I was proud to be an American. Just don't tell Sarah Palin.

Living close to our nation's capital never gets old for me. Well, maybe when I was on the 18th semi-historical place where Abraham Lincoln stroked his beard, then it got old. But the symbolism of D.C. still catches me off guard sometimes.

As I was waiting for a Whitworth alumni event with a friend in the city, we walked across Lafayette Square to the "little" side of the White House. For those not familiar with the view, it's the opposite side from what's usually considered the money shot. Gathered in front of the gate, about 150 or so people were engaged in a protest/rally supporting the protests in Egypt. Now in full disclosure, I've always been of the mindset that a person of a foreign country can never really understand the true emotions, motivations, or unrest that leads to such powerful organization against someone else's government/leaders. Nor do I think media coverage of such events is anywhere close to balanced, in either direction. No matter how hard you try as a writer or photographer, you end up choosing a bad guy.

But the reports poured in of internet censorship, government force, and worldwide consequences for foreign relations and economies, I couldn't help but be proud of the sight in front of me. Police quietly blockading traffic from interfering with the demonstration. A bystander clapping along to the English/Arabic chants. A mother taking a family photo of four generations in front of the crowd, her small children clothed in their native flag. And all in the shadow, shouting distance, of our President's home and office. I don't get on the "let's cover our monster trucks in stars and stripes" train very often. But I'd rather wade through the noise of opposition and political dissent, however antagonizing and sometimes downright crazy it is, than take a pair of government-controlled waders to make the job "easier."

A new blogging venture

Anyone who spends more than about 5 minutes with me knows I'm a huge proponent for gender equality. And no, that doesn't mean I think women should take over every CEO position and every political race with no concern for the Y chromosomes of the world. We should be FAMILY LEAVE, people.

As a way to further explore these issues, as well as take an opportunity to work on a writing project with my Whitworth journalism partner in crime, we have started The Gender Report. While it is not as focused on commentary as I would be on this site, I think many of you will still find it reeks of bacon. Different posts include daily Gender Checks, looking at the balance of bylines and sources used in print and online sources in 4 major regions of the country, as well as a News Feed with relevant headlines and happenings around the world.

As a result, the frequency of my shaking and baking may become a bit diminished. We launched the site last week and so far have seen a great reception and following start to build. But don't worry, the minutes I see another fashion disaster such as the pajama jean or spring cleaning reflections, I'll be sure to share.

if newspapers still paid for quirky features

I would write about street flower salespeople. Baltimore is the first place I have seen these individuals in the actual streets (as opposed to just a curbside operation). Politely weaving in and out of cars on 29th and 33rd, they always smile and give me a thumbs up as I wait for the light to change. Not asking for a handout, nor a pity purchase, just a friendly offer of bouquets wrapped in plastic. Sometimes ribbon is involved.

I would find Eduardo, or Rafael, as I imagine he is named, a rags-to-riches hopeful who wakes at dawn to carefully arrange his bouquets of roses or non-descript daisy look-a-likes that men can use to beg forgiveness, charm a second date, or use to get out of going to his girlfriend's best friend's Pictionary game night. I would describe how they have stories for each of their flowers, recommendations for colors and particular arrangements based on the kind of car you drive. I would hunt down their wholesale distributor, and ask just how lucrative the streetside flower sales industry is these days (as it could be impolite or not necessarily accurate to ask the salespeople themselves).

Maybe it would be an NPR feature and I could hone in on the audio of the cars rushing by and the rustling of the cellophane against his windbreaker sleeve. Or maybe more of a Frontline spot, with video of his shuffling feet and the typical "no thanks" hand up from a stopped driver. Either way it will end with a pithy quote about how he feels about his life and what he looks for in the future, or, if I'm lucky, some metaphor he comes up with for how flowers help us relate to the world around us.

Keep your eyes out for it, my friends.