Well, ok, not really. I am briefly featured in a movie. That the people from some very tiny local TV channel made about my school. They weren't actually at all interested in me, but a very cute kid happened to be in my class, so they filmed in there for awhile and we "made the cut." So in case you are bored for 2 minutes and want to see my school (and me looking rather dorky and teacher-esque), click on this link and then click on the first video about the East Boston school--and that's us!
(P.S. They may remove the video tomorrow. So you can really only look at it if you're bored tonight...) ;)
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Great Moments in the History of my First Year Teaching
This is one for the books, folks.
So today, I began my next literature unit on the Odyssey by Homer. I've been nervous about this unit for weeks, because the last time I'd read the Odyssey was in 9th grade, and I'm not really sure I understood it much better then than I do now recollecting it. Thankfully, my principal graciously allowed me a day off of my normal work to plan for my next unit. I spent about a full working day's worth of hours focused on preparing -- reading SparkNotes, reading commentaries online, emailing fellow teachers with ideas, and beginning to read the book. I figured I did not have time to completely read through the book all the way before I began teaching, but if I read the notes enough to be familiar with the plot line and if I closely read well ahead of where my students were, I should be fine.
The version of the text that my school owns is a "children's translation" titled, The Children's Homer: The Adventures of Odysseus and the Tale of Troy. Notice that it starts out with, "The Adventures of Odysseus." The opening lines of the book also read, "This is the story of Odysseus, the most renowned of all the heroes the Greek poets have told us of..." So, naturally, I figured, this is the Odyssey--it clearly says it's a story about Odysseus. I will admit I had a little pause about why the first 120 pages focused mostly on Telemachus (Odysseus's son), but I know enough to know that epics tend to include very long, divergent story lines, and I figured the focus on Telemachus was really to just highlight the story of Odysseus. I planned on and began teaching the unit today, explaining clearly to the children (so they would not be confused, as I first was) that we were reading the Odyssey, which is the tale of the quest of Odysseus but also (apparently) of his son Telemachus.
Then I had a brief meeting with our special education teacher, who was arranging accomodated materials for some students. She remarked, "Oh, you're reading the whole book? They only read half of it last year!" I was a little surprised, and a bit concerned that I would not be able to finish my unit in time if I was assigning twice the material that was covered last year. I reassured myself by saying this just meant my course was extremely rigorous, and in all my meetings with the principal she had never once suggested that I shorten the book. Besides, I am morally opposed to shortening books in general, so I decided to move forward and not worry too much about her comment. In class, however, a student raised his hand and asked, "Ms. Stuntz, this book seems to be broken up into two sections. Why is that?" Taking the tactic I have learned from previous teachers, I tried to speak as the confident authority even though I was also confused, responding, "The editor must have broken the Odyssey up into two chunks to make it more manageable for the reader." Child convinced. Problem solved.
Except these two suggestions in one day were just a little much, so I decided to seek a third opinion. I asked another teacher, "Do you happen to remember if and, if so, why they only read half of the Odyssey last year?" She paushed, and then said, "Oh, I remember! Because this is a really abridged version and the first half is actually the Iliad, so they just read the Odyssey." I paused, and began to giggle a little nervously. "Do you know the Iliad at all?" I asked. "Does it, by any chance, focus on Telemachus?" "Oh yes," she replies, "it's all about Telemachus's journey." "Oh no," I reply back, "I have just planned for and begun to teach the children the wrong book."
Now, this is not completely and utterly disastrous. There are many ways to solve this problem. The state of Massachusetts requires me to teach an epic; it does not have to be the Odyssey. This year, in spite of what I said on my course description, it may in fact be the Iliad. I also could have them read part of the Iliad as "background" (after all, it does come first) and then have them skip to the Odyssey and finish that. Or, we can read selections from both and search through them for epic conventions. These are all reasonable options for moving my course forward.
One very concerning questions remains, though. How am I going to explain to my children why Ms. Stuntz, who is a self-proclaimed expert on epics, was so confused that she could not tell the storyline of two entirely different epics apart? As my friend said, "Won't it be great to be a second year teacher?"
So today, I began my next literature unit on the Odyssey by Homer. I've been nervous about this unit for weeks, because the last time I'd read the Odyssey was in 9th grade, and I'm not really sure I understood it much better then than I do now recollecting it. Thankfully, my principal graciously allowed me a day off of my normal work to plan for my next unit. I spent about a full working day's worth of hours focused on preparing -- reading SparkNotes, reading commentaries online, emailing fellow teachers with ideas, and beginning to read the book. I figured I did not have time to completely read through the book all the way before I began teaching, but if I read the notes enough to be familiar with the plot line and if I closely read well ahead of where my students were, I should be fine.
The version of the text that my school owns is a "children's translation" titled, The Children's Homer: The Adventures of Odysseus and the Tale of Troy. Notice that it starts out with, "The Adventures of Odysseus." The opening lines of the book also read, "This is the story of Odysseus, the most renowned of all the heroes the Greek poets have told us of..." So, naturally, I figured, this is the Odyssey--it clearly says it's a story about Odysseus. I will admit I had a little pause about why the first 120 pages focused mostly on Telemachus (Odysseus's son), but I know enough to know that epics tend to include very long, divergent story lines, and I figured the focus on Telemachus was really to just highlight the story of Odysseus. I planned on and began teaching the unit today, explaining clearly to the children (so they would not be confused, as I first was) that we were reading the Odyssey, which is the tale of the quest of Odysseus but also (apparently) of his son Telemachus.
Then I had a brief meeting with our special education teacher, who was arranging accomodated materials for some students. She remarked, "Oh, you're reading the whole book? They only read half of it last year!" I was a little surprised, and a bit concerned that I would not be able to finish my unit in time if I was assigning twice the material that was covered last year. I reassured myself by saying this just meant my course was extremely rigorous, and in all my meetings with the principal she had never once suggested that I shorten the book. Besides, I am morally opposed to shortening books in general, so I decided to move forward and not worry too much about her comment. In class, however, a student raised his hand and asked, "Ms. Stuntz, this book seems to be broken up into two sections. Why is that?" Taking the tactic I have learned from previous teachers, I tried to speak as the confident authority even though I was also confused, responding, "The editor must have broken the Odyssey up into two chunks to make it more manageable for the reader." Child convinced. Problem solved.
Except these two suggestions in one day were just a little much, so I decided to seek a third opinion. I asked another teacher, "Do you happen to remember if and, if so, why they only read half of the Odyssey last year?" She paushed, and then said, "Oh, I remember! Because this is a really abridged version and the first half is actually the Iliad, so they just read the Odyssey." I paused, and began to giggle a little nervously. "Do you know the Iliad at all?" I asked. "Does it, by any chance, focus on Telemachus?" "Oh yes," she replies, "it's all about Telemachus's journey." "Oh no," I reply back, "I have just planned for and begun to teach the children the wrong book."
Now, this is not completely and utterly disastrous. There are many ways to solve this problem. The state of Massachusetts requires me to teach an epic; it does not have to be the Odyssey. This year, in spite of what I said on my course description, it may in fact be the Iliad. I also could have them read part of the Iliad as "background" (after all, it does come first) and then have them skip to the Odyssey and finish that. Or, we can read selections from both and search through them for epic conventions. These are all reasonable options for moving my course forward.
One very concerning questions remains, though. How am I going to explain to my children why Ms. Stuntz, who is a self-proclaimed expert on epics, was so confused that she could not tell the storyline of two entirely different epics apart? As my friend said, "Won't it be great to be a second year teacher?"
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Lifeload: New York is a Woman
Some know, some don't, but I figured I might as well announce it here. I've accepted a summer position at Katten Muchin Rosenman's NYC office. I'll be living in the City May-August. I hope it's ready for me ;)
-M.
-M.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Med school
So after a month and two blog posts, I've managed to ignore the subject of med school. It's not that I don't want to write about it, I just don't know what there is to share. I'm busy studying, making new friends, and enjoying all there is to do in Chicago. I've even forgone seeing movies save for a few I manage to catch now and again (although I should see more, since there are a plethora of free preview screenings here).
So why do I have time to watch two movies this weekend and write this blog post? Well, we just had our first of six tests for Structure-Function this year (the hard sciences course) and I passed! After the post-test party that night, I've had nothing to do.
But in case you wanted to know, here's what med school's been like. In addition to the Structure-Function course, I've had three classes that aren't hard sciences: ethics (significantly less stimulating and more practical than I would have liked), communication skills (videotaped interviews with patient actors to provide relentless yet helpful feedback on our history-taking skills), and patients in context (listening to patients tell us about their medical experiences). I've also had problem-based learning (we read a case and go out and do research to diagnose the disease) and medical decision-making (basically epidemiology and statistics). I've had a few clinical experiences (got to see a catheter!), but a volunteer spot in a clinic I was supposed to have last Wednesday got canceled. That's going to be rescheduled for next month. We have a talent show after winter break, so I may get back into filmmaking for that.
Other than that, there's not much to tell about med school. It's just like normal school. Only with fewer tests and more time spent studying. Life is normal. And I'm pretty happy with normal.
So why do I have time to watch two movies this weekend and write this blog post? Well, we just had our first of six tests for Structure-Function this year (the hard sciences course) and I passed! After the post-test party that night, I've had nothing to do.
But in case you wanted to know, here's what med school's been like. In addition to the Structure-Function course, I've had three classes that aren't hard sciences: ethics (significantly less stimulating and more practical than I would have liked), communication skills (videotaped interviews with patient actors to provide relentless yet helpful feedback on our history-taking skills), and patients in context (listening to patients tell us about their medical experiences). I've also had problem-based learning (we read a case and go out and do research to diagnose the disease) and medical decision-making (basically epidemiology and statistics). I've had a few clinical experiences (got to see a catheter!), but a volunteer spot in a clinic I was supposed to have last Wednesday got canceled. That's going to be rescheduled for next month. We have a talent show after winter break, so I may get back into filmmaking for that.
Other than that, there's not much to tell about med school. It's just like normal school. Only with fewer tests and more time spent studying. Life is normal. And I'm pretty happy with normal.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Report from the Battlefield
I’m officially reviving the title from my emails last summer – I think by now, you’ve probably all heard a bit about what’s going on in my corner of the world. If you haven’t, then you’ve been living under a rock or perhaps on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic.
I really haven’t posted about work yet? Wow. Well, I guess I’ll start from the beginning.
I started in mid-June with training – nearly two months worth of it. I don’t know about you, but to me that’s a hell of a lot of training, especially if I’m getting paid for it. It was good though, an easy transition from college to work – except we never had ten hours of class in a day on the same topic. Haha. I had fun meeting everyone else in my class though, and overall it was a fun and easy time (except maybe not for the kids who took the tests and homework way too seriously and stayed until 1am every night…). I will say though, if I hadn’t had a background in most of this stuff already, I don’t know if I could’ve kept up. I certainly don’t know how all the English and Poli Sci majors did it.
(Side note: I’m typing this on the Boltbus as I’m coming home this weekend, and we just passed a Mt. Tremblant shuttle. Nice.)
I was possibly more well-informed and up-to-date on current events during training than I ever have been in my life. Also, my crossword skills were honed a bit. We’ll leave it at that. =) Like I said, smooth transition from school – except for the daily 45 minute commute to Jersey part of it.
So after that we had a week’s worth of class to pass a certification exam (though now I’m sort of questioning whether it was necessary at all…I guess we can discuss that one offline). We had a teacher who reminded me of a cross between Fred Flintstone and Lewis Black – pretty funny, but in that angry and bitter sort of way. Maybe it was because he’d been teaching that same standardized test for over 20 years.
Then came a week of training for my specific department, then finally work! I’m all for learning, but I was seriously looking forward to actually doing something after being essentially a human sponge for two months. Started off pretty slow, but then shit hit the fan and you guys know the rest.
In some ways it’s the most ridiculous, irrational, messed up time to be working where I am, and in some ways it’s business as usual. I’m glad to see the feel of the place hasn’t changed – I slipped back into it pretty quickly, and my colleagues impress me every day as much as they ever did. Definitely less pressure though (I guess that’s in my head?), now that it’s a longer term thing and not a mad-cap race to land a job.
Still working hard even though I haven’t ramped up to my ultimate full work load, but part of that is because I’m taking the time to do things carefully now so that I learn them right. I don’t keep track of my hours – in fact, our timesheets are only to track the percentage of time we spend doing things – but if I had to take a stab at it, I’d guess I’m hitting maybe 75 per week right now? Something like that. My weekdays are mostly work, working out (the gym at work has a rock wall! I haven’t tried it yet though), chill out a bit at home, then sleep. I still take the time to do things for myself though – I’m learning now how important that is – and the work gets me going as much as it ever did. For all fourth year did to kill my motivation, work brought it back.
