[I feel like] This is long overdue.

My dear readers: I am so sorry for such a delay in posting Dandygrams.  Life has really been delivering for the last two months.  Nevertheless, I presently have a few minutes to catch my breath and write (along with sincere encouragement from Janou), so I would like to address a few things that have been on my mind lately.  Here it goes..

First and foremost, let's get something very clear: there is a significant difference between a compliment and flattery.  To be sure, it took me years to really get this figured out, but I have learned.  I would like to give a lot of credit to my dear friend Megha for explaining it to me so eloquently.  

Here's the deal (gentlemen and aspiring Dandies take note): Flattery is not a compliment, and there is a very important distinction between flattery and compliments.  Compliments are sincere and well-deserved.  Flattery, by definition, is "excessive and insincere praise, especially that given to further one's own interests."  An example here would be good:  You have beautiful eyes.  Wow.  Good line sweet talker!  I mean, if you want the pretty lady to say, "I'm so flattered," then you've done well.  If you want her to say thank you, compliment her on something in her control:  You look beautiful tonight (or) That is an amazing dress.  These are the type of things women have in their control.  

As Megha would explain, our parents and genetic code give us our eyes, so we really have no choice in the matter or how they look.  Our style or our appearance, however, is something we control and this deserves admiration.  So gentlemen, bite your tongues for a second and think of a better line that would compliment women because it means so much more than flattery.  Not only that, compliments don't come across as cheesy, and of course, women know the difference.

Now to the second thing that's been on my mind, and this one shoots to the core of so much that is being said in conversation these days.  I've blogged before about how certain aspects of my generation have encompassed the ability for many to communicate effectively, such as the way text messaging has shortened our sentences and abbreviated our feelings or how nobody sends postcards, writes letters or mail thank you cards anymore.  Well, here's yet another downfall to our communication abilities and it's stacked right up there with the rest of them.  

[I feel like] people should know about this.  [I feel like] it's important to share.  [I feel like] there are a lot people always saying 'I feel like' for no good reason at all.

I have no doubt you are each rapidly catching on to my observation since 'I feel like' is EVERYWHERE, but WHY?  That dumb prefacing phrase has no real purpose in conversation.  It's simply a subtle way to insert indetermination.  As if our generation doesn't have enough of that already.  Basically, it is just more indecision for my already indecisive generation.  

Here's my suggestion: just get your feelings and opinions out there without fear you might be wrong, judged or questioned for what you're saying.  While those things do happen and sometimes we get called on misspeaking or improperly verbalizing our ideas, we're humans and humans are prone to error.  Whenever 'I feel like' is said, it's just a way of interject a prepositional phrase to what you are already going to say, which is based on what you feel and the listener is obviously aware of this once you say it.  

That said, it's now time to go out and PLAY!

In No Specific Order: Taking a Moment for the Brain, Heart, and Soul

Let's be honest: it is so damn easy to be consumed by things in our daily life that constantly draw our attention away from what really, truly matters.  It happens, we're all victims of this, and it's inevitable.  However, we can thank goodness for the hearts and minds of three special women: Rachel Sparks-Graeser, Leslie Cunningham, and Hailey Wist.  Why these three women, you ask?  Let me explain...

Two years ago, my cousin Rachel's life forever changed after she had moved to New York City and learned that children were being sold into prostitution all over the world. No longer content to live as she had been, she began wrestling with how to get involved. The result?  The SOLD Project.

Last year, my cousin Leslie took on a challenge to provide mothers--of young and old children alike--a photographic reflection about giving birth.  She combined her powerful, literary eye for the joys and surprises of motherhood along with her talented understanding for the media driven concept of feminine beauty to please and strike home a cause that is common for all women who have walked into the circle of motherhood.  From her dedication to #goodness came The Afterbelly.

This year, my friend Hailey (whom I would say is an Alice Waters protégé) invited four suburbanites to grow a summer garden in rural Arkansas.  During this time, they discovered the forgotten satisfaction of digging in the dirt and porch sitting with neighbors. They ate within a 100-mile radius, sold their goods at a local farmers market, and gained (or deeply instilled) their compassion for sustainability.  Hailey's spark birthed The Garden Summer. 

Please, take a moment outside of yourself to fill your brain, heart, and soul with the amazing and powerful work of these three incredible women.  

Pepitoria: A Simple Dish, A Perfect Dish

As you probably already know, I have been living with a host family in the DC suburb of Greenbelt, MD since I moved out here after graduating from Cal at the end of May.  It's been grand, and I've learned a lot about having Gramma and Daddy Bob as my housemates...

