Overheard in the Elevator

Six men and I are riding up, they're getting out at 24. I get out at 19.
Man 1: There's a lot of Jed Bartlett stuff at the Smithsonian. A surprising amount, it takes up a whole wall.
Man 2: You don't say.
Man 1: Yep, best President we ever had, that Bartlett. Jed Bartlett and Bill Clinton.

Closing Time...

So while most WEDYHTDers know this, I'm leaving New York in a little under two months. So this morning I was brain-storming on things I wanted to do/make sure I did again before leaving. The things should be quintessentially New York. But I could only come up with five.

They are:
Go to Whitney Biennial
See Munch Exhibit at MoMA
Go to Bohemian Beer Garden
Go to Bulgarian Disco
Eat Grimaldi's

Any help/anybody want to come?

This Modern Life

There's this commercial for some kind of fiber supplement that captures my predicament precisely. In it, a woman wakes up to her alarm and starts eating a carrot, then we see her gnawing on broccoli while driving the kids to school and eating a bran muffin while working out. The tagline of the commercial is something like, "if you get all of your daily fiber from what you eat, how do you have time for anything else."
And isn't this the modern dilemma? At least I feel overwhelmed by it sometimes, the number of things we're "supposed" (and many that we want) to do-- eat enough fiber, get enough iron, eat plenty of vegetables, exercise, give money to charity, work late, spend time with friends, see family.... the list goes on and on and it seems practically impossible to do all of it. Like the fiber example-- a typical orange, considered a pretty high fiber food, has 3g of fiber. And we're shooting for at least 25 a day! Which means just staying on top of your FIBER intake could be a freaking full time job. Meanwhile, there are restaurants we have to try while we're supposed to cook at home. Take advantage of every opportunity WHILE building good credit? Gym memberships that eat into the disposable income we could we using to feed the homeless.... ergh! Does anyone else get frustrated by this or am I just abnormally guilt-ridden?

the tiger look

I just came from the salon where I spent over $100 for a cut and color. My glasses were off during the process and, since I am nearly blind without them, I couldn't really see what was going on. However, before starting to paint my head, I did tell the woman that I am not in to the streaky look and that I prefer an all-over medium blonde. At the end of what has turned out to be an ordeal, I put my glasses back on to find that my head is streaked in black and white. The woman is all excited about the "low lights" and I tell her it is "great."

What gives? I am not afraid to speak in a class of 100 law students or afraid of giving oral arguments in front of judges--yet, when I have the chance to speak up about my utter disgust with my hair color that reminds be of a bengal tiger, I just grin (grimace) and run away.

Now that I am at work, I have called the salon and will be getting it fixed tomorrow. It was much easier to call and complain knowing I was in the safety of my own office. Why am I afraid of the hairdresser? She's the one that screwed up! She should be afraid of me! (in 18 short months I could sue) . Is this a quirk I have of being intimidated by the salon people or is it evidence that I have some more growing up to do? I may never know, but until tomorrow, you can just call me Le Tigre.

When you sell your soul, apparently they come back to collect.

So as the community may or may not know, I work at a large law firm in New York. Coming from a background of a lot of lawyers, but no firm lawyers, I started here kind of expected it to be the seat of all evil... and found for the most part, it's just people, just working. Most people who work here aren't attorneys, they're just folks trying to support themselves and their families. The attornies aren't evil, most of them are actually quite nice and they're just working also. It just so happens that what they're working on at best doesn't interest me and at worst conflicts somewhat with my morals, instilled in me by aforementioned non-firm lawyers.
In September I worked on a project for a pharmaceutical company client, some research into cholesterol-lowering drugs, or statins, and what form they took. The goal of this research was to try to argue that the company wasn't avoiding allowing a generic to be made (and therfore losing a lot of profit) by switching it from a capsule to tablet, but making it more like the other similar drugs on the market. Whatever. I typed up a little email memo about my research and send it off to the attorney. I made jokes about how terrible it was to work for the people trying to keep drugs that people need prohibitively expensive, but jokes in similar ways to ones I make about children losing their arms mining the diamonds for our client in a kind of but-my-hands-are-tied way...
Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago when I get a phone call from my Dr., following up on some routine blood work/check-up. He wants me to come in, I have extremely high cholesterol. He's be testing my blood and liver and everything else since then and finally yesterday put me on a statin to bring down the cholesterol. I went to get the prescription filled for this drug that likely I'll have to take for the rest of my life to control my cholesterol... and it's a $50 copay. Because there is no generic. And, at some, level this is my own fault. Fuck.

