Be Mine

Saint Valentine; he is among the elite in American history. He is among the Final Four of demigods (along with Martin Luther King, Saint Patrick, and Columbus) to have a national holiday in his name. I’d even go as far as saying his idyll celebration of love among intimate companions has been pretty instrumental in shaping American foreign policy over the past few decades. I would also conjecture that he was a relatively homely man, since more people associate his day with a naked baby with a crossbow than with himself. But that is beside the point.

Now, for all the love Valentine exhumes, the holiday has an ironically polarizing effect, drawing people into a game of tug-of-war, with those on Team Hate sporting macabre clothing in an attempt to draw Team Love off of cloud nine. On the scale from one to love, I usually fall somewhere around indifference. Historically speaking, I am more often than not (alright, always) single on Valentine’s Day. This doesn’t bother me because my independent spirit can’t be restrained by the shackles of a relationship (or so I rationalize). And the optimist in me see’s Valentine’s Day as an annual self-evaluation. What went wrong this past year? What improvements can be made for the upcoming year? (For example, I’ve come to terms with my flawed logic when I hypothesized that braces would up my game).

Well, this year, I decided to throw a little oregano in my Ragu. I received an email advertising for a Vanetine’s one time cooking class in Sunny’s Kitchen. For $55, the class offered to impress your someone special with the following 3-course menu: Caprese (tomato basil with fresh mozzarella) salad, wild mushroom risotto, roasted balsamic asparagus, Thai marinated flank steak, and chocolate covered strawberries. Class will also include tips for setting the mood to make Valentine’s Day 2010 unforgettable! My friend Molly and I signed up, figuring that we would at least get a decent meal out of the experience.

Well, one week prior to Sunny’s cooking class, I receive a call from an unknown number. Whenever I receive a call on my cell phone from an unknown number my heart sinks slightly. My mind immediately wanders, wondering if I incorrectly filed my taxes the previous spring, or, with frequency that even surprises me, I think maybe it’s someone calling to tell me it’s the Truman Show (which would really bring some of the pieces of my puzzle together). Hello? It’s Sunny from “In Sunny’s Kitchen”…[sign of relief]…informing me that we are one individual shy of being able to host the Valentine cooking class. How many is one short? Three. In order to host the cooking class a total of four individuals needed to sign up for the class. Molly and I aside, only one other individual in the entire Washington Metropolitan area found this cornucopia of food intriguing? Where is the love? Apparently not in DC (another point I use to rationalize my single status). Sunny said he would call me in a few days to give me the final verdict.

If the omens hold any truth, it looks like another year of celibacy. A few days later, Sunny called me back. With the Snowmageddon that pummeled the region, Sunny was able to save face. This culinary class was cancelled due to inclement weather, not lack of interest. Looks like not even Sunny could keep the sun out this Valentine’s Day.

Snowmageddon

Having grown up in the Washington DC area, I’ve always had a fond appreciation for snowfall. At an early age, I learned the direct relationship between inches of snow and number of days off from school. But just like a good mathematician, learning the intricacies of differential equations comes with experience and time. As a young professional I am just now learning the impact of an impending blizzard on worker productivity. Empirical evidence indicates that nearly 100% of commerce and roughly 50% of worker productivity is spent in anticipation of the snowstorm.

Of course, the threat of even the slightest flake-falling or flurrying frightens frantic families from facing the fear of famine (V : Vendetta :: F : Frozen vapor) and likely accounts for a 30% surge in daily grocery store revenues, with more extreme surges for staples such as milk, bread, hot chocolate, Aunt Jemima, and Yellow Tail Shiraz. But when the National Weather Service issues a blizzard warning and snowfall predictions are approaching record flakage, a state of emergency is preemptively declared for the inevitable Snowmageddon.

As a consultant, I have the uncharacteristic joy of having two email accounts; one account with my firm and one with my client. Usually the dual account system provides me with a method for keeping my colleagues on their toes; a game of anticipation (to which account will I email? Or receive an email with one and reply with the other). But I have never been more entertained with having two accounts than the day leading up to the historic DC snowpocalypse. Two accounts = double the snowy emails.

I’ve captured the 10 emails I received the day before the snowfall to demonstrate the workforce’s alow and aloft commitment to local weather:

10:19am – Client sends National Weather’s Winter Storm Warning

2:16pm – Client sends Inclement Weather Policy and Guidance

2:26pm – Boss 1 sends Tailored Storm Caution

2:43pm – Client sends Safety Tips for Blizzard

2:56pm – Client sends Updated Inclement Weather Policy and Guidance

3:02pm – Business Assurance Office distributes Updated Winter Storm Warning

3:21pm – Boss 2 emails Tailored Storm Caution

4:15pm – Facilities sends Snow Related Towing Enforcement Notice

4:32pm - Client again sends Updated Inclement Weather Policy and Guidance

5:35pm – Client distributes Gospel; Announces 4-Hour Early Dismissal for Federal Government

I won’t even bother documenting the number of emails I received the day of the storm… (Government at its best: I received three emails alone documenting the hours and offerings of the client’s first floor eatery). The emails were falling so fast the authors didn’t even have time to plow the e-streets before blasting out to the entire office. The ensuing snow forced one victim into sending the revised schedule for the Handicap Stutter Bus…only to then get a follow up email within the hour correcting this to read the Handicap Shuttle Bus.

And to think I made a big deal about the calm before the storm. SnOMG!

David and Goliaths

Again riding the coattails of my roommate, Kyle, I was invited to sit court-side for the melee between two of the worst teams in the NBA; the home-team Washington Wizards taking on the Sacramento Kings. Normally, attending a Washington Wizards game is about as exciting as discovering a penny, the Lincoln Memorial dully shimmering back at you amid a rainbow of motor oil. Combining the abysmal records of the Wizards and Kings with the fact that Gilbert Arenas, the Wizards point guard, was recently suspended for being literally caught with the smoking gun sans smoking, the only redeeming quality was the ability to sit courtside.

For the greater part of the first half, we sat in some of the best seats at the Verizon Center. My perspective as a spectator has always been angled downward toward the action; never before have I been level (or rather below level) finding myself looking up at the athletes…and forget looking at the Jumbotron unless you preemptively took aspirin in anticipation of the oncoming neck strain. Sitting courtside made me appreciate the talent of NBA stars – not everyone can live their life as a giant. While the talent is enough to land them multimillion dollar contracts, watching these leviathans interact with a seemingly doll-sized world made me unremorseful for having neglected to drink my glass of milk with dinner every evening as a child.

Having apparently not gotten exposure to the titans in the Verizon Center, we went to the Wizards Club Lounge during half-time. While sitting at our table nursing Bud Lights and snacking on Nature’s Promise Vegetable Chips, our friend Remy spotted Gheorghe Muresan from across the room. Standing at 7’7”, Remy recognized him from his role in the hit movie My Giant. Not being able to find an escape from the Goliaths, I turned to what I do best in moments of insecurity – rodomontading.

I spent the greater part of the second half expressing to those around me that I would have, in fact, been a professional basketball player had all the stars (and genes) aligned. In a matter of minutes my theory was foiled by Earl Boykins. Standing at an inspiring 5’5” and posting 13 points to secure a Wizards victory, I realized I had to revise my supposition. I’m now using the excuse that I have philosophical differences with the NBA; I am simply a staunch supporter of the 2^nd Amendment.