I try to stay away from anything that I feel might come off as controversial. Mostly because I'm always afraid of upsetting someone for whatever reason. And so I've never written about the topic of drugs before but lately it's been at the forefront of my mind.
You always see those movies or daytime shows that portray the kid gone wrong, doing some sort of drug and always, always, being the outsider. Sometimes it's the outsider no one hangs out with and the one kid the parents want you to stay away from. Sometimes it's the 'cool' outsider that turns out to have a drug problem, making all the other kids realize he's not actually the cool one after all. We've all seen these after-school special type of movies/shows. We all know that real life isn't that black and white.
The reality of it is that the kid doing drugs isn't always the bad kid. My reality of it is that the kid doing drugs isn't the outsider either. More and more, I find that I'm the outsider for not doing drugs because as I'm told time and time again by everyone, everyone does drugs. Now this blog isn't about whether or not that's a good choice or who's better for doing (or not doing) anything. Lots of people say alcohol is a drug and we all know I drink plenty so I can't pass judgement. My boyfriend reminds me of that all the time.
But I keep getting put on the defense for not doing drugs. I'm forced to explain myself time and time again for opting out. And then I realized, I don't have to. I don't ask you why you choose to do drugs, I don't try to understand you, I don't drill you about your choices. There's no reason we need to understand each other. In fact, I don't understand you and you don't understand me. I'm ok with that because I feel that my friendships aren't about that.
I'm just tired of being put on the defensive about my choices. They're not wrong, they're not bad, they're just different. And by asking me what happened to me to make me not want to do drugs you're framing it as though I'm doing something wrong, as though I'm doing the 'outsider' thing.
My friend said she uses her top government job as her excuse so people won't give her grief about it. I told her I wish I had some easy excuse like that so I wouldn't have to explain myself. But I don't. So for the very last time, you want to know why I don't do drugs? Because I don't want to. It's really that simple. Sure, I can give you some story or some theory or some statistic, but when it comes down to it, I just don't want to. It's not because it's illegal (so stop implying that), it's not because of any reason, I just don't want to, the same way you do want to. We don't agree about what kinds of food to eat, what types of movies to watch, what kind of guys to date, and you don't ask me to justify those choices. So stop making me justify this one. Let's just agree to disagree.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
To Do.
1. Put off paper. (check)
2. Write paper.
3. Get sleep. Must stop doing (1) and finish (2) to achieve.
4. Study for final. Must first stop (1), finish (2), and squeeze in (3).
5. Plan vacation to the motherland. Effective way of achieving (1). But instead, I blog.
6. Find new job. Must do (1)-(4) first.
7. Write Career Development Plan by Friday. Or else get locked out of Career Center. Effectively making (6) very hard to do.
8. STOP blogging. Delays (3) even further.
9. Learn how to effectively time manage. But I, judging from (1)-(8), don't have time to learn how to effectively time manage. And therein, my friends, lies my problem...
2. Write paper.
3. Get sleep. Must stop doing (1) and finish (2) to achieve.
4. Study for final. Must first stop (1), finish (2), and squeeze in (3).
5. Plan vacation to the motherland. Effective way of achieving (1). But instead, I blog.
6. Find new job. Must do (1)-(4) first.
7. Write Career Development Plan by Friday. Or else get locked out of Career Center. Effectively making (6) very hard to do.
8. STOP blogging. Delays (3) even further.
9. Learn how to effectively time manage. But I, judging from (1)-(8), don't have time to learn how to effectively time manage. And therein, my friends, lies my problem...
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Family.
This was my first Thanksgiving without my family. I rationalized with myself that somehow the best possible plan for me this year was to stay in DC for the holiday. Reasons for said decision: I had a paper to write, holiday travel is always so hectic- not to mention expensive- and it was only Thanksgiving after all. My family and I- being so small and often dysfunctional- have never been big on holidays. I thought we had very few traditions. Nothing that quite matches my friends family tradition of making (and eating) a birthday cake for Jesus at Christmas. My family has nothing like that.
Or so I thought. I realized this year, that my family has its own traditions. Though they lack the creativity or fanfare of birthday cake, we also did things I now realize I honestly miss. It wasn't until one of my friends pulled out the whipped cream that I remembered my dad- every year on Thanksgiving he would tip our heads back, make us open wide, and fill our mouths with whipped cream. He always 'accidentally' poured too much in and we'd end up with whipped cream all over our faces and in our hair (which btw, leaves a very, very rank smell). Or, though I always fuss and fight with her, my sister is one of those crazy American's obsessed with Black Friday sales and drags me out every year at some ungodly hour to join her on her quest to refresh my nephews wardrobe. Every year she proudly holds up her receipts and boldly announces that she bought 10 new ____ (fill in the blanks) for only ____!! What a steal.
I never want to go with her. Ever. But this year, when she called me at nine am (six am her time) to share with me how lucky she'd been that day, I really missed my family. Well, in all honesty, my first thought was 'is she nuts for calling me so early??', but once I recovered from that, I thought how much I miss her.
No one can replace my small and often dysfunctional and eccentric family. But this year, my first year away from them, it was that much easier to know I had two of my best girlfriends with me. Though they are also eccentric and as I like to say- 'special'- they are also my family.
So this year, to end my Thanksgiving weekend (and admittedly to put off writing my paper some more), I want to thank my family. My sister for insisting on checking up on me. Daily. Sometimes twice daily. Sometimes more. I'm not kidding either. (I love you sissy!) She is also one of few people privy to my ridiculous levels of cheesiness, who sings to me songs from "Annie" when I'm depressed ("the sun will come out... tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow..."). And my girlfriends. Who listen to me talk about my bf at least once an hour. Who understand why I gave it up for so long, why I wear heels all the time, and who put up with the fact that I won't eat fish, Japanese, peanut or coconut based curries or really anything that isn't Mexican, Thai, or Indian.
