An interesting topic came up in my class tonight, and it's something that has come up several times before in conversations I've had: the tension between public and private life. The main issue that came up was how much individual responsibility we have for protecting our private lives based on what we portray on Facebook and other online forums. What brought this up was a real-life ethical dilemma concerning a former SU student who was applying to be an RA and who met all requirements for the position, along with being well-liked, except that it was discovered he had performed in a single pornographic video about a year prior. Ultimately, the decision that was made was to deny him the position because of the moral values of the university and the potential fallout among students and family members. During our conversation, many folks in the class stressed the students' own responsibility for putting out something of that nature to the public--a point that is hard to dispute given the circumstances and the extremeness of this example.
However, this really got me thinking about smaller scale examples of the blurring of lines between our public and private lives, especially where online self-presentations are concerned. As many of us know, employers these days frequently look up potential job candidates on Facebook or Google their names, and this is often considered a justifiable and useful way to determine whether they are a good fit or not. However, is it ethical to do this? How much of this hiring strategy is rooted in a desire to "dig up dirt" on individuals, and how much is prone to engaging in potentially discriminatory hiring practices? Does Jane Doe's status update on the Occupy movement or the upcoming election have anything to do with her ability to perform the job duties? I think this is a complex issue because, as with almost everything, there are gray areas and contextual nuances. Surely, putting up inappropriate pictures of oneself on Facebook or posting status updates that are offensive or slanderous is not smart and should be avoided if one cares about the potential consequences of such actions. Whether it's fair or not, some would argue, what we put online is with us forever and CAN be visible to the public, so why take the risk? I agree with this point to a significant extent, but I also question the transformation of social networking profiles and blogs, etc. into some sort of professional resume or reputation-builder. In my opinion, everyone has a right to keep their private lives private and should not have to censor themselves in media that are supposed to reflect their authentic selves. For example, I want my Facebook page to be an avenue where I can voice my opinions or feelings without fearing that they will be held against me by coworkers. I want my blog to be an electronic space where I can write passionately about what gets my engines going, without it being taken out of context. Essentially, I don't want to have to keep up any facades, and I don't want my freedom of speech to be functionally snatched away from me.
That being said, I also believe we do have a level of personal responsibility for guarding our private lives (accidentally typed out "guarding our privates"...yeah, that too.) so as to not make ourselves vulnerable to public scrutiny. I think everyone should adjust their Facebook privacy settings to allow for the maximum amount of information being withheld from the public. I think everyone should be unafraid to refrain from "friend requesting" coworkers, especially supervisors or employees, unless they have a trusting and personable relationship with them (this includes denying friend requests sent to you from such parties or deleting those who we don't trust with certain information). On a related note, I admire celebrities who are steadfast about maintaining their private lives and who don't give into media pressure to talk about their romantic relationships, families, etc. However, I think it's reasonable to expect that our employers, coworkers, fans, or other non-personal contacts show due respect for our privacy and avoid crossing boundaries--even if it's possible and accessible to do so.
Ultimately, I don't believe in segmenting our lives to the point that we embody some kind of Jekyll and Hyde persona between our public and personal lives (a la dozens of phony politicians and public figures). We should definitely aim for continuity in all aspects of ourselves, instead of compartmentalizing them. Ideally, who we are in our private lives is not someone we are utterly ashamed to reveal to the public. Nevertheless, there are few people who portray all the same aspects of themselves to coworkers, classmates, family, and friends alike. It's only natural to externalize varying degrees of our true selves to different people in different contexts. For this reason, I think privacy is a two-way street, and we need to meet in the middle. What do YOU think? Has your private life been compromised by online venues, employers, coworkers, or your own poor judgment? Do you believe that all's fair in love and war...and hiring; i.e. Facebook, blogs, and any other online resource is fair game for potential employers' scrutiny? Do tell!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Threats of Root Canals and Other Things That Ruin Your Day
Well, hello blog. We meet again. I have been far too busy lately to keep up with my weekly blog posts--those lazy days are gone, I'm afraid. Looks like it's going to have to be a monthly treat!
The latest? Welp, today was kind of one of those days you want to punch in the face. It started off with me waking up and stepping on a wet patch of bunny pee on my bedroom carpet, which apparently my little stowaway rodent decided to leave as a present the night before when he was hopping about. Then I got to go get my first ever filling at the dentist, which only took about 45 minutes, but felt like eternity. They told me the cavity was deeper than they thought it would be and that if they had gone any deeper with the filling, I may have needed to get an on-the-spot root canal! She said I should be fine, but that later down the road, if the medicine she put in doesn't work, I may still need one. Really? Being someone who was able to boast about never having a cavity until a couple weeks ago, this was like telling a little kid there's no Santa Claus. So, I basically had a toothache the rest of the day, and then work was one stress after another. It's the first week of registration at North Seattle CC, so, naturally, about 90% of the student body has decided to wait until the last minute to schedule advising appointments. We've been bombarded, and there seems to be no end in sight, although I will say today was better than yesterday and the day before.
And then there's my supervisor. Well, technically, my supervisor's supervisor. I kid you not, she is literally the female equivalent of Bill Lumberg from Office Space. The similarities are almost comedic, actually. Almost. She loves to swoop into my workspace several times a day and say, "Heyyy, how's it going," which is never followed by even a courtesy pause for me to answer, but instead immediately followed by, "So, you do remember to check the voicemail, riiiight?" [read in sickeningly disingenuous, condescending tone]. She proceeds to give me multiple "reminders" to do basic job functions I do every day, as if I am a cave woman seeing fire for the first time. Yeah, lady, I got it. Part of the problem is that I have been getting mixed messages from every person I work with about what exactly my job responsibilities are, so I'm having a hard time understanding who to believe. So I dutifully reply, "Yeah, that's no problem, I'll do that. Thanks for the reminder" [teeth gritting], and she says, "Yeeeah, it's really important to make sure we get to those advising voicemails as soon as possible. Mmmk? Thaaaanks." Grrrr.
