Kerry. This is Ashley. We are community organizers for the environment!
TP woman: :::eyebrow shoots up::: Oh, really? You just said a few words that really make me mad.
KPd.: Like, "hi"? =) Or "Kerry"?
TP: You know what I mean.
KPd.: Okay, time out. Let's back up. Community organizer just means a person from the community, in this case the community of North Jersey, who wants to talk to you about something and hopefully get you involved. You can "community organize" against taxes or Obama just like you can "community organize" for the environment. It's just a phrase.
TP: :::nervously::: Well, you may not be Acorn, but those words just really set me off. You know Al Gore made like a billion dollars?
KPd.: Well, I can assure you that I am not making a billion dollars right now, or I would dress better.
TP: :::smiles::: Well, you *might* be alright yourself, but you never know. I think environmentalists go too far.
KPd.: Like what?
TP: Well... I can't think of any examples just standing here, but they just do!
KPd.: Hey, we're a local Jersey group. A lot of your neighbors' names are already on here. It's not some government take-over. It's people working together to protect our state. Can I just leave you the letter to the governor? I am pretty sure you will agree with it.
TP: Okay, I will read that.

[Later the same night, I encountered her walking her dogs.]
TP: I read your flier. Sounds okay.
KPd.: Oh awesome!
Ashley the trainee: Thank you for taking the time.
TP: Yeah, it's just... you have to understand. When I hear "community organizer," it makes me think of DARK things. Ya know?
:::Ashley's eyebrows raise almost to her hairline:::
KPd.: Okay, well, now you met two, and we aren't so bad.
TP: Still kind of gives me chills...

The Breakdown:
Subtle racism sucks. Ashley and I were asked if we were "from the area" so many times that night that Ashley finally asked me if that always happens. It doesn't.
Unfortunately, I was unprepared to strip my rap of chill-inducing phrases, but even so, we managed to have a bit of a break through with that woman. The scary part was her using words like "dark" and "chills". If you can make the people you think you are opposed to into evil caricatures, it's easy to attend hate-spewing rallies. This is why I have striven so hard to find points of commonality with the Tea Partiers. When we can start seeing each other as fellow Americans again, they'll stop seeing me as a communist soldier of Obama trying to take their property and send grandma to a death camp.
...and maybe I'll stop seeing them as racist uneducated Fox News-watching morons who can't even articulate what it is they are so mad at.
We both like fishing...
It's a work in progress.

The Mechanic is a Person in Your Neighborhood

2010-04-09T13:26:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
As many people know, one of my favorite reasons for moving back to New Jersey is to be a regular. I love walking into a place where I am addressed by name, served before everyone else, and engaged in conversation by the proprietors. For example, it's a great feeling when I exhaustedly slide into a booth half an hour before the sushi restaurant under my office closes, and they not only overlook my jeans dripping with melting snow, but also keep the place open late so that I and my co-workers may eat leisurely. Recently, though, I have noticed a few places where being a regular may not be so good.

The Pharmacy:
Between traveling to Ecuador and my battle with vitamin-D, I began seeing the CVS pharmacist often enough that she stopped asking me for my name and started just handing me prescriptions. On the one hand, it's nice to know that I always get served before the crazy lady gets a chance to beg for Adderall. While pleasant, though, one has to wonder if it's healthy when the pharmacist knows to ask you how your recent fishing trip went. Maybe I'm just really friendly...

The Car Mechanic's Shop:
Last weekend, the MercedesBenson blew a transmission line and needed to be towed and repaired. After the repair, we realized that the brakes had also been somehow damaged, so when we limped back into town, we stopped immediately at Firestone for an estimate.
Firestone Guys: ERIC!!!
FG1: We haven't seen you in a little while, brother!
FG2: Company van or that sweet wagon?
Eric: The station wagon.
FG1: MmMmm... The first car to add the third row of seats. A classic.
I like the friendly service, but frequent customer discounts are not something that you want offered to you at a car shop.

The Bar:
Okay, so I have a job that gets out at 10pm, co-workers who instigate, and a family history of drinking problems. For these reasons, I am a "regular" at not one, but *three* Montclair watering holes. Now, partially, this is a situation that resulted from my time spent living with three young men who didn't like to go home straight from work. It's also a result of the fact that I go out on weeknights, not weekends, because weeknights are cheap, so I have time to get to know the staff. Either way, it's fun to amaze your friends from NYC with the ability to use significant eye contact and subtle hand signals to order an elaborate tray of drinks from a crowded to capacity Jake's Bar. But once the bartender at Tierney's starts offering you free after-closing whiskey shots... you might be too regular.

So, being a regular isn't always a good sign... but the fact that I can be a regular is a great marker of the amount of social capital in my neighborhood. So Mr. Rogers might not have ever had Kenny, the bartender from Jake's, come by his house for a chat, but a bartender's a person in your neighborhood. As is the car mechanic. The pharmacist. The officer who does the speed trap on Bloomfield Avenue. The crazy lady who says hello to me every morning. Etc...

Walking the Walk

2010-03-28T20:05:00.004-04:00

Oh, werd?
Okay locavores.... how many of you are living with piles of compost in your kitchen right now?
Here's the situation (no, not *that* Situation, but he could help shovel out our compost if he wants): At the same time that Eric and I plant our seeds every year, we go through a ritual of urban gardening that is kind of like the opposite of spring cleaning. Before we plant our seedlings in May, we will turn over our winter rye cover crop and mix in the previous year's compost. The problem is that we don't want huge chunks of swiss chard stalk or coffee filters that we put in the bin yesterday to end up in the garden, sooooo every year in late March we stop putting vegetable matter into the compost bin for about six weeks.
But don't worry my left-leaning friends, we would not dare to waste six weeks' worth of tomato butts, rotting lettuce, fair trade tea bags, and beer-brewing leftovers. No no. We store them somewhere else. But where?
Well, last spring, we tried throwing them into a paper leaf bag in the backyard. Turns out, that's a great way to get giant raccoons to greet you when you try to show your friends your cool garden by moonlight. ("There's some kind of monster in your tree!")
This year we began storing our compost in a tub in the fridge... And then another tub... And then a bag on the counter... And then on top of the coffee maker... You get the idea. Six weeks' worth of compost is a lot!

Eric: The lettuce you just bought looks a little off. We should hurry up and use it before we start the new head.
KPd.: That's the compost.
Eric: Oh.

So, if you are visiting me in the month of April (Brian), don't look around the kitchen for a late night snack without a jungle guide. But just think, when you eat a pesto or a fresh tomato sauce from our garden now, it's kind of like you are eating last year's compost!

The Census

2010-03-28T19:37:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
I have been an adult for almost as long as you can be without ever being counted in the census as an adult, so it was with mounting anticipation that I opened the mailbox every day looking for my census form. Each day, a frantic scramble of mailbox keys, and each day, a disappointing pile of bills for Brian, bank statements for Shamar, and a Netflix envelope. As a social science dork, I looked forward to detailing my age, racial makeup, and religious practices, and I looked forward to finding out how many other lapsed Methodists with BAs lived in New Jersey.
Imagine my disappointment then, when the census form finally arrived, and it asked me almost nothing! Age? Boring. Race? White. I didn't even get to check an extra box there! Doesn't anyone want to know how quarter Jewish I am!?
Page two asks me to describe my relationship to "Person 2".
"Alas," I thought to myself. "This page would have been way more fun to fill out two years ago when Shamar was in the other room and Brian lived on our couch."
Person 3's relationship to Person 1? Is guy-who-used-to-live-here-and-followed-his-heart-across-the
-country-with-a-guitar-but-had-to-come-back-and-live-on-my-couch a check box?
But here was a conundrum... what *is* Person 1's relationship to Person 2? Are me and Eric housemates/roommates or unmarried partners? (Cue Carrie Bradshaw...)
I decided to poll the world.

Eric: I think you should decide.
Shamar: I think "unmarried partners" is like, people who are engaged but not married yet.
Tara: I put me and Sam down as unmarried partners. Wait, was that wrong?
Guy at bar: Aren't "unmarried partners" like, marriages for gay people?
David Tash: Well, looking at it logically, you were partners before you were housemates.... so that's what you should check.

Logic wins.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2010-03-17T12:04:00.004-04:00

Oh, werd?
Once upon a time, a Viking who would not admit to his Irish heritage was literally carried through the dark November streets of Galway by the warm and open locals. Succumbing to the same culture that wooed his Norweigian ancestors, he firmly embraced the city. While a passing garda smacked his head in frustration, the Viking raised his can of Bulmer's cider in the street and loudly proclaimed, "We should bring all of our friends and spend a weekend in Galway!"
And so it was, two years later, that the Viking, myself, and six of our favorite people spent a weekend and all of our money chasing rainbows in the West of Ireland.

Conversations with the locals:
On race:
Taxi Driver: Yeah, I was waiting in line to pick you up for over two hours. I've been a Dublin taxi driver for almost twenty years, but it's gotten hard to make a living.
Sadownik: How so?
Taxi Driver: Well, they deregulated the industry, so now anyone can be a taxi driver, and there are too many. Mostly these Nigerians...
Sadownik (trying to steer conversation): Yeah, the recession is bad in America too.
Taxi Driver: Ah yes, Obama! Great man. Hope for the best for him. But you see... it's these *black* Nigerians...

On infratructure:
Bus driver: They almost built a straight road in Ireland recently. It was going to go from Galway to Dublin.
Kevin: What happened?
Bus driver: Well, they came across a fairy fort blocking the construction route, and ya see, no one wanted to touch it, so they stopped construction for a pretty long while trying to figure out what to do. Ultimately, they built a little loop around it. The road is straight and true almost halfway to Galway, then you slow down, go around the fairy fort, and off you go.

On capitalism:
KPd.: There are a lot of empty new homes on the coast.
Man in bar: Yes, well, that was the trouble with this recession. Lots of folks made money in the boom and then spent it all building homes that they can't sell. Seems to me, if you were rich in the boom, you got what you deserved. Those of us who kept our heads down, stayed in our place, we'll be all right in the end.

On local deals:
Bus Driver: The Oyster Festival is great, but you need to know how to get your money's worth. It's a one price for all festival, so you need to drink enough Guinness to make it a deal. I don't know if you have ever tried to drink a lot of Guinness quickly, but it isn't easy. Here's the trick: Drink your first Guinness over the course of an hour. Then you'll be able to drink eight or nine right off without a problem.

On domestic life:
Bus driver: My wife lets me out of the house once every two years because she knows I will end up screaming naked on a fence outside somewhere. Usually that happens after the Oyster Festival actually...

Short stories:
The Mystery Guinness Story:
Eric, Tara, Sam, Kevin, and I went to the Crane Bar in Galway, a mostly locals hangout where the bartender had told us earlier that afternoon there would be live music. True enough, no less than 15 local Irish musicians came for a jam session. About three pints into the evening, a man purchased a Guinness, took his first sip, and was then told by his wife that it was time to go. Thinking that the Americans would not notice the missing sip, he offered the pint to Eric.
Drunk man: You like Guinness?
Eric: Yeah!
Drunk man: Here, take this one. Have a great night.
A Guinness has a distinctive head of foam on the top. This Guinness, while still foamy, also had a distinctive lip print.
Eric and Sam: Free pint!
Kerry and Tara: Don't drink that! Ew!
Kevin: Boys, while I am sure that the Guinness is safe to drink, your ladies are understandably grossed out by the thought of kissing you after you drink a stranger's Guinness. We should just get rid of it.
We had many obvious solutions to getting rid of the mystery Guinness. I'm sure many are coming to your mind as well. We could just leave it on the end of the table and tell a passing bartender to clear it. We could bring it back up the bar and leave it there. We could just ignore it. The problem, though, was that we were embarrassed to be the only non-Irish in the bar sitting with what looked like a full Guinness that we would not drink.
The clear solution? We needed to dump it down a toilet! (Again, I'm sure many readers are already smacking their heads.)
Eric picked up the offending pint, and, looking entirely too casual, wandered over to the men's room. The men's room door was where the table of particularly salty old Irish men were sitting. They eyed Eric, eyed the Guinness, and raised their eyebrows.
Salty old guy: Are you taking your pint to the bathroom?
Eric: Um.... yes! Yes, I am.
Eric entered the bathroom. The older man also entered. Eric panicked a little, and ran into a stall with the mystery pint. Now, he was stuck. If he dumped the Guinness now, it would look like he drank a pint while taking a crap. If he just sat there quietly, the old man would wonder why he had gone into the stall at all. So, Eric began to rattle the toilet paper to stall for time. Finally, the old man finished and left. Eric popped out of the stall and dumped the mystery pint down the sink. Then, he exited the bathroom.
Old man: You dumped your Guinness down the sink, didn't you?
Eric realized that the game was up and tried to explain the mystery pint dilemma.
Eric: I love Guinness! I would never dump my Guinness down the sink or take my pint to the toilet!
Meanwhile, those of us still at the table watched Eric's animated conversation with the old Irish men and assumed he had made some friends. Soon, he returned sheepishly and flushed bright red to our table.
Eric: We need to order another round of Guinness and drink it so that those guys can see me. They think I hate Guinness now.

More stories to come...

Spring! (and Ireland Preview)

2010-03-10T13:11:00.003-05:00

Oh, werd?!
I have a mild case of spring fever. The snow has finally melted on our garden, and the winter rye has sprung back into action. Meanwhile, indoors, the tatsoi and arugula sprouted today marking the kickoff of our 2010 garden.
Yes, that's right, arugula. I am now officially a Montclair resident. I am pretty sure there is a question about what greens you grow on the census in order to prove Montclair residency, actually, so the spicy goodness sprouted just in time. (If you buy your arugula from Whole Foods rather than grow it, you are from Upper Montclair.)
In other news, we have returned from another successful romp through Ireland. With our acquisition of some sort of Irish flu, I can now say that I have puked on three continents! This did not stop us from touring the West, sampling Jameson at the distillery, or fleeing a bad restaurant with the server on our heels, though. More to come...

Yes, I Have to Work Today

2010-02-10T12:07:00.005-05:00

Oh, werd?
Weekend snow would have been lovely. Then, I could have watched it fall while tucked warmly in my blankets making vague plans for sledding and hot chocolate later in the day. Unfortunately, Saturday brought only a bitterly cold, grey (British grey) day with not a flake. Today, our small overnight snow storm has been upgraded to a blizzard warning, and the snow which was to stop falling at noon will now go until midnight.
What does this mean for east coast canvassers? Well, in theory, those of us who had vacation days could take them. I have budgeted all of mine for a trip to Ireland in two weeks, though... But the problem remains that newer staff don't have that luxury, and since canvassers raise their own salary, a day skipped is a day unpaid. And so, my mind wanders not to thoughts of rosy cheeks and cocoa, but to thoughts that perhaps a desk job is not such a bad thing.
So, while you enjoy your days off or your indoor jobs, please remember the canvassers of PA, NY, and NJEF because we will all spend the day outdoors.

Here is a blizzard-tage of the previous best bad winter weather canvasses:

Springfield, Winter 2006:
Contact: I can't open my door.
KPd.: Oh, don't worry. We are registered with the police department.
Contact: No, seriously. I can't open my door. The snow drift is piled too high.

KPd.: Hi! I'm Kerry
:::door opens:::
:::entire contents of roof slide down onto my head:::
:::door closes:::

Erok on phone: I am at a deli with five scratch off lottery tickets. I am going to try to win standard for everyone, so we can all go home.
Sarah: Did we win?
Erok: No... Sorry.
Shamar: I say we go home anyway.

Cedar Grove, Winter 2008:
KPd. (on phone): What do you do if the van is sliding on an icy hill?
Erok: Hmm... Well...
KPd.: You might want to make this quick because we are about to involuntarily back out onto Bloomfield Avenue.

Allendale, Winter 2009:
Erok: I need you to pick up Lacey. She fell on ice.
KPd.: Okay. Let me get June to help.
Erok (five minutes later): Also, look for Chris. He slipped and dislocated his shoulder.
KPd.: Okay. Still walking to the burb. Oh, I see June. June!
:::slips and lands on head:::
June: Are you alright?
KPd.: Here're the keys. I need you to get the burb and pick up me, Chris, and Lacey.

Columbus, Ohio, Winter 2009:
KPd. (on phone): It's snowing but the [group I can't name because they will send Eric an angry email] has us driving around in death traps with bald tires.
Kevin: It can't be that bad.
Liz: We had to scrape ice off the INSIDE of the windshield.
Kevin: Oh... Ohio could use a little climate change.

East Lansing, Michigan, Winter 2005:
KPd.: Does it ever not snow here?
Canvass Director: It's the lake effect.
:::boom:::
KPd.: Was that thunder?!
Canvass Director: That happens here sometimes.

Verona, every winter storm:
Verona man: How come you always come when the weather is so bad?
KPd.: Because you are the closest neighborhood to our office that we can get to.
Verona man: Oh, well, if you help shovel while I get my wallet, I'll give twenty.

Verona woman: I don't open my door when it is snowing.
KPd.: It's always snowing when we come here.
Verona woman: Well, so much for global warming then, huh?

True Story

2010-02-03T10:07:00.004-05:00

Oh, werd?
Many people ask me, particularly when I come to their door in February, "Aren't you concerned about your safety?" While I have never felt uncomfortable wandering around NJ by myself, I always pretend that there is another, larger, canvasser, like... my brother... on the other side of the street just in case the person asking is an ax murderer. The only really scary things I have seen recently are black bears (yikes!). Recently, though, I was reminded of a scary turf incident that I had forgotten about.
About two years ago, on a dark January night, I was canvassing a fairly well-to-do neighborhood in Basking Ridge, NJ. We call these neighborhoods 'poppin' fresh' due to the fact that all of the cookie-cutter mansions seem to have just arisen from the former farmland complete with tiny, baby trees. Canvassing these areas can be a mixed bag. Lots of young families (plus!) who just had built for them a custom anti-green design home (minus) who are sometimes aware of the fact that their neighborhood used to be a farm (plus!) but likely spent way more on their mansion than they could actually afford (minus).
In poppin' fresh, I have rarely encountered a house whose exterior aroused any suspicion. There are no Crazy Old Guys or half-way homes for registered sex offenders. For this reason, I must admit, my guard was down when a well-dressed man in his mid 40s or so threw open the door with a huge smile.

Well-Dressed Man: That's Pringle's group, right?
KPd. (excited that someone knows our lobbiest): Yeah!
WDM: You must be freezing. Come on into the foyer and warm up.

The interior was gorgeous with hardwood floors, a custom kitchen, and lovely artwork. I noted that there were children's toys which, I admit again, lowered my defenses further. Dads are always friendly.

WDM: So, tell me again, what are you working on?
KPd.: (something about sewer development rules around C3 waterways)
WDM: Interesting... so, what do you think about global warming?
KPd. (smelling a trap): That really is not the focus of our local efforts right now.
WDM: But surely you have an opinion. Mr. Pringle certainly does.
KPd.: You would have to ask him, then. Look, do you agree with the issues we are working on or not?
WDM: I think that global warming is blown way out of proportion.
KPd.: Okay... well... that is not an issue that we are working on at a state level. We are working on water protection rules.
WDM: Well I probable disagree with those too.
KPd.: That's fine. Then thank you for the warm air. Have a great day. Bye.
WDM: You don't want to debate me to try to change my mind?
KPd. Actually, that's not my job. My job is to find the people that already support these issues, and get them to write letters to their elected reps.

At this point, the well-dressed man pushed his front door closed and locked it. My heart sank. I was definitely about to be murdered. Damnit.

WDM: Are you scared? (Actual quote.)
KPd. (mentally noting the location of the kitchen door): Not of debating you because I'm pretty smart, and I would likely win. I am scared because you just shut and locked your door.
WDM: Well come on! If you're so smart, beat me in a debate.

This back and forth went on for what felt like 20 minutes but was probably more like two.

KPd.: Not my job. Look, where are your wife and kids? They have got to be coming home soon. It's going to look pretty sketchy that you have a 25 year old woman locked in the living room. (Actual quote.)
WDM: Fine. Leave.

As soon as I got out of that house, I ran the block to Shamar's turf while calling him on my phone. We spent the rest of the evening canvassing together. For some reason, I completely forgot that this night ever happened until about two weeks ago, when we returned to Basking Ridge.

Guy With an Obama Sticker on his Mini Van: Community organizers are always welcome here. Come inside! Hey kids! Come downstairs! I want you to hear this.
KPd.: (something about the permit extension act)
GWAOS: This is great. We will definitely write letters. Heh heh.... I wonder what Mr. __ thought about this...
KPd.: Why? Who's that?
GWAOS: He lives directly behind my house.
KPd. (suddenly remembering): On Dryden?
GWAOS: Yeah. He *hates* canvassers. I always wondered how he actually responds to them.
KPd.: He locked me in his house two years ago!
GWAOS: Really!? Wow..... That's way more over the top than I would have expected.
KPd.: Why does he hate canvassers so much?
GWAOS: He's a board chair at Exxon-Mobile.
KPd.: (spits out hot chocolate in surprise)

So, there you have it. I was briefly kidnapped by a board chair at Exxon-Mobile. True story. =)
Also, what an asshole...

Breaking News! Jersey Shore Riot!

2010-01-22T23:48:00.005-05:00

Oh, werd!
About an hour ago, I wrote that several hundred drunk people from Staten Island were lined up outside of my apartment to meet the cast of the Jersey Shore. Well... guess what happened....

No, that wasn't Snooki.

No, for Real

2010-01-22T22:25:00.004-05:00

Oh, werd?
Outside of my front door, right now, is the cast of The Jersey Shore. Not impersonators. The real deals. It has caused quite a 'situation' (haha) on Bloomfield Avenue. It appears that every short-skirted, high-heeled, hair-sprayed, patterned T-shirt wearing person within a 20-mile radius is lined up outside of my apartment. I am slightly tempted to get a camera and a notebook and do some interviews. Alternatively, I could go outside with a thermos of tea and some hoodies. Those girls must be cold.
Eric and I were clearly not part of the invading army as we were wearing coats, so Eric stopped to offer his sympathy to the beleaguered Montclair PD while we were walking home from work.
Eric: Wow. Sorry guys. Good luck with this.
MPD: Seriously... you want to stay and help us? I'm not even kidding.

So, yeah. Another day in the surreal world of actual Jersey. I don't know why the crowd was so desperate to meet the cast. They are all from Staten Island anyhoo. The crowd could have just looked at and listened to each other. It would be equally entertaining.

Actual overheard conversation:
ShoreGirl: (while running in heels wearing no clothes) Oh my gawd, are we there yet? I'm fuckin freezing.
ShoreGuy: No. Like, one more block. I swear. Stop whining.
ShoreGirl: You said that two blocks ago you asshole. Omigawd! A limo! Snooki!!

I have been able to work the Jersey Shore into my organizing rap, though. =D
KPd.: Yeah, with your help last year, we were able to pass legislation to help clean up the Jersey Shore.
SuburbanMom: :::raised eyebrows::: Really?
KPd.: The location, not the television show.
SuburbanMom: Ohhhhh. Okay. I was gonna say - No amount of donations could clean that show up. They're not even from New Jersey!
SuburbanTeen: Yeah. Omigawd. We SO aren't like that here. For real.

Real people at the Jersey Shore looking fabulous while wearing clothes.

Don't Forget the Change for Tolls!

2010-01-20T20:41:00.005-05:00

Oh, werd?
(For atmosphere, this post is best enjoyed with the selection "Garden State Parkway Boogie" by Holme: www.myspace.com/holmeband ... They are playing the night of the 30th in Montclair, Ben!)

This is Eric's car.
For those uninitiated, it can seat three across the front and rear benches plus two in the trunk jump seats. Alternatively, you can use its Mustang engine to haul six friends, tents, and a keg. You can tie a Christmas tree to the roof rack.... or you could just roll it into the back. Safety features include a steel cage frame, 360 degree visibility, and seat belts. (Thanks Ralph Nader!) According to the Cash for Clunkers program, it is very fuel efficient. Perhaps the wood paneling reduces the wind resistance.
Owning a car is a critical part of being a resident of NJ. Sure, we live in the most mass-transit accessible part of what may be the most mass-transited state (I have zero stats on that), but car culture allows one to explore the highways and less-traveled corners of the Garden State. At the risk of sounding sadly suburban and uncool, nothing says summer like sticking your feet out the window in shore traffic on the Parkway. Sure you could take the train to Asbury or Belmar, but you would miss the smug feeling of watching New Yorkers get on the gridlocked express lanes while you crawled slightly faster on the 3-laned local section. Also, I'm pretty sure we could set up a kiddy pool in Eric's trunk.
Anyhoo, this weekend we wandered in the rain down the GSP to Sandy Hook (Exit 117). Contrary to recent popular depictions, the Jersey Shore is not entirely inhabited by booze-sweating morons from Long Island (but boy are they entertaining!). In fact, Sandy Hook is part of Gateway National Park, the most visited national park in the country. It is home to a large maritime forest of holly and cedar trees, an awesome abandoned army fort and gun batteries, and winter seal migrations. For the carless, there are multiple ferries from NYC as well as extensive bike trails, but on a day of nearly freezing rain, bikes seemed less pleasant.
We began our adventure by surprising the park ranger at the Visitors' Center.
KPd.: We were wondering if you have any trail maps for a 1-2 hour hike.
Ranger: Um... Yeah... You do know it's pouring out?
Eric: We brought our rain pants!
Nora: Can I touch the seals?!
Ranger: Eh... Well we haven't had any seal reports yet this year.
KPd.: Any sightings of Snooki?
Ranger: ....
KPd.: Just a map then...
The hike took us through a fantastical landscape of holly trees and vines. Occasionally, the path popped out on the beach and then returned to the forest. The ocean was an angry grey (British spelling). Nora opened a massive military bunker dug into dunes decades ago. The inside dripped creepily. We toured a restored Victorian-era officer's home at the end of the trail where lonely park volunteers eagerly told us the Hook's military history. We were the 9th, 10th, and 11th guests of the dreary day. It was an absolutely wonderful way to spend a day, despite the rain, and all made possible by the glory of the Garden State Parkway and our access to an old station wagon.
Unfortunately, my bizarre love affair with that highway was shaken today when I stumbled upon the dirty secrets of its past. In a cheesy "Portraits of America" photo book, I flipped through pictures of historic Bloomfield. Most residents know that the town is older than the GSP and that some things were "moved" to make way for the highway which runs down the middle of town, longways. I suppose I always assumed that since the road runs along the route of the old Morris Canal, there were not a lot of homes in the way.
I learned otherwise when I came across a photo labeled "Walnut St." I grew up on Walnut St. This was not the same street at all. Gorgeous Victorian mansions with wrap-around porches and iron fences receded into the distance. Tall trees shaded the road. I read the caption: "This street was demolished to make way for the Parkway." The following pages recorded the total destruction of over 400 homes and, in the 1950s, $3 million in ratables. A giant muddy gash was torn through the streets. In one picture, I could clearly recognize the remaining structures clinging to the edges of the eminent domain abyss as the Bloomfield I knew, the one with houses perched over the Parkway.
Sadly, while the Parkway seems to have mostly avoided heavily populated areas, it needed a way through Essex County. Newark was gashed as well, but the book notes in one caption that Bloomfield was one of the only towns that openly welcomed the new road.
While I will probably continue to celebrate the Parkway as the magical road to the shore, it exists in the version of New Jersey that I know, the car version. When I flipped through the rest of the photos, I could not help but mourn the Bloomfield, NJ that I never knew - a charming Victorian city with electric trolleys, railroad stations, and a major canal. The prosperity and grace of that town was not enhanced by the convenience of multiple Parkway exchanges.

My Computer is Back On!

