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February 2007


Voices

More complicated than carbs

I grew up on a strange blend of Happy Meals and granola, white bread and Flintstones’ vitamins. My physical activity revolved around a hula hoop and relatively infrequent Jane Fonda workout sessions alongside my mother. The monkey bars frightened me, and I still can’t quite turn corners on a bicycle.

Voices

Heelys: wheely, wheely fast

It had rained the night before and, as my classmate fluidly sailed past me on the slick asphalt path, my reaction was that I had witnessed a miracle. It was my first time seeing a pair of Heelys. The first messiah had walked on water—could the second one glide inexplicably across wet pavement?

Voices

Bonding through brutality

I’m a firm believer in the unifying powers of a good game. You can’t beat that surge of adrenaline and camaraderie that accompanies a rousing round of Pictionary and the toe-curling thrill that every painstakingly organized game of mafia creates. I have a special place in my heart, however, for backyard games.

Voices

Our father, who art in Congress

One night last spring, working as a host at a ritzy Washington restaurant, I met a conservative congressman and his wife at the door. Knowing their table was far from ready, I started chatting while hanging up their coats. Discovering my Georgetown affiliation, the congressman’s wife demanded to know my religious and political views. The congressman rolled his eyes, clearly wanting to leave his work at the office, but when his better-half found out I was both a liberal and a Catholic, she demanded to know how I feel about abortion. The air of pleasant small talk dissipated after I said “pro-choice.” She smirked at me. “Not very Catholic, eh?” For the rest of the night, whenever we passed, she would lean over and ask, “Jesus change your mind yet?”