A Walk to Beautiful

Yesterday evening, Justin and I went to visit some friends up in Durham who recently had a baby. Their daughter Sam is beautiful and her mother has recovered just fine too. In fact, Courtney (the mom) plans to participate in a triathlon in August--about six months after she delivered.

I take comfort in knowing that one day I will give birth to my children in a clean hospital where there are doctors, nurses, and midwives. I know that if anything goes wrong during my labor, then I can rely on the medical personnel to give my baby the best of care. Unfortunately, millions of women across our globe do not have such a luxury.

Last week I watched the documentary "A Walk to Beautiful" that chronicles the prevalence of fistulas in Ethiopia. Obstetricians and midwives are rare in this poor African nation and even rarer in its countryside. Most women in rural areas have no access to a medical professional when they give birth---they just rely on the other women in the village to help them through the delivery. Now in many cases, both mother and baby are healthy after the birth; but in some cases, the woman languishes in labor that can last up to ten days. The child is often left stillborn while the mother frequently develops a fistula.

A fistula is a hole that forms between a woman's birth canal and one or more of her internal organs (either the bladder or the rectum). This hole is created after numerous days of obstructed labor and it causes permanent incontinence of urine and/or feces. Many women who develop fistulas are abandoned by their husbands and shunned by their communities. One woman in the documentary was forced to build an isolated hut away from her family members because they did not want to be close to her. For six years she suffered like this.



Yet there is hope for these women. The Addis Ababa Fistula Hospital was established in 1974 to treat women with this medical ailment. In the past 33 years, the hospital has treated over 33,000 women and boasts a 90% cure rate. But the work of the hospital is never done. About 100,000 Ethiopian women remain untreated while 9,000 new cases are introduced every year. The hospital faces an uphill---but not impossible---battle.

After the documentary ended, my heart was drained and I was humbled. How easy I take for granted the access to medical care in my life. How easy I take for granted my insignificant trials that are so small compared to others. And how helpless I feel when I realize there is not much I can do for these women beyond making a donation to the Fistula Foundation.

Life is so cruelly unfair and I wonder why I have been given so much and others so little.

Signs

On our way home from Durham today, we passed by two billboards that I found highly ironic.

On the left side of the freeway was a sign proudly proclaiming: "Ask Jesus to be your Savior today!" And on the right side of the road was a sign advertising: "Topless! Topless! Topless! Next Exit."

I couldn't help but wonder---which billboard would win in a boxing match?

On one side of the ring we have..........JESUS!
On the other side of the ring we have..........BOOBIES!

It'd be the match of the century if you ask me.

(Indeed, I am a blasphemous and crude woman who will surely be struck by lightning. Forgive me please, high lord Xenu.)

Racism is not dead

I consider myself very lucky that my run-ins with racism are few and far between. Growing up in suburban Maryland, my neighborhood and community was tolerant and diverse. My friends throughout my childhood and teenage years came in an assortment of ethnicities and races and the color of our skin was never really an issue.

Yet the ugly head of racism has reared up in my life a couple of times. I've been called "flat face" and I've been nicknamed "Caroline the Brown" and I've been asked why I speak English without an accent. Most of these incidents I shrug off as simple ignorance--but one example still makes my heart ache a little.

During my third year in college, I befriended a guy from Wyoming and we spent a couple of semesters in innocent flirting and bantering. I discovered one day that my friend had considered dating me but decided against it due to my race--and this discovery stung my soul and wounded my heart. I told myself that it wasn't a big deal and I tried to lock away my hurt feelings--but I couldn't. This was the first time I felt utterly judged by the color of my skin. I felt like someone had looked at my race and figured I wasn't good enough. I wasn't white enough. Suffice to say, I didn't talk to this person for a very long time.