What are the odds?

Every time I fly to Minnesota from, well, anywhere, I kind of expect to recognize someone on my flight. This feeling isn't as strong anymore as I know what seems like fewer and fewer people in my hometown. As further evidence, this past weekend on the way to our local Target, my mom asked if I expected to run into someone I knew at Target... um, who would that be?
However, the past two times I've flown (aside from Israel, which is an outlier) I've either seen or been SEATED NEXT TO someone I know. Once was just in the airport, the other was on a flight back to NY from Oakland in January. What are the odds? Well, I did a few calculations:
In 2005 100 Million people pass through the NY airports, JFK, Newark, Laguardia.
I have 122 Friendsters. Say I also know the parents and on average one sibling of a quarter of them... there's another 91.5 people. Then theres the people I would recognize, I know but don't "know" and so am not connected to via online social networking at all. Say, an equal number to friendsters and familes- another 213.5 people. And then the people who aren't on Friendster. Let's optimistically say I know 600 people. Or would recognize them. This means that everyone I know is .0006% of the people who pass through the NY airports, and that's assuming they ALL flew in and out of NY and I was at the airport (all 3) all day every day to see them. Kind of astonishing to recognize anyone at all, actually. Food for thought. Next topic will be: After beating incredible odds like these... why do I still try to avoid saying hello? Discuss.

The newest development...

Ok, I know the WEDYHTD community is divided over Lance Armstrong. Heroic/national/athletic icon to some, sleezebag doper to others, tomayto, tomahto... but what about this:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4749716.stm

So Sheryl and Lance break up and all of the sudden she's being treated for breast cancer? I realize this is all speculation, but they broke up THREE weeks ago... we're supposed to believe he didn't know about the cancer? He ditched his wife who nursed him though his own cancer recovery for Sheryl, then hit the road when the going got tough with her. Either Lance and his heart are pure but have the worst timing EVER... or he is the worst person EVER. We can all decide for ourselves...
PS. I think we need weekly updates on TomKitten since lords knows, I can't keep up.

a shot at greatness

While perusing one of my favorite celebrity blogs this morning over a cup of coffee, i saw this:

"VH1 & ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY ARE HITTING THE ROAD LOOKING FOR

POP CULTURE TRIVIA FANS TO COMPETE IN THE

WORLD SERIES OF POP CULTURE!"

And it occured to me, for once in my life, I actually could be equipped to compete in a world series! I mean, yeah, ok - its no Torino. But jeez, anyone who saw the ladies freestyle skating last night might concede that "greatness" isn't all that great. (cause dude, that girl so should not have won! did anyone else notice that she repeated the floaty-fish-arm-spin into single-arm-in-the-air-spin sequence 3 times!? it was like a skating version of a kylie minogue song. but i digress)

Anyways, maybe i'm just looking for an avenue to vent about ridiculous sucess of the fucking girls who ruled my middle school, but i think i could do this! i read like 3-8 celeb blogs a day, a fact which i never thought of as something to be proud of, let alone something to share with anyone, but for reals yo, i could DO this. i need teammates. who's with me?



ADDENDUM: I was so busy watching skating last night that i missed seeing becky get booted from American Idol. and yet, my dreams of greatness have not waned. the road to pop culture beckons....

Free Money

I spoke to my brother Kevin on the phone for a while last night, and told him about this major fundraiser we’re planning at work and how I’m very anxious about it because it’s only nine days away and we’ve filled about a third of the seats in what is not even that big a hall in the first place. We haven’t had a problem getting donations, though. The money is pouring in. It’s just that no one seems to want to get anything back for it. In general in my work here, I’ve found that it’s a lot easier to get people to give money than to attend an event. The easiest way to bring in cash seems to be holding raffles—that way, people can send in their checks from afar without actually having to make time in their schedules to go to a concert or a dinner or whatever, feel good about themselves for supporting a great cause, and have a shot at maybe, just maybe, winning a Chivas Regal gift set or a NordicTrak machine or someone else’s frequent flier miles.

Kevin compared it to his reaction to the homeless people on the streets of San Francisco who try to sell you their newspapers for a dollar. He usually gives them a buck but tells them to keep the paper because he can’t even be bothered with going out of his way to the trash can to throw it out.

