Author Archives: Laura
>merry merry
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Merry Christmas All! I have a little down time between gift opening/breakfast eating/mimosa drinking at home and dinner eating/cocktail drinking/christmas conversation and cheer at a family friend’s house, so I figured I would give a shout out to the ol’ blog world on Jesus’s big day.
My parents, brother and I have had a lovely morning. In fact, my time at home has been extremely relaxing, comfortable, and stressless. I arrived home Tuesday morning, at 1:30 am to be exact. My friend dropped me off in Brooklyn where I so peacefully woke my brother up and crashed on his futon for five hours so he could get to his office breakfast on Long Island by 7:15. No matter-my mom picked me up and we had a glorious breakfast at Sweet Mama’s before I rightfully passed out in my bed until the sun was setting.
Since home, I’m finding that some things never change. Charlie, my cat, is the same ol odd furball. He can’t really meow since his voicebox is all screwed up, but his appetite has grown recently. Sooo, he gives it all he has to get us to hear his pleas for food. Result? He sort of sounds like a possessed demon cat; how adorable, right? When he finally gets his food, he immediately throws it up, then immediately begs for more. Like I said, some things never change.
I’ve been seeing some friends from home, I plan on going into the city a few times, and I’m looking forward to a serene New Years up in Vermont to go skiing and get my fill of New England air before I head back to the Mid-Atlantic.
But, back to Christmas morning. My dad and I were in charge of breakfast: I made a carmelized banana and pumpkin baked oatmeal, and he made baked eggs n cheese. Of course there was bacon. I also bought a bottle of Andre for mimosas, since I am constantly striving to be classy.
I came away with wonderful things, as always. Some things of note: see that picture of the Colorado rockies on the top of this blog? Yeah, I took that picture, and yeah, my brother printed it for me so I can hang it in my bedroom in DC. How awesome! In lieu of some very nice clothes, I also received a sack of grits, an exotic chicken calendar, perfume (to hopefully attract a fine gentleman), and a calvin klein bra (incase the perfume works…KIDDING)…
I was excited to give my fam their gifts as well: my dad: software that transfers VHS to DVD (we have a ton of great home videos), my mom: a moose papertowel holder and adirondack-bear placemates for our new kitchen (I swear it’s cooler than it sounds), and my brother: an LP for his new record player and the world’s largest crossword puzzle. Think I’m kidding?
I also received this t-shirt. Watch out world:
Hope everyone has a wonderful day……merry merry merry!
>Just my luck
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I had another one of those “really?” moments the other day. I was minding my own business in the grocery store when my phone rang; a mysterious (301) number was calling. “Hello, this is ‘so n so’ from =++===+ Corporation in Washington D.C. Are you still interested in our research position?” I couldn’t hear the name of the organization, or the person who was calling, but I was so thrown off that I said yes to an interview time, got the address, and figured I could work backwards to see who had just called me.
After some detective work, I found out it was the Valbin Corporation, and vaguely remembered sending in an application in October. Now, I try to research every company I apply to; I stopped writing form cover letters and really have improved my abilities to incorporate my knowledge of the organization into my every plea for employment. Yet, I guess I missed the mark on this one. I looked up their blurb on idealist, and here is the description of the organization:
Valbin Corporation is devoted to international development and cross-cultural understanding around the world. Valbin achieves its mission by providing foreign language and cultural training services in over 60 languages to non profit organization, government agencies and the private sector.
Sounds right up my alley, no? I probably skimmed their regular website before putting some sort of letter together, attaching my resume, hitting send, and picturing my email being hidden among a thousand others in overflowing inboxes.
Yet, alas! Two months later and I get a call while in aisle 6! Could this possibly be my big break?
I went to their website, and was caught offguard. I read their mission statement, which was worded, shall I say, slightly different from idealist’s?:
Valbin’s Mission Readiness Support Services (MRS) has the capacity to provide Foreign Language Speakers (FLS), Civilian Role Players (CRP), cultural experts, Subject Matter Experts (SME), and experienced project personnel to support military training exercises that maximize training effectiveness and soldier readiness for changing cultural environments. Among the many Foreign Language Speakers provided by MRS are speakers of Iraqi Arabic, Pashto, Urdu, Farsi, and Albanian.
