Category: Uncategorized

06 Aug

What Did You Just Call Me?

The human mind can be a random thing–some a little more so than others.

For reasons that cannot be explained except possibly by a multi-year study involving teams of anthropologists and neurologists, I wondered today what my brother calls me. Specifically, I was curious what my older brother, Ben, says when he has to differentiate whether he is talking about me, or his other brother, Pat.

This thought occurred to me as I was driving home along Centreville Road in Chantilly, Va. None of these things has anything to do with my question, thus making it pretty random.

So I did what any good journalism school graduate would do; instead of wondering, I called a source and asked.

The issue is pretty simple, but for those who don’t know my family that well I’ll take a second and explain the dynamics. I am the middle child (sort of) with an older brother and a younger brother. Not to confuse things, there’s also a twin sister, but she is in the same boat as me. A photo, albeit a few years old, to help you visualize:

From left to right (facewise): Mal, Ben, Pat, Chris

If I say “My brother is going to the beach.” You might ask which one. I can either use his name (if I think you would know it) or say either “the younger one” or “the older one.”

But Ben can’t say that. He has a younger one and a younger-er one. His answer? He said he would use “the middle one” and “the younger one.” That seems like a pretty good solution. I guess technically he has a brother who is older than the other, giving him an “older brother” and a “younger brother.” But I guess in common usage that would get pretty confusing.

I haven’t asked Pat–my younger brother and Ben’s younger-er brother–what he says. But I’ll see him tomorrow and provide some sort of update.

As I was talking to Ben during my drive, I went past a group of townhouses with an empty parking lot. Empty, that is, except for one little girl having a blast driving her remote-controlled car.

There are several reasons this sight made me happy. It was a summer afternoon and a kid was outside playing. The kid was not handcuffed to a parent, but allowed to be playing independently, presumably within view of her home. There was a remote-controlled car involved.

I can only hope she had something as sweet as this ride:

By cjhannas family Uncategorized
29 Jul

All I’m Askin’ is Please, Forgive Me

CDs, no matter how much you may like them at one point in your life, will inevitably be forgotten and stashed away. You pick up new ones, fight with the tight plastic wrapping and rock out to the latest sounds.

While the new ones are the same size and hold the same amount of music, they don’t come with one thing the old ones all have–memories.

I defy you to put in a CD you haven’t listened to in a few years and not think back to the time it was a mainstay in your rotation. Think about the car trips it gave a soundtrack to, and the people along for the ride.

Lately I’ve been bringing one of the old favorites to my car each morning. Between my morning and evening commutes, there is just about enough time to get through the whole disc.

After listening to a dozen of them, I have yet to experience one that didn’t bring me back to when I first hit play. With most of them, this is the first time I have played them in my current car, which I’ve had for five years now.

One thing is clear–the current ride has a FAR better sound sytem than the 1993 Pontiac Grand Am I drove in high school and the first three years of college.

But the Grand Am was the beginning for CDs from bands like SR-71, Incubus, Lifehouse, Beastie Boys, Good Charlotte and Barenaked Ladies. It was also the ride responsible for transporting my carpool cohort from Copper Crossing (our neighborhood) to Oakton High School and back.

There were four of us–Myself, Kristen, Becky and Dave (or David if you like). I think I picked everyone up in that order, though I just spent five minutes trying to remember that detail from something I did at 6:30 a.m. in 2000-01. It’s the most logical order based on where they lived, so I’ll assume that’s how I did it.

The music seemed to be sort of my choice, but it quickly became clear that there were some favorites among my collection, and others that weren’t quite as welcome in the CD player. I can’t even begin to describe how many times we listened to SR-71’s album “Now You See Inside.” Ditto for Lifehouse’s “No Name Face.” Not that I was complaining–they were my CDs after all.

But poor Dave. He was more into bands like MXPX, The Get Up Kids and of course, JEW. You haven’t heard of JEW? Well neither had I until early on Friday morning. Fridays were Dave days–that meant he could pick the music and we had to listen. It seemed like a fair system for someone who didn’t complain the rest of the week and even gave up any desires to sit in the front seat.

So there we were, sitting in Dave’s driveway as he settled into the back. I reached my hand back to receive his chosen disc. It’s label? JEW. Naturally, I asked about this mysterious band only to be chastened for not knowing the now-ubiquitous Jimmy Eat World.

