Reading, reading, reading

I must have the most boring pleasure-reading menu on the planet. The last several books I've read have all been non-fiction:

The Omnivore's Dilemma
Boys Adrift
The Siege of Mecca
Class 11
(Plus a bone-dry 800+ page textbook)


And you know what? I've read all of those in the last 3 months. And in addition to those, I read The Fist of God, which is fiction set during the first Gulf War. And that's all in addition to what I have to read at work and the newspaper that I read every morning.

I've never been an avid reader. I can't even remember reading an entire book in college--mostly I got by just taking notes during lectures and divvying up assignments in study groups.

The only reason why I'm reading so much now is that I have a total of 3 hours on the Metro each day. But why am I drawn to non-fiction? I wonder if I'll keep reading when I move out to Herndon.

Latest Issue of the Washingtonian

The newest issue is now out on shelves. My story is on the last page. I took a few copies of the magazine to church and everyone was very excited to see the article. And Matthew the photographer was nice enough to put up some extra pictures for us.

http://www.matthewworden.com/Nate/

...Unfortunately, it looks like that link is no longer valid. I hope you all got the pictures you wanted.

Mayumi Aziza Ayer

Born on 24 May 2008, 6 pounds 9.5 ounces, 21 inches long.

Hil had been having contractions pretty regularly since Thursday. And then she was up all Friday night timing her contractions. I tried to be supportive, but I fell asleep sometime after midnight. (Sorry! But she also slept a little...) In the morning she called Dr. Samman who told us to come in.

We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 AM and Mayumi was born at 3:01 PM.

Mommy and Baby are doing fine. They'll be coming home tomorrow. Look for updates soon.

Published again and flying a kite

A couple entries ago I wrote about some self-defence lessons with the youth, and that piece is being published in the Washingtonian. At least, that's what editor Bill O'Sullivan told me yesterday. It will be in the First Person column on the last page of the magazine, probably next month. I'll let you know when I see it.

Maybe if I'm going to try getting something published, I shouldn't post it on a blog until after I get paid for it...

On Saturday Hil and I finally went out to try that kite I built for her.

The day started off at the graduation ceremony for the Unified Services University of Health Science. Our friend Mason, a lieutenant in the Navy, was graduating from medical school. Glo later met us on the Mall with the kite. She said that on two separate occasions, kids had approached her and told her it was a cool kite.

It's a box kite, 3 feet tall, 9 inches wide and deep. I built it by hand from 1/8" dowels and wood glue. The panels and tail are polyester and hand sewn. The string is plain old package-wrapping string. The kite ended up being quite sturdy, but I was afraid it was too heavy to fly.

But as I stood on the National Mall holding onto the kite, a sudden gust of wind pulled the kite from my hands, and the kite hovered at eye level. I ran out the string and the kite rose so fast that the string burned my fingers.

The kite flew amazingly well. It required no effort at all to get it aloft--you just had to hold it at arm's length until the wind picked up, and then it rose on its own. Once it gained altitude, it could spin in tight circles or figure-eights with a slight pull on the string. It was very nimble for such a bulky kite. I was worried that maybe the design was unstable--I thought that box kites were supposed to just kind of float instead of perform acrobatics.

We were the only kite-flyers on that stretch of Mall and a few times small crowds would form and watch the kite.

Happy birthday Hil.

Cherry Blossoms

The cherry blossoms are in full bloom in DC. Hil and I have extremely busy, so it's been difficult to actually get out and see them. A few Sundays ago, as soon as we had a free minute, we rushed out to the tidal basin and snapped a few photos right before the light disappeared entirely. I had to digitally lighten these photos a little. I hope it doesn't show.

In other news, I finally picked up American Born Chinese from the library. It's fantastic. Go and read it. It'll probably take you just an hour or two to finish it, depending on how much time you want to spend just admiring its simplicity.

In other other news, we've had plenty of events going on in the area. We've been to the Kite Festival, Anime Marathon, and Korean Film Festival all within just the last month. I made Hil a kite for her birthday. I'll put up pictures of that soon.

Self-defense and another article submission

I taught another self-defense class at church, and I have another one coming up later this week. I wrote this little 600-word story on it and submitted it to Washingtonian. Let's hope you're reading this on the back page of next month's issue.


(I've decided to delete this post now that it's being published. You'll have to look for the full story in the August 2008 issue of Washingtonian Magazine.)

If the ad says bring a screwgun...

On Saturday Hil and I went to look at a house I was interested in. It looked good in the pictures, except for the plywood over the doors and windows. Partially restored, I thought, under construction maybe. Wow, was that naive or what?

32 and 34 Q Street NW are both for sale. Both are giant houses, with 8 and 10 bedrooms respectively. Three stories, plus a basement. Zillow says they should be worth more than $700k each. They're listed on the internet for $300k each. The advertisement said that the previous buyer had backed out and the houses are back on the market. If you want to see them, just let yourself in. Bring a flashlight and a screwgun.

When we arrived, the door's plywood cover had already been removed, but the door was still locked. A neighbor said that two days ago someone else had come to inspect the house. I guess he locked the door when he left. Hil and I searched around for some other way in until I realized, hey, I could totally jimmy that lock.

With a four-inch length of rigid steel wire, I worked the lock open and let us into 32 Q Street.

I think Hilary might have been more scared than I was. And if I really thought through what I was doing, I should have been much more scared. The floor was covered in garbage from all the squatters. Dirty clothes and blankets, cigarette butts, plastic bags, all piled in the corners. The plumbing had long ago been shut off, but that didn't stop the squatters from using the toilets. Discarded condoms thrown randomly throughout the rooms and stairwells hinted at the house's other occupants.

We wandered around carefully, quietly, and we heard a noise coming from the kitchen. I had seen a back door in the kitchen. I motioned for Hil to go back to the front door, ready to run out in case we didn't want to meet the source of the noise. I shouted into the dark house, "Hey! Who's there?" And the rustling stopped.

I walked to the kitchen, and saw that the plywood cover had been partially pried open. The neighborhood indigents still had an entrance. I looked into the back yard and saw a woman sitting on the porch, hands trembling, trying to light a sharply bent cigarette. I asked her what she was doing there, if she knew how long the house had been in this condition. She wouldn't look up, wouldn't answer. She just shook her head and fumbled with her lighter.

We continued exploring the old house, which we concluded must have become a hostel at some point, with broken exit signs and fire alarms, floodlights dangling from the walls. And on the second and third floors, we found doors where there shouldn't have been doors.

The bottom of the door was at least two feet off the floor, crudely punched into the wall leading into nextdoor 34 Q. 34 Q had been completely boarded up, no available entrance anywhere I could see. But through the door I heard at least two people whispering. The door was locked sturdily. Boot marks showed that other people had gone to great effort to open this door before. I decided to not press our luck, and instead of kicking in the door, we left the house.

On the way back to the car, I asked a neighbor what they knew of the houses. 30, 32, and 34 Q had all at one point been boarding houses. All were now home to squatters, prostitutes, and drug dealers. They had been officially unoccupied for at least the last two years. And I doubt anyone will buy the houses until they're actually unoccupied.