Okay. Military. Maybe this isn’t so bad. It doesn’t sound too terrible. I mean, soliders need to be ready to adapt to new cultural surroundings–something I’ve been interested in and have studied for years. Maybe I can be a part of some sort of change; I can teach them about cultural relativsm and emic points of view! Who knows. It’s a job, and maybe they’re not all about the military.
Then I saw this:
Download Role Player Application Form Here for Army Simulation Exercises with the Mission Readiness Support Center of Valbin Corporation.
Army simulation? That kind of scares me. But no, let me do a google search, and give this company one more try. Alas, my favorite:
Seeking Amputees for Army Exercise (Ft. Irwin, CA(San Bernardino County))
VALBIN Corporation is HIRING!
Hiring: Amputee Casualty Role Players for Army simulation exercises at Ft. Irwin, CA (in San Bernardino county- between Death Valley and the Mojave National Preserve).
Hiring: Amputee Casualty Role Players for Army simulation exercises at Ft. Irwin, CA (in San Bernardino county- between Death Valley and the Mojave National Preserve).
Applicants must be 18 years of age or older, have a clean background check & credit score, and be physically fit to operate long hours in all types of weather. Amputee Role Players will portray insurgents.
Schedule: Up to 12 hours per day, with work beginning in late October 2010.
This here was the icing to the cake. No matter what pay, benefits, or knowledge I’d gain, I know that I never want to work for a compnay that hires amputee role players-even if they have good credit scores.
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In other news, a Christmas tree was just lit in my hood.
>Roofs
>Roofs follow me everywhere. For this I am lucky, because I have an infinite love for them. I thought there was nothing cooler than a house with roof access; I remember excitingly stumbling to my neighbor James’s house once in the middle of the night when I was a kid to go on his roof and watch a meteor shower. I wasn’t just on a roof…I was on top of the world!
Since then, my roof experiences have multiplied. The roof of my hostel in Ghana was a place where our friends would watch the sunset, eat piles of rice, and do illicit drugs (kidding?). My room in my brownstone apartment in Saratoga had roof access as well. It’s where I met a boyfriend, where I watched 4th of July fireworks, and where I tanned naked.
So with great pleasure, I realized this morning that it took me exactly two months and two days to see that I, once again, have roof access from my bedroom. I look out this window every morning; I shut the blinds at night. Still, STILL, for whatever reason..I never angled my eyeballs just slightly down to see that if I popped open the screen, I could walk out on the roof:
Now, I want you to click the picture. Do you see anything out of the ordinary? Look especially hard on the left. Yes..yess….it is SNOW!
I am a sucker for winter. I love it. Autumn beats out winter only slightly as far as favorite seasons go, and only because I appreciate the extra hour or two of sunlight. Still, I have met more than a few people in my time that loathe the winter. And you know what I say to them? LAME SAUCE. Suck it up– the cold weather is one deep, refreshing breath of mouthwash. Twenty degrees gives you an excuse to lay in a fetal position next to a fire, hold a hot beverage of choice at all times, and wear ridiculous furry hats with floppy ears. Topography permitted, you can go skiing. You get to experience the birth of a new year, and lie to yourself (for about a week) that you will fulfill all of these life-changing resolutions. For many, winter means a week off from school or work. Some, even a month. It means holiday dinners, baileys in coffee, and wool socks. Winter rules.
It’s been particularly cold here in DC- colder than NY from what I’ve read. And let me tell you- people “down” here are more southern than mid-atlantic blooded. I can sympathize; the thirty degree temps really feel like the teens with the nasty wind chill we’ve been experiencing. But still…people talk as if we are experiencing a new ice age. I worked a shift at my restaurant the other night and made maaaybe thirty bucks. “People don’t want to leave their homes,” said my GM. Really? It’s so cold that you’d rather STARVE than walk ten feet to your car to drive and get dinner? Humph.