It’s probably a raising-a-family-in-the-city thing. The people who would most enjoy the benefit concert that we’re planning are parents who bring their musically-inclined kids. But those are the same people who think they are too busy to come out on a Monday night. So instead they send in a check and their good wishes and go about their daily routine of feeding the kids and making sure they do their homework and get a good night’s sleep.

I’ve given more money than I thought I would this year to various organizations and I’ve almost always received something in return: tote bags and iPod holders from WNYC (and maybe a laptop if by chance I win the special Apple drawing!), a concert at Madison Square Garden (and a glimpse of Bill Clinton) for Katrina victims, a performance of Beethoven’s 9th for earthquake victims, all I could drink at the Brooklyn Brewery for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Next weekend I'm going to a concert that will somehow benefit both New Orleans and Tibet. I like doing fun things for a good cause and when I don’t have time for that anymore because I’m responsible for other living beings, I’ll miss it.

More and more I feel little incentive to strive towards grown-up goals like having a family and investing money and buying a home. I just did my taxes and they were so easy, on account of owning nothing of value and being responsible for no one but myself.

wasn't born yesterday

does anyone else remember a time when a snack-sized container of almonds didn't cost eight bucks. what is going on here? am i the only one who has noticed that the price of almonds (and cashews!) is out of control. are you embarrassed that i've posted this on our blog? have i jeopardized our legitimacy?

Loud and Clear, Big Guy

I am beginning to believe in a higher power. It wasn't the trip to Israel this month that did it, although the moment on shabbat looking out over the dome of the rock and the church of the holy sepulchre with the sound of the call to prayer drifting over the old city in stereo from mosques did make it seem like all of these people might know something I don't. But what turned me was the feeling lately that someone, somewhere was beginning to think I was feeling too cocky and I needed to be brought down a notch. Or, at an even more basic level-- that somebody has been paying attention. Examples from my recent existence:
In Israel I got in a yelling argument with someone on our trip, which let loose a self-righteous flood of rage that culminated in my bringing up the fact that he had spent the second day of the trip vomiting on the bus due to a vodka-drinking contest with a Russian the night before. Man, was I self-righteous. I spent most of the next day vomiting.
Also in Israel, I spoke with Juliet about how I felt like I really needed to experience heartbreak before I settle down with one person forever. Meanwhile, I spoke confidently about my relationship. I came home and within 24 hours had been dumped.
This fall, I had started to feel cocky about law school, like maybe at some level I was better than some schools. Or that I'd be considered a stronger candidate than the numbers suggest. And then those schools started to reject, wait-list and defer me.
There are other examples that don't come to mind right now, of me saying or thinking things only to be squarely contradicted by what seem like pointed changes in reality. Like someone is trying to tell me something.
The journal I'm using now I started on Valentine's Day 2004 and every page was filled ending last night, Valentine's Day 2006. I did a little personal retrospective on these past two years and more and more things seemed to be getting tied up, coming full circle; its all happening very cleanly. Not that breakups and arguments and rejection are clean, but it's falling into place like someone is planning this.
On the last day of the Israel trip, the dreamboat guide had us all write out postcards that he will mail to us, to send ourselves a little message about what we want ourselves to remember that we'd learned, realized or changes we intended to make. My postcard was about the realization that after being completely removed from everyday life for 10 days, I realized that my life is more than the sum of its components. After spending so much mental energy on relationships, jobs and law school, it was both freeing and terrifying to think about my life as being more than all of those things put together. And then I came home and a lot of those things shifted.
This whole weird, hard time brings a lot of maxims to mind-- be careful what you wish for, what goes around comes around, don't get too comfortable. It's weird. I don't know what's going on... but I'm putting it on the internet to say:
OK, I HEAR YOU.
Now if I could only figure out what they're trying to say...
I hope this doesn't mean I'm losing my mind.