Man, okay, this post is too long already and I still haven’t really addressed the shitshow that is my industry (I just picked up that word, I think it’s really funny). I’ll save that for another time, because I don’t pretend to be an expert on everything yet.
I don’t mind working long hours at all – in fact, I’m not sure how satisfied I’d be if I weren’t right now – but it makes me realize how precious my free time is. When I don’t have my weekends planned out and I just want to plop on the couch and watch TV, I feel terrible! So, I’m trying to instill some sense of order to my free time – I was thinking about cooking classes? Learn a new language? What do you guys think?
I miss talking to you all, especially all the weird and diverse things we liked to debate about at IHOP or the College Inn. Post more often! Erik, I’m calling you out. What the hell have you been up to?
I’m settling in fairly well where I am, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to be coming home right now.
P.S. The Office season premiere last night, anyone? I won’t spoil it for anyone, but I’m just so psyched that it’s back.
I really haven’t posted about work yet? Wow. Well, I guess I’ll start from the beginning.
I started in mid-June with training – nearly two months worth of it. I don’t know about you, but to me that’s a hell of a lot of training, especially if I’m getting paid for it. It was good though, an easy transition from college to work – except we never had ten hours of class in a day on the same topic. Haha. I had fun meeting everyone else in my class though, and overall it was a fun and easy time (except maybe not for the kids who took the tests and homework way too seriously and stayed until 1am every night…). I will say though, if I hadn’t had a background in most of this stuff already, I don’t know if I could’ve kept up. I certainly don’t know how all the English and Poli Sci majors did it.
(Side note: I’m typing this on the Boltbus as I’m coming home this weekend, and we just passed a Mt. Tremblant shuttle. Nice.)
I was possibly more well-informed and up-to-date on current events during training than I ever have been in my life. Also, my crossword skills were honed a bit. We’ll leave it at that. =) Like I said, smooth transition from school – except for the daily 45 minute commute to Jersey part of it.
So after that we had a week’s worth of class to pass a certification exam (though now I’m sort of questioning whether it was necessary at all…I guess we can discuss that one offline). We had a teacher who reminded me of a cross between Fred Flintstone and Lewis Black – pretty funny, but in that angry and bitter sort of way. Maybe it was because he’d been teaching that same standardized test for over 20 years.
Then came a week of training for my specific department, then finally work! I’m all for learning, but I was seriously looking forward to actually doing something after being essentially a human sponge for two months. Started off pretty slow, but then shit hit the fan and you guys know the rest.
In some ways it’s the most ridiculous, irrational, messed up time to be working where I am, and in some ways it’s business as usual. I’m glad to see the feel of the place hasn’t changed – I slipped back into it pretty quickly, and my colleagues impress me every day as much as they ever did. Definitely less pressure though (I guess that’s in my head?), now that it’s a longer term thing and not a mad-cap race to land a job.
Still working hard even though I haven’t ramped up to my ultimate full work load, but part of that is because I’m taking the time to do things carefully now so that I learn them right. I don’t keep track of my hours – in fact, our timesheets are only to track the percentage of time we spend doing things – but if I had to take a stab at it, I’d guess I’m hitting maybe 75 per week right now? Something like that. My weekdays are mostly work, working out (the gym at work has a rock wall! I haven’t tried it yet though), chill out a bit at home, then sleep. I still take the time to do things for myself though – I’m learning now how important that is – and the work gets me going as much as it ever did. For all fourth year did to kill my motivation, work brought it back.
Man, okay, this post is too long already and I still haven’t really addressed the shitshow that is my industry (I just picked up that word, I think it’s really funny). I’ll save that for another time, because I don’t pretend to be an expert on everything yet.
I don’t mind working long hours at all – in fact, I’m not sure how satisfied I’d be if I weren’t right now – but it makes me realize how precious my free time is. When I don’t have my weekends planned out and I just want to plop on the couch and watch TV, I feel terrible! So, I’m trying to instill some sense of order to my free time – I was thinking about cooking classes? Learn a new language? What do you guys think?
I miss talking to you all, especially all the weird and diverse things we liked to debate about at IHOP or the College Inn. Post more often! Erik, I’m calling you out. What the hell have you been up to?
I’m settling in fairly well where I am, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to be coming home right now.
P.S. The Office season premiere last night, anyone? I won’t spoil it for anyone, but I’m just so psyched that it’s back.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Don't Look Down!
Hey Everyone!
Just a quick note to let you guys knows what is up out here. We finished crossing the ocean today, and have started making our way into the Med. If you recall, I went to Spain for my 3rd class cruise, so up until today we have been sailing in familiar waters. Today marks the point at which the seas we sail will be all new to me. Things should also get a lot more interesting from this point on. Crossing the Atlantic is dreadfully boring most of the time. There is nothing to look at out there except the stars, which are magnificent, but constant. From here on out, at least for the next month or so, every new watch will bring new sights and new places.
As for myself, I am doing well. I am starting to get settled into the rhythm of life at sea, such as it is. My schedule follows a pattern of sorts, but it isn't the kind of pattern which lends itself to developing any sort of comfortable routine. Sometimes bedtime is 2200, sometimes its 0815. I often find myself sleeping at lunch time or working well past midnight. The good news about keeping that kind of schedule is that it almost completely obscures the passage of time. There is no regular pattern of waking up in the morning and going to sleep at night. There is no established work day or quitting time. Additionally, we change time zones about every two days. All of this combines to make it almost impossible to establish any real sense of how quickly or slowly time is passing. I have decided to embrace this fact and use it to my advantage. I call it my "don’t look down" approach. My plan is to try my very hardest to ignore the existence of time. If I were to allow myself to think about how long this deployment will be, I would surely find myself frustrated and unhappy with the amount of time left to go and the sluggishness with which it passes. Given that I don’t really need time out here (and given that I find it hard to keep track of anyway), I have decided to tune it out entirely. It is much the same as a rock climber or sky-scraper iron worker who refuses to look down. Looking down and seeing the distance he has to fall will do nothing to lessen the distance, but will increase his anxiety and therefore his risk of falling. Therefore, I will look only as far ahead as I need to, which typically is about 15 hours. My hope is that this deployment, like childhood, will fly by in a blur of unawareness while I run blindly along, blissfully oblivious to the existence of anything beyond my next meal.
As for professional progress, things are moving along on pace. I am working pretty hard on my qualifications every day. I am boldly pointing the firehose of information directly at my face and opening my mouth. I don’t know if I will be able to keep this pace up for the whole deployment, but for now I am making good time. I am becoming more and more comfortable with all things nautical. I can understand the language, and am working on learning to speak it. "I am becoming tolerably amphibious", to quote Dr. Maturin in the Patrick O'Brian novel "Post Captain."
I am extremely excited about our upcoming port visits. I can't really say where they are, but if you read the Odyssey you will get a pretty good idea of where I will be for the next few weeks. For a classical buff like me, there are no more exciting waters to sail than those. After that, looks like I might get to hunt some pirates. All of you know me well enough to know how happy I am about that!
I hope you are all doing well. I miss everyone already. Let me know how everything is going with you all back home.
Love, Jed
Just a quick note to let you guys knows what is up out here. We finished crossing the ocean today, and have started making our way into the Med. If you recall, I went to Spain for my 3rd class cruise, so up until today we have been sailing in familiar waters. Today marks the point at which the seas we sail will be all new to me. Things should also get a lot more interesting from this point on. Crossing the Atlantic is dreadfully boring most of the time. There is nothing to look at out there except the stars, which are magnificent, but constant. From here on out, at least for the next month or so, every new watch will bring new sights and new places.
As for myself, I am doing well. I am starting to get settled into the rhythm of life at sea, such as it is. My schedule follows a pattern of sorts, but it isn't the kind of pattern which lends itself to developing any sort of comfortable routine. Sometimes bedtime is 2200, sometimes its 0815. I often find myself sleeping at lunch time or working well past midnight. The good news about keeping that kind of schedule is that it almost completely obscures the passage of time. There is no regular pattern of waking up in the morning and going to sleep at night. There is no established work day or quitting time. Additionally, we change time zones about every two days. All of this combines to make it almost impossible to establish any real sense of how quickly or slowly time is passing. I have decided to embrace this fact and use it to my advantage. I call it my "don’t look down" approach. My plan is to try my very hardest to ignore the existence of time. If I were to allow myself to think about how long this deployment will be, I would surely find myself frustrated and unhappy with the amount of time left to go and the sluggishness with which it passes. Given that I don’t really need time out here (and given that I find it hard to keep track of anyway), I have decided to tune it out entirely. It is much the same as a rock climber or sky-scraper iron worker who refuses to look down. Looking down and seeing the distance he has to fall will do nothing to lessen the distance, but will increase his anxiety and therefore his risk of falling. Therefore, I will look only as far ahead as I need to, which typically is about 15 hours. My hope is that this deployment, like childhood, will fly by in a blur of unawareness while I run blindly along, blissfully oblivious to the existence of anything beyond my next meal.
As for professional progress, things are moving along on pace. I am working pretty hard on my qualifications every day. I am boldly pointing the firehose of information directly at my face and opening my mouth. I don’t know if I will be able to keep this pace up for the whole deployment, but for now I am making good time. I am becoming more and more comfortable with all things nautical. I can understand the language, and am working on learning to speak it. "I am becoming tolerably amphibious", to quote Dr. Maturin in the Patrick O'Brian novel "Post Captain."
I am extremely excited about our upcoming port visits. I can't really say where they are, but if you read the Odyssey you will get a pretty good idea of where I will be for the next few weeks. For a classical buff like me, there are no more exciting waters to sail than those. After that, looks like I might get to hunt some pirates. All of you know me well enough to know how happy I am about that!
I hope you are all doing well. I miss everyone already. Let me know how everything is going with you all back home.
Love, Jed
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Quick request
I'm trying to decide which of these nine pictures I should make into 8x10 prints. I just bought two picture frames to decorate the apartment with, so I was hoping you could help me whittle it down to the best. Leave your suggestions in the comments, or send me an email/IM back. Thanks.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Public Service Announcement
Guys, a motherly word of caution: watch out for your credit cards! I got a call today from the credit card fraud department saying that there were two $100 transactions made on my card down in Florida.
Care to guess where the perpetrator chose to go on his/her spending spree?
Circle K. And a BP gas station.
Now, I don't know about you, but if I were the type to steal credit card information, I would go all out. Not that those aren't quality institutions.
P.S. I love how this small event prompted me to post, and still I haven't said a word about work! Training JUST finished, so an update is forthcoming.
Care to guess where the perpetrator chose to go on his/her spending spree?
Circle K. And a BP gas station.
Now, I don't know about you, but if I were the type to steal credit card information, I would go all out. Not that those aren't quality institutions.
P.S. I love how this small event prompted me to post, and still I haven't said a word about work! Training JUST finished, so an update is forthcoming.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Interjections, with excitement, and emotion...
I am exhausted and need to go to bed but had to post this.
Yesterday in class, we were going over parts of speech. In an effort to make my class more engaging, I decided to try mad libs with them. I let them pick their own words and then fill in the story, and without first checking them (dumb first-year teacher move) allowed the students to read their stories aloud to the class.
As you can probably guess from the title of my blog post, one of the parts of speech they were to generate was an interjection. So one of my students read aloud to the class her interpretation of an interjection: "'OMG!' cried the student." Naturally, we all lost it at that moment.
Maybe School House Rock needs to remake their videos for the text messaging generation?
Yesterday in class, we were going over parts of speech. In an effort to make my class more engaging, I decided to try mad libs with them. I let them pick their own words and then fill in the story, and without first checking them (dumb first-year teacher move) allowed the students to read their stories aloud to the class.
As you can probably guess from the title of my blog post, one of the parts of speech they were to generate was an interjection. So one of my students read aloud to the class her interpretation of an interjection: "'OMG!' cried the student." Naturally, we all lost it at that moment.
Maybe School House Rock needs to remake their videos for the text messaging generation?
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Apartment Tour
Finally a real post, a week after I've moved in and settled down and started classes (which I may or may not blog about later). I am going to take you on a tour of the apartment I share with Kyle. But first, a link to my address on Google Maps and exterior shot of my building via street view.
Now, onto the pictures. With captions to help you understand where everything is. Sorry I didn't embed it into the post itself. (Click on this link to view the pictures in higher-resolution and with the captions not covering anything.)