2010-01-15T13:18:00.002-05:00

Oh, werd?
My computer (Skylar, you may remember, is its name) is... well... old. Once upon a time it and I were fresh-faced recent college grads starting a new life together in Brooklyn. Now I am grumbling about my aching knees, and Skylar can't handle the dancing ads on weather.com and refuses to open the cd drive without prodding.

Crowd: You still use your cd drive? Get a flash drive! It's Oh-Ten!
Me: Shh... You'll scare the cd. I think it's coming out now.

Anyhoo, Eric decided to help me update my computer for Christmas which of course scared me to death. I agreed he could open Skylar up and mess with its guts only while I was locked in the bathroom taking a shower. I couldn't watch.
Eric carefully followed the Dell directions and installed the new Dell memory. I turned on Skylar. So far so good... I turned on weather.com. The ads danced and frolicked across the screen. I turned on iTunes. I burned a cd. I played a movie. I flipped through my photo album. Skylar handled all these tasks simultaneously with ease. Then, without warning...
WHAM! Blue screen of death!!!
Apparently, Dell had instructed Eric to install twice as much memory as Skylar could handle, so it turned itself off to prevent a total meltdown. It was the old computer equivalent of an erection lasting more than four hours. Time to call a doctor.
After weeks of waiting, the correct amount of memory arrived in the mail. It has been installed. My computer is now operating like a new computer from... let's say... around late 2007. Which is a dramatic improvement.
And means I can blog again!
If anyone other than Sam cares...
(Hi, Sam!)
(Thanks Eric!)

No Line on the Horizon, but Yes, Whales!

2009-09-27T21:56:00.006-04:00

Oh, werd?
As some folks know, I don't *d0* goal-setting. This may or may not be a problem. Maybe it's because I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, even as a little kid.

Lil Kerry: I want to be a Major League Baseball pitcher!
Kerry's Parents: Follow your heart, Kerry! Let's go meet Ron Darling!
Lil Kerry: Hi Ron Darling! I want to be a pitcher!
Ron Darling: Aw, cute.
Lil Kerry: Coach, I want to be a pitcher.
Coach: Okay, here's how to pitch a change-up.
Lil Kerry: World, watch out. I am an aspiring pitcher.
World: You are a girl.
Lil Kerry: Oh..... Fuck.

So, after the dashing of that dream, I never really came up with a follow-up career goal. Instead, perhaps inspired by the beating I took in the summer of 2003, I came up with a list of life goals.
1) Go to Ireland. (done and done and done some more)
2) Meet a wonderful guy. (Hi, Eric! I love you!)
3) See a tornado. (Still working on that one.)
4) Be in an earthquake. (Yeah Indiana crosstrain!)
5 and 5b) See a whale and an ocean sunfish.

Apparently, seeing a whale is really, really easy. As someone who has been on many "whale" watches in NJ but saw only dolphins, I thought they were elusive. As it turns out, they live in Boston. Oh.
So, armed with ample days off and little responsibility, Eric, Kevin, and I headed out for the
***BEST WEEKEND EVER!!***
We began our weekend cruising north to Massachusetts toting a discounted stay at a 4 star hotel, tickets to a whale watch, and Sunday night U2 tickets. We arrived to find that Boston was in full-blown U2 mode. Fans milled in the hotel lobby swapping tickets and stories. Fellow whale-watchers complemented our old tour shirts as we steamed out of Boston harbor.
Still in a New Jersey state of mind, I figured that the spout I saw in the distance counted as a whale. Little did I know how they roll in New England. The boat wandered over to the general vicinity of the spouts and suddenly, there it was. An absolutely giant animal appeared just below me. Very very few things could distract me from the moment of achieving a life goal.... except a more difficult life goal. A giant tan fin smacked the ocean's surface about 10 yards away. As we drew closer, I saw what it was. An absolutely huge ocean sunfish - the largest bony fish in the sea. It flopped and basked like a massive swimming carpet. When we got too close, it jetted into deeper water with seemingly impossible speed. Many more whales followed, but the close encounter with the elusive mola mola was magic for me.
That night, we celebrated our successful engagement with the sea creatures of New England by partying at the Black Rose, an Irish pub. U2 fans were out in force, an Irish band brought the house down with a mix of trad and U2 covers, and the doorman waved our cover because he did not have change for our twenty. Drunk revelers from around the world wrapped their arms around each other to belt out a terrible cover of "One".
My one complaint about Boston is where they chose to put their football stadium. Why would you put a building intended to hold 50,000+ people several miles from a major highway? The concert traffic backed up all the way to the city itself and a 15 mile trip became a 3 1/2 hour odyssey. Fans chatted between car windows. Many (myself included) ran out of their cars to pee on the shoulder. Finally, with less than 5 minutes to spare, we found our seats in the upper outer reaches of Gilette Stadium. The U2 spaceship stage began to emit smoke. Drums. Lights. Joy. It's U2 concert season again!
I don't know where I am going, but I want to be surrounded by people I love, sounds I love, and experiences and memories that I can share for as long as I am on this planet. Those are my life goals.

Mola mola image by Jens Kuhfs

U2 pictures I stole from U2.com!

2009-09-27T21:50:00.001-04:00

U2 bring the house down with Bono's laser suit:

The 360 spaceship in all it's glory:

PS: If you missed it this fall/summer, they are going around again next year. Join the U2 website/fanclub for ticket access!
(See u2.com? I plugged you. Now, don't get mad at my copyright infringement.)

Democracy Inaction

2009-09-02T12:29:00.003-04:00

Oh, werd?
Sometimes, when I am feeling cheeky, I will introduce myself to contacts as a "community organizer". I actually rarely did that before the presidential election, but it elicits such great reactions from people now. Either people are ready to fly a kamikaze mission for Obama, or they are ready to fly one at him.
For example:
KPd.: Hi! I'm Kerry! I'm a community organizer working to stop dumping in Barnegat Bay! =D
Old White Guy: What did you introduce yourself as?
KPd.: A community... organizer....?
OWG: I don't like that phrase.
KPd.: Why?
OWG: ......Um....
The unfortunate conclusion I have been forced to reach is that many Americans are really really stupid. Bill Mahr reached this conclusion as well, I believe.
The other possible option is that many Americans are really really racist, but they know that it is not polite, so they make illogical policy arguments instead of just coming out and revealing their hatred of black presidents.
Take this exchange in Freehold, NJ:
KPd.: Yeah, the power plant is causing fish kills in Barnegat Bay. We are working to require the facilities to upgrade so that we can protect the Jersey fishing grounds.
OWG: I love striper fishing!
KPd.: Me too!
OWG: But... you know... I just don't like the way this country is going...
KPd.: Oh, yeah? How do you mean?
OWG: You know...
KPd.: You mean the fish kills?
OWG: No, no, no... you know....
KPd.: I'm sorry. I don't know.
OWG: How could they let a black man run this country!?

Oh.

The other recent common expression of racism is the denial of racism. As in, "I'm not a racist but..."
I overheard this conversation between two old white guys walking dogs in Bergen County.
OWG1: There sure is a lot of debate about this healthcare bill.
OWG2: What do you think about it?
OWG1: Well, I am not sure yet. I don't know a lot about it.
OWG2: Well you know what bothers me? I can't call Obama a communist without someone else calling me a racist. I'm not racist! I just don't like the guy. I don't trust him. It's a gut feeling.
OWG1: Hey! What's that girl selling?!
KPd.: Nothing guys. Just working to stop the dumping in Barneget Bay.
OWG1: The bay?! I fish there! See? There's an issue we can all support.
OWG2: This isn't an Obama thing, is it?

:::sigh:::

Family

2009-09-02T12:25:00.003-04:00

Oh, werd?
I would love to post about my boyfriend's family reunion, but I don't think I should.
I will say this: It involved a keg and an AR-15 rifle.

Complaint Box Complaint Box

2009-08-17T11:12:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
For those of us who still subscribe to a paper copy of the NY Times, there are many changes. The paper is smaller which has actually been great for people like me who did not have the six foot wingspan necessary to turn the pages of the old paper. The Sports Section is hidden inside the Business section (and is now renamed the Fraternity Section). To me, the saddest change, though, was when I flipped through the Saturday Times and could not find the New Jersey Section.
Now, in all honesty, the New Jersey Section sort of stunk. It was written entirely by people who live in Montclair which made for many articles about the trouble finding a good nanny, those darn potholes on Mountain Avenue, and the experience of writing for the New York Times. Also, NY Times writers hated New Jersey, so there were frequent essays entitled "Why I Still Spend All of My Weekends in the City- Omygod! Why Did I Have Kids and Move?!" I was still pretty sad, though, when I realized that all of the weekend local sections had been rolled into one "Metropolitan Section" with a NJ calander of events tacked onto the end. If Brooklyn is a part of New Jersey, then the local coverage is quite good.
This Metropolitan Section has a new weekly essay called "Complaint Box" where people write an essay about something really small and trivial that they really hate. The first essay was about people not respecting the rules at the YMCA pool. Yes, it was the Montclair YMCA. That ought to cover the Times' New Jersey quotient for the remainder of 2009.
The most recent Complaint is from Lorraine Heber-Brause of New York who HATES street petitioners. Like, REALLY HATES! The language used in the essay would be funny if the overall lack of empathy hadn't made me so angry.
For example:
"While there is no reason to doubt their commitment to save the world or advance a cause, their numbers and intensity seem to be on the increase."
This is something you say about an invasive species or like, the Taliban, not under-employed college students. Throughout the essay, Lorraine is mystified as to why there are more street petitioners this summer than in the past. Amazingly, she appears to be completely oblivious to the fact that we are in the middle of a massive recession with disproportionate unemployment for the young and recent grads.
And:
"Now I must plan out my errands like army maneuvers. Thinking through where the enemy troops were last positioned — and how, day by day, they slowly move up and down the street — I try to avoid the battle zones."
If Lorraine was a woman in a refugee camp planning her trip to collect firewood or fill a water jug, this statement would make sense. Unfortunately, and painfully ironically, Lorraine is a wealthy New Yorker plotting how to ignore people who would like to tell her about women in refugee camps. While those women risk rape, Lorraine risks hearing about it. I see the clear need for military metaphors there...
And finally:
"They wonder why I don’t care about undernourished children in Ethiopia (I do, just not when I am running errands). "
Let them eat cake.
Maybe Nicholas Kristoff should offer to take Lorraine on a trip.
Maybe Lorraine is a pompous jerk.
Lorraine would definitely never move to Montclair.

Full disclosure, I tried street canvassing for a month, and it was the single worst job I have ever had.

Spending the Stimulus Money!

2009-08-03T14:52:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
So, it's been over a month since I wrote in my blog. Usually, that means that someone in my family has died. Fortunately, the reason I took so long to write in my blog this time is that I have had way to much fun this summer. I gallivanted with the B6 Chicks in Cape May, relaxed at Relaxicon 09 in Ann Arbor, caught a bass at Family Camp with Eric, and saw a drive thru (!) movie. I even attended a Real House Party of Bergen County.
No, the Great Recession has not kept me down this summer. In fact, NJEF has been given some stimulus money to be a part of a green jobs training program in Newark. We have had a great urban youth training program in community organizing for about a year now, so it seemed like a good fit. Newark young adults would spend six weeks learning how to install solar panels and six weeks with us learning organizing skills to lobby for green jobs opportunities to come to Newark. They are paid for attending the classes as if it's a job, and NJEF receives stimulus money to fund the program based on how many students attend.
I spent one morning volunteering with a few other canvassers to prepare the students for an afternoon of gathering signatures on a green jobs petition. Eric and I drove a couple of 'burbs into Newark to meet the class. Eric wore his white panama hat, I believe, to blend in. He didn't look like he was from Newark, but he did kind of look like a bad guy from Clear and Present Danger.
We arrived to find the students already restless. A few of them were still participating in the discussion on organizing, but one side of the room was whispering among themselves and deliberately ignoring directions from the group leader. This was what I had dragged myself out of bed and escorted Eric the drug lord through Newark for? Finally, one of the students staged a semi-walkout in protest of the lunch break coming late. I have to say, they may not have realized it, but that was a fine piece of organizing.
Over the break, our North Jersey organizer explained some of the challenges. The stimulus money is paid out to the organization on a per student basis, so even if one or two students are ruining it for everyone else, you can't remove them from the program without also losing thousands of dollars. In addition, some of the students were struggling with the legacy of spending twelve years in public school classrooms where teachers could not control the students. One shy young man only had a second grade reading level. The green construction jobs could be his salvation.
After lunch, the class was broken into small groups that would each be led by one canvasser. My group and Noel's group engaged in some friendly competition to motivate the students.
KPd.: Group 3 rules! We are SO going to get more signatures on our clipboard than Group 2!
Noel: Bring it!
Noel (later, aside): Is it bad that to motivate the students we are perpetuating a gang mentality?
The students practiced their raps and rehearsed what they would say about the issues.
Student 1: If you sign this, we will call you about a job.
Student 2: Oh hell yeah! Give me a pen!
KPd.: Wait a second guys. This is a petition, not a jobs listing.
Student 2: Yeah, but I signed it. So who cares? No one is going to care about this stuff.
Student 1: Everyone wants a job. It will work.
KPd.: Yeah but you are organizers. What if people who put their name down now find out you were lying to them later? They'll never help you to achieve these goals again.
Student 1: No one will help anyway. Nobody in Newark cares about any of this.
KPd.: Let's see what happens at the festival.
We piled into the new 'burb, the Yukon with the tinted windows and sun roof, and traveled two feet. The tire exploded on a broken bottle. Eric, in Panama hat, sent everyone else off to canvass while he stayed with the vehicle.
The class was slated to head to a local neighborhood to do door to door canvassing, but a spate of random shootings in Newark just days beforehand led us to change our plans. We would instead canvass the crowd at a gospel festival in the center of the city. We could not have picked a more friendly group to reach out to. Noel confidently strode up to the first person we saw in the park. The students stood with me watching to see what would happen. With a smile, an older woman gladly signed the petition.
Student 1: Yo! Give me a clipboard!
Student 2: This is easy!
Soon, the NJEF canvassers stood aside and watched as the class blossomed. Even the shyest students were positively beaming as older Newark community members asked them about the issues, praised their efforts, and signed their names. Uplifting gospel music swelled in the background.
KPd.: It's kind of like one of those movies from the 90s. I feel like Whoopi Goldberg should appear dressed as a nun any moment now.
Noel: This is pretty great.
Class leader: Where's Eric? You guys didn't leave him alone in a hot part of Newark with that vehicle, did you?
Noel: Um...
KPd.: A what part of Newark...?
Class leader: Well, hopefully that goofy hat of his will intimidate people. I'll call Triple A...

So, if you were wondering where the stimulus money is going, here is one place. (Oh, and paving every single highway in New Jersey at the same time.) Hopefully, the jobs will come to Newark. The good thing about green construction is that solar panels can't be installed on a house anywhere else in the world. You can't make a home more energy efficient by shipping it to China. It's a job that's guaranteed to stay in the area. We just need people like Mayor Corey Booker to keep thinking boldly about the future of Newark and the potential for this city to rise again.

It's Not a Job; It's an Adventure

2009-06-15T11:23:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
While every other sector of the economy falters, canvassing has never had a better summer. Little 'ol NJEF is cranking out $30,000 a week in small door-to-door donations, and we aren't even the biggest thing happening in the canvassing world right now. Ann Arbor Clean Water Action is sending out 65 canvassers a day. Farmingdale Citizen's Campaign for the Environment (led by local celebrity Brian Moyer) continues to raise about $1000 more than us every week. (Damnit Brian!) We currently collect on average 180 handwritten letters PER DAY from Jersey folks to targeted officials thanks to our staff of 40 canvassers. Liberal arts students (and grads) are flocking to canvassing because no one else is paying right now, so the staff are sharper, wittier, and better at hacky-sack than ever before.
With all of this success and joyful chaos, it can be easy to forget just how insane this job is some days and how thin of a margin we sometimes operate on. So here is a tale about Thursday.
On Thursday, we sent out five "burbs". Burbs is short for Chevy Suburban because that's what Jane Fonda donated to canvassers in the 70s. While we don't drive them anymore, the name applies to any vehicle driven by canvassers to turf. The burb I rode in, Poseidon (yes, we name them), is now the oldest in our fleet. (Wait, no, Eric's mom's station wagon is the oldest. The 'Mercedes Benson'.) Anyhoo, Poseidon is a 1995 Ford Clubwagon that seats eight, has a massive engine, and can fit 10 cases of Yuengling in the trunk... not that we know that for sure. The previous oldest burb was Jynx, a 94 Astrovan prone to malfunctions like the power steering and braking cutting out simultaneously on the Parkway. Everyone was okay. David Dower considered opening the door and rolling out, though.
Last weekend we sent three canvassers to Ohio on a cross-train. They drove Nora's Prius together. Unfortunately, Nora's Prius hit a pothole and rolled off the highway. Everyone was okay, but the three canvassers spent an interesting three days trapped in Clearfield, PA. Think 'Too Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar'.
Due to this accident, and our burbs' general oldness, we have been extra vigilant on safety. No canvasser heads to turf without a seat belt securely fastened. Lucky thing, because on Thursday, Poseidon hit a pot hole, and with a clunk, Shamar suddenly found himself without steering. Wrestling the lurching burb away from a dangerously close Volvo, he managed to slow the vehicle and pull it off the road.
Me: Good thing we were all wearing our seatbelts!
College kid: Actually, I had just taken mine off to get something out of my bag.
On further examination, we saw that the rod that connects the two wheels together for steering had broken off of the right wheel (the clunk), so while Shamar could steer the wheel under the burb, the right wheel was free to do as it pleased. Poseidon was grounded.
Even a red-hot canvass can not afford to compensate eight grounded canvassers, so we called the other burbs and sent folks off in all available other seats (including the rear jump seats in the Mercedes Benson!). Then, Eric eventually drove a friend's car to pick up myself, Shamar, and our Day 1 trainee.
Day 1: This day sure is turning out to be weird.
Our turf that day was a woodsy, wealthy enclave in Wayne, NJ alongside a lake. Just as Eric pulled up to the neighborhood, the skies opened, and thus began a downpour that would last the rest of the night. My plucky Day 1 and I hiked across massive lawns, braved attacks by life-size bronze gorillas and rhinos, and dodged traffic on the wet, rural roads.
Finally, the time came for her to canvass by herself on her training turf. The map showed a road to our left, but to our left was only a pump station and small brook. I called Eric.
Me: It's pouring, and where a trainee turf should be is a river and woods.
Eric: On Google Earth, it looks like you can cut through two backyards, and you'll be there.
Day 1: You'll come with me, right?
Me: Not to worry. I'll make sure you make it though.
Day 1: This day is soooo weird.
We began to hike through wet weeds across the first backyard and over a rock wall to the second. That's when I realized that the weeds were poison ivy.
Day 1: I don't think I am allergic to it.
Me: Well, we'll both know soon.
After two backyards of wet ivy, we came to a third. This was clearly not as easy as Eric had described, and I soon realized why. On the satellite photo, the two streets were next to each other, but the satellite missed the fact that one street was on the top of a mountain, and we were on the bottom. That's when a homeowner came to his yard to see what two wet activists were doing there.
Me: First lesson today, always anticipate questions and answer them before they are asked.
Day 1: Should I write this down? I think my clipboard melted.
Me: Hello there sir! We were on our way to Bass Road, and according to our map, it should be right here. Clearly, we are lost. Would you kindly direct us to the nearest road?
Homeowner: Uh... Indian Road is at the end of my driveway. How did you...?
Me: Great! Thanks so much. Guess we made a wrong turn. Well, so long then.
Day 1: That was amazing. This day just gets weirder.
At that point, the rain became a torrent. We gave up on any hope of finding a way for the Day 1 to canvass and pressed on. The next house looked friendly and had a porch.
Woman: You are soaked! Let me get you an umbrella.
Day 1: This is my first day, so I didn't think to bring one. Plus, we got lost in the woods.
Woman: What?!
I explained our dilemma, and she quickly offered to escort us through her backyard and into the neighbors' yard behind her. ("It's my mother's house.")
With my Day 1 safely to her turf and drier than before, I set upon the task of raising money despite the geographical and vehicular mishaps. Though there would be compensation for lost time, the state of non-profits' financial affairs are not well, and every dollar would help. The rain drove harder and harder as if to beat me into giving up. Finally, I had time for one last home.
Woman: You are soaked! Why are you out here?
Me: Organizationally or personally?
Woman: No, why are *you* out here?
Me: To be honest, sometimes I am not entirely sure, but it comes from a pride in my home state and a desire to make it a better place to live. Plus, I collect incredible stories which I love and never sit at a desk.
So, I told her the entire story of the day. She looked me in the eye, asked me what I needed, and wrote the check. Then she gave me a sandwich to share with other canvassers and insisted that I wait for my ride on her porch rather than walk back into the storm. I gladly took her up on the offer. Eric soon returned to pick up myself and Shamar. The Day 1 was already in the car, soaked but successful.
Day 1: Yeah, that was pretty much the weirdest day of work I have ever had. I need a hot shower. Don't worry, though. I'll be here tomorrow.

I'm So Two Thousand and Late

2009-06-13T22:42:00.001-04:00

Oh, werd?
I bought an iPod.
Now who wants to help me learn how to use it?
Seriously.
Where do you put in the cd?
Help.

Jersey Fresh

2009-06-13T22:08:00.006-04:00

Oh, werd?

At the risk of infringing on Barbara Kingsolver’s copyrights, I am going to discuss a weekend of eating locally. (Also, I risk infringing on Ben’s territory of blogging about meals. Y’all should read his blog.)

Anyhoo, on Saturday morning I bounded out of bed as if on Christmas morning. (For my Jewish friends who have never known the excitement of thinking a magical man with a flying sled has broken into your house and left a heaping pile of wrapped gifts under an indoor fir tree overnight, this means I was *very* excited.) It was the start of the Montclair farmers’ market!

I hopped on my bike, and Eric grabbed his roller blades for the short trip to the Walnut Street train station where the tents and tables were displayed. At first glance, one could be easily lured into a trance by the bright red “Jersey Fresh” tomatoes. That is until I considered our own baby tomato plants growing in the backyard. New Jersey, particularly North Jersey, does not produce real tomatoes until mid-July. These were hot house tomatoes from South Jersey (parts of which, I believe, supported the Confederacy). Also, many of the “farms” at the market were actually middle-men that sold produce from other areas. It was still a small-scale economy, but it was not quite direct from the farmer produce.

We wandered to the far corner of the train station parking lot where a no-frills table displayed the *actual* spring bounty of Jersey – organic lettuce, spring garlic, parsnips, and spinach. Behind the table stood an unassuming man with torn jeans and dirty hands. Farmer John!

FJ: You get a 10% discount for being a CSA member. Um… 10% of $3…. Here. Just take another handful of parsnips.

We bought parsnips for soup, lettuce for salad, and spring garlic to garnish the asparagus we planned to bring to the farm picnic the next day.

At another table, we ran into the spice man who used to operate under our apartment (next to the liquor store). We had last interacted with him when he raced out the back door of his shop to donate a rubbing spice to our backyard rib roast two summers ago. He had a variety of curries for sale in small ziplock bags. We grabbed a pack as well as a free-range chicken from the neighboring stand and a couple of Confederate tomatoes.

Finally, on the way out, we stopped at the fish table. Although the fish table was waving the “Jersey Caught” banner, many of the fish did not seem like local fare. (Mahi mahi?) There had been Barnegat Bay oysters and Highlands clams, but savvy locavores from Montclair had already snapped them up. Even the local bluefish was sold out. (Okay, so Montclair locavores aren’t *that* savvy… Who pays for bluefish? If rich Montclarians are cutting back by buying “cheap local bluefish!” someone should tell them that if you drop something shiny in the Raritan Bay, like, say, your ring finger, a bluefish will bite it.)

That night, we feasted on curried free-range chicken garnished with tomatoes and spring garlic.

The next day, we roasted Jersey asparagus with olive oil and spring garlic and headed to the farm picnic potluck. The invitation noted to "BYO". We assumed (as I'm sure most twenty-somethings would) that we should BYO beer. As we realized when the column of Volvo station wagons parked by the fields opened to reveal hordes of toddlers and newborns, we were supposed to BYO babies. Oops. As throngs of new parents opened containers of milk, juice, and animal crackers, Eric and I cracked some Flying Fish Summer Farmhouse Ales. Who knew having young offspring was a prerequisite of joining the CSA? Luckily, there were four other childless people from the Jersey City CSA with whom we quickly joined forces.

The farm tour itself was wonderful. We learned how the seeds and plants were added to the fields. We saw mature asparagus plants waving in the breeze. Farmer John told tales of running over the irrigation system with the tractor on a regular basis.

(Eric: See? Farmer John likes beer too!)

We also learned about farm labor. Despite the fact that there are almost no experienced farm hands for hire from the state of New Jersey, Farmer John must, by law, prove that he tried to hire some Jersey Fresh employees by spending money on ads in newspapers and Craigslist. (Awesome Summer Jobs in Agriculture! -Sussex County, NJ) Invariably, there are no qualified locals, so he is then allowed to bring back his crew of Central American farmhands, most of whom are from Nicaragua. But not this year.

Farmer John: Nicaragua didn't sign some free trade agreement, so I am not allowed to hire my guys this season. I'll have to find a whole different group of workers from a country we are better at oppressing.

(Yay politically radical farmers!)

The amount of work that goes into operating an organic farm is immense, and the profit margin is slim. Farmer John does not own any of his land but instead rents it from relatively wealthy NJ landowners. Virtually all of NJ's farmland is worth way more on the real estate market than a farmer could earn from it, so available land is too expensive for John to buy. Unfortunately, other than tomatoes, Jersey's main crop right now is McMansions and condos. One benefit of the downturn is that some land may reach a price that farmers can actually afford. Until then, though, it was heartening to see so many families (and six twenty-somethings with beer) celebrating their commitment to local agriculture. We all want to keep farms in our regions, but to do that we have to buy from our regions, teach our children to eat food from our region, and bring beers to farm family picnic days.

And Now, the Elusive Conclusion

2009-06-07T23:09:00.004-04:00

Oh, werd?
At 4am, Eric, Kevin, my dad, and myself piled into Eric's car and headed for the Point.
At 4:07am, we realized we had forgotten the bait.
At 4:14 am, Eric, Kevin, my dad, and myself resumed heading for the Point. We were the first fisherpeople to drop lines. The sun began to crack the horizon. My dad cast into the surf and hauled in multiple sharks. As the sun slowly rose, other fishermen joined us along the coast. I chucked lures repeatedly to no avail. No one was catching anything other than sharks.
Kevin chose this moment of slow fishing to attempt to remove a snarl from his reel. He chose his favorite lure, the $10 needlefish, to (theoretically) cast out his line as far as it would go. With a mighty wind up, a mighty fling of his surf pole, and a mighty SNAP!, Kevin's line broke off and his $10 needlefish took a mighty leap into the Atlantic Ocean.
Covered in clam juice and sand, we returned to my parents' house. Dejectedly, we washed off our poles and put away our lures. On the way home from a final shore lunch, the rain became more steady. My dad told us about *one more* spot where stripers can be found in Cape May: ___ ___. We agreed to stop there briefly to watch the fishing action.
The rain came down in needles. Fishermen and women wearing long rubber pants waded into the rough surf to cast hi-los beyond the waves. Sea gulls were blown nearly sideways by the driving wind. And people were catching fish. I looked at my dad, and it was clear he agreed: one more try.
At high tide, Eric, my dad, and myself walked in the driving rain to an open piece of beach. We drove sand spikes and baited hooks. None of us had rubber pants, so we took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our jeans, and waded into the freezing water armed with surf poles. After we threw our weighted lines, we left the line running out while dashing back up the beach to our sand spikes. Then, we waited. Our feet froze in the surf. Eric's hand began to bleed from holding his broken pole. No one wanted to give in.
Suddenly, my dad's pole bent clean in half. He raced to the pole to set the hook and began to reel in the fish. With a whoop, I grabbed our bucket. After a brief battle, the striper was landed. A striper! It did not make the minimum size for a keeper, but it was a beautiful fish.
Shortly afterwards, my dad's pole bent again. This time I raced to the pole to haul in the fish. Although this striper was slightly smaller, it still took all of my arm strength to wrestle it to shore.
Bloody, frozen, but triumphant, we called it a day. The stripers we had caught were shorts, but they were the fish we had come to catch (well, once we had found out there were no winter flounders anyhoo...). These stripers will be at the Jersey Shore again in the fall season, after a summer of eating and growing. I'm sure we'll be there too.
...And Kevin's $10 needlefish still prowls the open ocean off of Cape May to this day.