Once I got off work, things looked up slightly, as I discovered that the yoga class I attend after work on Wednesdays has a new instructor. She is light years better than the previous one, who had no fluidity to her yoga series, and who routinely called out and humiliated students in the class for not doing positions perfectly. She had a knack for saying, "Well, that was pretty bad, but I can tell you're trying." The story is that the commute was too long for her, and with Daylight Savings Time ending, she couldn't handle it anymore. My take? That's just politics. I wouldn't be surprised if one (or more) of her victims had the chutzpah to formally complain about her. Unfortunately, my commute home after class made me want to punch the day in the face again when some d-bag decided to pull right out in front of me on 15th Ave, nearly blindsiding me. Fortunately, I'm the ultimate defensive driver, and I swerved into the right lane to avoid being hit, which I most certainly would have otherwise. The part that bugs me the most is that this person didn't even look over at me and appeared to have the most leisurely look imaginable, clearly oblivious to the fact that he/she (couldn't tell) almost REALLY ruined my day. And, as usual, my focus was so much on gettin' the hell out the way that I forgot to give a disgruntled honk. That always happens to me! Considering how many ridiculously sub-par drivers there are in this city, my horn goes severely under-utilized.
So, needless to say again, my day (and week, in general) has been kind of a pain, but I've been self-medicating every night with Dexter, on loan from the library. That and ice cream. Copious amounts of Tillamook cookie dough ice cream. Don't judge.
Catch ya'll...well, probably next month. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday! I am thankful for YOU. :)
The latest? Welp, today was kind of one of those days you want to punch in the face. It started off with me waking up and stepping on a wet patch of bunny pee on my bedroom carpet, which apparently my little stowaway rodent decided to leave as a present the night before when he was hopping about. Then I got to go get my first ever filling at the dentist, which only took about 45 minutes, but felt like eternity. They told me the cavity was deeper than they thought it would be and that if they had gone any deeper with the filling, I may have needed to get an on-the-spot root canal! She said I should be fine, but that later down the road, if the medicine she put in doesn't work, I may still need one. Really? Being someone who was able to boast about never having a cavity until a couple weeks ago, this was like telling a little kid there's no Santa Claus. So, I basically had a toothache the rest of the day, and then work was one stress after another. It's the first week of registration at North Seattle CC, so, naturally, about 90% of the student body has decided to wait until the last minute to schedule advising appointments. We've been bombarded, and there seems to be no end in sight, although I will say today was better than yesterday and the day before.
And then there's my supervisor. Well, technically, my supervisor's supervisor. I kid you not, she is literally the female equivalent of Bill Lumberg from Office Space. The similarities are almost comedic, actually. Almost. She loves to swoop into my workspace several times a day and say, "Heyyy, how's it going," which is never followed by even a courtesy pause for me to answer, but instead immediately followed by, "So, you do remember to check the voicemail, riiiight?" [read in sickeningly disingenuous, condescending tone]. She proceeds to give me multiple "reminders" to do basic job functions I do every day, as if I am a cave woman seeing fire for the first time. Yeah, lady, I got it. Part of the problem is that I have been getting mixed messages from every person I work with about what exactly my job responsibilities are, so I'm having a hard time understanding who to believe. So I dutifully reply, "Yeah, that's no problem, I'll do that. Thanks for the reminder" [teeth gritting], and she says, "Yeeeah, it's really important to make sure we get to those advising voicemails as soon as possible. Mmmk? Thaaaanks." Grrrr.
Once I got off work, things looked up slightly, as I discovered that the yoga class I attend after work on Wednesdays has a new instructor. She is light years better than the previous one, who had no fluidity to her yoga series, and who routinely called out and humiliated students in the class for not doing positions perfectly. She had a knack for saying, "Well, that was pretty bad, but I can tell you're trying." The story is that the commute was too long for her, and with Daylight Savings Time ending, she couldn't handle it anymore. My take? That's just politics. I wouldn't be surprised if one (or more) of her victims had the chutzpah to formally complain about her. Unfortunately, my commute home after class made me want to punch the day in the face again when some d-bag decided to pull right out in front of me on 15th Ave, nearly blindsiding me. Fortunately, I'm the ultimate defensive driver, and I swerved into the right lane to avoid being hit, which I most certainly would have otherwise. The part that bugs me the most is that this person didn't even look over at me and appeared to have the most leisurely look imaginable, clearly oblivious to the fact that he/she (couldn't tell) almost REALLY ruined my day. And, as usual, my focus was so much on gettin' the hell out the way that I forgot to give a disgruntled honk. That always happens to me! Considering how many ridiculously sub-par drivers there are in this city, my horn goes severely under-utilized.
So, needless to say again, my day (and week, in general) has been kind of a pain, but I've been self-medicating every night with Dexter, on loan from the library. That and ice cream. Copious amounts of Tillamook cookie dough ice cream. Don't judge.
Catch ya'll...well, probably next month. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday! I am thankful for YOU. :)
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Pet Peeves edition #2!!!!
There's been so much transition going on in mi vida lately that my past few blogs have been mundane, at best, and morose, at worst. So, to reflect my improved mood and to please the readers who say my blogs are funny (they're going to start noticing the slack sooner or later), I present to you my second itemized list of pet peeves! While this topic tends to draw out the cynic in me, rather than the pleasant optimist, I figure I can brighten things up on sheer commiseration value. Cheers!
1. The noises that endlessly thunder down from my upstairs neighbors' apartment. These include: the relentless pitter-patter of what sounds to be a toddler learning to walk, and which has the effect of Chinese water torture; the booming thuds of what I can only imagine is a pack of elephants re-arranging furniture on a daily schedule; a strange, continuous vibrating noise, which I try to believe is an electronic fabric shaver or some other innocent and mundane device; and, last but not least, the garishly contrived sounds of adult behavior, which the twosome clearly have not learned how to muffle. Ick.
2. Driving in Seattle. Don't even get me started on this topic, it is much too sore. Suffice it to say, today I spent an hour and twenty minutes driving a distance that should've taken less than half an hour, due to bad directions, roads to nowhere, and god-awful traffic. Two Master's degrees in Geography and Urban Development wouldn't prepare me to navigate the labyrinthine cluster that is the Seattle road system. Complex landscape or bad city planning: can you guess which of these is more influential in these parts?