Racism is still alive in our country. We can tout the rise of the black middle class or point to the diversity of college students in our universities or hail the achievements of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. But this doesn't mean that racism is gone or that it has been stomped out of our society. Of course, we have come a long way since the days of Jim Crow but the road ahead of us remains long and winding. Just look at the way some people demean Hispanic immigrants as "dirty Mexicans" and "lazy."

Millions of Americans look to Barack Obama as a sign that racism doesn't matter anymore. Indeed, the candidate has rallied voters from all colors, religions, and ages to the banner of his cause. But this doesn't mean that the Obama campaign has not faced a wave of racism in conservative states and counties. A story in today's Washington Post recounts the trials and tribulations that Obama workers have encountered as they canvassed across the country.


In Indiana for instance, one of Obama's campaign offices was vandalized and spray-painted the day of the primary election. In Scranton, Obama signs were burned during a St. Patrick's Day parade. And here is the clincher: in rural Pennsylvania, one man ranted that he could never vote for a black man and dared to say: "Hang that darky from a tree."

How frustrating. How disappointing. How very, very sad.

Yet I do have hope for this country. (The audacity of hope!) As the older generations die out and as the younger ones rise up, I believe racism will lessen and ebb away ever slowly. My own marriage is a testament of this belief. Decades ago, my union with a white man would have been illegal in some states and looked down upon in most others--yet people today don't even bat an eye when my husband and I walk hand-in-hand down the street.

We have come so far--yet we still have far to go. Racism is not dead. It is alive in our country and it will cling to life as long as people hold onto the prejudices of the past. It will continue on as long as we allow it to live in the hearts of our children. And it will continue on if we allow it to live in our hearts as well.

This is a little late but...

I voted on Tuesday!

After watching over forty states hold their Democratic and Republican primaries, I finally got my chance too. And it was fabulous! On the day of the primary, Justin and I went down to our local elementary school to cast our votes for Barack Obama as well as our picks for the governor and Senate races in November. Justin even spent the rest of the afternoon canvassing for Obama in a few neighborhoods in our town. (I declined to go because knocking on people's doors freaks me out. A lot.) I was just happy to wear my "I Voted" sticker for the rest of the day because I finally got my chance to vote in this historic election.

On my way home from the grocery store later in the day, I heard on NPR that voting in North Carolina doubled this year compared to the presidential primaries in 2004. On one hand this made me really happy, but on the other hand I was sorely disappointed. 35% of North Carolinians voted on Tuesday as opposed to 17% in 2004---yet this leaves a huge bulk of the population that failed to go to the polls!

I can't help but think of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony who worked for their entire adult lives to give women the vote. And I can't help but think of the horrible laws like the "grandfather clauses" that were implemented to prevent African-Americans from voting. For so much of our history, huge swaths of the population have been barred from casting a vote on election day. Yet now that every adult citizen has the right to do so---many of us choose to stay at home. (And I admit it. I used to be one of these people too. I never bothered to vote in 2004 because I figured my vote would be wasted anyway.)

But no more! Voting is so important. This very simple act is the lifeblood of our democracy. Thus, if you still have the chance to vote in the primaries, then be sure to do it. And if you failed to vote in your primaries, then be sure to register and vote in the general election!

If not, then Caroline the voting monster will come out and get you...

The End of the Universe

Since the name of my blog is "Adventures in Space," I've decided to actually write about--what else?--space! I've actually been in love with astronomy since I was a kid. You know how some children go through a dinosaur phase or a robot phase or an airplane phase? Well, I had a space phase and I never really grew out of it.

During my freshman year of college I took an astronomy class and in my free time I read my textbook for fun. I loved learning about the formation of galaxies, the creation of our universe, and all of the wonderful oddities of outer space. If I had more of a knack for physics, then I probably would have majored in astronomy. But alas, my brain didn't inherit the mysterious Chinese gene that inspires genius within the fields of math or physics. Indeed, I am a shame to my mother country and to my heritage! To put it mildly, I am a dunce. I am the equivalent of a male panda who is unable to reproduce--both of us entirely unuseful to China's hopes in taking over the world.