Maybe I have an air of pretension in me, since I repeatedly survived the brisk, Saratoga winters that had us students slaving to class in temperatures below 10 degrees. And maybe I just enjoy saying, “oh c’mon this isn’t bad…I’ve only 30 degrees.” A kind stranger inadvertently shut me up the other night though, as we talked degrees over a glass of wine at a bar by my house. “Even if someone is used to colder temperatures, it’s still fucking cold out, and it’s not comfortable.” She was totally right. I sped walked home. I was cold.
>Kundalini
>Hello world. Sorry these blog posts have become more infrequent. Maybe it’s because, like the rest of the world, I’m super busy. Or perhaps all I really do seven days a week is sit around and stare at walls, with the occasional inhale and exhale. You may never really know!
In any case, one of those “ah, these things always seem to happen to me” happened today. I tend to get myself into situations where with retrospect they are pretty amusing, but in the moment they really, really suck. I’ve gotten so used to them though that I am able to start laughing at myself in the moment, if only to make the present situation more tolerable. Let me explain.
I’ve now become a common-goer at the gym, yet I usually just stick to what I’ve been doing for the last eight or so years–run. My muscle memory has become so insane that I can just space out on a treadmill for 5 or 6 miles and not really get tired. I’m not trying to gloat–if anything, this is a bad thing. You are supposed to push yourself at the gym. For me though, I really like feeling extra comfortable, which I guess defeats the purpose. But I just love to space out.
To challenge myself a bit, I decided to try a new machine today. I went over to the stair-master. The stair-master always seemed fun; you get to be physically higher up than everyone else in the gym AND you get to walk up your own mini staircase! How cute! I got on the thing and decided to give it a twenty minute trial “climb.”
Holy bajeezus. I barely made it through the twenty minutes, and I had sweat POURING off my body. (I never understood the stories of people meeting significant others at the gym; the only thing I was attracting was fruit flies). I apparently walked up the equivalent of 50 million flights of stairs, which I guess was kinda cool. But still–so painful.
I hobbled off my mini stairs and pondered what to do next. I had only been at the gym for twenty minutes, so I didn’t feel like turning around and walking home. I saw that a yoga class was about to begin, and figured a nice session of stretching, meditation, and balancing my arms out as an extension of my heart (or whatever they say) would be a nice recovery from my climbing mayhem.
Well, woops. Turns out I walked into a Kundalini class, which at the time meant nearly nothing to me. We started off breathing and stretching, and I felt wonderful. Then we started doing some mantra chants, which were nice. I felt peaceful. All good things.
Then my teacher started to explain how Kundalini is a consolidation of the hardest physical, mental, and spiritual yoga in the hierarchy of yogas. Apparently, some people get so in the “zone” that their spirits whisk away and they die. Great.
I wasn’t too afraid of the mental thing, because my mind can nevvvver just focus on my breath (during the first meditation session I was only thinking I WANT A SANDWICH). Still, the physical part is what got me. I found myself on all fours, punching at the air, relieving toxins in my body, and quickly breathing in and out of my nose. My legs were forced in extension periods for way too long–my arms unhappily moving this way and that. It was painful. It was exhausting. Everyone in the room was sweating. I hadn’t stopped. Mantra chats were all around me and I was becoming delirious. “Inhale Peace, Exhale Love!” chanted my teacher. What? I was inhaling “hate” and exhaling “shit this sucks so much, I really want a sandwich.”
In an hour, it was over. I ran out of the studio. I went home. I ate my sandwich.
>Giving Thanks
Thanksgiving is hands down my favorite holiday. I think there are a few reasons this is so, the main one being the nostalgia I feel for my family’s traditional trek up to New Hampshire for the big day. As you are well aware by now, nothing brings me more peace than the splendor of New England, and spending it with family in late November as the seasons are about to switch gears is nothing short of fantastic. That, and I love holidays that include football, parades, stuffing, pie, and lots and lots of wine. No gifts needed-just give me dinner rolls, butter, and good company. Seriously.