In the afternoon, I’m confident I dropped off Dave first, then Becky and finally Kristen. I know this for a fact because of SR-71’s song “What A Mess.” It was by far Kristen’s favorite, and it was the soundtrack for the 30-second drive from Becky’s house to hers. She didn’t have to ask if it was OK, or even the track number. Once Becky got out, my stereo went “beep beep beep” the appropriate number of times to get us to track No. 3. Sometimes we’d even skip forward to the chorus, since, you know, 30 seconds isn’t that long.

I bet even Dave remembers the words to that song. Maybe I should get him a copy–only $8 on Amazon right now. A small price to pay for those memories.

By cjhannas music nostalgia Uncategorized
28 Jul

Can We Go to the Shopping Center?

Four kids and a babysitter walk into a shopping center.

That’s not the start of a joke, but rather a scene that tells you it’s 2009 and not 1994.

I saw the group the other day while in a drive-thru line at Taco Bell. The shopping center is a few miles south of my parents’ house–which has another shopping center about a mile to the north.

The kids looked like they were all in elementary school, maybe one of them in middle school. The chaperon was clearly leading the way on their midday, summer-vacation sojourn.

I couldn’t help but to think back to my elementary school days. It was then that a shopping center sprang up out of a former strawberry farm, bringing exciting things like a McDonald’s so close to our house. It wasn’t long before me and my three siblings were planning Saturday trips for pawing through the Salvation Army store or scoring a meal at the long-defunct–but tasty–Tippy’s Tacos.

All we needed was permission to go. Today, there are probably few parents who would let their four kids walk or ride their bikes to a place so full of strangers; a trip that would have them gone for several hours. We didn’t even have cell phones to keep track of us.

And yet, our parents let us go. During summer vacation, we could go all the time. I’ll never forget learning the lesson of thinking about your mode of transportation before making a purchase I picked up when I acquired a giant red plastic bat from the Salvation Army. It’s the kind that usually comes with a big plastic ball and is designed for 5-year-olds just learning how to swing. But at only 25 cents, how I could I pass it up? So I made the entire bike ride back home balancing the big red bat over my handlebars, glad that I hadn’t followed my instinct to buy two of them.

There was the time I went on my rollerblades, only to have a pretty awful spill in the gravel just in front of our neighborhood. Not even halfway to the shopping center, I decided to go ahead with the trip to McDonald’s. Fortunately they had a nice bathroom where I could examine my injuries and pick the gravel out of my arm before scarfing down a Big Mac.

On the last day of school in 6th grade, a group of my friends from the neighborhood thought it would be fun to go hang out at Chuck E. Cheese. That’s the day we learned they don’t let unaccompanied minors hang out at Chuck E. Cheese. A lame policy if you ask me.

My little brother, Pat, and his friend, also Pat, had their bikes stolen at the shopping center once. But out of hundreds of combined trips, that’s the only negative thing that ever happened.

You might think this is a different time, and in a way it is. I think we are more aware of what is around us, but that doesn’t mean those same potentially dangerous elements weren’t in our society 15 years ago. What is here is a level of caution that doesn’t let kids be more than 10 feet from their parents. While that may be “safer,” there are certain lessons you can learn and experiences you can only have when your dad says you and your brother can go to the shopping center.

By cjhannas family McDonald's nostalgia Taco Bell Uncategorized
24 Jul

Somebody Tell CJHANNAS Who Kanye West is

There are two trends in music videos that seem to be becoming more and more prevalent, and which really need to be addressed.

The first is the growing use of Hollywood-style opening credits to start the video. On every channel that plays videos, the same standard information is shown at the beginning. It tells you who will appear, the name of the song and the album. That’s all we need to know.

Adding to the over-the-top nature of the credits is the fact that everyone mentioned is a HUGE star. Watch the first 15 seconds of this video. It introduces Kanye West, Ne-Yo and Keri Hilson. I didn’t know Keri Hilson before seeing this, but even someone as hip as myself knows exactly who the other two are.

The other recent perpetrator of the trend is Jamie Foxx. His video features cameos from Forest Whitaker, Samuel L. Jackson and Ron Howard. That group has won a combined 4 Oscars, and grabbed numerous other nominations. They have been responsible for some of the biggest movies in the past 15 years. If you’re in a position to be watching cable television in the United States, you don’t need a special introduction.

The other trend involves a specific shot in the videos. For some reason it has become a requirement to have the star floating above a bed. A main culprit is the Hilson/Kanye/Ne-Yo video I mentioned before. If you watch past the 15 seconds, you’ll see quite a bit of Hilson in mid-air above the bed. Maybe she’s just aspiring to be Beyonce, who achieves more of a floating–rather than falling–effect in her video for ‘Sweet Dreams.’.