And yet I still have a layman's curiosity when it comes to astronomy. On Tuesday nights I watch a fantastic show on the History Channel called "The Universe," which delves into different topics ranging from the force of gravity to the strange moons of Saturn. The most recent episode focused on the end of the universe--and my mind is still boggled and bewildered by what I watched.

Basically, astronomers have two theories about the end of the universe: either a hot fiery hellhole or a frigid wasteland of darkness and cold. Pretty bleak, eh? The first theory goes like this... One day the universe will stop expanding and will start to shrink. It will get smaller and smaller and hotter and hotter until it collapses back into a pinpoint of mass. Scientists call this the Big Crunch. The second theory is equally distateful. This theory posits that the universe will continue to expand at an accelerated pace. One day all of the stars will lose their light and even the black holes will evaporate. The end of the universe will be black and icy cold. Everything will be dead. (Not exactly a happy ending either.)

Of course, the universe we live in now is vibrant and strong. Stars still form, planets still orbit, and life still finds it way to birth. We will all be long gone before the universe will end in the far distant future (over a 100 trillion years). But my brain has been churning about the end of the universe in the spiritual sense. Once the universe dies a cold or fiery death, does God die too? Or do He and She pack up their bags and find a new place to call home? Or perhaps God exists on a plane that is beyond our physical universe? I really have no idea.

The Bible talks about eternal life and I've taken this to mean that life will never end. That our souls have some sort of immortal quality to them. But what if eternity has an end too? If the universe must die one day, then what will happen to me or you once this end is reached? Mormons tend to believe that God is a powerful being who is constrained (or rather follows) natural laws. Would He or She be able to bend such laws to allow the universe to keep going without end? Or perhaps does God have the power to create some kind of wormhole into a brand new universe where we can all indeed live forever?

I really don't know. I guess I will just have to wait 100 trillion years to find out.

That is, if I make it that far... :o)

Funnel Cakes and Fahrenheit 451

I won an essay contest!

It's really not a huge deal, but I was pretty excited nonetheless. (Haha. Only 17 people entered the thing.) The county libraries here sponsored an essay contest about Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, which celebrates its 50th anniversary this year. As one of two winners of this contest, I won a new copy of the book as well as a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble. And I'll also be published in the local paper! This makes me very happy since I can add another clip to my portfolio.

Anyway, Justin and I headed down to the Fayetteville Dogwood Festival on Friday night to retrieve my gift certificate (and ironically we did not see any dogwood flowers). Along the way we chatted with a Vietnam vet, gawked at the sheer size of the Budweiser Clydesdales, and ate a funnel cake. Oh, and I saw a middle-aged woman with no teeth. No dentures. No fake chompers. Just gums and a lot of pride. I was a little afraid she would berate us for being a "mixed-breed" couple.

Gotta love the South.

President McCain 2008?

For the past year, Justin and I have been glued to Meet the Press, Face the Nation, The Washington Post, The New York Times, and basically anything else politically oriented. Frankly, we can't wait until ol' Dubya vacates the White House and we've been so excited about the Democratic primaries.

Yet to be even more frank, I'm getting sick of it all. At first I was happy that the Democratic Party had such a diverse list of candidates. An African-American! A Latino! A woman! And a populist! (I still love John Edwards.) All seemed bright in the land of the donkey and I was sure that the Democrats would sweep the elections come November. But now I'm not so sure.

I'm really tired of all the badgering between Obama and Clinton. I'm tired of the negativity. Tired of word "superdelegate." And tired of realizing that we're practically giving away the presidency to John McCain. The longer this Democratic primary is prolonged, the more divided this party becomes. Hatred is brewing between the two candidate's supporters--and I admit it. I'm beginning to hate Hillary Clinton.

I'm beginning to hate Hillary! Me! A feminist! I have defended her in the past against people who dislike her for seemingly no reason, but I'm getting to the point where if she wins the nomination over Obama I don't know if I could vote for her. (Which leaves me with only two options: don't vote or go Nader. I refuse to support McCain on the issue of Iraq.)