Unfortunately, I could not make it home for Thanksgiving this year, and even though the tradition of traveling up to New Hampshire has no longer been an annual event, I was of course melancholy that I couldn’t spend it with my family in New York. Even so, I knew I wasn’t just going to let the holiday go un-celebrated, so I decided to throw a feast at my house with the rest of my “orphan” friends.
The guests added up to eight: myself and four friends (Martha, Blaire, Michael, and Dan) and my housemate John and two of his (Dennis and Natasha). Martha came over around 11:30, for she was in charge of the turkey. John was around all day (seeing as he does live here..) and others dwindled in as the day progressed. We didn’t end up eating until around eight, but the drinking began around noon. Thus, no one seemed to mind the late dinner.
I woke up around nine that day, and greeted my favorite holiday with a cup of coffee, a warm bowl of oatmeal, and (what I thought was) the Manhattan Thanksgiving Day parade. I was watching the festivities with Dalton when he remarked “isn’t is strange that the DC local news is covering the Philadelphia Turkey Parade?” I responded, “uh..yeah, really weird. Let’s just watch the NY one,” and quickly changed the channel. My bad.
When Martha came over, we unraveled the poor, naked turkey, and dutifully dug out the heart, liver, and so forth. We put all the treats in a bowl, and I suggested to John we give it to his dog. He said no. WEIRD. Martha then proceeded to massage the bird with butter, stuff it with parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and lemons, and stick the thing in the oven. Seven hours later. BAm! TURKEY.
I was in charge of the biscuits, green bean casserole, stuffing, and roasted sweet potatoes. We also had cranberry sauce, butternut squash soup, and mashed potatoes. Take a look!
John is not one to cook, but he said he had a wonderful recipe for cheesy cauliflower–a side dish made every year in his household. The preparation? Packaged cheddar cheese (melted and mixed with milk and flour) poured over steamed cauliflower. Hey, people ate it!
After dinner, we all suffered from food coma and collapsed in the living room. We sprawled out on the couches and floor, mumbled a little bit, and picked at the apple pie. We cleaned up the kitchen, put all the leftovers away, and called it a night.
Overall, it was a successful holiday shared with good people. Who knows where I’ll be come next Turkey day, but two things are certain: I’ll definitely make John’s cauliflower, and I’ll watch the correct parade on t.v.
>New York Pt. II
>Thankfully, before we fell asleep, I remembered to tell Nicole to turn off her alarm. (Nicole, I love you to death, but I absolutely loathe your phone alarm. It is the most harrowing sound in the universe, and you–for whatever insane reason–like to snooze it for two hours before you actually have to wake up. This means you get to hear the awful noise every ten minutes for two hours. I did not want to hear this noise. Thank you for turning it off. I love you. I hate your alarm).
After a restful and alarm-free sleep on Nicole’s king sized bed (fully equipped with a tempurpedic mattress), we greeted the day with a walking tour around Columbia. I wanted a “day-in-the-life,” so we walked Nic’s normal route to campus and she showed me some of her frequented classrooms, study lounges, and libraries. The school was beautiful, the weather was quite charming for mid-November in NY, and it was surprisingly soothing to be surrounded by the familiar sounds and smells of New York City.
Afterwards, we came back to Nic’s apartment to make breakfast, which turned into brunch, whiiiiich turned into lunch. It was about 1:30pm by the time we got our act together, but we both knew that banana-chocolate chip pancakes are delicious at anytime of the day. Henceforth:
After lunch, I took the 1 train down to the L and headed over to my brother’s place in Brooklyn. There, we had a little family reunion with my parents! We watched the JETS win, ate some foods, drank some wine, and then went baaack to Manhattan to go out and dinner and see Sufjan Stevens perform at the Beacon Theatre.
We had a great dinner near the theatre, then walked across the street to see Sufjan perform in all his majesty. Sufjan himself described the show as “avator meets cats on ice,” and I would definitely agree. While the show was surely a spectacle (there were hipster girl dancers, electronic guitars and synthesizers, back-drop movie screens and flashing lights everywhere), there was nothing that could compare to the serenity of Sufjan moving upstage to solo on his acoustic guitar, which unfortunately did not happen enough. Still, the show was surely a mix of voices and inspirations, and was well-received by all.
