Lab Rat

With the death of Coretta Scott King I thought it was time to share why Martin Luther King Day is my favorite federal holiday. Yes, there are plenty of other good federal holidays that offer that necessary three-day weekend, but MLK has a special place in my heart.

For nine years (that's K-8) I attended Martin Luther King Junior Laboratory School, or King Lab for short. There were a lot of things that I loved about my school--the small classes, the fact that I knew everyone, the 7-11 next door--but MLK Day had an obvious significance. Every grade had a role in the all-day, all-school assembly that we would have every year. In first grade we recited the Langston Hughes poem, Hold Fast to Dreams and I still remember it. In fourth grade we sang, Abraham, Martin and John, and in seventh grade we partnered with second graders to sign We Shall Overcome.

My participation in the assembly was always peripherial to the two main events: showing Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech in its entirety and the teachers' chorus. There was a sense that Dr. King was part of our school when we watched that speech on the projector. It isn't very long but it's completely enthralling and it was the only time during the assembly when everyone was truly quiet. Shutting up an auditorium full of kids is no easy feat, but that speech did it every year.

The opposite of this moment was when the teachers' chorus took the stage to sing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. With only a handful of teachers in the audience to control us, we would jump up and yell and dance as the teachers did their best to quiet us from the stage. I don't know how actually talented the chorus was as a whole, but every year Mrs. Young (a seventh and eighth grade English teacher) had a solo and she was amazing. Mrs. Young's singing transformed our school into a Southern Baptist Church and we were just singing and clapping along. When I got Mrs. Young for homeroom in seventh grade all of my friends were jealous.

In high school, we never had a single all-school assembly because there wasn't a single auditorium that could fit all 2,700 students, teachers, staff, etc., but we would discuss Dr. King's legacy throughout the day. In college, MLK Day was one of our only official days off during second semester, and so I always took advantage of it outside of the symposiums and lectures that were being held in his honor. But I also think that no discussion or lecture really rang true to me as the proper way to honor this day. There was something about the raucous and participatory nature of our assemblies--the length, the dependability, the anticipation--that made them unique and very personal, and I don't think there is a better way to celebrate the day.

King Lab forever.

Our 42.5 President

The writing was on the wall. When I heard that West Wing was moving to Sunday nights against the DH-Grey's Anatomy juggernaut, I knew that NBC no longer cared about the fate of this show. But to hear it come down from on high that is actually over and that Aaron Sorkin isn't coming back to tie up loose ends (although Rob Lowe might-woohoo) was still sad.

For a politico, I came to my West Wing obsession relatively late. I had been a Sorkinite since The American President and SportsNight but for reasons that now escape me, I watched something else on TV on Wednesday nights. The episode that finally did it for me was when I saw a rerun of the "Big Block of Cheese Day." Leo explains the significance of giving audience to crazy, fringe lobbyists and the senior staff is forced to meet with people who want highways for wolves, or for kids to have the right to vote. It was a hysterical episode and one that seemed to capture the West Wing's essential conflict: idealism vs. believability.

Usually, the show fell on the idealistic side. Loose strings were tied up at the end of most episodes in a wholly unrealistic but ultimately satisfying ways. Republicans were alternately mocked for being stupid (Bob Ritchie) or were shown to "see the light" if they exhibited intelligence (Ainsley Hayes). The staff was depicted as whip smart and married to their work, but like most political people, unable to have personal lives (let alone master them).

And finally there was President Bartlett. He was arrogant, obnoxious, and so freakin' smart. If Martin Sheen was actually of presidential height I might have truly believed that he was president. He made mistakes (hiding his MS and assassinating Abdul Sharif being the most glaring) but he also didn't fire the Surgeon General for condoning medical marijuana use and he put his ego aside and temporarily resigned when Zoey was kidnapped. It was as nuanced a potrayal of the millions of decisions a president faces everyday as was ever depicted on film.