Striper Fishing: The Elusive Part 2!

2009-06-03T12:40:00.000-04:00

The "part 2" is even more elusive than the stripers!

Oh, werd?
Dawn broke over Cape May, New Jersey.
We opted to skip dawn and try 9am.
9am broke over Cape May's ferry terminal. The dead striper still sat on the beach. Racist graffiti glistened on the inside of the Port-O-Potties in the late morning dew. (Why is it that people think of the nastiest racial epithets while they are pooping? Honestly, there are better things to do with that time.) Eric and I baited our hooks with whatever we thought might work and tossed in our lines.
At this point, we had yet to even see someone catch a striper. In fact, we hadn't even heard a fisherman *claim* to hook one that "got away". We had heard that stripers like clams, but I love casting even if I am not catching, so I attached a lure with a squid strip onto my line. I am not sure what I was trying to attract with that, but I was pretty entertained casting and reeling for an hour or two. I got as many hits on my line as Eric and the other fishermen (none), so I took that as a sign to continue my strategy. Eventually, the tide shifted (and we got hungry), so we grabbed Kevin for a lunch break.
Kev: Ya know, when Dad goes fishing, he goes to Cape May Point.
Me: So, why were we hanging at the ferry jetty with the poop and the racists? Where do stripers live anyhoo?
Eric: Um... I think they were spawning...
Me: So.... where?
Kev: Let's try the Point!
Without waiting for the correct tide or grabbing our full tackle boxes, we drove to the strange but adorable neighborhood near Sunset Beach and scampered over the dunes to the water. A fisherman was walking off the beach as we approached.
Fisherman: Yeah, I caught a few shorts. Lots of sharks though.
Shorts! Small stripers! We were finally at the right place. Despite the wrongness of the tide, Eric, Kev, and I fished for over an hour with the fever of knowing that someone had caught something. We caught absolutely nothing but vowed to return at high tide.
High tide on the Point jetty. Small groups of fishermen (and women!) dropped lines into the ocean. Kevin and Eric opted for high-lows (two baited hooks on one line with a weight on the end). Still not knowing exactly what successfully catches a striper, I tried various combinations of lures and squid strips. Suddenly, Eric's pole bent.
Eric: I have a fish!
Kevin and I reeled in our lines and grabbed our bucket of "things we need if we catch a fish". (This includes the bucket, a towel, gloves, pliers, a knife, and this cool de-hooking tool in case you catch something that can bite you like a shark.) The "things we need" kit had gotten zero use the entire weekend, so we slipped and slid enthusiastically across the wet jetty rocks with the entire bucket-full of tools. It was a good thing we did...
Eric: I caught a skate!
Kevin (donning gloves and a manly voice): I will lean over the rocks to unhook it - WHAT THE HELL!?
Me and Eric: What?
Kevin: Crap. You caught a skate... and a shark.
I leaned over the rocks to see and sure enough, there was the skate, hooked on the upper hook and in a total panic because just below it was hooked a three foot shark. Crap, indeed.
Kevin calmly unhooked the skate and turned to consider the problem of the shark. As he did, the skate, trying in its frightened state to flee the predator also on the line, snagged its fin back on the hook again. The shark snapped at it hungrily. Kevin looked to the heavens for patience. He finally got both creatures untangled, but the shark chased the skate up into the jetty rocks where they rolled and tossed in the surf in a space the size of a suitcase. By this time, I felt queasy at the stress we had caused both animals. Kevin declared, "I may never fish again after this." Finally, with hands wrapped in no more protection that gardening gloves, he reached blindly into the tiny shark-infested hole and pulled the skate free. He tossed the kite-shaped fish into the ocean. The shark, deprived of its prey, soon swam free of the rock hole as well.
We fished a little while longer. I caught a small skate. Kevin tried out his beautiful, new $10 lure, "the needlefish". My parents arrived to offer us dinner.
Dad: Any hits?
Kev: Sharks and skates...
Dad: Well, clearly there is one thing to do. We all have to get up at 4am tomorrow morning.

The Elusive Striper: Part 1

2009-05-14T12:07:00.003-04:00

Oh, werd?
Recently, Eric convinced Kevin and I that we should all take a day off from work and go fishing. Concerned about my inability to eat any fish in Jersey except flounder and weakfish, he noted that this was winter flounder season, and off we went.
Our first stop in Cape May was the bait and tackle shack by the end of the Parkway.
Me: We would like some strips of squid for winter flounder!
Bait Guy: Well, you could do that.... but there are no winter flounder. I think what you need is clams for stripers.
Guy Behind Me in Line with Phillies Hat: I'd like some clams for stripers. And the Mets suck.
Me: Oh... well... We'd like some clams for stripers!
Now armed with the correct bait and a free NJ fishing guide so we would recognize the differences between summer and winter flounder in case we caught one (one faces left, one faces right... I don't remember which is which), we headed to the ferry jetty to fish.
Kevin: You guys see that huge cloud over there?
Eric: Yeah...?
Kevin: That's a thunderhead.
Eric: No, it's just a raincloud.
Me: I'm really really scared of lightning.
Eric: It's not a thunderhead.
Me: But what if it is? We are on rocks surrounded by salt water. We would be the first thing the lightning would hit.
Kevin: Actually, lightning doesn't "hit". It comes up from the ground to the cloud.
Me: Even worse! Let's start getting off the jetty before it starts to rain. Everyone watch to see if there's any lightning.
Eric: There's no lightning! It's not a thunderhead!
Kevin: Actually, it only takes one bolt of lightning to kill us. Sometimes people are struck by lightning on beaches when the storm is five miles away.
Eric: You aren't helping Kevin.
Me: Okay, it's raining. I am out of here!
The ferry jetty is very long, and the rain made it very slippery. We slipped and scurried the length of the jetty back to dry land just in time to see the rain stop, the clouds pass, and a rainbow burst forth.
Me: Well, it wasn't a thunderhead. Want to go back out on the jetty?
Eric: I think all the fishermen are laughing at us.
Kevin: Hey look! A dead striper on the beach!
There it was. Our first striper of the adventure. Even though the silvery, striped fish looked huge, it was not quite the 28 inches required of keepers, but it was enough to convince us to press onwards.
Me: Let's try the bay jetty by Harpoon Henry's. Wait... are there stripers in the bay?
Kev: I think so.
Eric: Let's go!
The rocks on the bay jetties were also wet from the short storm. Kevin slipped and fell into a hole in the rocks. He popped up slightly bruised, muddied, and angry.
Kev: Dude, there is a pile of poop down there.
Me: Like seagull poop?
Eric: Maybe it's dog poop.
Kev: Dogs can't get out on jetties.
Me: ...Oh... Let's call it a day.
We ended the day watching the Mets at a bar and plotting our next moves. Eric consulted tide charts and baseball schedules to determine the best times to fish the next day. Kevin declared that he was not returning to the bay jetties. The stripers lived to swim another day.

Forward Thinking

2009-05-09T19:01:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
Eric was annoyed today because I am looking forward to Girls' Weekend (which is falling on his birthday weekend...crap).
"There are lots of good things happening between now and then that you will miss if you just look forward to something else in July!" he protested.
I am also looking forward to U2 concerts, but they are not until the end of September.
Eric suggested that I look forward a shorter distance to Memorial Day weekend when we are planning on going hiking in the Pine Barrens. I tried looking ahead an even shorter distance until next weekend when we are entering a canoe relay race in Newark and biking in the Tour de Montclair.
All of this looking forward, though, leaves me with this weekend where unplanned required engagements and wet weather have left us bored on a May afternoon. I know I am going to want this May afternoon back someday, but it will be gone. I will have spent it looking forward to the backyard being dry enough to plant our tomatoes. Damn.
Tomorrow we will plant them. Then, we will go canoeing and biking and hiking and Girls' Weekending and U2ing.... but when (if) I am 80 years old, I will want that warm May Saturday back that I wasted when I was immortal.

Jersey's Playoff Team

2009-04-30T12:35:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
Kevin and I have a habit of going to the 'season-on-the-line' games of our favorite sports teams. You may remember the Devils getting knocked out of the playoffs by the Rangers in 1997. Or the Mets completing the first of their recent late-season collapses by giving up 9,000 runs in the first inning of the 2008 season finale. Or Billy Wagner blowing a 9th inning four run lead against the Yankees by beaning in the winning run. (Oops.) We personally attended all of these games.
It should come as no surprise then that we watched the Devils give up Game 7 of the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs in a stunning 80-second moment of time that ripped the hearts out of the citizens of the Garden State.
With the Nets considering jumping ship to NYC (the worst of betrayals) and the Jets and Giants insisting they are a New York team even as they build a new stadium in the swamps of the Meadowlands, the Devils have claimed the mantel "Jersey's Playoff Team."
So, at Game 7, in Newark, we were issued towels to wave emblazoned with an outline of the state. Jersey hero Kevin Smith urged real Jersey girls and boys to cheer on their team. Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi blared from the speakers. Animated zambonis raced on actual simulations of the streets of Newark eliciting shout-outs to the Newark Bears. Fans bought funnel cakes from the "Devils Boardwalk".
When the final score of the Rangers final game flashed on the board, it was official: Jersey had prevailed. For a glorious half hour, Jersey was in and New York was out. Then, in 80 seconds, we were out too, and it felt like the entire state had lost.
On the Newark Light Rail train home, a young African-American family decked out in new Reebok Devils jerseys urged the dejected fans riding the train all the way back to the suburbs not to lose hope.
"We'll be back in the playoffs next year guys! Don't worry! This is Newark's team now!"
If we are one thing in this state, it's resilient.

The Ownership Society

2009-04-17T11:43:00.001-04:00

Oh, werd?
Eric is incapable of watching one television channel at a time. He prides himself in perfectly timing his channel flips so that I can catch every moment of the Colbert Report and he can watch Destroyed in Seconds during the commercials. His absolute favorite channel to flip to, though, is the Home Network.
Me: You are watching real estate porn.
Eric: No, this is informative.
TV: Next, Sara and Robert take the plunge for the first time on Property Virgins.
Eric really really really wants to own property for a few reasons:
1) Our apartment has 1.5 bedrooms but 3.5 roommates (and two baby chicks).
2) Paying rent, even really cheap rent, is not an investment. (Although buying a house seems to me like renting from the bank for 30 years, but whatever.)
3) We want a dog.
We have gone to look at a few places in the "bad" neighborhoods of Montclair (i.e. a slightly higher Chinese restaurant to antique store ratio), so Eric has learned what my parents learned decades ago: I like and get incredibly excited about the wrong things in houses.
Real estate agents love showing houses to people like me because rather than keeping a cool hand, I reveal accidentally how excited I am about "features" that most people would assume detract from a house's value.
Real estate agent: The layout is a little quirky.
Me: Cool! There are doors between all the bedrooms so you can walk in a loop upstairs!
When I was 8, my parents looked for our first house. The one they now live in was perhaps not their first choice, but it was my favorite because it was the first one we saw that met my three key parameters: I got my own bedroom, it had a backyard, it had a downstairs where the rooms connect in a loop that I can run around and around. I'm pretty sure that there had to have been a moment where both of my parents smacked their foreheads in resignation while I showed the real estate agent how fast I could make it from the dining room to the kitchen.
In our current sporadic home search, Eric has patiently tried to explain to me why it is important not to exclaim in joy at "features" such as:
1) The tiniest living room ever ("It's so cute and cozy!")
2) The extra back staircase ("Cool! Just like a secret passageway!")
3) The bedrooms and other living space being in the basement instead of a second floor ("We can have loud parties here without disturbing the neighbors! It's like a bunker!")
4) The tree growing out of the ceiling ("It's so pretty! It'll be a blast to fix this place!")
I have yet to restrain my unhelpful outbursts despite the number of times Eric has reminded me not to look too excited about a house you are touring.
In my defense though, I have also had to explain to him that a neighborhood with multiple abandoned houses is not, in fact, "up and coming!" nor is it a sign of how much a community values public safety when the police check to see if you are buying drugs while you look at properties.
So the search continues for a house with a yard for a dog, a low low price and property taxes (but safe enough for me to go out at night), oh and a porch swing.
Eric: You can add a porch swing to any house with a porch, Kerry.
Me: Dude, if it has a porch swing, I am sold.

Brownie and Blondie

2009-04-16T12:40:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
This week, Eric and I have been hosting two baby chicks in our living room as part of the "Adopt a Chick" program. As some of you know, we get fresh veggies all summer long from a Jersey organic farm. We also get one free range (like, actually free range, as in outdoors eating bugs) chicken per month in the summer. The chickens are raised and slaughtered by Farmer Ken, a genuinely nice guy who was concerned that the egg-laying hens he received from his supplier had had their beaks trimmed too much before arrival on his farm. For this reason, he decided to order newly-hatched chicks.
April, though, is economically tough on farms. There are no crops for sale. There are no meat chickens fully grown. The only profit comes from the sale of soup chickens. We had a soup chicken for dinner last week. Into these tough economic times comes Adopt a Chick. We paid Farmer Ken money to keep two baby chicks in our apartment this week. They will lay eggs on the farm for as long as they can. We will buy those eggs from the farmer and from Grace, the woman who owns Terra, a store across the street that sells local and organic food as well as fair-trade gifts. My first job was babysitting Grace's kids. The economy is local and sustainable and beautiful except for one thing: when egg-laying hens stop laying eggs they become soup chickens, and Eric and I could very well make a broth from Brownie and Blondie next April.
Oh, yeah... I named them. My first mistake.
Brownie and Blondie have taught me a lot about chickens. They poop a lot. They like to scratch and peck... a lot. They prefer to sit on a perch to sitting in even the cleanest wood shavings. They have distinctive personalities. Blondie, the bigger and possibly slightly older of the two is the brave one. She was the first to learn that she could fly out of her box and sit on the edge (after Farmer Ken assured us that they can't do that... oops.) Brownie is klutzy and less adventurous. The only thing that can move Brownie to heroic feats is when she can't find Blondie. This is where it gets painfully cute. When the pair cannot see each other, they break from their typical peeping and instead call out in distress. So when Brownie fell off the box backwards and landed in a grocery bag, it was Blondie's calls that alerted us to the problem. When Blondie started leaping from the box to the laptop's monitor while Eric or I worked on the computer, Brownie crashed into the armchair trying to reach her. (We have taken to giving Brownie boosts when she feels left behind.) Both chickens like to sit on a warm hand, and they love to cuddle each other.
So, the problem becomes, can I eat Brownie and Blondie? Because if I can't, then I really shouldn't be eating any chickens at all. Maybe I should not have named them. Maybe it's okay because in the wild they would stand no chance at all or in a factory farm they would be tortured. Maybe living on a genuinely healthy farm with Farmer Ken and his wife even if their ending will almost certainly be in a soup pot (possibly mine) is their best case scenario. Chickens would not even exist if people did not think they were tasty.
Farmer Ken emailed Eric and asked if we wanted to buy a soup chicken while we were dropping off Brownie and Blondie on Saturday (he probably did not refer to them by name in the email). We had enthusiastically praised the delicious soup just last week. Now the soup was sitting in my lap watching the Daily Show. Eric politely declined, for now.
We get our first roaster in June or July.
Brownie and Blondie are playing on the keyboard.

Why We Fight

2009-03-30T11:24:00.004-04:00

Oh, werd?
This weekend, Eric and I decided to plan a camping and fishing trip to the Pine Barrens (also known as the "Pinelands", but I like the Barrens better). The Pine Barrens is a massive tract of land sandwiched between the Turnpike and the Parkway. At times, it has been considered for the site of a SUPER AIRPORT to serve Philly and NYC (conveniently located equally inconveniently from either city), a SUPER HIGHWAY to parallel the Turnpike, and a SUPER AQUIFER to quench the thirst of Pennsylvania. Luckily, a combination of features including its tendency to light on fire and its reputation for being the home of lost tribes of back country (true) inbred (false) homesteaders have kept most development at bay. Today, the vast tract of land is a preserve.

Whenever you plan a fishing trip in NJ (or anywhere for that matter), it's not a bad idea to check the local environmental warnings to make sure the fish you catch are safe to eat. For example, at the mouth of the Passaic River in Newark, there are a lot of delicious crabs. There is also a lot of dioxin. For this reason, studies have concluded that consuming blue claws in Newark Bay carries up to a 100% risk of cancer. Wow.

Most people know that Newark Bay is a bad place to catch dinner (except the many immigrants who supplement family meals with fresh catches, oops), but most people also assume that unspoiled natural spaces should be safe. That is why Eric and I were very surprised when we learned that I, as a woman who might ever have children, can not eat anything I catch in the Pine Barrens except sunfish. I can not eat anything I catch in the Delaware Bay, where my parents live, except one fluke or one weakfish per month. What is in these bodies of water? Mercury. Mercury from trash incineration and coal-burning power plants. Mercury is not good for the children I might one day decide to have.
I am furious.
Some people don't want wind farms on bodies of water because they might disrupt fishing. My fishing is already disrupted.

To Read the Newark Bay Study and Other Studies of Jersey Fish:
http://www.nj.gov/dep/dsr/njmainfish.htm

A Day at the Statehouse

2009-03-16T23:00:00.004-04:00

Oh, werd?
Extremely important legislation passed the NJ Senate and Assembly today with nary an objection from either party. The bill privatizes NJ's site remediation program (and we have a lot of sites to remediate) by handing the oversight of toxic site cleanups to private professionals hired and paid for by the polluters themselves. The Department of Environmental Protection used to oversee site remediation, but it has had its staff cut so many times and been so underfunded that the task is impossible.
"But Kerry," you inquire, "Isn't NJ broke? Like really broke? Like broke-ass California broke? How could the DEP be funded?"
I'm so glad you asked. Believe it or not, the state of NJ has rules. Apparently, when a polluter breaks those rules, they get a fine. Unfortunately, we don't do a very good job of making sure that the polluters actually pay their fines, but if we did, we could fund our DEP. Cool, right? It sounded cool to the vast majority of Jerseyans I have talked to.
KPd.: "We have a reputation as a place to dump things without getting in trouble... Like bodies. Please write a letter to your state legislators."
Contact: "Gross."
So, after thousands of letters, emails, and phone calls to Trenton, the bill came up for a vote today. Our lobbyist recruited some canvassers to come down and help him... well... lobby... so we did.
Lobby days are hilarious and crazy and at the end of the day you always wonder, "Did we accomplish anything?" but our lobbyist has assured us that when the canvassers storm the hallways of the State House, legislators take notice. They know we are with him and they know that we are relatively young and they know that we have not a clue what we are doing or where we are walking. Apparently, that warms their hearts and other lobbyists will approach him to complement his personal army when they all hang out at the State House cafeteria.
So, here is how lobbying works:
1) You need a legislative face book. Legislators don't want just any citizen to know who they are. They certainly don't wear name tags. Fortunately, you can pick up a complementary copy of a book of faces and names to help you spot legislators in a crowd. It's like a field guide.
2) You need a map. NJ's State House is conveniently split into The State House, the Annex, and the "South Wing" (which I don't think was real, but whenever we asked someone for directions they would say, "oh, you're in the South Wing, you *want* to be in the Annex" in a very condescending way). The laws of physics in the State House work a lot like the way they work in Donkey Kong. No matter which direction you walk, you end up in the basement of the Annex next to an elevator that only goes... for serious... down to the sub basement. There is a sign that reads, "For additional floors, use the lobby elevator." Where the fuck is the lobby?!
3) You need to spot a legislator. Legislators do not wear name tags (even though they would be waaaaay cheaper to produce than thousands of legislative face books). That is because they only want professional lobbyists to find them. The strategy for amateur lobbyists is to park yourself outside of a room that you know a particular legislator is hiding in... kind of like hiding in a bird blind. Whenever a person comes out of the room, you look to see if they are wearing a "visitor" badge. If not, they are either a legislator (!) or an aide (oops). Once you ascertain their legislatoryness, you quickly flip through the 120 faces in the face book. Much like the game Guess Who, it helps if they have a distinguishing feature like say... they're a woman... or...they're black. That narrows it down a lot. I bet black female legislators get approached by amateur lobbyists way more frequently than the Italian white men (who make up approximately all of the NJ legislature).
4) You need to be the fastest amateur lobbyist. Once you have successfully found the right room, spotted a legislator, and identified him or her, you must beat the other six people with face books to your 60 seconds of face time. Today, we were competing with gas station attendants, bow hunters, a ton of union employees, twenty-odd fire chiefs, and several Catholic schools. Obviously, in addition to our site remediation bill, they voted on other important things including two (2!!) bow hunting bills.
5) Oh, also, every Grand Marshall from every St. Patrick's Day parade in NJ was there to be... I think... certified...? Maybe? This resulted in several parades WITH bagpipers IN the hallways. So, to recap, after locating the correct building, finding a legislator, identifying him or her, beating the bow-armed gas station attendants to said legislator, and finally beginning the 60 second conversation you worked so hard for... a bagpipe parade passes by. I don't know if you have ever heard bagpipers indoors, but I'll just say they effectively end any conversation.
I did lobby and was lobbied by several other amateur lobbyists. I met a few State Senators and got my few moments of face time. I peed in the Assembly Democrats' caucus lounge. We lost our vote like a billion to 3.
The canvassers lobbied one of those three.
I heard he would have voted the right way anyhoo, but I'd like to think we helped.

Irish Marketing

2009-03-13T12:13:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
The Irish are extremely popular in America (though it wasn't always that way). The prevalence of Irish imagery in advertising and culture hits a peak, though, every time St. Patrick's Day rolls around...
Every twelve months or so, Irish Springs soap bars advertise their existence. In the most recent example of this advertising, blue-eyed girls in some sort of conglomeration of European traditional dress saunter through a field of green before being flushed down a magic drain filled with Irish Springs soap. A narrator with an Irish accent only believable to those who hang leprechauns outside their house every March describes the wonders of the soap while flute music bounces in the background. I'm not entirely sure what makes Irish Springs soap Irish other than the fact that it is dyed green.
I haven't watched children's television in a while, but I imagine that Lucky Charms are still represented by a leprechaun who has trouble with possessive pronouns. ("They've stolen me lucky charms!") In addition to his pot of gold, Lucky can't do without his red balloons which of course stem from the Irish tradition of.. um.. ballooning...? Lucky Charms cereal is definitely not part of a traditional Irish breakfast. To make Lucky Charms a more accurate representation of an Irish morning, you would need marshmallows shaped like bacon, baked beans, and various meat puddings. Also, ditch the leprechaun.
As I have knocked on doors the past few days, I have seen posters and stickers of mugs of beer, goofy looking leprechauns, and rainbows (which I honestly mistook for a political statement like, "I support Irish people and gay rights!...and beer!" but I was wrong). All I can say is I hope middle-America never decides to "celebrate" Black History Month by hanging posters of ethnic and racial stereotypes.
Oh, and green beer. What the hell?

No Line on the Horizon

2009-03-03T12:03:00.003-05:00

Oh, werd?
Way back when, when I started this blog, there was a new U2 album coming out, and there was no such thing as a tweet. Today, I joined my mom for a music ritual that few people still celebrate: the purchase of a physical album that you've been waiting for for years. I could have downloaded it on iTunes. Heck, I could have stolen it off the internet a week ago. Kevin pointed out though, "I know you can hear it all over the web right now, but it's more fun waiting for the radio to release a track every once in a while and then going to buy it!"
The album has been officially on sale since midnight, so my mom and I were already running behind. There really aren't record/cd stores anymore that I know of, so we settled for a Barnes and Nobles. The guy behind the register looked confused when we plopped three copies of the same record on the counter. Didn't we know that we could burn copies? Over coffee, we slowly peeled open the plastic on the outer cover and wrestled with the security stickers (I have broken more jewel cases because of those...). The packaging included a transparent equal sign that gets thrown away with the outer plastic. Why did U2 put that there? An iTunes customer will never know to wonder. We opened the lyric books and flipped through. My mom commented on some lines that she loved. When we got to the car, we popped the copy in and savored the moment of the first listen. "This reminds me of this song." "Remember when dad played that one song on repeat?" "Oh, that chord was perfect."
I know that the tactile experience of a cd pales in comparison to the tactile feel of vinyl, and for that matter, before recorded music, you had to experience all music live and in person, so really, the end of the album shouldn't really be that sad. But I prefer holding the newspaper and coffee in my backyard to reading the Huffington Post on a laptop, and I actually love having a crate of music to flip through rather than a spin dial on a hand-held device.

Oh, and the record kicks arse.

Thanks mom!

A Jersey Story

2009-02-28T18:02:00.002-05:00

Oh, werd?
One thing I have learned from canvassing is that you can tell a lot about people based on their house, yard, neighborhood, and car. For example, a Prius driver is either a progressive person who wants their progressiveness to be obvious or a racist who dislikes Arabs (seriously). Neighborhoods with porches are usually more friendly than neighborhoods without them. The more beige the houses, the more beige the people. And of course, a neighborhood that went up in the sixties and consists of split levels and cape cods will be filled with old people that hate me.
These post-war neighborhoods are old enough that the kids have grown up and moved on but not old enough that anyone has died and moved out. As a result, the maze-like suburban neighborhoods are lined with rows of barren, childless homes with poorly cared for shutters. The inhabitants tend to be in their mid-late sixties. Usually, there are no walkable shopping districts near these types of communities, and they depress the hell out of me.
On Friday evening, in the rain, I was making my way through my own personal split-level hell. Boring houses opened their doors to reveal even less interesting people. I was nearing my breaking point when I came to one house that was noticeably older. It had a porch, interesting architectural features, and mature trees. An older woman answered the door and listened politely to my explanation of what I was doing. After a moment, she cracked a smile, becoming the first person all evening to do so.
"I was just in Florida, and 45 degrees is frigid to me. Why don't you come inside?"
The interior of her home was cramped but cozy. Old, solid wood beams lined the ceiling. I asked her the story of the home and the neighborhood, so she explained:
"In 1919, a man bought the property this house sits on for $125. Can you believe that? He built it one room at a time which is why it looks a little odd from the outside. I actually just had the town inspector here today."
"What about?"
"I needed a certificate of occupancy for my new bathroom. It was built in 2000, and they are just getting around to inspecting it now."
"Did you live in a tent in the backyard until today?"
[laughing] "Oh no. I didn't. But I suppose legally I was supposed to have."
"When was the rest of the neighborhood built?"
"In the late sixties, the split levels went up. All of the families moved here at one time, and we are all still here for the most part. Years ago, these streets would be crawling with kids on bikes. We had the only backyard basketball hoop on the block, so all of the kids came here. I used to tell them, 'Call your parents and tell them where you are!' You used to be able to walk to the corner store when you needed milk, too"
"When did the strip malls go up?"
"Hmm... maybe fifteen years ago? That was one of many changes. Now when I need milk, I need to walk down what's nearly a highway to Kings. I suppose Kings is my corner store now."
"Wow! A lot has changed!"
"Yeah, this was a wonderful place to live once. All the families knew each other. I still know everyone, which is nice, but the physical neighborhood itself changed. All of this [gesturing outside] was woods when we moved here. I remember one Christmas, it must have been years ago, we looked outside, and there were deer creeping into our backyard from the woods. There were always animal footprints in the snow."[Here, she smiled slyly and opened her rear curtain. Her backyard now opens into a used car lot.] "Now, on beautiful days, I can gaze out my window to see the new cars being delivered on trucks."
"So, when everyone moved here, it was completely different?"
"Oh, I would never move here now. You guys have to win. It's so important that this not happen to other New Jersey communities."

