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"Cause when you're a celebrity..."

I can't believe the way some people stalk me to talk to me about my folding bike. This week I was on my way to my internship walking down M Street in Georgetown grooving to some tunes on my iPod when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and look really hard at the woman looking intently at me, but I don't know her. I pulled my headphones out and she started asking a dozen questions about folding bikes. I listened and answered the questions as I locked Foldy up at Dean and Deluca where he waits for me while I do my journalism thing.

I thought that putting my keys in my backpack and starting to walk toward the Georgetowner, the paper where I intern, would signal to this lady that it was time for me to go and for her to stop asking questions about Foldy, but apparently she didn't understand the cue. Finally I told her I had to go to work and she said ok.

Later that day on the way back from my internship I was riding down the National Mall when I hear a guy behind me yelling "hey, hey, hey!" He starts running next to me and Foldy. I looked at him and he goes, "Is that one of those bikes that like gets smaller?" I told him it was a folding bike and he said, "Well would you stop and fold it so I can see it?" I was a little shocked. There I was riding down the Mall and some guy wants me to stop and fold my bike so he can see it. "Sorry I have somewhere I have to be," I told him. He thanked me and finally stopped running next to me.

How should I respond to the poor?

I was told that as students here at the Washington Journalism Center we were going to talk about this as a group at some point, but I figured I might as well get the thoughts rolling right now.

If you spend any time at all walking the streets of DC, chances are that someone has asked you for money. Maybe it’s the skinny old man in front of 7 Eleven, the old woman at Union Station who needs money for a bus fare, or the guy on the corner of 12th and F St. with nothing but a sleeping bag and a cardboard sign. In any case, it happens quite often.

I don't think there's one absolutely right blanket answer that we can give and be done with it. Poverty is much more complex than that. I mean, there’s a whole publication (Street Sense) devoted to poverty and homeless issues just in DC, not to mention the countless worldwide mission agencies, rescue missions, relief efforts, books, and a lot of Bible passages.

Perhaps I’ll get to a systematic approach to poverty later. For now, consider two recent situations I encountered.

Last week, I was walking to the gym after a long day at my internship. A heavyset black man with shoulder length dreadlocks, no older than his thirties, was standing on the street corner next to the gym asked me if I could spare some change. Sick with a cold and not in the best of moods, I brushed him off and went in to work out. When I came out he was still there, and he called out to me again. A flare of compassion, or perhaps pity, at his persistency stopped me from brushing him off again. As I started to reach for my wallet, I asked him what he was going to use the money for.

“Um, to get some beer,” he said sheepishly.

His response startled me. I appreciated his honesty and even felt some pity at the sight of his pleading face, but it didn’t help his case.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t think that’s something I want to help you with.”

I started to turn away, but in a last ditch attempt, he pointed to my water bottle.

“Is that wine?”

“No it’s cranberry juice,” I said.

And that was the end of it—an easy decision on my part. I quietly congratulated myself on the discernment and wisdom I had shown in giving to—or rather, not giving and therefore not hurting—the poor.

Stalking Senators and chasing Congressmen

I have this friend back at my college who is the epitome of “happy-go-lucky.” Her name is Jeri Riley. I’ve always been jealous of how she always wins things. It blows my mind.

Then today I had an epiphany about her luck.

I’ve always heard that a good attitude can get a person very far. I’m like, whatevs. But really and quite truly folks, it will.

Today I was trying to get into contact with a few of Oregon’s congressmen and senators. I called one and they took my number down and said they’d have the press contact call me back.

I hung up the phone and felt really good about it. Then, two things happened. The 293489023423 cups of coffee I’d had all morning hit my bloodstream at the same time, causing me to get a surge of endurance and energy. Next, I heard one of my profs here in Washington, Terry, tell me to call every number I had because that makes a better story. It's no wonder no one wanted to call me back, I sounded like an untrained professional (which I in fact am.)

East Coast Baseball

Ok, I was caught up in Stephen Strasburg mania too.

After just one start, he became the biggest story in Major League Baseball. As a fellow pitcher (albeit the Geo Metro to Strasburg's McLaren F1), I was ecstatic to watch the phenom throw explosive fastballs, knee-buckling breaking balls and gravity-defying changeups. Then, he got hurt.

After coming to grips with the fact I would not get the incredible privilege of watching him pitch, I headed out to the Nationals Park anyway. Being from Minnesota, I was finally spoiled as a baseball fan, moving from the Humptydump to the majestic (that's right, MAJESTIC) Target Field, with its beautiful backdrop of the city.