3. People who say, "Cool beans!" Actually, they're not so much a pet peeve as just a demographic I really pity.
4. People who quote well-known and oft-quoted movies beyond one to three lines. I know you're trying painfully hard to impress us with your extensive mental catalog of pop culture references, but if I wanted to hear someone anemically recite that cult classic show number or B-movie monologue, I'd probably just put myself out my misery for being the dullest person on earth. Learn how to truncate, Mary Catherine Gallagher.
5. Canvassers on campus who ask me, as I'm rushing to make it to my 6:00 class, if I "have time to talk about gay rights." This sly phrasing inevitably sets me up to sound like a callous jerk because, of course, the answer is, "No, sorry." To which they reply, "Ok, you have great day," which makes me feel like an even bigger jerk. Not only will I NOT talk to you about gay rights, I'm gonna go have myself a GREAT day not talking about gay rights! It's a trap, I tell you, a trap.
6. Not having arms on my futon/couch that I just bought. I mean, c'mon, a sister's gotta have something to lean on! I know I got it for like $75 on clearance at Target, but isn't this Furniture Engineering 101? I have to sit on it all properly with perfect posture and such, and I feel like I may as well be strapped into a straight jacket, looking at padded walls. So not comfy.
7. Flaky friends who love to project verbal diarrhea about how much they miss hanging out, how much they really want to check out that one restaurant, how much they want to make this a "weekly thing," and how much they can't wait to see you, but who suddenly go AWOL that day you planned to get together. Why commit to the plans, folks? Just save yourself the anxiety of being a good friend, since that's obviously way too challenging for you, and just don't make plans you know you're not going to keep. Simple as that!
8. Moths, crane flies, and anything that somehow manages to weasel its way inside and then flit ominously above my head. No thank you.
9. The obscene volume of advertisements in women's magazines. I don't even read women's magazines unless I am really desperate to kill time at a mall or airport (most of them are utter crap), but I feel like every time I crack one open, the amount of ads to wade through has multiplied at exponentially alarming rates. They are all for the same five products, just with a different model or actress each time. I feel like ads have become the new content because, apparently, we women don't have big enough brains to actually read a meaningful article, we just want more MORE MORE reasons to spend money we don't have and yearn for appearances we'll never resemble. Mostly recently, I quite literally couldn't even find the table of contents in a popular women's magazine because it was spread out across several pages of ads. I swear the actual magazine didn't even start until about page 50--no joke. This is just ridiculous. As if most women's magazines weren't already petty enough with undue attention to celebrities, fashion, beauty, and pleasing one's man, they have to demean their audience even further with 100 pages of propaganda in each issue. Eff that!
10. Last but certainly not least, blisters between the toes. Those suckers hurt like a mother. What, you mean I can't walk 20 blocks in my cowboy boots on a hot fall day? And you call this America!? I think I need to revise my footwear planning.
1. The noises that endlessly thunder down from my upstairs neighbors' apartment. These include: the relentless pitter-patter of what sounds to be a toddler learning to walk, and which has the effect of Chinese water torture; the booming thuds of what I can only imagine is a pack of elephants re-arranging furniture on a daily schedule; a strange, continuous vibrating noise, which I try to believe is an electronic fabric shaver or some other innocent and mundane device; and, last but not least, the garishly contrived sounds of adult behavior, which the twosome clearly have not learned how to muffle. Ick.
2. Driving in Seattle. Don't even get me started on this topic, it is much too sore. Suffice it to say, today I spent an hour and twenty minutes driving a distance that should've taken less than half an hour, due to bad directions, roads to nowhere, and god-awful traffic. Two Master's degrees in Geography and Urban Development wouldn't prepare me to navigate the labyrinthine cluster that is the Seattle road system. Complex landscape or bad city planning: can you guess which of these is more influential in these parts?
3. People who say, "Cool beans!" Actually, they're not so much a pet peeve as just a demographic I really pity.
4. People who quote well-known and oft-quoted movies beyond one to three lines. I know you're trying painfully hard to impress us with your extensive mental catalog of pop culture references, but if I wanted to hear someone anemically recite that cult classic show number or B-movie monologue, I'd probably just put myself out my misery for being the dullest person on earth. Learn how to truncate, Mary Catherine Gallagher.
5. Canvassers on campus who ask me, as I'm rushing to make it to my 6:00 class, if I "have time to talk about gay rights." This sly phrasing inevitably sets me up to sound like a callous jerk because, of course, the answer is, "No, sorry." To which they reply, "Ok, you have great day," which makes me feel like an even bigger jerk. Not only will I NOT talk to you about gay rights, I'm gonna go have myself a GREAT day not talking about gay rights! It's a trap, I tell you, a trap.
6. Not having arms on my futon/couch that I just bought. I mean, c'mon, a sister's gotta have something to lean on! I know I got it for like $75 on clearance at Target, but isn't this Furniture Engineering 101? I have to sit on it all properly with perfect posture and such, and I feel like I may as well be strapped into a straight jacket, looking at padded walls. So not comfy.
7. Flaky friends who love to project verbal diarrhea about how much they miss hanging out, how much they really want to check out that one restaurant, how much they want to make this a "weekly thing," and how much they can't wait to see you, but who suddenly go AWOL that day you planned to get together. Why commit to the plans, folks? Just save yourself the anxiety of being a good friend, since that's obviously way too challenging for you, and just don't make plans you know you're not going to keep. Simple as that!
8. Moths, crane flies, and anything that somehow manages to weasel its way inside and then flit ominously above my head. No thank you.
9. The obscene volume of advertisements in women's magazines. I don't even read women's magazines unless I am really desperate to kill time at a mall or airport (most of them are utter crap), but I feel like every time I crack one open, the amount of ads to wade through has multiplied at exponentially alarming rates. They are all for the same five products, just with a different model or actress each time. I feel like ads have become the new content because, apparently, we women don't have big enough brains to actually read a meaningful article, we just want more MORE MORE reasons to spend money we don't have and yearn for appearances we'll never resemble. Mostly recently, I quite literally couldn't even find the table of contents in a popular women's magazine because it was spread out across several pages of ads. I swear the actual magazine didn't even start until about page 50--no joke. This is just ridiculous. As if most women's magazines weren't already petty enough with undue attention to celebrities, fashion, beauty, and pleasing one's man, they have to demean their audience even further with 100 pages of propaganda in each issue. Eff that!