The neighborhood looked different to me now. Instead of wondering at the type of person that could possibly live in this hell, I wondered at the people that approved the destruction of what had been a vibrant community. Yes, few young families would choose to move here now, but the older residents who were there had chosen to move to something completely different from what they now found themselves in. What was once a neighborhood isolated by woodland was now a neighborhood isolated by massive parking lots and four-lane roads. On the other hand, it was some of the original sprawl. Once you carve your own suburban paradise out of the Jersey woods, there is no guarantee that developers will not just keep on carving up more parcels of land around you. It was still sad, though, and I gained a new respect for the people living there. They did not choose to move into a depressing and boring neighborhood. They were trapped in one.

"Can I use your bathroom?" I asked.
"Yes, but please don't move in. I have not received my certificate of occupancy yet."
"I promise not to move into your bathroom," I laughed.

When I stepped outside, the rain had stopped.

Here Comes the Sun!

2009-02-27T12:16:00.004-05:00

Oh, werd?
At the risk of sounding like my dad, I am going to discuss the sun.
On Monday, a brutally cold wind blew through Basking Ridge, NJ. The sun set, and the rural suburbs descended into total darkness. On Tuesday, the weather began to thaw, and I noticed a startling fact: The sun doesn't completely set until after six o clock again! On Wednesday, I saw some sort of spring bulb-type plant pushing through the dirt. Yesterday, I did not wear a winter hat or wool socks for the first time in months (not counting that odd warm weekend a few weeks ago). I was so excited to wear a pair of socks not-from-Campmor that I selected my Christmas lobster socks and proudly displayed them to every family in Bedminster so that they could share my joy.
My warm weather euphoria is so irrational that I even began to consider the possibility that I am manic depressive or bipolar. I ran three miles in my fastest time ever. I wished people a "Happy Spring!" in February. I was caught dancing to somebody's doorbell ringtone on their porch. Mania is fun and productive!
I am not alone in this joyful behavior, though. After consulting a panel of experts (my parents), I discovered that they also have been feeling the urge to go for long walks outside or get a puppy. They attributed this to longer days and the new U2 album. Apparently, showing off one's lobster socks is a natural reaction to the increased exposure to sunlight, warmth, and Bono. Literally, I have spring fever.

Ohio Stories

2009-01-29T11:23:00.002-05:00

Oh, werd?
I am back from yet another mid-western adventure. Honestly, I don't know why more people don't canvass with job perks like extended stays in Michigan, Indiana, and Ohio. Actually, Ohio was quite fun, as I will discuss, but I can not refer to the organization I was working with by name anymore because they get Google alerts every time I write about them and then forward my posts in angry emails to Eric. Oops. It was tempting to write posts about random, unrelated things and then insert their name into them, but luckily, my more mature half prevailed.
Anyhoo... OHIO.
Columbus, Ohio is the home of Ohio State (The). On the plus side, it is a rocking college town. On the minus side, it is home of the Buckeyes. A buckeye is a poisonous berry. At first, my Jersey friends and I agreed that that is a horrible mascot because other mascots can eat it, but then we realized that the buckeye destroys its enemies from the inside, killing as it is devoured. Creepy. Would a Wolverine be able to resist the shiny temptation to eat a buckeye? If a Scarlet Knight stabs a buckeye, is the buckeye dead? Columbus also sells peanut-butter chocolate buckeyes which I assumed were safe until I read about the peanut-butter recall. Damn you Buckeyes!!
Columbus is also home to Ohio residents (surprisingly!). They are easily recognized by the dazzling variety of Ohio State gear that they can wear at one time. Whether canvassing Columbus proper, the new sprawling suburbs, or the luxury golf resorts, everyone comes to their door displaying their Ohio State (The) pride in the form of crocs, polo shirts, and parachute pants.
New Jersey transplants living in Ohio are easy to recognize as well because they have vanity license plates like JRZY SHR and Giants SuperBowl stickers. (Note: Vanity license plates must be free in Ohio because nearly every other car sports them.) I actually found a cat that had been adopted in Montclair by striking up a conversation about how awesome the Giants are. East coasters in the midwest can also be identified by the blank stares they offer when you ask them how they are doing. In Ohio, "how ya doin" is an actual question requiring an actual answer. Who has time for that?
One refreshing aspect of Ohio is the amount of trust. In New Jersey, photo IDs and permits, while not legally required, are critical for canvassing. Most Jersey folk will check through their peep hole after dark before opening their door, if they open it at all. In Ohio, every door was widely thrown open and legitimacy was never questioned. On the other hand, schools and libraries are adorned with signs politely noting that these are "Weapon-Free Zones". It's easy to be friendly to strangers when you have the option of shooting them.
I got to experience the easy-going midwest attitude towards security early on a Monday morning. At 7:30am, a stranger entered the apartment where I was staying. Five of us were sleeping upstairs. (They have upstairs and downstairs in the apartments in Ohio!) My first thought was, "This must be the cable guy," but the cable guy wasn't due until Wednesday, and they don't enter locked apartments before 8am. Then the intruder announced loudly, "I'M NOT A ROBBER!" Obviously, we were being robbed. My fellow Jersey cross-train was too deeply asleep to notice, so I listened for any signs of response from my midwestern hosts. Nothing. Meanwhile, the stranger in the living room was having a loud conversation with himself about how he didn't want to scare us and how he was not, still, a robber.
Stranger: "I'M NOT A ROBBER! Just going into your basement!"
KPd.: (reaches for cell phone to call police)
Stranger: "Your neighbor has eight inches of water in her basement! Isn't that crazy?!"
Our host Dylan (from other bedroom): "That's crazy."
Stranger: "I KNOW!"
After much stomping around, the stranger left. The folks from Indiana and Ohio never stirred.
Later that morning, an older man in a hunting cap walked right into the apartment a second time where four very surprised young women were making lunch.
Stranger: "Any of y'all use tampons?!"
Dawn: "Well, there are four ladies staying here. I suppose that it's possible."
Stranger: "THAT IS SO REFRESHING!"
KPd.: Oh?
Stranger: "I work in the ladies' dorms at Ohio State, and they will never admit to flushing a tampon. You all are so honest. By the way, you got a bit of sewage in your basement. Think we fixed the clog though. Anyway, have a good day!"
KPd.: Do we call the police now?
In conclusion, Columbus, Ohio is a fun place. We should all go visit Emily there just for fun. There's a dance club there with an 80s night that rivals anything I ever saw in the city only with cheaper drinks and no cover charge. There are vegetarian restaurants and gourmet ice cream shops. There's a two dollar movie theater with no heat. There are borderline-crazy plumbers who break into your apartment at sunrise. Just don't eat any buckeyes.

Update from Ohio

2009-01-16T20:39:00.002-05:00

Oh, werd?
I don't have internet access in the apartment in Columbus, so I won't bore Emily by writing on her laptop while we should be hanging out. I *will* say that a Buckeye is a poisonous berry. What a dumb mascot.. .
Also, canvassing in -8 degrees is evil.
I will try to update for real while I am here, but I may just save it all for my return to Jersey....

The Maturation of an Expansion Team

2009-01-03T12:37:00.003-05:00

Oh, werd?
First, there was darkness.
Then, there was Kerry. And the NJ Devils.
In October of 1982, an NHL franchise moved from Colorado to the swamps of Jersey. With the NY skyline rising ominously behind their arena, this new team worked to build a fan base from a state not used to rooting for the home team. Also, in October of 1982, Leslie and Michael Doyle brought a young girl into the world. Parents of children born from 1982 on had a choice: they could bring their young children to a very rowdy and very expensive Madison Square Garden, they could travel down the turnpike to Philly, OR they could bring their kids to see the new team up the street.
And so it was that New Jersey moms and dads put away their beloved Rangers jerseys and brought their kids to see the cheaper, more family-friendly hockey franchise in East Rutherford. The team spared no effort in recruiting these children of NY hockey fans. They offered youth hockey programs, scout days at the arena, birthday parties, huggable mascots (Occasionally too huggagle. Look up "Slapshot" the hockey puck...), and ice cream giveaways. They gave away hockey sticks and jerseys to "all fans in attendance 14 and under." As my dad noted, "I couldn't leave Kerry by herself in the stands when she was three years old at the Garden. At Brendan Byrne Arena, it's safe for dads to take a pee brake."
The expansion franchise went through an awkward growing period. It threatened to run away from home (to Nashville! wtf?!). It infuriated other franchises with its defensiveness. At the same time, the fan class of 1982 was also going through puberty. It was asking its parents to let it drive itself to games. It was sneaking beers in the parking lot. It was chanting "Rangers Suck!"
Finally, the little expansion franchise is all grown up, and so are its fans. Well... sort of...
Yes, they both now have places of their own. They are paying the bills and are financially self-sufficient (though not yet well-off). But, like many places where twenty-somethings live, the Devils home is no longer geared towards children.
The Devils organization briefly flirted with bringing in a new generation. They held a contest online to help the team update its goal horn song (originally: Rock and Roll Part 2 or the Hey! Cheer), but the results were total confusion every time the team scored. Fans twenty-one and up put down their beers to start singing "Hey!" while the six year old next to them bounced down the stairs, spilling his carvel ice scream, chanting "Ole! Ole Ole Ole!"
At the same time, cheap season tickets and a game day sale of $10 upper deck seats was leading to an increasingly rowdy presence in the 230s with barely anyone in the rafter seats other than the class of 1982. For these fans, there never was a time when there was no NJ hockey franchise. And now, we are finally old enough to come to the games on our own, spend too much money on "The Beers of Newark", and harass opposing fans also sitting in the upper deck with barely repeatable cheers. Apparently, the Devils twenty-somethings learned some of these cheers from their older, wiser cousins, the Islanders fans, another maturing expansion franchise, who started the cheer "If You Know the Rangers Suck Clap Your Hands."
The Devils fan base is now smack in the middle of its roaring twenties. Hopefully, in a few years, it will settle down and raise a family. Maybe once the class of 1982 starts having children of its own that it wants to bring to games, the "You're gay, you're gay you're gay you're gay" cheer will begin to fade from the rafters.
Last night, though, when the goal horn blared in the new Newark arena, and the fans in Section 230 high fived each other and chanted with false outrage, "Mais non!" to the Montreal fans sitting behind us, the old goal song erupted from the speakers, and 17,000+ people chanted: "Hey, you suck!"
An old favorite with new enthusiasm but with an unfortunate variation.... Hopefully not one that sticks around into the team's thirties...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhcRG3MXztg
Fans at a Predators hockey game demonstrate the proper way to chant "You suck"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DKQHXULFn4
Islanders fans offer a classic example of "If you know the Rangers suck clap your hands". Note the fact that the team the Islanders are playing is *not* the Rangers.

Disclaimer: Obviously these chants are homophobic in nature, and I am not celebrating them. This is just a commentary on being a hockey fan.

Things That Are Distracting America

2008-12-29T11:30:00.006-05:00

Oh, werd?
First of all, a big shout out to whichever church in my neighborhood blasts bells at sunrise each morning. It's cool. I like not having full brain function from the sleep deprivation. I definitely don't need to sleep 8 hours in one night ever. It's good because the deprivation makes me less likely to censor my anger and emotions during the day. It's just like being interrogated! Yay!
Anyhoo... let's try this again...
Oh, werd?
We wind down the year in the midst of one of the biggest recessions in American history. Many Americans are out of work. Luckily, we also have some of the best distractions in American history. In fact, if unemployed Americans bought more of these distractions, maybe we could jump start our consumer economy. On the other hand, maybe unemployed Americans with cool toys will never bother to look for work again. I think that would boost our employment statistics, too.
So, here, in grand blogging tradition, is a list of the things that are distracting America:
1) Blogging.
I might as well start here rather than make it the cleverly ironic last thing on my list. You could say that blogs are an outlet for creativity and combat writer's block by encouraging candid off the cuff publishing. Or... blogging is a modern attention-seeking behavior. Or both. Either way, there are now blogs about blogs, books to tell you how to get more people to read your blog, and little tools that tell you how many people visit your blog and where they are from. I know that I got my best writing done when I was unemployed, so I assume we can expect some great works of blogging to appear in the world in the months to come.
2) iPhones.
It's a phone! It's an iPod! It's Google Earth! It's a really expensive breakable thing that you carry everywhere! (Did you know that you can blog from an iPhone?!) I have always thought that the iPhone was ridonkulous, but I think the funniest thing about them is the features that their owners choose to show you to demonstrate their power and usefulness. The first iPhone owner I ever met demonstrated that like a regular camera phone, it can take a picture, but UNLIKE these inferior phones, iPhones have a program that let you put an eye patch and pirate mustache on the photo. Now that is going to increase productivity. Yesterday, an iPhone owner showed me the fake zippo lighter feature and the light sabre function. Now if Apple comes out with a phone that actually can emit a metal-slicing laser beam, I will be impressed. Until then, iPhones are one more thing you should not have put on your credit card last summer.
3) Fantasy Football.
It's hard to get anything done when Brian Westbrook is your starting running back, and ESPN.com provides up to the minute injury updates with ESPN Football Injury Analyst Stephania Bell. Once upon a time, I hurried to get my homework done so that I could watch the Giants game. Now, I need to also see the Eagles, Cowboys, Cardinals, and Buccaneers (that is, until Earnest Graham went down with injury... then I needed to watch the Saints and Patriots, too). Not only are there games to watch, but there are players to pick up, smack to talk, and Kevin's polls to respond too. Did I mention free live scoring within a tenth of a point? In our league, there was a direct correlation between having a full-time job and *not* making the championship game. I rest my case.
4) DVD box sets.
Holy crap! Not since internet cartoons have we found such an awesome way to waste time! I never would have seen every episode of Friends and Sex and the City if I had been employed in late 2005. The recession should mean a boom time for DVD manufacturers. We should open a DVD factory in Ohio or another similarly depressed area. Also, now that my roommates and I are completely addicted to the DVD box set of House, we don't need universal health care. We are definitely now qualified to diagnose and treat lupus, lyme disease, that thing where cancer is in one part of the body but it hurts somewhere else, and vasculitis. All Obama needs to do is give every unemployed American a copy and access to WebMD to fix our health care crisis. Just to be safe, we could also give every American a box set of ER.
5) Flat screen TVs.
The picture isn't fuzzy because your old TV sucks. It is fuzzy because you have vision problems. Get some glasses. They are way cheaper than the hi-def wall eating monster at Best Buy. I know a Scrubs fan with a box set who can write you a prescription.

Gods I Believe In

2008-12-19T23:44:00.003-05:00

Oh, werd?
It is December. That means there are several holidays to celebrate and several gods to argue the relative worths of. This time of year, when working outdoors, one is reminded of one's mortality, and it is at those times of vulnerability that humans turn to the supernatural. Here, now, is the pantheon of gods that I depend on as a winter canvasser:
1) The God of Hot Water:
This god is particularly fickle. No matter the prayers you utter as you commit to shampooing your hair, the God of Hot Water may choose to smite you with freezing spray. Should you try to outwit this god, by turning the cold water all the way off and the hot water on full power, it will revel in demonstrating its power to you by restoring the hot water and scalding your scalp. By attempting to thwart the will of the God of Hot Water, you invite its full wrath and fury.
2) The Burb Guardian (also known as June's Guardian):
The Burb Guardian is a benevolent lesser god that watches over nonprofit vehicles to ensure the safety of those inside. No matter how many people sit in front of the back windows to obscure the rear view, empty water bottles roll under the brake peddle, or phone calls the driver answers, the burb will not get in an accident. The Burb Guardian creates a defensive forcefield to protect the passengers. I have to believe in this god because I frequently need to stop watching the road in order to count checks, add up stats, or console a sad trainee. During these moments, I must take it on faith that the frustrated canvasser-driver, fresh off a disappointing night of being told by rich people not to knock when it's snowing, won't turn the burb into oncoming traffic. If he/she did, though, the Burb Guardian would find a way to clear the road for us. Really.
3) Dogs:
Dogs (like Jesus) are God walking amongst us. Their endless joy reminds us that life is to be savored, even when snow turns to sleet turns to freezing rain. Dogs always support our environmental goals despite their masters' concerns that global warming is a myth perpetuated by Big Solar and Al Gore. Dogs also offer a convenient place to warm freezing fingers.
4) The Canvassing Gods:
The Canvassing Gods are an unclear number of mischievous but benevolent gods who monitor the karma of canvassing. If you persevere through a four and a half hour streak of miserableness, they will reward you at 8:45pm with a giant check and a mug of hot chocolate. When the weather verges on dangerous, they place a Dunkin Donuts in an otherwise completely residentially-zoned neighborhood. (I fully believe that most of these DandDs are ephemeral and disappear at 9:15pm when we drive away for the night.) These same gods will test your faith and loyalty with annoyances such as frozen puddles that smash underfoot, public works trucks that fling salt at you, and contacts who ask you to perform favors such as pushing their car up a snowy hill without reciprocating your kindness. They may place before you a test of character such as a harried mother who needs you to help her show her son calculus or an elderly woman who is lonely and wants you to join her for a dinner of Cup o Noodles. These contacts may write you a $100 check for your efforts, or they may write you a $2 check. Sometimes the will of the Canvassing Gods is not revealed until several houses or several nights later. Ultimately, though, they ensure that a hardworking canvasser will always raise standard (often enough to keep their job and pay their bills) and will always find a hopeful sign of humanity's ultimate goodness that makes them want to come back for more the next night.

(Grammar Caveat: I wrote this after many glasses of wine, so I will edit for spelling and punctuation later.)

It's a Christmas Miracle!

2008-12-12T12:40:00.002-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, I was under the impression that only my college roommates, boyfriend, and dad read my blog. I was wrong. Apparently, I have secret followers! Awesome. Feel free to comment so that I can add you to my hand-drawn map of readers.
Anyhoo, December is both the best and the worst time to be a canvasser. It's the best because there are Christmas lights. It's the worst because it's dark before we get out of the burb. It's the best because you get to say "Happy Holidays!" like thirty to forty times a day. It's the worst because occasionally people you greet with "Happy Holidays!" accuse you of perpetrating the WAR ON CHRISTMAS! Luckily, someone is distributing car magnets that say, "It's okay to say Merry Christmas to me," to reduce the confusion. Phwew! It's the best because according to people I canvassed in June, people do all of their giving at the end of the year. It's the worst because people I canvassed last night did all of their giving in June. WTF, mate?
Last night was a case study in horribleness. Freezing rain drove sideways. Wind whipped umbrellas inside-out. The weather made walking difficult, so after over two hours of futility, I realized I would not be able to cover my whole neighborhood, and I had a choice. Should I walk left or right at an intersection? Turning to the left, I saw several large, well-lit houses. To the right, the houses were smaller and darker and even more rundown than the homes of the poor but friendly people I had met thus far. The only interesting thing to the right was an elaborate homemade manger scene on one lawn featuring a lit-up star perched atop a flagpole. I decided to throw it up to the canvassing gods (which are real) and took the star as my sign. Like Indiana Jones, I chose wisely.
The very first woman who came to the door took one look at my drenched rain suit and opened her door. She prepared some tea and then explained who she was. In 1987, her and other neighbors had organized to fight the planned garbage incinerator that would have allowed the entire county's trash to be trucked to and burned in her hometown. I had happened to stumble upon the biggest grassroots activist in the area. She was very helpful, warmed me up, and changed the tone of the night.
And all from following a star...
...made out of plastic...
...on a flagpole...

Canvassing the Recession

2008-12-04T12:21:00.002-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, it is official. We have been in a recession. (Duh.)
But what does this mean for non-profit fundraising?
Well, if you canvass in the midwest states of Michigan and Indiana, money has been predictably hard to come by. On the other hand, lots of young, smart college grads are finding employment hard to come by as well, so the staffs are stocked with savvy canvassers finding ways to make each night work.
If you canvass in Ohio, times have been tough for years. The state is bleeding jobs, and locals are nervous about losing their biggest polluters because they also happen to be the biggest employers. Predictably, well-respected organizations like Ohio Citizen Action are struggling.
If you canvass the relatively wealthy East Coast, the effects of the recession are still hard to understand.
For example:
MillionDollarHomeMom: "I can't afford to donate this year."
KPd.: "No worries. People are helping out with their voices, too. We need letters to the State Assembly. "
MillionDollarHomeMom: "That's good, because they asked me to donate a dollar to the St. Jude's Children's Hospital at Williams-Sonoma today, and I'm like, how much can you give, ya know?"

Really?

Death by WalMart

2008-11-29T20:36:00.003-05:00

I'm sure many other people will comment on the ugliness and symbolism of a Wal-Mart employee getting crushed to death by rampaging shoppers. There is a lot to say about our treatment of workers, mob mentality, and the absolute necessity of owning a flat screen TV, but to me, the most shocking part of the tale is the lack of oversight in WalMart's public relations department.
Commenting on the death and injuries that occurred in the stampede in which people were crushed and trampled WalMart said (I shit you not): "[The company's] thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those impacted."
Not the best choice of words...

Don't Drink the Water

2008-11-29T19:10:00.003-05:00

Oh, werd?
I learned a LOT in Ecuador including but not limited to the facts that antibiotics are really important, piranhas don't eat people, and ... um.... Spanish.
One of the most interesting themes of our trip was development in a global communications world. I'm sure lots of people who study South America, actually speak Spanish, and pronounce Chile CHEE-lay (rather than "brr... it's Chile in here") can better expound on Ecuador's development patterns than me, but I'm going to try anyway.
1) We saw a lot of weird stuff for sale from street vendors such as individual sneakers (as in, not in pairs), plastic bags of coconut milk, lottery tickets, artificial Christmas trees, and roasted guinea pig. (Actually, the last one isn't true. I had to make a conscious effort *not* to see roasted guinea pig because I had a pet for eight years, but if you want to see a roasted guinea pig for sale, they are amply available.) The absolute weirdest, though, was the man walking down the street with an armload of television rabbit ears. They all were different shapes and sizes and were obviously used. At first, Eric and I thought he must be insane, that is until we saw a second rabbit ear - hawker. Eat your heart out Best Buy.
2) Internet cafes are absolutely everywhere as is WiFi access. A typical cafe features half western (northern?) backpackers and half local kids playing Worlds of Warcraft. At the same time though, the actual buildings that the internet cafes are housed in are literally collapsing. In Montanita, a stray dog kicked my cable and briefly disconnected me while napping under my chair. It appears from my cursory observations that information and information technology are racing past other infrastructure development.
3) That other infrastructure is just present enough to lull you into a false sense of security. When you turn on the stove, you get a flame. Simple, right? That is until you notice the hose coming from the stove and running out the window to a propane tank in the backyard. Then, you start to notice the guys on tricycle carts who deliver the propane tanks to homes and businesses.
4) The same goes for water. If you turn on the tap, deceptively delicious-looking clear water comes out. But where does it come from? Well, if you walk out onto the balcony of your hostel (past the hammocks), you can find your building's giant plastic water tank. Eric even opened ours to look inside. While there is nothing visibly floating, this water is pure poison to North Americans not accustomed to salmonella and dysentery. Also, these critters are incredibly resistant to alcohol, so no matter how many mojitos, pina coladas, or games of flip-cup there are prior to bacterial exposure, you will pee out your butt. (And likely get a nasty hangover for trying.)
5) Ecuador has many many vehicles on the road such as buses, trucks, mopeds, propane tricycles, etc.... but not a whole lot of driving laws. There are theoretical lanes, but Ecuadorians have noticed that they can often create a new lane just by driving a little bit closer together, so why not, right? There is a designated bus lane in some cities which is set aside by a small curb-sized barrier. Luckily, buses can drive *over* this impediment whenever they feel like driving in the car lanes. Finally, pedestrians have the right of way unless there is a car coming. In those instances, pedestrians have the right to scramble in all directions before they become hood ornaments.
My overall impression of Ecuador was productive chaos. There is what appears to be old school local capitalism with no chain stores - just thousands of small storefronts or street hawkers selling everything you need. Bargaining is expected; although, you feel like a bit of a punkass haggling over a three dollar taxi ride, so we just stopped by the end of the trip. Bus drivers will drive loops around a downtown with their co-drivers hanging out the door, yelling the bus's destination, until the bus is full enough to make a good profit. There is construction everywhere, but a lot of it is pretty shoddy. The buildings are almost entirely made from concrete with the main concrete posts made on-site rather than prefabricated. Many buildings still have steel rods sticking haphazardly out their tops after construction is completed.
Most young Ecuadorians were dressed like Americans or Europeans. The middle class all have cell phones in the cities. Nintendo Wiis were for sale in electronics stores (next to the rabbit-ears guy). With global branding and advertising and easy internet access, everyone can see what the rest of the world has, and shopping patterns are easier and quicker to change than basic infrastructure, but the western culture shift makes the shocks of the infrastructure shortcomings even more jarring. After playing rounds of flip cup, dancing to "Jump Around" by a bonfire, and swapping Facebook pages with international friends, a dysentery hangover is the last thing you expect to wake up with, but it reminds you of how lucky we are to have critter-free water here. In American water, we just have carcinogens that will slowly alter your cells until you meet a slow cancerous demise. (Yay!)
Oh, and I saw a sloth.

President Obama

2008-11-05T01:27:00.001-05:00

Cool.
Blog going on hiatus while I wander the world.
See y'all shortly before Thanksgiving!
Maybe I'll throw in tidbits from travel before then....
----Kerry

Yo!

2008-11-04T00:50:00.002-05:00

Oh werd?
Calling all fake Americans!
...Especially the fake Americans that live near Real Americans...
VOTE!
If you live in Ohio, you should probably just smash your voting machine, so they are forced to use paper ballots. Just an idea...

Obligatory Conference Post

2008-11-01T19:43:00.002-04:00

I decided that instead of describing conference fun, I would just post this one photo of a BPA-free Nalgene bottle containing Yuengling. Now stay up for 36 hours straight, and it's just like being there.