Unfortunately, my time has come to move on (and out), and on Saturday, I'll sign a lease for a new apartment in downtown DC with my friend Nick!  However, that is not the exciting news OR the real reason for this post.

The reason for this post is FOOD.  Authentic Spanish food to be precise.  Tonight, for no apparent reason, my Greenbelt host Gramma made Pollo en Pepitoria for dinner.  If you didn't know, Gramma is 100% Spanish, and 100% awesome; to be sure, what she made for dinner tonight was--without a doubt--the best meal she has cooked since I moved in and took over their basement (however, I have yet to try her famous Paella!!).

After coming just shy of licking my plate at the dinner table, I immediately asked to see her cookbook where the recipe was found so that I could copy it down.  Seriously: print this recipe, cook it, and I guarantee you'll be sharing it with your friends and family soon enough.  Without any further delay, here's the recipe:

Pollo En Pepitoria (Chicken in Egg, Almond, and Sherry Sauce) from The Food and Wines of Spain by Penelope Casas

"Pepitoria" applies to poultry and game dishes to which egg has been added, either uncooked or hard-boiled, and is a favorite Spanish preparation.  Although most often found with chicken, many believe that a hen, slow cooked, produces the tastiest "pepitoria."  I have found that a kosher chicken gives the best results.  This dish combines all of the ingredients most often associated with Spanish cooking -- garlic, saffron, sherry, and almonds -- into an unusually savory sauce.

Please note!  There were changes to this recipe for tonight:  Gramma served this over rice and just used chicken breasts (Daddy Bob doesn't like chicken with bones!).  She also used a mortar and pestle to crush the blanched almonds because "it is better that way."  Also, she didn't use any ham or the egg, but she definitely would have, and why?  That's another story . . .

Ingredients:

4 tablespoons olive oil

One 3 - 3 1/2 pound chicken, cut in small serving pieces

(Optional) 1/4-pound piece cured ham, cut in julienne strips

1 large onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

3 tablespoons minced parsley

1/4 cup dry sherry

3/4 cup chicken broth

Dash nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon saffron

1 bay leaf

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

15 blanched almonds

1 hard-boiled egg, finely chopped

In a large casserole, heat the oil and saute the chicken over a high flame until it is well browned.  Pour off all put 1 tablespoon of the oil.  Reduce the heat, add the ham, onion, garlic, and 2 tablespoons of the parsley, and cook until the onion is wilted.  Stir in the sherry, broth, nutmeg, saffron, bay leaf, salt, and pepper.  Simmer 10 minutes, uncovered.  Remove the chicken, ham, and bay leaf to a heated platter.

In a food processor or blender, chop the almond until they are finely ground.  Gradually add the contents of the casserole and blend until smooth.  Return the sauce to the casserole along with the chicken, ham, and bay leaf.  Cover and cook in a 350 oven for 20 minutes, adding more chicken broth if the sauce thickens too much.  Sprinkle the hard-boiled egg over the chicken and cook 5 minutes more.  Garnish with the remaining tablespoon of the parsley before serving and accompany with a green salad and a light red wine like Cabernet Sauvignon.

Muchas gracias Gramma!  Viva la España!

The DC Metro: A (Novice) Rider's Experience

There's something about living in a metropolitan city, being a blogger, and riding the city's local metro system that, within a short period of time, a post about riding and commuting on the metro each day will inevitably come around.  With that said, here's that Dandygram:

Since moving to DC, I have become a DC Metro commuter.  Honestly, I don't have an atypical commute for residing out in the suburbs and driving to the local park-and-ride station with the rest of my neighbors (read: Greenbelt, MD). 

I am, however, new to it all.  In fact, I enjoy the commute via Metro (most days), so I am not going to rant about what I find obnoxious about my morning and evening commutes (although I might drop a few hints, like the investment I made in a damn good set of noise-canceling ear buds shortly after my first day of riding) or tell you about the obscenities I've witnessed whilst taking the late train back to my parked car after the weekly happy hour that went longer than predicted (more below on this).  Instead, I am going to try my best to tell you what it's like to see, hear, feel, and ride on one of the cleanest and nicest metro systems in the U.S. as a novice daily commuter.