10. Last but certainly not least, blisters between the toes. Those suckers hurt like a mother. What, you mean I can't walk 20 blocks in my cowboy boots on a hot fall day? And you call this America!? I think I need to revise my footwear planning.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Hard Times
Hey, everyone. As some of you may have seen on my Facebook, my grandpa passed away yesterday morning, after battling with emphysema/COPD for many years. He was 85 years old, and he died in his sleep, at home in the company of my grandma, my mom, and my aunt. I was very devastated by this news, as he has been a constant in my life for quite some time. My grandparents live just down the street from my home in Vancouver, so I always saw them regularly and spent most holidays with them. Although his health has been declining ever since he fell and broke his hip almost a year ago, I was not expecting him to go so soon. My brother and I just moved away for school, and my sister was planning a trip home to see Grandpa before the holidays. Apparently he acquired a cold, which took his lung capacity down to about 24%, and he simply couldn't get enough oxygen, even with his tank. It's hard to lose him, but he lived a long life and held on for a long time in spite of his illness. I know my grandma is heartbroken, which in turn makes me really sad. In the past year or so, I have heard her openly say things like, "When he goes, I go," and "I don't know what I'm going to do without him." They had been married for over 65 years, I think, and she dedicated so much of her life to caring for him. I am afraid she will stop trying to seek a new normalcy in her life, but I hope that, as a family, we can all show her how much we love her and need her in our lives.
His funeral service is going to be held in Morris, Illinois, where he grew up, so unfortunately, I probably won't be able to make it. I start classes tomorrow, and each of my classes is only one day a week, so it would be difficult to miss them so soon in the term. I want to go to support the family, and I have actually never been to a funeral before, but at the same time, I feel that I want to remember my grandpa when he was alive, rather than having to see him in death. I'm having a really hard time dealing with the concept of death because this is only the second close relative in my life who has died. (My paternal grandpa died in 2000 from lung cancer.) It's also compounded by the fact that I am not religious or even very spiritual, and yet I am surrounded by people who are. They are able to take solace in their beliefs in an afterlife, heaven, God, etc., and I do not have those beliefs to fall back on. While this doesn't make me feel that my way of thinking is wrong, it does present me the challenge of finding ways to deal with grief that don't rely on supernatural concepts. These are hard to find. Death still scares me, even though I see it as a natural part of life. It freaks me out to think that someone who I have always seen living, breathing, talking, moving, etc. suddenly has ceased to exist. It's difficult for me to think about.
Another thing that has been hard for me lately are the feelings of loneliness and isolation since I moved to Seattle. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be here, and I know that things will get better once I actually start school and get into the groove of things. But, I feel like each day has been comprised of me inventing things to keep myself occupied, like running errands or obsessively applying for jobs. Some of it has been productive; I have all of my necessities and feel pretty settled in my apartment, and I have gotten a few interviews. Yet, I'm still lacking the routine of actually going to work, going to school, or going out with friends. I want to be able to explore Seattle, but I feel guilty about spending much money right now, and I also feel that I want someone to explore it with. I have some acquaintances here, but most of them work full-time or at least half-time and aren't nearly as available as I am. Besides, it's hard for me to hang out with people in a contrived way; I usually have to make friends in natural settings, without forcing it. I am definitely excited to start getting more involved in the campus community, and I have already found a few groups that interest me. One of them is SUSDA, the student development association for my specific grad program, which offers lots of ways to get involved with other students. Another is a group offered through Campus Ministry called Baggaged Catholics, which is a support-type group for those who wish to resolve issues they have with the Catholic Church or Catholic identity. In reading about the group, I was interested, but I wasn't sure if it was appropriate for someone like me, who not only does not want to identify as Catholic, but who also doesn't believe in most of the core Christian doctrines. However, I emailed the coordinator, and she said she would love to me have me as part of the group, which starts up in the winter. I'm excited to engage in dialogue with other ex-Catholics or questioning Catholics about how we have both an attachment and an aversion to the faith. I think it's awesome that a Catholic university even offers something like this. Only the Jesuits--gotta love 'em!
Anyway, I know this post is a little more downer than most, but I have just been struggling a bit lately. As corny or melodramatic as it may sound, some of the transitions I have gone through this year have made me realize who my true friends are and who is really there for me. I appreciate all the people in my life who have been a consistent source of support and happiness for me, and I have actually been somewhat surprised by who those people have been. Thank you! There are others to whom I have dedicated a lot of time and energy who have not reciprocated it to the extent that I feel I deserve. This has been disillusioning, but I think it is helping me to grow and fully understand what it is that I want, what it is that I deserve, and what I should not settle for. I have lots of optimism for my (near) future, I just need to get past the relationships and situations that have been bringing me down. Here's to a new beginning!
His funeral service is going to be held in Morris, Illinois, where he grew up, so unfortunately, I probably won't be able to make it. I start classes tomorrow, and each of my classes is only one day a week, so it would be difficult to miss them so soon in the term. I want to go to support the family, and I have actually never been to a funeral before, but at the same time, I feel that I want to remember my grandpa when he was alive, rather than having to see him in death. I'm having a really hard time dealing with the concept of death because this is only the second close relative in my life who has died. (My paternal grandpa died in 2000 from lung cancer.) It's also compounded by the fact that I am not religious or even very spiritual, and yet I am surrounded by people who are. They are able to take solace in their beliefs in an afterlife, heaven, God, etc., and I do not have those beliefs to fall back on. While this doesn't make me feel that my way of thinking is wrong, it does present me the challenge of finding ways to deal with grief that don't rely on supernatural concepts. These are hard to find. Death still scares me, even though I see it as a natural part of life. It freaks me out to think that someone who I have always seen living, breathing, talking, moving, etc. suddenly has ceased to exist. It's difficult for me to think about.