Malaria

2008-11-01T18:12:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
So, I am very excited that Ben's blog ( http://bsom.blogspot.com ) has made note of my blog coming out of hibernation. My dad's blog is linking me now as well. Perhaps you saw my Facebook message noting that I am blogging again. Now is, of course, the best time to take another long hiatus.
I am going to Ecuador for three weeks on Wednesday, so I might not update much until Thanksgiving, but don't despair dear readers (all 4 or 5 of you including my dad!), my blog will return, with cool tropical parasites, Thanksgiving weekend.
One cool tropical parasite it will NOT return with is malaria. That is because, as of yesterday, I am taking mefloquine hydrochloride. This will not kill malaria eggs, but it will kill baby malarias (?) once they hatch in my bloodstream. I have to take it until Christmas (it's almost Christmas!!!).
I like to read the directions of strange medications, so I found the following interesting side effects:
-"severe anxiety"
-"mild bad dreams"
-"hallucinations (seeing or hearing things that are not there, for example)" (I love the explanation.)
-"feelings that people are against them"
Halloween is a funny time to take hallucinogenic medications. Also, I'm not sure if my "feelings that people are against me" are due to the mefloquine tablet or the fact that we canvassed a hardline rightwing neighborhood the past two evenings.
KPd: We are working on farmland preservation.
Rightwing Neighborhood: Barack Obama is a terrorist.
KPd: Uh... back to farms...
RWN: Did you know that Yasir Arafat is one of Obama's advisers?
KPd: He's dead. Happy Halloween?
My extremely unscientific poll of likely rightwing crazy people concludes that Republicans, like tourists traveling to South America, have strong feelings that people are against them. The mood in red towns is a paranoid angry vibe stirred up by two months of Sarah Palin telling them that the elite media is hiding Barack Obama's secret plan to use their taxes to destroy Israel and outlaw Christianity. I spend a lot of time diffusing this anger and talking people down.
KPd: Yay farms!
Rightwing Lady: Yay farms!
KPd: Yay Green Acres program!
RWL: You are a radical. Please leave.
(30 seconds later, door reopens)
RWL: Can I ask you a question? Are you pro-choice?
KPd: (sensing correct answer and wanting to continue curious conversation) I'm a Christian environmentalist.
RWL: Oh! I didn't know there was such thing! I'm sorry I yelled at you. It's this election. I feel like the country is against people like me. Can we hug it out?
Okay, so I fudged the truth and let her assume that I am anti-choice, but it was worth it for the hug. Republicans need more hugs right now. They have feelings that people are against them.
They likely also have severe anxiety and bad dreams. Many of them, looking at the polls, may also hope they are experiencing hallucinations.
Happy voting everyone!

Affordable Housing

2008-10-29T11:16:00.003-04:00

Oh, werd?
Eric, Shamar, and I live in secretly affordable housing. Our very nicely located apartment features two bedrooms, a living room with zero right angles, and a decent backyard with a vegetable garden. When the next door apartment is vacant (which is frequent), we also have roof access. Through Eric's years of living here, we have noticed an extremely hands-off approach by our mysterious building's owner. Empty apartments are not advertised. Rents are not raised to match market levels. As a result, the tenants include but are not limited to: three canvassers, one singer/songwriter, a screenwriter/landscaper, this cool Hispanic dude who sings James Brown songs around noon every day, and this young couple upstairs that likes to shower at the same time as me (seriously... like... no matter what time I shower...). The businesses below us include a huge used book store and liquor store. Yay!
Of course, secretly affordable housing has its downsides. It rains on the back staircase. For a week, it rained on our toilet (I rigged up this sweet umbrella-tent!). Apparently, this weekend it rained on the liquor store. We didn't get the frantic phone calls about breaking down our apartment door to fix the leak because we were all in Kentucky (where telephone has yet to be invented). Plumbers came in through our windows to replace a good ten feet of pipe without us even knowing.
The other major downside of secretly affordable housing is the secret tenants. The outside front door to our building does not lock. Normally, this is convenient because Eric has the only security key, and he rarely knows where it is. Often, though, various drunk people beat us to our morning papers.
KPd.: Um, hi crazy drunk dude at 9am. That's my paper.
CDD: I'm reading it.
KPd.: Yeah but... umm... damnit.
As several of our cohorts are often a small step away from homelessness, we generally tried to come up with creative solutions other than calling the police. Investigation revealed that Montclair has no homeless shelter or policy other than let crazy people stay in secretly affordable housing and only intervene if they wander into single-family neighborhoods. So when the crazy elderly woman peed on the stairs during a snowstorm, Shamar bought bleach and a mop. When the scary dude took off running with our NYTimes, Eric gave chase shirtless and barefoot and cornered him in an alleyway to negotiate.
Eric: Stop stealing our paper, and we won't call the police. Plus, we'll leave the sports section for you after we read it.
SD: Deal.
Next day: Scary dude stole our paper.
We found that we were not the only left-leaning nonprofit employees trying to double as a homeless shelter. The Unitarian Church and Equality New Jersey (gay marriage) were sharing real estate with two Vietnam vets and four clinically insane guys.
Equality NJ employee: Hey guys. Mind rolling over so I can open the front door?
Vietnam vet: Oh no problem. Good luck man.
The problem finally came to a head two weeks ago when we walked through the Chase Bank parking lot to access our backyard only to hear country music blasting at 11:30pm.
Step 1: Make sure this is not Brian.
Step 2: Call the police.
We did not want to overly stress out the Montclair PD (who were busy staking out Pathmark and offering personal security to CEOs on Mountain Avenue), so we called the non-emergency number.
Eric: There is an intruder playing loud country music in our backyard.
MPD: Where do you live?
Eric: The apartments on Glenridge Avenue.
MPD: We'll send someone when we can.
KPd.: What the fuck?!
We waited over 45 minutes by our back gate while some crazy dude in the yard slept through Achy Breaky Heart at maximum volume. After several follow-up calls, the police finally decided that intoxicated insane people playing the radio in your garden is worth a peek. They obviously knew the guy, asked him to leave, and drove off.
Such is life in secretly affordable housing. I suppose when you pay below-market rent, you can't complain when the police take their time responding to intruder calls. I imagine they needed to keep a car in reserve just in case another drunk boom box call came in from the mansion district.
The next night, at 5am, in the backyard: ...
Radio: Do you beLIEVE in life after love (after love) after love (after love).
As the music boomed in our bedroom, Eric and I couldn't help but start cracking up laughing. At least our crazy drunk radio intruder has a sense of humor.
The police came, again. I'm sure it won't be the last time. But the papers have both been reliably on the doorstep for a while, and we haven't had anyone camping in the backyard since last week. Maybe this means that our rent will go up.

iLuddite

2008-10-21T12:10:00.002-04:00

Oh, werd?
I am posting in my blog again. I was prompted by a few things, but I believe the clincher was when one of my best friends texted me this:
Aerob: Dude! I commented on your dad's blog!
My dad has a blog? And people in Brooklyn think it is cool?
And... CRAP!... my blog is linked to it?!
As they say in Fort Wayne, Indiana, oh dang.
"Okay..." I thought, "So how hard could catching up with the blogging world really be?"
It turns out other people's blogs (i.e. my dad's) have these cool map counters that allow you to tell how many people are reading your posts and where these people are from. So when my dad said, "I got a hit from India!" it was not a drug reference. It was a reference to how much more technologically advanced he is then me. I have no idea how to set one of these up, so if you read my blog and you are from somewhere cool, please leave a comment detailing your cool location. Every once in a while, I will draw a map on a piece of paper with dots representing my readers. Then, using a digital camera, I will photograph this map and post it on Facebook which I learned how to do last month. Sweet!
In other technology news, my computer is doing that thing where, when you type, nothing appears for a while. This is because my computer is running a virus scan, and I don't know how to make it stop. It does not multi-task well. The cool hipster Mac guy from the commercials would likely laugh at it. I and my computer would both function better if the advertisers at Apple would stop attacking our self esteems. It is for this reason (and the fact that I don't think my computer could handle running iTunes) that I do not have an iPod. Besides, I say, never own a piece of electronics that you can't take apart to fix. That's why I own a discman. One time, my discman was broken, so I threw it at my dorm wall. This was seven years ago. It still works. I rest my case.
Anyhoo, the reason all of this matters is that the last time I posted to my blog, I could simply type in my username and password to log in. Now I need to use my gmail account. I don't remember how to even access my gmail account. Blogger and gmail forced me to answer several identity verification questions that I wrote six years ago thinking they were funny such as "What was your first mammalian pet's name?" and "Abbreviate the following: Striking a blow at the heart of the system."
Well, the system wins. I have a gmail account. I have a facebook page. I am writing in my blog again. I still have a discman, though, and every time blogger autosaves, it causes my computer to, ironically, crash, so writing this has taken over two hours. I suppose I should really catch up with technology as this may make me more marketable in the workforce, but hey, when I look out my window, I see pumpkins growing, and the new batch of ginger beer is bubbling away in the closet. If the economy gets so bad that we go back to bartering and burning cds, I'll be okay. Will you?

Observations

2006-11-26T21:55:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
I spent a lovely evening making Becca stay up late with me last night. At 4am, Eric and I finally had mass transit options, and after saying our goodbyes, we headed to the 14th Street PATH station. At 4am, on the 14th Street PATH platform, we were the only people wearing sneakers out of a considerable crowd of young Jerseyans. What's up with that?
Granted, the PATH train was a Hoboken-bound train, not a Newark-bound train (oops), but how lame must Hoboken be if young socialites must cavort the city in matching The Mall at Short Hills uniforms?
Once we found the Newark-bound train, we were comfortably surrounded by fellow sneaker-wearers.

Foster's Float, 2006 Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

2006-11-23T18:43:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
I saw the Thanksgiving Day parade today, and this particular part caught my attention. Poor puppeteering aside (are we supposed to think that the red monster is handcuffed to the house or is his string less than subtle?), this tribute to getting high as sung by imaginary friends is a perfect holiday tradition for any family. Also, there is what I can only assume to be a singing blue penis.

Health Care

2006-11-10T11:36:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, something has been really bothering me recently. If you live in the NJ/NJ radio market, perhaps it is bothering you as well. I refer to the Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center ads. It features the following veiled threat:
"Patients treated at Sloan-Kettering often have better outcomes than patients treated at other facilities."
This line is creepy for two reasons:
1) It is delivered by a woman with the world's most futuristic British voice. You can imagine she also gets hired by spaceship manufacturers to record, "This ship will self-destruct," or maybe by Level 4 bio-hazard research centers to announce, "Floor 2 is contaminated."
2) "Better outcomes?!" Basically, they don't die. You don't have "better" cancer. You either survive or it gets you.
Maybe this is deliberate. People in the NY/NJ region are used to finely worded death threats. We live amongst the Mafia.
Mafia hitman: "People who don't testify at my cousin's trial often have better outcomes than state witnesses."
See? Same thing.
Anyway, this was bugging me. Maybe it was bugging you, too.

Election Special!

2006-11-06T22:35:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
This weekend was an exciting blitz of volunteer and paid (?!) get out the vote work. For those who don't know, New Jersey is a battleground state this cycle. Bob Menendez (D) faces a stiff challenge for his Senate seat by our old governor's kid, and Linda Stender (also D) stands a chance of winning a seat in the House for the blue team. I decided to throw my weekend behind Team Stender.
The Stender campaign office is a blast. Dazed campaign workers stumble around muttering about field maps and reaching out the top window for the secret stash of beers on the roof. This is different from a Republican campaign office in two ways:
1) beer (duh)
2) field maps
The Jersey Dems have the ground all to themselves as, for some reason, the Republicans can't gather enough people who are willing to knock on doors for five hours for fifty bucks. Fortunately for the environment, women, and the people of Iraq, Democrats can always use fifty bucks and are frequently unemployed. That is why I was not surprised when a van full of "urban high school students for Menendez" pulled up to where "NJEF canvassers for Stender" were already working. Their driver, an older woman, smiled when she saw my Stender sticker. One of the kids did not.
Student: Are you a Republican?
Van: Boooo....
KPd.: Dude, Republicans don't knock on doors.
Van driver (to kids): That's the *other* campaign! Don't you know anything?! Linda Stender is running for CONGRESS. We are talking about politics the whole drive home....
I ran from house to house having interesting conversations and making sure people remembered to vote.
KPd.: Pound for democracy! :::knocks fists with stranger:::
If you are wondering how this election is going to swing, I will leave you with this story:
KPd.: ::knock knock:::
Old guy: Don't you know we have a 'no knock' law in this town?
KPd.: Luckily for democracy, that does not apply to non-profits and political speech. I'm a volunteer with Stender for Congress!
Old guy: I'm a lifelong Republican.
KPd.: That's okay. We like Republicans. :::hopeful smie:::
Old guy: (pause) Well... to be honest, I probably am voting for Stender. I don't like the direction this country is going. Never thought I would vote for a Democrat...
Sweet...
And now... the ELECTRONIC Guide to Voting Early, Voting Often!
Essex County is going digital! That's right, no more hiding behind curtains that look like 60s kitchen wallpaper. Time for touch screen action! If the lines that form behind little old ladies trying to swipe their debit cards at CVS are any indication, this should proceed smoothly.
Concerned that your vote won't count? Here's what to do!
1) Come into the polls and talk loudly about how much you love Republicans. Hover your finger over the Republican choice but then quickly touch for Democrat. No one will know to edit your vote! =D
2) Pretend you don't understand computers. Demand a paper ballot instead.
3) Vote absentee! =D
4) Use your toes to touch the screen instead of your fingers. No, it won't make a difference, but you will look really cool.
5) Hack your way in with a BlackBerry. Vote a few hundred times!
6) Be the company that makes the machines. That's what the Republicans did! =D
Alright everyone, get out there and vote! Just like my automated message from Bill Clinton said to! And remember, Barack Obama is NOT on the ballot. You'll have to choose from who's available. Sorry.

Agritourism

2006-10-24T11:56:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
One of the finest things about New Jersey is the proximity of rural life. Whether you are sitting on a stoop in Newark's Ironbound or leaning on a light pole in Paterson, the fields and orchards of the Garden State are only an hour or so away. At the end of the harvest season, these farms throw wide their gates and invite New Jersey's urban and suburban masses to come spend a day with nature... sort of. It's Haunted Hay Ride Season!
On Saturday, David, Ariel, Eric, and I set out for pumpkin picking, apple cider donuts, and hot chocolate. Heaven's Hill Farm offered a corn maze, hay crawl, hay rides, a giant slide, and all sorts of delicious fall snacks. A lot of your time at a haunted hay ride event is spent standing around waiting in line, so I got a good opportunity to do some people watching.
A group of high school girls kept themselves busy singing accapella versions of every song on Top 40 radio. "I NEED A MIRACLE! PLEASE LET ME BE YOUR GIRL!" Another group of younger kids tortured a chicken sitting on a wire.
Young boys: "Shake the fence! See if it will fly." "It's so ugly... I'm going to eat you and all your friends! Stupid chicken..."
Teen girls: "GET YOUR SEXY ON!"
Middle-school aged local kids tried to sell glow sticks by modeling them. By nights end, more glow sticks were worn by the sales associates than were sold.
The farm offered daytime hay rides out to a pumpkin field, so we all climbed on the last wagon. With us were two other families. One family had about 3,000 small blonde children. A girl wearing only a tshirt ran around the hay wagon with the family's digital camera taking pictures of herself and her brother. The other family was a group from Paterson. We knew this because the dad got on the wagon and yelled, "Yo! It's Paterson on a hay wagon!" before pulling out his digital camera to get pictures.
The pumpkin "patch", as it turned out, was not pumpkins on vines waiting to be picked. It was a muddy corner of the corn field where pumpkins had been dumped off the back of trucks and left strewn about. Families ran around the muck searching for the perfect pumpkin. David patiently carried a pumpkin while Ariel compared it to others. Dads pulled carts filled with pumpkins and toddlers. Paterson piled pumpkins high on their cart until the siblings and cousins could not tell whose was whose.
Paterson Kid 1: Check out this green one. It won't fit on the cart- Oops!
Green pumpkin: SMASH!
Paterson Kid 2: Haha! Let's smash some more!
Pumpkins: SMASH! PLOP!
Paterson Dad: Hey! That's enough.
Paterson Kid 2: When we get home, I'm gonna smash mine.
On the hay ride back from the field, the girl in a tshirt resumed running around the wagon taking pictures. Every time she left her seat, her unattended pumpkin fell off its hay bale and rolled down the aisle before her dad could catch it. Her family laughed. The family from Paterson posed with their heap of pumpkins.
Paterson Dad: "Look at this picture! It's the ghetto at the farm! Can you believe this? Look at that kids! That's real cornstalks! That's how corn grows! Man this air smells good."
David watched them. "Isn't that cool? It's like everything is so exciting to them because they are from the city."
Then, a few minutes later and without a trace of irony, "Look at those... those things! Those fuzzy things on the tops of those plants!"
KPd.: "The seeds?"
David: "I guess! They are so fuzzy!"
Ariel:"Omigod. Look at that light."
We all turned our attention towards the setting sun. The light caught the seeds/fuzzy things and made them glow.
KPd.: "Wow..."
Eric: "Did anyone bring their camera?"
"No."
"Nope."
"Man. I can't believe I didn't bring it!"
So we all sat in the bumping hay ride, humbled, and watched the sun sink. The family from Paterson watched. And the blonde family watched. The young girl looked at the sunset through her camera's digital screen, and then gave up and put the camera down. And as we approached the main farm area, I heard a familiar sound...
"PROMISCUOUS GIRLS! WHEREVER YOU ARE! I'M ALL ALONE! AND IT'S YOU THAT I WANT!"

Fevers Free Up Time

2006-09-21T18:24:00.000-04:00

Or: In Which Kerry Gets in Trouble for Talking About Country Music Again

Oh, werd?
So, things have been crazy lately. I took on this extra project at work that stresses me out, earns me no money, and may or may not be accomplishing anything... But I'm sure it's a good experience. And Regional Director Dude made me cry. Unrelated.
That being said, just when I got my shit together, I got a 'flu-like virus'. Luckily, as of last week, I have health insurance! Unluckily, I have no sick days. Don't expect to see me on the weekends any time soon.... Sigh...
I *do* have time right now though, so here is a mini-post about what I watched on TV today.
First of all, Nickolodeon GAS shows repeats of GUTS and Legends of the Hidden Temple. Go Silver Snakes! Second, my 3billion movie channels allow ample opportunities to see Face Off, The Birdcage, and Enemy of the State. (And nothing else.)
But most importantly, I have music video channels, like my favorite, the Great American Country channel.
For those who don't know, I am an unapologetic, unironic fan of country music. Nothing makes me happier than cranking the radio in the middle of Pennsylvania. It matches the landscape. The rhythm of the lyrics is often smoother than that of popular hip hop. It frequently features fiddles! (Air harmonica!)
My problem, today, is the lack of morality, dare I say the MORAL RELATIVISM, of the Great American Country channel. This afternoon's block of videos claims to be a family-oriented format. (Read: safe for people who tried to impeach Bill Clinton.) The very first video was for a song called "I Got a Brand New Girlfriend". This is a GREAT song. The plot of the song is that the guy gets dumped, but he gets a 'brand new girlfriend' with whom he "spent the whole day lyin' on the beach". Innocent enough... But wait, they were, "Wearing nothin' but a smile!" Unless you live in a Christian nudist colony, these are not "songs the whole family can enjoy." The video clears up the moral confusion. She's not a *real* woman. She's a blow up doll!
So, according to the family-friendly format of the Great American Country channel, it is totally okay to lie on the beach naked with a blow-up doll. We laugh at you, Satan.
Incidently, that block of videos was entirely sponsored by The State of Tennessee. I know where me and my nude blow-up doll are going on vacation!

Technical Difficulties

2006-07-24T22:39:00.000-04:00

Oh werd,
Just when you thought that Digging a Hole was BACK with BETTER than EVER updates, I lost my wireless connection. I'm coming to you live now from Eric's office.
Eric: Are you using my internet?
KPd.: Is that a problem?
Anyhoo, if I get up and go to the library this week, I'll post some more.
But until then, fookin 'ell...
Stay tuned for "Why You Bring a List to IKEA" and "What is a Marabou Stork?"
----KPd.

Greetings from Asbury Park, NJ!!!

2006-07-09T21:06:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
Today I did not hang sheetrock in Eric's living room or spackel (spackle?) it or sand it. We were supposed to hang, spack-ul, and sand it, but due to unforseen circumstances, we could not hang it, spackall, or sand it. This is good because I don't know how much help I would have been.
Eric: Hmm... should we get the quick dry or the heavy duty?
KPd.: Um... the green one.
Eric: Let's see... gallon or pint...?
KPd.: Uh... I guess... if you think you'll need more than three pints... get the gallon?
Eric: 120 or 150 super fine sand paper?
KPd.: Fine is.... um... fine.
Eric: You have no idea what you're talking about do you?
I did get a sneak peak into the lives of the truly suburban New Jerseyans. (Middletown, USA!) Monkey in the middle with tennis rackets and a hockey stick! Who says the suburbs are boring?
After several rounds of 'throw the vortex football over the tree,' it was time to swing into Redbank, and thus begins my tour of the north end of the Jersey shore.
It was interesting to see how different shore towns have evolved. Redbank has gone through several key redevelopment stages.
1) Sketchy 80s shore town.
2) Sketchy 80s shore town with artists and musicians.
3) Gay shore town.
4) Hip shore town.
5) Fair trade antiquing destination.
6) Fair trade antiquing destination with Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash.
It actually was pretty cool, but the main drag was very rich left wing -esque. Nice toy stores though!
The next shore town we checked out was Asbury Park, NJ. This down and out locale's new slogan is 'where the city meets the sea' which loosely translates to 'housing projects with a shoreline'. It's actually pretty tragic to see the gem of the Jersey Shore this wrecked. Huge abandoned steel and concrete buildings stand crumbling on pilings over the beach. This used to be where people flocked to the shore to ride carousels, play skee ball, and walk the boardwalk. In the late 70s, this was where Bruce Springsteen cut his teeth and my dad learned to play pinball. Then, the city overreached and went bankrupt. Now, a block from the beach, one can view this spraypainted conversation:
Graffiti 1: KillazEyes!
Graffiti 2 (with an arrow pointing to Graffiti 1): is a bitch!
Graffiti 3 (with an arrow pointing to Graffiti 2): Fuck you!
The city is making a comeback of sorts though. WPLJ was holding a local battle of the bands at the Stone Pony to see who would open for Bon Jovi at Giants Stadium. (Does it get any more Jersey than that?) The waves at the beach were great for boogie boarding, and people were paying to enter the beach. Finally, construction materials and vehicles hovered menacingly around the colossal old steel pier buildings. The gorgeous skeletal remains of old Asbury looked to be surrounded, and who knows what will be built to replace them?
Up the road, in Long Branch, the answer was clearly AS MANY LUXURY CONDOS AS POSSIBLE! Winding Woods! Shore Points! Pine Beach! Sea Breezes! Runaway Beach! (That's a dumb name for a luxury condo complex on the edge of a sea wall that is prone to flooding.. doncha think?) Long Branch is the home of MTOSOASOAT (or some combination of those letters). That is the acronym for the community group formed to protect the last old neighborhood of home owners from eminent domain. The city decided that retirees growing old in the modest homes they purchased decades ago was not the best use of the land. Within months, this neighborhood will be razed. Perhaps if they had stacked their houses on top of each other, built a giant parking lot, and called it "The Pine Breeze Shore Hill Homes... at Long Branch", they would have stood a chance.
My tour of the shore ended at Sandy Hook with steamers. Once upon a time, my dad has told me, you could get all the clams you could eat for a dollar. Now a pint costs 8 dollars. But they are still salty and delicious. And the beer was still cold. And it is still the Jersey shore.

MONTAGE!!! Spring/Summer 06!

2006-07-07T13:07:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?

A brazillion cool and scary things have happened in the past month and a half, but I have failed to blog them for two reasons: They weren't great stories OR there is no internet in New Jersey.(Why are so many of my favorite people Luddites?)

I am once again on the prowl in the suburbs and cities and pasturelands of Jersey, spreading cheer and environmental literature, accepting checks and invitations to dinner, and splashing through the thunderstorms of late spring. It's a wonderful way to live, but sadly it comes at the expense of my life in Brooklyn and my awesometastic roommates there who are putting up with my mid-20s crisis.

Anyhoo, I usually deliver good stories and scenes, so here is a montage. It's a cop-out, I know, but it's easier than trying to craft a storyline. Without further ado...

Becca: I'm jetlagged.
KPd.: We could have like, a glass of wine before bed. Ya know, and hang out. It'll be classy.
(5 hours later)
Tara: I think there's a fourth bottle half open in the fridge!

Tara: It shot across the room and hit the wall???

DVD: Is this the most vegan thing you have?
I HATE the punk rock holocaust!

Dude at bar: A toast!
Us: Okay! (raise glasses)
Dude: To white women!
Us: Ooh.... not so okay.... (lower glasses and look away nervously)

Tara: We're at brunch and we're talking about sex!!! It's just like HBO!

Ariel: I want to order chicken.
David: You know, some vegetarians won't even date people who eat meat. I'm really compromising.
KPd.: You know David, some Jewish women won't even date Buddhists.

(Everyone): Ew tubers!!!!

Drunk Eric and Drunk Brian: Stupid estrogen!
KPd.: My stupid estrogen just locked you out of your apartment!

Eric (to waitress): We want to order after dinner drinks, but we don't know what they are.
Waitress: I recommend this one (notes a mid-priced item).
Eric: Forget it. I'll have the $15 glass of port wine.
KPd.: We can do whatever we want! We're on vacation!

Dock worker, noting one 88 year old woman and four 20somethings: Taking the boat out?
Dock worker, seeing David's grandmother enter the boat first: Wait, she's the skipper?!

David's grandmother: Eric, you know how to sail right?
Eric: Uh... little one man boats.... Not anything this big.
Grandma: Oh dear, I thought you all knew what you were doing. Well, the most important thing is to not hit the other boats.

KPd.: I can't tell if I'm jibing or coming about! DUCK!

Kevin text (as thunder booms in background): this is gonna BLOW

Brian: I used the weather for dramatic effect. Like, I'm Brian with the NJ Environmental Federation (BOOM! FLASH!). We work on protecting water (CRASH!).

Keith (my seven year old cousin, on mini golf): High score! I win!

Karlyn: The flag on the front porch keeps blowing into my head.
Claire (over dramatic): I HATE this flag. Let's burn it!

KPd.: See? Shopping isn't that bad! We got presents for Tara and Amanda, a sweet shirt for you, and a magic football!
Kevin: Kerry, we were shopping for birthday presents for Rachel and Eric.
KPd.: Oh... damn... I hate shopping.
Kevin: We suck at this. I'm getting earrings. Does Eric have pierced ears?

Distant adult cousin: Hey Kerry, have you ever had braces?
KPd.: Yes...
Distant adult cousin: Oh...

Suburban man: I don't agree with these goals. I'm a consultant for developers. I'm a hard sell.
KPd.: Well I'm good at what I do, so I'm going to try anyway. By the way, can I have one of your cookies?
SM: Oh, sure.
KPd.: See?

KPd.: We have 40 minutes to make it home from turf before the liquor store closes!
BM: Liquor time: 2 minutes! We aren't going to make it!!
KPd.: That's it; we're taking to 'burb to the store right here. Don't tell Eric!

:::Guitar::
:::Shaker::
:::West African drum:::
:::Brian on vocals:::
Some guy at window over apartment yard: (YELLS SOMETHING)
KPd.: Was he mad or a fan?
Eric: I think he said, "HAPPY 4TH OF JULY!"
Brian: Oh good.

Tara: I'm not paying 25 dollars to see dead bodies.

Aerob: I suspect... that it was MYSELF, MISS SCARLETT!
Tara: ::gasp!:::
KPd.: Fucking Miss Scarlett!

Some dude: You won't take no for an answer will you?
KPd.: I'm trained not to.

The Jerslyn Edition

2006-04-15T22:49:00.000-04:00

Or New Brooksey?

Anyhoo.... Oh, werd?
Here are some funny things about working in New Jersey, living in Brooklyn, doing my taxes, Orthodox Jewish missionaries, and the Prospect Park dog beach.

1) The world's most frustrating afternoon of all time ever period.
Last Monday, finding myself not working in neither New Jersey nor Brooklyn, I decided to get shit done. I needed to do the laundry, finish my NY taxes, get a library card, and clear up some stuff at the real estate office.

Step 1: Laundry into washer. 30 minutes til dryer move.

Step 2: 10 minutes later, at rent office:
KPd.: We paid all sorts of too much rent.
RentLady: No, you didn't pay enough.
KPd.: No, we paid all sorts of too much. We have copies of cashed checks.
RentLady: No, our records say that never happened.

