District of Funk

So the title of this post has little to do with the following content, but sounds like a sweet band name, right? At least for DC street music.

I've been living in Washington, D.C. for three months now, but it took a few touristy friend visits for me to fully appreciate the city's offerings. The last few weekends have been a test of my Metro and hostess skills, and wonderful, sunny (except for last Friday -- ugh) expeditions. So I thought I would do a little pseudo-travelogue to point out some highlights:

SULU DC
Abstract poetry verses frustrate me, and if I don't get the gist of a poem on third try, I'm going to pick up some chick lit. I told my friend this as we settled into SULU DC, a showcase of underground Asian-American performance art held at the Ethiopian restaurant Almaz.
But then Michelle Myers from Yellow Rage came to stage and taught me how to get angry -- fists-clenched-teeth-gritted pissed off by listening to poem about a wronged immigrant or stereotyped women.
And after that, it was Sahra Nguyen, a woman whose heartfull, touching poetry delightfully pervades an cute, funny image. Example: describing her tiny, fierce Chinese mother in a poem "My Momma's So Gangsta".
Conclusion: My friend leaned over to me and said, "Now do you get poetry?"
I did.

Good Stuff Eatery
A crowded fast-food restaurant of Top Chef fame -- Imagine my surprise when one of my favorite vegetarian meals in DC took place at a burger joint. But when your "Vegetarians Are People Too" burger is actually a stuffed portabello mushroom with fresh cheese, flash-fried in Panko bread crumbs, well yeah, it's pretty freaking delicious.
Top that off with my first milkshake in about five years and an end to the grumbling tummy after a Capitol Hill tour, and we've got a winner.

A Loop Around the Mall
Even if you hate running, walking down the straight line from the Capitol, amid the Smithsonians, around the Washington Monument (WashMon, if you will -- I won't), through the World War II memorial and right up to Lincoln's lap will make you wish you were a DC jogger.
Springtime in DC is savory, and the Kite Flying Festival dotted our horizon like mass confetti. The famed Cherry Blossoms bow gracefully into the Potomac, and everyone's cutests dogs and children stroll around the mall. Tourist or not, it's a worthwhile walk.

Capitol Hill Books
Unlike what the name suggests, this rowhouse-turned-bookstore is an allergy-inducing mish-mash of stacked books, organized vaguely with post-it notes and rooms, and narrow enough for one person at a time on the stairwell (which is lined with World War II books).
So basically, it's perfect.
I read a couple of chapters of a novel, and looked up to find two of my UF creative writing teachers' names (Padgett Powell, David Leavitt) on the bindings in front of me.
If that doesn't call you name, browsing the surrounding Eastern Market's local crafts, hippie imports and fish counters, will.

Letting My Hair Down

A more enduring battle than Me vs. Job Market has been Me vs. My Hair.

Since I was four (I blame Florida water), I've had this mass of rebellious corkscrews on my head. And not the soft, bouncy Shirly Temple type, or the funky Lauryn Hill coiffe, but a frizzy mop that defies the blow dryer, good weather and any Japanese straightening system that wages war against genetics.

When I was eight, I attempted to de-volumize and had it all chopped off to a couple of inches. The end result was a full on square-shaped 'fro that earned me nicknames like Don King, and plenty of bawling sessions in the lower bunk bed. Then when I was 12 I discovered a straightener and have since spent hours with 430 degrees applied to my scalp for parties, interviews, or any time I needed to feel, yes I am saying it, empowered.

At age 13, an age when you will do anything that will make you look like everyone else, I succumbed to a $500 burning ointment that changed the chemistry of my locks, and continued to shell out atrocious amounts for just a few months of normalcy over the next eight years.

But things change. I went through a couple more battles with Self, and then to college, where I watched this one guy in the Plaza of the Americas hang out in the grass with incredibly tangled and mangled blonde hair, sticking up and coagulating into dreadlocks and probably washed less than my car.

And I met Lynsey, whose own hair liberation inspired me to question why I was constantly suppressing, straightening, stressing out what was rightfully my version of beauty. She called it "going natural", and while I touted going natural in all other aspects, I never considered how vital it could be for my hair.

Fast forward to last weekend when I sat in the chair at the hairdressers. Every hairdresser except for one (who quit) tells me to straighten and relax my hair. Last Saturday was no different and I started my usual apologetic shpiel for the difficult situation I had burdened my stylist with.

On her third insistence that I pay her hundreds to relax my hair, I got straight up angry. With a smile still on my face I said, "I like my hair. I like it curly and I don't want to straighten it." So she made a face, she shrugged, she kept cutting. At the end, she said, "I'm glad you like your hair."

Sometimes I read articles about how straight hair is taken more seriously and how to buy the perfect straightening iron. And it's true that the click-clack of heels and a shiny blow-out helps me face an employer or potential date with more confidence. But on just any day, like a misty March Sunday, I've got my hair down and free and in absolute defiance of any glossy ad, and I'm reveling. Isn't that what it means to grow up?

My name is Ankita and I'm a Vegetarian

I try hard not to be evegangelical, even when the menu has no vegetarian options except french fries. I don't see the point in being pushy and sometimes I wish I could just give up all my economic-social-spiritual-health views that make me a vegetarian -- they are at once liberating and limiting.

But this week I packed a product that I think deserves to be called out: Wegmans' Organic Super Yogurt. I thought I was safe with yogurt, especially organic, especially Wegmans. But instead of ranting, I'm going to give you a break down of the ingredients:

Cultured Pasteurized Grade A Organic Nonfat Milk - hopefully from happy cows
Organic Sugar, Organic Cream, Organic Corn Starch, Organic Vanilla Flavor, Organic Vanilla Beans, Organic Lemon Juice Concentrate - hopefully from happy farms
Inulin (Dietary fiber) - my research tells me this is plant based, usually from roots
Pectin - gelling agent extracted from citrus/terrestrial plants (sounds like aliens)
Organic Locust Bean Gum - luckily not grasshopper-based, but from carob trees
Fish Oil (Anchovy, Sardine) - NOT vegetarian, at least neither are on the overfished list
Kosher Gelatin (Beef, Tilapia) - Seriously? Beef? That doesn't even fly with the pseudo-veggies (pescatarians). If we were in India -- class action lawsuit.
Vitamin D, Contains a Blend of Live and Active Cultures Including: L. Acidophilus, L. Casei, Probiotic Bifidobacterium Lactis - I personally don't count bacteria as animals, so we're safe

I'm not sure the blame here goes to Wegmans. In fact, I thank them for their transparency and lack of HFCS (which despite the ad campaign, is terrible). But I'm not a fan of crossing another item off my list, and I doubt the other 7.3 million veggie Americans are either.