How High Are You?

How High Are You?
A Short Quiz*

Answer the following questions "yes" or "no." Multiply the number of "yes"' by four to determine your highness percentage.

1) You have eaten an entire pizza in less than 10 minutes.
2) You have forgotten where you were going at least three times on the same road.
3) You know what "IDM" stands for.
4) You frequently solve the mysteries of the universe, and then forget what they were right away.
5) You have spent at least seven hours in a single day watching cartoons.
6) You have ever believed you had discovered the secret to eternal happiness.
7) It takes you 10 minutes to read the first sentence of a book.
8) You own two or more objects that glow in the dark.
9) You smile every time you see a can of cream of mushroom soup.
10) You understand the potential consequences of not moving out of the Doom House.
11) You get the joke in Super Mario Brothers.
12) You own a Grateful Dead poster.
13) You own a Jimi Hendrix poster.
14) You know where the name "Autechre" comes from.
15) You know how to get wet without the assistance of water or some other liquid.
16) Orange is your favorite color.
17) You know more than one definition of the word "windowpane."
18) You find musical value in random noises.
19) You're really into fractals.
20) You have ever had a conversation with a tree.
21) You thought the tree had more interesting things to say than your friends.
22) You can recall at least one physical sensation you cannot begin to describe verbally.
23) You immediately recognize the smell of oregano.
24) When you're by yourself, you think you're a really good dancer.
25) You wish Timothy Leary were your teacher.

*Quiz courtesy Chris Canary

In Other News...
If you are still at Hopkins, make sure to pick up a copy of the winter issue of J.mag! They are available at MSE, the Mattin Center, the Hut, and various other locales.

Random Poking Fun

Before we jump into the chapter of my life called "Thanksgiving Recovery: The Day After," I must share something that I found while surfing the 'net. It takes itself so seriously that it well crosses the boundary into the kingdom of cute absurdity, where "cute" is taken in the most condescending and demeaning manner possible. The following is from ConservativeMatch.com, an online dating service for conservatives seeking conservatives. (I'm not predicting a lot of "BiDBM seeking same" on this particular dating service...) Anyway, here is the introduction to the site.



So far, so good. I can't say I'm thrilled about the prospect of Republicans reproducing, but that's well within their right, and personal ads with political bents are nothing new. However, I did do a double-take when I saw the following:


Now to be completely fair, the word "exciting" does mean "to elicit an emotional response," and I suppose if you're living the lifestyle of a 70-year-old man on dialysis, things such as the daily arrival of the mailman and dressing yourself could count as "exciting." Hearing about Paris Hilton acting like a vacuous ninny can be considered "exciting" as well, in that the emotional response elicited is constant seething rage. So yes, the English language is a diverse and colorful tongue, but even that still doesn't explain why anyone would call a pro-life prayer group an exciting conservative event, much less attend one on a date. I think your chances of getting on base are pretty much shot when the majority of the night is spent talking to God about fetuses.

So ConservativeMatch.com may be for you if you're into really fun stuff like guilt-ridden sex, followed by "Breakfast with the GOP" the awkward morning after. Good luck with finding that special someone!

Top 24 Reasons Why...

Dear Kiefer:

Wow. Just...wow. I'm almost a little speechless. Really, congratulations - you've made an incredible turn-around. You've gone from the B-list actor about whom I knew practically nothing to the living, breathing embodiment of the most badass federal agent to have ever graced television's neon kingdom. Fox Mulder and Sydney Bristow would consider it an honor to fetch you a coffee and cherry Danish.

But seriously, though, Kiefer. Two decades ago, you weren't more than what Wikipedia calls an "auxiliary member of the [Rat] Pack." You made two films with Corey Feldman. You were lucky - lucky! - to have escaped the embarrassment of VH1's "Where Are They Now." I present, as well, Exhibit A:



That is a photo of you with Richard Marx. His 1997 greatest hits CD currently sells on Amazon for $7.97. I'm sure no one reading this has any idea who he is, possibly yourself included.

But now? Holy shit, Kiefer, now you are fine. You are damn fiiine. You're my desktop background. On a slow day, I'll watch you for six to seven hours straight on back episodes of 24. I'd gladly spend the rest of my life as one of Jack Bauer's undershirts if it would mean clinging to your sweaty, sculpted, and at times, bloody, chest. And your overflowing sex appeal is not just limited to the fairer sex either. I know a slew of straight men who would strip away their claim to heterosexuality without a second thought for a bedroom romp with your gun-toting alter-ego. Do you understand this, Kiefer? Everbody wants you.

Anyway, if you're still reading this in the hopes of finding some deeper insight into your acting, I should say now that the whole point of this letter was to talk about how hot you are. I'm sure you've got a lot of wisdom to share about the whole Hollywood experience and being Donald Sutherland's son and all, but I really don't think that will be necessary.

A big fan,
Amy

Saturday in D.C.

To: archives@corcoran.org
Subject: Painting Identification?
Message:
Hello-
I'm not sure if this is the correct email address to send my inquiry, but this weekend while at the Corcoran, I saw a painting hanging on the wall of the main museum stairwell, of a bear about to stone a sleeping woman. I can't remember the artist or name of this superb masterpiece. Hopefully somebody can help me with that.
Thank you,
Amy Chen


Update:
"Mother Mother I am Ill"
Ida Applebroog

Chris and I went down to D.C. on Saturday and we hit up the Corcoran, where there was a pretty cool Andy Warhol exhibit that dealt with his central themes of celebrity iconography, death and pain, power, and of course, Mao. Also on exhibit were the draped canvas paintings of Ron Gilliam. His contemporaries are Color Fieldists like Morris Louis and Helen Frankenthaler, but I think his art combines elements of Abstract Expressionism and Minimalism as well. Some of his paintings are reminiscent of artists like Jackson Pollock and, oddly enough, Roy Lichtenstein.



Also graced with our presence was Idle Time Books, a used bookstore in Adams Morgan. I picked up a book on Art Nouveau, "Problems" by John Updike, and a really old edition of "Godel, Escher, Bach." If you believe what Chris says, my interests are incredibly predictable. Well, you know what else is predictable, Chris? You...sitting in a bookstore...reading....

Yeah, take that.



And last but not least, we had dinner at a sushi/Thai restaurant where the decor consisted of this sculpture, located right by Chris' head:



If we didn't know we were in Dupont Circle before, we certainly knew then.
All in all, a good day.

SFA? More Than OK

When I heard about a month ago that Super Furry Animals was going to perform at the 9:30 Club, my biggest fear was that I wouldn't be able to find anyone to go with me. Given that even my own knowledge of the band was purely incidental, it wasn't an unfounded doubt, and I wasn't surprised when person after person responded to my invitations with a half-hearted, "Never heard of them." Ultimately, though, Chris gamely stepped up to the plate and decided to give this 12-year-old Welsh psychedelic/experimental/electronic rock band a chance. For everyone reading this who spent their Tuesday night trudging through campus in the rain or bundled up with some light bedtime reading (say, on data structures, psychopharmacology, or Foucault), I think it’s safe to say that my biggest fear undoubtedly became everyone else's greatest loss.