Now, onto the pictures. With captions to help you understand where everything is. Sorry I didn't embed it into the post itself. (Click on this link to view the pictures in higher-resolution and with the captions not covering anything.)
Monday, August 25, 2008
Need Some Feedback!
Friends, the kiddos are coming back this week, which means I am in serious need of energy and motivation in much higher quantities than any human naturally possesses. Besides prayer and caffeine, I'm also relying on music to get me through my days, which is where I need your suggestions. Can anyone recommend some good, energetic, "pump you up" music that I can make into my back-to-school playlist? Here are my conditions:
1) Must be happy--even if it's not super-energetic, I'll accept it if it's happy.
2) Must not be depressing--these seem mutually exclusive, but just in case you're particularly dense...
3) Ideally would be something I could dance in the car to.
4) No swear words.
5) In general, nothing that I couldn't have running through my head all day while working with children.
Any suggestions? If everyone who reads this sent me one song, I'd already have a whole playlist! I feel kind of like one of those awful chain letters now :) but if I get good responses it will all be worth it.
Miss you all, and hope the start of fall is bringing with it many wonderful things for you!
1) Must be happy--even if it's not super-energetic, I'll accept it if it's happy.
2) Must not be depressing--these seem mutually exclusive, but just in case you're particularly dense...
3) Ideally would be something I could dance in the car to.
4) No swear words.
5) In general, nothing that I couldn't have running through my head all day while working with children.
Any suggestions? If everyone who reads this sent me one song, I'd already have a whole playlist! I feel kind of like one of those awful chain letters now :) but if I get good responses it will all be worth it.
Miss you all, and hope the start of fall is bringing with it many wonderful things for you!
Monday, August 18, 2008
Long Overdue
So I've been terrible about posting, but I just don't have the type of engine that propels me to do such actions. Anyway, I'm going to start small.
I finally started medical school.
I finally started medical school.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Mirrors
This will be my first real post about New York, but it will be (relatively) short on words. Work is going well (I'm still in training until after Labor Day though, so it hasn't been too strenuous), and I think I'm settling in fairly well. But more of that later! The only point of this post is to show you pretty pictures of my apartment, which I've been promising for far too long. Here we go!
A shot of our living room from the hallway. The wall that the TV is up against is the temporary wall that we put up to make Ye's room. And yes, we have a mirrored wall. In fact, I just went back and changed the name of this post from "New Apartment" to "Mirrors", because we have more mirrors than we know what to do with. It's impossible to avoiding seeing yourself. Soon, Ye and I will be the vainest people you know.
Shot from our living room. Ye's door is on the left, mine is to the right of that, and our bathroom door is to the right of mine. Oh yes, you can see part of our mirrored shelf on the far right.
Here's the door to our apartment, and the red futon that you will sleep on if you come to visit! Our kitchen's right behind that, and yes, there are blinds to cover up the window if you want privacy in the kitchen. We also have a rockin' (get it, rockin'?) swing door that goes into the kitchen.
Picture on the right, for variety. Here's our bathroom, replete with mirrors. Those lights are very intensely bright, and combined with the mirrors, they pretty much blind you in the mornings. Ye and I celebrated when that one light burned out.
My room, from the doorway.
Shot of my room from my bed. My dresser and another mirror are to the right of that desk. My closet is big, beautiful, and the best part about my room. Except for the view.
And here's the view!
Ye's room! You can see pretty much the entire thing, courtesy of the mirrored wall. In fact, he purposely arranged his bed that way so that he wouldn't have to wake up and stare at himself in the face. Also, everything in his room is black or white. Like that panda.
Kitchen!
Other side of the kitchen!
So this is not really a super-exciting part of our apartment, but I had to post a picture. It's a mirrored shelf. Ridiculous. These are just souvenirs from Zambia - there's an ebony elephant on the left, and one made out of soda cans on the right. I throw my keys and my $2.50 sunglasses from Africa here when I come home. Also, for those of you who haven't seen me in a while, this is a self-portrait..of my legs.
View from our rooftop. We live on the 32nd floor, and the lower floor of the rooftop is on the 33rd. Upper level of the roof is on the 34th. I hope that made sense.
View of the Empire State Building from our rooftop. There are deck chairs, tables, etc. up there - it's just generally a good place to chill.
Nighttime view!
Okay, I hope that was enough incentive to make you all come and visit. More posts about work and random life things to come!
A shot of our living room from the hallway. The wall that the TV is up against is the temporary wall that we put up to make Ye's room. And yes, we have a mirrored wall. In fact, I just went back and changed the name of this post from "New Apartment" to "Mirrors", because we have more mirrors than we know what to do with. It's impossible to avoiding seeing yourself. Soon, Ye and I will be the vainest people you know.
Shot from our living room. Ye's door is on the left, mine is to the right of that, and our bathroom door is to the right of mine. Oh yes, you can see part of our mirrored shelf on the far right.
Here's the door to our apartment, and the red futon that you will sleep on if you come to visit! Our kitchen's right behind that, and yes, there are blinds to cover up the window if you want privacy in the kitchen. We also have a rockin' (get it, rockin'?) swing door that goes into the kitchen.
Picture on the right, for variety. Here's our bathroom, replete with mirrors. Those lights are very intensely bright, and combined with the mirrors, they pretty much blind you in the mornings. Ye and I celebrated when that one light burned out.
My room, from the doorway.
Shot of my room from my bed. My dresser and another mirror are to the right of that desk. My closet is big, beautiful, and the best part about my room. Except for the view.
And here's the view!
Ye's room! You can see pretty much the entire thing, courtesy of the mirrored wall. In fact, he purposely arranged his bed that way so that he wouldn't have to wake up and stare at himself in the face. Also, everything in his room is black or white. Like that panda.
Kitchen!
Other side of the kitchen!
So this is not really a super-exciting part of our apartment, but I had to post a picture. It's a mirrored shelf. Ridiculous. These are just souvenirs from Zambia - there's an ebony elephant on the left, and one made out of soda cans on the right. I throw my keys and my $2.50 sunglasses from Africa here when I come home. Also, for those of you who haven't seen me in a while, this is a self-portrait..of my legs.
View from our rooftop. We live on the 32nd floor, and the lower floor of the rooftop is on the 33rd. Upper level of the roof is on the 34th. I hope that made sense.
View of the Empire State Building from our rooftop. There are deck chairs, tables, etc. up there - it's just generally a good place to chill.
Nighttime view!Okay, I hope that was enough incentive to make you all come and visit. More posts about work and random life things to come!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Solitary Travels -- An Alternate View
I really enjoyed Michelle's post about solitary travels, but after this weekend I would like to humbly submit that not everyone may be as well-equipped for such an adventure as Michelle.
This past weekend, two of my good friends got married in Richmond, and I decided I would drive to the wedding so that I would have easy access to transportation to visit other friends in the area. Before I left, several of my friends asked if I thought it was wise to take my car--which is very faithful, in that it faithfully breaks down every time I drive it out of town--but I had just gotten it checked by a mechanic so I said I thought it would be ok. Well, sure enough, five hours into the drive, I hit the brake pedal at a toll--and it lurches forward. At first I thought, "Oh, I must have slipped and hit the gas for a second"--but when I hit the accelerator, it also lurched. Not good, I thought. I started making a flurry of phone calls to get advice on whether or not I should pull off the road, but no one was answering so I finally decided to go it alone. I got off at an exit and drove all over but discovered that "service stations" do not exist in Northern Maryland. (Michelle and Dean, I'm sure I'm wrong about this, but seriously, if they exist, where are they??) So, after an hour of fruitless searching--and with my car still lurching its way along--I decided I needed to just give up and call a tow truck. Since I was a girl by myself, and since I am not fluent in mechanic-speak, and finally since the problem was not evident from looking under the hood, I'm pretty sure that the tow truck driver assumed that I was sweet and stupid, and therefore took me to a Pep Boys where, as he put it, "They know how to deal with all kinds of cases." (I kept asking him if he thought I was just making this up, and he said, "Well, honey, it's always better safe than sorry, now isn't it?") At Pep Boys, I waited for two hours before they finally came back to me: yes, there was a serious problem; yes, it was a transmission issue; no, they could not fix it; and by the time we determined all this, it was after 5 pm so no transmission places were open. I asked if they thought I could continue driving to Richmond; they said, as politely as possible, that probably someone else could drive it safely, but they were a little skeptical about me. (This was the only part of the trip when I felt like being alone had its benefits; at this news I broke down crying, and let's just say that I don't think many customers cry in Pep Boys. I immediately got a 75% discount.) My wallet slightly (but only slightly) lighter, I gave up and went to a hotel for the night (after which my wallet was significantly lighter). The next morning, I woke up and decided I simply had to get my car fixed that day, and since I had very little knowledge, experience, or cash on my side, I was going to "kill 'em with kindness." I called up an AAMCO and told my story; after swearing at me (apparently, rush transmission jobs are a little stressful), the man on the phone said he would try to fix my car that day. I thanked him profusely, grabbed him an extra pastry from the free continental breakfast, and got in my car (which was no longer lurching) to drive to his shop. Once I got there, I continued to thank him profusely and describe in detail how wonderful my friend was who was getting married; how disappointed she would be if I could not make it for the bachelorette party that evening; how said I already was because I was missing seeing so many good friends; how great it would be if he could help me. Well, the methods seemed to be working, because he got pretty involved in my story--so involved, in fact, that he decided he would keep me company all afternoon in the waiting room and he began to think it was acceptable to make awkward jokes with me about strippers. (I finally had to say to him, "Sir, this is going to be a very tame bachelorette party." He said, "What, you mean like only one stripper?" I said, "No, I mean like a movie and popcorn and Diet Coke." He looked at me like I was from another planet, which was about the level of distance I was going for at that point.) I spent 9 hours in the waiting room--reading Cry, The Beloved Country and planning my curriculum--and whenever he got too friendly I would go to the bathroom or go for a walk, which seemed the only feasible ways to slow down our relationship.
At the end of the day, my car was fixed, and I made it down to Richmond just in time
for the party, although unfortunately not in time to see several of the friends I had planned. I am not good at making decisions under pressure, and so I wonder how it would have been different if someone had been there to help me decide, "No, we should just go straight to a transmission place;" "No, we really could keep driving down to Richmond and get it fixed there;" "No, trying to charm the mechanic into fixing your car is not a good idea, unless you want a last-minute date to this wedding." :) So Michelle, maybe I need to take lessons from you on how to live independently, but I think it might be awhile before I take a trip alone again! (And if anyone wants to buy a very charming, faithful 99 Honda Accord, I think I'm ready to sell...or give away...or maybe pay you to take it...I'll take the best offer.)
Addendum: I totally forgot -- I also flushed my spare keys down the toilet on the way back to Boston. I now carry a spare set of keys on me in case I lock myself out of my car--which I am prone to do--so it was just too funny that by being over-prepared for one problem, I still ended up causing myself drama. I agree with Michelle here that one of the sad parts about traveling by yourself is there is no one to share special moments with; the other ladies in the New Jersey Turnpike restroom were not nearly as amused by my plight as I was or as I'm sure any of you would have been.
