DC Cherry blossoms

Blossom on tree

Took these photos on Capitol Hill this weekend, over the Japanese Cherry Blossom Festival

Here is a little glimpse into where I live….

This photo reminds me of a wedding.

These trees have such an entrancing abstract shape!

Hot Times in Mad Science

Once in a great while the clouds of memory, fact, and philosophy part in my mind to reveal a glimpse of the vast unknown that lies beyond. I treasure these moments in humble appreciation of how little I or any of us know about this world or any other. But what is ‘knowing’? Many would say that we only know what we see for ourselves, therefore science has built a framework on this basic concept so we can ‘know’ something we haven’t seen by trusting information that has passed through this highly regulated structure. Indeed, only by standing on the scaffolding of scientific knowledge can any of us hope to see the larger picture of systems, laws and populations.

Rivers of ink have been spilled over the assumptions, implications and justifications for mathematical models of infinitely complex natural systems. I have always regarded the folks who devote their careers to the important yet widely underappreciated task of assigning numbers and patterns to nature with a quiet reverence, and despite the tone of the rest of this post I still do. I spent last week at my first science symposium specifically geared at population assessment of crab stocks in Alaska where researchers presented their findings on just this subject. It was, to say the least, eye-opening. One thing particularly struck me: mathematical models are only as good as the data collectors and model makers. Nearly every talk pointed to some potential flaw in models currently in place to determine the management of fisheries in Alaska, which by the way is among the most sophisticated states in the nation in fisheries management. My jaw repeatedly fell to the floor as I considered the implications of our collective lack of knowledge in foundational biology. What if king crabs live an average of 10 years instead of 20? What if snow crabs grow more slowly or are less effective in reproducing in different parts of the state?

The symposium ended, and I made my way back to DC with a renewed sense of purpose. I had been swept up in the glamour of a political life, but who could blame me… it’s quite a switch from canneries to embassies. I forgot what brought me to DC in the first place, the overwhelming feeling that things can and must be run better from the bottom up and the top down. Solving fisheries management problems is not optional, and if you ask me the solution has to contain some more conservatism. Also, allowing researchers to focus on critical science issues instead of those the 111^th Congress finds interesting (or “shovel-ready”) this fiscal year is key, and that solution is a little more liberalism.

One thing I’ve learned this week: The next time I ponder the unknown, I will take a moment to look down at the scaffolding.

Sing one for them.

From the ages of 8 to 18, I spent my free time singing and traveling to perform in chorales and chamber groups. Through music I’ve seen Mozart’s cathedral in Salzburg, a 100 year old woman’s birthday party, and the US secret service’s preparation for foreign heads of state, but I just as vividly remember milling around back stage at Disneyland. The movie “Pocahontas” was rocketing toward the height of its popularity and as such the perimeter of our stage was sprinkled heavily with large, cartoonish leaves – an ironically fitting false front for a false frontier. From the audience’s perspective the scene was idyllic in the swaddling sense only Disney has perfected, but standing on stage looking out all I saw was a thicket of lumber loosely held together in a Jenga-like patchwork of logs in various states of decay. All traces of the majesty on the other side were gone. I didn’t have the luxury of time to ponder this vision because it was time to perform. And if you’re going to sing, might as well sing it for someone else.

I may not be a singer anymore, but the art of performance is a valuable skill that certainly came in handy last week. It started with a few long-awaited Hill briefings. I have to admit that I’m undeniably star struck in the presence of our news-making American politicians (speaking of false fronts and false frontiers). During these briefings I was able to see how the same set of key messages can be tailored to grasp the attention of a staffer, a republican or a democrat senator. For many years I tutored students of varying backgrounds, degrees of education, and levels of English competency. To rephrase a message in order to get it across to someone unfamiliar with the subject matter is not wrong, in fact it is exactly what should be done to avoid misinformation. You can see by my sharing this thought process that I’ve struggled with the concept and practice of Senate ‘briefings’ but ultimately even a level of communication so abbreviated that it can be reduced to a half page of approved talking points is much better than none at all. Going to Capitol Hill is always an adventure, and once again I found myself hopelessly lost in the tunnels under the Senate offices. Thankfully next to the Senate Hair Salon there was a small gift shop where I was able to pick up a few trinkets for my friends and colleagues in Alaska.

