Chivalry Isn't Dead

Less than three hours after I scribbled the lines for my last post into a notebook on the bus, the world decided to prove to me that just as sexism is not dead, neither is chivalry.

It start Wednesday when one of my fellow interns (who makes me look chubby) walked a block and a half to get a case of bottled water for our meeting. On her way back to the building we were in, a man on the street offered to carry it for her and proceeded to do so.

Then, yesterday we attended a conference in DC. I left early, floored by an impressive migraine. Upon reaching the elevator at the same time, Congressman Price ushered me in first despite his obvious hurry and two (male) interns held doors open as we left. On the Metro, a man offered me the empty seat ahead of him.

These are mostly $15 stories, not worthy of blogging, but after yesterday's post, I figured I should mention them.

Warning: Satire

Lake Ridge is a strange place. It sprang up as a suburb of Washington, DC at a time when suburbs were springing up and successful yuppies saw the hills and trees and single through-street as a blessing compared to the metaphorical constipation of the nation's capital (or Capitol, as the case may be). In the time since its birth, Lake Ridge has grown by leaps and bounds, removing its hills and trees and stubbornly reaffirming the beauty of its bumper to bumper single through-street.

Another startling phenomenon of the community finds its roots in Lake Ridge's roots: coming of age in an age where a "car in every backyard" meant one to stay at home in the backyard while the master and the mistress took to the roads for their separate and lengthy commutes, Lake Ridge was built for cars. As the world goes green, Lake Ridge recycles and buys organic food and insists that walking is for exercise and "Mexicans" (mostly from El Salvador). Public transit? The community kindly looks the other way as business men and military personnel board the commuter bus, ignores the local bus that spread from Woodbridge, and wonders when MetroRail will extend to Potomac Mills.

Because the only way to get anywhere in Lake Ridge (especially if one happens to be white) is a car, motorists do not know how to react when they see a pedestrian, even if she is headed towards, or waiting at, a bus stop. Struck by this unusual sight, drivers lose control of their hands, flailing them about until they make contact with the horn. The sound brings them to their senses again as they pass the pedestrian, and they carry safely on their way.

At least, this is the only reason I can discern as to why a young woman in a business dress would have such an experience. After all, we live in a post-feminist world where men view women as equals and do not objectify them. By some evaluations, sexism has gone the way of racism and the Kennedy half dollar, views that are only exacerbated by a few back-sassing women who refuse to see any changes in the female situation since we won the vote in 1920. The reality is, we've grown in leaps and bounds -- but as long as women still get honked at multiple times in the 30 seconds they stand at a bus stop near the single through-street of a D.C. suburb, we still have some distance to go.


It's a good thing I know some really quality men, or I might lose hope for this world.

Yah, Papa Benny!

I haven't had time to look at the story in depth, but Pope Benedict released an encyclical that criticizes capitalism. He also offers a new vision of the purpose and make-up of the economy. From what I have read, Benedict XVI gives a very idealistic and beautiful picture of what the world could be. It resonates well with my own idealistic heart, and I hope to find out more specifics about it/read it in the relatively near future.

I don't mean "idealistic" as a criticism either. Catholicism is inherently idealistic. What else could we do with a religion that tells its adherents to "be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect"?

God Bless America

On the Fourth of July, I wore blue jeans and a white tank top and got my cheeks sunburned red, and that is about the beginning and the end of my patriotism. I realized this as I walked through Harris Teeter on Friday and saw the paraphernalia on sale for the holiday. I realized it when I saw one of my fellow interns in red, white, and blue, a very nice 4th of July outfit. I realized it when I stood with my family in a Kmart parking lot watching fireworks.

I appreciate the 4th of July because 1) holidays that get people out of work are fun; 2) I like the excuse to see family and/or friends; and 3) fireworks make my day. As I delve into feminist and abortion history, I appreciate our country and what we have here. But I have a severe lack of patriotism.

At Mass this morning, we sang as the recessional "America the Beautiful." The choice disappointed me until we reached the end of the second verse:
America, America! God mend thine ev'ry flaw
Confirm thy soul in self control, thy liberty in law!
The next verse ends with a similar request:
America, America! May God thy gold refine
'Til all success be nobleness and ev'ry gain divine!

Contrast this with something we here a lot around the 4th of July -- "God Bless the USA," for instance:
I'm proud to be an American!
Where at least I know I'm free
And I won't forget the men who died,
Who gave that right to me.
And I gladly stand up next to you,
And defend her still today
'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land --
God bless the USA!

Both invoke the same God to bless the same country. One, however, begs God to make this country everything it can be. It recognized its roots (O beautiful, for heroes proved, in liberating strife. Who more than self, their country loved, and mercy more than life) and asks the Lord to make it better. The other praises the nation and presents its virtues as reason for God to bless it. If we can't make this argument as persons, how can we expect to make it as a nation?

Ok, God, You Win

I boasted too soon and too often about escaping the problem economy with my year of service. Ever since 6th grade when I realized I could have a career besides writer or teacher, I expected not to end up in a school. And as I kept growing, I agreed with a priest who once suggested putting all 12 year old children into glass jars until they were old enough to think again.

Only months after I agreed with the priest, I became a counselor at a Girl Scout camp. Working with middle schoolers. Surprise! I hoped for mostly high school students. Ditto for the summer with YouthWorks -- I didn't realize until after I applied that middle schoolers were a possibility. And then, we had mostly middle schoolers.

I now have a placement for next year: a Catholic K-8 school, working with grades 6-8. Okay, God, you win. Most students come from at or below the poverty line, few are Catholic, and only 230 are enrolled. The school aims to break the cycle of poverty by placing these students on college-bound tracks. I will help with writing skills.

The idea of working with writing and helping people write excites me. Also, one of the other VSC women will work there with me, which should make the adventure more fun. It's just another case of God throwing the unexpected at me.

Commuting Strategy, Take 2

Working just outside the confines of the normal 9-5 hours means that 1) I miss the commuter bus to Arlington and 2) I miss rush hour (kind of). Therefore, I eschew public transit in favor of the temporally and economically wise drive of my own. While I enjoy the flexibility in the margin of error (one minute late means one minute late, not half an hour), I miss the time on the bus and train to read and pray and let my mind wander. You have to pay attention when you drive!

I get an odd feeling every time I exit the highway on the way home. I can take the HOVs partway there and back, since you don't have to be a HOV outside of the delineated rush hour hours. Thus, I enter the highway in the morning and exit in the evening in the exact same lane. Traveling 65 miles per hour in opposite directions.