This past weekend, two of my good friends got married in Richmond, and I decided I would drive to the wedding so that I would have easy access to transportation to visit other friends in the area. Before I left, several of my friends asked if I thought it was wise to take my car--which is very faithful, in that it faithfully breaks down every time I drive it out of town--but I had just gotten it checked by a mechanic so I said I thought it would be ok. Well, sure enough, five hours into the drive, I hit the brake pedal at a toll--and it lurches forward. At first I thought, "Oh, I must have slipped and hit the gas for a second"--but when I hit the accelerator, it also lurched. Not good, I thought. I started making a flurry of phone calls to get advice on whether or not I should pull off the road, but no one was answering so I finally decided to go it alone. I got off at an exit and drove all over but discovered that "service stations" do not exist in Northern Maryland. (Michelle and Dean, I'm sure I'm wrong about this, but seriously, if they exist, where are they??) So, after an hour of fruitless searching--and with my car still lurching its way along--I decided I needed to just give up and call a tow truck. Since I was a girl by myself, and since I am not fluent in mechanic-speak, and finally since the problem was not evident from looking under the hood, I'm pretty sure that the tow truck driver assumed that I was sweet and stupid, and therefore took me to a Pep Boys where, as he put it, "They know how to deal with all kinds of cases." (I kept asking him if he thought I was just making this up, and he said, "Well, honey, it's always better safe than sorry, now isn't it?") At Pep Boys, I waited for two hours before they finally came back to me: yes, there was a serious problem; yes, it was a transmission issue; no, they could not fix it; and by the time we determined all this, it was after 5 pm so no transmission places were open. I asked if they thought I could continue driving to Richmond; they said, as politely as possible, that probably someone else could drive it safely, but they were a little skeptical about me. (This was the only part of the trip when I felt like being alone had its benefits; at this news I broke down crying, and let's just say that I don't think many customers cry in Pep Boys. I immediately got a 75% discount.) My wallet slightly (but only slightly) lighter, I gave up and went to a hotel for the night (after which my wallet was significantly lighter). The next morning, I woke up and decided I simply had to get my car fixed that day, and since I had very little knowledge, experience, or cash on my side, I was going to "kill 'em with kindness." I called up an AAMCO and told my story; after swearing at me (apparently, rush transmission jobs are a little stressful), the man on the phone said he would try to fix my car that day. I thanked him profusely, grabbed him an extra pastry from the free continental breakfast, and got in my car (which was no longer lurching) to drive to his shop. Once I got there, I continued to thank him profusely and describe in detail how wonderful my friend was who was getting married; how disappointed she would be if I could not make it for the bachelorette party that evening; how said I already was because I was missing seeing so many good friends; how great it would be if he could help me. Well, the methods seemed to be working, because he got pretty involved in my story--so involved, in fact, that he decided he would keep me company all afternoon in the waiting room and he began to think it was acceptable to make awkward jokes with me about strippers. (I finally had to say to him, "Sir, this is going to be a very tame bachelorette party." He said, "What, you mean like only one stripper?" I said, "No, I mean like a movie and popcorn and Diet Coke." He looked at me like I was from another planet, which was about the level of distance I was going for at that point.) I spent 9 hours in the waiting room--reading Cry, The Beloved Country and planning my curriculum--and whenever he got too friendly I would go to the bathroom or go for a walk, which seemed the only feasible ways to slow down our relationship.
At the end of the day, my car was fixed, and I made it down to Richmond just in time
for the party, although unfortunately not in time to see several of the friends I had planned. I am not good at making decisions under pressure, and so I wonder how it would have been different if someone had been there to help me decide, "No, we should just go straight to a transmission place;" "No, we really could keep driving down to Richmond and get it fixed there;" "No, trying to charm the mechanic into fixing your car is not a good idea, unless you want a last-minute date to this wedding." :) So Michelle, maybe I need to take lessons from you on how to live independently, but I think it might be awhile before I take a trip alone again! (And if anyone wants to buy a very charming, faithful 99 Honda Accord, I think I'm ready to sell...or give away...or maybe pay you to take it...I'll take the best offer.)
Addendum: I totally forgot -- I also flushed my spare keys down the toilet on the way back to Boston. I now carry a spare set of keys on me in case I lock myself out of my car--which I am prone to do--so it was just too funny that by being over-prepared for one problem, I still ended up causing myself drama. I agree with Michelle here that one of the sad parts about traveling by yourself is there is no one to share special moments with; the other ladies in the New Jersey Turnpike restroom were not nearly as amused by my plight as I was or as I'm sure any of you would have been.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
First Celebrity Sighting
So I really should be posting about my recent move to New York, showing you guys pictures of my apartment or whatever...and I will! But. This is too big. In fact, it's so big that most of you who care already know, so this post is primarily for Amar's benefit.
Without further ado: On my first full day as a New York resident (that would be yesterday), I met Richard Blais. As in Richard from Top Chef Season 4. He gave me a popcornsicle - a ball of caramel popcorn on a stick, dipped in liquid nitrogen. Ahh!
The story? I was walking with Erik on 5th Avenue, a few blocks from my apartment. I saw a popcorn shop with a big sign saying "July 15-17, Richard Blais, 11:30-2:30". Of course I had to go! I almost completely forgot about it later, but then (at the urging/online screaming of Dean R), ran over and met the man himself.
The surprising thing is that I think most of the people there didn't know who he was! Sure, there were people with cameras (I'll post the pic from my phone at some point), but I think most people just saw a line for free food and joined it.
And yes, the popcornsicle was good.
----------
7/19 update: Ye and I suspect that we saw LaVar Arrington leaving Sean John today, though we can't be sure. But, as Ye said: "Who else looks like LaVar Arrington, goes to Sean John, and gets driven around in an Escalade limo?" As we walked home and discussed the validity of our celebrity sighting, I started singing the Eastern Motors jingle.
Without further ado: On my first full day as a New York resident (that would be yesterday), I met Richard Blais. As in Richard from Top Chef Season 4. He gave me a popcornsicle - a ball of caramel popcorn on a stick, dipped in liquid nitrogen. Ahh!
The story? I was walking with Erik on 5th Avenue, a few blocks from my apartment. I saw a popcorn shop with a big sign saying "July 15-17, Richard Blais, 11:30-2:30". Of course I had to go! I almost completely forgot about it later, but then (at the urging/online screaming of Dean R), ran over and met the man himself.
The surprising thing is that I think most of the people there didn't know who he was! Sure, there were people with cameras (I'll post the pic from my phone at some point), but I think most people just saw a line for free food and joined it.
And yes, the popcornsicle was good.
----------
7/19 update: Ye and I suspect that we saw LaVar Arrington leaving Sean John today, though we can't be sure. But, as Ye said: "Who else looks like LaVar Arrington, goes to Sean John, and gets driven around in an Escalade limo?" As we walked home and discussed the validity of our celebrity sighting, I started singing the Eastern Motors jingle.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Neighborliness
I have always struggled with how to answer the question, "Where are you from?" I really shouldn't complain because I haven't lived too too many places; I have another friend who has to choose between four continents when asked that question, and I'm really only choosing between states. I've found, however, that I cannot fit seamlessly into either northern or southern culture. I am northern in that I walk, talk, and drive quickly; own three pairs of long underwear, ten scarves, and a heated mattress pad (which may be the best invention ever); and assume everyone from the car mechanic to the tailor is probably out to cheat me. I am southern in that I love fried food way more than all this organic nonsense they can't get enough of up here; do not know how to communicate directly (as my sweet roommate from North Carolina told me recently, "You are way too passive aggressive to be from Boston!"); and like to smile and make eye contact with people as we walk by on the street.
This last item (character trait? preference?) has really posed a problem up here. No one--and I mean no one--makes eye contact and smiles while they pass on the street. You know how you turn your head to the side and pretend to be really interested in some little speck of dust on the sidewalk when you're passing someone who you hope doesn't see you? Everyone does that up here with every single person they pass. It's kind of remarkable, particularly given that I live in one of the busiest pedestrian areas of the city (it's called Central Square), but I really can walk around for 30 minutes and not even make eye contact with a single person (except if they are asking me for money; they have great eye contact).
I find I am left with several options when I am walking around town. I can search for those brief moments when a passerby--unwittingly--looks up, and catch him or her with a smile in this unguarded moment. I try this method regularly, and get some smiles, some mildly embarrassed looks, and lots of awkward stares. (One day in particular, I was convinced I must have spilled something all over my shirt because I couldn't believe people would look at me that way for any other reason.) If I don't want to be dependent on moments of unguardedness, I can also just call out greetings and see if the person looks up; I've found, however, that normally he or she doesn't. Meanwhile, the people across the street actually do look at me--but only to see who that crazy girl is who is talking to herself. Or finally, I can just accept this as a cultural norm that I am not going to change, and start averting my eyes like everyone else. (Or better yet, look straight forward; no one else is, so at least I won't trip.)
But herein lies a larger problem: how do I get to know my neighbors? Because this was one of my goals when I moved here, and I do not believe that the inability to greet people on the street means that Bostonians are actually unfriendly. I just think they (we?) are not randomly friendly, and there is a difference. My neighbors will sometimes sit out on their porches and return a wave or two, but they never seem to invite more than that and I still haven't totally figured out how to bridge that gap. If I had a puppy or a baby things might be different, but unless my life circumstances change really quickly, I am going to have to learn new ways (besides sweet southern charm) to get to know the people who live around me.
So, I have begun praying about it. I know many of you don't believe in prayer, and while I don't necessarily believe that it always works in the ways we want it to, I do believe in a God who hears prayers; furthermore, I believe that He does respond, albeit sometimes in divinely mysterious ways. Case in point: yesterday, in a fit of frustration after another awkward walk home, I prayed that God would find some way--any way--for me to strike up a conversation with my neighbors. Later that afternoon, after running some errands in my car, I pulled up to park...and slammed, hard, into the curb. I immediately looked to see if anyone had seen, and sure enough, one of my neighbors was sitting across the street in her car, smirking. Our street is only about the width of one car, and she wasn't pulled all the way up to the curb, so she was close enough to me that I probably could have reached out and touched her. It was fairly humiliating. I fumbled with my keys in my lap for a moment, and then stuttered out my car window, "You'd think it would be easy to pull up to a curb..." Immediately her smirk turned to a softer smile, and she replied, "Oh honey, I don't think anyone knows how to do it well; we're all so worried about getting close enough." (This is a real problem up here since the police ticket you if you're too far off the curb; I have always been bad at this, but I didn't bother to tell her that.) I smiled back and didn't even think to try to prolong the interaction--I was too embarrassed--but as I was pulling books out of my backseat she began asking me what I know about the new school opening on our street. I don't know why she assumed I would know anything about it, but as it happened, I went to the community meeting with the principal last week (in another desperate--and failed--attempt to meet neighbors), and so we started up a conversation about the school, where she had gone to school, where I worked, her family, etc. At the end we introduced ourselves and I found out her grandmother lives a few houses over from me, and her son comes and stays there some afternoons.
Now, you can go the spiritual route and believe this was a surprising and perhaps unconventional answer to prayer (which I do), or you can go the psychological route and conclude that northerners respond better to displays of human weakness than to outright friendliness, which is perceived as overconfidence (and I think this might be correct as well). Either way, in spite of all my best efforts, it turns out that my southern charm is not actually that charming, whereas my crappy parking skills might actually be one of my assets in practicing neighborliness.
And if I ever do learn how to park, I know for a fact that I am very good at baking cookies. It doesn't matter where you're from or how organic you like your food; everyone likes cookies.
[Two random additions: First, I have a personal blog as well and I have been cheating and using some posts (like this one) twice just because I know different people read them. The only reason to tell you this is so that no one ever reads my personal blog and thinks they "caught me." Second, I am choosing books now for 8th grade English and would love any suggestions of books you loved or hated in 8th or 9th grade. So far, I am going to be using The Odyssey by Homer; The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros; A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry; and probably Hiroshima by John Hersey, in addition to various short stories and poems. I'm also considering using Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya; To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee; and Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. (I could likely only do one of those, or another book in place of all three of those.) Perhaps this only appeals to "literary types," but I firmly believe that everyone at some point in their life has been moved by some book, so if yours was in middle school and you want to send me the title, I'd be much obliged.]
This last item (character trait? preference?) has really posed a problem up here. No one--and I mean no one--makes eye contact and smiles while they pass on the street. You know how you turn your head to the side and pretend to be really interested in some little speck of dust on the sidewalk when you're passing someone who you hope doesn't see you? Everyone does that up here with every single person they pass. It's kind of remarkable, particularly given that I live in one of the busiest pedestrian areas of the city (it's called Central Square), but I really can walk around for 30 minutes and not even make eye contact with a single person (except if they are asking me for money; they have great eye contact).
I find I am left with several options when I am walking around town. I can search for those brief moments when a passerby--unwittingly--looks up, and catch him or her with a smile in this unguarded moment. I try this method regularly, and get some smiles, some mildly embarrassed looks, and lots of awkward stares. (One day in particular, I was convinced I must have spilled something all over my shirt because I couldn't believe people would look at me that way for any other reason.) If I don't want to be dependent on moments of unguardedness, I can also just call out greetings and see if the person looks up; I've found, however, that normally he or she doesn't. Meanwhile, the people across the street actually do look at me--but only to see who that crazy girl is who is talking to herself. Or finally, I can just accept this as a cultural norm that I am not going to change, and start averting my eyes like everyone else. (Or better yet, look straight forward; no one else is, so at least I won't trip.)
But herein lies a larger problem: how do I get to know my neighbors? Because this was one of my goals when I moved here, and I do not believe that the inability to greet people on the street means that Bostonians are actually unfriendly. I just think they (we?) are not randomly friendly, and there is a difference. My neighbors will sometimes sit out on their porches and return a wave or two, but they never seem to invite more than that and I still haven't totally figured out how to bridge that gap. If I had a puppy or a baby things might be different, but unless my life circumstances change really quickly, I am going to have to learn new ways (besides sweet southern charm) to get to know the people who live around me.