But not one to be haughty, I must confess that going into the concert, my familiarity with SFA’s particular brand of techno-tinged rock was minimal. Granted, my love for rock music has been longstanding and my ear for electronica, while still amateur, is developing healthily (thanks to some whole-hearted immersion and excellent tutelage over the last few months). But really, how many people out there can say they’ve heard of bands like Thirdimension and Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci, much less are familiar with their repertoire? No, not me either – I’m more comfortable comparing SFA to more mainstream groups like the former Beta Band (mellower and more restrained) and the Flaming Lips (not quite as cheeky and irreverent). The truth is, we’ve all been force-fed the same musical tripe for most of our lives, so bear with me as I try to make some sense of the untested waters I’ve steered us into.

Returning to the concert, it should first be said that whatever credit is given to SFA for a rockin’ (or trippin’?) performance, the same must be given to the opening band, a Canadian outfit called Caribou (formerly Manitoba) whose artistic efforts were as spirit-rousing as their talents were unique and unexpected (think two drum sets, no bass, and occasionally, a…flute??). Their performance, equal parts visual art and music, was an hour-long electronic jam session that told, in various “movements”, a roughly-sketched story of several characters whose fates come full circle by the last song. Instead of lyrics, Caribou instead cleverly opted for the frenetic and childlike animations of Dublin-based artists Delicious 9, projected onto a huge screen behind the musicians. It was truly something one-of-a-kind and larger-than-life, injected with a subtle blend of comedy, caprice, and, at times – gravity. My personal favorite showed the Sisyphean efforts of an old man dragging a suitcase up a flight of stairs. Played to the haunting and spidery melody of “Pelican Narrows,” every tumble he took back down the stairs was made all the more heartbreaking by the accompaniment of a delicate descending cascade of notes, indifferent and unmoved by his plight.

Although any hour-long jam session threatens self-indulgence and excess, Caribou did two things that may have made the audience forget that they had paid to see a different band (and made me and Chris feel that this was the best opening band we’d seen to date). First, they remembered that slippery basic tenet of all good art: substance over style – and rarely did they lapse from that. Too many times have I seen opening bands with lots of noise and lots of attitude – but little else.

And secondly (maybe even more importantly), they really fuckin’ performed to please. It’s not easy when you’ve got a narrow fan base and the venue is barely half-full, but Caribou jumped into their gig whole-heartedly and left us satisfied but craving more.

By the time the lights re-dimmed around 10 o’clock in anticipation of Super Furry Animals, 9:30 was comfortably packed. I don’t know whether or not I was surprised that SFA’s key demographic was heavily male, primarily ranging in age from the mid-20s to early 40s. Standing next to a few guys with graying hair made feel – even in the dark – mildly self-conscious of the deep-blue stamps branded on the backs of my hands, letting the bartenders know that I was no good to buy a beer. But if there’s ever a good time to practice patience, it is that antsy half-hour before a band for whom you have high expectations.

It didn’t take long after our first glimpses of the SFA band members for the audience to erupt into enthusiastic applause and cheers. No matter that the stage was still empty – a video projection of the four musicians, clad in identical glow-in-the-dark hooded cloaks and driving a golf cart from around the back of 9^th Street into the backstage, was enough to make the audience feel that the time for a sharp and inimitable performance was at hand. SFA sure knows how to milk it with style. By the time they finally made it on stage, live and in person and to a trumpeted fanfare fit for royalty, I wouldn’t have been surprised if balloons and confetti began falling from above, preparing us mere mortals for the best two hours of our meager lives.

And for the most part, they made good on that. It was not hard to see where the audience’s loyalty and love for SFA comes from – the show was a well-balanced blend of their sophisticated and mature sound combined with the quirky and eccentric oddities that could only accompany a group of guys with names like Gruff, Huw, Guto, and Cian. (All right, I know they’re Welsh, but that only makes them more endearing.) They started off with newer and more hypnotic songs off their latest album, Love Kraft. The playfully agitated Zoom and the more laid-back Atomik Lust reminded us that they could be simultaneously brassy and subtle. (A testament to the former was lead singer Gruff Rhys’ occasional donning of an oversized motorcycle helmet that reminded me of last year’s Viktor & Rolf fashion shows. And I know at some point both Chris and I both turned to each other with the same thought – specifically, Wow, this is like salvia.)



As the night progressed, SFA moved into some of their older and more catchy songs, and it was at this point that I felt like the band could have flexed their stage presence muscle a bit more (helmets and cloaks aside). Mainstays like Juxtapozed With You and Something 4 the Weekend could have elicited much more participation out of the already jumpy and excited audience, but they came and went without much incident.

But far be it for me to say that the night didn’t end with a bang. The high point of the last half hour of the nearly two-hour-long show was undoubtedly the unforgettable performance of Man Don’t Give a Fuck. “All governments,” the background screen told us in bold white letters, “are liars and murderers.” SFA’s leftist roots, suddenly projected so brazenly and repetitively, seemed slightly out of place amidst Rhys’ usual crooning. But as the screen bombarded us with the relentless black-and-white images of Bush and Blair’s various facial expressions while Rhys reminded us (through song, of course), “You know they don’t give a fuck about anybody else,” the political message quickly evolved into another one of SFA’s catchy, off-kilter props. Whether they intended it or not, the real message being sent was WE ARE HERE TO ROCK YOUR FUCKING SOCKS OFF. The song’s techno-ish rock beats gradually spiraled and unraveled into a euphoric cacophony, and even now, a full two days later, I still can’t get that whole infectious atmosphere out of my mind.

So Hopkinites out there, take note: there is only one way to properly end a Tuesday night, and that is with your senses slightly battered while pondering if the last few hours weren’t just an injection of hallucinogens straight into your auditory cortex. Congratulations, Furries. We got your message. Loud and clear.

It's About Time!

Valentine's Day is coming late next year, but when the reward to be reaped is one of history's most acclaimed - and, well, BEST, dammit! - shows on television, it'll be well worth the wait. Yes, after over a year of waiting and having my hopes dashed, Fox Entertainment has finally given the word for the official DVD release of NYPD Blue, Season 3. The day to be counting down to will be February 21st (107 days to go, as of this writing). And frankly, if I may say so, as long as I've got Sipowicz and Simone dancing on my screen, this will be one V-Day weekend that I won't mind spending alone.

The Y Chromosome

There are two ways men can warp my sleep schedule:

I can stay up all night having sex with them, as exemplified by the following men:
1)
2)
3)
4)
...

OR

I can stay up all night learning from them, as exemplified by these following men:
1) Thomas Aquinas
2) John Finnis
3) Lon Fuller
4) John Austin
5) H.L.A. Hart
6) Karl Llewellyn
7) Duncan Kennedy
8) Ronald Dworkin
9) Robert Cover
et al.

I'm in for one sexy night.

