The C in D.C: How to Not Have Sex on the Metro

My first wheels on the open road were epic in every way. It was 2006 and I somehow fanagled my friends dad to sell me their family's 'training' car instead of sending it to a dreary junkyard death. For $200 I became the proud owner of a green 1994 Ford Taurus, with charming engravings on the roofs interior and loads of character dented, peeling and scratched throughout the car. Didn't matter. With my personal CD player connected to the car's cassette opening, I would whip through Orange County - any and everywhere my wheels would take me. Until...the transmission fell through the bottom piece by piece down Santa Margarita Parkway. From there, I've owned a 1988 BMW, a 2008 Scion XB and lastly my 2009 Camry LE. Alas, my auto saga has come to an end for now...

Getting around town in the District can be an efficient, but exhausting task. Sans the need for a car, my transportation options have multiplied: train, bus, taxi, biking or walking. Depending on where you need to go and what you need to do dictates what mode you take. Personally, I'm a metro girl.

Lately I have been forced to commute via metro during peak hours; 6-9 am & 5-7 pm. What that means is that upon entry onto the train I am instantly butt-to-balls with half of D.C. There is nowhere to sit, nowhere to stand. Inevitably you end up on top of some stranger, squished between two poles and a pair of taken seats, with your toes mangled in your shoes griping its soles to stay afloat between jerking stops and shifting passengers. All in all, it can be a trying journey.Last week a women in a twead business suit, knees buckled holding her chic briefcase and worn red bottom Loubutons in tow made a comment that "riding the metro can be like having sex with a train full of strangers". Word. Not to mention the array of colorful characters that are bound to greet you on and off the track. After a few unpleasant and awkward rides it didn't take me long to realize there are rules to the road...er the rail...well, rules of the metro.

1. Always wear your sunglasses - rain or shine, your stunnas aren't for the weather. Au contraire metro rider, you need sunglasses to shield you from the nonsense that is bound to occur on each and every journey.
2. Small talk - it's helpful to have a universal quip or two tucked in your back pocket. People, like the twead woman, will spout out seemingly clever things and anything that can avoid more awkwardness is welcome.
3. But, dont talk too much - unless you are right next to the person you are talking to, do not, by any means, atempt to carry on a conversation worth value across the train. It's tacky, loud, obnoxious...you get it.
4. Ear phones - come without them and you might as well just stick your fingers in your ears. Be it the deafining silence of co-existing strangers, the pulsating beats of the tracks on rails, the faint thump of Jay Z oozing out of some teens Beats by Dre headphones or the interesting yet personal conversation you should so happen to overhear in the booth ahead of you. Sidenote: discussing last night's escapades is quite entertaining to hear and imagine.
5. Keep your bag close & your phone closer - theivery. helllooooo?
6. Water, gum or the like - I have developed a huge fear (thanks D.C) of being stuck, trapped or somehow involuntrily on the train for a long amount of time. Imagine: me, a car full of randoms, hunger, annoyance & desperation...yikes! Bring it with - you'll thank me later.
7. Be ready to act quickly - with everyone wedged on a moving closet, it's important that you are able to shift quickly and respond aptly to open space or ushering in & out of the train. Not doing so is justifiable cause for trampling.  

Hmmm...am I missing anything?