I have a lot to be thankful for this year... my masters, my crazy bf, my luxury suite of a bedroom... but I would have none of that if it wasn't for my family supporting me through all of it. I know I've said it before, but I really am a lucky girl. And yes, this is cheesy. But we've already established that that's just the way I am. :)
Or so I thought. I realized this year, that my family has its own traditions. Though they lack the creativity or fanfare of birthday cake, we also did things I now realize I honestly miss. It wasn't until one of my friends pulled out the whipped cream that I remembered my dad- every year on Thanksgiving he would tip our heads back, make us open wide, and fill our mouths with whipped cream. He always 'accidentally' poured too much in and we'd end up with whipped cream all over our faces and in our hair (which btw, leaves a very, very rank smell). Or, though I always fuss and fight with her, my sister is one of those crazy American's obsessed with Black Friday sales and drags me out every year at some ungodly hour to join her on her quest to refresh my nephews wardrobe. Every year she proudly holds up her receipts and boldly announces that she bought 10 new ____ (fill in the blanks) for only ____!! What a steal.
I never want to go with her. Ever. But this year, when she called me at nine am (six am her time) to share with me how lucky she'd been that day, I really missed my family. Well, in all honesty, my first thought was 'is she nuts for calling me so early??', but once I recovered from that, I thought how much I miss her.
No one can replace my small and often dysfunctional and eccentric family. But this year, my first year away from them, it was that much easier to know I had two of my best girlfriends with me. Though they are also eccentric and as I like to say- 'special'- they are also my family.
So this year, to end my Thanksgiving weekend (and admittedly to put off writing my paper some more), I want to thank my family. My sister for insisting on checking up on me. Daily. Sometimes twice daily. Sometimes more. I'm not kidding either. (I love you sissy!) She is also one of few people privy to my ridiculous levels of cheesiness, who sings to me songs from "Annie" when I'm depressed ("the sun will come out... tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow..."). And my girlfriends. Who listen to me talk about my bf at least once an hour. Who understand why I gave it up for so long, why I wear heels all the time, and who put up with the fact that I won't eat fish, Japanese, peanut or coconut based curries or really anything that isn't Mexican, Thai, or Indian.
I have a lot to be thankful for this year... my masters, my crazy bf, my luxury suite of a bedroom... but I would have none of that if it wasn't for my family supporting me through all of it. I know I've said it before, but I really am a lucky girl. And yes, this is cheesy. But we've already established that that's just the way I am. :)
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Rejected.
Yesterday I saw a little old blind woman trying to cross the street. She took a precarious step forward. And then another. And another. All the while feeling the street with her walking stick. I callously walked right past her, not even thinking twice about the elderly woman hoping to get across the street before the light said go.
And then, showing that chivalry isn't dead- an older gentlemen, thick with age, gray from life- offers to help her across the street. It was a scene for a Leave it to Beaver episode. Until she brutally rejected him, shook him off his arm, and yelled "get the hell away from me." Perhaps chivalry isn't dead, but I wonder about niceties...
And then, showing that chivalry isn't dead- an older gentlemen, thick with age, gray from life- offers to help her across the street. It was a scene for a Leave it to Beaver episode. Until she brutally rejected him, shook him off his arm, and yelled "get the hell away from me." Perhaps chivalry isn't dead, but I wonder about niceties...
Monday, November 12, 2007
Veterans Day
I've never really stopped to think about Veterans Day all that much. It was always a day that I associated with no school or my sorority's founder's day celebration- which usually tends to coincide with Veteran's Day.
But this year I headed for a tour of the monuments with a few of the boys that were in town. Two of Ryan's friends had never been to the monuments before and so we started with the FDR memorial and worked our way through all the big ones.
It was my first time at the Vietnam memorial and you could tell that the pain of the war hadn't left. The wall was lined with messages of love, hope, and reminiscings. Pictures of lost fathers or missing sons were never ending.
And then I saw the man. He was older- his hair had lost it's color, his cheeks had sunk in a little bit- but you could tell the man was full of energy. He was trying to lift the name of someone from the wall onto the paper he had but couldn't figure out how to do it. So bundled up in his red and black Veteran's jacket, he asked a gentleman for help and he succeeded in inscribing the name for him. The old gentleman thanks him and says that was my best bud. Yup. My best bud. I just wanted to come down and give him a good poke, and he waves his first through the air and gets a sad smile. I just wish he were here so I can give the poke myself.
I'd never stopped to think about what Veteran's Day really meant, but when I heard the man say that, my eyes watered and I finally learned to appreciate the significance of this day. So today, on Veteran's Day, I'd like to say thank you to all the families out there- who gave up their sons, their fathers, their grandfathers- and especially all those who still remember and honor the fallen soldiers.
But this year I headed for a tour of the monuments with a few of the boys that were in town. Two of Ryan's friends had never been to the monuments before and so we started with the FDR memorial and worked our way through all the big ones.
It was my first time at the Vietnam memorial and you could tell that the pain of the war hadn't left. The wall was lined with messages of love, hope, and reminiscings. Pictures of lost fathers or missing sons were never ending.