I then said goodbye to my parents (see you in a few weeks!) and took the train back up to Nicole’s. She was talking to me about El Nino and others Climate and Society MA stuff in bed, and I think I fell asleep on her.
>New York pt. I
>This past weekend, I went to New York. I didn’t exactly know how I would feel when the Megabus drove through the Lincoln tunnel and spit us out in the city. Since I’ve gotten to DC, I’ve explained on numerous occasions that I am by no means a “city person,” and my attraction to Washington is by and large due to its size, layout, and intensity (or lack thereof). Yet, when we ruptured out of the tunnel and looped around the EZ-pass lane, I was greeted by massive skyscrapers, bright lights, and–if only to be cliche–“THE NEW YORKER” lit up in a sharp, intrusive red. I leaned back in my seat and smiled. I was home.
My initial reason for traveling to the city was to see Sufjan Stevens at the Beacon Theatre with my family. I started listening to Sufjan back in high school, and I can say with no hesitation that he is my favorite musical artist (just listen to “Come On! Feel the Illinois!” or “Romulus.” I dare you not to be moved). What is more, he is wonderful to just stare at. Even if his music was horrible I might still attend his concerts. I mean, CMON . His speaking voice is also incredibly soothing; it’s like honey being poured over a smooth granite countertop. Or something.
The concert was also an opportunity to see my family and friends, since I can’t come home for Thanksgiving and the amount of time I’ll have at home for the holidays is yet to be determined. So I left Saturday evening after work (and two cocktails to provide me with an entertaining ride) and got into Manhattan around 11PM. I took the 1 train up to 110th st, and was greeted by my best friend:
We immediately went to the market by Nic’s apartment, bought beer and ice-cream, and headed to Nicole’s digz. Her place was a lot bigger than I expected, but the layout is completely bizarre. There are long, narrow hallways connecting each room; the extra space for a seemingly mile long tight-rope walk to the bathroom could’ve been used to make the kitchen bigger than its current 10×10 frame. The bathtub is a whole other story. The faucet is on the left corner, yet the shower head is in the middle of the back wall and the shower curtains open up like theatre curtains.
We immediately went to the market by Nic’s apartment, bought beer and ice-cream, and headed to Nicole’s digz. Her place was a lot bigger than I expected, but the layout is completely bizarre. There are long, narrow hallways connecting each room; the extra space for a seemingly mile long tight-rope walk to the bathroom could’ve been used to make the kitchen bigger than its current 10×10 frame. The bathtub is a whole other story. The faucet is on the left corner, yet the shower head is in the middle of the back wall and the shower curtains open up like theatre curtains. In any case, the place was cozy, and Nic did a great job making her room colorful and restful–two things needed for a crazed masters student who named a fly in her room Bill and frequently eats canned olives for dinner. We laid in bed with beer and ice-cream, chatted about nothingness, took pictures, and fell peacefully asleep.
>Marshalls
>The other day I realized I hadn’t gone clothing shopping in about…six months. Thinking it would be nice to find some more fashionable, urban-chic clothing at a reasonable price, I wandered into Marshalls after a nice bit at the gym.
Of course, what started as a task to find different, more “cute” an “sexy” clothes turned into my arms filled with an array of v-neck sweaters in grey, brown, black, etc. I get this from my mother.
After about two hours of searching for the fitting rooms (are they always next to the shoes?), I realized I had just gone to the gym, and I was sweaty. And wearing a sports bra. And trying on any of these clothes in my hand would be absurd, if not a little rancid. Feeling slightly defeated, I thought I could wander and find a nice coat or something to try on over my tshirt; maybe something with a belt buckle, or a singe at the waist (gasp!).