And this is ludicrous! This is so incredibly stupid. As a staunch Democrat, I should be happy if either Obama or Clinton clinches the nomination. I should be happy to vote for either of them. I should...I should...but I don't know if I can anymore.

Please, Nancy Pelosi. Please, Howard Dean. If you can do anything, please do something. This drawn-out race is killing us. If we end up with a brokered convention in August then we can kiss the White House goodbye. And is this something the Democrats want?

I don't think so.

Marriage: One year older and wiser

I first met Justin when I was nineteen years old and a sophomore at college. At the time I was a little too giggly, a little too boy-crazy, a little too chubby from Wendy's and Taco Bell---and a little too lost when it came to my dreams and goals. But I didn't care. I was nineteen! I had my twenties to figure out this thing called "life."

I remember the day that we met. Not the exact date but I know it was sunny and it was warm. I was probably wearing my favorite Gap denim skirt with my platform flip-flops from Old Navy. (Ugh...I shudder at my wardrobe choices back then.) I thought I looked pretty cool with that combination on.

My friend Miranda was at my apartment and she had invited her new boyfriend over so we could all meet him. She told us his name was Justin and he was taking a year off from Duke to work on a book. Of course, I was intrigued. A boy from Duke! He must be smart, right? After all, he was able to get into Duke when all I got was a thin rejection letter from that university.

And I remember watching him walk through my apartment complex---a strong-looking guy with big arms and a baseball cap. He strolled through my front door with no anxiety and no shyness. He shook hands and he smiled and he made jokes right off of the bat. I asked him about Duke and we talked for a couple minutes. I was definitely intrigued by him---he was so different from the stereotypical Mormon boys I met at school. He was a little too crazy, a little too outspoken, and a whole lot more liberal than the BYU standard.

Admittedly, I was a little smitten with this Justin Richmond character. I barely saw him after our first meeting but I would try to fish information from Miranda. My silly little crush was, well, silly. He had a girlfriend. That girlfriend was my friend. He lived on the other side of the country. I would never see him again.

Or so I thought.

On Sunday, Justin and I celebrated our one year anniversary. In the morning he smiled at me and sang a little "Happy Anniversary" song as I rubbed my eyes and yawned. We marveled at how quickly a year had passed and how wonderful a year it was indeed. We had a couple of downs but mostly ups. A few lows, but predominantly highs. And through it all we've grown closer and stronger and watched as our marriage soldified. We are so happy.

At times I find myself looking at my husband and my breath catches in my throat. I'm hit with the realization that I am married and that my soul mate is sitting next to me. For a long time I didn't think I would find him---or at least so early in my life. For a long time I thought I would wander this world by myself because I didn't think someone could really truly love me. Yet here he sits besides to me and we've been together for nearly two years and he tells me he loves me more each day. And I know I don't really deserve it.

And I know that dreams do come true.

The Real Genius Behind "21"

Over the weekend Justin and I watched "21," which we both found entertaining and worth our $7.50. (Movie tickets here in Fayetteville are still relatively cheap.) The film, which is loosely based on a true story, follows an MIT undergrad named Ben who stumbles into a secret blackjack club run by one of his professors.

Due to his uncanny ability at math, Ben wins hundreds of thousands of dollars during the team's weekend jaunts to Las Vegas. Ben keeps telling himself that he will use the money to pay for medical school--but the flasy lights of Vegas quickly get to his head.

I was intrigued by the movie so I started to do some research about the people who inspired this film. Turns out there really was a blackjack club at MIT (it's been around for a long time) and the members of this team made a lot of money by counting cards at the gambling tables.

And then I found something really interesting--the character Ben is based off of an Asian American student named Jeff Ma. Hmmm...Ben is very much a white boy in the movie with his mop of dark brown hair and pale, pale skin. Nope. He definitely isn't Chinese.