Addendum:

o0 freelancer 0o: i want you to come over to the carlyle and, when i'm not looking, throw me out a window.
nihil2501: aw, why
o0 freelancer 0o: i have spent the last three days reading philosophy of law, and i still am, and...basically, just come over and get it over with.
o0 freelancer 0o: okay?
o0 freelancer 0o: i'll see you in like what, 15 minutes?
nihil2501: if i werent doing homework i swear i would murder you

A New Low

Jubilee251: i don't think i'm going to get any ass soon
o0 freelancer 0o: i'm not either
o0 freelancer 0o: it's because my standards are too high
o0 freelancer 0o: i don't wanna shack up with some random drunk guy
o0 freelancer 0o: that's my standard.
o0 freelancer 0o: above random drunk guy.
Jubilee251: i think it's because i'm not drunk enough

I really need to get laid. Bad.
*lowers standards*

Bruce Chen Really Is My Brother

There are three potential explanations for the glorious events of last night at Camden Yards:
1) The Amy Chen curse has finally been broken.
2) The Amy Chen curse never existed.
3) The Amy Chen curse still exists, and I'm a closet Yankees fan.

We can sit here and debate the options until the cows come home, but really, it doesn't matter. What is important is that the Orioles finally ended their trillion-game losing streak and completely CLOBBERED the Yankees (17-9) in a sweet, victorious (albeit drawn-out) miracle for which I was present to observe in all my drunken glory. With me were two Yankee loyalists, Sex Coldren and Birdman, who -- despite their allegiances -- are great guys and were impressively tolerant of an effusive and inebriated Asian girl rooting loudly for her home team. I ask: are there no better friends than those who will feed you beer at a sporting event, and not look away in embarrassment as your "whooos!!" become more frequent and, quite possibly, more obnoxious? No. There are not.


Sex Coldren and Birdman, my favorite Yankees fans.

Even without the win, last night would still have been one of the most memorable nights I've had in recent history. It's not that I haven't enjoyed the past few weeks of Beirut and 2am IHOP trips. And I always had a good time at Nationals games this summer at that fixer-upper of a stadium they call RFK. But finally getting to see the O's play again at Oriole Park - especially with good company - was a refreshing change. Also, Javy Lopez is hot.

What did kind of blow, however, was the horrible O's fan turnout. I mean, I know that this team kind of went south of cheese over the summer, but it is still sad when the chants of "Let's go, Yankees!" emanate so clearly and even Phillies and Red Sox caps are popping up all over the place. *sigh* Isn't it so endearingly contrarian of me to root for a team whose fan attendance at a home game was far outnumbered by that of its rival? As I've said before, being an O's fan is kind of like owning a 16-year-old dog that's riddled with degenerative diseases. The going gets tough and things get frustrating, but even when it's on its last breath and the vet is about to put it down, you're still going to be there, holding its paw.

But all that aside - what an awesome night. The cherry on top came with Boston's defeat by Toronto, which means that I got to see my team win without having the Yankees fall behind. Come this weekend, I will hopefully see a few crushing Red Sox defeats, and finally get to cheer at the same time as Sex Coldren and Birdman. Rock on!


This is not how it looks, I swear. Let me explain...


Brian Roberts (in the sling) is acknowledged before the game. What a guy! At least he can say he got fucked up by someone named "Bubba".


Me and Drew.


Top of the 7th, score is 13-8 Orioles.

For Real This Time!

My apologies.

To say the least, I have not been keeping up with my blog obligations (blogligations? blobligations?) since I've been back from the summer. I wish I could say that my time of late has been spent on productive, community-oriented goals such as literacy programs for the blind or herpes public service announcements or the like, but to be honest, I've really just been doing a lot of drinking.

But seriously now, it's time to get your window into my life back on track. Whatever that means. I know classes have started for everybody, so I'll try to keep this entry simple and straightforward. Any questions you have, come see me during office hours.

International
China was really awesome.

Domestic
Nina moved out, Stawek and the previously unknown Brendan Costigan moved in. Brendan graduated from Hopkins a year ago and now he's back to work in the area. Very cool guy and makes a wicked fajita. Stawek is still the Polish lush we've known and loved for three years and counting. We're going to polish this place up and paint a mural and do some other crazy crap. Welcome to Buddytown, Mid-Atlantic Chapter.

Entertainment
At this point, my main concern in the entertainment department is to not let Stawek or Chris Canary spiral into alcoholism alone. I know some of my friends have approached my drinking and five-day-a-week inebriation with concern, but to them I say: know that I do it for those who need me. And to stay on top of my Beirut game.

In other entertainment news, I've been recently exposed to a lot of crazy electronic music, and it rocks my socks.

Education
Within the next 30 years, keep an eye out for the book, Well, Back to the God Thing, and you'll know what I've been filling my head with these days. Of course, I could also just tell you right now, but then none of you will read the book.

Sports
Let me make my stance on team allegiance very clear for those who seem not to get it: I am an Orioles fan. They are the only team I care about, and my love for the O's extends farther than my hatred for any team. So, for example, when the O's are playing the Red Sox, I will NOT root for the Sox just to spite the Yankees. When the O's lose 11 to 3 to New York, I will NOT don a Yankees cap just to feel that elusive rush of victory. Those who thought I abandoned the O's for the Nats: you're outta your fucking mind! The O's are my team, and I'm going to be with them until the bitter end.

In an unrelated matter and just as a point of clarification, I don't care much for the Red Sox and it wouldn't break my heart to see them get killed by NY.

Moving on to football, the game I know nothing about, I've decided to jump on the Just-Can't-Quite-Make-It-Teams bandwagon and and root for the Eagles. If nothing else, it will make my good friend Ryan Carroll very happy. Since I'm still slowly learning about downs and positions and...player's names, if anybody wants to sacrifice their Sundays or Monday nights molding their favorite Asian girl into a football fan, call me.

* * * * * * * *

So there you go - you're all updated on my life again. Goody.

15 hours until I see Yankees v. O's at Camden Yards!

Just Repeat This Mantra...

To my relief, the idea of me becoming a Yankees' fan clearly does not sit well with the masses. I thank them for their concern while we all continue hoping for the best.

Auto response from o0 freelancer 0o: I swear to god - one of these nights I'm going to buckle down and start doing some work instead of becoming an alcoholic and allowing myself to be converted to a *shudder* Yankees fan.
Really, I swear.

XPhyIe: i dont even know you anymore

Airman C81: try not to become a yankees fan, but if you do know that we can perform an exorcism on you. being a yankees fan is pretty much the same as being possessed by the devil or some other evil entity. do not fear, your soul shall not perish because of those pinstripes

ShaddamVII: Drink away!
ShaddamVII: But drink away and BERATE the Yankees' fans.
ShaddamVII: Goddamnit!
ShaddamVII: Go Indians!
ShaddamVII: Go White Sox, Go A's, Go Red Sox!

AmbiSanchz: YOU BETTER NOT BE A YANKEES FAN
AmbiSanchz: CAUSE IM IN BOSTON NOW
AmbiSanchz: SOX FANS CANT INTERMINGLE WITHYANKEES FANS
AmbiSanchz: AND I MISS THE CHEN

6 days until I see Yankees v. O's at Camden Yards!

w00t w00t!!

