In Which Miss Jill Stops the Machine/Occupies DC For Like Two Hours

J/k, I'm not an activist, but I went to the protests a few weeks ago. First, I went to the National Gallery of Art, in a feeble attempt to grasp onto my flagging self-perception as a normal, cultured person. Unfortunately that image seems to be going the route of the Gadafhi/Gaddafi/Qaddafi/Khadafi regime, because a few days ago my friend texted me, "You are a lot less normal than you think you are."

Is it just me or does the National Gallery kind of suck? I think I have been spoiled by living in close proximity to the Art Institute of Chicago and the Met, both which make me proud to be a member of the human race. When I was finished, I called my friend Kate and she told me that she was at the Air and Space Museum as a legal observer of a protest that had been staged there.* Unfortunately, a girl had been maced in the face by an overzealous security guard. Later that night she gave a rousing speech about her ordeal in which she more or less stated, "Nothing will stop me in this struggle. We can never give up, but I'm leaving in a few days to take my midterms." History would look a lot different if Che Guevara had let a few exams impede the revolution.

They shut down the museum for the remainder of the day and my friend told me that the tourists wanted to protest the protesters. On learning that the museum was closed, a little boy broke out into sobs. Kate soberly advised, "You will be grateful for this later, kid." Then some random protester walked by, handed me this sign and walked away, without explanation:




We returned to their home base in Freedom Plaza, which was conveniently located next to the Taste of DC festival. Kate's husband, Neil, quickly realized that the drunk attendees were somewhat lackadaisical about holding onto their meal tickets. He kept disappearing at intervals to scan the ground, which resulted in a bounty of more than $30 worth of food. The radicals decided to implore the Taste crowd to enter their ranks and somehow I ended up assisting in the creation of this poster:



I was super proud when I saw it in the Washington Post's photo album a few days later. As we were painting, a woman approached me and asked for permission to paint a sign. I magnanimously consented and asked what she was thinking of writing. "F#$@ the police," she responded with conviction. "It is for my ancestors." I've never been one to stand in the way of filial piety and my only authority stemmed from the fact that I got there ten minutes before she did, so I said, "Go for it." She did with gusto and if my memory serves, also added a smiley face and a heart. She then asked me if she could sleep there and I once again gave my assent, even though I would rather conceive Kim Jong-il's unholy lovechild than sleep on the pavement with the unwashed masses.

Does this look like the scene of someone who remembers each day she did not shower in the last ten years (there were three)?



In conclusion, I would like to echo a text that I received from my friend Suvi in New York: "I walked by a protest the other day and decided that someone normal looking should be involved, so I joined."

* Per Kate: This museum is teaching children about unmanned drones, which are killing machines and are responsible for 1,000s of deaths of innocent civilians and children in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and other parts of the world. This technology should not be glorified, neither should the deaths of innocents be celebrated in any way.