Floofy dresses, Prosthetic Boobs, Opera Singing Cabbies, and the Oakland PD, or "How I spent my Saturday Night"

So pretty much nothing about Saturday made any kind of sense. I started the day with Jessie in the sunny suburbs of the South Bay trying on ridiculous pink floofy bridesmaids dresses (my sister's getting married). From there we tootled to Julia's. We were starving but the bagels were off limits - what can you do? It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and it was 5 o'clock somewhere so we drove through the city loking for a cafe in which to drink bloodymary's. You would think that wouldn't be so hard, but hours later we were still driving, with no bloodymary's in sight. We decided to pull out all the stops and go to the Cliff House, which is a swanky staple of the San Francisco tourist scene. But its ma$$ive white columns made us keep driving to Louie's, which looked quaint but in fact was just totally bizzare. First of all, no bloodymarys. Then the waitress yelled at us for wanting to switch to an empty table away from the door. When i asked for a refill of diet coke, she told me that she had given me regular, so was i sure that i wanted diet this time? There was some sort of nasty plastic thing floating in Julia's water. nothing really went right. Since we had never really fulfilled the bloody mary craving, we decided to get swanked up and paint the town red.

After many stops for black slinky things we arrived in "Balboa Park" which i guess technically is part of the city but pretty much felt like another country to us. Jessie's friend was having a party which we thought was a "Vamps and Vixens" party, but in fact was a "Vamps and Vampires" party. quite different in fact. Her friend is a fabulous drag queen and many of the other people there were also very much in drag and lace and leather and prosthetic boobs. We meant to just stay for a drink and return to civilization but many french martini's later we were still there. A woman in a leather jumpsuit with a boat of a cadillac drove us to BART. which we missed. we got on a bus. i dont know what bus it was, but i think it was the wrong one. it was empty though and we didn't have to pay. Julia decided to get off. later she regretted her haste, as it was not the correct stop. Jessie and I got off too, somewhere, nowhere near her house, so we got in a cab. i was actually a van. with a woman driver who was so fabulously nice and who turned off the meter when i jumped out to get us pizza, which again i didn't have to pay for.

I loved this cab so much that i decided i couldn't leave it, i wanted my own bed, which was across the bridge in Oakland. but i was drunk and what is money to a drunk girl? So she took me. She was an opera singer and her favorite opera, Amal and the Night Visitors, was one that my mother took me to see every single year at chistmas. So she sang me arias and we ate pizza and talked and talked and then i was home. I put it on the credit card (which was a smarter move than i knew then) went inside and ate some more pizza.

Suddenly i heard gun shots. and i looked out the window and saw 3 or 4 guys running like crazy down the street. So i got out the phone book and called the cops. Which is something i feel like i do a lot for some reason, so it didn't feel that crazy. they said they'd send a car out. i said cool. so i finished my pizza and went to bed.

This morning, as i was dawdling and making myself late to work again, the phone rang. I normally don't answer my house phone but i did and it was the Cab Driver from saturday night, calling to tell me that she had filled out a crime report with the Oakland PD and they going to contact me and she was so glad i paid with a credit card because otherwise she'd never be able to find me again. and i was like, "oh my GOD - the gunshots!" and she said, "Yeah! I got away just in time!".... It turns out that when i went inside my house that night and she was pausing to do the paperwork for my ride, a bunch of guys started running at her shooting. she peeled away just in time and the bullets missed her and just hit the side of the van. She drove off for a couple of blocks until she called the cops but they were already on their way. So now i'm sitting here waiting for the cops to call and connect the dots.
crazy friggin night.

Some Women

Nothing like a record-breaking snowstorm to separate the Vain and Superficial from the Just Plain Silly. I mean, really. If you look out the window before you get dressed in the morning, or in the event that you don't have a window or your window looks out on a brick wall you watch the local news or listen to the radio, you should have the sense not to wear your pointy-heeled boots to work. Otherwise you end up like a woman I saw coming out of the 72nd street station looking stumped because the only surface not covered in snow and ice was the grate with holes in it that would swallow up those long and skinny little heels. As Sarah suggested, "she's probably still standing there."

New Years Resolutions: better late than never.

As I strolled into work this morning, 45 minutes late (as usual), trying to nonchalantly cover the food stain I neglected to notice this morning when putting on my lamo pastel office-wear sweater that I bought because it was on sale even though it wasn't the color I wanted, I realized that I need to make some changes. It's still January, so I can still make resolutions right? I'm putting them here so as to make them more official and I think you guys should too. If you want.