So, I have begun praying about it. I know many of you don't believe in prayer, and while I don't necessarily believe that it always works in the ways we want it to, I do believe in a God who hears prayers; furthermore, I believe that He does respond, albeit sometimes in divinely mysterious ways. Case in point: yesterday, in a fit of frustration after another awkward walk home, I prayed that God would find some way--any way--for me to strike up a conversation with my neighbors. Later that afternoon, after running some errands in my car, I pulled up to park...and slammed, hard, into the curb. I immediately looked to see if anyone had seen, and sure enough, one of my neighbors was sitting across the street in her car, smirking. Our street is only about the width of one car, and she wasn't pulled all the way up to the curb, so she was close enough to me that I probably could have reached out and touched her. It was fairly humiliating. I fumbled with my keys in my lap for a moment, and then stuttered out my car window, "You'd think it would be easy to pull up to a curb..." Immediately her smirk turned to a softer smile, and she replied, "Oh honey, I don't think anyone knows how to do it well; we're all so worried about getting close enough." (This is a real problem up here since the police ticket you if you're too far off the curb; I have always been bad at this, but I didn't bother to tell her that.) I smiled back and didn't even think to try to prolong the interaction--I was too embarrassed--but as I was pulling books out of my backseat she began asking me what I know about the new school opening on our street. I don't know why she assumed I would know anything about it, but as it happened, I went to the community meeting with the principal last week (in another desperate--and failed--attempt to meet neighbors), and so we started up a conversation about the school, where she had gone to school, where I worked, her family, etc. At the end we introduced ourselves and I found out her grandmother lives a few houses over from me, and her son comes and stays there some afternoons.
Now, you can go the spiritual route and believe this was a surprising and perhaps unconventional answer to prayer (which I do), or you can go the psychological route and conclude that northerners respond better to displays of human weakness than to outright friendliness, which is perceived as overconfidence (and I think this might be correct as well). Either way, in spite of all my best efforts, it turns out that my southern charm is not actually that charming, whereas my crappy parking skills might actually be one of my assets in practicing neighborliness.
And if I ever do learn how to park, I know for a fact that I am very good at baking cookies. It doesn't matter where you're from or how organic you like your food; everyone likes cookies.
[Two random additions: First, I have a personal blog as well and I have been cheating and using some posts (like this one) twice just because I know different people read them. The only reason to tell you this is so that no one ever reads my personal blog and thinks they "caught me." Second, I am choosing books now for 8th grade English and would love any suggestions of books you loved or hated in 8th or 9th grade. So far, I am going to be using The Odyssey by Homer; The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros; A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry; and probably Hiroshima by John Hersey, in addition to various short stories and poems. I'm also considering using Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya; To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee; and Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. (I could likely only do one of those, or another book in place of all three of those.) Perhaps this only appeals to "literary types," but I firmly believe that everyone at some point in their life has been moved by some book, so if yours was in middle school and you want to send me the title, I'd be much obliged.]
Turbo
These past few weeks have been incomprehensible. I offer this as my excuse for not posting recently. I have barely been able to process all that has been happening in my life, so the idea of trying to write it all down has been daunting to say the least. However, over the last few days I have been able to feel myself beginning to hit a stride of sorts, so I have decided to make an attempt at posting.
I have been adjusting to a
My intention for this post is to introduce you all to a few of the terms you will see in any future posts where I discuss my job. I won’t get into the tedium of nautical lingo (“brow”, “quarterdeck”, “leeward”, “abaft”, “focsle”.) Nor will I attempt to acquaint you with the even more tedious engineering l33tspeak which has been the bane of my brief existence on board this ship (“transverse bulkhead”, “EOSS”, “Ultra-S”, “Gas Turbine Module”, “N2 LPAC”, “PMS” [means something different in the Navy.]) I will stick to the essential terms which describe what I do for a living. Hopefully, in the course explaining the terms which are coming to define my new life here, I’ll also be able to convey a sense of what my day-to-day life is. I won’t promise that this will not be a little bit tedious, but please bear with me. If you read this, you will understand me so much better later on.
“Duty Day:”
I am starting with this term because it explains why I am writing this post right now. Basically, there always have to be enough people on the ship to take her to sea and operate her systems. That way if the redcoats, communists or Mongolian hordes attack the naval base, there will always be enough people to get the ship moving out to sea and defend herself. Therefore, the ship has to keep a minimum compliment of people onboard 24/7. This is accomplished by dividing the officers and crew of the ship up into six “duty sections.” Each duty section is responsible for staying onboard the ship for one 24-hour “duty day” every six days. During that 24-hour period, each member of the duty section is usually required to stand one 5-hour watch. When your duty day falls on a weekend, the 19 hours in which you are not on watch are your own to spend reading, playing video games, sleeping, studying or (in my case) writing blog posts. You can do anything you want except leave the ship.
When it is not your duty day, being in the navy is very much like any other job. You come to work at
“Watch”
When the ship is underway, there are no duty sections because the whole crew is onboard and on duty 24/7. Therefore, when you are underway your life revolves around the “watch schedule,” or “watch rotation.” A “watch”, in the nautical sense of the word, is basically a shift at some particular job. For example, the sailors who stand at the helm and steer the ship do so in 5-hour watches, or shifts. The watch you are assigned to stand depends on your training. The helmsmen I mentioned have to go through hours of training and hands-on instruction before they are fully qualified to stand the “helm watch” on their own. My biggest responsibility over the course of the next year is to get myself qualified to stand a watch called “Officer of the Deck” or “OOD”. I won’t get into the responsibilities of the OOD now. I will simply say that qualification is very hard to achieve. I have been told by multiple older officers that getting qualified as an OOD is harder than getting a master’s degree. The people who told me this all had master’s degrees (yeah, I asked).
For now, the only watch I am qualified to stand is called “Conning Officer.” As conning officer, I am responsible for directing the movements of the ship. I do this by giving orders to the helmsmen. These orders have to be given in a specific, standard format. For example, if I want the ship to turn right to a course that is due south, and increase speed to ten knots I might give the order “all ahead 2/3 for 10 knots, right standard rudder, steady course 270.” Every word of that order means something specific to the helmsman. I am still getting the hang of translating my intentions (turn right, go south) into “standard orders.”
Watch schedules work very much like duty schedules. The officers and crew are divided up into “watch sections” which are responsible for standing one watch every 24 hours in a regular rotation. The schedule breaks down like this:
2AM-7AM: aka the “two-to-seven”
7AM-12PM
There are four watch sections which stand these watches in sequence. Because there are 5 watches every day and only four sections, the watch you stand each day changes. For example, if “section one” stood the two-to-seven today it would stand the midwatch tomorrow and the 17 to 22 the day after that. As you might guess, this makes it impossible to establish any kind of regular sleep schedule when you are underway. You basically just sleep when you can. I am interested to see what 7-8 months of keeping that kind of schedule will do to my body. Apparently you get used to it.
“Division Officer:”
My official job description is “Division Officer” which means I am an officer in charge of a “division.” Basically, the ship is broken down into departments, and each department is broken up into divisions. My department is called Engineering, which is divided up into four divisions: Electrical, Repair, Main Propulsion and Auxiliaries. I am the Main Propulsion Division Officer. That means I am in charge of the main engines which turn the propellers and drive the ship through the water and the generators which provide her with electricity. I own two main engine rooms, an oil analysis lab, and a gas turbine electric power plant. Overall I have 22 people who work for me. I am finding the process of learning to manage such a complex group of people and equipment to be very exciting and rewarding. It’s amazingly fun to be able to see a problem and to have the authority and the resources to address and solve it however I see fit. There is more creativity to this job than I expected. That has been one of the more pleasant surprises.
***
I haven’t been able to really talk to any of you in a while, so in case you are wondering I am having a wonderful time and am very happy. Keep the posts coming! It’s the only way I can keep track of what you guys are up to!
Love,
Friday, July 11, 2008
Lifeload: Strikeout
A close friend of mine is getting married tomorrow, and last night was his bachelor party.
On Tuesday, I got a call from the Best Man telling me that the bachelor party was going to be Thursday night. Although I had plans, I immediately canceled them, because I mean a bachelor party (hopefully) only happens once. On Tuesday, the conversation went as such:
"We're going to a Nationals game, and then maybe club hopping afterwards, getting a limo, finding some VIP lounges."
Wow! This sounded great. I was excited.
On Wednesday I got a call from the Best Man asking if I knew of any good hotspots for after the game. Apparently, another person in the party told him that I had at least been to a club, which is more than most in this group. So while I probably was more qualified than these people to pick a spot, I was still entirely unqualified.
"I don't really know the...straight...scene in DC. But I can ask around at work?"
"Sounds good! And you guys can pay me back for this stuff whenever."
"Wait, what - ?"
"Bye!"
My feeling on the matter is a Best Man either 1) pays for everything himself or 2) includes the other friends during the planning stages weeks if not months before, so he knows what kind of budget he's working with. That I was now paying for baseball tickets (and had no idea how much they were) kind of irked me.
I asked around the office, and got the names of a few clubs as I had been asked to do. I was, frankly, surprised that we were doing clubs and not bars, but it was a good surprise.
So on Thursday, I hop a metro home to go change before the game. I was meeting them there (told them I would be obnoxiously late), because they were heading in at 5ish. I get to Vienna metro and see them at 6, just entering Vienna metro.
I go up to the Best Man and noticed, immediately, that everyone was wearing jeans and shorts.
"Were you planning changing?"
"No?"
"You are not getting into clubs."
"Really?"
"We are 10 guys. In jeans. Have fun. I will see you at the game."
***
After changing, showering, etc. I joined them for the 8th inning at the stadium (perfect timing). The game went into extra innings, the Bachelor had a good time, all in all it was good. I didn't hate it as much as I thought I would, and even if I did it wouldn't matter. It was his night.
Throughout, the Best Man is asking me where we are going next. Like I know. Somehow, in the course of 24 hours, it had become my job to get 10 Air Force Cadets drunk and laid. And not by me. I kept asking if they wanted clubs, lounges, or bars. Best Man kept saying clubs. I conducted some frantic texting, came up with a few names of places that would actually let us all in, and proposed them to the group.
Best Man: "lets just head down to Adam's Morgan"
Me: "Srsly?"
We walked towards the metro.
Best Man: "let's not metro. let's take cabs. you 5 get a cab meet you there bye!"
So five of us (we didn't really know each other, and most were out-of-towners) were left to hail a cab. Fifteen minutes later, we finally got one and head to Adam's Morgan. Upon arrival, I called the Best Man.
Me: "Where are you guys?"
Best Man: "24th and Connecticut! Where are you?"
Me: "Adams Morgan. Which is no where near you."
Best Man: "We'll walk there!"
You see, they had taken a cab to the "Adam's Morgan" metro stop. Which is in fact not particularly close to Adam's Morgan. Another fifteen minutes, and we were reunited. There was a quick stop at a club which had great music, great scene, but not great for us? I'm still not sure why we left after one shot. There was a delay at a pizza parlor as the inevitable "I don't know what to do now" set in. I made motions to leave. I had to get to bed, work the following morning, etc.
Me: "How are you getting home?"
Best Man: "Metro?"
Me: "Metro closes at midnight."
Best Man: "Fuck."
That was the last I heard of them.
-M.
On Tuesday, I got a call from the Best Man telling me that the bachelor party was going to be Thursday night. Although I had plans, I immediately canceled them, because I mean a bachelor party (hopefully) only happens once. On Tuesday, the conversation went as such:
"We're going to a Nationals game, and then maybe club hopping afterwards, getting a limo, finding some VIP lounges."
Wow! This sounded great. I was excited.
On Wednesday I got a call from the Best Man asking if I knew of any good hotspots for after the game. Apparently, another person in the party told him that I had at least been to a club, which is more than most in this group. So while I probably was more qualified than these people to pick a spot, I was still entirely unqualified.
"I don't really know the...straight...scene in DC. But I can ask around at work?"
"Sounds good! And you guys can pay me back for this stuff whenever."
"Wait, what - ?"
"Bye!"
My feeling on the matter is a Best Man either 1) pays for everything himself or 2) includes the other friends during the planning stages weeks if not months before, so he knows what kind of budget he's working with. That I was now paying for baseball tickets (and had no idea how much they were) kind of irked me.