Another thing that has been hard for me lately are the feelings of loneliness and isolation since I moved to Seattle. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be here, and I know that things will get better once I actually start school and get into the groove of things. But, I feel like each day has been comprised of me inventing things to keep myself occupied, like running errands or obsessively applying for jobs. Some of it has been productive; I have all of my necessities and feel pretty settled in my apartment, and I have gotten a few interviews. Yet, I'm still lacking the routine of actually going to work, going to school, or going out with friends. I want to be able to explore Seattle, but I feel guilty about spending much money right now, and I also feel that I want someone to explore it with. I have some acquaintances here, but most of them work full-time or at least half-time and aren't nearly as available as I am. Besides, it's hard for me to hang out with people in a contrived way; I usually have to make friends in natural settings, without forcing it. I am definitely excited to start getting more involved in the campus community, and I have already found a few groups that interest me. One of them is SUSDA, the student development association for my specific grad program, which offers lots of ways to get involved with other students. Another is a group offered through Campus Ministry called Baggaged Catholics, which is a support-type group for those who wish to resolve issues they have with the Catholic Church or Catholic identity. In reading about the group, I was interested, but I wasn't sure if it was appropriate for someone like me, who not only does not want to identify as Catholic, but who also doesn't believe in most of the core Christian doctrines. However, I emailed the coordinator, and she said she would love to me have me as part of the group, which starts up in the winter. I'm excited to engage in dialogue with other ex-Catholics or questioning Catholics about how we have both an attachment and an aversion to the faith. I think it's awesome that a Catholic university even offers something like this. Only the Jesuits--gotta love 'em!
Anyway, I know this post is a little more downer than most, but I have just been struggling a bit lately. As corny or melodramatic as it may sound, some of the transitions I have gone through this year have made me realize who my true friends are and who is really there for me. I appreciate all the people in my life who have been a consistent source of support and happiness for me, and I have actually been somewhat surprised by who those people have been. Thank you! There are others to whom I have dedicated a lot of time and energy who have not reciprocated it to the extent that I feel I deserve. This has been disillusioning, but I think it is helping me to grow and fully understand what it is that I want, what it is that I deserve, and what I should not settle for. I have lots of optimism for my (near) future, I just need to get past the relationships and situations that have been bringing me down. Here's to a new beginning!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Bonafide City Girl
Hey, blogworld! This is my first blog post from my new home in Seattle, where I am still settling in after moving last weekend. It's been a busy week, with some uppety ups and some downy downs. On the plus side, I finally found an apartment! It only took until literally the day before I planned to move, but I finally got through the screening process and am now situated in a one-bedroom apartment in Interbay, which, for those who don't know the area well, is right between Queen Anne, Magnolia, and Ballard. It's a pretty cool location, as I have access to the more upscale parts of town, as well as the more ruddy, alternative ones. My apartment overlooks 15th Avenue, which is a really busy thoroughfare that is almost always loud and crowded, but it's nice to be so close to everything I could want or need. The only downside to the location is that there is no straight shot to the freeway, which is significantly east of me. No matter which way I go, I have to take several busy surface streets, battling traffic and non-stop construction to get to I-5 or even Hwy 99. I guess when Seattleites say to avoid the freeway if you can, they're not just talking about traffic. Easy to avoid it when you can't even get to it!
Anyway, my dad and stepmom drove over from little ol' Casper, Wyoming to help me move to the big city, and it was really great to see them and have their support. The move itself went really smoothly, as I didn't have a ton of stuff (only furniture I had was a queen-sized bed and a small desk and office chair); plus, apparently Dad and Janet are pro movers at this point in their adult lives, having done it many more times than I have. Little brother, Braden, helped out, too, despite having just had his four wisdom teeth taken out. He looked like a blowfish, but he was a trooper and single-handedly organized my kitchen. I stayed the night with them at a fancy schmancy hotel in downtown Bellevue Saturday night, since I wanted to spend time with them before they left the next day. We ate at a restaurant called the Crab Pot, which is a West Coast chain that was featured on Man vs. Food, and it was delicioso! On Sunday, we all drove up to Bellingham so Braden could show Dad and Janet where he'll be going to college (Western Washington). They thought the campus was beautiful, which it is. I'm jealous! We wandered downtown for a bit and then ate at this yummy pizza place before heading back south. They then left me to my own devices and headed back down to Vancouver/Portland.
From Monday til today, I've basically been running non-stop errands to try and fill the empty space in my apartment and get all my necessities. Thanks to generous help from Dad and Janet (my measly part-time income from the 'Couve and past student loans wasn't gonna cut it), I was able to get: two dining chairs, a microwave, a 32" TV and TV cart, a full-length mirror, a nightstand, and a lamp, among other items. I still need to get a couch and a dresser, but those weren't things I could carry from my trunk to my apartment alone, so I'm waiting till my mom comes up tomorrow. I'm paying it forward and helping her move Braden into his dorm up at Western, and then she's staying the night at my place. I had an interview on Wednesday for a job at North Seattle Community College, and I felt pretty good about it, although I think I could've done better. I am one of four candidates chosen for the first round of interviews, and I discovered that day that there are, in fact, THREE rounds in total. The second is with the Vice President of the college and the third is with the President! To me, that seems a little overkill for an office assistant position, but I guess it's good that they are actually involved in lower-chain decision-making. I'm supposed to find out on Tuesday if I move on to the next round, and I'm pretty nervous either way. I've decided to continue applying to other jobs, to keep my options open, and I've moved outside of the higher ed. arena to general clerical and customer service jobs. I hate this whole process and hope that it will be as brief as possible! I need to start making an income again, and I also just need something to keep me busy during the day. Even a few days of relative isolation have made me borderline crazy, and I realize how much I value being employed!
Coming up next is orientation for my grad program on Sunday, which I am really ready for at this point, and then classes start for me next Thursday. I'm going to try to make it over to campus before then to get a parking permit and go to the LGBTQ Open House; that way I can familiarize myself with it a bit more before showtime. I'm really looking forward to meeting new people and forming deeper relationships with my acquaintances here. I'm excited to be part of an academic community again--I think it's really where I fit in the most. In the meantime, if you're reading this and you live in the Seattle area, hit me up and help me get out of my apartment for something other than groceries and furniture! If you're reading this and you live elsewhere in the greater Pacific Northwest, you better be planning to visit me soon! Miss ya'll and hope to see you when I come home sometime in October, if not sooner. For those of you who requested photos of my apartment, see below...