1. Get to work on time and stop deciding to clean the house 10 minutes after I'm supposed to leave it.
2. Be more stylish - only buy office clothes that I wouldn't feel lame going to happy hour in.
3. Never buy things just because they're on sale
4. Don't avoid starting political conversations just because I assume that everyone around me shares my point of view. They don't.
5. Drink at least 3 Nalgenes of water a day
6. Be more present. When I start to panic about dumb shit in the future, force myself to stop and let go.
7. Make lunch and bring it to work
8. Take vitamins + flax seed oil every morning
9. Wean myself off of Equal and sugar-free popsicles.
10. Know when to shut the fuck up. Especially when drunk.
11. No whiskey. Ever.
12. Stop crying during minor conflicts, arguments, or conversations about money.
13. Write at least a couple songs this year and be less nervous about singing them in front of people.
14. Start exercising again.
15. Stop flushing O.B. wrappers down the toilet.
16. Be more stringent about the use of apostrophes and the difference between "its" and "it's" when typing.
17. Spend more time alone
18. Go to more museums, talks, and concerts. Always worth the money.
19. Reinstate Frugal Month.
20. For every hour I spend reading celebrity gossip, I must read at least one real news story.

Upfront

Took a cab to work. Who said it - I said it. I was running really late and when my boss is out of town he just waits for an opportunity to say, "You're taking advantage." So I hailed a mini-van cab on 7th and hopped to the second row. I'm about to go on a birthright trip to Israel and hear that the cool people sit in the back of the bus. I'm doing a lot of prep this week.

My cab driver, Jack Rubin, seemed confused. "Most people sit right here," he said pointing to the seat behind him. I didn't tell Jack that I had chosen the second row because it gave me more sleeping space though perhaps I should have because as we turned onto Flatbush he offered me his copy of the New York Post. I get sick if I read in a moving vehicle, but sweetly accepted.

At my final destination, he asked if I wanted the receipt. I said sure even though I had no use for it. "At least somebody's getting reimbursed," he said. Precisely. I didn't want him to suspect that I was spoiling myself. I'd be concerned if he thought I was being excessive.

Stopped in at Starbucks. The man in line in front of me requested that he not get the croissant he had been given. The barista explained that he had actually put 2 in the bag. But the customer had a particular butter croissant in mind and pointed. The same barista then ordered me a triple grande latte when I had just paid for a double tall. I didn't say anything. It seemed he liked treating.

Mayans into Theatres Near You this Spring

My dad used to make a living cutting trailers for movies. He was responsible for the coming attraction to Mel Gibson's 1995 film Braveheart. Now here was potential for a great coming attraction. There would be bagpipes,greenery, battle, kilts, kissing, more battle. And then, the music could stop, and in would drop a killer line: THEY CAN TAKE OUT LIVES. BUT THEY'LL NEVER TAKE...OUR FREEDOM. It just seemed too easy. But that was ten years go.

Let me be clear. I don't have my Masters in anything. But it seems to me that trailers have come to rely too heavily on well-established formulas. Those of us who "don't want to miss the trailers" know the ad approaches all too well. For example, there's the "Until Now" method, which goes something like this: Mel Gibson had it all. He was handsome. Australian. He was winning Oscars. It seemed like he had the world in the palm of his hand - halt music - UNTIL NOW- more music go go go. Perhaps the only thing more cliche than these trailers are my jokes about them.

I'd like to call your attention if I may (my apologies for sounding so formal-I am merely misplacing the academic energy that could go toward a masters degree if i had ANY IDEA WHAT I WANTED TO STUDY!!!!), to the "teaser" trailer for Mel Gibson's new movie Apocalyptico. http://movies.yahoo.com/shop?d=hv&cf=trailer&id=1809249345&intl=us

Instead of a narrator, it uses "cards" or words. Early on we see this Will Durant quote: "A great civilization is not conquered from without - fade out - until it has destroyed itself from within" followed by images of howling, blood thirsty Indians who turn out to be Mayan. The entire movie is in Mayan. This leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Indigenous people had colonialism coming to them? Even if the Spanish arrived only once this particular civilization had largely dispersed, it seems like a strange statement coming from a philosopher/scholar. And certainly not a theory that could be applied throughout history.

I asked my dad about it and he said that he suspects Mel Gibson is trying to imply that America is currently destroying itself from within. That our culture is on the decline morally. The trailer further misleads the American people when it posts this on the screen: "From the Academy Award winning director of Braveheart and The Passion of the Christ." He didn't win an award for the Passion let alone a nomination!