And then I saw the man. He was older- his hair had lost it's color, his cheeks had sunk in a little bit- but you could tell the man was full of energy. He was trying to lift the name of someone from the wall onto the paper he had but couldn't figure out how to do it. So bundled up in his red and black Veteran's jacket, he asked a gentleman for help and he succeeded in inscribing the name for him. The old gentleman thanks him and says that was my best bud. Yup. My best bud. I just wanted to come down and give him a good poke, and he waves his first through the air and gets a sad smile. I just wish he were here so I can give the poke myself.
I'd never stopped to think about what Veteran's Day really meant, but when I heard the man say that, my eyes watered and I finally learned to appreciate the significance of this day. So today, on Veteran's Day, I'd like to say thank you to all the families out there- who gave up their sons, their fathers, their grandfathers- and especially all those who still remember and honor the fallen soldiers.
Friday, November 2, 2007
This is Graduate School.
I'm come to the conclusion that some people don't realize what grad school is about. Or that it's time to at least pretend to be grown up even if you're not really there yet.
To illustrate my point, I'll tell you about my one class. To protect the anonymity of my classmates, I'll change all their names and identifying marks- though come to think about it, I don't even know HER name.
We have a class taught by two professors who alternate turns. We understand they're busy women- they both work for an awesome ngo based in DC- and that the subject matter at hand is difficult to teach (it's an application course, not theory). All of this combined somehow seems to fuel the fury of unnamed girl in my class. We'll call her Ms. Complainer- Ms. C. for short. Every week, she has some snide remark or rude question for the professors, all in this unbelievably disrespectful tone. This week, she managed to say something that didn't sound like that at all. I turned to my classmate and said to her, wow, she's making progress. And then the end of class comes. And there she goes. Her general complains are you didn't explain that thoroughly and where am I supposed to find that?
Let me explain this to you- and the ppl in my poly sci class- and while we're at it- my econ class. This, Ms. C., is graduate school. The professor already went out of her way to post the assignment, explain it, put a sample completed assignment online, and then give us a power point presentation on pointers on things we should be careful of later. What more could you possibly want? To the people in my econ class that wanted to change the midterm because they couldn't make it- this is graduate school. If the professor says your midterm is next week on Tuesday, during class time, you show up next Tuesday, during class time. Don't try to inconvenience me because you have another exam that day. This is grad school. Suck it up. How did you ever make it through undergrad? And poly sci people- the professor sucks, you say? Have you never had a professor that you didn't like? That's awesome, if so. What undergrad did you go to? So I can avoid sending my kids there. I'd hate for them to turn out as whiny as you did. Was it really necessary to spend an hour talking about the finer points of why you didn't like a professor that already quit?
Just wait til you're in the real world and your boss is a moron and there's nothing you can do about it. Or your boss says do this by four and you have no idea what she's talking about but you said, sure, no problem and somehow get it done by four. Three if you're awesome. This, fellow classmates, is graduate school. As John Mayer's song goes, Welcome to the real world. And yes, I did say that condescendingly.
To illustrate my point, I'll tell you about my one class. To protect the anonymity of my classmates, I'll change all their names and identifying marks- though come to think about it, I don't even know HER name.
We have a class taught by two professors who alternate turns. We understand they're busy women- they both work for an awesome ngo based in DC- and that the subject matter at hand is difficult to teach (it's an application course, not theory). All of this combined somehow seems to fuel the fury of unnamed girl in my class. We'll call her Ms. Complainer- Ms. C. for short. Every week, she has some snide remark or rude question for the professors, all in this unbelievably disrespectful tone. This week, she managed to say something that didn't sound like that at all. I turned to my classmate and said to her, wow, she's making progress. And then the end of class comes. And there she goes. Her general complains are you didn't explain that thoroughly and where am I supposed to find that?
Let me explain this to you- and the ppl in my poly sci class- and while we're at it- my econ class. This, Ms. C., is graduate school. The professor already went out of her way to post the assignment, explain it, put a sample completed assignment online, and then give us a power point presentation on pointers on things we should be careful of later. What more could you possibly want? To the people in my econ class that wanted to change the midterm because they couldn't make it- this is graduate school. If the professor says your midterm is next week on Tuesday, during class time, you show up next Tuesday, during class time. Don't try to inconvenience me because you have another exam that day. This is grad school. Suck it up. How did you ever make it through undergrad? And poly sci people- the professor sucks, you say? Have you never had a professor that you didn't like? That's awesome, if so. What undergrad did you go to? So I can avoid sending my kids there. I'd hate for them to turn out as whiny as you did. Was it really necessary to spend an hour talking about the finer points of why you didn't like a professor that already quit?
Just wait til you're in the real world and your boss is a moron and there's nothing you can do about it. Or your boss says do this by four and you have no idea what she's talking about but you said, sure, no problem and somehow get it done by four. Three if you're awesome. This, fellow classmates, is graduate school. As John Mayer's song goes, Welcome to the real world. And yes, I did say that condescendingly.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Youth Forum on Global Poverty
Today I ditched work and volunteered my time as a facilitator for the World Affairs Council Youth Forum on Global Poverty. Two hundred high school youth came to learn more why poverty exists, what are contributing factors, and what they can do to help. One of the speakers began her speech with a short anectdote:
A grandfather is watching his young grandson, who is currently bored and anxious. To entertain him for a bit, the grandfather takes a picture of the world in a newspaper, tears it into pieces and tells him to put it together and bring it back to him when he's done. The boy runs off with his puzzle and comes right back. The grandfather asks, "That was supposed to keep you busy for a while. How'd you finish so fast?" The little boy answered that there was a picture of a man on the other side, so when the man was put back together, he knew the world was in order.