There's way too much to say about the trial and there's no way I can blog it all up in a short amount of time. I have to go sleep and wake up tomorrow at 4 am. So I'll leave that entry for when I get back from China. Meanwhile, here is a photograph of the ghetto Dream Team (me, Anya, and Sach):

Last Minute Wraps

Dear Readers:

As most of you know, starting Tuesday morning (very, very morning - getting up at 4:30 am, to be exact), I will be in China for three weeks. I don't know if there will be anymore updates before I leave, so if not, I want to take this time to say adios! and that I'll be looking forward to seeing most of you again come September (with armloads of presents from overseas).

Since this may very well be my last post for a while, I want to give some of you readers out there closure on my summer. As you can all tell from my various entries, Sachin and I have become really tight and have shared many an interesting adventure. I will definitely miss him a lot, but as he reminds me - he is just a Chinatown bus away!

Recently, we have also gone to trial on a very big case. Our client was charged with APO (assault on a police officer - more specifically, a US marshal), and this was Anya's first jury trial. The closing arguments will be delivered tomorrow (Monday), and hopefully I will be able to report back to you with a verdict and a blow-by-blow of what unfolded during the trial. It is my hope that if our client is acquitted, I will no longer be (unfairly) known as the "narc" amongst some of you.

Also, much love to Casey Cohen for being a great friend during the summer, giggling and gossiping together behind everybody's backs. Remember, Casey: Ben may be married, but in our hearts, he will always belong to us.


Casey's last day...you rule, girl!

And as for my Hopkinites, I miss you all so very much. I can't wait to see you guys again, and I'm sure senior year will be a blast.

Lastly, thank you all for your loyal and generous support! Although most of the stuff I write is for myself, knowing that you guys are out there reading and loving this stuff really means so much to me. If I ever end up writing that critically-acclaimed novel, you all will be the first group of people I thank in the acknowledgments section. And if not, I'll take you all out for cheeseburgers and sundaes:)

Lots of Love and Hugs,
Amy

P.S. Check out the "Links" section at right to keep you busy during your hours of boredom or insomnia.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rach11rpi: hey Amy, so I feel like a total aim-stalker (which i guess i am), but i've been reading your blog for a while tonight ... and it's totally awesome
Rach11rpi: you know, most people i know who keep blogs have super boring ones and can't write for shit... you've always been a good writer though

McIrishJHU: this shit is hilarilous
McIrishJHU: it had me on the floor laughing one paragraph in
McIrishJHU: and i'm now on the edge of my seat waiting for more
McIrishJHU: last night i was reading an essay by mark twain on how to write a humorous short story. you nailed it.

Thanks! :)

Operation Clammy

Today, for the first time, Sachin and I put our investigative skills to real-life use when we finally ventured into the may-ne'er-return realm of The Church of Scientology. After passing by the D.C. chapter of the CoS in Dupont Circle several times over the course of our internship, the joke of going in to take a firsthand look at its innerworkings finally materialized into an actual plan. I wouldn't say the execution was either as hilarious or earth-shatteringly revealing as we had hoped, but all in all, I'd say Operation Clammy was a success.

*Disclaimer: The following is for entertainment purposes only. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and what follows is just my personal experience and observations. Having said that, do some research on Scientology and judge it for yourself. You don't have to take what I say at face value.*

OPERATION CLAMMY: PART I

The Preparation
Sean: "Man, I'm so nervous."
Gloria: "Don't be nervous. Just pretend like we're going to the bank or something. But instead of asking about...you know, interest rates, we're just going to..."
Sean: "...be horribly brainwashed!"

Okay, Sachin and I were both really nervous. I think our biggest fear was that we wouldn't be able to control our stifled laughter at the idea of taking Scientology seriously, subsequently blowing our cover. That is, of course, the cover of curious students acting as investigative agents of Operation Clambake. Also, I think a very small part of me - maybe one percent - was really scared that I'd actually get converted somehow during this very first meeting. To completely ensure I wouldn't allow myself to get roped into anything like a retard, I left all my cash and credit cards in the car. You can never be too careful in an op like this.

First order of business was to pick aliases, because like hell if we were going to let them know who we actually are. After considering "Sak Crasto" (I'm not kidding) and various Indian names, Sachin finally settled on "Sean Shah." (Good thing, too, because nothing induces giggling more easily than being called "Sak.") And by courtesy of Chris Canary, I was "Gloria Jean", which I later discovered to be the name of a mall-based retailer of specialty coffees.

Lastly, we had to figure out just what we were going in there for. We ditched the idea of role-playing (Sachin being gullible and I being skeptical), because it seemed too fake and kitschy to pull off convincingly. We decided to just be as normal as possible, act realistically interested but slightly questioning, and most important of all, whatever we do: Absolutely no laughing!

Through the Looking Glass (okay, the door)
The D.C. chapter of the CoS is located at 1701 20th St. NW, a few blocks from Dupont Circle. It is housed in a large, historical, and attractive red brick house that we later found out is called the Fraser Mansion, built in 1890 as a residence. The inside of the house is decorated very formally, with austere but interesting wood carvings and decorations. I was kind of expecting a sterile, boring office environment, but it definitely wasn't like that. My first impression actually that it felt a little intimidating because it was so serious and grand. The walls were covered with framed photos and articles about L. Ron Hubbard. Apparently he had atteneded GWU, studied engineering, and later became some kind of boating/navy aficionado. However, nowhere was included Hubbard's quote, "If a man really wants to make a million dollars, the best way would be to start his own religion."

Sach and I were greeted by the receptionist, who was young, pretty, and very nice. She had us fill out some log-in form, and of course we put down our aliases and Sach put down a fake address. I was doing okay at this point, but every time we made eye contact I could tell Sach was on the verge of laughter. Not helpful, Sach. Maintain cover.

After a few minutes of waiting, we were greeted by a bright-eyed young man, probably around our age. He was dressed very sharply in khakis and a white shirt and tie, and was also very friendly and good-looking. He seemed fairly enthusiastic about us expressing interest in Scientology, and introduced himself as Jackson. Sach and I introduced ourselves as…Sean and Gloria. Jackson offered to set us up with their advertised free stress/personality test, to which I immediately asked if it was just a written test. Sach and I had previously agreed (slightly paranoidly) that if this stress test involved any type of probes or electrodes, we were so outta there. Of course, it would just be a multiple choice aptitude-type test. Nothing too creepy or suspicious so far. Jackson then led us downstairs to take the test…

OPERATION CLAMMY: PART II

The Personality Test
Sach and I were taken to a large room downstairs where a few other people were taking the test. We were set up at separate tables and began taking the two-hundred-question test called the Oxford Capacity Analysis, an exact copy of which can be found here. For each question, I was to answer always, never, or maybe/uncertain. It was not unlike some of the online personality tests of Tickle, although I think it's more fun to find out what my shopping style is.

First off, I found that some of the questions were designed to be difficult to answer. For example, #40 asked: Are you rarely happy, unless you have some special reason? Hmm... Which answer sounds more coherent: "Yes, I am always rarely happy", or "No, I am never rarely happy"? Maybe they should have asked, Do you not like answering questions with no double negatives? Other questions seemed straight-up irrelevant or out of place on a personality test, such as whether or not I think more money should be given to social security (#9). And some questions were just plain creepy or ominous. #6 asked if I get involuntary muscle twitches, and #52 wanted to know if I'd buy on credit with the hope of keeping up payments. Good thing I left those credit cards in my car, right?