Column: Why the American Mindset of Design should make room for Asian Innovation

Classic American design is often proudly unmistakable; though cleverly composed and sometimes, reminiscent. We have collected, revolutionized, and surely Americanized worldly ideas and stamped them with our ingenuity and innovative seal of approval. Though we don't always get it right we strive for the best in everything from automobiles to architecture. Our usual M.O to design: big, bigger and biggest.
Escalades, mansions, 50" LCD televisions...even your venti morning coffee - all enormously huge and quintessentially American. Excess. Its a cultural thing, not only limited to design, but ever so encompassing of our ideology and sense of self; it speaks to our inherent mindset that happiness can and is measured...literally. So it's natural to think that, during a recession and a theme of less is more and 'cutting back' echoed internationally, that this blueprint to success would, well, perhaps not be so successful. Insert Asian innovation.
Whether it be from Japan, China or anything in between, Asian engineering and imagination of designs endless possibilities and overlooked abilities have naturally flourished in times such as these. Their ideas are conceived outside the box and instead of vying only for substantial, they instead aim sustainable as well, and more so it seems, size. In a polar culture and point of view from our own, Asian ideology often, if not always, veers for small, rather than seismic. To fit within conformity while still out thinking it. To make space and structure where others would swear there is none.
Modern times have rendered this highly necessary: China, for example, is the worlds most populated county with a million people and then some. The daily realization for a need for space has afforded the Chinese to not only recreate a modern and highly effective new China, but to branch out and reach others....all the way to the West in countless cases. While cities like Los Angeles struggles with daunting traffic and time-wrenching freeways, China has come to the aid of their people, in cities where the traffic of a half-a-million drivers can surely seem paralysing. Introducing the 3D Fast Bus, from the Chinese Shenzhen Hashi Future Parking Company. It has all the components of a triumphant invention suited for the masses, equipped to be effective and slated for a nod to an ingenious imagination. Perhaps its only qualm may lie, not with the bus itself, but with drivers unsuited to glide along with a high-speed Disneyland-esque tram above them. And really, bad drivers seem to be an issue none of us have yet to solve.
If driving seems like too much of a hassle, paddle over to Japan, where anyone can live the high life under a modest roof. With less and less space available for living, Japanese architects have come to commercialize the concept of ultra small homes, or entire homes equivalent to a 2 bed apartment or smaller. Though off the cuff, this seems unbearable, and certainly anything but luxurious, these undersized abodes encompass glamour, functionality and most importantly, living ability. Yasuhiro Yamashita, a lead architect from Tokyo, is among the many who make these houses, homes...while subsequently reimagining the status quo of design, and all the while creating art of minuscule, yet unimaginable proportions.
Perhaps we could take a subtle cue...I mean, were all in a recession, right?

S.O.S: An Unexpected Vegas Reunion

Several days ago, I wrote about my up-coming voyage to Vegas.

Think: Jennifer and myself, in an air-conditioned Corolla, 108 degree weather outside and the open deserted desert at our feet.

While the trip itself was low-key relaxation, the play by play leading up to the trip and during it is PRETTY much epic:

Thursday
After hastily packing just about EVERYTHING I own, I make my way south to Irvine where Jen lives. The plan is to leave bright and early the next day. Even on vacation, I seem to manage a 6am wake up call – go figure. As were prepping for Fridays take off, I get an 11pm call from a 714-number and instantly recognize those all too familiar digits. It’s my ex.

We ended up talking for 3 hours. About what? Everything. Single life, our families, the weather, old memories, my new place and his new roommate. It was strange at first; strange to feel so at ease with a person whom I haven’t had a laughable or enjoyable conversation with in over 3 months. Wow – 3 months.

Friday
In the car at 645 am, and onto the 55, the 91, & the 15 to Sin City. We arrive around noon, are graciously given rooms hours before obliged on the itinerary and make our way to the shops. We meet up with our company for dinner, do 5 rounds on Patron shots and taste every wine the cute waiter hands me.

In the meantime – the texts are flooding in. He wants pictures: of the hotel, of the casino and mostly of me. I oblige. He asks how the trip is going; the trip he was supposed to be on pre-break up and move out. Its great, I let him know. I wish he were here, I hesitantly add at the end, hoping for a miracle in my liquor filled haze. In all the places miracles could happen, I got mine in the middle of a casino restaurant.

Saturday
After 3 hours sleep, Im up. We He and I spoke into the wee hours and now Im anxiously awaiting his arrival.

What are we going to say, how are we going to act, what will other say about us?
We, us, our? I really need to stop doing that.

We spent our day sleeping, talking, swimming, socializing and smiling. Grinning ear to ear, it seems we both forgot were not really together together, just ‘a couple for the weekend’. Sometime this moderate thought entered my mind and I would kiss him like in the movies to shake my doubts.

Sunday
Jen and I reunite after seemingly being apart for forever. We inhale breakfast and parts ways to pack and exit our humble abode at the Four Seasons. I’ve never dreaded going home so much. Yes home is where the heart is, but right now Im still in my liquor haze and being in love isn’t helping me sober up. He leaves around noon since he has to work and our good-byes are turned into see you later; he asks to see my new place when I get home.

Jen and I have a tumultuous 7-hour saga home and 10:30 pm encroaches as I find parking in front of my duplex.

He comes around 1130 and we are simply happy again. No drama, no fighting, no nonsense- just happy in the moment and silently wondering, what’s next? Yet neither he nor I ask and perhaps that’s a good thing.

We’re both asleep in our fantasy when he’s beckoned back to reality and the night shift. Quiet, sad and naïve I walk him to the door and finally say good-bye. No see you later this time because the weekend is over. But again, the question of what’s next looms over us, as we stand sheepishly fixated in the hallway of my building. I don’t know – I don’t want to know.

Im just grateful for the weekend.