Democrats love this show. But for Democrats who live in DC, this show occupies a special place. That is why John Spencer's death was felt a little more keenly and why we will watch 'til the bitter end to see if Josh and Donna will ever get together. Who cares if Barlett is a know-it-all liberal from a tiny (albeit Electorally-important) New England state who wouldn't get elected in real life? Or that none of the staff has left since his first inauguration? These are minor details that the show's dedication to bigger ideals has no time for. And that's exactly how we want it.

President Barlett: Who's your Commander in Chief?
Abbie: You are.

Yeah you are.

The Ten Point Plan

Things to consider before a night of out drinking:

1. How much you've eaten that day
2. How much money you have to spend
3. Should you pre-party at home
4. Beer or liquor
5. Desire to get wasted


Things to consider the next morning:

1. Did I do anything embarrassing
2. Was that person actually cute
3. Is my day lost to a hangover
4. Do I have any money left
5. Desire to go out again tonight


Don't you wish that all of life was that simple?

Sleeping Beauty

The scene:

8:30am on a Tuesday morning in January 1999. The phone rings.

Libberash: (groggily) hello?
Mr. Eddy: Hello? It's Mr. Eddy. Where are you?
Libberash: SHIT!

Phone clicks.

Scene.

What you've just read is a faithful reenactment of a conversation I had with my high school History teacher on the morning of my 8am final. I had overslept the first half hour because my mother was not there to drag me out of bed that morning. After that wake-up call, I hauled ass down to school and managed to finish the test within the two-hour window (without being penalized, thanks Mr. Eddy!) but it began a long stretch of futility in the oversleeping/alarm clock department.

I have mastered the art of the five minute wake up routine. I can get dressed, stuff food in my mouth and leave the house in a semi-respectable manner in five minutes flat. This has sadly become a necessity in my life because that hour that I spent snoozing has resulted in my alarm clock giving up and shutting off completely. I don't know if I'm proud of the fact that I have brought so many alarm clocks to their knees or embarrassed.

I have tried setting my alarm ten minutes fast. This doesn't work because I just subtract those ten minutes and rationalize my way into snoozing that one last time. I have tried two alarms. That doesn't work because I don't mind turning one off after the other. I have even tried putting my alarm not within arm's reach. That was the most impressive one. I heard the alarm, physically got up and turned it off---not even bothering with the snooze---and headed back to bed like nothing happened. That turned out to be the worst remedy of them all.

Again, I don't know whether to be impressed or embarrassed at my ability to not be roused. What I do know is that since I've started working it has not gotten better. I am one of those people that needs eight hours a night to be a optimally functioning human, and I don't remember the last time I got a full eight hours on a weeknight. I have had to take cabs to work on more occasions than I want to admit. I once sprinted from my house to the DNC in seven (!) minutes which was little consolation considering that it was 9:45am and I'd missed a 9am meeting.

These are only a small portion of the morning debacles that I have experienced and I guess I'm wondering, what can I do? More sleep is definitely the simplest answer with the most unlikely solution. I wish there was a job where I could sleep for a living. I should be rewarded for this kind of dedication to my sleeping! I have never uttered the phrase, "Well I'm up now" because that is never the case. I can fall asleep at any time, on any surface. I can fall asleep on my back, stomach, or side. And there is the famous story of my brother and I sharing a room on a family vacation when he was about 2 years-old. He fell out of bed and started screaming and I slept through the entire thing. That's pretty impressive in my mind. Shouldn't I get a medal for that?

Instead, all I have is two alarm clocks and a very unpleasant morning disposition.

It happened one night...

Last night the cosmos conspired to make three disparate events occur on the same night and the cumulative effect made me feel...something. I can't quite verbalize what it is, but I feel like it was a turning point.