I finished the test pretty quickly, and gave it to Jackson, who fed it into a computer to get a print-out of my results. He then disappeared to tend to other tasks. Since Sach was still working on his test, I took the opportunity to look around the room to assess my environment. I saw a few doors leading off to various other rooms, and the first thing I noticed was a sign pointing to one door that said "Purification Center." There were also shelves and stacks of books around the room, all written by L. Ron Hubbard, mostly about therapy techniques and self-betterment. (I considered swiping a book on Dianetics for my friend Con, who would appreciate the humor of this whole situation - the way he appreciates the humor of creationism.) But what most caught my attention was a small "machine" similar in appearance and shape to a bathroom scale. It had a few dials on it and was connected to two metal rods shaped like toilet paper rolls. I would find out later that this was the E-Meter.

The Dianetics Video
While I had been working on the personality test, a Scientology member started showing a video in the background on Dianetics. After I handed in my test, I tuned in to the video while waiting for Sachin to finish. For those who are unfamiliar, Dianetics is a type of regression therapy that L. Ron Hubbard discovered (invented) that is supposed to purge an individual of stress, uncomfortable thoughts, and physical pain. Here is what the video is supposed to teach people about Dianetics:

(Disclaimer: I watched less than ten minutes of the video, and the following is just my - perhaps flawed - understanding of what the video entailed. I may have accidentally misinterpreted or left information out. Judge for yourself whether it seems legitimate or is just hinky-dinky bullcrap.)

Basically, all humans possess a "reactive mind," which is the source of all physical, mental, and emotional distress. The way the reactive mind causes such distress and discomfort is through human memory "engrams" unconsciously registering painful or harmful perceptions. Throughout our lives, our reactive mind is constantly logging such perceptions of which we often are not consciously aware. However, these perceptions or memories often surface and manifest themselves as stress or pain, and may even cause us to act irrationally and unpredictably. Consider an example given by the video. A sick girl, while being asleep, is told by her mother "I will never leave you." The girl's reactive mind logs this statement, but it is implanted into her subconscious as a manifestation of the girl's illness. Therefore, this simple statement made by the mother will increase the chances that the girl's condition will not improve (as the illness "will never leave" the girl).

This is where Dianetics comes in. Through sessions of Hubbard's therapy technique with a trained "auditor" (Scientology term for a Dianetics therapist), a person can slowly learn to purge themselves of these harmful engrams and "clear" themselves of their reactive mind.

Honestly, at this point I thought this was the craziest thing I had ever heard. It definitely was kind of amusing, but the hilarity factor was far eclipsed by how seriously the video was taking itself, which made the whole thing a bit frightening. It was a lot like the kind of informational videos you watched in middle school health class, except in a different universe where logic and scientific evidence take a backseat to hare-brained pseudo-knowledge.

A few minutes after both Sach and I turned in our tests, two middle-aged women came to the room with our test results. "Sean" and "Gloria" then split up and separated for their personality/stress test consultations...

OPERATION CLAMMY: PART III

The Personality Test
I met with a woman named Vicky, and the first thing we did was go over the results of my personality/stress test. The test is graded on 10 factors: stable/unstable, happy/depressed, composed/nervous, certainty/uncertainty, active/inactive, aggressive/inhibited, responsible/irresponsible, correct estimation/critical, appreciative/lack of accord, and communicative/withdrawn. Each factor can be scored at a maximum of +100 (desirable) to –100 (unacceptable).

According to my results, I am stable, happy, and act with certainty, but it also revealed that I could stand to improve my composure as well as more aggressively follow through any plans of action. (Although if you ask me, I did a pretty decent job in executing the Infiltrate-the-Church-of-Scientology plan.) However, the test showed that the real cause for alarm is that I am often in discord with people I am close to, and have difficulty communicating my thoughts or feelings. This is a load of horse doo-doo. I never hesitate to let people know when they need a swift kick in the ass.

I told Vicky that I didn’t agree with the results of my communication “problem,” as I am opinionated and love friendly debates. However, in order to not seem like a total skeptic bitch, I conceded that perhaps I disliked being confrontational and may be overly critical of people at times. And here came the sell. Vicky informed me that in order to better myself in these problem areas and improve my interpersonal relationship, I could register for courses right there at the Scientology center. And that is how they hook you – by first getting you to sign up for relatively inexpensive classes. But as you get more into Scientology, they get you to fork over larger and larger sums of money in order to keep you involved. Classic foot-in-the-door technique. I do have to admit, however, that Vicky was not as aggressive as I had expected. Like everyone else I had met, she was very friendly and personable. Although she was not pushy, however, her enthusiasm for Scientology was clearly evident.

I turned down the courses, saying that I would come back at another time. But in the name of investigation, I did ask about the Oxford Capacity Analysis – who developed it and whether it was utilized by other organizations and institutions. I was slightly surprised to learn that it actually was not developed by Scientologists, but although Vicky did say that it is used by other groups, she could not recall any specific ones. (A subsequent Google search on the OCA turned up only Scientology-related websites, with the test either being promoted by pro-Scientology sites or debunked by anti-Scientology sites. It is not affiliated in any way with Oxford University.)

I also asked Vicky about her take on why Scientology has come under such fire from the media and…well, society in general. I showed my congenial and diplomatic side, and said that from what I had seen that day, Scientology seemed just like a philosophy of self-betterment – and what’s the harm in that? (That’s Socratic irony in its purest form, right? I’ll wait while you look up “Socratic irony.”)

Vicky must have been used to dealing with that question, as her response was immediate and seemingly well-constructed. She brought up Tom Cruise’s recent anti-psychology comments (although omitted his radical behavior and blatant self-promotion). The field and industry of psychology had so firmly established its roots in America, she responded, that it is unwilling to share the spotlight with any new forms of therapy. Since psychology has so successfully embedded itself into American society – it is taught in schools, plays a vital role in the judiciary system, and is connected to the pharmaceutical industry – new methods of psychoanalysis such as Scientology will naturally come under intense attack and be prone to criticism. On the surface, Vicky’s answer seemed logical and made sense, but she did not mention or counter any specific arguments made against Scientology. I debated whether or not to tell her I was a psych major, but decided to err on the side of caution and not rock the boat.

Sachin's Consultation and the E-Meter
During my meeting with Vicky, Sachin met with a woman named Monica, who – when we later compared – we realized to be way, way weirder than Vicky. Sach found out that Monica had been working for the CoS for – brace yourself – thirteen years!! That was before my parents divorced and I was still reading Frog and Toad books! I think I still had a bowl-cut back then. Apparently, at Monica’s very first Scientology meeting, she turned to her husband (who worked as a veterinarian), and said, “I’m quitting my job to do this.” And she has been there ever since.