A few hours later I was greeted in Anchorage with a nostalgia for my Alaskan life. It immediately pervaded my memory to the degree that the entire interval I’d spent in DC became a blur, as if it had passed by over a weekend or even a vivid dream. I’m sure this was at least in part a coping strategy as I needed to focus on my thesis defense the following day. And after countless long nights and stressful days fussing over it in the final weeks of preparation, I was overcome relief that it was finished and I’d passed. Exhaustion quickly followed suit, but I was delighted to fly to Kodiak over the weekend and celebrate with the dear friends who could make living on a tiny island off another island off mainland Alaska feel like the happiest place on earth, which incidentally is exactly what they did. Speaking of the happiest place on earth…

It struck me that perhaps a whole forest somewhere was cut down to prop up these fake leaves on that Disneyland stage… I wondered what Pocahontas might have said about that. Since then when I’ve come across a particularly lovely place I ask myself, “am I seeing the forest supporting this facade, or just the leaves?”. Is policy the structure behind the government, or is it the product of its supports? Is my pervasive nostalgia triggered by a genuine love of Alaska as a whole, or just the fleeting glamour of the life it at times provides? The answer to these questions won’t come easily, but I’m sure eventually they will come.

A drum roll, please.

p-u-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r…. The beginning of a drum roll is always the best part, that knee-jerk gleeful reaction of knowing that something is going to happen…. really soon! By the middle it sinks in that this raw excitement might not culminate in what I want to hear, so to avoid stressing I submit myself to excessively philosophical rationalizations of life until I’ve either a) made peace with either outcome or b) lost my train of thought and started the process again. That’s the thing about drum rolls- they’re all exclamation points and no text. Such went the last 7 days.

At work, the bulk of my time was spent finalizing preparations for a barrage of “Hill Briefings” next week. As a government entity, we are not allowed to directly ask politicians for money as that is the larger agency’s (in my case, NOAA’s) role. This rule is part of a checks-and-balances system to avoid excessive earmarking, targeted spending for a representative’s pet projects, of government funds. To keep our foot in the pond (without splashing perceptibly) we can legally ‘brief’ members of Congress on our sanctuaries and programs, especially the ones that are or could be in their district. I applied for the Knauss Fellowship in part to learn how messages pass up the chain from constituents and researchers to politicians, so this was an interesting week for me although the day-to-day preparations of briefing materials involved more paper-clipping than politicking. Next week’s trainings and meetings will be truncated for me, however, due to a more pressing demand for my presence in Alaska. By my next entry I will have defended my masters thesis! I will stick around Anchorage for another week to attend and present in a scientific conference on crab biology, so my next two updates will come from the Last Frontier.

Yesterday, in an effort to experience the political diversity of DC I wandered over to a nearby political conference. It was certainly something new, and if you find yourself in DC it is worth the effort to gaze upon the exposed roots of ideology and activism for any party.  On the opposite side of town, a couchsurfer staying with me this weekend attended an 11,000 strong youth conference on reforming energy policy in the US. She told me that last night a few thousand of them got bored and decided to storm the White House chanting ‘Wake Up, Obama!” and “What does democracy look like?/ This is what democracy looks like!”. Apparently the secret service was surprisingly benign, although snipers were in prominent display. I’m planning to check out their rally on the national mall tomorrow morning, but not the mass arrest staged at the Capitol Hill coal-fired power plant. No thanks, I have a job and a plane to catch in 3 days!

As I wait for meetings with Senators, a DC protest rally, and my thesis defense the drums roll on at a feverish pitch…. r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-at!

Ain’t no pill for Potomac Fever

It starts with a business suit, dark and professional. Continue with daily life and before you know it, your calendar fills with receptions as fast as your wallet with gilded, crested business cards. You wake up wondering if the chairmen of your targeted congressional committees have been confirmed yet, and debate over which 5-star restaurant to spoil yourself by visiting during Restaurant Week. You catch yourself staring listlessly at the Capitol building, then faster than you can say ‘I’ll meet you at NOAA OLA in the DOC HCHB’ you’ve got it, Potomac Fever.

