Depending on your vantage point, 2014 was either full of doom, gloom, and Armageddon, or, quite flatly, the idea that people are overly dramatic, the world is not falling apart, and all that has really happened is that the sun has made its grand course around the earth yet again. Whichever side of…
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I’m not one for humid, oppressively hot weather, but there I was standing on the grassy knoll opposite the White House, squinting into the noon-day sun. And I wasn’t alone. Roughly 10,000 people–give or take a few hundred—milled around me on Lafayette Square, spilling onto Pennsylvania Avenue.
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This week I ate at a fancy restaurant where I paid $30 for a salmon lox, warm, flaky croissants, mini cheesecakes and orange juice in stemware. I was paying more for the classy ambiance of a chic establishment that serves small portions on square plates than I was for the food itself. I sat at my table wearing a new jacket, listening to the piano playing in the background and waiting to meet a group of friends I haven’t seen since graduation.
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