My living room, which is currently very bare, but I plan to get a couch this weekend. Plenty of space, which is nice!
Anyway, my dad and stepmom drove over from little ol' Casper, Wyoming to help me move to the big city, and it was really great to see them and have their support. The move itself went really smoothly, as I didn't have a ton of stuff (only furniture I had was a queen-sized bed and a small desk and office chair); plus, apparently Dad and Janet are pro movers at this point in their adult lives, having done it many more times than I have. Little brother, Braden, helped out, too, despite having just had his four wisdom teeth taken out. He looked like a blowfish, but he was a trooper and single-handedly organized my kitchen. I stayed the night with them at a fancy schmancy hotel in downtown Bellevue Saturday night, since I wanted to spend time with them before they left the next day. We ate at a restaurant called the Crab Pot, which is a West Coast chain that was featured on Man vs. Food, and it was delicioso! On Sunday, we all drove up to Bellingham so Braden could show Dad and Janet where he'll be going to college (Western Washington). They thought the campus was beautiful, which it is. I'm jealous! We wandered downtown for a bit and then ate at this yummy pizza place before heading back south. They then left me to my own devices and headed back down to Vancouver/Portland.
From Monday til today, I've basically been running non-stop errands to try and fill the empty space in my apartment and get all my necessities. Thanks to generous help from Dad and Janet (my measly part-time income from the 'Couve and past student loans wasn't gonna cut it), I was able to get: two dining chairs, a microwave, a 32" TV and TV cart, a full-length mirror, a nightstand, and a lamp, among other items. I still need to get a couch and a dresser, but those weren't things I could carry from my trunk to my apartment alone, so I'm waiting till my mom comes up tomorrow. I'm paying it forward and helping her move Braden into his dorm up at Western, and then she's staying the night at my place. I had an interview on Wednesday for a job at North Seattle Community College, and I felt pretty good about it, although I think I could've done better. I am one of four candidates chosen for the first round of interviews, and I discovered that day that there are, in fact, THREE rounds in total. The second is with the Vice President of the college and the third is with the President! To me, that seems a little overkill for an office assistant position, but I guess it's good that they are actually involved in lower-chain decision-making. I'm supposed to find out on Tuesday if I move on to the next round, and I'm pretty nervous either way. I've decided to continue applying to other jobs, to keep my options open, and I've moved outside of the higher ed. arena to general clerical and customer service jobs. I hate this whole process and hope that it will be as brief as possible! I need to start making an income again, and I also just need something to keep me busy during the day. Even a few days of relative isolation have made me borderline crazy, and I realize how much I value being employed!
Coming up next is orientation for my grad program on Sunday, which I am really ready for at this point, and then classes start for me next Thursday. I'm going to try to make it over to campus before then to get a parking permit and go to the LGBTQ Open House; that way I can familiarize myself with it a bit more before showtime. I'm really looking forward to meeting new people and forming deeper relationships with my acquaintances here. I'm excited to be part of an academic community again--I think it's really where I fit in the most. In the meantime, if you're reading this and you live in the Seattle area, hit me up and help me get out of my apartment for something other than groceries and furniture! If you're reading this and you live elsewhere in the greater Pacific Northwest, you better be planning to visit me soon! Miss ya'll and hope to see you when I come home sometime in October, if not sooner. For those of you who requested photos of my apartment, see below...
The other side of my living room, which I have designated as my workspace--right next to my balcony, so I can get some natural light (and plenty of traffic noise).
My kitchen, which is bigger than this pic makes it look. Not featured: my cool red microwave, which goes with my whole "black, red, and white diner" theme.
View #1 from my balcony, which is right across from the Interbay Driving Range. Surprisingly, there is something comforting about having big stadium lights on all night.
View #2 from my balcony, 15th Avenue, which runs right up to Ballard.
View #3 from my balcony: my camera's best attempt at capturing some of the fancy homes on the hill in Magnolia, just west of me.
My quaint little dining room, featuring my two-person dining set (thanks, Dad and Janet!)
My bathroom--also bigger than this photo would suggest.
My bedroom, which is quite spacious.
My stowaway bunny, Benjamin. Shhh!
Benjamin's riveting ivy view.
My wonderfully large closet. It's no Carry Bradshaw closet, but it'll do, pig, it'll do.
Aaaaand, last but not least, my unfortunate IKEA nightstand. As you can see, I didn't notice that the front bottom panel was on backwards until I had already put 26 small nails into the back panel, solidifying everything. FML. Still trying to figure out how I'm going to fix this one, but before you judge, let it be known that I successfully constructed both dining room chairs, as well as the TV cart, which came with no instructions of any kind. Ok, so I'm not Bob the Builder, but this was just bad luck.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The Business of Breastfeeding
On my way to work every morning, while driving on SR-14 east, I always pass by the Beaches billboard, which is familiar to most Vancouverites. Though sponsored by the waterfront restaurant, the billboard usually displays a message unrelated to it, as they must allow random advertisers and individuals to pay for the space. They change it pretty frequently--almost daily--so there is always something new to read. Oftentimes, it advertises some upcoming event, but most of the time it displays a personal message for a known passerby. For example, today it read, "Happy birthday, Bob, you're old. From, Dirt." I have also seen propositions for dates and brief love notes posted. However, lately, the billboard has been dominated by sporadic plugs for breastfeeding. Who sponsors these, I do not know, but there have been several. One of them read, "Breast milk never gets recalled," while others have had similarly snarky quips. Most of these haven't bothered me, but the most recent one has, for some reason, gotten under my skin. It said, "Normalize breastfeeding! Nurse in public!"