Public transportation gets stranger

It was a gorgeous Saturday, the kind that just makes you want to be out and about. My roommate and I were volunteering at Taste of Georgetown, a gathering of 30  restaurants from Georgetown to raise money for the Georgetown Ministry Center. It was the perfect day to be outside chilling with good people and helping out a good cause.

We left with plenty of time to get to Georgetown, but we experience unexpected difficulties. At one of the first stops along the Circulator route, a bus to Georgetown, the doors would not close. It was bizarre to say the least. The would get to a certain point and then open all the way again instead of closing.

Suddenly the rumble of the engine stopped. The bus went silent. Everyone was looking around and looking to the front of the bus to the driver. He tried starting it a few times, but it wouldn't go. I sat there remembering why I ride my bike to my internship in Georgetown.

Finally the bus started again. I looked down at my watch. We should make it about right on time I thought. But then the driver had to stop the bus at every stop to make the doors close. The stops took long enough as it was since there were so many people headed for Taste of Georgetown, but having to stop the bus was just like the cherry on top of a bad bus ride. Luckily we made it to Georgetown only a few minutes late, and the volunteer organizer had built in time for people to be late.

The ride back after the event was like pandemonium as well. It was like a giant rush of people all pushing their way on as if the driver would close the door and leave them. I was reminded why I love riding my bike to Georgetown, so many people all going to the same place makes public transportation crazy. Georgetown's just so popular.

WJC Alumni Reunion at the Baptist Journalism Conference

At the Baptist Journalism Conference in Nashville, Tenn., alumni came together for a lunch with WJC Director Terry Mattingly (top left).

Top row, left: WJC Director Terry Mattingly, Monica Martinez of California Baptist University (Spring 2010), Morgan Daniels of Trevecca Nazarene University (Fall 2009), Anna Martin of Bethel University (Fall 2008), Elizabeth Wood of Union University (Fall 2008), Paul Conner of North Greenville University (Spring 2010).

Bottom row, from left: Jo Ellen Weedman of Milligan College (Summer 1998), Angela Abbamonte of Union University (Fall 2009), Adam Woods of Milligan College (Fall 2009) and Jordan Buie of Union University (Fall 2009). Not pictured: Todd Starnes of Lee University (Summer 1996).

It's raining...happiness?

After being in DC for four weeks last week it finally really rained. On the one hand I was relieved that DC was normal, but on the other I was disappointed to have to ride the bus the whole way to my internship in Georgetown and back. In the past I'd gotten off half-way and walked about two and half miles with my roommate, but the rain just wouldn't allow it so I was stuck on a bus for an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening. 

Thusday alone saw 3.1 inches of rain. I was shocked when every person getting on the bus was happy. It was pouring down rain and they were laughing. Their umbrellas were breaking in the wind, but they didn't care. Their suits were drenched, but it was just another day at work.

Every person boarding or departing the bus had something to share with the driver. This made the stops take about twice as long as they should have but no one was in a rush for once in this city.

InkLink! Chris Harrell and Jessica Puente on the Westboro Baptist Supreme Court case. Wrote the story, shot and edited the video here.

Overcoming interview jitters

A little over a week ago I had my first face-to-face interview in D.C., and my nerves were a wreck.

This interview was much bigger than what I have done for my campus newspaper. It wasn't with one of the professors I pass every day in the hallways of my university or another Christian studies major praising the musical talent of Mumford & Sons. I was going to sit down with Ingrid Betancourt, a Colombian presidential candidate who spent six-and-a-half years captured by a guerrilla force in the Colombian jungle. She's a woman with a haunting yet amazing story.

Of course, Murphy's Law, that morning in my office was hectic and time-crunched. I had more things to do that day than I had yet to encounter and less time to accomplish them. I also had not eaten breakfast and there was no time for lunch!

Bright and early for the daily races... going nowhere, going nowhere.

In the last month of DC living, I'm coming up with more questions than answers. I'm especially perplexed on my walk to and from walk three days a week. I walk for 50 minutes each way down a busy street that goes from a major subway/bus stop to new condominiums and then into the business district where I intern at the Examiner.

Through my first two weeks of work I had my iPod set on anything containing hip hop. It made me walk with a purpose and feel like I was on top of the world. This last week I deleted about 90 percent of that genre from my iTunes and iPod. The message of the music was just destroying me. Nothing was being said. I was getting the idea, and have been for years of listening to this stuff, that life is all about me and what I can do and how far I can get. I deleted the music as a reaction to what I was seeing around me. All around me, in the handful of parks I pass on my commute, there are homeless folks camped out at every single one, every single day. They study me as I walk by, bopping my little head to the beat in my headphones. I wonder what they think of me... "She's just like every other person that's ever walked by and looked straight ahead, focused on herself and where she's going (in life."

And here I thought I was so mysterious and special.