{originally written September 28, 2007 - Friday}
Three cheers for Albert and the Washington Post Express. Since I changed jobs a year and a half ago, I take the commuter train from Rockville to Silver Spring. Every morning, rain or shine, Albert faithfully stands at the West entrance to the Rockville Metro handing out the "Express", a free commuters tabloid version of the Washington Post.
Kudos to the Washington Post for getting it right. The Express is an abridged Readers Digest version of The Post. It's just enough news bites for the 15-minute traffic-free train ride to my office. Here's the Express' "Supply Chain":
1. Highly-educated journalists develop reports and analysis of sometimes horrific, world-shaking, &/or interesting political, sports, and human-interest events.
2. Editors condense articles into a couple hundred words or less, often with humorous, hip, LOL headlines and punchlines.
3. Mini-stories are laid out in a 25-page tabloid surrounded by a ton of ads.
4. Published daily, the Express awaits the hordes of rush-hour commuters heading towards DC.
5. Awesome Albert personally greets us every weekday morning, and hands us our paper. This is the most important step: delivery and dissemination.
Albert cheers us on as we troop towards the trains. He compliments us. He encourages us. He shakes hands. He hugs us. He pats us on the back. We stand in line to take papers from Albert's hand, rather than take from the pile. His love is infectious. Everyone - young, old, black, white - has caught Albert's fever.
"Good morning my little sister, looking beautiful today."
"Love that color on you."
"Be careful on the stairs. Walk, don't run."
"Good morning, my brother."
"Is everything OK today? Be happy."
"Like your necklace."
"How U doin', young brother?" [with cool handshake]
"Brothers and sisters, have a nice day."
What does he DO?
Why is he here EVERY day?
How can he always be so HAPPY?
Can he LIVE off this?
How can I HELP him?
Will I see him tomorrow?
If he can face the world, thus so, then surely so can I. I'm feeling good.
Today, Albert is flanked by a well-built, armed security guard (police?). Hmmm. Wonder what's up? (Terrorist threat crosses mind...) A couple feet away stands a whisper of a woman, trying to get a piece of Albert's action, feebly trying to give away her free little English newspaper published by the Falun Gong (the quasi-religious Qi-Gong group banned in China as revolutionary); but she has no interpersonal skills and no takers. Today, after one and a half years of greeting him, I stop, we hug, and I ask, "What is your name?" The policeman smiles and looks away. Albert points to a pin on his work vest, "Albert. It's Albert. What's your's?"
Attention Washington Post: Give this man a raise, and never let him go!
-------------------
Postscript August 5, 2008: I've gotten to know Albert a lot better since I first wrote this. Albert, you are the most warm-hearted, inspirational, articulate, and loving man. Congratulations Albert on your recognition in today's Washington Post Express, page 11!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
A BOY WHO GREW UP WITH MUSIC
{this was written September 23, 2007 - Sunday}
My oldest son made so much noise as a baby. That's an understatement, and not a cliche. There was constant brain-throbbing "WAHHHHH-WAHHH" and "BA-BAh-BAH-ba-bab-ba" coupled with eXtreme physical energy. With a December birthday, my son was 2 1/2 when he entered Pre-School at a church.
And with that he began church choir, "Cherubs". This was weekly singing training, rewarded mid-way with snacks, with occasional exposure to Orff instruments, summer camps, and monthly church appearances wearing choir vestments. It was wonderful to channel some noise into song.
After 4 years, he auditioned for the National Cathedral Boys Training Choir and passed. This included three rehearsals weekly, plus Sunday singing at the Bethlehem chapel. The Rite II liturgy is continually interspersed with hymns, psalms, anthems. This reinforced associating lyrics with melody, and likely helped accelerate reading English language, memorization, and music sight-reading. The Choirmaster/Organist was a young tall and handsome Brit, and the coolest man he'd ever known. And he became to trust in God.
After 2 years, and our beloved Brit departed, we too shifted gears slightly. He changed to the Childrens Choristers at the [new] church were he had been attending lower school. And changed schools to a private all-boys school with a great music program; and more cool male teachers. I started to allow listening to pop music; thus ending the total classical immersion. At church, the Choristers reinforced tradition the same as the cathedral, adding chants, masses, and motets. For the next six (6) years, he pretty much learned the entire Hymnal, plus a very healthy repertoire of Bach, Handel, Mozart, Byrd, etc., American Spiritual and even awesome living composers. ;) At school, he was part of a singing wave, resulting in singing with their all-boys group at Kennedy Center, Carnegie Hall, and regional churches, etc. Summers he is singing in children's opera and even with super roles in adult opera. Parallel to this whole time, he is playing violin. He becomes one with sound. The noise never stops, and thank God it takes some form besides being an out-of-control boy with ADHD.