I’m pretty sure there was a third one I made a mental note about this morning–I frequently rock VH1 while I’m reading the newspaper. But now I can’t remotely remember. So keep an eye out for people illuminating the themes in their songs by floating above a bed. And since they weren’t responsible enough to include a disclaimer, don’t try that at home. Unless you’re tired. Then it’s probably appropriate to make some sort of move towards a bed.

By cjhannas music Uncategorized
23 Jul

Honoring an American Icon

If you noticed anyone at work today who was a little down, maybe even shedding a few unexplained tears, they lost a very special part of their lives.

As this obituary in the Washington Post says, Gidget, the Taco Bell dog, has died.

Even if you’re not a Taco Bell fan, there’s still a chance Gidget meant a lot to your life. Fans of the Reese Witherspoon epic “Legally Blonde 2: Red, White and Blonde” will remember Gidget as Elle Woods’ diminutive partner in lawyering.

It’s not often an animal gets an obituary in a national newspaper. Even rarer may be a public comment from an international company following the death of an animal. Upon Gidget’s death, Taco Bell issued a statement saying “Our deepest sympathies go out to her owners and fans.”

My love for Taco Bell really took shape during the height of the “Yo Quiero Taco Bell” era. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Next time I’m making a run for the border, I’ll be sure to pour out a little Wild Cherry Pepsi for my lost homey. Actually, that stuff is tasty. Maybe I’ll just eat an extra cheesy gordita crunch for Gidget.

By cjhannas animals Taco Bell Uncategorized
22 Jul

I Hereby Declare

Random thought of the morning–I wonder what my life would be like if I was hired for the job I applied for two years ago as a proclamation writer for the state of Hawaii.

By cjhannas Uncategorized writing
20 Jul

Party Like It’s 1999

What have you done for the past 10 years? I don’t mean cumulatively, but rather some action you have done at least once a year since 1999.

Eating doesn’t count. Nor does breathing or buying socks. Well, if you have some sort of ritual wherein you buy a new pair of socks each March 27, I’ll count that.

For me, it has been selling shoes. Each year since from 1999 to 2008 I sold at least one pair of shoes to another individual while working at a retail store. That string looks incredibly long now that I write it, but I assure you it feels even longer.

But 2009 should be the end of the road. I stopped working at my last retail gig back in July 2007, but ended up working one day last year in sort of a freelance capacity. Due to my incredible skill–not to mention charm–I couldn’t help but make the most of that one day and make a sale.

We’re a long way from August of ’99, when as a kid about to enter his junior year of high school I signed on to peddle athletic and rugged footwear at an awesome store called Galyan’s. Those of you familiar with Dick’s Sporting Goods will know sort of what the store looked like (Dick’s bought Galyan’s in 2004). But Galyan’s was a much higher-quality store and gave me what ended up being a pretty easy way to extort a lot of money from a lot of people in the Northern Virginia area. I mean, um, to help lots of people by identifying their needs and matching one of our products to fit their budget as well. Yeah.

Then in 2005 it was off to New Balance where the real fun began. And by fun I mean utilizing my master’s degree by selling shoes and finding ways to pass boredom-filled hours in Tysons Corner Center. You’ll have to consult the archives for the real flavor of this time in my life. Stories about or related to my time there definitely dominate the 2006-07 portion of my writing. From a purely content perspective, I should still be working there.

But I digress.

It was upon leaving that job for a TV producing gig in Florida that the following year (2008 for those of you scoring at home) was declared to be “totally SHOE-FREE.” At least, that was according to a Christmas card from one of my friends:

Unfortunately, while visiting my brother in Raleigh, N.C., I got pressed into helping out at a wonderful little store called Raleigh Running Outfitters. It was there that 2008 lost its “SHOE-FREE” status, never to be regained again.

In 2009, I have remained strong. While I have worn many shoes, I have not tried to measure anyone’s feet, lace up their shoes or even offer much footwear-related advice. It’s tough not being intimitely involved in the feet of complete strangers. Or maybe it’s glorious, hard to say really.

Here’s to lasting a few more months without a nametag around my neck or a shoebox in my hand, and finding something more productive to do for the next 10 years.