I asked around the office, and got the names of a few clubs as I had been asked to do. I was, frankly, surprised that we were doing clubs and not bars, but it was a good surprise.
So on Thursday, I hop a metro home to go change before the game. I was meeting them there (told them I would be obnoxiously late), because they were heading in at 5ish. I get to Vienna metro and see them at 6, just entering Vienna metro.
I go up to the Best Man and noticed, immediately, that everyone was wearing jeans and shorts.
"Were you planning changing?"
"No?"
"You are not getting into clubs."
"Really?"
"We are 10 guys. In jeans. Have fun. I will see you at the game."
***
After changing, showering, etc. I joined them for the 8th inning at the stadium (perfect timing). The game went into extra innings, the Bachelor had a good time, all in all it was good. I didn't hate it as much as I thought I would, and even if I did it wouldn't matter. It was his night.
Throughout, the Best Man is asking me where we are going next. Like I know. Somehow, in the course of 24 hours, it had become my job to get 10 Air Force Cadets drunk and laid. And not by me. I kept asking if they wanted clubs, lounges, or bars. Best Man kept saying clubs. I conducted some frantic texting, came up with a few names of places that would actually let us all in, and proposed them to the group.
Best Man: "lets just head down to Adam's Morgan"
Me: "Srsly?"
We walked towards the metro.
Best Man: "let's not metro. let's take cabs. you 5 get a cab meet you there bye!"
So five of us (we didn't really know each other, and most were out-of-towners) were left to hail a cab. Fifteen minutes later, we finally got one and head to Adam's Morgan. Upon arrival, I called the Best Man.
Me: "Where are you guys?"
Best Man: "24th and Connecticut! Where are you?"
Me: "Adams Morgan. Which is no where near you."
Best Man: "We'll walk there!"
You see, they had taken a cab to the "Adam's Morgan" metro stop. Which is in fact not particularly close to Adam's Morgan. Another fifteen minutes, and we were reunited. There was a quick stop at a club which had great music, great scene, but not great for us? I'm still not sure why we left after one shot. There was a delay at a pizza parlor as the inevitable "I don't know what to do now" set in. I made motions to leave. I had to get to bed, work the following morning, etc.
Me: "How are you getting home?"
Best Man: "Metro?"
Me: "Metro closes at midnight."
Best Man: "Fuck."
That was the last I heard of them.
-M.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
INTO AFRICA: Three Deep
This post was more difficult than most to get online. Anyways, keep the updates on your lives coming. Even if I’m a bit (or a lot) late to respond, I will get back to you in the coming days.
Michelle's description of Coffee Bay, even for that one day, was pretty much spot on. I could have stayed there for much longer. Let me also say that I am absolutely thrilled that Michelle, Abhay, and I met up. We didn't have too long together, but at the end of day, it was nice to be enjoying these moments with friends. The company also turned some of the complete botches (see Amar and Abhay's experimentation with herbal medicine; also see Michelle's hibernation at the club) into great memories.
A bit on Durban, which is awesome. Durban is an amazing mix of Zulu and Indian culture. The city hosts the largest population of Indians outside of India, and has developed such a unique culture that most Indian South Africans have not even been to India. We got to see quite a bit of each of these elements on a township tour, led by a guy who lived in a local township and just walked us through the city at our own leisure. We spoke with an Indian herbal expert, bought some Zulu beaded jewellery in Victoria St. Market, brought some candy to the kids in the guide's township, and finally went to his house to meet his family. I have never felt the pulse of a city as strongly as I did on this tour.
Durban also has some really nice beaches along the Indian Ocean, and Abhay and I took a dip in some of the warmest water I have ever seen. Waves were not too bad and there were plenty of surfers, but this was before our time with Rayno, so unfortunately we were not among them.
I can't say that Durban's nightlife is more vibrant than Cape Town, but we definitely saw a lot more of it (JED-props for warning me to bring dress shoes, ask me about this later). Abhay's party spirit took over, and we went out three out of four nights, so that Coffee Bay seemed like relaxation by comparison. The 4 AM food unique to Durban is an Indian South African creation called Bunny Chow, a hollowed out loaf of bread with mutton or chicken curry inside. Delicious. Watching the Euro has also been a great way to meet people, they almost seemed shocked that Americans could be knowledgeable about or interested in something so international. We watched the quarterfinals in Cape Town (Spain-Italy was pretty damn awesome), the semifinals in Durban/Coffee Bay, and the finals in Maputo (Mozambique).
Michelle and I split from Abhay in Durban after one final night on the town. This twenty-four hour experience was downright epic. I knew it was going to be a tough morning when Abhay and I were hanging out in the hostel kitchen after coming back from the club, and another guy came in and started making some tea. We had completely skipped attempts to sleep and were now back to attempts to wake up. An hour later (7 AM), Michelle and I were at a loud minibus stand in the middle of the city. It seemed that we had found the correct minibus without a hitch, but when we got there, the following conversation ensued:
Me: will you stop at the border so that we can pay for our visas?
Ticket Collector: No, it will be fine though. Let me see passports.
Me: uh, ok?
Michelle: Are we going to be illegal immigrants in Mozambique? How are we going to leave?
The coach bus transportation from Durban to Maputo was sold out for the day we were to leave, so our best option was minibus. Minibuses are probably one of the best ways to see a typical person's life in South Africa and are also the cheapest ways to travel long distances. So why don't tourists travel like this so often? A few reasons. One, the minibus will wait as long as necessary to fill up--we got to the minibus stand at 7:30 AM to find the right minibus and waited about three hours before we left. Two, “full” means different things to different people, so that a sixteen person vehicle might end up holding thirty-two people, chickens, goats, etc (based on a true story). Third, if you aren't careful, you can be left at a border or have your bag stolen. Fortunately, there were no chickens, my bags were not jacked, and the only thing I lost was feeling below my waist.
Our time in Mozambique, was nice, but radically, radically different from South Africa. For one, noone speaks English. The immigration guys at the border thought I was giving them fake money because one of my ten dollar bills looked different than the other—I'm not sure that any of them knew what American money looked like. We spent two full days at Tofo Beach, which Michelle aptly described as a “small beach outside of a small village outside of a small town about 8 hours from Maputo”. It's a pretty popular destination for partygoers, divers, and tourists of all types, but it is still so small that we had to take a bus for about forty minutes (to the small town of Inhamabane) to withdraw money from an ATM. Michelle and I mostly just ate awesome seafood and bought some really cool stuff at the markets. We didn't get to spend a tremendous amount of time in Maputo, which I've heard is a nice city to explore, but we did manage to come across the inconvenient and even the absurd. As far as inconvenience, we were stopped by cops, asked for our passports, and hit up for money. After messing with their horrible English for a bit, I decided that my life and passport was more important than this amusement. As far as the absurd, we sat next to a table of two at one restaurant that was subsequently turned upside down because a woman found her husband drinking with a younger woman. Perhaps I'll make it back to Maputo for some Mozambican jazz, but I'm glad I at least got to see some in Cape Town.
After a fairly taxing journey involving three eight-hour bus rides, a plane ride, one free hike, and one stressful taxi ride (through Jo-berg at 4 am), I'm back for the last leg of my trip, three weeks with my sister at her village in Namibia.. I am loving it, but it’s a different experience. More on this later.
Btw, I take Dean R. and Le-anh's posts about propriety of posts to heart, but I hope people continue posting in small portions or just send private email updates (like the good old days). It's nice to read up on everyone, even you working folk.
Amar
P.S. Reading List update: Currently reading Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. I read Divisadero quite slowly, and found it somewhere between depressing and beautiful. Definitely worth reading.
Michelle's description of Coffee Bay, even for that one day, was pretty much spot on. I could have stayed there for much longer. Let me also say that I am absolutely thrilled that Michelle, Abhay, and I met up. We didn't have too long together, but at the end of day, it was nice to be enjoying these moments with friends. The company also turned some of the complete botches (see Amar and Abhay's experimentation with herbal medicine; also see Michelle's hibernation at the club) into great memories.
A bit on Durban, which is awesome. Durban is an amazing mix of Zulu and Indian culture. The city hosts the largest population of Indians outside of India, and has developed such a unique culture that most Indian South Africans have not even been to India. We got to see quite a bit of each of these elements on a township tour, led by a guy who lived in a local township and just walked us through the city at our own leisure. We spoke with an Indian herbal expert, bought some Zulu beaded jewellery in Victoria St. Market, brought some candy to the kids in the guide's township, and finally went to his house to meet his family. I have never felt the pulse of a city as strongly as I did on this tour.
Durban also has some really nice beaches along the Indian Ocean, and Abhay and I took a dip in some of the warmest water I have ever seen. Waves were not too bad and there were plenty of surfers, but this was before our time with Rayno, so unfortunately we were not among them.
I can't say that Durban's nightlife is more vibrant than Cape Town, but we definitely saw a lot more of it (JED-props for warning me to bring dress shoes, ask me about this later). Abhay's party spirit took over, and we went out three out of four nights, so that Coffee Bay seemed like relaxation by comparison. The 4 AM food unique to Durban is an Indian South African creation called Bunny Chow, a hollowed out loaf of bread with mutton or chicken curry inside. Delicious. Watching the Euro has also been a great way to meet people, they almost seemed shocked that Americans could be knowledgeable about or interested in something so international. We watched the quarterfinals in Cape Town (Spain-Italy was pretty damn awesome), the semifinals in Durban/Coffee Bay, and the finals in Maputo (Mozambique).
Michelle and I split from Abhay in Durban after one final night on the town. This twenty-four hour experience was downright epic. I knew it was going to be a tough morning when Abhay and I were hanging out in the hostel kitchen after coming back from the club, and another guy came in and started making some tea. We had completely skipped attempts to sleep and were now back to attempts to wake up. An hour later (7 AM), Michelle and I were at a loud minibus stand in the middle of the city. It seemed that we had found the correct minibus without a hitch, but when we got there, the following conversation ensued:
Me: will you stop at the border so that we can pay for our visas?
Ticket Collector: No, it will be fine though. Let me see passports.
Me: uh, ok?
Michelle: Are we going to be illegal immigrants in Mozambique? How are we going to leave?
The coach bus transportation from Durban to Maputo was sold out for the day we were to leave, so our best option was minibus. Minibuses are probably one of the best ways to see a typical person's life in South Africa and are also the cheapest ways to travel long distances. So why don't tourists travel like this so often? A few reasons. One, the minibus will wait as long as necessary to fill up--we got to the minibus stand at 7:30 AM to find the right minibus and waited about three hours before we left. Two, “full” means different things to different people, so that a sixteen person vehicle might end up holding thirty-two people, chickens, goats, etc (based on a true story). Third, if you aren't careful, you can be left at a border or have your bag stolen. Fortunately, there were no chickens, my bags were not jacked, and the only thing I lost was feeling below my waist.
Our time in Mozambique, was nice, but radically, radically different from South Africa. For one, noone speaks English. The immigration guys at the border thought I was giving them fake money because one of my ten dollar bills looked different than the other—I'm not sure that any of them knew what American money looked like. We spent two full days at Tofo Beach, which Michelle aptly described as a “small beach outside of a small village outside of a small town about 8 hours from Maputo”. It's a pretty popular destination for partygoers, divers, and tourists of all types, but it is still so small that we had to take a bus for about forty minutes (to the small town of Inhamabane) to withdraw money from an ATM. Michelle and I mostly just ate awesome seafood and bought some really cool stuff at the markets. We didn't get to spend a tremendous amount of time in Maputo, which I've heard is a nice city to explore, but we did manage to come across the inconvenient and even the absurd. As far as inconvenience, we were stopped by cops, asked for our passports, and hit up for money. After messing with their horrible English for a bit, I decided that my life and passport was more important than this amusement. As far as the absurd, we sat next to a table of two at one restaurant that was subsequently turned upside down because a woman found her husband drinking with a younger woman. Perhaps I'll make it back to Maputo for some Mozambican jazz, but I'm glad I at least got to see some in Cape Town.
After a fairly taxing journey involving three eight-hour bus rides, a plane ride, one free hike, and one stressful taxi ride (through Jo-berg at 4 am), I'm back for the last leg of my trip, three weeks with my sister at her village in Namibia.. I am loving it, but it’s a different experience. More on this later.
Btw, I take Dean R. and Le-anh's posts about propriety of posts to heart, but I hope people continue posting in small portions or just send private email updates (like the good old days). It's nice to read up on everyone, even you working folk.