My most unforgettable moment was his treble solo at a DC evensong, "Pie Jesu", from Gabriel Faure's Requiem, backed by string quartet, where several ladies who didn't know him began to weep. (Me? I cry all the time.)
He is physically intelligent, meaning he knows to move. He can copy runners like Michael Johnson, and is a natural when picking up any sport. At middle school dances he loves shaking around, and has been known to run 'n slide across the floor ending up on his knees. He starts to imitate hip-hop dance. His voice changes. Partly in honor of his voice change, he switches to viola (which is an octave deeper voice than the violin).
He changes to public school for high school. Things start running on auto-pilot. "They say" everything you are gonna teach a child has to be taught when they are young. The foundation has already been built, or not. He goes deeper in special subjects - theory, solo viola, orchestra, etc. But he won't stop singing - and he's in the male a capella group at school. They dance and sing. Recently I figured out it was time to let him take private voice lessons. I had waited - I heard advice that boys should not take private voice lessons too young. We finally found a man - a tenor from the opera genre - who drives down from NY to give lessons weekly @ $85/hr.
I only went to the second lesson and not since (my son drives now). I was told my son would be learning all about sex. That for men to control their breathing and sound projection for singing there is some kind of throat-clearing grunting or muscle deep down that he needs to use. And that it is not unlike when you have sex??? Hmmm... Really... Did I hear correctly?? "Ah, ... OK, you're the teacher." These are lessons about which I don't have to nag! He eagerly goes and does his daily practices. And man, is he happy with himself! And I am happy with his gorgeous and maturing voice.
The other night, he tries to show me his latest exercise. Mind you, he's buff, got a six-pack, and refuses to wear shirts at home. Wearing shorts with boxers exposed, he says, "Watch me." He stands with feet straddle, hands on hips, moving his hips in a circular motion, and starts singing one of his a capella group songs ("Uptown Girl"). OKay... Son No. 3 hears from downstairs, and comes leaping up the stairs. Not a singer, but a joker, he starts singing along - and Krumping up against Son No. 1; he is also shirtless and in shorts. Krumping is this bump/grind, arm-flagging, chest-thrusting, butt-shaking hip-hop dance. We are dying laughing ROFL like crazy. I guess this makes up for last week when No. 3 was playing lovely Chopin on the piano for me, and No. 1 went up against him Krumping and Clowning. They switch to Soulja Boy. They won't stop dancing, singing, and laughing. I've got my head turned to the side with my hand to my face in peek-a-boo form. I can't look straight on, but only from the corner of my eye. With a tear, because he is grown-up now.
i promise the next blog (if there is one) will be very short!
My oldest son made so much noise as a baby. That's an understatement, and not a cliche. There was constant brain-throbbing "WAHHHHH-WAHHH" and "BA-BAh-BAH-ba-bab-ba" coupled with eXtreme physical energy. With a December birthday, my son was 2 1/2 when he entered Pre-School at a church.
And with that he began church choir, "Cherubs". This was weekly singing training, rewarded mid-way with snacks, with occasional exposure to Orff instruments, summer camps, and monthly church appearances wearing choir vestments. It was wonderful to channel some noise into song.
After 4 years, he auditioned for the National Cathedral Boys Training Choir and passed. This included three rehearsals weekly, plus Sunday singing at the Bethlehem chapel. The Rite II liturgy is continually interspersed with hymns, psalms, anthems. This reinforced associating lyrics with melody, and likely helped accelerate reading English language, memorization, and music sight-reading. The Choirmaster/Organist was a young tall and handsome Brit, and the coolest man he'd ever known. And he became to trust in God.
After 2 years, and our beloved Brit departed, we too shifted gears slightly. He changed to the Childrens Choristers at the [new] church were he had been attending lower school. And changed schools to a private all-boys school with a great music program; and more cool male teachers. I started to allow listening to pop music; thus ending the total classical immersion. At church, the Choristers reinforced tradition the same as the cathedral, adding chants, masses, and motets. For the next six (6) years, he pretty much learned the entire Hymnal, plus a very healthy repertoire of Bach, Handel, Mozart, Byrd, etc., American Spiritual and even awesome living composers. ;) At school, he was part of a singing wave, resulting in singing with their all-boys group at Kennedy Center, Carnegie Hall, and regional churches, etc. Summers he is singing in children's opera and even with super roles in adult opera. Parallel to this whole time, he is playing violin. He becomes one with sound. The noise never stops, and thank God it takes some form besides being an out-of-control boy with ADHD.
