Robocop -- for real.

60, 50, 40, 35: the gradual speed limit decrease suggested on Georgia Avenue’s 2-mile streamline entering Olney.

65, 65, 65, 45: what I and hundreds of other drivers maintain on the stretch of road, traveled like a highway but surrounded by suburban life.

It’s hard to follow the decline. My car windows are fully down. My ipod is amped to an intensity that would usually cause temporary deafness, but the warm breeze softens it to just the right level. I not only hear the music, but feel it too.

The bass line, the melody, the chorus all feel much more powerful at sixty miles per hour. The strip is straight as an arrow, and I'm dancing as much as my seatbelt allows me too. A traffic light is approaching. It’s usually green and if it isn’t, I still have time to decelerate.

I leapfrog up the right-hand lane, avoiding the laggers but not putting metal to the medal. I do not rush to the lead the pack. I'm flowing with traffic. I don't have a hot date to get to.

The scenario does not change much before I realize I am in Olney, not much of a town as it is an intersection of two major roads, Georgia Avenue and Route 108.

My maintained sixty miles per hour probably became illegal about a mile and a half back.

Before this summer I would not have sweated it. No cops, no problem. But now I shouldn’t feel so safe.

Two words "Photo Enforced" anchored at the bottom of the white speed limit sign worry me that I will be giving Montgomery County a mandatory $40 cash donation for public safety programs.

Speed cameras were adopted in Washington D.C. in 1999 aside red-light cameras in an effort to curb speed-related accidents. Since their installation, the average speed traveled on neighborhood streets has dropped nearly 30 percent and 21.7 percent on highways.

In 2006, Maryland passed a law allowing the same cameras to be installed in the state. Since, Montogomery County, the City of Gaithersburg and Chevy Chase Village have done just that.

The Georgia Avenue cameras were installed within the past six months, as well as the ones I've spotted on Randolph Road.

A Montgomery County Council report will investigate the effectiveness of the new cameras and will be due to the Maryland General Assembly by 2009.

Many countries across the globe already use traffic cameras, including France and the UK. The UK uses SPECS (Speed Enforcement Camera System) which identifies the time a car takes to past between two points to calculate its speed opposed to photography.

Redflex Traffic Systems Inc. manufactures technology for both American and abroad local and state governments for traffic solutions. They offer Fixed Speed & Red-Light Combination, Fixed Mid-Block Speed, Speed Sensor Options (Light distance and ranging, radar or pressure sensoring), Mobile Speed Delivery (photo-radar vans) and LaserCam.

The LaserCam is outfitted with a digital camera as well as laser detector. It is able to take a close-up image of the car, its surroundings and license plate.

I have to admit: the campaign is highly effective. I immediately slow whenever I see a “photo enforced” sign. I have never seen drivers be so aware of their speed, let alone cautious.

I’m sure I still speed through bugged areas without even knowing. I only found out that Georgia had speed cameras because of my mom. Luckily, Photoenforced.com can produce a map of your metro area highlighting all the cameras.

I still catch myself sometimes driving fast and as much as I’m angry I might have to pay a fine and doubt the accuracy of a camera, it is forcing people to adopt safer driving habits.

A little birdie told me that the camera only issues tickets for those going 10 or more miles over the speed limit. I guess I’ll be able to test that theory soon enough.

oh bop, fashion

My eyes scanned the landscape in all my shopping glory. Rainbows of t-shirts lay folded meticulously upon the aged, wooden tables. Patterned dressed hung sandwiched on a metal bar, anchored with an assortment of ash-colored slouch boots. I mazed the room as images of season-passed wardrobes and now trendy necessities cluttered my head.

I was overwhelmed. It could be a side effect of the stuffy environment or maybe it was the daunting task of assembling my ideal fall wardrobe.

I gathered my composure. I was on a mission, and nothing was going to get in my way.

You might say it's not that serious. Guys always wonder why shopping spins girls into a tizzy.

“That shirt is SO cute.” “Oh my god. SHUT UP, this is on sale.” “Wow. This could go with this, that shirt I got last week and even those heels from 2 years ago.”

You’ve only have so much money, and you have got to spend it the best way you can.