The moral of the story, in case you missed it, was that this little boy had stumbled upon the secret to eliminating global poverty- you put a person back together- you give them an education, health, and a mean of existence- and the world will fall in to place. Yes, this is easier said than done. This blog isn't to tell you how all this can happen. This blog is to say how amazed I was by some of the youth.
One girl presenting raised over $100k after the tsunami hit SE Asia to rebuild 10 fishing villages- it only took $11k to rebuild each one. She then went to SE Asian to see her efforts at work. Some of the villages were not fixable, and so the money was redirected to more useful things. She did this at 16. What had you done by 16? By 20? By 25?
Some of the kids in my group were forced to come to this day-long forum. But others were in groups such as Youth Making a Difference or the Poverty Awareness Club (exact name escapes me at the mo'). I wasn't learning these things when I was younger and I have to admit that as cheesy as this sounds, it brought some hope to me to hear that so many young people are- if nothing else- aware of what's going on this world. They were appalled that so many people live on $1 a day; you should have seen the looks on their faces when I told them childhood mortality was 9 million annually; and you could hear the gasps in the crowd as one boy read off a statistic that Europe spends as much money in ICE CREAM annually as some governments spend the whole year.
I'm sure some kids didn't care. But others were ready to sign up for the peace corp or GCC or any other organization that would take them as volunteers. I don't expect any of you to do the same after reading my short recap blog, but I hope that hearing of such a successful 16 year old, you're inspired to make some sort of difference. Even if it's in the life of just one person. If a sixteen year old can do it, there's no reason we can't.
(And in case you're interested, here's a starting place... http://www.nothingbutnets.net/)
A grandfather is watching his young grandson, who is currently bored and anxious. To entertain him for a bit, the grandfather takes a picture of the world in a newspaper, tears it into pieces and tells him to put it together and bring it back to him when he's done. The boy runs off with his puzzle and comes right back. The grandfather asks, "That was supposed to keep you busy for a while. How'd you finish so fast?" The little boy answered that there was a picture of a man on the other side, so when the man was put back together, he knew the world was in order.
The moral of the story, in case you missed it, was that this little boy had stumbled upon the secret to eliminating global poverty- you put a person back together- you give them an education, health, and a mean of existence- and the world will fall in to place. Yes, this is easier said than done. This blog isn't to tell you how all this can happen. This blog is to say how amazed I was by some of the youth.
One girl presenting raised over $100k after the tsunami hit SE Asia to rebuild 10 fishing villages- it only took $11k to rebuild each one. She then went to SE Asian to see her efforts at work. Some of the villages were not fixable, and so the money was redirected to more useful things. She did this at 16. What had you done by 16? By 20? By 25?
Some of the kids in my group were forced to come to this day-long forum. But others were in groups such as Youth Making a Difference or the Poverty Awareness Club (exact name escapes me at the mo'). I wasn't learning these things when I was younger and I have to admit that as cheesy as this sounds, it brought some hope to me to hear that so many young people are- if nothing else- aware of what's going on this world. They were appalled that so many people live on $1 a day; you should have seen the looks on their faces when I told them childhood mortality was 9 million annually; and you could hear the gasps in the crowd as one boy read off a statistic that Europe spends as much money in ICE CREAM annually as some governments spend the whole year.
I'm sure some kids didn't care. But others were ready to sign up for the peace corp or GCC or any other organization that would take them as volunteers. I don't expect any of you to do the same after reading my short recap blog, but I hope that hearing of such a successful 16 year old, you're inspired to make some sort of difference. Even if it's in the life of just one person. If a sixteen year old can do it, there's no reason we can't.
(And in case you're interested, here's a starting place... http://www.nothingbutnets.net/)
Monday, October 29, 2007
A Week of Very Few Lows
After two months of being less-than-fun, I had a week filled with lots of highs.
High Number 1: Signed up for salsa lessons again. Loaded up on Suzie Q's (they do exist!) and cross-body leads. I hope to one day debut on So You Think You Can Dance. And not in the "special" section where they make fun of everyone.
High Number 2: Finished Midterm #1 successfully. It's also my only midterm so with one two-hour test, I started and finished my midterm season.
High Number 3: Pumpkin Carving! I can't remember the last time I carved pumpkins. Thanks for organizing girls- I felt like a kid again.
High Number 4: Spending an entire weekend with three people I love- my favorite L-y, Kiri, and Red. I needed a serious dose of all three.
High Number 5: Getting VIP treament at the club Saturday night in NYC. We said we're with Lyndsey's party and got treated like royalty in the door. We'd like to think they thought we were with Lindsay Lohan because even though we know we're awesome, we're not THAT awesome. :)
High Number 6: Being less than a week away from seeing my boyfriend, after two long months. Long distance sucks, but it's worth it when you find the right person- and who could be more awesome than someone you've known for so many years?
Not-so-bright moment of the week: going nuts for hours thinking I lost my cell phone. Staying at the club til closing (4am in NYC) trying to find my phone, only to give up, grab my coat, walk out the door, and realize it was in my coat pocket the ENTIRE time. Yes, I did feel like a complete idiot.
And some pictures...
We found a boy scout! Apparently that's his REAL boy scout outfit from when he was younger. Woah.
Red (Ricky Bobby) is one of the most awesome men in my life, I can't believe we've been friends for so long!
High Number 1: Signed up for salsa lessons again. Loaded up on Suzie Q's (they do exist!) and cross-body leads. I hope to one day debut on So You Think You Can Dance. And not in the "special" section where they make fun of everyone.
High Number 2: Finished Midterm #1 successfully. It's also my only midterm so with one two-hour test, I started and finished my midterm season.