My most unforgettable moment was his treble solo at a DC evensong, "Pie Jesu", from Gabriel Faure's Requiem, backed by string quartet, where several ladies who didn't know him began to weep. (Me? I cry all the time.)
He is physically intelligent, meaning he knows to move. He can copy runners like Michael Johnson, and is a natural when picking up any sport. At middle school dances he loves shaking around, and has been known to run 'n slide across the floor ending up on his knees. He starts to imitate hip-hop dance. His voice changes. Partly in honor of his voice change, he switches to viola (which is an octave deeper voice than the violin).
He changes to public school for high school. Things start running on auto-pilot. "They say" everything you are gonna teach a child has to be taught when they are young. The foundation has already been built, or not. He goes deeper in special subjects - theory, solo viola, orchestra, etc. But he won't stop singing - and he's in the male a capella group at school. They dance and sing. Recently I figured out it was time to let him take private voice lessons. I had waited - I heard advice that boys should not take private voice lessons too young. We finally found a man - a tenor from the opera genre - who drives down from NY to give lessons weekly @ $85/hr.
I only went to the second lesson and not since (my son drives now). I was told my son would be learning all about sex. That for men to control their breathing and sound projection for singing there is some kind of throat-clearing grunting or muscle deep down that he needs to use. And that it is not unlike when you have sex??? Hmmm... Really... Did I hear correctly?? "Ah, ... OK, you're the teacher." These are lessons about which I don't have to nag! He eagerly goes and does his daily practices. And man, is he happy with himself! And I am happy with his gorgeous and maturing voice.
The other night, he tries to show me his latest exercise. Mind you, he's buff, got a six-pack, and refuses to wear shirts at home. Wearing shorts with boxers exposed, he says, "Watch me." He stands with feet straddle, hands on hips, moving his hips in a circular motion, and starts singing one of his a capella group songs ("Uptown Girl"). OKay... Son No. 3 hears from downstairs, and comes leaping up the stairs. Not a singer, but a joker, he starts singing along - and Krumping up against Son No. 1; he is also shirtless and in shorts. Krumping is this bump/grind, arm-flagging, chest-thrusting, butt-shaking hip-hop dance. We are dying laughing ROFL like crazy. I guess this makes up for last week when No. 3 was playing lovely Chopin on the piano for me, and No. 1 went up against him Krumping and Clowning. They switch to Soulja Boy. They won't stop dancing, singing, and laughing. I've got my head turned to the side with my hand to my face in peek-a-boo form. I can't look straight on, but only from the corner of my eye. With a tear, because he is grown-up now.
i promise the next blog (if there is one) will be very short!
HOW I FAILED AT MIT
{1st written on September 15, 2007 - Saturday}
For Blog's sake, I dust the cobwebs off some memory strands, and let you take a dip into the waters of my * pensieve* (for you Harry Potter fans).
When I was studying Chinese, someone came to my class and asked for people to practice English with some Chinese scholars. I volunteered. Why not? "Fang Wen Xue Jia", Chinese government-sponsored visiting scholars, were on educational exchange programs at US universities as part of Deng Xiaoping's new Modernization initiative.
I became great friends with this group of Chinese ex-pats. They were the first people allowed to leave China since the Cultural Revolution (and Mao Zedong's death). All left behind families in China, thus ensuring their good behavior and eventual return. Although nearly a generation older than I, some came to lean on me for friendship while they sort of worked out issues ranging from being shell-shocked because this country was so well-off and China was so poor, to having to live in dorm-like arrangements with other forty-something-year old Chinese, to getting mugged.
Most of the scholars had research positions at MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, Mass. for you noobs). One time I went to an office to meet one of them. Around this time someone was stalking me. I was paranoid, and I mixed up my routine so that I was very hard to find. Often I would go eat dumplings at their apartment just to delay my hours to get home and to enjoy their humble parties.
I went to an MIT lab building, to my friend's tiny office in the basement. We were chatting, I recall sensing the walls shake. "Did you feel that?" "Feel what?" "The walls are shaking... We are having an earthquake."
I'm sure we used a little translation dictionary. He looked at me, cocked his head. He knew I was afraid of the stalker. He suggested, maybe I needed a little rest, I need to relax. He didn't notice anything. I firmly stuck to my story. Didn't I feel the trembling, and didn't I even hear a little rumbling? I insisted and insisted (was a bit stubborn?). I kept staring at the walls. All's quiet now. Oh well. So we dropped it, and it was time to leave.