Step 3: Park Slope Library, 10 minutes later
KPd.: I'd like to get the NY tax forms.
Librarian: We are all out. And so is the post office up the street. But, if you have a library card, you can print them on our computers.
KPd.: Oh, well then I'd like to get a library card.
L: Are you over 13 years of age?

Step 4: 4 seconds later, after blinking slowly
KPd.: Yes.
L: Do you have proof of residence?
KPd.: Um, a paycheck with my address?
L: Nope. Say, do you have any NYC tax forms?

Step 5: Walking home from stupid library, 10 minutes late to move laundry
Orthodox Jewish young men: Hey hey!
KPd.: Huh? What's up?
OJYM: Are you Jewish?!
KPd.: Umm... a quarter.
(dramatic pause)
OJYM: ...What's that mean?
KPd.: Eh... one Jewish grandparent...
OJYM: Oh!!! Mom's or Dad's parent?!!
KPd.: (sighing) Mom's...
OJYM: Her mom or her dad?!?!?!?
KPd.: (bigger sigh) Her dad.
OJYM: Oh. ...You aren't Jewish. ...Bye.

Step 6: Retrieve wet laundry from table and start dryer.

Step 7: Answer the phone.
Tara: Kerry? The realtors called... I think they found the missing check.

Step 8: Email tax forms to myself and print them on Amanda's computer.
KPd.: Okay, Form IT-203 is almost done... Let's see... Line 54... enter line 44 from Form IT-361.1..... FUCK!
Tara: Are you okay?
KPd.: I have to copy my W2s onto Form IT-2!?!?!!? Bastards!!
Tara: Kay....

Step 9: Write NY a check. Fuckers counted my Jersey money........

Step 10: Fold laundry. Watch Buffy. Pass out.

I only survived that afternoon because the day before was so stupendous. First, I went to Park Slope Methodist Church with Eric for Palm Sunday.
Pastor (to kids during children's sermon): What types of things do you pray Jesus will save you from?
Kid1: The War.
Kid2: Ooh ooh! Global warming!
Kid3: The Government.
Then, we had a lovely brunch courtesy of our fellow Windsor Terracians and headed to the park. We rendezvoused (sp?) at the world's cutest Little League game, and then headed for the greatest show on earth: The Prospect Park Dog Beach! Lots of sweet dogs running around and swimming (or trying to swim) and jumping and fetching things. Not all dogs were so well behaved.
KPd., Tara, Aerob, Ben, Eric: :::watch as owner lets small leashed dog pee on our stuff:::
KPd.: Umm...
Owner: She didn't pee on it. Just next to it.
KPd.: Umm...
Owner: Sorry. ...I guess. ....Not that sorry...

Ooh! We also made a pyramid with no top person and waited for someone on the top to join us! And someone did! Huzzah!

So, lots of other stuff has been happening, but I am bored with typing. In brief:
-started working at NJEF again
-Amanda threw a birthday party with punch
-Gov. Corzine came to our conference at Princeton
-a cat sat on my head at some lady's house
-I lifted a curse
-made a meat pie
-raised $500 in one night
-attended one of the two games the Mets have lost this season
-convinced Eric not to fill his bathtub with potting soil and peat moss
-didn't eat enough vegetables

:::DING DONG:::
"Who is it?"
"Hi! I'm Kerry! I'm with NJEF."
"Hi Kerry. It's dark out. I don't open my door."
Gosh I missed that woman....

Wild Police Shootout! Awesome!

2006-03-28T13:31:00.000-05:00

Off-duty cops involved in wild shootout

A sergeant is admitted to Methodist Hospital

Eyewitness News

(Windsor Terrace-WABC, March 28, 2006) - Two off-duty police officers exchanged gunfire with two suspects during a shootout in the Windsor Terrace section of Brooklyn this morning.

Eyewitness News has learned the officers, an off-duty lieutenant and a sergeant, pulled up on an attempted robbery at 16th Street and Seventh Avenue just after midnight.

They attempted to stop the robbery, and the suspects opened fire. The two officers returned fire, and the suspects fled on foot.

The officers called for backup and were able to catch up with the suspects several blocks away at Prospect Park West and 15th Street.

According to police the two suspects were taken into custody and charges against them are pending. Two guns recovered at the scene.

Officials say the sergeant was admitted to Methodist Hospital, where he was taken for chest pains. The other officer, a the special operations lieutenant in the 77th Precinct, was not injured.
The person who the victim of the initial robbery was also not hurt.

(Copyright 2006 WABC-TV)

Two thoughts:
1) Oh... so that's why I needed a police escort to my door on the way home from Barnes and Noble last night...
2) So, I officially do not live in Park Slope. Neat!

Me and Greenie saw a lot of the scene. There were about 30 bar patrons on their knees in front of Bar 4 with their hands over their heads getting searched, helicopters, 1 riot cop, detectives, police running around with flashlights, and absolutely no way to get home. Finally, an officer escorted me, Tara (also arriving home after midnight), and a couple of neighbors to our doors.
I bet I could get "wild police shootouts" for much cheaper rent in another neighborhood...
Also, maybe I should not walk home alone after midnight.
But of course, I probably still will.

Calling All Book-Lovers

2006-03-27T14:57:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
Was there a book that you wanted? Is it at Barnes and Noble?
DO YOU WANT TO GET IT 30% OFF???
I quit, and as this is my final 6 days helping people find self-help books for slave wages, I figured it was time to rock the discount. Magazines.... books.... half-priced mocha latte frappacino soy grande coffees......
I'll be working today (Monday) into the evening, Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday.
Email, post a comment, text, or show up in person. Books for all!

It's St. Patrick's Day!

2006-03-19T21:43:00.000-05:00

Slainte!
The cool thing about St. Patrick's Day being on a Friday this year was that it became St. Patrick's DayS. Sweet.
The adventure began Thursday night, in the kitchen, when I whipped up a traditional (?) meal - cabbage, potatoes, carrots, and onions in a pot with horseradish sauce on the side. Yum!
But wait, where is horseradish kept at a supermarket? (I'll give our viewers at home a chance to play along and guess here: _______).
The employees did not know. It's not next to the mayo. It's not with the spices. It's not between horseradish sauce and horseradish mustard. If you guessed "next to the eggs", you're clever, OR, like me, you called my mom and asked. Moms rule...
Belly filled with potatoes and Guinness, I went to bed with visions of bagpipes dancing in my head.
Friday (St. Patrick's Day!) began at the Park Slope Barnes and Noble. Hey, guess who doesn't care about St. Patrick's Day? As it turns out, most of Park Slope. The only event was a police officer getting shot in the leg by a richocheting bullet outside the store. I don't think that's a tradition in Ireland. Although... some cultures fire assault rifles into the air at weddings.... perhaps this is a sign of the globalization of the holiday.
I guess maybe I expected too much of the Slope, though. I mean, this isn't a particularly Irish neighborhood. So, like, why should they celebrate St. Patrick's Day? (Because Irish culture is cooler than everyone else's culture. Duh.) Maybe the Irish should turn out more for... say..., the Puerto Rican Day Parade... Or Columbus Day. (But Columbus Day is like, way fucked up.) Okay, then Bastille Day. It's only fair.
Friday night, we all learned where NOT to go on St. Patrick's Night. Irish pubs in NYC. Lines wrapped around street corners at the authentic pubs.... But that's why God created commodification. All the bars are Irish on St. Patrick's Day! Sorta.... Let's tally up the score:
-Buying a round of Bailey's for the girls who got bumped from our table by the waitress: +2 for the Irish spirit of generosity
-Getting a free cranberry vodka from the waitress: +1 for the Irish spirit of generosity, -1 for it being cranberry vodka
-The toast list: +5 for Irish wit
-Johnson's Motorcar: +3 for the IRA, -4 for the IRA, +1 for Irish folk songs
-Dropkick Murphys playing at the second bar: +1 for the feisty Irish diaspora
-Female bartenders blowing fog horns, climbing onto the bar, and funneling drinks: -5 for dumb
-Drummers in kilts: +3 for the fact that the Irish can clap in time to a beat
-Guy playing pool in crowded bar: -1 for getting poked in the ribs
-Yuengling at the third bar: +1 for America's oldest brewery. -1 for it being gross that night
-Sketchy guy who licked my ear: -5 for boys being dumb
-Telling him to "get the fuck off Amanda": +5 badassossity points
-Nifty literal hole in the wall fourth bar: +2 for atmosphere
-Toasting dead relatives with whiskey: +4 for Irish relationship with death, -1 for melodrama
-330AM Potato knish: +1 for cross-cultural exchange
-Fifth bar: -4 for racism, +4 for "Newark ya fuckin' idiot"
Final score: +9 Sweet!
The next morning, Aerob and I discovered that full Irish breakfast was being served across the street. Huzzah! Meat in multiple forms!
And then, today, an Irish parade stout-heartedly marched for bemused onlookers on Seventh Avenue outside the store.
Woman: "I mean, parades are nice, but it took me forever to get here and go shopping. Don't they know they are holding up traffic?"
Doesn't she know that our culture is cooler than everyone elses?
HAPPY ST.PATRICK'S DAY!

It's Too Bad...

2006-02-27T13:39:00.000-05:00

...That I don't use this blog for advice, introspection, and decision-making...
Because it's one of those months.
Anyhoo, in the spirit of blog entries past, I would like to present a list of things I canvassed up yesterday... at Barnes and Noble's checkout line!
Story #1: Bartering for food.
A lot of times, when one gets up early to buy Mets tickets and one has work at noon and one gets distracted in between, one forgets to eat breakfast. Checking the schedule I noted that my lunch was not happening until 4pm. Not cool. I needed food *before* then. But where could I get food from the checkout line? A man purchasing books with a box of pizza gave me the perfect idea. If I charmed people out of chocolate ice pops, bowls of soup, and boxes of Tagalongs at their door, why not at the bookstore? The only problem was that food came down the checkout line less often than I knocked on full pantries.
KPd.: I'll trade you your pizza for these books.
Man: Oh, really?
KPd.: Sure, bartering should come back in fashion.
Man (to small son I didn't see): Should we give her our pizza?
Small son (so cute!): No way!
Man: Sorry. =)
I decided to get more aggressive with the next food that came my way.
KPd.: Is that a banana in your purse?
Woman: Um, yes... actually... Say, do you want it?
SCORE! ONE BANANA!
Story #2: I need a cheap dentist.
Man: Can I get 20 gift cards with 20$ each on them.
KPd.: Sure, why not?
Man: (watching me scan cards) Wow, you sure are a pro at this.
KPd.: Oh yeah, I majored in electronic gift cards in college. Say, why do you have 20 20$ gift cards?
Man: I'm a dentist. I give them to patients who refer a patient to me. Or Starbucks cards.
KPd.: Ooh, a dentist! Maybe you know where an uninsured 20something can get a cleaning on the cheap.
Dentist: You're skipping cleanings because you're uninsured? Not a good plan. Here's my card. A cleaning costs 85$. Maybe we could negotiate something for you. Did you have any cavities at your last cleaning?
KPd.: Naw. Never had a cavitiy. But I have had lots of freakish mouth trauma, so I have these little cracks that I like to keep track of.
Dentist: Let me see!
KPd.: (opens mouth)
Dentist: Ooh, wow, right across the front teeth. Give me a call sometime.
Story #3: War, no. Unions, yes!
KPd.: I like your button.
Man with button: Mmhmm...
KPd.: No, I *really* like your button. What union are you with?
Man: I'm the vice president of Local somethingsomething. Here, take my button. But you have to wear it. Here's my card.
KPd.: If I wear it here, I'll probably get fired.
Man: Give me my card back. (writes email address on it) Now, take my card.
Story #4: Coffee and desert.
Woman with small adorable girl: You have Dog Monoply on hold for us.
KPd.: Yup.
Woman: How much is it?
KPd.: 34.99
Woman to girl: Should we still get it?
Little girl: Oh yeah! It's perfect!
Woman: Okay, I guess we'll get it anyway.
KPd.: Oh look, it rang up for a dollar. That's weird.
Woman: Do you need to call someone.
KPd.: No, I did everything right. If that's what it rings as, no problem for me really. Here ya go.
Little girl: You rule!
Woman: Can I buy you a coffee?
KPd.: Whoa! Thanks, but... Um, look, I really didn't do anything. It just rang that way.
Woman: I'm getting you a coffee!
Story #5: Woman spits coffee everywhere and it is funny.
Woman: Is this the right way to the line?
KPd.: Nope.
Woman: I guess.... I guess I go over here then? (nervously sips coffee)
KPd.: Well you ruined everything now.
Woman: HA! (spits coffee everywhere) Hahahaha!

Life is so interesting right now.... Werd.

Fun with the Winter Olympics.... .Com

2006-02-12T01:27:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
At 1AM, the really awesome Olympic sports get their time in the sun... sports like luge! And biathlon! And ice wrestling! (Okay, ice wrestling isn't real...) But the bottom line is that the really obscure sports are on parade. Which got me thinking... how does one become a slider anyway?
I headed straight to the source, the USA Luge website (http://www.usaluge.org/).
First, I learned that luge players are called "sliders". Sweet, now I can throw around the lingo at the track...
I found out where the tracks are (there are a total of THREE in the entire western hemisphere). One is in Lake Placid, NY! Clearly, I was close to luge glory. Now, how could I be discovered by the luge team.....
Well, by calling myself an "athlete," paying 30 bucks, and signing a form that basically says, "I will die and it's not luge's fault," I could become a MEMBER of the luge association! This entitles me to track time and coaching!
So, when civilians are less determined than I am, how do they earn the title, "slider"?
Well, apparently a tour goes through towns, lets kids ages 11-14 take turns trying physical challenges and street luge, and then offers a few of them the chance to come to luge camp. So, basically, our luge team is determined by which towns the luge tour (sponsored by Verizon) visited 4 years ago.... Weak.
Bored with luge, I decided to try luge's crazy cousin, skeleton. Or, head first luge.
The first site that appeared aftering Googling "skeleton sport" (after an unsuccessful search that resulted in lots of Halloween and anatomy sites) was a site featuring THIS amazing game: http://www.kingofskeleton.com/
Awesome! Some of you may have already received my challenges....
Try crashing your slider! So cool!
Next, I became the 2412th person to visit the US Biathlon website... Oh well. Sorry biathlon.
I decided to try one more search. Now that I knew how to become a slider, how could I join a bobsled team? Well, the first link Google provides is: http://www.usbsf.com
This link's description reads: "The official web site of the United States Bobsled and Skeleton Federation (don't be fooled by fakes such as usbobsledandskeleton.com." Which, of course, made me go to that page. Turns out, www.usbobsledandskeleton.com is, in fact, the OFFICIAL official website of the US team. Not sure what the other website's deal is.....
Anyway... Happy Olympics! Happy Nor'easter! And congrats to those who thought, early on, that taking their children to skeleton practice was a sure chance to visit Italy.

6 Bars In 6 Days

2006-02-02T00:34:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
You know it's time to take a night off when you notice a stat like this one....
The stories behind the streak:
Thursday: Buttermilk! (The Slope) A Johnny Cash tribute consisting of all-star folk-country bands and the bartender (Canadian Steve) buying me drinks. Rock on!
Friday: Tierney's! (Montclair) Talked my way past Johnny Thunder the bouncer by explaining we grew up in the same neighborhood (20 years apart) to find a great cover band, free beer compliments of Jimmy the bartender, and reduced price Jameson's after the bar closed ("But only because you're buying a shot for Johnny.") Johnny Thunder gave me a kiss on the head, dubbed Eric 'Lucky Bastard' for the night, and said we were welcome to skip the cover charge again any time. Sweet!
Saturday: South Park Bar and Grill! (Montclair) Ariel and David fought Eric and I for the spinach dip. Eric stuck a french fry up his nose and entered a fry-eating speed contest that only existed in his head. Hilarity ensued.
Saturday night/Sunday morning: Chinese Kareoke bar! (Flushing) Ask me for the full story, but basically, there is one bar in Flushing. It has Chinese kareoke night. They serve free tea. They sing rather well. We, alas, did not know the words. Oh, and it was 4:30am. And I had work at 8:30am. Turns out, Flushing does not celebrate Chinese New Year after dark. Just in the daytime. Spontanaeoity always leads to goofy adventure. =D
Monday: The Wagon somethingORother! (W4 stop Manhattan) Couple of pints at our favorite NYU hangout after receiving a discount at the "Fantasies!" store from a girl who thinks she went to high school with David Dower. Interesting...
Tuesday: Commonwealth! (The Slope) Watched the State of the Union address with Park Slope Drinking Liberally. Switchgrass abounds!
And so ends, my bar streak.

Switchgrass and the Human/Animal Hybrids

2006-02-01T14:07:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
Did you know that America has an addiction to oil? Specifically oil originating from the Middle East? As Strongbad might say... HOLY CRAP!
Thankfully, we have our forward-thinking president to alert us to our impending energy doom. As the big energy companies noticed recently, oil is getting harder and harder to come by. That's why they are suddenly investing in renewable energy. And as goes the large energy companies, so goes the president from Texas.
Well, almost.
First we'll detour through "clean coal" which, I assume, is the fossilized remains of "clean prehistoric plantlife". Also, it gives Republicans money. Cleaner money than that money they got from that lobbiest......
Then, perhaps, we'll meander through a retro energy period. Nucular energy! It's like, if cocaine was cool again. Or, an unwinnable war and the folk music that opposed it. Oh, wait... Damn. To those of us following the country's oldest nuclear reactor (it's in NJ!), has come the news that it has had to be shut down recently due to several large malfunctions. Don't worry though, it'll totally still get it's permit renewed.
So, our commander in chief, knowing that we already were prepared to boo clean coal and hiss nucular technology, threw a curveball. Switchgrass! What is it? http://bioenergy.ornl.gov/papers/misc/switchgrass-profile.html
Cool. But what does the coal interest have to say about Bush's cheating heart?
Let's allow switchgrass to explain itself.
"Perhaps most important, we must recognize that fossil fuels will be our main energy base for many years, and bioenergy from switchgrass is not intended to compete with these valuable resources, but rather, to complement them by softening their environmental impact."
Switchgrass, the non-threatening renewable energy. Ya know.... maybe we could find a way to fossilize switchgrass....
And on to audience reponses. Or, more importantly, camera choices.
1) Coretta Scott King tribute: Cue shots on the the three black guys in the audience! Dude, where was Condoleeza? She's got some color.
2) That bomb sniffing dog. It had a chair! It wasn't sitting in it.... but it had a chair! It could have taken a page from Bush Sr. and peed on a dignitary....
3) The angry Arab-looking guy. All that freedom-speak had him looking positively pissed. What was that about? He obviously belonged with us, laughing and booing our way through the speech at a bar with Park Slope Drinking Liberally. He would have had way more fun.
4) The Supreme Court Justices. They looked like Ringwraiths! One vote to in the darkness bind them, indeed.
5) Hillary Clinton. Was she mad because Bush pretended to be friends with her husband? Or was she mad that her husband was mentioned at all? Boys are stupid, Hillary! Throw rocks at them!
What did the Democrats think about all this? Well, I and others got the Democratic response fallguy mixed up with Mark Warner and made fun of his left eyebrow... but we were given a rare show of scrappy sarcastic clapping, one of my most favorite things, when the Dems stood to applaud the failure of Bush's social security initiative. There's no image I like better than when someone with a blackening eye and blood oozing from their teeth eyes their tormentor and offers then a wry, bloodstained grin. It shows life. Now take that scrappiness and fight the bastards, Dems!
So, how about those human/animal hybrids? I know *I* love the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Surely, the Bush twins watched Thundercats! But alas, Leonardo will have to remain a painter and a fiction phenomenon. No hybrids! Unless they involve cars running on switchgrass. Geez, what kind of world do we want our children to grow up in anyway?
Clearly a wine-sipping, overeducated, elitist French-speaking lame one. With mice with human ears. Actually, that's pretty cool.

Things I Learned This Week

2006-01-19T11:23:00.000-05:00

1) Saturday Night Live writers are kinda funny looking.
2) Drunk girls will throw themselves at SNL writers.
Drunk girl: My friends said I should do something funny. (giggle)
3) Mission of Burma's bass (?) player has a seventeen year-old son who "loves" The Onion.
4) You are not supposed to inhale cloves.
5) If you do, you will fall down on the roof.
6) Or maybe that's just me...
7) Devils tickets cost a shit-ton of money sometimes.
8) There is a sweet dive bar near the ice rink in Montclair.
9) You can skate while drunk pretty easily.
10) This woman at the ice rink has a crush on the skating instructor.
11) No, she does not want to donate $25 to the environment.
KPd.: But she so would if I had knocked on her door instead of asking her at an ice rink.
12) Zsa Zsa Gabor is a person.
13) Cell phones don't like the cold.
14) Even if you are stuck on the roof because you are still too light-headed to stand up.
15) Rooves collect ice easily.
16) You can see Orion at night right now.
17) I don't want to talk about everything I learned.
18) Even though some of it is hilarious.
19) Some of it is not.
20) If it snows, Park Slope is going to try to set the Guiness record for largest snowball fight.

The Pinochet Badassossity Calculator.

2006-01-10T00:58:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
A news source of note (Ben) has observed that Pinochet has been released on $19,000 bail. You may remember him as the famed dictator from Chile (pronounced "chilly" unless you are in solidarity with its people in which case it is pronounced "CHEE-lay"). Now, my bail was $10,000. This makes me 52.6% as badass as Pinochet.
Nif-tay.

New Year's Eve Recap

2006-01-09T14:36:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, quite a few of my readers (I think) were at my party in Brooklyn.
Maybe some of you were not.
Either way, share a story here! A funny moment! PICTURE LINKS!
For example, me and Amanda and Tara (fuck you grammar) found a brown mesh shirt that belongs to none of us in my room that Eric was wearing for a while. Who's shirt could this be?
Or: Sadownik berrated people into doing a shot of whiskey (!?!) when we were already drunk.
Or: How cool was it that we pulled off the champagne and fireworks on the roof at midnight?
What was your favorite NYE moment?
....And picture links.
"...............And drugs." =D

Ailments in 2006 America

2006-01-09T02:09:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, in my last post, I explained some injuries and accidents that I successfully (kinda) treated without health insurance. Here is another!
3) Kidney infection!
Sometimes, when one does not have health insurance, one ignores little problems until they become *this* problem:
KPd.: Hello? Useless Oncall Doctor? I'm peeing blood.
Useless oncall doctor: You have kidney stones. Go to the ER for pain management.
KPd.: I'm pretty sure this is an infection.....
UOD: I am 99% sure it's a kidney stone.
Treatment:
-Homemade dialysis center! (Drinking cranberry juice while in the bathroom.)
-Seeing a less useless doctor and charming them into giving you free antibiotic samples by berrating the American health care system.
-Endorphines for pain management. =D

Injuries and Accidents in 2006 America

2006-01-03T20:40:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, I have no health insurance (but I'll qualify next December!), so injuries, accidents, and ailments have to be treated by the seat of my pants. Here are, thus far, the injuries that have gone untreated by professionals in 06:

1) Cut off the tip of left thumb. As I say to customers who wonder why I am fumbling counting money, "I had a tragic quiche-making incident."
Customer: ".......Oh." (blink. blink.)
It bled in a very cool way.
Treatment:
-let bleed for 2 days (to decrease chance of infection)
-put ice on it (to slow bleeding somewhat)
-change bandaids every morning
-assume that tetnus shot from 2001 will cover me
-cranberry juice to cleanse body of bacteria that I can't afford to kill with medicine
2) Busted right big toe. This one was the result of a wall mirror falling on my foot. It's probably just a bone bruise, but who knows? =D The purpleness is receding, so I bet it's fine.
Treatment:
-note that you can't treat a broken toe anyway, so save money by not seeking xrays
-tape to toe next to it
-tred lightly
-pick broken mirror glass out of bed
3) World's Worst Hangover Ever. Yeah.... glogg is the devil in liquid form....
Treatment:
-eggs and potatoes
-move slowly until 2pm
-stick feet in water at Coney Island on New Year's Day

In general, sticking your feet in fookin freezing salt water on New Year's Day is a good idea. It's a fantastic way to start a year. It didn't prevent the injuries, but it cleared up the hangover.
There were some cool folks at the boardwalk....

Cool Folks:
A) Twenty-somethings dancing to old records like there was no tomorrow.
B) Two drunk dudes swimming in their underwear with a bottle of bourbon. They later serenaded me briefly.
C) Old Russian guys with really sweet fishing poles grumbling and fishing off a pier.
D) New York Guy who said, with no irony, in a thick NY accent, "Only in New York!" in reference to the swimmers. The tourism board should film him for an ad or something...
E) The Shoot-the-Star game guy who opened his booth for the day.
Cool...

Fun With Holiday Retail!

2005-12-21T16:47:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, while EVERY OTHER Barnes and Noble in NYC had to either close early or open late due to the strike, Park Slope managed to rustle together enough local employees to be open all day. Some employees lost shifts. Some gained shifts. Some shifted shifts or worked longer hours. But somehow, we were open. And the Park Slopians stranded in Brooklyn decided to make the Tuesday before Xmas the 3rd biggest shopping day of the year while other B and Ns lost business. Manhattan's loss. =D
Not that it was my gain.....
Or any gain for the employees who lost shifts right before Xmas....
Here are some excerpts from the day:

KPd.: Happy Holidays!
Some shopper: Happy holidays to you too! =D

KPd.: Happy Holidays!
Some Woman (annoyed): Don't you mean "Merry Xmas?"

Some Woman: Merry Xmas!
KPd.: Merry Xmas!
3 Managers: Kerry! Don't ever say that again!

Cheap Woman: I want to make a return.
KPd.: Okay, please wait here while I get a head cashier. Do you have a receipt?
CW: Yes, here it is. Is this going to take long?
KPd.: This receipt is from 2000. It's um.... a little past the 14 days.... You can only get store credit.
CW: Fine. Why am I still waiting here? What's the holdup?
KPd.: Well, considering you waited SIX YEARS to make this return, this is comparatively not too bad, eh?

Old woman: I want to return these reading glasses.
KPd.: I'm sorry, but you don't have the receipt or even the packaging. We have no way to know whether we even sold these.
Old woman: But it's cold out. I walked here in the cold.
KPd.: That really doesn't change the situation...

KPd.: Do you have a discount card?
Woman: Nope.
KPd.: Do you want one?
Woman: Nope.
KPd.: Do you need a gift receipt?
Woman: Nope.
KPd.: Did you use rocket skates or a pogo stick to get here?
Woman: What?
KPd.: I felt like our conversation had hit a rut.
Woman: (laughs)

KPd.: Hi! Find everything you were looking for?
Orthodox man: Yes mam.
KPd.: Do you need any gift receipts today?
Orthodox man: No mam.
KPd.: Do you have a discount card?
Orthodox man: (staring at me like I missed something): I'm Jewish.
KPd.: Okay... (thinking he maybe misheard her and very confuzzled) It's just a 10% off card.
Orthodox man: I'm *Jewish*.
KPd.: Oh. Well.... have a great day!

Creepy Xian man: Why don't you have any copies of The War on Christianity?
KPd.: Cause.... we ran out?
CXM: So, what... you don't carry Christian books?
KPd.: Um.... other than the bookshelf-full downstairs?

Person buying clearly educational stuff: No, I don't have a discount card.
KPd.: Ya know, we do have a teacher's discount. It's bigger too. Do you have a UFT card with you?
PBCET: Um, no, not with me.
KPd.: (loudly) WELL WITH-OUT A UFT CARD I CAN NOT GIVE A DIS-COUNT.
(quietly) Except I did. Happy Holidays!
PBCET: Thanks for the discount!!!
KPd.: Work on your subtlety there....
PBCET: Ooh, sorry... Merry Christmas.
KPd.: =)

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

(and a poem!)