Suddenly THEY MAY TAKE OUR LIVES BUT THEY'LL NEVER TAKE OUR FREEDOM sounds like something Bush would say. Looking back at the titles of his movies, it occurs to me that maybe Mel has been working for the man all along. Lethal Weapon,The Patriot, Bird on a Wire, Maverick. Of course this could all just be a "Conspiracy Theory" because he was
also in a movie called "Air America."

4 Years of Liberal Arts Education: $150,000. An Uncanny Ability to Bullshit: Priceless.

Like probably several others on this blog, I went to an expensive liberal arts university (the very same one in fact!). With a big stress on the words "liberal" and "arts". Not so much "university". Or so I thought.

I spent the first couple of years halfheartedly trying to fulfill the few requirements there were. To this end I took and managed to pass both physics and astronomy. I am eternally proud of this fact. But that's where the facts end and the bullshit begins: I was an American Studies major, the most liberal major of them all. (To my credit, I think I was possibly the only Amst major who chose the department because I truly honestly was interested in the subject and methodology, and not just because of the flexible attitude they had towards credits. Although damn, that helped a lot) and I created my own major which was nice then, and continues to be nice now because it takes quite a bit of time trying to explain what a concentration in Nationalism & Transnationalism is exactly, so if I'm ever in an awkward social situation with nothing to say, I can always play that one up. But I digress....

Annnnnnyways, I finally have a job that makes me really pretty happy. (Word to the wise: I've discovered that most people don't actually like you when you're happy. My popularity at potlucks has plummeted since my depression began to wane...) and a lot of what I do at my job is write and edit grant reports and letters and briefs and stuff.

And I realized all of a sudden that, contrary to what I always thought, I actually owe any success I have to my liberal arts education! Even though I wasn't sure how those film and lit classes were going to ever help me, I'm starting to think that maybe in some strange way, they will. It turns out, the art of talking things up is surprisingly valuable! Which is awesome, because that's pretty much the only thing I know how to do at this point. So there you go. A public service announcement to anyone who is as lost as I have been:

Do not lose hope; become a grantwriter.

unacceptable

I am at work and my co-worker is currently listening to the radio. Now, this is something I normally don't mind. In fact, even in college and living with roommates, I was always the one that wanted to study with music on and if it was something I didn't care about, with TV. I like background noise.

But I do NOT like today's background noise. My co-worker is listening to the history of douche on the radio and now they are taking calls from women to hear their experiences with douche-ing. Am I right that this is wholly unacceptable to listen to at work? I mean, I'm all for inappropriate conversation and dirty, intimate details and I love Adam Corolla. It's not really the conversation that bothers me. It's the fact that I don't want to listen to this WITH my co-worker while I am trying to finish a personal injury settlement. The pros and cons of douche (I was taught there are only cons and douche-ing is really really bad) is bar talk best reserved for best girlfriends and effeminate boys, NOT pre-lunch, radio-listening at work.

A little NPR never killed anyone. I will now deal with the situation as passive aggressively as possible by tuning to an internet radio station that is turned up just loud enough to make having both stations on impracticable. And if the co-worker doesn't like it, she can go douche herself.

As fate would have it...

I received Sea Monkeys this morning as a gift. These days they are GUARANTEED to live for two years. I told the giver, my uncle, that I really wasn't prepared to make that kind of committment... but it does make it a more serious kind of gift for a significant other. Two years is like giving someone a cat. Or at least a gerbil. Chrismakkah gerbil?

STRIKE!

This is my only proof that I walked to/from work 3 times. I love extreme circumstance (so long as no one is in danger) and so severe weather, blackouts and transit strikes are right up my alley... but this got old. Luckily, it's a good excuse for the sparsity of Chrismakkah presents I'll be doling out this weekend. I felt once again very distant from most people I spoke to about the strike while it was going on, there seemed to be so much anger and frustration and it was solely aimed at the union. I'm sure it's my pinko upbringing, but I was always taught never to cross a picket line, regardless of what the union is or what they're requesting-- a strike is a huge, costly, dangerous, difficult thing that folks don't arrive at lightly, so you have to assume whatever they're asking for it worth a whole lot to them. Maybe I also feel torn between the sense of purpose I felt while cresting the Brooklyn Bridge on the second morning, accompanied by thousands of New Yorkers and Billy Bragg singing "There is power in the union" on my ipod and the fact that I was trudging all that way to a job that provides no such sense of purpose and probably more undermines things I believe are important. Looks like I need my own labor negotiations.