The definitions of this malady vary by user from sweet to very sinister, but I feel they are all attempts to describe the variety of reactions to a particular brand of culture shock found only in Washington DC. Coming from rural Alaska, I’m still somewhat disconcerted by the littlest of things: traffic jams, clicking of my shoes on marble floors, the fact that all of my day-to-day living supplies can no longer be found in a single all-purpose store. Coming from the West Coast in general, the everyday attire here is clearly much more formal and I have quickly and drastically raised my bar on public transportation standards. But coming from anywhere there are aspects of DC life that are truly unique. For example, last week I found myself walking a few blocks alongside a group of freshmen Congressmen. They were discussing how strange it felt to be referred to as “The Honorable Mr. ____” and how sometimes they are so thrown by it that they forget to respond- now that’s a conversation you won’t overhear anywhere else.

One thing I’ve come to appreciate about DC is the variety and accessibility of dining options. Every Spring and Fall during the slumps in tourist activity, DC restaurants band together to bring locals out of our everyday routine by offering fixed-price 3-course menus for Restaurant Week. As the price is the same for every restaurant, I decided to maximize my dollar and go to the most expensive establishment that would have me, which was a top notch French restaurant called the Jockey Club. The reservation process itself was a bit of an ordeal, and I found myself cajoling the maitre’d in French over the phone to allow my guest into the restaurant without the required ‘dinner jacket’. Thanks largely to luck and linguistic prowess, we were granted a corner table. The opulence of the service and meal were unlike anything I had experienced, it brought to mind a book I’d read many years ago called The Great Gatsby. If you’ve read it, no further explanation will be needed. For everyone else, let me just say that I drank champagne infused with live violets (which turn the champagne purple- very cool!), and saw the crumbs wiped from my table by a waiter with a tool specifically designed for that purpose.

The next morning I was headed out of my apartment and noticed that about half a block down the street someone had left a queen size mattress and a box spring out for the trash collectors. I promptly set up the bed on the sidewalk and tested for defects. Finding none, I adopted my new bed and no longer have to sleep on a couch! I couldn’t help but smile when I considered the expression of maitre’d from the restaurant last night had he seen me carrying a dumpster-bound mattress home just hours after serving up the most luxurious meal of my life. Well, I could do far worse than give the honest truth of how to live a champagne lifestyle on a lemonade budget. Drink up. While I don’t know what a year in DC will make of me, whether or not I’ll be stricken with a perilous strain of Potomac Fever, it is my pleasure to broadcast the journey by sharing what I’m making of DC.

It’s kind of like lava.

Having witnessed some of the entrapments and accoutrements of national policy, the last week brought me a few paces closer to the fire. I’ve had the opportunity to walk up to an active lava flow in my life, and it bears some resemblance to drawing near Senate chambers on Capitol Hill. Upon approach, long before its sight, there is a detectable change in the air. Almost imperceptible at first, the outside transformation slowly permeates the senses and suddenly, realizing where you are, the reality of it all hits like a slap across the face. In both instances I found myself confronted with two paradoxical conclusions illustrated best by the same phrase. First, there is the fact: “Wow. This is it.” This is the where it all happens. At the same time, finally seeing firsthand what was so long imagined I couldn’t help but think, “Really? This is it?”

Early in the week, all past and present fellows were invited to a reception held at the US Botanic Gardens. If you haven’t been to that amazing structure, please do go the next time you’re in DC. I frequently and furtively tried to shirk my social responsibilities by slinking off to admire orchids and tropical ferns, but there was no rest for the weary. Lesson learned- when attending parties or receptions described as ‘networking opportunities’ prepare do exactly that. This week I also visited the Senate offices to attend the confirmation hearing of Dr. Jane Lubchenco in a necessary part of her nomination process as she rises through the clouds of bureaucracy toward her new seat as the Director of NOAA (again that’s the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, a divsion of the US Department of Commerce). Why did I bother? Well, under President Obama and his as-yet-unappointed Secretary of Commerce, Dr. Lubchenco will be my big boss.  The hearing was described to me as Kabuki Theater, which interestingly was the exact descriptor a colleague noted of a fisheries meeting I attended a few months ago in Alaska. The idea being that everyone knows what is going to happen, and this is just a show to put all of their private comments on public record. While I completely agree with the assessment, it diminishes the notable fact that this show is not for entertainment, it outlines the path of this nation and therefore (in my humble opinion) is worth watching. Of all the notable faces there, two that meant the most to me were those of Senators Mark Begich of Alaska (the newly elected replacement of  Ted Stevens) and former presidential candidate John Kerry of Massachusetts. Having seen, heard, and spoken so much of these two men over the last few years, it was surreal to see them in person, sitting only feet away from me. That was my “This is it. / This is it?” moment for the week.