There are a few caveats about being a novice Metro rider.  To start, you must learn and quickly familiarize yourself with "Metro etiquette," and this begins from the moment you swipe your fare card into at entry point to when you leave your destination's station.  Now, in what I think is the most chronologically correct order as possible of the day's events, here's what I've learned about Metro etiquette but with the twist only I know how to give for what I've observed:

First, do not spend more than two full seconds during the hours of 7:00am and 9:00am trying to get your pre-loaded SmarTrip Metro fare card or Metro card to work and process at the mere two of seven available entry machines.  If you spend as much as (heaven forbid) five seconds or more trying to get your fare card to scan, you may as well wait for the next train because the grudges, glares, and growls from the riders behind you--also waiting to scan their cards at the less-than-what-is-necessary entry machines--will haunt you stop after stop and make you feel like you were, once again, in fourth grade again and have been "that person" to have given too much time (and lip) at the hallway water fountain.

Second, the escalators have a very specific protocol.  This was something explained clearly by a colleague of mine who also commutes into DC from equidistance but on the southern leg of the Orange line.  She explained that riders on the escalators--both going up and down--are to "walk on the left, stand on the right."  This communal understanding quickly became about as simple as tying shoelaces, but if (again, heaven forbid) you are "that person" standing on the left, well...you might as well open an umbrella because all the bringers and the buyers with their leftovers from lunch will surely let you know like a bad performance at a Shakespearean theatre.  (Not to mention, there's the slapping of women's high heels and men's dress heels as they slowly approach your unwavering stance standing on the left side of the up escalator, which make you nervous enough to shuffle between two people standing on the right who already get this.  Oh, and God forbid you do this on the escalators at L'Enfant Plaza or Metro Center... YIKES!)

Third, if no seats are available on your train, it's absolutely acceptable to stand.  However, you must ensure you've found a low center of gravity before departure and throughout the length of the ride.  For example, take what I like to call a "three pointed pose."

The "three pointed pose" is simple: two feet planted firmly on the ground a little wider than shoulder-width apart (for a lower center of gravity, obviously).  Additionally, make sure to have at least one hand firmly gripped on an overhead handle bar.  If you pretend to look cool (like I have witnessed time and time again from my carefully selected seat towards the back of the front train each morning) and ride with less than a "three pointed pose," it will be your luck that the conductor has a lead foot and brakes sporadically, or worse: abruptly stopping at least four times upon arriving to each station only to make sure his front train is perfectly aligned with their "stop-precisely-at-this-mark, Metro-system-conductors").  This, I'll have you know, makes the aforementioned witnessed cool "two pointed posed" rider lunge forward in dismay, surprise, and utter embarrassment.  If only they had read this post!  Nevertheless, just stick to any version of a "three pointed pose" if there are no seats available.  And trust me, the unsuspecting riders investing their trust in your cognizance will silently thank you for not falling into their laps.

Fourth, get into a routine--at least for the morning commute.  This is something I've learned to be quintessential each morning during my commute on the Orange line into DC (7:30am - 8:20am).  If you are a reader, like a former Metro commuter and colleague in my office has informed me, you can get through books upon books during your daily commutes.  However, if you ride half of your morning and evening commute with the sun beating through the windows and onto the seat you were fortunate enough to secure, fighting sleep becomes your daily routine.  

I have a Kindle (thank you, self, for having jumped the gun on a Christmas gift and getting it back in return).  I have a new iPad (thank you, Mom).  I occasionally pick up the Express newspaper that is handed--nay, forcefully given--to me each morning at the entrance to the New Carrollton station.  I also have an abundant supply of magazines along with the daily emails and education alerts that can be read on my Blackberry.  But for crying out loud, there is nothing short of getting slapped in the face that can keep me from closing my eyes, drifting in thought, and becoming complacent and/or losing a sense of time and place (read: nodding off).  This comatose phenomenon has become quite commonplace during my morning commute, but I've observed the more experienced riders are able to essentially set some sort of internal clock that alerts their circadian rhythm with the sound of cuckoo birds that it's time to disembark at their precise station.  This, unfortunately, is not something I've mastered.  Instead, I fall victim to nodding off and then coming to, but only to be one (or four) stops beyond my station where I disembark with my sleepy head held high, go up the escalators and walk across the wrong station, and take the escalator down catch the next train back to McPherson Square.  How truly humbling.

Nevertheless, I have found a fix to this problem beyond a good night's sleep, and it's seeking out the daily Washington Afro before boarding.  Needless to say, their reporting is timely, it works to keep my interest enough to stay awake for 30 minutes, and I've consistently arrived at my stop without the morning nod off!