Merry Christmas MTA.
Please try less hard to get your way.
Merry Christmas TWU.
That sentiment goes for you too.

Merry Christmas Mayor Bloomberg.
Wear a hat when you walk to work!
Merry Christmas to Pataki.
Whose name, I noticed, rhymes with wacky.

Merry Christmas to commuters.
Who stayed at home with their computers.
Merry Christmas to employees
Who can't stay home whenever they please.

Merry Christmas to the union
Deep down we all hope that you win.
But we wish you hadn't hurt the city
It's almost Christmas. Please have pity.

Mono Sucks

2005-11-29T17:17:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, it appears (I am too poor to afford the official blood test but two doctors have diagnosed me) that I have mono. Ewwwwww!!!
Which would explain why I don't really do anything other than go to Barnes and Noble and sleep anymore. Sorry dear readers.... assuming I have some. =)
Here is a: THANKSGIVING MONO- TAGE! (woo puns!)

Sunday before TDay:
KP: My throat is kinda sore.
June: Here is some tea with honey.
KP: Thanks. Love your new house.
June: Ari and his friends are finishing the basement.
June's son Ari (from basement): June! We just nailgunned a water pipe!

Monday before Tday:
KP (hoarsly): Could the next customer please step down?
People on long line: (grumble grumble grumble)
KP (slightly louder and hoarser): I'm open to help someone down here!
People on long line: (grumble whyisthelinesolong grumble)
KP: (jumps up and down and waves)
Annoying woman: How was I supposed to see you were open all the way down here?
KP: Sorry. I'd be louder but I have a horrible unknown sore throat virus. (grin) Want a bag?

KP: Wow, my throat really really hurts. Like.... ow. Damn!
Eric: I'm at the busstop.
KP: Just thought you should have all the relevant information....

Tuesday before Tday, 5pm:
(phone rings and wakes me up)
Aunt Gail: Shouldn't you be on your way to U2 by now?
KP: I guess...... I'm sick.
Aunt Gail: Whoa.... I'm calling your parents. This is serious!

KP: Okay, I have toilet paper from the bathroom for tissues, a large ice water, and 2 overpriced ice pops.... ready to rock and roll!
Aerob: Rear section 416 is awesome. We can watch Bono's butt all night!

Wednesday:
Customer: Do you have books on Greek cooking?
KP: Probably. You can check at customer services. They look up books there.
Customer: What about this book. Ever hear of it?
KP: Yes.
Customer: Did you like it?
KP: (in pain) Yes.
Customer: Why?
KP (through teeth clenched in pain): It's nice.
Customer: Are you okay?
KP: (desperate nod and maniacal clenched grin)

KP: I can't finish my shift. I'm sorry. I can't swallow anymore.
Manager: Well..... well well..... I guess... if it's *so* bad, it's *so* bad then....

Mom: Can you make it home by yourself?
KP: Well, I guess I have to.... Unless...
Mom: That wasn't a ride offer.
KP: Okay then.

Doc: You have a temperature.
KP: A normal one, or a fever? Hahaha.... Little doctor joke.
Doc: Moving right along... your blood pressure is fine.
KP: Woohoo!
Doc: Okay.... going to take your pulse.... (takes pulse, walks away)
KP: So, I have a pulse too right?
Doc: Um... yes. Yes you do.
KP: Then we can rule out death as the problem. That's good.

Dad: You went to the Immedicenter instead of your own doctor?
KP: She never returned my message!
Dad: I could have told you you have mono!
KP: Right, but you refused to treat me.

Thanksgiving:
Dad: Kerry! Come quick! March of the Wooden Soldiers is on!

Aunt Marnie: Now Keith, remember, you can not touch Cousin Kerry.

Aunt Gail: Well, you can't give *me* mono Kerry. Been there. Had that.
Aunt Marnie: There's really nothing you can give us actually.
Aunt Gail: Yeah, we pretty much have everything covered.
KP: Got it.
Kevin: Sure you can't drink wine Kerry?

Dad: You know the rules Keith! No kicking the inflatable globe at Grandma.

Dad: DON'T REACH OVER MY PLATE! You're getting EpsteinBarr virus everywhere.

Keith: How come Kerry gets ice pops for dinner AND dessert?

Aunt Gail: So, where'd ya get the mono from, eh?

Saturday:
KP: Ooh ooh ooh! I can breathe through my left nostril again!
Eric: Really?! Really!
KP: Whoops... wait. Nope. Not anymore.

Eric: I made turkey soup. Tell me what you think. Ooh, and be careful cause-
KP: *crunch*
Eric: -cause I didn't get all the bones out.

Sunday:
Middle-aged woman (from early posts fame!): Hey Kerry!
KP: Hey Mary Ellen.
MAW: (shouting from her porch) I heard you have mono!
KP: Um, yes.
MAW: The KISSING disease! That's what we called it! Of course, in my day, it was scandalous to admit you even have it! My mother wanted to know if I got it from a guy or a girl and of course, who would admit if it was a girl anyhoo? It was a guy, by the way. Do you know where you got it from? Sorry you have mono!
MAW2 (from across the street): Kerry has mono? Where'd ya get it, Ker?

So, I have mono. I got rejected by a job I thought I had. I don't work enough hours at BandN to pay rent without still using my savings. Yeah, life is good.
Thank God it's almost Christmas....
Jesus may not have been born in the winter, but who needs warm fuzzy feelings in April? This is a dark "darkest part of the year". =/
But.... it'll provide good material for humor!

I Love Cash Registers!!!!

2005-11-18T10:51:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
My new keyboard (Skylar's keyboard) sounds like a movie keyboard. Like, mission control would type on this. Or... Neo in the Matrix would use it to type. It's very noisy in a satisfying kind of way.
Anyhoo, this post is not about Skylar, this post is about Barnes and Noble!
That's right, I got ANOTHER JOB! For those who don't know, I quit Dialoguing!!! Yay!
Here's how: (gosh I hope they never read my blog...)
KPd.: Hi Supervisor! It's Kerry.
Sup: Hey Kerry! How're you?
KPd.: Well, not so good actually.... You know how I've been having like, outside pressures?
Sup: (thinking: No.) Yes, definitely. What's going on?
KPd.: Well, it's gotten to the point where it is affecting my ability to do my job. I am really sorry, but I don't think I can continue to work here. I don't really want to talk about it. But, I really loved working with you guys, and I have a ton of respect for everyone.
Sup: Oh, I'm so sorry. I know you don't want to talk about whatever is going on, but know that you always can! And whenever you want your job back, it's waiting for you.
KPd.: Gosh, thanks! (overwhelmed and feeling guilty) By the way, could you mail me my paychecks?

So, thus concludes my tenure as a street dialoguer. It was a good run. Sorta... But I am beginning a new era in my life..... HOLIDAY RETAIL!
It took two attempts, but I got hired as slave labor at Barnes and Noble. Sweet!
I get awesome benefits like:
-a .25 cent raise to 7.75 after 90 days!!!
-24 guaranteed hours of work each week! (sweet!)
-health benefits in a year! That's like, no time at all!
-the opportunity to work Christmas Eve, midnight the night before Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Break, AND the day after Christmas too!
Now how many jobs let you do THAT?
Oh, and I get half priced coffee at the cafe and 30% off books. That's actually kinda cool.
Yesterday, I had a day of training at the official Training Center in Manhattan. I was worried it was going to be awful and corporate and and conclude with us all sipping from a goblet of blood or something, but it was actually quite lovely (and paid). This guy Duane designed and runs the training sessions, and it was clear that he meant it when he said it was, "The best job I've ever had!"
Duane was one of those characters in the world that you are glad to have met and would love to get a coffee with (at half price) sometime. He looked about 45-50 years old with a "Kerry's Dad" beard and suspenders. He loved reading. He loved books. He loved BnN. He told us about how he started at the entry level 11 years ago and worked his way up. All of the training materials were designed by Duane. They were really fun! The fake cash register was a blast. The book searching system (BOOK MASTER!) was interesting. The store tour was what I really liked. I am always fascinated by like, where goods come from... How they get where they are going... Who organizes that kinda stuff.... Now I get to organize that kinda stuff! I can order stuff from warehouses around the country. I can return books to publishers. I can track stuff. I may be a huge dork, but I think that kind of stuff is neat.
Anyhoo, Duane rules, but don't worry. BnN wouldn't want to let a non-corporate guy like Duane train people for too long. Duane is currently "helping" to develop a CDROM that is going to replace him. How fucked up is that? I told Duane I thought that was messed up and offered (only half joking) to help him form a union and fight for his job that he loves so much. Then I called the "WeListen" line and my manager and told both of them that Duane's program was amazing and offered so much more than a CDROM ever could. I got way too invested in BnN already....
Just to make things sane again, I called in and said I couldn't work on my first day due to:
"Yeah, I thought BnN work weeks started on Mondays. Stupid, right? So I scheduled all of my loose end tying up in Jersey to be that Sunday beforehand."
"Oh, I understand. That's cool. You can start Monday then."
My professional telephone demeanor can get me anything I want. =D

Introducing......

2005-11-11T13:58:00.000-05:00

"Tandy's Upstart Little Brother"!!!!!

I have decided to name my NEW COMPUTER Skylar.
Skylar is a young whippersnapper from the 'burbs. He enjoys listening to Good Charlotte and playing lacrosse. He is also my new computer. He can do lots of things Tandy couldn't do, like display images, and his parents make sure to tell him how special he is all the time.
If you have another potential identity for my new computer, post it here!, OR if you are feeling badly about how my laptop ("Kerry's Happy Machine") got smashed at my birthday party thus costing me hundreds of dollars, you can *still* donate to Kerry's New Computer Fund (AKA: Fund for TANDY Relief!).
And Oxfam....

In Which: I Dialogue Yo' Ass!

2005-11-10T19:39:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
So, some of you may wonder, what on earth do I do all day?
As today was THE WORST DAY EVER, and I am pretty sure I am going to quit, here is an example of:
a) a successful dialogue
b) a ridiculously easy dialogue
c) most dialogues.

A) Kerry Rocks the Skillz

Step 1: the stop!
KPd.: (jumping up and down) Hello!! Hi! Happy Tuesday! How ya doin? My name's Kerry! That is a stupendously brightly colored scarf you are wearing! (extending hand for a handshake)
Person: Um... hi...? I'm Person... (shakes my hand)
KPd.: (holding onto hand with death grip) Nice to meet ya! You look like a person who cares passionately about human rights.
Person: Well.... yeah.... what are you doing?
KPd.: I'm so glad you asked. I'm a paid organizer with Dialogue Direct representing Oxfam, a humanitarian relief and human rights organization. Heard of us?
P: Vaguely... somewhere...
KPd.: Cool! Great! Yeah, we're in the paper quite a bit. You strike me as a newspaper reading kind of person...
P: (laughs) Well yeah.
KPd.: Cool, well, (opens map of Oxfam projects) we operate in over 120 countries. Currently, we are doing disaster relief in New Orleans, for example. Just as, if not more important, though, is our longterm human rights work. We work to undercut poverty at its source by working with local groups fighting for change from the bottom up, and by lobbying from the top down. So, for example, women are 70% of the world's extreme poor. This is because they are denied rights we take for granted like the right to get an education, the right to work and own property, and the right to choose when they marry. Until recently, girls as young as 14 could be forced to marry in Mozambique!
P: Whoa.
KPd.: There's a happy ending. Oxfam partnered with local women's groups there and helped them organize for change. They won! Five months ago the Family Law Act was passed in Mozambique! Now women can't be forced to marry young, so that means a 5 year old girl there now is going to finish her education, start a family on her own terms, and always be able to support her family. That's breaking the cycle of poverty. That's what Oxfam is all about.
P: So.....
KPd.: So, we are 130,000 strong now. Grassroots support keeps the work going. You can help be a partner with local groups struggling for change around the world, like those women in Mozambique. It's only 60 cents a day. Pocket change here. But crucial where we work. So, let's sign you up!
P: Um.... I don't know if I can commit to that...
KPd.: Hey, 18 dollars in New York doesn't go too far.... but in Ethiopia, it feeds a family of four for nearly 6 months. $30 sends 10 girls in Afghanistan the books they need for school. That's how big of an impact it makes.
P: Well.... I would like to read more about it....
KPd.: Hey, you already know the problem. It's something you've always known about. You know we are part of the solution, and you are clearly someone who cares. Oxfam is about breaking cycles of poverty, but we have to break our own cycles of not being personally involved for this to work. I know you want to help-
P: Of course!
KPd.: So sign up right now. (dramatic pause)
P: Okay.... let's do it.

B) Stupid Luck Sign-Ups
The Stop: KPd.: Hi there! Your fuzzy hood kinda looks like a caterpillar attacking your head!
Person: (laughing) What are you doing out here?
KPd.: Oxfam. Human rights.
P: Oh, I know them!
KPd.: Right on! We work on-
P: I know what you do.
KPd. Awesome. RIght now we are-
P: Get to the point. What do you want?
KPd.: Um, 18 dollars a month to keep the work going....
P: Great. How do I do that?

C) The Depressing Majority
Step 1: Stops that didn't work. (It really is a crapshoot... Bear in mind, there are a couple hundred failed stops a day.)

KPd.: You look like a strong, independent woman who cares about women's rights!
P: You thought wrong.

KPd.: What does the "P" on your coat stand for?
P: Pull down my Pants.

KPd: Happy Wednesday!
P: Fuck you!

KPd.: (jumps in front of someone) Hi! I am earnest and eager and hard to resist!
P: (smiles) True, but I'm going to resist anyway.

KPd.: Hi! (spotting someone carrying book "The End of Poverty") Want to help end poverty?
P: I'm busy. I'm going to a lecture about that.

KPd.: Hey there! How ya doin!
P: You're cute. Get over here. (pinches my cheek) You legal? Let's go somewhere and talk...

Step 2: Things go horribly wrong when I get to the issues.

KPd.: So, we're working on women's rights for example.
P: Well, Oxfam is great, but I have to disagree with women's rights. Look at this country. Women go to college, steal MEN'S JOBS, and then leave to raise kids when they are 30 anyway. They never finish what they start! It's a disgrace! Also, about blacks...

KPd.: Well, one thing we do in America is help migrant workers.
P: Immigrants?! Fucking terrorists! How about they stop blowing us up and burning down France?

KPd.: We do emergency food relief.
P: You send bombs to Palestinians, and then they blow up children! CHILDREN!
KPd.: What?
P: You didn't do any research at all did you? What, do you hate Israel?
KPd.: Huh?
P: How do you think the Palestinians GET bombs? The relief sandwiches! Do your reading! This group blows up children! This girl supports blowing up children!

Step 3: Yes, but...

P: I agree, but I don't want to give.
KPd.: (smiling) Well, why not?
P: Because:
I don't give on the street.
I like to research things.
My spouse will kill me.
I can't swing the 18 dollars.
I can't commit to the future.
I keep my money in a box under my bed.
Just because.
Because I promised myself I would say no to you. But you did a really good job.

:::sigh:::
Me and my sick as a dog self are gonna go chill the fook out.
Fookin' ell....
On the plus side, I did speak Irish to this guy today. That was cool. He still didn't sign up...
By the by: Oxfam IS a fantabulous organization. That's the only reason I keep going out there and getting smacked around.
www.oxfamamerica.org

Where's Kerry?

2005-11-07T11:27:00.000-05:00

Oh, werd?
This post will be a brief communique as I am writing in Bloomfield and need to run shortly.
(Doesn't that sound all badarse and revolutionary? Like, "I have to run soon before agents of the government crash through the door!" But actually, I have to run soon because I need to get to Walgreens and pick up facewash before my mom comes home from work to give me a lift to Brooklyn. Ah, the revolutionary lifestyle....)
Anyhoo, I am not online because, despite Tandy's best efforts, my computer broke the rest of the way last Wednesday. Fan broke. Computer overheated. Meltdown in the literal sense. It all goes back to it getting smashed on my birthday, so whoever you are that smashed it, you have now cost me nearly $1000. Not that it wasn't an awesome party..... But now I really do need a "Help Kerry" Fund.....
...Because my job street "dialoguing" (it really doesn't deserve to be called canvassing) sucks. I am just good enough at it to not be fired, but not quite good enough to earn steady money. I love the people there, don't get me wrong, but it is sooooooo much rejection a day. Plus long hours. I feel like, on work days, that all I do is get up, commute to work, work, commute home, eat, and pass out. I spent all of college ridiculing that lifestyle, so what in the fuck am I doing?
I will post a funny, heart-warming day-in-the-life montage at a later time....
In the meantime, I have BIG plans. Like, ordering a new computer (Dude, I'm getting a Dell!), not sucking at dialoguing, and finding a new job. My current plan is holiday retail. It'll pay the bills if not the health insurance.......
But living on the edge can be fun! I mean, who needs prescriptions? Okay, I do...... But paying full price out of pocket is exciting and fun! You get to feel like a real high-roller. Like, "No no! I don't *HAVE* health insurance. I am too rich and daring. Here's a few twenties. Keep the change! Ha HA!"
The real world is testing me right now....
I don't know how my parents did 23 with me on the way....

Badada, Badada, Badada, Badada!

2005-10-31T14:02:00.000-05:00

Let us now speak of brave men who lived their lives just how they would have it.

Oh, werd?
This post may be less story-licious and more, "Like, omigod, here are things happening in life," but I'll try.

Part I: Partying at Rutgers (Friday night-early Saturday morning)
Remember college? Kegs in basements? Freshmen passing out in backyards? Mysterious punch? Shushing people shouting in the yard before the police come?
Yeah, it was as much fun as you remember it. =D
We outpartied half the Rutgers marching band and were told to leave by drunk underclassmen. Awesome. Also, we *tried* to crash another party, but they all went into one room to drop acid and left us in the living room alone, so we stole their beer and left. Ah, nothing like New Brunswick at 4 in the morning..... They are lucky we didn't take the stereo.
Part II: Canvassing Newark's Central Ward (Saturday morning -afternoon)
Such a bad idea. Like, worst idea ever.
So, there's this huge GOTV experiment happening in Jersey right now. The Left (ooh, capital L) wants to figure out how to get low-income minority folks to the polls across the nation, and since Jersey has big elections on the rest of the country's off year, folks have come from Texas and Michigan to guinea pig my state. (That's right, I verbed "guinea pig".) The NJEFers, as professional canvassers, are involved.
Here's part of the plan, from what I understand:
There are 3 groups of canvassers and 2 groups of canvassees (people who vote often, people who don't vote often.
The canvassER groups are:
1) people who actually are FROM the Central Ward (poor black people)
2) people who look like they COULD be from the Central Ward but actually aren't (rich black people)
3) people who are clearly *not* from the Central Ward (the NJEF canvassers)
Eric signed me up (thanks a lot) for a day of volunteer work canvassing people who HAVE voted in the last few elections. We got a list of names and addresses, a map, "Count on Me!" voter pledge cards, and door hangers. But wait, what does it say on the door knockers?
"Raising Up the BLACK Community!" Yes, "BLACK" was the biggest word on the door hanger.
So, I get dropped off, BY MYSELF, with a stack of neon green door hangers proclaiming my solidarity with my fellow black community-members, a sketchy map, a dying cell phone, and a hangover.
Let me be clear here. I grew up on the Newark border. I spent quite a bit of time trailing my dad with the Children's Health Project in Newark. I like Newark. There are some great neighborhoods in Newark. This was NOT one of those neighborhoods.
As I had no juice in my phone and three hours to kill before I got picked up, I decided that knocking on doors was the best way to go. My mission: Find the person on my list in the household. Tell them about the diesel emissions ballot question. Tell them to vote. Find out if they are planing to vote. If yes, ask them to sign a "Count On Me!" pledge. The pledge, by the way, seems enormously insulting considering the people I was talking to were on my list because they were already frequent voters. But, hey, I was already hanging flyers that said "BLACK" in giant letters, so what was one more level of insult?
Almost no one was home. Every other apartment was abandoned and boarded up. When someone did answer the door, it wasn't until they had first shouted at me warily through a closed window because, really, what the FUCK *could* I possibly be doing on their doorstep?
The last 25 names on my list were a few blocks away and in one building. I wandered, admittedly nervously, past a closed industrial building of some type and came upon the scariest building I have ever seen. It was about 8 stories and built in an L-shape. Balconies ran along each floor like a motel. The L faced away from the sun, so the entire complex was in shadow. Smashed glass and graffiti splattered the ground and walls. Count on the Left to send me, alone, to one of Newark's last remaining old school housing towers with a handful of insulting flyers.
Unsure what to do, I paused outside the parking lot for a split second and sized up the men squatting in the balcony corners and leaning by the door.
No. Fucking. Way. I can't afford another broken nose until I get health insurance.
Unfortunately, a couple guys saw me pause, and began calling after me until everyone on the balconies noticed me walking away. It like, rained comments that are not nice to say to young ladies. That's when I decided to use the one phone call's worth of battery I had to call for an early pickup.
After the election, some fancy schmancy staticians are going to tally up who voted and who didn't and see who they talked to at the door (local people, non-local black people, or white canvasser kids) and THEN they will know what type of GOTV works best. Anyone want to bet against what *I* think will be the result? What a dumb afternoon....
Part III: Moving the Fridge (Saturday afternoon)
Do I even need to tell a story here? I moved a fridge with Eric and his dad. Werd.
Well, I mean, I offered moral support. I think I helped a little....
Part IV: World/Inferno Show! (Saturday night)
Awesome show! Only got kicked in the head like, twice!
Lost my hat...... but found it again!
My pants ripped in half!
I got to see the top of the whole crowd!
We took the streets!
Finally, finally, I literally danced my pants off...
Part V: Some bar in Manhattan (early early Sunday morning)
One should not go to a bar in Manhattan when one has slept 4 hours in two days, gotten drunk at Rutgers, canvassed Newark, moved a fridge, danced one's pants literally off, and left a show in Brooklyn...... But we did! It was fun. I started 23, officially, with a bang and a shot. Found 20 bucks. Bought a pizza. Awkwardly shook hands with guys in rubber gloves. Crammed a bazillion (brazillion?) girls into one bathroom stall for girl talk. Good times.
But I was tired. Oh so tired. And ready to go home. Alas, there was a 40 minute subway ride between me and bed.
Part VI: The Two Hour, Forty Minute Subway Ride to Brooklyn (early Sunday morning)
Don't take the L train the wrong way because the G train will fail you. It wants you to go to Queens very badly, you see. From which point, one can only take the E because the V doesn't run on weekends. Which goes back past the PORT AUTHORITY before rejoining the F. On off-peak hours. Motherfucker...
Rode in a haze, fading in and out of awakeness.
Eyes open. Rat runs by. Eyes close.
Eyes open. It's time to switch trains. Eyes close.
Eyes open. A man in drag is sitting with his legs too open. Eyes close.
Eyes open. The sun rises over 16th street. We're home.
Part VII: My Birthday! (Sunday!) (25 hours long!)
Enjoyed a lazy Sunday of NY Times, grilled cheese, and tomato soup. Got up just in time to take a shower and watch the sun set from the roof. Went to dinner with good folks. Watched a horror movie. Enjoyed. =)
In conclusion, it was a weekend of excitement, danger, fun, and pot de creme.
Re-fucking-credible.
"Get home safely." "I will. I do. I always do."

An Incomplete List of What I Learned At Conference

2005-10-25T12:40:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
This weekend was "fake" conference in Ohio. About 40 canvassers gathered at an absolutely bizarre campground littered with seemingly abandoned RVs and staffed solely by stray cats and great danes to do a volunteer canvass and have a great party.
Here is a BRIEF list of what I learned:
1) The 'burb gets way better mileage when David is driving than when Eric is driving.
2) It takes 6 hours to get TO Ohio. But it takes 8 hours to get back. Weird...
3) You can see the Pleidies at night now.
4) You should vote YES to ballot issues 2-5 in Ohio.
5) Frozen chicken patties take a long time to grill.
6) It takes 7 canvassers to hang a tarp. It takes 4 to give directions to foreign turf. It takes 40 to finish three kegs.
7) There are no nuclear power plants in Indiana.
8) Great danes are scary when they are stray in the woods at night.
9) An 8 piece bucket of KFC costs 10.99. A 10 piece costs 8.99.
10) You *can* drink too much at conference.

Inspirational scene: So, we did a volunteer canvass in Ohio (see #4). It was drizzly when we crawled out of our tents in the morning. Everyone was a tad bleary-eyed as several of the offices had arrived only a few hours earlier and set up tents in the dark. Several canvassers huddled, trading jokes, around a sputtering fire and chewed on toasted bagels. Gradually, everyone trickled onto the covered pavillion on one side of the campground to receive instructions for the day's work. Some pulled on rain pants. Others adjusted bootlaces and wool hats. One sat with rain drops slowly growing and falling from the brim of his saturated trucker hat. No one complained. Everyone was ready to go. And, that, was one of the coolest things I have ever seen. 40 young people sitting in a cold drizzle, waiting for directions on how to canvass for an obscure off-year election ballot issue, for a state most of the us were not from, with no promise of compensation other than three kegs of good beer at the end of the night and a good party. That's democracy...

Tandy VGM-441!!!!

2005-10-19T11:35:00.000-04:00

Oh werd?
Who had fun at the party last weekend? (chorus of yays!)
Who could forget the conversation, the guitar playing, or how Pete/Mike came over? (Okay, I have no idea how Pete/Mike came over...)
Everyone will be happy to know that the damage report is quite small. No unfortunate stains. No feet marks on the wall from Amanda doing drunk cartwheels in the hallway. Oh, wait, there was one casualty of the weekend..... My monitor's screen got smashed.
Now wait wait.... this story has, if not a happy ending, a sort of entertaining one.
It seems Eric had an extra monitor lying around his parents' house: TANDY the Monitor!
TANDY comes with:
!) VGM441 POWER.
!) It features patented *Curved Screen Action*!
!) It can handle resolutions as high as 800 by 600!!!!
!) Almost 14 inches of viewing capability!
!) Eye-strengthening blurriness! (Woo! Trippy!)
Also, Tandy is a *vintage* monitor, thus increasing my Brooklyn-hipster street cred.
I called my Uncle Larry, certified computer expert and Star Trek fan, to find out just how much of a collectible Tandy really is.
KPd.: Hi Uncle Larry. My laptop screen got smashed.
UL: Ooh.... good party eh?
KPd.: Right, like no one else has said that.... Anyhoo, I got a replacement monitor.
UL: What type?
KPd.: a Tandy!
UL: :::erupts with laughter:::
KPd.: Is it really old do you think? Like, frm 1995 maybe?
UL: Try 1992. If that. Where on earth did you find that?

Some people, like my dad, ask: Kerry, how did you get Tandy from NJ to Brooklyn?
I'm glad you asked. Tandy features awesome "rotating base" technology, which allows you to get a great grip for easy portability. With Tandy, me and my laptop are still free to roam the wireless hot spots of Brooklyn, as long as there are places to rest Tandy on every 20 feet or so... oh.. and as long as the coffee shop has, like, a really solid surge protector. Don't ask....
Also, unlike 1991-era monitors, Tandy only ways like 72 pounds. Think of how much technological wonder you can pack into 72 pounds!
Ooh, and when you and your vintage monitor travel, don't expect to avoid attention. Everyone wants to hear about how you found such a cool computer screen.

Dude on subway: Is that for an art project?

Other random dude: What's a little lady like you doing with a monitor like that?