It’s exciting to take a super cute pair of jeans to the register and have it magically ring $40 cheaper than you had anticipated. A basic tee that fits like a glove, that's versatile and brings out the blue in your eyes might equate to your favorite football team scoring a winning touchdown in the last down.

It might also make a public celebration dance okay, but let’s not get crazy.

When I finally scored my first day off from work in maybe one month (we’re talking 7-day work weeks, my friend), there was no doubt in my mind that my sister Chelsea and I were b-lining to Georgetown – shopping Mecca. Urban Outfitters, H&M, Commander Salamander, Wet Seal, boutiques. If perusing stores’ merchandise for six hours straight does not make you drop dead, seeing the damage you have done to your bank account post-spree might make you wish it had.

I swear this is not a painful or dangerous experience; I have some self-control and money management (if I didn't, there might be reason to worry). Shopping is satisfying. It makes you feel like you are making strides towards achieving a goal, similar to weight loss or sports training. Little by little you are seeing progress towards outfitting yourself how you want to be noticed, and it is rewarding.

The dilemma is keeping your sanity shopping amongst the rude and obnoxious.

There are two types of shoppers you must avoid at all costs: the rich bitch and the loud diva.

The former might think she’s heaven sent, but believe me, she’s really the devil in the flesh. The fact that she gets all her money from daddy and has never worked a job in her life disadvantages herself (no work experience, no future) and basically the surrounding environment (clean your own messes up). Not sure who I’m talking about? Take a day trip to Camp Nock-a-Mixon.

The latter is easy to spot – just listen. She’s the confused one that thinks that everyone cares about her life, the clothes she wears, her latest crush, the embarrassing drunk dial she left on her ex’s cell on homecoming night, etc. Not as much as a direct threat as Paris Hilton’s staredown/eyeroll combo, this little lady might make your ears bleed in the fitting room. Just kindly ask the fitting room attendant for the last room; she feels your pain.

Anticipate the girls’ presence and deal with them accordingly (ignore and take cheap shots – verbally and/or physically – at any possible opportunity). They should not inconvenience you too much.

About seven hours, six bags and a half tank less of gas later, Chelsea and I ended up 30 minutes north of D.C. at a lower grade mall. We chatted fashion over Towering Onion Rings as we awaited the arrival of our Red Robin cheeseburgers.

“Chelsea, What did I wear before there were skinnies?”

“Pants like I’m wearing. But honestly though, I don’t even know. I can’t even imagine you without skinnies. What did you wear?”

We never came up with an answer. We finished our meal and took a pit stop at the nail salon before we ended our day-long extravaganza at Forever 21.

Take the Lead played on a mounted flat screen at the back of the shop. A Christian mother reminded her huddle of little girls since “You got your nails done, so you’ll go to Church tomorrow, right?” They were too busy fanning their freshly polished nails at each other to acknowledge her. A petite woman, who I perceived to be the owner, rushed around calling more customers in from the mall corridor and assuring my sister and me that she’ll be ready to start in five minutes.

“I’m physically exhausted,” Chelsea said, as she closed her eyes, hung her head and soaked her hands in a small bowl of warm water. “But this might have been the most amazing day ever.”

Fall wardrobe secured, body aching and money gone, I could not have agreed more.

There goes my “forgot my badge at home” excuse

Still under scrutiny for their borderline-1984 security lengths, last year CityWatcher.com pushed the envelope by implanting a small, capsule-like chip into 2 employees’ arms. The chips were injected under their skin with a large-gauge hypodermic needle and replaced the Radio-frequency identification (RFID) key chains that granted access to the video surveillance tape storage center.

The regulation implemented by the Cincinnati surveillance company reasoned that the implant would not only reduce security breaches but also help out forgetful staff members.

In 2004 Mexico’s Attorney General Rafeal Macedo took similar action. He and his eighteen member team were equipped with chips to help secure activity into a sensitive records office.

I can perhaps see the need for extreme security controls at the government level -- yes, even if it does blur the lines between human and robot. Governments are responsible for the safety and organization of a nation; some information cannot fall into the wrong hands. But the same regulation instated by a private security company seems a little unnecessary. They’re still using VHS tapes, but they’re upgrading their badges to microchip arm implants?

RFID can store all types of information from medical histories to basic identification profiles. RFID tags are used in credit cards that can be charged with a swipe, like the American Express Blue Card’s ExpressPay, Mastercard’s Pay Pass and JPMorgan Chase’s Blink.