High Number 3: Pumpkin Carving! I can't remember the last time I carved pumpkins. Thanks for organizing girls- I felt like a kid again.
High Number 4: Spending an entire weekend with three people I love- my favorite L-y, Kiri, and Red. I needed a serious dose of all three.
High Number 5: Getting VIP treament at the club Saturday night in NYC. We said we're with Lyndsey's party and got treated like royalty in the door. We'd like to think they thought we were with Lindsay Lohan because even though we know we're awesome, we're not THAT awesome. :)
High Number 6: Being less than a week away from seeing my boyfriend, after two long months. Long distance sucks, but it's worth it when you find the right person- and who could be more awesome than someone you've known for so many years?
Not-so-bright moment of the week: going nuts for hours thinking I lost my cell phone. Staying at the club til closing (4am in NYC) trying to find my phone, only to give up, grab my coat, walk out the door, and realize it was in my coat pocket the ENTIRE time. Yes, I did feel like a complete idiot.
And some pictures...
We found a boy scout! Apparently that's his REAL boy scout outfit from when he was younger. Woah.
Red (Ricky Bobby) is one of the most awesome men in my life, I can't believe we've been friends for so long!
Thursday, October 18, 2007
I Hate This Pace
I walked into the restroom on campus and glanced at the wall to read "I Hate This Pace." I thought, how profound for something on a bathroom wall. Then I realized my eyes- which I swear are giving up on me- had tricked me and it read "I Hate This Place." Much more fitting for a university restroom, don't you think?
But as I was walking to the bus, the only thing running through my mind was "I hate this pace." I think life has sort of hit me at that pace. I spend my days running to work, only to dash off to class, and then to a group meeting, to study, or to sleep. Do I hate this pace? Or is this just the pace life happens at? I think this is just the pace I've chosen and I can't say I say I mind. I'm where I want to be, doing what I want to be doing. Finally. Just one question though- when's it going to be over? :)
But as I was walking to the bus, the only thing running through my mind was "I hate this pace." I think life has sort of hit me at that pace. I spend my days running to work, only to dash off to class, and then to a group meeting, to study, or to sleep. Do I hate this pace? Or is this just the pace life happens at? I think this is just the pace I've chosen and I can't say I say I mind. I'm where I want to be, doing what I want to be doing. Finally. Just one question though- when's it going to be over? :)
Week in Review
Inspired by L-y.
This week's highs.
- Sleeping over nine, much needed hours. Minor welcomed disruption by a late night phone call.
-Hearing that my bf is only one time-zone away.
- New neighborhood bar opens less than a block from my house. Boasts to have $2 woo-woo shots and to be the type of bar 'where everybody knows your name'.
- The arrival of my TiVo. Now I'll never miss another episode of Grey's/Tila Tequila/Making the Band. :)
- Crawling out of last place in my fantasy celeb league thanks to Katie Holmes/Kim Kardashian/and Heidi and Spencer.
The lows.
- Hearing that my bf is still a time zone away.
- Getting hung up on by UPS, after THEY lost my stuff.
- Having my professor announce she's quitting halfway through the semester, and wants to cram the other half of the semester by stretching our 7-9 class to 7-10:30. Yes, this is P.M.
The light at the end of the tunnel:
- Going to Dewey Beach with the girls.
- Counting down to the state qualifier beirut tournament. (some things never change, right?)
- Out of town guests in T-3 weeks...
This week's highs.
- Sleeping over nine, much needed hours. Minor welcomed disruption by a late night phone call.
-Hearing that my bf is only one time-zone away.
- New neighborhood bar opens less than a block from my house. Boasts to have $2 woo-woo shots and to be the type of bar 'where everybody knows your name'.
- The arrival of my TiVo. Now I'll never miss another episode of Grey's/Tila Tequila/Making the Band. :)
- Crawling out of last place in my fantasy celeb league thanks to Katie Holmes/Kim Kardashian/and Heidi and Spencer.
The lows.
- Hearing that my bf is still a time zone away.
- Getting hung up on by UPS, after THEY lost my stuff.
- Having my professor announce she's quitting halfway through the semester, and wants to cram the other half of the semester by stretching our 7-9 class to 7-10:30. Yes, this is P.M.
The light at the end of the tunnel:
- Going to Dewey Beach with the girls.
- Counting down to the state qualifier beirut tournament. (some things never change, right?)
- Out of town guests in T-3 weeks...
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Happiness
A new study finds that American's perceive themselves to be happier than those living in other countries. Because we're so happy, we find ourselves in danger of being more unhappy. Huh?
This actually makes sense. If we're perpetually happy, it is more likely that some minor 'bad' incident will impact us more than if we were usually just kind of happy or already a generally unhappy person. This would explain all those high/low people we know. I'm sure you know which ones I'm talking about- the ones that are constantly either really happy or really sad- the dramatic ones. I'm sure we all know a few of those.
This might also explain why, even though Americans are much happier with their lives, I hear random people yelling all around me..
On the metro: (strange lady waiting to get on) Can ya'll hurry the f*** up and get out?
At work: (woman sitting at her desk talking to no one) Did you really have to f***ing send that to the whole firm?
I always thought it was because these people had anger issues or were just simply rude, but it turns out, they must just be really happy people. Who would have thought?
This actually makes sense. If we're perpetually happy, it is more likely that some minor 'bad' incident will impact us more than if we were usually just kind of happy or already a generally unhappy person. This would explain all those high/low people we know. I'm sure you know which ones I'm talking about- the ones that are constantly either really happy or really sad- the dramatic ones. I'm sure we all know a few of those.