Amar
P.S. Reading List update: Currently reading Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. I read Divisadero quite slowly, and found it somewhere between depressing and beautiful. Definitely worth reading.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Solitary Travels
I just walked in the door to my house a few minutes ago, and damn, it feels good to be a gangsta. Uh, I mean, it feels good to be home. Haha, I'm sorry, that was awful. We'll see how long I last today until jet lag comes crashing on, but here's a post that I wrote up while bumming around London earlier today (though it really feels like that was yesterday). I was in Zambia less than 36 hours ago, and I've been in 4 countries since then - I think I've had my fill of flying for a while!
--------------------
I know I just posted (via Le-Anh), but I'm sitting here in Heathrow with nothing to do but kill time, and what better way to do that than write a new post!
No overarching trip post yet - far too much has happened, so I'll need a little time to organize my thoughts on that. Mostly, I wanted to write a bit about my experiences traveling alone. If you were previously unaware, I spent the last 3 or 4 days in Africa traveling on my own, since Amar was due back in Namibia for a Fourth of July party. Coming into the trip, I had no intention of wandering Africa on my own - in fact, I didn't really want to do it until it happened. But, the alternatives were to follow Amar to Namibia (a long, difficult trip) or stay by myself in Jo'burg (where I likely would have been mugged), so I somehow found myself on a plane to Zambia.
Let me first say that I have traveled on my own before - but never in an unfamiliar continent, and never just for pleasure. People don't tend to take solitary vacations, and a young, foreign woman wandering around Africa alone is especially unusual. I had several people comment on what a "cool" and "phenomenal" thing they thought I was doing, and in retrospect, I have to agree. Even now, I have to think "I can't believe I did that!"
The most striking thing about it is that when you travel on your own, there's no one else there to share the experience with you. The impressions and memories of places and sights are completely your own. Sometimes, I would walk down the street and feel my nerves charged at that thought - or maybe that was just adrenaline from thinking about the possibility of being mugged. But sleeping alone in a tent in Botswana, hearing the howling hyenas and thinking that you're hundreds or thousands of miles away from a single soul you know - some people would call that scary. I would too, if I hadn't felt it myself.
I saw some of the most amazing things while on my own - Victoria Falls, The Boiling Pot (every word of Amar's description is true), and nearly every wild animal imaginable. Sometimes I just had to stop and laugh at it all. Crossing the Knife's Edge bridge at the Falls, wearing a raincoat and still getting soaked from the mist, seeing unbroken circles of rainbows all around - how could I not laugh out loud at that? It would have been just as beautiful if others had been with me, but my senses were so heightened from being alone that I couldn't stop smiling.
I'm sure that this won't compel any of you to take vacations on your own, but if you're ever faced with the possibility, just take a deep breath and do it. Especially you, ladies.
Okay, back to waiting around in the airport - I've become especially good at this. On this trip alone, I've flown 7 times (8th time coming up), been in 6 countries (excluding the U.S.), and waited countless hours at bus stops and airports. That last part is one that I won't miss!
P.S. I'll actually be back on Monday afternoon - I plan on contacting you all immediately to hang out! If the thought of seeing me again isn't enough to tempt you, I come bearing bribes - I mean presents.
--------------------
Addendum: I just wanted to pause and thank Amar for being such an awesome trip buddy! I essentially relinquished all planning control to him (you all know how difficult that can be for me), and he did a wonderful job. So Amar, don't be put off that I enjoyed my time alone - traveling with you was so much fun! Also, I think the fact that we saw each other 24/7 for two weeks and managed not to kill each other is fantastic. However, I'm sorry that I can't walk in a straight line, and I'm sorry that I overreact to non-crises. =)
Sunday, July 6, 2008
One Fine Day
Just a few sentences from me before I give you another Africa post from Michelle! I'm about to start my 4th week of work, which is still kind of unbelievable. I've been enjoying it for the most part, and I really like almost all of the people I work with. I have some entertaining stories I wish I could share with you all, but I hesitate to do so in such a public place because they involve specific individuals (ask me some other time and I'd be happy to tell); I also can't talk in much detail about the nature of my cases. However, I will say that I went for 2 weeks and 2 days without wearing the same pair of shoes to work, and due to the wonder of billable hours, I now think about my life in 6 minute increments.
Ok, on to Africa. PS formatting this from gmail took foreeeever, so I hope you all enjoy.
-----
Hello friends!
I've been woefully remiss in updating you on my Africa adventures - I actually wrote this update twice a few days ago, but my BB deleted it both times as I tried to send. Since then, I've been in Zambia and Botswana with no internet access - no data signal up there, and the power went out both nights that I was in Zambia. So Amar, if you're reading, I meant to text you when I arrived, but I couldn't! I'm alive though, sitting in the JoBurg airport and gnawing on some biltong.
So the strategy that Amar and I had decided on for our posts is that he would give broad strokes, while I would provide the detail. My trip is nearly over now, and I'll do more when I have a proper keyboard, but I just wanted to tell you all about one fantastic day we had.
After Cape Town, we flew to Durban, then decided to travel south to the Wild Coast - specifically, Coffee Bay. It's a beautiful, undeveloped stretch of coastline along the Indian Ocean. We decided that it would be the perfect place to learn how to surf. We woke up at 8, met our dreadlocked instructor Rayno, and headed to the waves. After what seemed like 2 minutes of instructions, Rayno tossed us out to sea. Amid many belly flops and nose dives, we each managed to stand up a few times - it was exhilarating when we did. Exhausting too!
Afterwards, we headed back to the hostel and met up with a group to hike to the Hole in the Wall. It's only 9km, but going up, down, and around hills that plunge into the sea stretched the hike to 4 hours. We saw whales and dolphins breaching, rock hyraxes, waterfalls, cows, pebbled beaches, and a handful of local children fishing.
I'd like to digress briefly to mention our tour guide, Joseph. Joseph was born and bred in Coffee Bay, and was awesome for the following reasons: 1) he did the hike barefoot, 2) he was funny and gregarious, and 3) he had the best repertoire of signature sayings ever! Every speech was precluded with a booming "GOOD PEOPLE!" and concluded with a satisfied "sweet!" (pronounced "sa-WEET!"). However, his (and our) favorite by far was "GET IN THERE!" It's a versatile phrase, used for such purposes as encouraging soccer players to score, telling people to drink, and shouting at kids to get out of the way of an oncoming car (modified to "GET OUT THERE!").
We finally made it to the Hole in the Wall, where we devoured grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches toasted over a fire. The hole itself is a hole (duh) that runs through a mountain that juts out of the water just off the coast. Wow, most poorly constructed sentence ever. Anyway, the waves come crashing through and are amplified - it's really a wondrous sight. After a bit, Amar, Abhay, and I decided that we had to do the jump - hardly anyone else in our group dared. We swam out, climbed up on a rock ledge at the top of the hole, and at Joseph's signal ("GET IN THERE!"), leapt out and plunged the 3 or 4 meters into the sea. I was terrified, but so glad that I did it.
At night, we visited the local village's headman. The Xhosa people of the area live in round green huts with thatched grass roofs, and his was the largest. Kids met us on the road and chatted with us as we walked, and we all settled in for an evening of food and dancing. Amar and Abhay sat on chairs, but I had to sit on the floor because I'm a woman (I endured some ribbing for this - more discussion at a later time). Girls performed traditional dances while other children sang and clapped. We ate samp and beans, mealie pap (for those of you who have been to The Shebeen, it's not quite cheesy grits), and soup with cabbage. We washed it all down with shared buckets of maize beer – it was called something like ung(click)oboti. There are so many different clicks, and Westerners can't really hear the difference, but I'm proud to say that I attempted to repeat the word while in Botswana and I was understood! Woo.
It was a fun evening - one of the village dogs came and plopped into my lap, we exchanged questions about culture with the villagers (typical dowry is 10 heads of cattle), and at Joseph's urging ("GET IN THERE! SHAKE THAT BODY!"), joined the villagers in dancing. Later, when we had left, the three of us went stargazing and marveled at the shooting stars and the unfamiliar southern sky.
Whew! Third time's the charm, hopefully this goes through. I have many, many more things to tell you all, but hopefully this will tide you over until I get home to a proper keyboard (typing a long email on a BB is hard enough, but I also haven't been able to cut my nails in nearly 3 weeks!). I'd love to see you all when I get home on Tuesday!
P.S. I met a TJ girl in Cape Town and a UVA kid in Zambia. Small world!
Whew! Third time's the charm, hopefully this goes through. I have many, many more things to tell you all, but hopefully this will tide you over until I get home to a proper keyboard (typing a long email on a BB is hard enough, but I also haven't been able to cut my nails in nearly 3 weeks!). I'd love to see you all when I get home on Tuesday!
P.S. I met a TJ girl in Cape Town and a UVA kid in Zambia. Small world!
Life/Caseload: It Has Come To My Attention
It has come to my attention that this website shows up when you google my name. As such, my lower posts have been redacted. And I will be far more careful with what goes on here from now on.
-M.
-M.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Lifeload: Smokers Need Not Apply
I'm in relationship-heat, and it's a mentality that sets in every summer. A feeling that gets worse and worse every year because damnit I'm 22 and I'm ready to settle down and birth some babies. Or something like that.
I had quintessentially the worst date in the history of dates. Ever. Suffice it to say that the boy smoked, wore jorts to the date, was tripping on LSD as we ate, and ordered "the soup of the day...don't tell me what it is, though, I want it to be a surprise." Meanwhile, I spent most of the dinner trying to slit my wrist with a spoon under the table just to escape.
[Redacted]? Which perhaps raises the more interesting question that many of us will have to deal with post-school.
How do you meet anyone after college these days?
-M.
I had quintessentially the worst date in the history of dates. Ever. Suffice it to say that the boy smoked, wore jorts to the date, was tripping on LSD as we ate, and ordered "the soup of the day...don't tell me what it is, though, I want it to be a surprise." Meanwhile, I spent most of the dinner trying to slit my wrist with a spoon under the table just to escape.
[Redacted]? Which perhaps raises the more interesting question that many of us will have to deal with post-school.
How do you meet anyone after college these days?
-M.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Made in China(town) (2008)
A week and a half ago I acted for a 72-hour filmmaking competition shot by a friend of mine. (I took part in this kind of thing two years ago and produced this pile of crap.) I think this one is a bit better. The theme is a first goodbye, and there was a special award for best Chinatown. We got disqualified for a single shot because we didn't get signed releases from some people in the background. Kind of lame, but still. It's alright (there are a bunch of editing choices I would have changed, but it's acceptable for having been made in 3 days), so please enjoy.
Edit: It seems the embed is not working. If you would like to see the movie, check it out here. In the future I'll try to get an embeddable version.
Edit: It seems the embed is not working. If you would like to see the movie, check it out here. In the future I'll try to get an embeddable version.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Snaps
So, I have always made fun of our friends in the illustrious Jefferson Society for their "snapping" instead of clapping. It seemed to add so much silly pretentiousness to an organization that, in my opinion, does not suffer from an excess of humility. But, I am having to stick my foot in my mouth a little today, because I have met another group that uses the snaps--the children at my school--and I actually appreciate them. The first is simply practical: there are many times when children want to (and should be allowed to) applaud in class, and snaps are much easier to talk over than clapping. From a managerial standpoint, it's a great system, because it is hard for a classroom to be snapping so much that they get out of my control. :) The second reason is more philosophical: the snaps are a little gentler, and thus seem appropriate more often, as a way to give encouragement rather than just commendation or extreme enthusiasm. So, for instance, the students at our school are taught to snap when a child raises his or her hand to answer a question, but then can't remember or needs time to think. When that awkward pause starts, rather than staring at the poor kid or immediately shooting up their hands to prove that they, unlike their unfortunate classmate, are on their toes, the students snap to offer their friend a reminder that they believe in him or her. It wouldn't be appropriate to applaud in that instance; it would be too much of a reaction. But snaps can be both a means to give praise and also a way to demonstrate confidence in a stammering and stuttering friend, who may (for the moment) have lost all confidence in him or herself.
So this post has two real purposes: 1) to apologize to the members of the illustrious Jefferson Society for my many years of mocking, and 2) to elicit snaps on my own behalf. Why? Because I just got a new job! I am no longer the all-purpose-assistant-teacher who can be called in at any time to teach 8th grade math (or worse, my nightmare, sex ed!) Instead, I have been hired for next year as the 8th grade English teacher--totally a dream come true. It happened last week, and I already have stacks of books to read through and begin planning my curriculum. But at the same point I am terrified and wondering who in the world really thought I was equipped to do this--who called on me? And was I even raising my hand? (In this case, I definitely wasn't, since I didn't apply for this job, but they offered it to me anyways. I think they figure that I may not be the most qualified, but at least I haven't gone crazy in the five weeks I've been working there, and that's a start!) So I need snaps largely of the second variety--snaps of encouragement and confidence that I do not have in myself, but will need in 6 short weeks when a classroom of 8th grade students suddenly is relying on me to teach them how to read, write, and, most importantly, pass the MCAS.