MIT's campus is this labyrinth of buildings, some architecturally striking and some like cement boxes without a name. To exit, I would go back how I came: through the archetypal LONG L-O-N-G main lobby that is MIT's heart & soul. This "lobby" actually connects several building together and I don't know its name but it would take me through campus from the East and out onto Mass. Ave. Then I would walk to the subway for the Red Line to home.
Deep in thought, I started the walk down the lobby. I entered a large "great room" or hall, part of the lobby. Suddenly I saw - i dunno? - 15-20 guys?, all guys (white guys?) sitting in one long line at several folding tables parallel to lobby path. They all, each and every one, whipped out and held up these 8x11" signs . Every sign read "2". Just I, the only female, and them. In an instant, time switched into slow motion.
"What are they doing?" "Are they talking about me?" "2?" "O shit." "You can't stop." "Don't falter." Can I turn around and go back?" "No this is the way out." "Continue forward!"
As if nothing happened, I kept walking. I put a pleasant little fixed smile on my face, stared ahead, and kept going. Did I twitch? It was the longest 10 or 15 seconds. What is the time period of this memory? This happened not long after the movie "10" with Bo Derek came out - and everyone was ga-ga over the movie. I had not seen it. I never will. My uncle would talk about how hot Bo is, and assign numbers to different women. I heard him talk.
"Am I a 2?" "O, God, I am ugly!" "I don't compare to beautiful girls." "Wait." "They put those signs up too fast... and all at once... and they didn't have a chance to really look at me..." "They all say 2." "I'm not a 10, but I'm not a 2!" "Well, maybe a mixture; but surely not all the same score from every guy." "Yeah, that stupid movie '10' with Bo Derek; that's it." "I reject sexist crap that rates women." "Whoever falls for that crap is stupid."
And then I started to laugh or giggle. I completed most of the walk with a real smile and giggles. It's a good joke, a cool joke, might as well go with the flow. They were all jolly, not loud. As I was about to exit the hall, I caught one or two of them in the eyes, and heard them say -- something like (can't remember the exact words) -- maybe "you're nice"?? -- and for sure "you've got a great sense of humor". That's how I failed at MIT. How do you think the other women who passed thru the hall that night reacted?
The next day, the Chinese scholar phoned me. The news reported an earthquake in New Hampshire the previous day. Some tremors were felt as far south as Boston (maybe 60-100 miles away?) and beyond. He could not believe it!! He was very happy. He was listening to the radio - and he says he usually does not listen to the radio. He says it was his destiny to listen to the radio in order to know I was right after all. He says I have excellent senses!
Sorry if this blog is too long! Who can corroborate the date and time of this story (by looking up earthquakes in NH after the release of "10")?
For Blog's sake, I dust the cobwebs off some memory strands, and let you take a dip into the waters of my * pensieve* (for you Harry Potter fans).
When I was studying Chinese, someone came to my class and asked for people to practice English with some Chinese scholars. I volunteered. Why not? "Fang Wen Xue Jia", Chinese government-sponsored visiting scholars, were on educational exchange programs at US universities as part of Deng Xiaoping's new Modernization initiative.
I became great friends with this group of Chinese ex-pats. They were the first people allowed to leave China since the Cultural Revolution (and Mao Zedong's death). All left behind families in China, thus ensuring their good behavior and eventual return. Although nearly a generation older than I, some came to lean on me for friendship while they sort of worked out issues ranging from being shell-shocked because this country was so well-off and China was so poor, to having to live in dorm-like arrangements with other forty-something-year old Chinese, to getting mugged.
Most of the scholars had research positions at MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, Mass. for you noobs). One time I went to an office to meet one of them. Around this time someone was stalking me. I was paranoid, and I mixed up my routine so that I was very hard to find. Often I would go eat dumplings at their apartment just to delay my hours to get home and to enjoy their humble parties.
I went to an MIT lab building, to my friend's tiny office in the basement. We were chatting, I recall sensing the walls shake. "Did you feel that?" "Feel what?" "The walls are shaking... We are having an earthquake."
I'm sure we used a little translation dictionary. He looked at me, cocked his head. He knew I was afraid of the stalker. He suggested, maybe I needed a little rest, I need to relax. He didn't notice anything. I firmly stuck to my story. Didn't I feel the trembling, and didn't I even hear a little rumbling? I insisted and insisted (was a bit stubborn?). I kept staring at the walls. All's quiet now. Oh well. So we dropped it, and it was time to leave.