This might also explain why, even though Americans are much happier with their lives, I hear random people yelling all around me..
On the metro: (strange lady waiting to get on) Can ya'll hurry the f*** up and get out?
At work: (woman sitting at her desk talking to no one) Did you really have to f***ing send that to the whole firm?
I always thought it was because these people had anger issues or were just simply rude, but it turns out, they must just be really happy people. Who would have thought?
Sunday, October 14, 2007
The future of language...
One has to wonder if language will one day be homogenous, if we will all speak one poorly put together language instead of the hundred+ languages spoken across the world today. Perhaps I'm exaggerating my thoughts, but one has to wonder.
I remember sitting in my italian class, receiving a typical italian lesson, when the subject got to language. We read that there is a big movement in Italy to maintain the purity of the Italian language. They argued that for whatever reason, Italians were becoming lazy and blending their language with English, which is arguably the leading language in pop culture.
And then I saw exactly what the Italian's meant. I've started to read El Tiempo Latino, a local spanish paper, in order to brush up on my spanish. I was reading an article on immigration and the sentence went something like this:
Eso no es la cuestione que necesitamos preguntar.
"Cuestione?" Really? These are educated journalists writing and they used the word "cuestione"?? For those of you that don't know, they're trying to say "question" (see it? cuestione= question... I really hope you see that) but these educated journalists seem to have forgotten that question, in spanish, is "pregunta." I- with my mediocre spanish skills- know that. My mouth fail wide open and I realized that THIS is the problem with languages. I can't understand why people are taking english words and somehow making them fit into their language when direct translations for some of these words already exist.
Which brings me to my original cuestione- are distinct languages a thing of the past? I mean sure, there's little to no resemblence between english and say, russian, but who's to say that english won't slowly creep into russian dialects? Is it only a matter of time before we all speak one garbled language? I guess that is something that only time will answer.
In the meantime, get it right- the word is pregunta. Not cuestione.
I remember sitting in my italian class, receiving a typical italian lesson, when the subject got to language. We read that there is a big movement in Italy to maintain the purity of the Italian language. They argued that for whatever reason, Italians were becoming lazy and blending their language with English, which is arguably the leading language in pop culture.
And then I saw exactly what the Italian's meant. I've started to read El Tiempo Latino, a local spanish paper, in order to brush up on my spanish. I was reading an article on immigration and the sentence went something like this:
Eso no es la cuestione que necesitamos preguntar.
"Cuestione?" Really? These are educated journalists writing and they used the word "cuestione"?? For those of you that don't know, they're trying to say "question" (see it? cuestione= question... I really hope you see that) but these educated journalists seem to have forgotten that question, in spanish, is "pregunta." I- with my mediocre spanish skills- know that. My mouth fail wide open and I realized that THIS is the problem with languages. I can't understand why people are taking english words and somehow making them fit into their language when direct translations for some of these words already exist.
Which brings me to my original cuestione- are distinct languages a thing of the past? I mean sure, there's little to no resemblence between english and say, russian, but who's to say that english won't slowly creep into russian dialects? Is it only a matter of time before we all speak one garbled language? I guess that is something that only time will answer.
In the meantime, get it right- the word is pregunta. Not cuestione.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
From a migrant worker...
"If somebody asks me what i do for a living, I say, "I'm a fruit tramp." to me, fruit tramp is not an insult. I'm proud of what I do. I pick fruit. I migrate. Once, I cut out an article that listed two hundered and fifty jobs, from the most prestigious to the least prestigious. The last job, number two hundred and fifty, was migrant worker. Bottom of the list. It actually made me feel good. I chose this lifestyle and I like it. Look at what a lot of other people do- advertising and shit like that. What does that do for the world? At least I'm helping to feed somebody. I mean, it might not be much, but I'm not destroying anything. A lot of stuff I see just seems mindless to me. Just think of the jobs people have- "I'm a public relations officer"; "I'm a consultant"- what do they do? Mostly nothing.
I do physical labor. It's honest. I'm not especially proud, but I work hard. I make an honest living. I don't know what farmwork is about to everybody else, but to me it's good hard work. You know, we're all different. Everybody's an individual...
I couldn't handle a year-round job with maybe three weeks' vacation a year. I like to move around, to live day to day. That's the way I've always lived. That's the only way I know. To me, farmwork is about freedom."
Friday, October 5, 2007
Children's Health Insurance Program
Bush has struck again. I try not to take issue with G Dub, mostly because it's simple to make a blanket statement on the topic: He doesn't know what he's doing. That's one possibility. Another one: he's a liar. My personal favorite: George Bush does not like black people. Ok, that's not what I was really going to say but who can resist quoting Kanye West's outlandish comments.
But this time Bush made a decision that is a blow to one of the most innocent and in-need groups: children. Too little to vote for or against the Administration, too young to cause havoc, too quiet to be listened to, children's needs are easily ignored unless someone fights for them. In this case, the fighter took up the sword in the form of a bipartisan senate group. Miraculously, the group that cannot agree on budgets, wars, taxes, or immigration, agreed to support the State Children's Health Insurance Program, a program that would provide an estimated 4 million children in America with insurance. Despite Republican and Democratic support, despite public support, President Bush vetoed this bill.
This came to no one's surprise since he announced he would veto the bill. He reasons are laughable and clearly mistaken. I won't sit here and outline them for you- the Washington Post does an excellent job of debunking his reasons one at a time (see link below). It's a tragically sad display of what the administration has become. We have a president that believes only his truths with a complete disregard for who it affects. Politically, this will be more fuel to the fire that's bringing down Republicans. But looking at the larger picture, that is irrelevant. What matters the most is that thanks to G Dub, 4 million children will continue to live in America without health care. Thanks Mr. President.