Even more creepy (in my opinion) is when Sach asked Monica what Scientology encompassed beyond Dianetics. Since so far in the consultations we had only heard about therapy and self-help methods, Sachin wanted to know if that was what Scientology was – or if there was a bigger system of beliefs beyond just the courses and auditing sessions. Monica’s response? “Yes, but the world isn’t at that level of understanding yet – it’s not ready to know more about Scientology. But once the rest of the world catches up,” – cue Twilight Zone music – “we will reveal more.” Is that not so cryptically delusional? I wonder if the reason they wait so long to reveal the Truth is because their Truth involves an intergalactic ruler called Xenu who deals with overpopulation by killing his subjects on planet Earth – formerly called Teegeeack, of course. Telling someone something like that at the first meeting may turn them off slightly. Just ever so slightly.

At this point, both Sach and I kept glancing at each other because we felt as if we had milked Monica and Vicky for as much information as we could without being rude or acting suspicious, and we were getting antsy to leave before they started pressuring us to buy or sign up for things. Also my parking meter was about to run out. Vicky was pretty understanding about me having to leave (maybe she was confident I would return?) so she started walking me out. Poor Sach, on the other hand, was still trying to wrestle away from Monica’s iron grip. As Vicky was walking me out, my eyes fell back on the odd-looking little metered machine, and my brain raced because I knew that there was no way in hell I was ever coming back to this CoS again, and this would be my last chance to find out about the machine…

“Sorry, Vicky, but one last thing – what is this?” I mustered up my most disarmingly inquisitive tone of voice. “Oh. That’s the E-Meter,” Vicky responded. “It measures your thoughts.” Oh brother. I rolled my eyes in my mind. I bet it does. I wonder if it can tell that I think it’s a piece of sh—“What you do is you hold these rods gently but firmly in your hand.” Here, Vicky took the two metal rods that were attached to the machine by wires and placed them in my hand. She instructed me to not squeeze the rods, but to just hold them comfortably so they wouldn’t fall. Then, I was to think of an emotionally difficult moment in my past, and the E-meter was supposed to be able to “read” this and measure my level of discomfort by how far to the right the arrow on the meter falls. I tried to recall something traumatizing and failed, since my life has been nothing but rainbows and butterflies, but of course the meter went crazy anyway. Apparently, the proper way to use the E-Meter is during auditing sessions, when the “patient” is sitting down and relaxed. The arrow on the meter also moves back and forth when your body is moving, or when you are applying pressure to the rods. Or when it just damn well feels like moving, from what I could see. “Very cool!” I told Vicky. I was so ready to get out of there.

When Sach and I finally returned to the blinding sunlight of the outdoors, safe and successful in our mission, we exploded into laughter and related to each other the oddity of our shared experience. “Holy crap!” I kept saying at every turn. “Holy crap!” The whole trip back to Georgetown, we just couldn’t stop talking about everything – the tests, the books, L. Ron Hubbard’s past, the Xenu thing. There was no way we could describe the experience as anything but weird. Well, also funny. All right – really weird, and really funny. But what was best about it, I think, was knowing that we didn’t get sucked into anything. And driving down Massachusetts Avenue, being back in reliable old Earl, listening to music on the radio, we were the same Amy and Sachin that walked into the Church of Scientology over an hour and a half ago. We were lucky enough to get back to reality, unharmed and with our bank accounts untouched. There was no more need for Gloria and Sean - we hadn’t been converted, we hadn’t been brainwashed, but rather, we came out alive with a story that would never stop making us laugh. Not to take a jab at Tom Cruise, but mission impossible this wasn’t. Teehee.

* * * * * * * * * *
EPILOGUE

The following was an AIM conversation between Sachin and I, two days after Operation Clammy:

S A K 84: scientology is scary
S A K 84: and i think i'm going to have nightmares
S A K 84: i made sure my door was locked
o0 freelancer 0o: what? why??
S A K 84: because i saw monica on the street today and she almost dragged me back into that place
o0 freelancer 0o: WHAT?
o0 freelancer 0o: holy shit
o0 freelancer 0o: are you serious?
S A K 84: well i was walking from my g/f's aunts place (which is on 18th and riggs which is between R and S). the church is on 19th and R
S A K 84: and i saw monica
S A K 84: well more like she saw me
S A K 84: and she said sean
o0 freelancer 0o: omg
o0 freelancer 0o: keep going
S A K 84: a couple times i guess
S A K 84: but i obviously didn't respond, b/c my name isn't sean
S A K 84: but then she yelled it, and i turned around cause i heard somebody yell
S A K 84: and i was like, “ohhh hey”
o0 freelancer 0o: continue
S A K 84: and she said, hey how's it goin etc. etc.
S A K 84: then she asked me if i was busy
S A K 84: i said well i was going home, and i asked her what she was up to
S A K 84: and she said she was going home as well, but she said that if i had some spare time
S A K 84: i should come inside the church, and she could explain more stuff to me
o0 freelancer 0o: and you went, right?
S A K 84: and i said no, i was really hungry and i should get home
S A K 84: and she said, that's no problem we have food at the church
S A K 84: she said she could give me dinner
S A K 84: i was like uhhh
S A K 84: then i said well no i should because getting home ‘cause i have a lot of stuff to do
S A K 84: and then she was like, why did you come in the first place
S A K 84: i said i was curious
o0 freelancer 0o: holy crap
o0 freelancer 0o: you didn't reveal the secrets of our mission did you?
o0 freelancer 0o: was she like, getting upset?
S A K 84: and then she said well weren't you impressed by the techniques and motives of the
church
S A K 84: and i said yeah i guess, but i told her that i read some things that don't sound that great
S A K 84: and she asked me what
S A K 84: and i was like uhh i don't know, just some things on the internet, i really don't have that much time right now
S A K 84: and then she said...and i'm not kidding, like this sweet old lady said this...
o0 freelancer 0o: holy shit
S A K 84: "Don't believe any of that horse shit on the internet, they all just don't know what we're about"
o0 freelancer 0o: SACH - are you making this up? cuz you know i'm gullible and wanna believe crazy things i hear about scientology?
S A K 84: no i'm not
S A K 84: but it was like in an aggressive tone
o0 freelancer 0o: wow...
S A K 84: i said, ok, but regardless i'm busy now
S A K 84: she said, ok sean, but i really expect you to be back at the church. I could tell that you could really improve your life from our teachings.
S A K 84: then she asked for my phone number
o0 freelancer 0o: HOLY CRAP
o0 freelancer 0o: my goodness!
o0 freelancer 0o: you didn't give her MY number, did you?
S A K 84: haha no
S A K 84: i said, i'm sorry ms. smith, but i can't give that to you
S A K 84: then she said ok, i understand, but stop reading those things on the internet
S A K 84: they can really put dangerous thoughts into your head
o0 freelancer 0o: wow, really? you'd better stop then.
S A K 84: i said OK?
S A K 84: she said, alright sean i hope to see you soon
S A K 84: please keep in contact
S A K 84: freaky right?

For more information about Scientology, please click on the following links.
Official CoS Website
Operation Clambake
Scientology Kills

It Never Ends

HOLY FUCKING SHIT-type Media Updates
Charlie Murphy of Chappelle's Show leaks that the show ain't returning. I don't really care because I've seen like, one episode, but I figure CS fans (and there are lots of you out there) might like to be kept in the know. Looks like it's back to UPN for black comedy.
News link.