To get right to it, while I walked into Marshalls to find some fashionable clothes, I ended up purchasing this:
A $90 fleece reduced to $30, this sucker (which is way more teal in real life) is like petting a chinchilla-bunny hybrid and could keep you warm in Norway. You can zip it all the way up to your chin, removing any need for a cute scarf. The best part is the hood though, which just barely lets your head tuck inside, leaving you to look like some fluffy, teal– albeit warm– alien.
When I was waiting in line to purchase my alien suit, I was reminded of how funny check out counters are in stores like Marshalls. In a desperate attempt to have you BUY MORE STUFF, they throw at you the most random gadgets and goods: picture frames, wool socks, chocolate-covered strawberries, chocolate-covered cherries, chocolate-covered peanuts, chocolate-covered chocolate (which are just generic-brand M&M,s–they fooled you!). I saw a woman look through a pile of neck pillows and find a tiny one for her baby. She put it on the content little infant’s neck, only to have the kid start screaming. No pillow for her, unfortunately.
There were notecards and calendars, halloween masks and about fifty different types of pens. This gets me the most. A pen has one function, and one function only, yet we are somehow lured into buying the fat ones that have some pretty poem sprinkled in script down its side that has enough ink to last for about two days, or three greeting cards (which ever comes first). The best was the beverage cooler though, situated right at the beginning of the “please form line here” stand. The mini-fridge had a sign that read “because you just don’t thirst for fashion.”
At that time, unfortunately for me, I wasn’t thirsting for either.
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Two separate occasions; Redwood; recovering from work.
ps- I just talked to Nicole, and I hope my previous post does not make it seem like I am unappreciative for all that I have been given as a U.S. citizen. I know how lucky I am to be given opportunities to study, grow, and have the freedoms of speech, religion, thought, etc. It is just crazy to see other American citizens here in DC that aren’t given the same opportunities. Oftentimes, the innocent are unable to see the wonders capitalism can provide.
In any case,
I get to go to NYC this weekend to see Nicole! and my parents! and these fools who visited me a few weeks ago:
Oh, and also Sufjan Stevens.
>an out of america experience
>I came across a weird thought the other day.
–Let me rephrase that. About 60% of my thoughts are what one would commonly define as”weird,” “strange,” “not normal,” etc. I guess that’s just my nature. In any case, I guess this certain thought was mind-provoking enough to make it to this world-famous blog.
At least in my experiences, D.C doesn’t feel like America. Strange for being the national capital, no? But hear me out: a majority of my interactions are with people of a different ethnicity and culture-many who have only recently moved to the U.S. Others are DC natives, but come from a background completely different from my own. Perhaps my own “American” experiences are really the ones that are skewed; growing up on Long Island, going to school in Saratoga Springs, and routinely vacationing in the Adirondack mountains doesn’t necessarily give one a true experience of the States. Yet, for whatever reason, I almost feel like a foreigner here.
Not a foreigner in the bad sense. I don’t feel lost or out of place. I don’t stick out like I did in Ghana (helllo blond hair and pale skin), nor do I ever feel like a tourist or traveler. Each day where I live feels more like a new or second home, yet it also feels like an opportunity for a new experience or adventure. The people I meet and the conversations I engage in are randomly and wonderfully unpredictable, much like ones experienced abroad.
The second piece to this thought is in reference to a belief I’ve had for awhile. I never felt like I was meant to live in the U.S., which is perhaps why D.C. seems so natural to me. I don’t exactly know what the American dream is, but I know I don’t want it. I never accepted the values of many middle-class Americans; our priorities about work, money, family and school all seem so radically backwards to me. Now I know it’s a huge generalization to say these are the beliefs of all Americans, but as a college-graduate lurking for jobs, I am learning that our system is really baseed on these certain priorities. (You have a degree? That’s good. Now where did you intern? That’s better. No Master’s? Well you can’t compete with the rest of the pool. Go back to school? Do you have $100 grand? Oh, and don’t even think about getting time off for the holidays– this internship will lead you to both new experiences and a job that will get you into grad school that [will leave you in debt] will hopefully get you a better job that will lead you to marriage, a family, and some time off).
Merry Christmas to you too, America.
Camping Out In America 