Now, the reason this irks me is not because I harbor some illogical animosity towards breastfeeding, but because it sparks an issue I have heard a lot about in recent years: whether or not it's appropriate to nurse openly in public. I was also a bit annoyed by the use of "normalize" in the message because, to me, breastfeeding is considered quite normal in our culture. I realize that a few decades ago, there was a trend towards using formula in lieu of breast milk, which I assume was based on a flawed assumption that breast milk was somehow less healthy for the baby. However, this trend is so dated that I don't even know the real reason behind it. I and all my siblings were breastfed, and this has been the case for most people I know. I constantly hear commentary from the medical community that breastfeeding is healthy for both baby and mom, and as someone who has associated closely with feminist circles, I have been exposed to plenty of pro-breastfeeding rhetoric. Additionally, it seems the message is prevalent in the mainstream, and I never hear anyone say, "Breastfeeding is dirty!" (or anything to that end).
If breastfeeding publicly is what it takes for certain people to be convinced that it has been normalized, then I still don't know what the problem is because I would certainly say it's not uncommon to witness a woman nursing in public. However, I want to pursue this notion a bit further because I think there are issues in the logic of free-for-all breastfeeding. I don't mind if a woman nurses in a public place, provided that she uses some type of covering (blanket, jacket, shirt, etc.) to shield unsuspecting passers-by from her nude breast. There have been instances in which I have seen women I don't know from Eve just whip it out with no discretion (including a woman in a string bikini at the Fort Vancouver 4th of July firework show one year...), and to me, this is just inconsiderate. I am uncomfortable with seeing the breasts of someone I don't know well (if at all) randomly exposed to me in a place where random breasts are not slated to be exposed. I wouldn't even classify myself as a prude; I just find this inappropriate. Now, I know many proponents of public breastfeeding (sans cover-up) would argue that I am simply uncomfortable with it because I'm not used to seeing it often enough, and that I should just get over it. I believe I have commonly heard the argument phrased like so: "It's JUST a boob, stop making it into something sexual and deal with it!" This is where the logic gets fuzzy for me. You see, natural and necessary activities such as relieving one's bowels, changing one's clothes, or picking one's nose are certainly considered normal; they are not condemned and they are not considered unhealthy or shameful, provided they occur in private. I don't want to see someone pop a squat and take a crap right in front of me at the mall, so why would I want to see you pop out your nipple for your infant to suckle? It's not about sexualizing women's bodies in this case--there is nothing sexually appealing to me about a woman breastfeeding, for the record--it's just that there are some things in life we don't need to see a stranger do, and nursing is one of them. Again, if the baby is whining and it can't wait for the bathroom, the car, or the home, I have no qualms about a mother breastfeeding discreetly, but I don't understand the recent push for nursing to be so in-your-face. Am I alone on this? Perhaps I just don't understand the issue because I'm not a mother, so if someone has a different perspective to share on this, I welcome it. I try to be sensitive to issues like this because it's not fair for one to feel condemned or "abnormal" for doing something that is not only essential, but also perfectly morally sound. However, I guess I'm just not enough of a hippie to see the value in eliminating social mores that exist for good reasons.
As a quick tangential, for the sake of emphasis, I'd like to share that when I worked as a student office assistant in the Women's Studies Department at PSU, a professor, who shall remain unnamed, came into the office one day with her toddler--yes, TODDLER--and in the middle of a conversation with another student and myself, started breastfeeding her. Now, in her defense, she may have assumed that, because she was in a woman-centered, progressive environment, it was a "safe space" for her to do this. I suppose in that regard it wasn't the worst place for her to flop out her rather sizable mammary gland, but this fact aside, I found it wildly inappropriate that she would do this in a professional atmosphere, while on the job, in front of two students with whom she did not have a close relationship. Perhaps some of her colleagues were not opposed to this, but why would she automatically assume we were? I was extremely uncomfortable, unsure of where to rest my gaze, as I didn't want to stare at her breast but found it nearly impossible not to. Whatever conversation we were having was immediately shot to hell because of the mental gymnastics I was doing to avoid registering utter discomfort and distaste on my face. I won't even get into the weirdness of nursing a child that could feasibly chew steak (to semi-quote an episode of Sex and the City) because I think the general situation speaks for itself. Those of you reading this who may find my opinion on the matter to be somewhat conservative, please tell me, would you start nursing your child, without warning and without covering, in front of a coworker or client? For example, if you were a therapist, would you do it in front of your patient while they were trying to talk about their day? For me, it's not a matter of what the breastfeeder is comfortable with, it's a matter of what the onlooker(s) is comfortable with--common courtesy. Had she even so much as interjected a brief, "Do you mind if I nurse?" it would have been more appropriate. Again, if I'm missing the point, someone please tell me, but in my humble opinion, the business of breastfeeding should remain inconspicuous.
Now, the reason this irks me is not because I harbor some illogical animosity towards breastfeeding, but because it sparks an issue I have heard a lot about in recent years: whether or not it's appropriate to nurse openly in public. I was also a bit annoyed by the use of "normalize" in the message because, to me, breastfeeding is considered quite normal in our culture. I realize that a few decades ago, there was a trend towards using formula in lieu of breast milk, which I assume was based on a flawed assumption that breast milk was somehow less healthy for the baby. However, this trend is so dated that I don't even know the real reason behind it. I and all my siblings were breastfed, and this has been the case for most people I know. I constantly hear commentary from the medical community that breastfeeding is healthy for both baby and mom, and as someone who has associated closely with feminist circles, I have been exposed to plenty of pro-breastfeeding rhetoric. Additionally, it seems the message is prevalent in the mainstream, and I never hear anyone say, "Breastfeeding is dirty!" (or anything to that end).