A Long-Winded Eulogy to Everything UPS Lost
For those of you who have been lucky enough to avoid my rants lately, UPS managed to lose a lot of my belongings somewhere between San Francisco and DC. At the suggestion of my roommate, I will be calling UPS daily to let them know this is unacceptable, but in the meantime, I need to properly mourn my loses. So here is my eulogy to all the crap- I mean treasures- I lost thanks to UPS.
To my guitar, George. So, I never learned how to properly play you. Or tune you for that matter. Everything I tried to play on you sounded merely like painful cacophony, but let's keep it real- I loved you. I don't know where you are, but who else will love you like I did? Talking to you daily, apologizing for not playing you? No one, that's who.
My dear, dear brand new tennis racket. You and I never actually made it to the court. In fact, truth be told, I don't even know how to play tennis. But you were next on my list of things to do- after learning the guitar and running another marathon. I'm sorry we never got to know each other. I hope someone out there is putting you to great use.
While we're on the topic of brand new, unused possessions... I'm sorry, rice cooker, that we will never come together to make awesome steamed rice or Columbian rice (as Sebass & Lisa taught me). I appreciate that my perfect friend Caroline was trying to look out for me in my post-Caroline cooking days, but now I will never know what it's like to make fresh rice in my very own rice cooker. I even bought this HUGE bag of jasmin rice in anticipation of your arrival. Now, it may never see the shiny top of my brand new plates (brand new b/c UPS broke my first set... see a pattern?)
Leaving the new, unused portion of my eulogy... I'd like to say a very sentimental good-bye to all my evening gowns. To my beautiful crimson dress I wore as maid of honor at my best friends wedding- thank you for making me a lucky woman that night. My awesomely pink prom dress that miraculously still fits- I felt like such a princess in that dress. And what girl doesn't want to feel like a princess every now and then? Honorable mentions go to my long, silver gown, my red dress that got me through many date parties, and my Hawaiian luau dress that I don't even know why I've kept for this many years.
I'd also like to thank UPS for losing all my winter clothes. I might need those living in DC. My new tall boots, my long black coat, all of my neck-warming scarfs, and my paperboy hat that I debated for two months whether or not I could pull it off. Thank you for depriving me of my right to warmth, UPS.
While we're on the subject, I'd also like to say a brief word or two about my lost camera. I'd like to blame this one on UPS, but unfortunately, I lost it somewhere between Cal beating Oregon and me taking pictures with an inflatable Spider Man at a local bar. Thank you for all the good times, Camera. Without you, I would have little to no recollection of what I did the night before. I would not have the large repertoire of pictures I do with which to bribe all my friends with one day. And without you, my friends and I wouldn't be able to figure out if that guy from the bar really was cute, or if we had just had one too many. I will miss you terribly, but I promise to replace you with another version of yourself. And soon. Because as I mentioned, how else would I remember last nights debauchery?
Though torn apart by my recent losses, I will mourn privately and move forward. In the words of Robert Frost, "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."
RIP guitar/dresses/coats/scarfs/belts/camera, etc.
To my guitar, George. So, I never learned how to properly play you. Or tune you for that matter. Everything I tried to play on you sounded merely like painful cacophony, but let's keep it real- I loved you. I don't know where you are, but who else will love you like I did? Talking to you daily, apologizing for not playing you? No one, that's who.
My dear, dear brand new tennis racket. You and I never actually made it to the court. In fact, truth be told, I don't even know how to play tennis. But you were next on my list of things to do- after learning the guitar and running another marathon. I'm sorry we never got to know each other. I hope someone out there is putting you to great use.
While we're on the topic of brand new, unused possessions... I'm sorry, rice cooker, that we will never come together to make awesome steamed rice or Columbian rice (as Sebass & Lisa taught me). I appreciate that my perfect friend Caroline was trying to look out for me in my post-Caroline cooking days, but now I will never know what it's like to make fresh rice in my very own rice cooker. I even bought this HUGE bag of jasmin rice in anticipation of your arrival. Now, it may never see the shiny top of my brand new plates (brand new b/c UPS broke my first set... see a pattern?)
Leaving the new, unused portion of my eulogy... I'd like to say a very sentimental good-bye to all my evening gowns. To my beautiful crimson dress I wore as maid of honor at my best friends wedding- thank you for making me a lucky woman that night. My awesomely pink prom dress that miraculously still fits- I felt like such a princess in that dress. And what girl doesn't want to feel like a princess every now and then? Honorable mentions go to my long, silver gown, my red dress that got me through many date parties, and my Hawaiian luau dress that I don't even know why I've kept for this many years.
I'd also like to thank UPS for losing all my winter clothes. I might need those living in DC. My new tall boots, my long black coat, all of my neck-warming scarfs, and my paperboy hat that I debated for two months whether or not I could pull it off. Thank you for depriving me of my right to warmth, UPS.
While we're on the subject, I'd also like to say a brief word or two about my lost camera. I'd like to blame this one on UPS, but unfortunately, I lost it somewhere between Cal beating Oregon and me taking pictures with an inflatable Spider Man at a local bar. Thank you for all the good times, Camera. Without you, I would have little to no recollection of what I did the night before. I would not have the large repertoire of pictures I do with which to bribe all my friends with one day. And without you, my friends and I wouldn't be able to figure out if that guy from the bar really was cute, or if we had just had one too many. I will miss you terribly, but I promise to replace you with another version of yourself. And soon. Because as I mentioned, how else would I remember last nights debauchery?