By cjhannas shoes Uncategorized
18 Jul

Moving on Up, to the Blogspot

I’ve been slacking in the blogging department, and I blame MySpace. As people seem to be fleeing the site like it’s on fire with some kind of virus-spreading flames, I have felt my motivation to blog there become virtually non-existent.

So here I am in a slightly more accessible place that I’m pretty sure also offers me better tools to play with. It may take me a while to utilize them, but at least here I am.

I started moving over some of the MySpace blog “archives,” and you’ll see more and more of them pop up as time goes on. I believe the posts go back to 2005, but maybe just to 2006. We’ll find out.

Enjoy.

By cjhannas Uncategorized
22 Apr

Will the Real Chwilbur(n) Please Stand Up?

If anyone knows Cheryl Wilburn, let her know I’m getting her emails. Thanks.

Shortly before the 2008 presidential election I began getting emails from the Obama campaign. At first I didn’t think it was too odd, since I was in favor of the Senator’s candidacy. But when I looked more closely, they were actually trying to send emails to Cheryl Wilburn. I can only assume her email is something like chwilburn@yahoo.com, just one letter different from my own.

I hope she hasn’t missed out on any of the events that have followed. Today the mailing list, which has now turned into “USA Service,” touted the president’s initiative to increase community service around the U.S. The new organization is also apparently on a first-name basis with recipients now, saying only “Dear Cheryl” and leaving off the last name. Nice to know they’re cozy like that.

According to the email, they are “grateful for the work you’ve done since the National Day of Service in January.” Make that the work Cheryl has apparently done since January. I hope her service isn’t dependent on getting pep talks and adulation in her inbox.

On a completely different note, it must suck to be a dentist. I went today and got the expected “you need to floss more.” Seriously, who actually flosses the correct amount?

That’s why it would be terrible to be a dentist. All day, every day, you’re seeing people who flat out ignore the instructions you give them when you meet one or two times a year. You think to yourself how simple a task flossing is, how little time it takes and how it is clearly good for each and every patient.

And yet nobody listens. I bet dentists have a higher number of kids than the national average, if only so they have someone under their roof they can MAKE floss as often as they feel is necessary. I’d also bet children of dentists are extremely unlikely to be dentists themselves, opting to work at ice cream shops and chocolatiers in disproportionate numbers.

On my way home from the dentist I stopped to get gas. At the pump next to me…a MetroAccess bus. They’re coming to get me.

By cjhannas metro Uncategorized
21 Apr

A Nemesis Returns

It’s never a good thing when a nemesis you thought you had made peace with returns, and nearly kills you.

Back in my grad school days at the University of Maryland, I was dispatched to do a story on cuts in the MetroAccess program in the Washington, D.C. area. MetroAccess provides rides to the disabled who cannot use the bus/rail options provided by the area transit authority.

It should have been an easy story–interview a few users who would be inconvenienced by the cuts, a metro spokesperson defending the cuts, and get some video of the MetroAccess cars and buses. Before doing the story, and even that morning on my way to the interviews, I saw the vehicles everywhere.

As soon as I was looking for a few to get on tape for the story, they mysteriously disappeared from the streets. I spent a solid half an hour walking around downtown D.C. waiting for one of them to go by. Never happened. So I went to locations where they could be picking people up or dropping them off, such as complexes with multiple doctors offices that served the elderly/disabled. Again, nothing.

The professor serving as our assignment editor calls to tell me she has found the main MetroAccess compound in Maryland. The way she’s talking about it, it seems like she has contacted them and they are allowing me to come and get video. So I go there, get out my camera and start shooting. After about 15 minutes, a vanload of very official-looking people show up and come right towards me. They want to know who I am and what the bejeesus I am doing there.

I explain the phone call, after which I am asked to go inside and talk to their security people. They say they have no record of the call, and nobody remembers talking to the professor. After a short time of explaining my harmless intentions, they ask for my card and ask me to leave. I comply.

The second I got out of their parking lot I called the professor to ask why I was in yet another position to be detained while shooting a story. She says basically not to worry about it…and the story ends up being really lame anyway.

Fast forward to last week. I was crossing a street in D.C. with the light. There was a left turn lane that also had a green light, with the drivers expected to not plow over people utilizing the crosswalk. The driver of a MetroAccess bus pulls into the intersection, not even remotely seeing me. Good thing I was paying attention and could run a few steps to get out of his way. It was only then he made eye contact and sped away. Good thing I’m nimble; that would be a terrible way for my life to end.

By cjhannas metro Uncategorized