Fifth, I have slowly picked up on the etiquette for Metro commuter people watching.  This is a more delicate kind of thing for commuters because you'll quickly realize that when you park and ride each morning, familiar faces begin to appear on your trains and in the seats around you.  However, those are not the people to watch.  It's people like me--the newbies to it all, or those going on their first day of a job or an interview, or better yet, the DC tourists. 

Yes, I can say it.  I have become captivated by the tourists who congregate on the Metro: the school groups, the church groups, the families, the couples, the newlyweds, the Tea Partiers, you name it.  I am so fascinated by their bright-eyed and early-Monday-morning-bushy-tailness to go visit a big marble memorial.  Like, where the hell did you get this energy to stare at some stone???  Can I get a fraction of that energy for my computer screen and a day filled with building Excel spreadsheets please?  Only kidding--I love my job.

Sixth, those damn broken escalators--especially at the end of the work day--are tumultuous for the flow of foot traffic.  There's something fascinating about a working escalator four out of five days a week that this all becomes second nature.  But when on the fifth day, the escalator is not working for whatever apparent reason, and everyone is forced to actually hoof it up and down "manually," the stopped escalator (read: STAIRCASE) becomes this freak of broken technology: so foreign, so archaic, and totally un-apropos!

Get over it people.  This broken technology is now called a set of stairs, and believe it or not, each step even has YELLOW PAINT TO HELP YOU OUT...

Lastly, there's the etiquette for the last stop on the metro line.  I have the luxury of parking and riding the Orange line where it both originates for my morning commute and terminates for my evening commute.  However, the Metro etiquette will remind us that, at the end of the work day or into the later part of the evening if you've had a few drinks for happy hour with friends, you really don't want to be "that person" who is aroused from a mid-evening nod off in his seat to find out from the conductor clearing the trains and picking up debris that it's the "LAST STOP! LAST STOP! WAKE UP AND GET OFF MY TRAIN!"  Yeah, once is enough for that, and I've learned.

So, there you have it.  Whether you're ready to make a trip to visit DC as a tourist or are interested in relocating to the suburbs of the Beltway, or if you just want a DCist perspective on the etiquette of riding the awesome DC Metro, I hope this will provide you with a good foundation for what to look for, what to (and what not to) do, and how to make yourself just blend in.  Plus, if you ride in from New Carrollton and PG County, blending in is not a bad thing whatsoever...

Next up on The Dandygram: Spending a Weekend Outside the Beltway.

Happy 4th of July!

From my family to yours, have a safe and happy 4th of July!  

Love from DC,

~Trevor

My feet are wet but far from cold.

After another long lapse without posting a Dandygram, dammit I am back!  I am also no longer a California resident.  I type that with a smile on my face because I now reside on the East Coast.  It may not rhyme with "best coast," but this is freaking Washington, D.C.  Really, it doesn't get much better than this.

A little less than a month ago, I received my diploma.  That was probably one of the happiest, most freeing/liberating/empowering/prideful moments of my 20s.  Now, I've "seen some shit" and done a lot of crazy things that sets me apart from my typical 28 year old counterparts, but earning a college degree--and doing a cartwheel across the stage--has been one of the most incredible journeys thus far.  It took me to Southeast Asia and back, but it also brought me here, to DC, for an entire semester last fall.

UC Berkeley, c/o 2011

I don't have quite the post-graduation romantic stories that our parents and grandparents tell us about when they took their first real dive into the real world, but for me, this is it.  No doubt about it.  Granted, I came here with some damn good savings in the bank, but it will only go so far because DC is just as an expensive place to live, work, and play as NYC or SF.  Not only that, getting a good, well-paying job AND an affordable/nice room or apartment are about two of the hardest things imaginable--the latter more so than the former.  Shoot, with looks to kill, it's only a matter of time . . . slightly kiddding.

So, where am I at this point in my life?  I'll tell you this, despite all the real uncertainty (for what seems like the first time in my life), I am not and will not go through a Quarterlife Crisis.  Shit, I passed that point at least two years ago, and it never happened then, and I boldly believe that now, there's just no damn time for that mess.  However, that's not to say the conditions aren't ripe: currently, I am sitting on a bed in the basement bedroom of my best friend's grandparent's home in Greenbelt, MD.  I have a job that can only afford to work me as an intern for three days a week and pay me $10/hr, and it costs me $12.75/day to commute there and back.  Now, I am not swimming in debt--my car's paid off (great grad gift, btw!), I have some money stocked up, and I am living rent free until I can find an affordable and nice place in the District.  Taking the good with the bad, the joys of now living in the most desirable city for a political science undergrad completely outweigh the few-to-little-to-no downsides.