Implanting such technology into the bodies of people can produce an endless list of possible applications, both beneficial and disturbing.

In July 2004 the FDA began their final assessment of RFID implants and approved the first USA implant that October. Patient medical records can be stored and updated via wireless to ensure that people receive appropriate care in emergences.

Nightclubs in Spain, Scotland and even the U.S. (Miami) already use RFID to identify VIP patrons as well as make paying for drinks more convenient.

Privacy concerns taint the wonderful world of RFID. Although not available yet, the ability to stalk certain people with a form of GPS is not outside the reach of technology; a person’s whereabouts could potentially be identified at any moment.

New Jersey has not taken the leap yet to implant, yet a similar tactic has been adopted with the help of municipal wireless to control beach usage.

Beach bums vacationing at the Jersey Shore traditionally had to purchase a badge to play on the beach. Projected to begin next summer, Jersey beaches are looking into an electronic wristband upgrade to limit freeloaders and ease the purchase of beachfront concessions.

Wristbands or pins would be worn, allowing digital tracking of who in fact paid to use the beach.

Text messages could even alert mothers if their children strayed too far from their area.

Add an implant to the mix and I could get an email every time you leave your house to go to the beach. I don’t think I’m alone when I think that’s pretty scary.

Will you look at that thing..

I thought it was going to end in a tie but when it came down to it, my bellybutton won.

Everyone has their quirks: the uni-dimple, the double-jointed thumbs, even the rare third nipple. They are typically embraced, either in an effort to escape their wrath of embarrassment or celebrate their uniqueness.

Lucky me, I have two unusual features.

Sample One: The Black Freckle.

Commonly mistaken for a stray pen marking or piece of dirt (am I really that filthy?), the black freckle pinpoints the center of my long, pale forehead. It is debated when it actually appeared (I say I’ve had it forever, some claim it has developed within the last few years) but since it is formation never have I received more finger-licked face rubdowns in my life. Endearing or just plain unsanitary, I hate to admit I do enjoy the concerned stranger who attempts to clean my blemishes. Ironic enough, after I tell them it is my skin they are okay that it screams skin cancer. I have yet to receive any suggestions of removal; it is just that cute I guess.

Sample Two: The Uncanny Crater-like Bellybutton

A shot of vodka held or approximately 20 jellybeans in, my bellybutton can really pull its weight. Deemed “The Crater” at Spring Break 2004 by a wonderful Ms. Keely Dobbs, the thing might be described as an extremely wide, shallow innie. I have always known my navel to be different but I had no the extent of it until word about it spread like wildfire at work. “Have you seen Paige’s bellybutton..” “Paige! Come here! Let me see your bellybutton!” “Yo Megan told me about your belly button, let me see it..” Are you serious? But okay, I’ll show you.

I love when I see people confident about their oddities. I once went to a soccer camp where a girl had webbed toes. She was not shy about it, nor was she obnoxiously advertising it as if she was a sideshow attraction. She played her cards just right; if it came up in conversation she confessed her secret, but otherwise she went about wearing sandals and suiting up for games just like all the other girls.

I’d never change my bellybutton. A piercing might not look so hot and I do have resting water when I get out of the pool and lay right down, but I’ll take it. I still wear bikinis like the best of them and I don’t know the first thing about belly button lint.

It’s a toss up between the freckle and navel to determine which should be my poster rarity. Crater wins in my books. The looming cancer scare and accompanied misconception that I might never wash my face blows the freckle's chance of getting the title.

I’m hoping that I don’t lose a few fingers or develop some crazy deformity to give the bellybutton some competition. In the meantime, yes, yes I will show you it.

Challenging tradition

I’ll take them after 11 years, but until then, they’re all yours.

Nothing annoys me more than dealing with a little loud-mouth who reeks from refusing showers, finds boogers to be a satisfying snack and turns a deaf ear to any response synonymous to “no.”Children are my pet peeve, and I’ve struggled to find only a handful of exceptions amongst the 2.2 billion kids worldwide.

My roommate and I joke that we’ll one day “share” our children – her raising them from the womb to middle school, and then me taking over and doing my part. By that time they should be able to be somewhat independent (clean, cook, entertain), but still impressionable (bring on the Nancy Drew, mixtapes, EPL soccer).