So what gives about this blatant racial mix-up? Supposedly, the studio executives decided that "most of the film's actors would be white, with perhaps an Asian female." The underlying assumption here is that the movie-making industry doesn't believe an Asian actor can carry a movie like "21." A karate flick? Sure. But a hip #1 boxseller? Probably not.

(Above: Jeff Ma)

A small part of me understands where these Hollywood types are coming from. They feel the need to "whitewash" a movie because most people in America are white. From a business point-of-view, I can kind of see things from their side.

Yet a large part of me is frustrated, sad, and disappointed. Frustrated that Asian actors (and most actors of color) are routinely cut out of the "meatiest" roles in Hollywood. Sad that I don't see more Asian-American actors that go beyond the "nerdy geek" or "Triad mafia" stereotype in films. And disappointed that a movie has to be whitewashed to be viable for success.

Overall "21" is a good film, but it's also a movie that shows how Hollywood isn't so color-blind after all.

My Grandma would be proud

I made wontons for dinner tonight! I grabbed a recipe off of the Food Network and I rummaged through my rusty memory to remember when my grandma taught me how to fold wontons and dumplings. (Note: dumplings require circle-shaped dough while wontons need square-shaped.)

With my new dining room combined with my new wonton-making skills, you'd think I'm entering the world of the domestic goddess. But never fear---my feminist roarings are never far from view!

My new dining room!

A few days ago I discovered the store Amenity Home and I absolutely fell in love with one of their fabric prints. I just adored the organic, simple, and modern feel of this piece. The only problem? At a steep price of $330, I knew that my pocketbook was too slim to accomodate my tastes.

So my brain started turning and turning--I had to have this artwork in my home!--and I came to the conclusion that I could try to paint this pattern myself. Now, I'm not an artist by any means but I can (kind of) draw and (kind of) decorate. How hard could this project be?

Well, it turns out that my artistic talent is kind of rusty. I went to Michael's and bought all of the supplies I needed (a big canvas, paint, brushes) and everything started out pretty well. The branches looked decent enough and I was pretty proud of my choices of color. But then I tried to tackle the leaves and they looked just...awful. Like puffs of cotton balls or nastiness times five.

But I think I salvaged the project well. I even painted a second piece to go along with my first one. And now, I have a brand new dining room! (Which is kind of ironic since Justin and I will most likely be moving at the end of April since our rent is going up.)

This morning I actually re-painted the piece on the left. The branches weren't as dark as I wanted them so I painted them a slate gray. (The color gray is my new obsession.) I also want to remark on the clock in the picture. I got it on sale for only $20! Justin doesn't like it though because it's so big. He calls it Big Ben. But I don't let this bother me because a.) I LOVE big clocks and b.) I LOVE Big Ben.

How do I look?

So, how do you guys like the new blog look?

I've been meaning to change my blog template for awhile now but I wasn't sure how to do it. Sadly, I have stared at many web pages touting "free blogger templates" while in a midst of utter confusion.

But tonight I sat down at my computer and I told myself that I could do this. I even gave myself a little pep talk.

"Caroline!" my brain said, "you can figure this out. You're pretty smart. I mean, you're Asian after all. You have to be good at computers, right? Look at your cousins Ling Ling and Xing Xing. They invented Yahoo from a bag of bamboo sticks and old violin cases!"

And I did it! I changed my blog! And I like it!

Here's to you, Lizzie

"The best protection any woman can have...is courage."
- Elizabeth Cady Stanton

Yesterday afternoon I asked Justin if he cared about the middle names of our future children.

He just shrugged. "Not really."

Then I asked if I could have the jurisdiction to choose the middle names for our kids.

"Well, what kind of names are you thinking about?" he asked, obviously curious.

"Elizabeth if we have a girl..." I paused. "After Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

Justin kind of chuckled. "Are you trying to pass on your radical feminist agenda onto our kids?" he joked.