What am I saying . . . I have four day weekends.  I have an amazing and growing network of young professionals who, from everyone I've talked to so far, started out just like I am now.  I've been to kick ass parties, fashion show fund raisers with Real Housewives of DC, tubing down the Shenandoah River, countless happy hours, a Cal Alumni barbecue, Ocean City for a weekend, and out to my host family's Chesapeake Bay house to pick crab and watch the sunset!  Did I mention I've only been here two weeks so far?

The time off is good, don't get me wrong.  The fact that I don't have to do homework during my time off is probably the single greatest upside to being finished with school (for now), living in a new city, and trying every day to flex my extroverted personality to the max.  I thought I knew a thing or two about networking, but my rookie skills pale in comparison to some of the people I've met in the last two weeks.  Down time is almost a past time, and I barely work.  So, with that said, I have a few other things I need to do before I go to sleep tonight, and on top of that, I need to work on my one-liners for this barbecue for Rep. Steny Hoyer tomorrow night.  You never know who you'll meet at those things, and this guy needs a J-O-B.

As far as my initial claim about East vs. West, well . . . I guess the only thing I can say at this point is we on the East are "ahead" of you all out West.  By the time you read this, I'll probably already have done 2 or 3 hours worth of shit, and I'll be waiting for you to catch up.  Ha ha, just kidding.  Miss you CA.

The Power of the Stink Eye.

Whether giving one, getting one, or being witness to one, the stink eye is truly galvanizing.

Being given the stink eye will no doubt catch you off-guard.  And in the right situation, it can stop you dead in your tracks.  At its greatest level of effectiveness, the stink eye is used to display an array of emotions simultaneously, from disgust to distrust; from disdain to contempt.  When used in public, the stink eye receives a surprising reaction from the recipient, and rarely is its use unwarranted. 

For example, I walk to and from the UC Berkeley campus each day from my apartment.  I have about a mile walk each way, and much of this is done during the rush hour traffic through downtown Berkeley (what little there is of both).  Nevertheless, I walk through numerous intersections where cars are impatiently waiting for the crosswalks to clear so that they can proceed through. 

When this happens, there is a small reaction needed to ensure (or avenge) that I, as a walker in my right of way merely trying to regain the safety of the sidewalk on the other side of the street, am noticed and not crippled.  As the car's bumpers slowly approach the crosswalks, getting ever so close to my knees and seconds from paralyzing me, a stink eye is shot directly through the car's windshield and into the driver's eyes.  It usually gets them to stop just short of cutting my legs off, and they are taken aback as if surprised at their own doing.

The key to a powerful stink eye is the direct eye contact.  Making eye contact when giving the stink eye is the difference between a disapproving look that warrants a reaction from the disapproved (a stink eye at its finest) and a snotty elitist glare that merely looks as though one is turning up their nose when they don't get their way (not a stink eye whatsoever). 

Stink eyes are the most common replacement for saying "asshole" or flipping the bird, but the discreetness and intimacy involved with the stink eye is what makes them so incredibly effective.  However, they are rarely effective if unnoticed, and there's nothing worse than an ineffective stink eye.  So use them wisely and sparingly.

It is not easy to give a powerful stink eye, for it's not merely a glare or raised eyebrow.  It may or may not be acceptable to give the stink eye to the low brow stuff, but I'll let you be the judge of that. 

The stink eye is a unique glance-slash-look that is typically perfected by women and well emulated by men.  It can't last too long because you'll risk looking like a snob.  Honestly, it usually takes more intellect than common sense to understand the environment in which to give one.  So arguably, it's the knowledge of the violations of common sense when the stink eye is warranted most. 
 
In no way do I condone practicing, but if you happen to catch one or see one (and it's not followed by a big smile), take a mental note.  And trust me, you'll know one when you see it.

Believe it or not, the stink eye is also used flirtatiously.  In my opinion, this use of the stink eye takes the cake.  If a stink eye can be given but then almost immediately followed by an unbecoming smile during the same instance of making the initial eye contact, it will make you entirely forget if you deserved receiving the stink eye (which I doubt you did), and therefore, you, as the recipient, should soon approach this person and explore their personality. 

Like I said earlier, don't go around giving stink eyes with unbecoming smiles afterward because the unbecoming smile is nearly as hard to produce as the stink eye. 

(The inspiration for this post came, in large part, from a dinner with Hailey W. and Yvette S. in Georgetown last year.  So, for my two inspirational friends, I found the following a worthy tribute to you both.  I miss you!)