That's right. Tandy is a "random dude" magnet!
You may be wondering at this point: Kerry, Tandy is super cool and a great conversation piece, but shouldn't you maybe get a less-cool monitor for your day to day business? Ya know... so Tandy's coolness doesn't distract you too much?
To that I have three replies:
1) Radioshack is staffed by morons.
Radioshack guy: Werd, I can't find the SKU number for flat screen monitors. I'll just go through all the SKUs until I find it.
KPd.: Why not look it up on the Radioshack website....?
RG: Aw shit, that's a good idea, werd.
2) I don't want to hurt Tandy's feelings.
3) I'm unemployed. I only have enough money for one cheap-as-free hipster monitor at a time.

So, in conclusion, I hope everyone had fun at the party. I am currently accepting donations for the "Kerry's Day to Day Monitor Fund". If anyone has another cool vintage monitor... maybe a 1994 model.... let me know.....

Phoenix Phall Phunfest II

2005-10-10T18:30:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
So, a year ago, (see: October 2004 post - "Unbridled Enthusiasm") Ben and I attended PPP, a roller coaster festival (phestival) in Elysburg, Pennsylvania (Fennsylvania) where the weather was crisp, the coasters were smooth, the air time was big, and the pickles came on a stick. After having concentrated good-clean-fun, we decided we should go again this year and bring some more pholks. Eight sturdy souls signed on for an evening of awesomeness.
Unphortunately, the weather did not sign on. The forecast called for a monsoon with a hint of gross. Four of the sturdy souls decided that camping in the rain was not a good plan. That's when the other phour souls booked a hotel room.
The day dawned dark and gloomy. Ben and Aerob called early (11) to confirm with me and E-Rok while Team Jersey attempted to come up with a Saturday plan that did not involve getting soaked. (Pumpkin picking? Getting drunk outside the Rutgers football game?) As all of Team Jersey's ideas were also outdoors ideas, we were easily canvassed into coming to PA. The car ride was uneventful if you discount me and Aerob sending text messages between the phront seat and the back seat. =)
If rain could be "on a stick," then it was definitely on a stick Saturday night. The canvassers pulled on rain pants and coats. The normal people remembered to bring boots... or any type of footwear that did not have holes in the soles. The rides were slick. The high fives on the lift hill were enthusiastic. (Except when Eric was in the "high five" side of the train. Aw, sorry.) The fliers were stupendous. The windy rain stinging your eye balls gave an extra element of danger to an already sketchy ride. The bonfire was warm and toasty. The pizza was SARS-y and oozy.
If you are waiting for this story to have an arc, it doesn't. And all the good montage moments are only phunny to one person at a time. So, you'll just have to assume that the weekend was hilariously funny and great and wonderful and wet. Really really wet.
I'll leave you with a joyous snapshot of Aerob and Ben ducking, arms up, mouths open in astonishment, as E-Rok landed, two feet squarely planted, in an adjacent, giant, mud puddle.
Aerob: "You *KNEW* he was going to do that!"
Why do you think I was walking behind y'all? =D

Party Like a Rockstar in October!

2005-10-06T20:49:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
So, some of you may know that my birthday is arriving shortly. Mischief night!
Some of you may also know that I have been trying to find a good time to celebrate it.
The finalists are: Saturday October 15th
Saturday October 29th
I, personally, have a preference for the 29th. One 'lil sticking point.... I have tickets to see the World/Inferno Friendship Society in Brooklyn that night (they play at 11:15pm).
Sooo........ I was thinking of pre/post partying the concert.
Anyone who wants to attend this concert with me, can go to the following website:
www.worldinferno.com to find a link to buy tickets. They are $15.
If you want to skip the concert, feel free to
a) chill at my apt while I dance my pants off -or-
b) hang out somewhere else in the city and plan to arrive at 16th st around 1am-ish.
What do folks think? Let me know asap for proper party planning.
---KPd.

A Medley of Sketch

2005-10-03T00:15:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?So, this was a weekend of parties. Always a good thing... but there were definitely more than a few sketchily intoxicated people in my vicinity this weekend who provided some hilarity. So, without further ado...
Favorite lines overheard / moments witnessed this weekend:

Some dude: Are you really a Republican?
KPd.: It's a come as you aren't party.
Some dude: Oh.... but it's a come as you AREN'T party.
KPd.: Yeah.... I know.... So I came as a Republican.
Some dude: So, you ARE a Republican.
KPd.: No, it's a come as you are NOT party.
Some dude: Ohhh..... So.... then.... are you a Republican?

Some sketchy dude: So where are you from originally?
KPd.: North Jersey.
Some sketchy dude: Oh yeah..... Haaaa.... that is such a good state....

Sing-along: Wherever you go, there's always someone Jewish!
So if you feel alone and you're somewhere kinda.... ...newish...

Sketchy girl: So, do you smoke?
Sketchy dude: Smoke whaaaaaaat....?
Sketchy girl: Ciggarettes.
Sketchy guy: What about you Tara?
Tara: No.
Sketchy guy: Want to come on the balcony with us anyway?
Tara: No.
Sketchy guy: I'll get you my coat..... Haaaaa.....
Tara: No.

KPd: So then Bush says, "How many people IS three brazillions?!"
Some guy: Ya know what else is funny? Three brazillion blow jobs.

Some guy: So, if this is a come as you aren't party, did that guy mean to dress up like a 40 year old real estate agent nobody knows, or is that what he IS?
Some other guy: He came straight from work.

KPd.: Hey, can you toss me a pretzel?
Random Kid: ::::chucks high velocity pretzels at my head:::
KPd. and Tara: Ow!

TDK: I need my coat.
Tara: I'll get it for you. What does it look like?
TDK: It's flannel... And plaid... And it's like Winnie the Pooh.

Random girl: Okay, I got a five.
Random guy: Five, five, hands in the sky!
Other random guy: Wait, wasn't it high fives before?
TDK: I'm high.

Sketchy dude: You aren't drinking enough Kerry. I'm going to get you.
KPd.: Oh really?
Sketchy dude: Ha! Categories! (notes he's sitting 5 away from me) The category is: 6 of cards.
Random guy 1: Six of clubs.
Random guy 2: Six of spades.
Random guy 3: Six of hearts.
TDK: Wait, what's the category?
Sketchy dude: Just say a suit of cards. Any suit of cards.
TDK: My balls.
KPd.: ...And I was getting worried there...

Some guy: So, you three ladies all live *together*, eh?

TDK: It's really hard to roll this when you're drunk.

KPd.: Aw, I'm so glad he found somewhere safe to sleep.
Random guys: Hey! Dude! Wake up! We bought more beer!

TDK: Want to hear something funny?
KPd.: Okay, what?
TDK: ...What?

There were lots of good, fun, less sketchy moments at this party as well... but they were definitely less hilarious. Happy work week everyone!

Ten Reasons We Didn't Stop the War

2005-09-26T23:43:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
So, after this weekend, I didn't get a chance right away to read the paper or watch the news. I assumed that the war had been stopped because, like, DUH, a ton of people protested. Imagine my surprise when page A33434 of the NY Times reported that 25 people were killed in an ambush yesterday. So, here are my:
TEN REASONS WE DIDN'T STOP THE WAR THIS WEEKEND.
10) Not enough toilet paper in the porta potties. This led to people having to buy cheap sodas in order to pee in corporate locations like McDonalds and... um... Au Bon Pain! which clearly support the military industrial complex.
9) The line in Au Bon Pain. It was soooooo long! Half the march got tied up when they ran out of bread bowls!
8) The march route. Who had the bright idea to make the march route look like one of those "Which kite is Bobby flying?" puzzles from Highlights magazine? We would have totally stopped the war if any of us could figure out which direction to go.
7) The Dude in the Red Spandex Body Suit. Why is the Left so fricken weird? Like, we get it. Devils are bad. Bush is bad. A Devil walking *next* to Bush...... We get it. Subtle... But for pete's sake, wear some shorts over that body suit!
6) the Metro. It is so hard to use! I almost gave up on getting to the protest. I'm sure fainter hearts did. Also, it stops running at 2am, thus preventing protester parties. Jerks.
5) DC being far away. I know I didn't sleep the night before. I know a lot of other people who didn't get any sleep either. Protests should me more centrally located in blue zones to increase turnout. "Hey hey, ho ho! I'm gonna sleep forever when I get home!" "What do we want? Coffee!"
4) The Veterans for Peace. Okay... I know... they served their country and now they are critiquing the military, so we need to give them extra respect blah blah blah... They monopolized the whole march! I mean, it was one thing to let a few groups of them pass, but when the same groups started going by twice... They were almost as much fun to march near as the:
4b) Giant List of Fallen Soldiers. I know I know... This shouldn't be funny.... But it was kind of funny how no one wanted to be *anywhere* near that list in the march. Every time you saw a huge gap in the crowd, you can be sure a string of names was filing past.
3) The Office. "We'll just get one drink." What were we thinking getting four rounds of beer the midnight before the 5am drive to DC? Now if we had gotten the four rounds of beer at like... 11am.... *in* DC... the protest might have been WAY more fun.
2) The DC Police. Can you believe their outrageous behavior? I mean, if they would have busted just, like, one head... or maybe one can of tear gas... that would have gotten the crowd going for sure! We missed the energy they bring to any protest this weekend.
1) Ben forgot the snare drum. 'Nuff said.
Oh well. We didn't stop the war. But we *did* dance to Le Tigre. We *did* play hackysack with all of Clean Water Action. We *did* have a fun road trip.
I mean, did we really think we were going to stop it anyway?
I know I'm still feeling grinny. =)

Stockbrokers Ain't No Heroes

2005-09-23T18:48:00.000-04:00

...But they will buy you shots of tequila!
Oh, werd?
Tara's 23rd birthday went from lovely dinner to lovely adventure when we wandered into the Wednesday night Manhattan bar scene to celebrate. It all started innocently enough. After a drink at a table, we wandered up to sit at the bar, armed with our MadLibs. Simon, the bartender, helped us think of adverbs, and Liza ordered a round of shots. Just one, mind you, but if there is one thing that attracts rich, married financial dudes avoiding their wives, it's four young women taking a shot.
Bald Guy: Hi there.
KPd. Hey. How are you?
Bald Guy: You should try this beer.
KPd. OKey doke.
Bald guy: So, what do you do?
KPd. (smelling blood): Actually, I just moved from Jersey, and I don't have a job.
Bald guy: Oh, how vulnerable, I mean.... wonderful! for you.....
KPd.: So, are you gonna buy me a drink or what?

One bored married man became two.... then three..... and gosh, they all thought they could drink us under the table. Okay, in some of our cases they were right..... but I went head to head with, oh yes, the Vice President of Lamar advertising, and did alright. He told me he felt weird because he has a daughter my age. That's when I started to think maybe I had played this game a little too enthusiastically, downed our last shot, and looked for the rest of my crew......
Well, it turns out everyone else was a wee bit drunker than I was (yet) and much puking was had. Paid my respects to the bartender (who got the last round of beers, aww), collected various phone numbers (who knows? maybe I'll get a job), grabbed Tara, and marched towards the subway.
At this point, I got all of a sudden drunk. You know the feeling. It causes you to do things like:
1) send text messages that tell people how sober you are
2) send that text message 3 times by accident
3) hit Tara
4) take the subway, get bored, and take a taxi too, for good measure
We made it home safely. I didn't destroy any friendships via text message. I didn't throw up (but you already knew that, dear readers).
Spent all of Thursday tacking phone numbers to the kitchen wall and watching Season 2 of Friends. =D
HAPPY BDAY TARA!
(AND EMILY AND VICKY TOO!)

I am Not a Canvass Director

2005-09-21T13:00:00.000-04:00

But I've been offered the position twice now.
Here is my favorite job opening of the day:
http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/wri/98856393.html
Aw shnap. =D

Applying for Jobs... Again....

2005-09-15T13:07:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
So, as Vicky noted, I have successfully had and left my first post-college job. Time to find the NEXT post-college job. I wonder if, in like 35 years, I will be referring to my 29th post-college job. Perhaps I will have my 13th post-grad school job... Who knows?
Idealist.org features lots of grant-writing jobs. Like, the entire world needs grant writers. This is clearly a skill I should learn... But if I was that good at it, I'd just write grants for myself. I could ask for a $5000 grant to run away to Ireland again! Or... an $8400 grant to cover this year's rent. I would promise to do lots of activisty stuff with my resulting free time. I think the world would benefit immensely from me having lots of spare time! =D
Anyhoo, if there's one job I can get, it's street canvassing good 'ol NYC. As far as I can tell, that is the only job being offered on Craigslist. I can canvass to SAVE THE CHILDREN! or SAVE THE ARCTIC NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE! or SAVE LGBT RIGHTS! or even SAVE MY RENT PAYMENTS!!
But I would really like to expand my resume a bit. That's why the following post caught my eye: Collective Seeking Activist/Dogwalker/Catsitter in Queens
No, I did not make that up. It's a dogwalking collective called Dogwalking for the Rainforest/Petsitting for Non-Profits. They donate part of what they make to nonprofits... and... the... rainforest...? I guess... It was the longest posting I have ever seen on Craigslist. I was going to skip to the end when I saw: "You will not be considered if you don't take the time to read through this ad." Well, fuck.
Had I not read the ad, though, I would have missed the following:
BEST LINES IN THE DOGWALKER COLLECTIVE AD:
1) We need someone available to work for at least a one year period. (we do understand there are emergencies and activist as well as family obligations)
2) We aren't perfect as human beings.
3) We are interested in helping the collective as a whole.
4) We try and put the professional needs of the animals before any personal conflicts between walkers. Not that you would have any.
5) If brought in your first week or two with the collective might be a little overwhelming.
Why is the left so..... like this? =)
Yargh... the search for a job continues. And for a Montclair bus schedule.

The Quest for Curtains

2005-09-10T10:29:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd?
So, it has occurred to me that there are a few drawbacks to having the front room with all the windows. All the windows. There are windows up the front wall allowing the outside neighbors to see me get dressed. There are door windows which allow anyone in the living room to see me blogging. There is even a skylight that allows the neighbors to take a break from growing pot on the roof to watch me practice the dance moves in the "Decepticon" video. ( www.letigreworld.com)
Yesterday, I decided it was high time I acquired some curtains. First, I tried the lazy, bootleg way. My roommates and I have a large collection of random 'liberated' items, so I hung a McDonald's flag and a Citgo flag over the door with poorly aligned twine and stood back to admire my handywork. Surely, now, I could avoid a trip to Home Depot. Unfortunately, the twine has good comedic timing, so just as I went to put the hammer away it sagged across the middle and dropped the McD's flag. Damn.
Google maps provided me and my fellow intrepid explorer of Brooklyn, Aerob, with a small dot on top of Rt278. This, we knew, was where Home Depot, and curtains, could be found. With a nalgene, a backpack, a "Not for Tourists" guide to NYC, and a prayer, we set off.
After several blocks, we arrived at the dot. Lo and behold, we were standing underneath Rt278. There was a shopping cart, some bottles, and a cat, but no Home Depot. Undaunted, we decided to venture further into the tomblike world below the highway. A huge sign proclaimed that pedestrians were NOT allowed. But we knew that beyond that sign, were curtains, and glory.
Beyond the underpass, we found a parking lot filled with junk. The owner, or guard, of this lot lived in a trailer decorated by sunflowers (which terrify me, by the way). Next to the trailer was a HUGE doghouse for a dog named BEAR. (!!) We needed to walk past this lot to get to the haven of construction-zone-orange we could see around the bend. I heard a scrabbling along the fence, and there was Bear. He was a mangy skinny lab mutt (see: Donegal). No problem. =)
Once inside Home Depot, we were set upon by a legion of tricksters determined to steer us the wrong direction, give us conflicting advice, and send us into the poison lagoon that is the pesticides and cleaning supplies aisle as often as possible: THE HOME DEPOT STAFF!!!! You'd think that if your job was to, say, work in the storage aisle, you would know what was in it.
Me: "Excuse me, do you carry hangers?"
Employee: "Did you look in this aisle?"
Me: "Yes..."
Employee: "Were they there?"
Me: "No..."
Employee: "Well, there ya go. Maybe try breathing deeply in the pesticides aisle for a while."
Finally, we came to the aisle we were looking for, the CURTAIN ROD AISLE! A very unhelpful employee explained that we were never going to find anything, so we really shouldn't bother. Drawing on my canvasser training, a repeated to myself, "Don't let apathy make you apathetic!" and reached into the pile of rods. Success! I drew a gleaming curtain rod from the pile, placed it into my orange Home Depot bucket, dodged falling steel pipes, skidded around a corner, and dashed for the check out.
Several hours later, we had paid for our curtain rods, and stood heroically at the exit doors, surrounded by highway overpasses, underpasses, and a giant inflatable blue gorilla.
We had curtain rods!!!
I still don't have curtains, though.

What I Did With My Summer Vacation

2005-09-05T22:34:00.000-04:00

Oh, werd? It's been awhile, eh?
So, I took a hiatus from the internet this summer. No, really. I didn't check my email, I didn't read news online, I didn't see the new Teen Girl Squad cartoon, and I didn't sign onto AIM with some secret screen name. Nope.
I just decided to spend some time enjoying the non-screened world for a bit. It was quite relaxing. Everyone should try it. =D
Here is a summary of what I found in my email after 4 months:
[ONE Campaign]: Fight AIDS in Africa!
Try Viagra FREE for 4 months!
[WESunity]: Racism is bad!
Low low mortgage rates for YOU
Your Wesleyn email account is getting full.
Re: Let's go to a Met's game!
[ONE Campaign]: Perhaps you missed the last email, but AIDS is still a problem.
ViAHgreh free!! Low Low PRICE!
Your Wesleyan email account is getting full.
You have been pre-approved to have your identity stolen!
Does yOuR penIs enlargered? !!!11!!1!!!
[ONE Campaign]: Fuck your apathy!
Your Wesleyan email account has been disconnected.

So, yeah. That was email.... So what else did I do this summer?

April:
KPd.: I'm not sure if I want to work the summer or not yet.
Regional director dude: How can you still not be sure? It must be nice to not have to committ to anything ever, but I need to know. What else could possibly be bothering you?!
KPd.: Fine. Forget it. I'll work til September 1st.
RDD: If you were to stay until the end of September, that would be a 6-month committment, which is really what we look for.
KPd.: You're pushing it.

Summer:
KPd.: I have 4 observers?
Canvass director: And a retrain, yes.

KPd.: So, that's what we do.
Random person: :::brandishing clipboard at me::: Are you going to take this?
KPd.: Well, do you agree with our goals?
RP: :::drops clipboard in garbage:::

College-age guy: Environment? Come inside!
Retrainee: Thanks!
College-age guy's mom: Here are sodas for all of you!
KPd.: Thanks a lot!
CAG: Do you mind if I read you this poem? It reminds me of the environment.
KPd.: Okay.....
CAG: Can you read a verse?
KPd.: Um.... do you agree with our goals or not?
CAG: Yes.... but there's just one problem...... GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!
[Enter entire family with water guns and exit 6 soaked canvassers.]

Real estate woman: Okay, and I'll need 20 dollars for the credit checks.
KPd.: Credit check?

Aerob: We found a subletter. He's Ben's friend Artis's friend Tom.
Tom: I took the liberty of paying the summer's rent, repainting Tara's room, and making curry.

DD: There is nothing I can eat on the boardwalk.
KPd: There's pizza! And corn on the cob with butter! .........And BEER!

KPd.: I can't come into work today because I am throwing up....... but I *swear* it has nothing to do with alcohol!

Aunt Marnie: I knew this year's Cape May trip would be odd. I think MB is haunting us.

Claire: It's raining again.
Karlyn: Another great day at the beach......
Dad: I got cardboard rocket launchers we can fire at each other!
Mormen cousins: Are you sure we're related to the Doyles?

Uncle John, returning on his motorcycle with 5 colorful shovels strapped to his back: We are going to the beach to build the biggest damn sand castle the world has ever seen.

ClaireNKarlyn: Can we go to the boardwalk with Kerry and Kevin?
Uncle John: 2 rules: No tattoos. No lizards.

Bloomfield Avenue. 8am Sunday. Beers and ciggarettes in hand. Barefoot.
A family of well-dressed Jehovah's Witnesses walks by.
Heather: You know, we knock on doors too!

Heather: We are going to be so late for white water rafting...
DD: I know where I'm going. Look! There's the Pizza Hut!
Heather: Let's stop for lunch.
(1 hour later, at campsite)
Heather: Where is everyone?
Canvasser: They all left for white water rafting an hour ago.

(Upon finding the entire canvassers network arrayed in rafts at a safety training overlooking us)
E-Rok: Hey guys!
Rafting instructor: Who are these guys?
Rex: Oh. That's Jersey.
Rafting Instructor: Are you prepared to get bruised and bloodied?
E-Rok: ::shrugs::: Um... Yeah! Sure! Let's go!
Rafting Instructor: Grab a boat. Ask someone to fill you in on the training.

Kevin: Hi, I'm with the New Jersey Environmental Federation.
Random person: I gave to you like... a month ago...
Kevin: Naw... we only come once a year.
RP: No no.... I'm pretty sure... It was a young man named Englebert.
Kevin: (nervously) Um... I don't know of any Engleberts in the office right now...

KPd.: So, it turns out, there isn't a 2 dollar Irish pint night.
Canvassers: Aw...
KPd.: But... There's a buck fifty Irish pint night!

E-Rok: Let's go to the beach BEFORE work.
(4pm that day, at work.)
KPd. I'm really tired. I don't want to start canvassing.
E-Rok: Recline your chair.
KPd.: Huh?
E-Rok: I'm setting an alarm for 5.

Sadownik: (via phone) How are ya!?
KPd: Well, it's 7:30, and I have $25.
Sadownik: Is that good?
KPd: Well, I need $200.
Sadownik: Should I let you go?
KPd: Well, knocking on doors hasn't been working for me, so I'm going to try sitting for 5 minutes.

Kari Ann's brother: You need to get those kids out of this party.
KPd.: Okay man. Alright. Let me just get everyone together.
E-Rok and Chris:(ambushing me during this serious conversation): Throw Kerry in the pool!!!!!

E-Rok: :::bangs on Amanda's window at 6:30am with my belt to get her to wake up and let us into the apt.:::
Amanda: Who the fuck is on the roof at 6:30am?!?
E-Rok: I'm Kerry's friend! She's up here too! Kerry!
KPd.: (dangling my phone charger) Look! It's me! Here's my phone charger!
Amanda: Come inside. Find floor space. I'm going back to bed.

So, that was a sleepy version of my summer. I'm a little rusty with the typing... and thinking.... having not been on the internet in 4 months.... but I'll get back into the zone soon enough.
Jes posted pictures of me moving in today.
http://avenel.blogspot.com

CROSSTRAIN-MASTER! the new roleplay

2005-04-06T11:39:00.000-04:00

Oh werd? XT in 1 post? No problem!

You are the crosstrain. You find yourself on a strange couch in a cabin in Kentucky. There is an iPod on the television next to you. There are a couple of people milling around.
Obvious exits are south, east, and Michigan.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Introduce myself. __

You meet Rex, Wes, and Brent.
There is a 'burb named Birch with a smashed up windshield in the driveway, FYI.
Obvious exits are south, east, and Michigan.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Get in 'burb and drive to Michigan.__

So, the drive was pretty fun. What should have taken 9 hours... took about 14. Along the way, we stopped in a Pizza Hut in Kentucky and terrified the locals returning from church services with requests for vegetarian pizza options in the lunch buffet, long-haired young men, and Dropkick Murphys hoodies. Someone needs to teach the children in Paducah that it's not polite to point.
Somewhere deep into Indiana, a bunch of us got into an extended argument/discussion about monotheism vs. polytheism which, I soon discovered, is Rex's academic passion. It wasn't long before I could give a pretty good "Rex's history of monotheism" rap.
I slept on another couch, this time in East Lansing.

You find yourself in a strange Clean Water Action office. You do not know the rap. You are asked to train new staff anyway. Obvious exits are: none.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Run a rap circle and wing it.___

So, my first day was a bit of a disaster. Because I am an FM, I guess there was the assumption that I didn't need to have a retrain, or say, learn the rap before my first day in the field, but this assumption was, well... pretty wrong. The Michigan standard is lower than my NJ standard, but not *that* much lower. I returned to the meetup that night, covered in ice and snow, completely exhausted, and carrying only $31. A personal lowest total ever. Awesome!
Fortunately, the next day I received a retrain with Coy, the AT-hiking canvasser from Georgia, who gave me a dose of "slow your rap down, Jersey" and some much-needed confidence.

You find yourself at staff night (Thursdays). There is a ladder in the corner with a potted plant on it- Oops! Nevermind, the plant got smashed and the ladder has been kicked over. There is a card game in the corner. A table has been thrown through the computer stand. There are about 20 past-canvassers and 8 current. There is beer in the fridge.
What wouldst thou deu?
___Get another beer.__
___Meet fun people.__
___Stumble home at 7am and still make it to work Friday morning.__
You get +15 in your alcohol tolerance.

You find yourself in a basement (hey! it's the basement of the house you're staying in!). The air is clouded with smoke. Your canvass-director is spinning Michael Jackson records and Detroit electronic music. Coy is dancing and telling AT stories.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Soak it all in.__
Gain 15 peace of mind points.

You find yourself at a legislative breakfast. Senator Brader has offered you condolences on your late aunt. Several state environmental leaders do the same. This is disconcerting for you. To your left is a representative who is undecided on water diversion legislation.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Lobby him.__
Oops! He gives you the runaround, dodges your question, and offers an unrelated tale of algae so thick it claimed a basketball instead. You suck at lobbying. Lose 10 political-skillz points. Gain 10 "I knew your aunt" points.

You need to make weekly standard by having an amazing Friday total in order to stay on your crosstrain. You are also running the crew and have an observer. You are a tad hungover.
What wouldst thou deu?
___Raise standard.__
Success! You don't have to come home early!

You find yourself at another staff night, playing Republican (a dice game). You roll a 32. You are screwed. You needed doubles.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Look Rex in the eye and tell him I rolled a 55.__
Sorry! Rex is really good at this game. He calls your bluff. You lose. Gain 12 "take a shot, Kerry" points.

It is the weekend. You are attending a party with all the other midwest-area offices.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Stay up all night, drink too much, stage an anti-Bush protest at 2am with 20 other drunk activists, dance at a bar, play Michael Jackson's greatest hits cd on repeat, watch Zoolander, pass out somewhere, get breakfast the next morning.___

You are driving the 'burb. Rex is shouting instructions that are half serious. Dan is trying to give directions that are actually serious. Rex tells you you need to make a Michigan-left, but doesn't tell you what that is.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Accidently run 3 consecutive red lights and make a redonkculous left turn that involves making a right turn first. (WTF?)__
("Uh, Kerry? I don't know what they do in NJ, but even in Michigan, we stop at red lights. And slow down at yellow ones while I'm on the subject."
"Shut up, Rex.")

You are running the crew today. You have a retrain and an observer, you are in a tough town, and everyone needs to make standard and then some.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Rock it out.__
You and your crew do, indeed, rock it out. Everyone raises standard and has a good time. Your canvass director treats you and the crew to several bottles of wine at "half-priced bottle night" at this chill wine place. Gain 25 confidence points.

It is St. Patrick's Day! You are on a pub crawl that hasn't crawled past the first pub yet. Obvious exits are blurry.
What wouldst thou deu?
__Fuck it. This pub is good enough.___

You are at the airport. Obvious exits are your gate.
What wouldst thou deu?
___Get on plane.__
Oops! Your canvass director didn't buy your ticket until two days before you are scheduled to leave. You now owe Clean Water Action $300 and your soul. You lose all your Saturdays for the next two months, but that's the price you must pay to become....
THY CROSSTRAIN-MASTER!