MIT's campus is this labyrinth of buildings, some architecturally striking and some like cement boxes without a name. To exit, I would go back how I came: through the archetypal LONG L-O-N-G main lobby that is MIT's heart & soul. This "lobby" actually connects several building together and I don't know its name but it would take me through campus from the East and out onto Mass. Ave. Then I would walk to the subway for the Red Line to home.
Deep in thought, I started the walk down the lobby. I entered a large "great room" or hall, part of the lobby. Suddenly I saw - i dunno? - 15-20 guys?, all guys (white guys?) sitting in one long line at several folding tables parallel to lobby path. They all, each and every one, whipped out and held up these 8x11" signs . Every sign read "2". Just I, the only female, and them. In an instant, time switched into slow motion.
"What are they doing?" "Are they talking about me?" "2?" "O shit." "You can't stop." "Don't falter." Can I turn around and go back?" "No this is the way out." "Continue forward!"
As if nothing happened, I kept walking. I put a pleasant little fixed smile on my face, stared ahead, and kept going. Did I twitch? It was the longest 10 or 15 seconds. What is the time period of this memory? This happened not long after the movie "10" with Bo Derek came out - and everyone was ga-ga over the movie. I had not seen it. I never will. My uncle would talk about how hot Bo is, and assign numbers to different women. I heard him talk.
"Am I a 2?" "O, God, I am ugly!" "I don't compare to beautiful girls." "Wait." "They put those signs up too fast... and all at once... and they didn't have a chance to really look at me..." "They all say 2." "I'm not a 10, but I'm not a 2!" "Well, maybe a mixture; but surely not all the same score from every guy." "Yeah, that stupid movie '10' with Bo Derek; that's it." "I reject sexist crap that rates women." "Whoever falls for that crap is stupid."
And then I started to laugh or giggle. I completed most of the walk with a real smile and giggles. It's a good joke, a cool joke, might as well go with the flow. They were all jolly, not loud. As I was about to exit the hall, I caught one or two of them in the eyes, and heard them say -- something like (can't remember the exact words) -- maybe "you're nice"?? -- and for sure "you've got a great sense of humor". That's how I failed at MIT. How do you think the other women who passed thru the hall that night reacted?
The next day, the Chinese scholar phoned me. The news reported an earthquake in New Hampshire the previous day. Some tremors were felt as far south as Boston (maybe 60-100 miles away?) and beyond. He could not believe it!! He was very happy. He was listening to the radio - and he says he usually does not listen to the radio. He says it was his destiny to listen to the radio in order to know I was right after all. He says I have excellent senses!
Sorry if this blog is too long! Who can corroborate the date and time of this story (by looking up earthquakes in NH after the release of "10")?
MY VISIT TO THE ACUPUNCTURIST
{originally written September 7, 2007 - Friday}
Hi & welcome, this is my first EVER blog entry. I have two friends who blog. This is new territory for me. I don't surf blogs either. Why am I doing this?
Today I decided to leave work early and go see my trusted acupuncturist. I have this numbness at the nape of my neck... :(
First he lets me relax, supine position, on this flat bed. It has heated rollers that travel slowly up and down the spine. The rollers stop along each section of my spine (~ 8 times), pressing and lingering for a while, then proceed to go "round the world" a couple time, before continuing to its next stop on the spine. All the while, various and delicate Chinese music plays softly. :)
After about 20-30 minutes - who's counting? - I move to a massage table prone position, face down. He's now working on my neck. I lost count, but let's say "8", for good luck. He put 8 needles in a several inch radius. I never felt a thing. He placed two vacuum cups in the center - each a couple inches in diameter. He has a sort of tool/gun - looks a little like a caulking gun - that he squeezes to suck the air out of the cup. Then he attached electrodes to the needles and some sort of heat to the cups, in order to vibrate and stimulate my nerves. Again, my problem was numbness in my neck, so he kept jacking up the power because I could not feel anything. Seems I went about 4X thresholds he was expecting - up to the Frankenstein setting - before I flinched. Then he let me go overtime. His final touch was hand massage to the neck area. :) There are residual "hickeys" from the suction cups.
He wants me to sit up straight while sitting. From now on I should really be sitting on my Swooper Stool for computer work.
Records show it was over 1 &1/2 years since my last visit. I felt so bad. My co-payment is only $15 (and he tried to give me a discount on that!), and my insurance covers the rest. Ah, why don't I go more often??
He is [known as] the "Happy Doctor" (with the Santa Claus eyes). No matter what you go in for, you leave with this incredible exhilarating high and a case of the giggles for several more hours. Don't let anything spoil it.
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