Spoilers*Spoilers*Spoilers*Spoilers*Spoilers*Spoilers*Spoilers
According to a source and a half, Michael Vartan (highlight) of Alias will be K.O.'ed (or at least written off) at the beginning of Season 5. Details were not forthcoming, but even with this early warning I foresee myself screaming, "J.J.!! WHYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!" on my knees with clenched fists in the air at the end of the episode.
The source.
And a half.

And Back to our Regularly Scheduled Programming...
In science it only takes one case of a theory not being true to disprove that theory. Following that logic, the Amy Chen curse still holds water. Friday night, the Padres defeated the Nats 6-5. Even from the view of free $35 seats, it was not a pretty sight.


I swear this is the last baseball photo I will post. Until I return to Baltimore and get to some O's games.

Moving on...
When it comes to matters of civil liberties versus security, I'd like to say that random searches really are not a trifling matter. While driving near the Capitol on Louisiana and C, I experienced the pleasure of being stopped by two cops and having Earl's trunk examined. It may not seem like a big deal to get stopped for less than a minute to pop your trunk and have some stranger look through it, but afterwards I felt shaken up and extremely violated. Whoever says that if you've done nothing illegal, you've got nothing to worry about is completely missing the point.

And last but not least...
Next week, Sachin and I are going to stop by the Church of Scientology center in Dupont Circle to get their advertised free stress tests. Because I want to get my soul in alignment, and because it's too hilarious to pass up. I mean, you think the tests ever reveal that you're not stressed out? "Our examinations reveal that you're in a state of pure relaxation. Would you like some pamphlets on Hinduism?" Come on, now. We decided that I would play the skeptic and Sachin would play the sucker. On the flip side, they could use their mind-control techniques and totally sell us on Dianetics and the OT III enlightenment. That would so not be funny.

Stay tuned.

Bad Cops, Bad Cops

I saw Marshal Marshall today! It was the end of the day and he was leaving the courthouse, and it was weird because he wasn't wearing his US Marshals shirt, and what was even weirder was that even though he was getting off work he still had that ice-cold, hardass I'm-a-US-Marshal-therefore-I-can't-smile stare in his eyes. He was probably going to the gym to work his biceps a little more, before heading home to eat his Hungry Man dinner for one and practice choke holds for the rest of the night. That guy needs more lovin' in his life...

In other internship news, the manager of the Subway by the courthouse definitely thinks that Sachin and I are an item, since we always show up there together after we finish our investigative duties at the court. In a related matter, I dreamed last night that that Subway manager named a sub after me since I go there so much. I'm telling you all this because it is such necessary information.

In most important news, I had dinner with Yahya Radman tonight! Yes, the Yahya Radman I went out with in middle school. The Yahya Radman I have not seen in seven years since I started high school. That Yahya Radman.


After seven years, Yahya and I rekindle our 2-week middle school romance.

Seeing Yahya tonight was like reliving middle school, which was the two greatest years of my life. I can't believe people back there even remember me! Although I guess I have people like Yahya keeping the spirit of Amy Chen alive. (Funnily, apparently most of the people actually remember me as Daria, for which I was nicknamed because of my monotoned sarcasm and big round glasses.) Conversely, it was also interesting to hear what happened to everyone in the years since I left Bloomington. Jacob Pearson got shipped off to Jamaica for making threats on Bush's life in an Internet chatroom. Richard Smith plays soccer for Manchester United. Other stuff I can't remember because people's names are getting mixed together.

It's slightly strange (but also amazing) to see people again that you haven't seen in such a long time. It feels unreal - not for any sentimental reasons, but because something in the past that has been put away suddenly resurfaces, and it just seems incongruous for the past and present to exist at the same time. It is kind of like finding an old memento, or looking at a yearbook, but much more tangible. You get that slightly weird jolt, like part of your brain is telling you that this can't actually be happening, but at the same time it is fantastic because you get to relive something that by definition cannot be re-experienced.

Anyway, enough of the philosophical analysis. Middle school was the fucking best years of my life, and those were the best friends of my life, and Yahya rules for stopping by D.C. to see my part of the world.

Booze-lia is Back!!!!!

Julia is one of those people who I absolutely adore but don't see enough. We met during high school because we both happened to work at the Rockville public library. This is embarrassing to recall, but I believe our first conversation took place after she saw me on one of the computers in the staff room and I was looking at a Star Trek Voyager website. She went, "You watch Voyager??" And I went, "Ohmygod yes!" And she went, "Ohmygod so do I!!!" and everything else is history.

We actually made a Voyager website back in the day, and I have to give us a pat on the back for that, because it really was very, very funny. It was called Captain Proton's Interstellar House of Pancakes, and since neither of us had any computer skills back then, we used Geocities. It's a pity that it's no longer up (due to lack of upkeep), but it was a testament to the close bond that only nerds can share over the common interest that is Star Trek.

So to return to the present, Julia recently came back from a summer session in Florence as an art student, and we had a chance to have one of our Amy-Julia sleepovers like old times. We made s'mores and roasted marshmallows in her oven, she showed me her latest art work, and we watched a few episodes of Voyager before going to bed. The great thing about Julia is that we can be totally lame and do things I don't think anyone in their right mind would ever choose to do with their time on a Saturday night (like drive around following a Fire&Rescue vehicle on their nightly route for about a half hour), but still have a great time.

This morning, we were talking about having a Voyager marathon (if only we could somehow dish out the $600+ for all seven seasons). We calculated that there's probably around 140 episodes at an hour each...so to watch all of them we would have to stay up for about six days straight with no sleep or bathroom breaks. "Oh my God," said Julia, "I think I would puke. But it would be totally awesome."

Yep. Those are pretty much my sentiments too.


Yes, roasting marshmallows in your household oven really is this exciting.

You can see Julia's artwork here.

Mundane Updates

Carry My Joy On the Left
Holy shit!! Ryan sent me a present from Indianapolis, and it's a pink Corona cowboy hat! If I was never the life of the party before, I will be now. Thanks for not making it a bong, Ryan!

I lost my "Question Reality" button I always have pinned on my purse a little while ago, but I found another one online. w00t. Also bought a couple of CDs to add to my collection (Gorillaz, Mark Knopfler, Refused, and Sonic Youth).

My homegirl Julia is back from Italy!

The lifeguards at my pool get hotter each year. Where are they finding these guys?! Each summer I think, "Wow, the people hiring are really outdoing themselves this time," but then the next year rolls around and they manage to get lifeguards of an even higher physical caliber. Are they models in their free time? Do I need to fake a drowning? I think the answers are, respectively, yes and yes.

Carry My Pain on the Right
My car Earl died on the Capital Beltway a few days ago on my way to work. Poor Earl! He gave me quite a scare. But we sent him to the hospital and they patched him up (needed a new fuel pump), and now he's good as new. Welcome back, Earl!

I got chewed out by a US marshal last week for attempting to deliver an "imperfect subpoena." The bastards. There was nothing wrong with the subpoena, and they knew it. I used to think the marshals were great eye candy in the courtroom, but I don't know if I can be a fan of them anymore. I'll never again look at Marshal Marshall in the same way.

