Now that I’m not as annoyed at the internet for deleting my nerdlog, I’m going to try this, again, by detailing my Washington-Atlanta adventure. It’s probably better that I’ve sat on it for a day, in fact, because to report on it yesterday would have been to belabour the disadvantages of flying and Americans.
Anyway, I’m writing this from my hotel in Washington, DC, on the eve of President Bush’s last State of the Union Address.
Between interviews this afternoon, I asked a woman in public relations at the hospital whether, in Washington, politics is the local sports team. She affirmed that it is, certainly, and added that the real politicos follow their favourite players around when they tour, having tailgate cookout parties called, “primaries.”
Regrettably, I’ve totally struck out on food, so far. Lunch yesterday was something from Newark Airport, and Dinner was from a pan-Asian place called Banana Leaves at Connecticut and Florida ave. It wasn’t pan-Asian enough for me — I wanted Phanaeng Kai (#1). They had Pad Thai, so I ordered that and some spring rolls. It was all brutally oily, and not in a fresh-tasting way.
On a related note, I shuffled into the cafeteria this morning at the hospital where I’m working (which, because it’s an embarrasingly well-funded National Center, sells Starbuck’s coffee in the same serve-your own arrangement where most cafeterias serve swill).
While considering which designer roast I wanted to haul me back from the brink of death, I noticed a well-dressed, fairly fit-seeming woman deliberately adding sugar packets, one at a time, to her extra large, half-full cup of tea. I stalled, pretending to be having trouble selecting which lid to put on my cup so that I could see how many she was adding. I counted six, and at least one caught my attention before that. I have a feeling she stopped only because she caught me looking at her. I don’t know what she planned for the other half of unused volume in the cup, but I can only assume it would be filled either by cream or bacon.
The story about the woman is important for two reasons. The first, obviously, is that she either already has, or will soon get diabetes. The second is that she, like everyone else I saw in the waiting rooms of one of the best medical centres in America, was at least middle class. The only old pairs of shoes or work boots were on the service staff. Kids wore new Air Jordans (or their more recent equivalents) and Ugg Boots.
The poor, it seems, don’t need specialists. Now, it’s time for me and this revelation to watch as America’s President tells us what he’ll do with all his light, sweet crude.
Diabetes lady is a good example of how natural selection has not prepared us for the endless flood of sugary treats in the current environment, or Ugg boots for that matter.