Saturday, April 24, 2010

If It's a Joke, I Don't Get It

I saw a sign today that warned people, "Heavy traffic. Avoid delays. Use metro." Either there is a secret metro that I don't know about, that sign is woefully misleading, and/or the malicious creator of the sign needed to get in another set of digs to his or her hapless victims.

I love the metro more than most people I've encountered. I leave early, 'cause I know that they're likely "experiencing delays." To this day, I get excited when the train comes out of the tunnel crossing the river into, or on my way from VA. If I have the time, I'll take a few buses to my destination in order to get the view from the ground in the district I call home.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is this:
If you live in the District, and you have a good experience "within the metro system," commend them on their website. It takes about five minutes and hurts less than giving blood. For extra credit, write a brief letter to the editor of any small DC based periodical.

If you are outside of the District, take the most praiseworthy aspect of something that often raises your ire, and publicly commend it. Most company websites have an entire segment dedicated to consumer feedback.

Once you do that, post a comment. Tell me what happened, and the method of commendation. Invite one or two friends to play along, and add their comments to the mix. Have a great week. And give one to someone else, too.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood.

Today I pulled out the cookies I'd made earlier this week, and I found something totally strange...Neighbors. I met Billy, Minnie, and Walter because I didn't eat my cookies in my apartment. Actually, I didn't eat them at all. On this beautiful sun filled afternoon, the sharing of the cookies was less a choice and more the firm hand of guidance.

Not that any great epiphanies came during this hour long foray across the street. A little perspective was gained. Our side of the street is a small collection of apartments, which do just that. They keep us apart. Not physically, at any time one could knock on the neighbor's door and ask them to lend out a cup of sugar. But having lived in a third set now, I understand that the "apart" in apartment is mind and soul.

My roommate called yesterday to tell me to call the "rental people," because water was coming down between the walls and originating from above us. A broken pipe or overflowing drain may have caused the problem, but walking up the stairs and talking to the neighbors may have solved it. It will never be known.

Go bake some cookies, and don't eat them. Instead, meet someone from Chicago, who just moved here with his fiance. And someone who moved here 45 years ago.
...And they'll have things they'll want to talk about. You will too.