Before we part, here are a few interesting facts I’ve learned:

-In the most literal instance of bet hedging I’ve ever seen, the president rides in one of 3 large black helicopters with the words “United States of America” scrawled across either side. These helicopters fly in close formation, and I just can’t resist playing a silent game of ‘eeny meeny miny moe’ whenever they pass by.

-Underground corridors connect many, if not all federal buildings in on Capitol Hill. Walking through them is sadly about as interesting as it sounds.

Bureaucracy 101

I couldn’t tell you if change has come to America because I’ve certainly met it more than half way.

My first week on the job brought a number of realizations, the first being that security is the swaddling blanket of big government. TSA, you’ve been upstaged. To get to work, I must swipe a security pass (requiring an extensive background check) which allows me to proceed through scanners at which point I must show one of 3 security guards the photo on my pass for inspection. Once appeased, the guard will grant me entry to the elevators. At my desk, access to various programs on my computer is protected by 3 different passwords, all with an array of rules to prevent duplication and re-use. So if you want to know where your tax dollars are going, you’d better have a darn good reason… or maybe a body double. On the upside, I had a meeting on Capitol Hill this week and learned that my fancy security pass also gets me in to the Department of Commerce, one of the fine structures flanking the White House. I also learned that my name is already in the halls there; in passing through offices I saw a few of my king crab photos that I’d sent to hatchery visitors in Alaska. Some folks even recognized me, and the ensuing ego puffery of sham importance by association absolutely made my day. I went to “the Hill” because one of my tasks is preparing for a big lobbying push in the Senate coming up in early March. When you represent the government, to say anything to a politician directly you must first gain approval of your talking points from your own office, department, NOAA, and finally the Department of Commerce itself. Not only that, but you will be accompanied in your meeting with said politician by NOAA Legislative Affairs staff to make sure you don’t say anything you shouldn’t. Every document you show or hand them must also go through the same advance approval process. In this capacity, my job is to work with sanctuary staff to generate their messages, then lobby the government for our right to say them to politicians. It’s crazy, but if you want to learn how the system works like I do, it is also very important. But enough business, I have more to share!

Wednesday night I attended a cultural event at the Iraq Embassy, and was able to meet and hear from the ambassador and his staff. Going to an embassy event is kind of like going to a dance at someone else’s school. There was a good atmosphere but I found myself wondering who to talk to, and from time to time why I was there at all. Despite its quirks, the awkward luxury and diplomacy of it all really is an experience worth having in life. I’m sure as I coax people to visit, we will gladly attend more of these events. It had been a long time since I heard such unabashed flattery of George Bush as was espoused by the ambassador, but I suppose it is always wise not to bite the hand that feeds you. The next morning I stepped out of my apartment and noticed a few police cars with lights flashing at the end of the block. I blithely continued on my trajectory toward the metro and quickly learned that what I had taken to be a puddle of police activity was actually the shoreline of a sea of them. For 7 of the 8 blocks to my metro stop, every parking spot on the street was occupied by police or secret service, distinguishable by their impeccably clean black Escalades with heavily tinted windows and funny license plates. A driver sat calmly in each car listening to radio communication of some sort, and dropoff area at the Hilton hotel by my apartment was completely saturated with police. I figured something must be going on there, but decided my gaping jaw already attracted more attention than I could want so I decided not to ask. I learned a short while later that they were the security entourage for President Obama, who was at the Hilton attending a breakfast. At that moment I vowed to always walk to work with a camera so I can catch this spectacle on video next time… I just need to find some awesome spy music to go with it. Who knows, maybe one of these days I’ll catch a glimpse of The Man himself.

