The Pride of Capitol Hill?

The Washington Post reported this morning that the Superintendent of Schools intends to close Eastern High School, which was once the Pride of Capitol Hill, and reopen it as the new DC Latin School, which will serve 6^th through 12^th grades. The school will be modeled after the famed Boston Latin School, of which Superintendent Janney is an alum.

Perhaps you have to live on the Hill to understand how exciting this is. Our neighborhood options for public middle school are limited and our neighborhood options for public high school are nonexistent. Our neighborhood elementary school is dismal, with 59 percent of students scoring "below basic" on the Stanford 9 reading test, so I take my third grader to Georgetown every morning to attend an excellent public school in that neighborhood. We have been thrilled with Anthony J. Hyde Elementary School, but I salivate at the thought of shedding this commute. (I live on the Hill in no small part because I have no interest in daily driving.) My little one will start public pre-K at Hyde next year and will continue there until his brother finishes 5^th grade and moves on to middle school. At that point, I hope a few Hill elementary schools will have seen improvement and we can consider transfering #2 son closer to home (I’ve got my eye on Brent), while #1 son will get to middle school on his own steam. Then I will gleefully hang up my car keys. Of course, I had thought that #1 son would probably take a city bus to Hardy Middle School. How cool if he could walk to Eastern, and get a classical education besides!

The larger question, of course, is how this will help the students who currently attend Eastern (or who are on track to enroll). It's great that motivated families with academically successful children will have more options. But what's going to be done to meet the needs of underperforming students?

I'm sending this one in to the writers on "The Office"

I swear, you can't make this stuff up.

A colleague, J, was going with the Boss and 3 other people to a meeting. It was determined on the ride down in the elevator that 2 cabs would be necessary. The group procured the two cabs and distributed themselves. J. ended up alone in a cab with Boss.

Boss was making self-deprecating remarks about how no one wanted to ride with him. J felt obliged to make it appear that *she* enjoyed riding with Boss. Small talk ensued. In the midst of this, J noticed a very long, dark, straight hair clinging to the knot of Boss's tie.

"Boss," said J, "I think you have one of M's hairs on your tie." (M is Mrs. Boss.)

Boss brushed at tie. "Is is gone?"

“No.”

Boss brushed at tie again. “Now?”

“No. Do you want me to…”

Boss obligingly lifted his chin, and J reached over and grabbed the offending hair.

“Ouch!” said Boss.

The hair, it seems, was attached. To his chest.

Boss turned beet red and mumbled something about the indignities of getting older, and all hair migrating south from one’s head. J fervently wished to be immediately struck dead.

Rootin' for the Home Team

On Friday night, P and I took the kids, who are 3 and 8, to see the Nationals play. The tickets were only $3 apiece, so we figured we had little to lose. What a great night! The weather was gorgeous, the kids lasted the whole nine innings, and the Nats won. Can’t ask for more than that.

The trick to bringing young children to baseball games is to feed them. And feed them and feed them. We had Cracker Jack during the first inning, lemonade during the third, and Dippin’ Dots during the fifth. After that, they were too glassy-eyed with sugar and fatigue to cause much trouble.

I love living so close to the stadium. I for one will be very sad when the team moves to a new stadium. If they ever do.

I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

A few years ago, the city redid the sidewalk behind our house (with bricks instead of cement). In the process, the contractor sheered off our vent pipe and then filled it all in with sand and bricked it over. A few days later we had raw sewage backing up in the house. I’m no plumbing expert, but that seemed like a problem to me. I called the plumber, B, and he came and spent about an hour trying to diagnose a blockage in the main sewer line in front. When he could find nothing wrong, he started investigating behind the house, where he found an odd smelly puddle pooling on the sidewalk. He took the bricks out and began digging, eventually unearthing the evidence of the contractor’s incompetence and gross negligence—while standing knee deep in sewage. (MY sewage, I might add.) He was incredulous and furious when he figured out what had happened. Then he ranted and raved on the phone to the city public works department and got them to come out and fix it within hours. (Nothing short of a miracle, that.) THEN he charged me $60 for an entire morning’s work. $60!!!! “You shouldn’t have to pay a cent,” he said at first, but threw out the sum of $60 when I insisted.

I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

He also remembers my kids’ names and asks me how they are doing when I call. (He knows his way into a mother’s heart.) And sometimes I spot him in his van when I am out in the neighborhood (or he spots me first), and he always beeps and waves. We haven’t had to have him over to solve any plumbing problems for quite some time, but just a few weeks ago when I was out running, he spotted me and beeped.

Today I finally called him to come and look at the leaking toilet in the master bath. Every time it is flushed, water pours out from behind the bowl. I’m no plumbing expert, but this seemed like a problem to me. But we have 2 other toilets in our little house (no attic, no basement, no storage, but by god we’ve got toilets!), so as far as I was concerned there was no emergency. I just taped the lid closed so no one would use it and P. and I moved our business to the hall toilet (conveniently located right outside our bedroom door). It’s been out of commission for months. (So long that sewer worms took up residence in the bowl. Who knew?)

Well, my parents are coming for the weekend and I was planning to have them sleep in our bedroom while P and I slept on the pull-out couch. So, because I wanted a working toilet for them, I called B and left a message. He called me this morning and P answered and then handed the phone to me (because in his opinion it only makes sense to capitalize on the fact that an expensive home contractor has a crush on your wife). I took the phone, and B—not one to be shy even though a woman's husband is standing 3 feet away—greets me with, “Hey Cutie.”

And then, after I explained my problem and he told me he could come by in an hour, the conversation went like this:

“So, everything else okay?”

“Yep.”

“Saw you on the street the other day. You’re looking pretty good.”

I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

And yes, my toilet is working just fine now.

Crazy from the Heat

So summer is in high gear in DC, and you know what that means: tourists are lumbering, red-faced and sweating, through the nation’s capital. And as I walked through Union Station today, on my way to work, I noticed a veritable epidemic of bad boobage. Does no one check themselves out in the mirror before leaving the privacy of home? Are women incapable of purchasing properly fitting support garments?

Maybe in this heat people are just letting it all hang out. When I was a kid in Massachusetts, WBCN's morning DJ, Charles Laquidera, used to call a day like this a "No Underwear Day." I'm wearing a thong, so I'm only half-following his advice. But rest assured, I've got my Body by Victoria bra on, so my boobage is fully covered.

At 2:18, the current temperature in downtown Washington is: 97 degrees. The weatherman says we'll hit 100. Tomorrow, more of the same, with the so-called "heat index" hitting 115. On days like these, I actually have to remind myself on the walk home that it's not a good idea to strip off one's clothes on Massachusetts Avenue. (Note to self: Keep clothes ON.) Maybe tomorrow I'll take Laquidera's advice and go commando. But I'll be wearing the bra.