We urged one of our clients a few days ago to take a plea bargain from the government in his case. I feel bad for the guy because he could go to jail for up to over two years for something that so easily could have been avoided. It was entirely his fault for getting himself involved in the incident, and I don't deny that he did a stupid thing, but it just sucks that now he has to pay for it with potential jailtime. He's not a bad guy at all and I am sympathetic towards him. But he's done jail time before, and I guess he can (and will) do it again.

Internship Entry 3: Down Time

This past week has kind of been a joke at the office for Nick & Casey and Sach & me. We're running a little dry on work to do, and that's the understatement of the year. Well, we all need a little down time. Or, a lot.

7/20 You Only Hurt the Teams You Love
Want your favorite baseball team to have a chance at the play-offs? Here's a piece of advice: don't get me tickets to any of their games. The Amy Chen curse continued unabated Wednesday night with the disappointing defeat of the Nationals by the Rockies, after a 4-0 win the night before. What's the Amy Chen curse, you ask? Well, it's shitty, is what it is. When every single baseball game you've gone to has resulted in the defeat of the team you rooted for, it's natural to come to the conclusion that you are cursed, that your team will never have a fighting chance in a game where you have a seat in the stands. So what do I do in a predicament like this? Do I leave halfway through a game, knowing that my absence will consequently garner my team a mind-blowing win, albeit one that I will never get to see in person? Or do I stay and cheer until my voice gives out, only to watch the game end with my team's painful, ignoble defeat? This is the kind of dilemma that needs to be discussed more in philosophy courses. I'd like to hear Kant's take on this little quagmire.

So the night ended with the Nats losing 3-2. In addition to that the O's lost to Milwaukee, and the Yankees came out on top against Texas. The curse is cruel. But at least Nick, Casey, and I made a lot of noise in the stands. Half the stuff we yelled made absolutely no sense, and the subdued (and annoying!) silence of the people around us only made us that much more obnoxious. But we worked up a good sweat and wasted our voices, so in the end it was a good night.


Casey, Nick, and me at the Capitol Brewery before the game. I got to take advantage of Happy Hour without getting carded. This never happens.


Casey and I after the game. We were very sweaty at this point. The Washington humidity doesn't quit after dark.

7/21 The Many Faces of Sachin
At work, this has been the Week of Nothing. As in: What work did we do today? Nothing. What's next on our to-do list? Nothing. How much are we getting paid? And you get the idea. While Matt & Karen and Mike & Naomi seem to still be consistently knee-deep in work, Nick & Casey and Sachin & I have been spending the vast majority of our time either playing HORSE in the intern office or humming that over-caffeinated Six Flags commercial ditty ad nauseum. Here, Sachin and I spice up a phone call to the nincompoops at the witness voucher office:


Sachin annoyed by the incompetence of the witness voucher office.

Sachin sad, also sleepy.

Sachin high; drugs taken from client.

Sachin worried, about to wet himself.

Sachin practicing for his role in an off-Broadway musical.

I don't know what the fuck is happening in this picture.

Internship Entry 2: D.C. is full of neat stuff!

June 28:
Casey and I took a walk around the Capitol after work. It was overcast and drizzled almost the entire time we were out, but we barely felt the rain. We walked by all the congressional offices, the Library of Congress, and the Supreme Court. It's a liberating feeling to be surrounded by all these historic and important American buildings, while at the same time being able to just be totally giggly and carefree with a girlfriend. In your little world, all these symbols of power and grandeur are relegated to the background, and all that really matters is having a fun night. There were pictures of me and Casey hugging a palm tree outside of the botanical gardens, but they were a little blurry so I left them out. These photos are less humorous.


The Capitol.


Some flowers in this garden-thingy we walked through by the Capitol.


A fountain near the Capitol.

July 8:
Sachin and I were in Adams Morgan to investigate an incident that happened outside a bar called "The Reef." While walking through an alley to the back of some bars and stores, I saw these little "cave paintings" on the building walls. I snapped a few shots of them with my camera phone.



And the day before, while waiting for one of our interviewees to arrive, Sachin and I took a detour to Adams Morgan and stopped by Meridian Hill Park, on the corner of 17th and Euclid. This isn't a good photo (again, taken with my camera phone), but it gives you an idea of how expansive the park is. (This is just one section of the park.) I never even knew this existed.

Internship Entry 1: The Blue Wall

Some days doing this job, you just feel like you have accomplished nothing the whole working day. Case jackets filed at the courthouse mysteriously go missing, and you leave empty-handed. Searches for an individual's contact information turn up nothing. Clients for whatever reason don't keep their appointments. Nobody ever calls you back when you ask them to.

But compared to most situations in which you go home at the end of the day wondering where all your time and effort went, I don't think anything feels as fruitless and aggravating as trying to find a cop.

One important job of defense investigators is trying to interview possible witnesses for the prosecution. The goal is to take down a signed, official witness statement, thereby locking them into their story. Therefore when they take the stand, they can be impeached by the defense attorneys if there are any inconsistencies between their testimony and the statement they've given to the investigators. This is very valuable in case witnesses try to change their story, and it is also helpful in casting doubt upon a witness' reliability.

Unlike a lot of other people who might take the stand for the government, cops hold two valuable pieces of information that make them incredibly frustrating for defense investigators. First, they know exactly who you are and what you want from them the minute you pop onto their radar. Therefore, the minute cops hear that you are looking for them (which investigators try to keep under wraps as best they can), they - and all their fellow men and women in blue - will give you the run-around like there is no tomorrow. What else explains why Sachin and I have been unable to interview an Animal Control officer for about three weeks, despite the fact that a) we know when she works, b) we know where she lives, c) her supervisor has already given us the go-ahead to talk to her. Take another example in which while trying to find two cops to talk to who arrested our client, their co-workers have already given me and Sachin three different times of day for when their shift starts. A typical attempt to reach them goes like this:

"We're here to see either Officer A or Officer B."
"A or B? They're already out on the streets/not working now."
"Can you please check? The last person we talked to told us they'd be just coming in to work right now."
"Oh nooo....They come in at [insert yet another time of day] ."

This happened today, again. Very defeating.

The other thing that cops know that makes them virtually useless to interview (much less take a statement from) is that simply they don't have to talk to you. Unlike your average person who feels like they want their side of the story told, or will talk simply because they are asked, cops know that talking to you - even if it doesn't hurt - will not help the government's case. And since dealing with defense investigators is inevitably a part of a cop's job description, they have plenty of practice shutting you down without a second thought. Sachin and I had an "interview" with a U.S. marshal a few weeks ago that lasted about a minute. Aside from their general unwillingness to talk, it also doesn't help that you're face-to-face with a man who could snap you in half.

But the great things about us investigators is that we're incredibly tenacious. Although Sachin did not seem too keen on this idea, I have vowed to set up a small tent outside Officers A and B's district station and embark on my first stakeout. But seriously, though - they're wrong if they think we're not going to keep going back there (and this goes for the Animal Control officer too). Sometime this summer, it will be a glorious moment when Sachin and I finally find them. And then, it will be the shortest interview ever as we wait for those soul-crushing words: "I'm not going to say anything about the case."