9-11 plus 7

I drove by the Pentagon last night, and saw the 9/11 Memorial all lit up. It's being dedicated today, 7 years later.

I felt like I should write something about 9/11. There's a lot I could write. I could write my story, but I've told my story before. I lived it, and I replayed it in my head for months afterward. And my story, while it seems harrowing to so many people who weren't in NYC or at the Pentagon that day, is nothing compared to the stories of many of my friends.

I'll just say that I feel so lucky that Steve and I are here, and together. And we are lucky that no one we are close to was killed on 9/11.

Life goes on. For most of us.

No Sleep 'Til ...

The Beastie Boys' "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn" recently got me thinking about my prior life in the NYC area. Strangely, my 2 years in Hoboken, NJ, was what came to mind, versus my 4 years actually in Brooklyn. Hoboken wasn't too bad -- it is a fairly safe, cute town with lots of restaurants and bars and an easy commute to Manhattan. But nothing could erase the reality of its location in the Garden State.

I used to go visit my aunt's family on Long Island pretty regularly, and when I lived in Hoboken, she would often introduce me as "my niece from New Jersey." It pained me deeply when she would say this, and I actually asked her to please stop telling people I was "from New Jersey."

After I moved to Brooklyn (Borough of Kings), I cast aside all ties to New Jersey faster than you can say "What exit?" It was as if I'd never lived there. Wiped from my personal history. Meanwhile, my colleague Tim had just moved to Jersey City -- the nice part. At the time, the nice part was only a couple of blocks long. Tim was telling us one day about his weekend plans, which included a bachelor party, and, much to his chagrin, a ride on "The Beast," a giant, loud, garish motorboat for tourists with shark teeth painted on the front (photo at right). Jason remarked, "Tim, if you die on that boat, your obituary is going to say you died on The Beast." And, giddy with opportunity, I immediately followed up, "AND it will say you're from New Jersey!"

Truthfully, Jersey wasn't really that bad. I just didn't love Hoboken enough to stand up against the stereotypes. Hoboken doesn't have much character -- the birthplace of baseball has long since been overrun with young college graduates hitting the bar scene. Brooklyn, on the other hand, has a soul.

Two Plates and a Story

The other day I saw a Mini Cooper with the following license plate. Not sure if he was referring ironically to the car, or maybe to something more personal.

B1GPKG

Then I saw one that might belong to a urologist:

P SOLACE

The P license plate reminded me of a story told by my friend Deb. Right after college, she moved to NYC without a full-time job and started doing some temp work. For several months she temped in the urology department of a big NYC hospital. One of her duties was inputting the answers from a patient questionnaire into the computer system. And one of the questions on the questionnaire went something like this:

When I urinate, I feel:
A. Intense pain
B. Discomfort
C. Nothing unusual
D. Delighted

To this day I remember her waves of giggles as she relayed the "delighted" option.

It was not until I had had a UTI of my own and had recovered from it that I understood how truly delightful it is to pee with the absence of pain.

Why Is It That...

...people who announce their pregnancies to the world (via email spam to distant acquaintances to whom they haven't spoken in months and months) when the pee is barely dry on the HPT stick *rarely* seem to have to follow up with a sad announcement? None of the early public announcers I have known have had any kind of adversity in the following weeks.

One-third of confirmed pregnancies end in losses, but it seems to me that the one-third must sit disproportionately with certain people.

I guess some of us are just freaking lucky.

Which Student Is More Deserving?

On Saturday, the Washington Post ran an article on page B1 about a student who has been expelled from Thomas Jefferson High School for for Science and Technology. The reason, the Post breathlessly reported, was the student's 2.8 GPA.

The student, Matt, (I won't include his last name here) is the son of a Fairfax, VA, electrical engineer and an accountant. He and his family were reportedly "puzzled" in spite of the fact that Matt was placed in an intervention program last August for his mediocre grades and failed to pull them up. Of particular interest is that his science and math grades were a B and a C, respectively -- at a math/science magnets school. Furthermore, his GPA was lifted by his three dubious A's: in physical education, driver's ed, and photojournalism. Matt's local high school is likely the right place for a student of his academic caliber. And yet his parents have taken his case to the Washington Post.

Matt's situation stands in stark contrast to that of Cedric Jennings, also the subject of a feature in the Post on Saturday, page C1. Cedric was raised by a single mom, and his dad spent Cedric's childhood in jail on drug charges. In spite of incredible adversity, Cedric graduated from DC's embattled Ballou Senior High, went on to graduate from Brown University, and later earned two master's degrees. Cedric is now a social worker and is considering going for a PhD.

Cedric has made so much out of so little.

And Matt has made so little out of so much.

This Is What's Wrong With Business Communication Today

It's been a rough few weeks at work, with a major project taking over many of our lives. I don't even know how many dinners I ate at the office. Too many. But we should be out of the woods at this point, and I hope to avoid similar efforts in the future.

I do have one observation from this whole experience, related to poor business communication.

In a meeting earlier this week, one participant suddenly started handing out chocolate bars. In the disarray that followed as everyone reached for the candy, another guy stated, only partially tongue-in-cheek: "I didn't know you'd be implementing a food distribution program."

This would be otherwise known -- to normal people -- as "handing out snacks."

Where I'll be until July 14th

We'll be in Emerald Isle, NC, for a long overdue week of vacation. Happy Independence Day, and I'll see you when we get back!