This, of course, is only half true.

I recently watched Ken Burns' documentary "Not For Ourselves Alone," which chronicles the women's suffragist movement through the lives of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony. These two women, who were friends for over fifty years, provided the fire and fuel for female suffrage in America. For five decades they worked tirelessly to give speeches, rally women, write books, and lobby Congress to give women the right to vote. Sadly, both women passed away before the 19th amendment was passed in 1920.

As I watched the documentary, I was struck at how different these two women were. On one hand there was Anthony---who never married and had no children, who was a Quaker and who traveled endlessly to further the cause of women. On the other hand was Stanton---who was married and had seven children, who was a gifted writer, who refuted Christianity and who was largely confined to her home while she raised her large brood. Yet their differences made for the perfect partnership. Stanton wrote the articles and speeches that Anthony went on to deliver across the country. Stanton was the brains of their operation while Anthony was the hands and feet.

While I admire both women profusely, I have a special place in my heart for Stanton (probably because I have a penchant for historical figures who have been largely forgotten by society). She was a woman who straddled both family life and political activism in a time when women were seen as secondary citizens. She was a woman who challenged popular notions of femininity and who fought against the injustices of her day. She was a woman who changed history because she wasn't afraid to speak her mind.

I can only hope that I can help carry the banner that Stanton herself created:

To promote equality in my community.

To fight against societal wrongs.

To speak my mind with courage.

And to pass along the message of feminism to my children.

To my future Elizabeth.

I am sad

Obama lost big tonight. His twelve-state winning streak has come to an end. I watched the primary results with a lot of disappointment. *Huge depressing sigh*

The only bright spot? Maybe the North Carolina primary will actually garner some interest! I was mad as hell when I discovered that I can't vote until May. May! I should have kept my voter registration in Maryland...

Hmmm. This could also mean that I could get involved with the Obama campaign here in Fayette-stan (that is if one exists). I don't think there are a lot of Democrats in this military town but there are probably a few liberals 'round these parts.

And I shall find them...

The Last of His Kind

In 1919, the Treaty of Versailles finally brought an end to World War I. Over two million Americans served in this War to End All Wars--and now only one of them remains. His name is Frank Woodruff Buckles and he is 107 years old. He is the last of his kind.

When Frank Buckles leaves this Earth, we will lose our final thread to the Great War. Yet the United States has no firm plans to honor the passing of its last WWI veteran. No ceremony. No state funeral. No words of commemoration. The memory of World War I seems to have been lost in our national history--eclipsed by the romanticism surrounding WWII or the controversies of Vietnam. There is not even a WWI memorial on the Washington Mall.

Americans have largely forgotten WWI, which was fought between 1914-1918. There are various explanations for this lapse in our memory: the war was mostly a European conflict, the war was fought for nonsensical reasons, the war leaves no iconic images, etc. Indeed, it is easy to forget a war that seems like it was fought long, long ago. After all, WWI stems from an imperialistic world where czars still ruled Russia and where the Ottoman empire stood on its last legs.

But the impact of WWI cannot be erased. The world today is built upon a war that was fought nearly a hundred years ago. The Great War set off a chain of events that reverberates into our own time: The Roaring Twenties and the break from Victorian propriety. The Great Depression. World War II. The Cold War. Vietnam. Even the conflict in Iraq bears seeds from the WWI era. "Most of the problems we're grappling with in the Middle East are legacies of the great military binge of 1914–1918," says Niall Ferguson, a revisionist British historian.

For now, Frank Buckles remains surprisingly healthy and robust despite his 107 years. For now, Americans still have a human connection to an event that changed our world completely. Yet sometime soon Frank too will pass away and join his fellow comrades on the other side. And at that point the Great War will finally become something of the past and something of history books.

Something to be forgotten.

