Why, oh why, do I feel like I am never in the right place at the right time? According to a post made just moments ago on The New York Times, just ONE measly block from my Arlington abode, at the dee-licious Ray’s Hell Burger, President Obama and Dimitri Medvedev were grabbing burgers.
Curses! I could be chowing down with two of the world’s most important leaders…but I’m 19 miles away, giving a final to my literature class.
Last year, I noticed how after living through two innagurations in D.C. where I only went as a protestor, I was an ocean away for the first one I would want to celebrate. When Pittsburgh made it onto the international map with the G-20 summit, I was stuck in D.C. I’m sure that the second my plane takes of for my Euro vacation next week, something amazing (the ghost of Michael Jackson rises from the street, Glenn Beck announces he’s been wrong all along about “real America” and instead supports gay marriage, etc.) will happen back home.
It’s all in the timing. But from now on, I’m swinging by Ray’s at least daily.