(Also, any suggestions for books that absolutely must--or must not--be read in 8th grade would be welcome! I do not promise to take your suggestions, but I certainly will add it to my lovely summer reading list.)
So this post has two real purposes: 1) to apologize to the members of the illustrious Jefferson Society for my many years of mocking, and 2) to elicit snaps on my own behalf. Why? Because I just got a new job! I am no longer the all-purpose-assistant-teacher who can be called in at any time to teach 8th grade math (or worse, my nightmare, sex ed!) Instead, I have been hired for next year as the 8th grade English teacher--totally a dream come true. It happened last week, and I already have stacks of books to read through and begin planning my curriculum. But at the same point I am terrified and wondering who in the world really thought I was equipped to do this--who called on me? And was I even raising my hand? (In this case, I definitely wasn't, since I didn't apply for this job, but they offered it to me anyways. I think they figure that I may not be the most qualified, but at least I haven't gone crazy in the five weeks I've been working there, and that's a start!) So I need snaps largely of the second variety--snaps of encouragement and confidence that I do not have in myself, but will need in 6 short weeks when a classroom of 8th grade students suddenly is relying on me to teach them how to read, write, and, most importantly, pass the MCAS.
(Also, any suggestions for books that absolutely must--or must not--be read in 8th grade would be welcome! I do not promise to take your suggestions, but I certainly will add it to my lovely summer reading list.)
Saturday, June 28, 2008
INTO AFRICA: CAPE TOWN
I realize that I haven't posted in some time, not that anyone's waiting with baited breath, but I'm back again. I suppose I never intended for my trip to be slave to constant blog posts, and I just caught with travelling and then some stuff back home. That said, I probably write most when I miss people back home. If you get a chance, hit me up and let me know what you're up to!
So let me bring you up to speed (skipping some portions of course). Between June 12 and June 23, I was exploring Cape Town. A few things struck me about city. First, I read somewhere that cape town was the gastronomic capital of South Africa, and I am a complete and total believer. First, my sister and I diverged from a PBJ type diet to go to Aubergine, which was described by the nytimes, lonely planet, and just people in general as one of the best places in town. There was a pre-set menu with two options per course, and we each ordered a different three course meal. And destroyed it. Actually, my favorite part wasn't even a course, it was the inter mezzo (thank you Michelle for this term): a sweet and spicy plum sorbet. Then, there's the seafood. For those of you who read Michelle's post, bar for seafood here is pretty high. We bought some fresh snoek (apparently, this is barracuda?), and Michelle and I bought what would later become a mean Tandoori Kingclip. Third, the wine. About an hour outside of Cape town, in Stellenbosch, is some of the best wine in the South Africa. I went on a wine tour with my sis, and then later took a two-day trip with Michelle that was both stainful and epic. We ate at a place called 96 Winery Road, highlights were the Crocodile Kabobs and ask me for a picture of my Duck and Cherry main course--it was art.
Although I wouldn't say we were party animals, Cape Town definitely has some diverse nightlife. When I was staying for the first few days with my family, I went to a place with my sis called Cafe Ganesh in a suburb outside of town. In one room with the bar, people were watching Euro 2008, in another others were listening to Mozambiquan jazz. Ami and I polished off a bottle of wine and one of the best desserts I've ever tasted in my life (the lemon meringue). I'm not exaggerating, and I dragged Abhay and Michelle back there for a bit the next Saturday to prove it. On Saturday, to commemorate the party's arrival (and by the party, I mean my friend Abhay), we got on some list at a club called Hemisphere through a hostel. The club was on the 31st floor of a skyscraper in Cape Town, and though the view was not as amazing as expected, the music and experience was pretty sick, or "luxury" as one might say. Last call is also 4 am. Nice.
Otherwise, we've just been doing the quintessential Cape Town things. When I think about Cape Town, I have always imagined it as a port city, which it is, but it is also a city nestled in a mountain. The streets are hilly, and the view driving into the city is downright imposing every day. The crazy thing about Table Mountain is that, although it is commercialized and close to the city, even the easiest hike was a tough 2 hours and a lot of people have to take the cable car up. The view at the top was amazing, but the different angles and scenery along the way was equally impressive...definitely worth the sore quads. Michelle, Abhay, and I also rented a car (yes, I was driving again) and took a day trip to Cape Point. Besides the assorted detours involving chasing penguins and jumping around boulders, the Cape of Good Hope was the highlight. I went to a boulder out on the very edge on the rocks, and got hit by a wave of water so tall I honestly thought I was about to get swept into the ocean. Abhay watched the wave hit me as if I was crazy, until he decided to join me and we got soaked again. Michelle and about ten other skeptical onlookers stood farther back, as if preparing to call 911, but I needed to feel the ocean water to be convinced that I was literally at the edge of the earth. Finally, we toured Robben Island, the prison where Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners were kept for decades before the end of Apartheid. The tour was only two hours, but it was compelling. I've read Mandela's autobiography, but 17 years in this place is pretty damn real. For some reason, the hole in the limestone quarry was what stuck out to me the most. It must have been at least 20 meters tall and the size of a football field, and the thought of how many days it would take the political prisoners to chip away a hole that big was humbling.
Okay, well I can't seem to keep these things short, but I can promise that my next post will not be as long. Actually, I can't.
--
Amar Shah
Somewhere in Southern Africa
+27 72 901 9840
So let me bring you up to speed (skipping some portions of course). Between June 12 and June 23, I was exploring Cape Town. A few things struck me about city. First, I read somewhere that cape town was the gastronomic capital of South Africa, and I am a complete and total believer. First, my sister and I diverged from a PBJ type diet to go to Aubergine, which was described by the nytimes, lonely planet, and just people in general as one of the best places in town. There was a pre-set menu with two options per course, and we each ordered a different three course meal. And destroyed it. Actually, my favorite part wasn't even a course, it was the inter mezzo (thank you Michelle for this term): a sweet and spicy plum sorbet. Then, there's the seafood. For those of you who read Michelle's post, bar for seafood here is pretty high. We bought some fresh snoek (apparently, this is barracuda?), and Michelle and I bought what would later become a mean Tandoori Kingclip. Third, the wine. About an hour outside of Cape town, in Stellenbosch, is some of the best wine in the South Africa. I went on a wine tour with my sis, and then later took a two-day trip with Michelle that was both stainful and epic. We ate at a place called 96 Winery Road, highlights were the Crocodile Kabobs and ask me for a picture of my Duck and Cherry main course--it was art.
Although I wouldn't say we were party animals, Cape Town definitely has some diverse nightlife. When I was staying for the first few days with my family, I went to a place with my sis called Cafe Ganesh in a suburb outside of town. In one room with the bar, people were watching Euro 2008, in another others were listening to Mozambiquan jazz. Ami and I polished off a bottle of wine and one of the best desserts I've ever tasted in my life (the lemon meringue). I'm not exaggerating, and I dragged Abhay and Michelle back there for a bit the next Saturday to prove it. On Saturday, to commemorate the party's arrival (and by the party, I mean my friend Abhay), we got on some list at a club called Hemisphere through a hostel. The club was on the 31st floor of a skyscraper in Cape Town, and though the view was not as amazing as expected, the music and experience was pretty sick, or "luxury" as one might say. Last call is also 4 am. Nice.
Otherwise, we've just been doing the quintessential Cape Town things. When I think about Cape Town, I have always imagined it as a port city, which it is, but it is also a city nestled in a mountain. The streets are hilly, and the view driving into the city is downright imposing every day. The crazy thing about Table Mountain is that, although it is commercialized and close to the city, even the easiest hike was a tough 2 hours and a lot of people have to take the cable car up. The view at the top was amazing, but the different angles and scenery along the way was equally impressive...definitely worth the sore quads. Michelle, Abhay, and I also rented a car (yes, I was driving again) and took a day trip to Cape Point. Besides the assorted detours involving chasing penguins and jumping around boulders, the Cape of Good Hope was the highlight. I went to a boulder out on the very edge on the rocks, and got hit by a wave of water so tall I honestly thought I was about to get swept into the ocean. Abhay watched the wave hit me as if I was crazy, until he decided to join me and we got soaked again. Michelle and about ten other skeptical onlookers stood farther back, as if preparing to call 911, but I needed to feel the ocean water to be convinced that I was literally at the edge of the earth. Finally, we toured Robben Island, the prison where Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners were kept for decades before the end of Apartheid. The tour was only two hours, but it was compelling. I've read Mandela's autobiography, but 17 years in this place is pretty damn real. For some reason, the hole in the limestone quarry was what stuck out to me the most. It must have been at least 20 meters tall and the size of a football field, and the thought of how many days it would take the political prisoners to chip away a hole that big was humbling.
Okay, well I can't seem to keep these things short, but I can promise that my next post will not be as long. Actually, I can't.
--
Amar Shah
Somewhere in Southern Africa
+27 72 901 9840
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Venus (2008)
At long last, my first post on this blog. I just finished editing my latest movie today and wanted to share it with you all first. "Venus" combines film, still photography, painting, classical music, and a hint of sculpture to investigate the creation of art and the objectification of its subject matter.
Note: If you want to see it in full HD (!), click on the link below it and full-screen it. Also, check out the production stills here.
Venus from Steven Quinn on Vimeo.
Note: If you want to see it in full HD (!), click on the link below it and full-screen it. Also, check out the production stills here.
Venus from Steven Quinn on Vimeo.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Caseload: I Mean, it was Bound to Happen
So last week, I had a rush project that involved a sort of traditional motion that opposing counsel was making in a non-traditional sort of way. My assignment was to, as fast as humanly possible, round up some cases that spoke to it. I did, kind of, and passed them on to the attorneys less than 24 hours later. E-mail replies were along the lines of "this looks good!"
Shortly thereafter, I was informed that opposing counsel had an Epic Fail, and had filed the motion wrong. They would be resubmitting, but it gave us an extra 2 business days to clean up our response. Now, my research could be more crafted, polished, and refined. So I dug deeper, uncovering the best information I could find. I wrote up a memo, it was beautiful, and I sent it off to the attorneys on Tuesday morning. E-mail replies were even better: "This is EXACTLY what we're looking for! Thanks!"
I was on Cloud. Fucking. Nine. But that was the end of that project and time to move on.
On Friday, the clerk who sits next to me got an assignment to proofread a Reply to a Motion. He looked at it, looked at the paralegal who came in with the draft, and looked at me. "Dean was the one that did the research on it. Dean, do you wanna proof it?" "Sure!" I got really excited, because I would get to see how my research was impacting actual litigation. I mean, isn't that every would-be-lawyers dream?
So I read it. Of course not too much of my stuff was in there, but who cares? It was clearly informative to them, and they were able to use it and springboard into what I thought was a completely brilliant Reply. I made a few grammar edits, handed it back to the paralegal, and got on with my other projects.
[Redacted].
I wanted, and still want, to cry. But I guess it's a learning experience? Right?
-M.
Shortly thereafter, I was informed that opposing counsel had an Epic Fail, and had filed the motion wrong. They would be resubmitting, but it gave us an extra 2 business days to clean up our response. Now, my research could be more crafted, polished, and refined. So I dug deeper, uncovering the best information I could find. I wrote up a memo, it was beautiful, and I sent it off to the attorneys on Tuesday morning. E-mail replies were even better: "This is EXACTLY what we're looking for! Thanks!"
I was on Cloud. Fucking. Nine. But that was the end of that project and time to move on.
On Friday, the clerk who sits next to me got an assignment to proofread a Reply to a Motion. He looked at it, looked at the paralegal who came in with the draft, and looked at me. "Dean was the one that did the research on it. Dean, do you wanna proof it?" "Sure!" I got really excited, because I would get to see how my research was impacting actual litigation. I mean, isn't that every would-be-lawyers dream?
So I read it. Of course not too much of my stuff was in there, but who cares? It was clearly informative to them, and they were able to use it and springboard into what I thought was a completely brilliant Reply. I made a few grammar edits, handed it back to the paralegal, and got on with my other projects.
[Redacted].
I wanted, and still want, to cry. But I guess it's a learning experience? Right?
-M.
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