*Note: After writing this entry, I discovered that the World War I Museum in Kansas City recently announced that it will honor Frank Buckles once he dies. This is a small step forward to better incorporate WWI into our national narrative but I can't help but think that WWI history will continue to gather dust. Kind of like the War of 1812 or the Spanish-American War.

Wahoo!

I'm going to be published in Highlights Magazine! Just got my contract in the mail today.

I'm trying not to get too excited because the editors reserve the right to "kill" my article in case they don't have room in the magazine. (Oh, the woes of the publishing world...) But I couldn't help myself from running back to my apartment after I got the mail today. I am so excited!

I'm not sure when the piece (which is about spacesuits) will be published but I am definitely looking forward to it!

Sickness and the Blue Man

I am sick. It kind of sucks. I find it quite ironic that the words "sick" and "suck" only differ by one small letter. That's very fitting in my opinion.

Yesterday I spent most of the day sleeping, drifting in and out of consciousness due to a steady stream of Nyquil. Justin tells me that I was only awake for about 7 hours out of the day. Such is the life of an invalid, I suppose.

There are a few perks about being sick though. For one thing, Justin was the best nurse I could ever ask for. When I woke up from my first coma, I found the kitchen stocked with my favorite sickness treats: orange gatorade, chicken noodle soup, cough drops, and even fruit mentos! He even offered to sleep on the couch so I could stretch out on our bed.

Secondly, I watched some pretty interesting shows during the few hours I was awake. For example, Oprah Winfrey interviewed a man who had blue skin! At first I thought he must have had some strange medical condition. But it turns out that he turned his skin blue on accident by putting colloidal silver on his face and limbs. He had a bad case of dermititis (sp?) and decided to fix the ailment himself by turning to a home remedy.

I know what you're thinking, ladies, and I'm sorry to say that the Blue Man is engaged! So you'll have to find another blue-tinged bachelor elsewhere...

The Little State That Could

"Maryland, which last went Republican for president in 1988, is a state that bleeds Democratic blue."

This quote was printed in Salon today and I couldn't have been prouder of my home state. Maryland! The little blue state that bleeds blue through and through. We may be small but we pack a strong liberal punch.

So here's to Maryland! It may be small. It may resemble a strange-looking pair of underwear. But us Marylanders are here to stay!

And now...for some random facts about the Old Line State:

1.) Maryland is comparable in size to the country of Belgium. (Is Belgium really that small?)

2.) Maryland's state sport is jousting.

3.) Maryland is the wealthiest state in the country! (Boo-ya California!)

4.) In 1790, Maryland ceded land to create the District of Columbia. Virginia gave some land too but later took it back. Dirty no-good Virginians...

5.) The Star-Spangled Banner was written in Fort McHenry, Maryland during the War of 1812.

6.) America's first umbrellas were manufactured in Baltimore, circa 1828.
7.) Famous Marylanders include: Thurgood Marshall, Frederick Douglass, Supreme Court Chief Justice Roger Taney (who was really, really racist), Spiro Agnew, Edgar Allen Poe, Babe Ruth, and the ever illustrious Toni Braxton.

The Nightmare on Huckabilly Street

My friends! I have seen the future---and let me tell you---it is a frightening place. Last night I had the most awful dream and I believe it may come true...

Come November 2008, John McCain and his running mate Mike Huckabee will win the nomination and storm to the White House. Their victory was made possible because three key Democratic states (California, Florida, and New York) sank into the ocean due to global warming. Experts blame the incident on Dick Cheney who in turn flees the country with his pockets stuffed with money he made off of the War in Iraq.

McCain is sworn into office in early 2009 but his tenure as president is cut drastically short. During his second month in office, McCain undergoes a botched clandestine surgery with the Hair Club for Men and he dies on the operating room table.

"It was an utter tragedy," explains the Jamaican doctor in charge of the operation. "He only wanted some hair-plugs, mon."