Though torn apart by my recent losses, I will mourn privately and move forward. In the words of Robert Frost, "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."
RIP guitar/dresses/coats/scarfs/belts/camera, etc.
Monday, October 1, 2007
On Being Mexican
I've always struggled with the concept of being Mexican. What makes a person a particular nationality? Is it birth? Location? How well you can cook the food? Perhaps it's how well you relate to the culture. I've never been really sure.
People always ask me where I'm from. I know what they mean. But I don't play along. "I'm from California." No, they say, I mean, originally. I still try to play dumb sometimes. Depending on whether or not I want to explain myself to some stranger who clearly doesn't know me all that well.
What it truly bears down to, is that I don't know how to explain myself. Let's get the technical issues out of the way. I was born in Mexico and lived there until I was 6. Both of my real parents are Mexican. My first language is spanish and I have an affinity for all Mexican food.
But my spanish has since become mediocre and I haven't been back to Mexico since I left. No one in California ever spoke spanish to me, somehow not quite picking up on the fact that I am, indeed, Mexican.
And then oddly enough, I moved to DC and everything changed. I live in a very latino neighborhood and no one speaks english. So even though I try to ask for directions in English, no one understands. I always get in broken english, "you speaka espanish?" I want to respond by saying I speak some imitation of, but instead I say "si" and then floods of information come from the stranger.
I tried explaining to one guy that I've lost a lot of my spanish, but want to get it back. And he said, in spanish, that he doesn't understand because he's trying to lose his spanish. He badly wants to learn how to speak english, so he can finally get by in this country, but everything seems to work against him. He even tried to get an education by enrolling and completing a certificate program only to find that he couldn't get his certificate because he couldn't show proof of residency. I.e. he's an illegal immigrant. So while I'm on my journey to explain myself, he's on his to try to redefine himself.
When I was younger I wanted nothing to do with Mexico. I thought I was the only one, but I had dinner w/ a few people one night, all of us being immigrants, and they all shared how each of them tried to reject their culture and become 'American'. Only they found their way back a lot sooner than I did, or more appropriately, they reconciled their new found American self with their native background. It wasn't until the last few years that I've started to do the same.
I've learned to appreciate who I am, but I still know little about where I come from. In January I will finally visit my home and reacquaint myself with the culture I once rejected. My family continues to warn me, telling me how different it is and how shocked I'll be by some things. But I see this as both an adventure and an opportunity to grow. I look forward to being shocked by everything I see, at least I'm finally experiencing it all. And perhaps I'll walk away from this trip being able to finally explain myself to myself.
People always ask me where I'm from. I know what they mean. But I don't play along. "I'm from California." No, they say, I mean, originally. I still try to play dumb sometimes. Depending on whether or not I want to explain myself to some stranger who clearly doesn't know me all that well.
What it truly bears down to, is that I don't know how to explain myself. Let's get the technical issues out of the way. I was born in Mexico and lived there until I was 6. Both of my real parents are Mexican. My first language is spanish and I have an affinity for all Mexican food.
But my spanish has since become mediocre and I haven't been back to Mexico since I left. No one in California ever spoke spanish to me, somehow not quite picking up on the fact that I am, indeed, Mexican.
And then oddly enough, I moved to DC and everything changed. I live in a very latino neighborhood and no one speaks english. So even though I try to ask for directions in English, no one understands. I always get in broken english, "you speaka espanish?" I want to respond by saying I speak some imitation of, but instead I say "si" and then floods of information come from the stranger.
I tried explaining to one guy that I've lost a lot of my spanish, but want to get it back. And he said, in spanish, that he doesn't understand because he's trying to lose his spanish. He badly wants to learn how to speak english, so he can finally get by in this country, but everything seems to work against him. He even tried to get an education by enrolling and completing a certificate program only to find that he couldn't get his certificate because he couldn't show proof of residency. I.e. he's an illegal immigrant. So while I'm on my journey to explain myself, he's on his to try to redefine himself.
When I was younger I wanted nothing to do with Mexico. I thought I was the only one, but I had dinner w/ a few people one night, all of us being immigrants, and they all shared how each of them tried to reject their culture and become 'American'. Only they found their way back a lot sooner than I did, or more appropriately, they reconciled their new found American self with their native background. It wasn't until the last few years that I've started to do the same.
I've learned to appreciate who I am, but I still know little about where I come from. In January I will finally visit my home and reacquaint myself with the culture I once rejected. My family continues to warn me, telling me how different it is and how shocked I'll be by some things. But I see this as both an adventure and an opportunity to grow. I look forward to being shocked by everything I see, at least I'm finally experiencing it all. And perhaps I'll walk away from this trip being able to finally explain myself to myself.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The sun sets just the same in DC, I've decided. I've always been one of those cliche-bearing girls who would quickly announce to all who would listen that 'I love long walks and sunsets'. I really do. Only I prefer long runs and sunsets.
My last month in San Francisco I spent my days worrying about how I would ever recover from leaving my favorite city, how I would ever find as beautiful a place to run at six am or how I would ever find a sunset as breathtaking as the ones I saw over Ocean Beach or Golden Gate bridge. And lo-and-behold, I've discovered that the sun sets just the same in DC. I find it poking it out at me when I least expect, like through the middle of a tree-lined street on a sweltering hot August day. With this new discovery in mind, I realized that my life in DC would be ok. Leaving San Francisco and everything it encompasses was hard, but living in DC will not be... I'm excited about the next two years and hope it brings me more inspiring sunsets, be it over the Washington Memorial or my simple snow-covered house...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)