Thanks in large part to a kind maintenance worker, in the last week my apartment has gone from a “post-apocalyptic” décor of U-Haul boxes and an inflatable mattress to the decidedly “upper-poverty line” feel of pre-owned home furnishings, carefully arranged to disguise the still-present boxes and inflatable mattress. If this rate of improvement holds up, by July I’ll be sipping champagne from a gold chalice and fanned by trained tigers. On that note, I will continue to fantasize and wish you all well until next week, when I will share more fruit of knowledge freshly picked from my new branch here in the urban jungle.

From Carhartts to suede, from play to charade; my, what a difference this one week has made.

I’m still in the process of waking up in Washington DC. I haven’t gotten used to mornings here, so my eyes dart around the room until I see a few familiar items; a feather, guitar, purse, and I remember that I’m home. I tell myself that today I’m going to put my collection of national geographic pictures up, that way I’ll only have to look at the one wall to know tomorrow, my first day of work. Wow, my first day of work for a government agency.

Perhaps a little backtracking is in order. I was the lucky recipient of a 1-year marine policy fellowship to be executed in 2009. I found out about this last Spring, and with the exception of a few weeks on the East coast and a few more in California, spent the lot of my pre-move interval in Alaska. To be fair, after moving out of Seward, Alaska in July of last year, this time was largely spent in the lovely town of Kodiak. There, I worked toward finishing my masters- a deal I plan to seal in just a couple of months when I briefly return to Alaska for its final, formidable, and with any luck surmountable defense. Hopefully I’ll learn a few subtle negotiation tactics in the interim to help me through what promises to be a tumultuous day. Still backtracking, In December I came to DC for a whirlwind of pomp and circumstance, known to the fellows as Placement Week. We were charged to interview with 12-15 pre-selected government agencies and pick the one we want to work for. The only way to keep 30 type As from an all-out saloon style brawl was to make all of the jobs amazing and offer more than 30 (so the employers are left in the cold, not us), which they did and I walked away with a job with the Office of National Marine Sanctuaries, a division of the National Ocean Service. The National Marine Sanctuaries system includes 14 swaths of US-protected ocean that for one reason or another need special care. They are as far afield as American Samoa and near to shore as the Great Lakes; working at headquarters I will represent all of them, including the ones yet to be formed.

This brings us to the events of the last week, which began with a long-expected, usually eagerly anticipated journey very far South and even farther East. After 20 hours of baby-screaming, airport-pacing, nervous-lady-bottle-crunching purgatory I was greeted with open arms by a family friend named Nancy and taken to my new studio apartment which she had graciously arranged in my absence. Unfortunately the jet lag, preceding days’ lack of sleep, and general stress of moving left my immune system misguided enough to take in and nurture a sinus infection like a lost puppy on Christmas. And so I spent my first days in a new city exploring the monuments through Venetian blinds and the neighborhood though osmosis of the ventilation system. I did surface long enough to pay a visit to my new office, which was a treat. Here are a few things I was told I will be doing this year:

-Negotiating with the American Sportfisherman’s Association on fishermen’s’ rights in sanctuaries.

-Writing newsletters and summaries of the sanctuaries for constituent groups.

-Participating & preparing with various sanctuary leaders as they lobby on Capitol Hill.

-Organizing a black tie Ocean Leaders awards ceremony for Congress.

-By my suggestion- working with the person trying to establish sanctuaries in Alaska.

From limited meanderings through my nearest neighborhoods of Dupont Circle and Adams Morgan, I am quietly happy to see that shops are still littered with Obama inauguration paraphernalia, so I can snap up a few things and imagine I was there. Between the cheesy tasseled buttons and bejeweled Americana placemats I’ve seen products aptly named “The Audacity of Soap” and “Yes We Can-openers”. I can see this will not be a year of tight budgeting for me or the nation, but you have to spend money to make money, right? Well, I know at least the first half of that is true. In the spirit of sharing I’ll eagerly confess that a deeper part of myself is still in Alaska, looking around anxiously for my feather, guitar, and purse which seem to have been misplaced. It is hard and I’m sure will continue to be for a while longer, but I remember that ‘one does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of shore for a very long time’, from Andre Gide. And so, having nothing to lose and everything to gain, I will go forward in joy.