First, I decided to write a letter. Not just any letter, but a cathartic ex-boyfriend letter. I am not sure if it's meant to be sent, but damn did it feel good to write! I am a lifelong journal-er but for some reason I hadn't been able to write these exact feelings down in journal form. Writing it in a letter made it at least feel like I was communicating directly with him. It helped. A lot. (It also made me think of that Friends episode where Rachel writes Ross a letter detailing the problems with their last relationship before she'll get back together with him, but he falls asleep before he finishes it. "You fell asleep?!?!" "It was 18 pages!!! FRONT AND BACK!!!")

Then said ex-boyfriend IMed me to say happy belated birthday. This wouldn't have been a big deal, but I was a) mid-letter and b) we hadn't talked in TWO MONTHS! What are the odds, I mean really? This prompted a phone call from me which then lead to a nice 20 minute conversation. Maybe it was the letter, maybe it was the catching up, but I felt pretty good.

The third thing is my little secret. Sorry about that, but it's for you own good.

Cosmos 3, Libberash 0 (I'm okay with that)

Chasing your tail

Everyone loves the chase. Don't lie. What isn't to love? You flirt up a storm, catch a hint of interest, and then try to manuever yourself into a relationship through an elaborate set of dropped hints and games. The chase means you can project the best version of you. The version that looks put together, is intelligent, and exudes that "I am a cool person" vibe.

Fast forward three months. You've had "the talk" and the two of you are dating. Should there be any games then? I'm not talking about something as obvious as playing hard to get, but what about little games. How often should you be talking on the phone? Should you always answer when he calls? Do you have standing plans at least one weekend night? If you consciously think about these things is that necessarily game playing? Does this game playing keep your relationship interesting and exciting?

Now I love the chase. I mean love it. It combines two of my favorite things: competition and flirting. I have often imagined what it would be like if there was a Competitive Flirting circuit.

"John, did you see that hair toss? Classic!"
"Whoa nelly, you can say that again. She has been using that move to great results, but let's see if she can incorporate that into her arsenal as smoothly as the drops her love of college football. That is where she gets the big points."

The chase is heady because everything is new and exciting and you get that fluttery tummy feeling that bad love songs are written about. For this reason, it took me a long time to have any desire to do anything besides the chase. But once I finally jumped that hurdle I recognized the chase for what it is: superficial. It's exciting and fun, but it's nothing compared to actually knowing how someone feels about you. Or feeling cute even when you're wearing sweatpants and your glasses. Comfort, stability, and the confidence to go out into the world knowing that someone is unequivocally on your side is much sexier and a hell of a lot more fun than 100 chases. (Ok, maybe not 100, but certainly 25).

Since when did I become such a romantic?

Of Mallomars and diets

Greetings and salutions. I wasn't kidding when I said see you in 2006. The mind she doesn't flow well when she's being inundated by family, friends (of the high school and college variety), as well as enough food to feed a small nation. One word: Mallomars. Thank god they are only available in the winter when puffy vests and stretchy jeans don't get a second look.

With the box of Mallomars I consumed on my mind, I embarked on your standard post-holiday diet yesterday. Yes, I diet. I have dieted before and I will diet again, but every time I do it I feel a little like a traitor. I have listened to countless friends, magazines, TV shows talk about dieting and it always makes me feel lame. "Why do all these people need to diet? Life is too short to worry this much about food." Yet, when I decide to do it I assume that I am viewed as a rationale human being. Thinking this is what makes me able to stick to the diet. Well that, and my motivation to wear a bikini in June and not be a fat Maid of Honor in September.

I also know that when I go on this particular diet, I will only stick to it faithfully for three weeks. Yep, that's really all I can do and even that is pushing it in a city that prizes its Happy Hours and Weekend Intoxication Binges above all others. So why do I do it if I know that I won't last? Peace of mind. Control. These are powerful tools that I have mastered the maniuplation of, at least when it comes to my own head. A sense of righting a wrong (in this case, that ill-fated box of Mallomars and all the other holiday goodies) is strong enough for me to pursue something I usually think is silly.

Who's up for pizza in three weeks?