Don’t be scared for me; I’m well aware molding mini-mes is not the way to go about parenting, nor should it be a motivation to have children. The more I contemplate my future, my dreams and what I want in life, the less I see myself actually having children. My family totally agrees. “I see you as that crazy aunt coming back from like India with gifts and crazy stories to share with my kids,” Chelsea told me, after she divulged that my parents also think I’ll be a jet-setting, well-cultured wife with no little-ones.

Doesn’t sound bad to me.

For whatever reason, I feel guilty. Call it even selfish. My mother did not want to have children for majority of her life and now she has two daughters. She made that sacrifice to bring me into the world, should I?

Children make the world go round. Without them, we’d be extinct. Like Carol Pateman touches upon briefly in her examine of contractualism, women provide a great civic service by bearing and raising a family. I agree, and to a degree that I feel negligent if I do decide not to have children.

The whole situation is hypocritical from my position. I was once a bratty, know-it-all youngster, so how can I even say I dislike children? I just do. Everyone dislikes screaming babies and tantrums, but they suck it up. They somehow find joy within the little rascals. Maybe I just need a stronger magnifying glass.

While I wallow in my thoughts, my boyfriend can rest assure; I’m not dating him to get pregnant and married. I can almost hear his sigh of relief all the way from Minnesota.

R in PR

Give it to me straight; don't sugarcoat it.
If only it was that easy...

My good friend & fellow newspaper major Josh interns at the Gatezette in Frederick and likes to poke fun at my sell-out to PR. He emailed me Gene Weingarten's Washington Post editorial to me yesterday -- a nice little sucker punch, I'd say.

Weingarten discusses his frustration with PR, focusing mostly on his disdain for their fluffy, jargon-y presentation of press releases.

I thought it was a bit harsh. I've had some issues with PR before... like that one time when a PR agent gave me incorrect information in a press release(.. and I ran it without double checking.. like an idiot) or the other instance where I was told "that's not how it works" after I quoted her in a breaking story (she was the only one who talked, so why not).

If I had read this editorial a month ago, I would have probably agreed with everything Weingarten pointed out. I thought it was amusing, and some parts hit the nail on the head. His "experiments" with PR agencies -- calling them and asking them questions gooped-up with ridiculous details and descriptions -- were hilarious, especially his reactions to their responses.

But I mean, cut them a break. They're not newspaper; they don't have to be objective or concise.

I guess Engage is slowly wearing a soft spot in my heart for PR.

Unexpected News

It wasn't strange that a message from Ra Ra Riot was waiting in my Facebook Inbox when I logged in last night after a long day of work. The Syracuse University-born indie dance band always made it a point to let their fans know when and where they were playing.

Their alerts had become more frequent within the past few months because they hit the road for a tour. (they'll be in DC in August!)

Unfortunately, the message had little to do with upcoming shows.

Friday they played a house party Friday night in Fairhaven, Mass. According to their Facebook message their drummer John Pike "went missing at 3:00 a.m. ... last seen wearing a yellow Dissarano t-shirt and Levi jeans".

When anyone goes missing, I always think the worst. My mind calculates "missing" with murder and abduction. I mean this is a grown man, at a party with friends, what would steer him away?

About 30 minutes after I finished checking Facebook, I received an email from the Daily Orange.

"BREAKING NEWS: Ra Ra Riot drummer found dead"

I felt sick. I had never met Pike, but I had absolutely adored his band since Freshman year. I went to all of their shows. Their shows created this amazing energy in whatever space they played, and you couldn't help but be taken under its spell. Side effects were the inability to stop dancing, or toe-tapping for the less outgoing.

I had tickets to go with one of my best friends Sam to their most recent show at the end of the school year at Funk n Waffles in Syracuse. But I was ill with a virus. Sam's frat was having a party and he was going to go early to his house. I wanted nothing more than to go back to my dorm room and sleep.

And I did just that.

The next day I heard that Ra Ra "brought down the house". I wasn't surprised. Their shows were always packed-house dance-like-you-mean-it singalongs. Some of my favorite memories in college to date stem from them.

I'm horribly sorry for Ra Ra Riot's, Pike's family and his friends' loss.

He will be missed.