A week after the funeral, Mike "The Huckster" Huckabee is ushered into the most powerful position in the entire world. During his inauguration Huckabee takes it upon himself to deliver the opening prayer for the event. He states:

"Dear Sweet Lord Baby Jesus,

Thank you for being such a cute little baby,

Thank you for voting me president,

Thank you for my dear wife who submits to me every day.

Now that being said...

Please help me to rid this nation of our vile enemies like liberals, Democrats, atheists, feminists, Northerners, Californians, and oh, don't forget Mitt Romney,

Please help me to teach my fellow Americans that dinosaurs and evolution is all a bunch of hooey,

And please help me to further divide this country just like my predecessor George W. Bush has done.

Amen!"

Shortly after the inauguration, Huckabee moves the nation's capital from Washington, DC to his hometown of Little Rock. He also decrees that the United States of America will be known henceforth as the Confederacy of Huckabilly---a place where he reigns as king. (His wife is given the title of Most Gracious Servant.)

King Huckabee subsequently balls up the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence and throws the documents into the trash. Then he sits on his Arkansas throne and announces that every American will now be enlisted in a new Crusade for Christianity. Even Jews, Muslims, Sikhs, and Mormons are enjoined to "fight the imbeciles" and to "win souls for the cute little baby Jesus."

In a few short months, the U.S. is overtaken by the Chinese. (That's right, we're overtaken by my ancestors.) The Chinese sweep through the country and force every American to work in sweatshops or rice paddies or panda-breeding facilities. They also pump us full of opium to exact revenge on our 19th century imperialistic ways.

"Payback is bitch! Payback is bitch!" cries the Chinese president as he tramps across our country in a panda-drawn carriage. "Why not you vote for Obama?" Then he cackles loudly.

So there you have it: THE FUTURE. Ain't it purdy?

An Otherwise Great Movie Ruined by Old People

On Friday afternoon I went to watch Atonement, which I have been burning to watch since the movie's release. I read the book last year and I was just hankering to see how they transformed the novel into a movie.

The first thing I noticed when I took a seat in the theater was that there were a lot of older people in the audience. Had I intruded upon a special screening for those 65 and older? If so, was my grandma here? Grandma? Grandma? Oh yeah, she doesn't speak English...

Anyway, the previews start playing and the white-haired couple sitting behind me start making comments to one another. After each preview, the wife announces her opinion of that movie:

"Oh, we should see that one."

"That one looks bad."

"What did he just say?"

That sort of thing. I rolled my eyes but I figured I'd give these old-timers the benefit of the doubt. Lots of people talk through the previews but they pipe down when the movie starts.

BOY, I was wrong. Queue up the movie and the old people keep talking. Frequently, the wife turns to her husband and asks what has just happened in the film. And here's the clincher: every time someone dies in the movie, the husband has to make a proclamation to the entire audience.

"Well, he died."

"Oh, he died too."

"See there? He just died."

ARGH! I couldn't take it anymore. But I couldn't turn around and chide these annoying people because they were old and probably hard of hearing and the old man would probably point to his amputated leg and say, "Well, see here missy! I lost this leg in the war. You know, the Civil War. I think I earned the right to say whatever I want to in these moving picture things. Now, why don't you turn your little Chinamen head around and leave me and Agnes in peace." Then he would shake his fists at me.

Or something along those lines.

So I couldn't say anything to this old couple and thus I did the only thing I could do: I moved. I left my comfy chair in a comfy part of the theater and I moved to the fourth row of the room. I sighed. Now for some peace and quiet. Now I could enjoy the movie without being jarred away from it from Mr. Confederacy and his wife.

But then I heard the voices. Noooo! They were talking again! And I could hear them as clear as day! The volume of their voices along with the acoustics of the theater had conspired against me.

"Well, he's dead," the old man announced.

I sighed again. Oh, James McAvoy and Keira Knightly! Come save me!

(By the way, the movie was great albeit a little slow in the middle. I think I may be one of a handful of people who preferred the film to the book. Not that the book isn't good. I just had a hard time reading it because I was SO MAD at Briony.)