If breastfeeding publicly is what it takes for certain people to be convinced that it has been normalized, then I still don't know what the problem is because I would certainly say it's not uncommon to witness a woman nursing in public. However, I want to pursue this notion a bit further because I think there are issues in the logic of free-for-all breastfeeding. I don't mind if a woman nurses in a public place, provided that she uses some type of covering (blanket, jacket, shirt, etc.) to shield unsuspecting passers-by from her nude breast. There have been instances in which I have seen women I don't know from Eve just whip it out with no discretion (including a woman in a string bikini at the Fort Vancouver 4th of July firework show one year...), and to me, this is just inconsiderate. I am uncomfortable with seeing the breasts of someone I don't know well (if at all) randomly exposed to me in a place where random breasts are not slated to be exposed. I wouldn't even classify myself as a prude; I just find this inappropriate. Now, I know many proponents of public breastfeeding (sans cover-up) would argue that I am simply uncomfortable with it because I'm not used to seeing it often enough, and that I should just get over it. I believe I have commonly heard the argument phrased like so: "It's JUST a boob, stop making it into something sexual and deal with it!" This is where the logic gets fuzzy for me. You see, natural and necessary activities such as relieving one's bowels, changing one's clothes, or picking one's nose are certainly considered normal; they are not condemned and they are not considered unhealthy or shameful, provided they occur in private. I don't want to see someone pop a squat and take a crap right in front of me at the mall, so why would I want to see you pop out your nipple for your infant to suckle? It's not about sexualizing women's bodies in this case--there is nothing sexually appealing to me about a woman breastfeeding, for the record--it's just that there are some things in life we don't need to see a stranger do, and nursing is one of them. Again, if the baby is whining and it can't wait for the bathroom, the car, or the home, I have no qualms about a mother breastfeeding discreetly, but I don't understand the recent push for nursing to be so in-your-face. Am I alone on this? Perhaps I just don't understand the issue because I'm not a mother, so if someone has a different perspective to share on this, I welcome it. I try to be sensitive to issues like this because it's not fair for one to feel condemned or "abnormal" for doing something that is not only essential, but also perfectly morally sound. However, I guess I'm just not enough of a hippie to see the value in eliminating social mores that exist for good reasons.
As a quick tangential, for the sake of emphasis, I'd like to share that when I worked as a student office assistant in the Women's Studies Department at PSU, a professor, who shall remain unnamed, came into the office one day with her toddler--yes, TODDLER--and in the middle of a conversation with another student and myself, started breastfeeding her. Now, in her defense, she may have assumed that, because she was in a woman-centered, progressive environment, it was a "safe space" for her to do this. I suppose in that regard it wasn't the worst place for her to flop out her rather sizable mammary gland, but this fact aside, I found it wildly inappropriate that she would do this in a professional atmosphere, while on the job, in front of two students with whom she did not have a close relationship. Perhaps some of her colleagues were not opposed to this, but why would she automatically assume we were? I was extremely uncomfortable, unsure of where to rest my gaze, as I didn't want to stare at her breast but found it nearly impossible not to. Whatever conversation we were having was immediately shot to hell because of the mental gymnastics I was doing to avoid registering utter discomfort and distaste on my face. I won't even get into the weirdness of nursing a child that could feasibly chew steak (to semi-quote an episode of Sex and the City) because I think the general situation speaks for itself. Those of you reading this who may find my opinion on the matter to be somewhat conservative, please tell me, would you start nursing your child, without warning and without covering, in front of a coworker or client? For example, if you were a therapist, would you do it in front of your patient while they were trying to talk about their day? For me, it's not a matter of what the breastfeeder is comfortable with, it's a matter of what the onlooker(s) is comfortable with--common courtesy. Had she even so much as interjected a brief, "Do you mind if I nurse?" it would have been more appropriate. Again, if I'm missing the point, someone please tell me, but in my humble opinion, the business of breastfeeding should remain inconspicuous.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
this popsicle stand
So on Sunday I went up to Seattle to check out some apartments, and, due to the fact that only a handful of the fifteen or twenty apartment managers I contacted actually got back to me, I only ended up having two appointments to look inside the units. The first was in West Seattle, right on Beach Drive, across the street from Alki Beach. The location was absolutely adorable and ideal (albeit a little far from campus), but the apartment itself was tiny (400 sf) and rather dingy. I proceeded to do several drive-bys in West Seattle, South Seattle, First Hill (one was literally right across the street from SU, but of course no one called me back), and Eastlake. The one in Eastlake was great, and also an ideal location, being about a block away from Lake Union. Unfortunately, though, I wasn't able to see much of any of them, just the exterior and the neighborhood. My second appointment was supposed to be at this brand new apartment complex in north Seattle, but when I got there, they told me that they couldn't accept full-time students as residents, unless they have dependents. No one said boo about this to me when I set up the appointment, and it was not indicated anywhere on the web listings. So, that pissed me off because I took the time and gas to drive up there, and also, talk about discrimination! By the time I got done there, I was pretty much sick of driving around and not getting to actually see any apartments, so my aunt (who came with me) and I got some cheap cheeseburgers, fries, and floats from the Dick's in the U District, and headed back south. We took a scenic route through Ballard and Fremont, then Queen Anne and Belltown. It was a nice day, so it was cool to drive around all those funky/hip neighborhoods and see Seattleites in their natural Sunday habitats. Then, trying to play it smart by catching 99 south from downtown and avoiding I-5, we realized, too late, that they had closed off all the freeway entrances down there, and traffic was backed up like crazy. I got stuck on lots of near-90-degree hills in a standstill, which is always fun, knowing that when you have to accelerate, there's a reasonable possibility you will roll back into the car behind you or otherwise burn rubber trying not to. Anyway, we finally got on the road and headed back to Olympia, where I had a low-key night at my aunt and uncle's house.
Monday morning I got up bright and early (well, wasn't so bright yet) so that I could drive a good hour and a half back north for my interview, which was at Edmonds Community College in Lynnwood (about 20-30 minutes north of downtown Seattle). Traffic was pretty much abysmal at that time of the day, but I still made pretty good time (thanks, cruise control and traffic-weaving skills!) and got to Lynnwood about an hour and a half earlier than my interview time. I decided to try and find a Starbucks, since Lynnwood appeared to be prime suburban location for that, and in the process realized that Lynnwood is one dreary and miserable town that I certainly wouldn't write home about. It reminded me of the ghetto-est parts of Gresham or Troutdale, except maybe worse. Not only did it possess 0% of the Seattle culture and charm, it wasn't even nice by suburb standards. All I saw, lining the major arterials, were used car dealerships, automotive repair shops, and sketchy Asian restaurants. Oh yeah, I think I also spotted a casino and an oversized family fun center, too--I guess that's the local entertainment. I decided to just find the college and kill time there, since there was clearly nothing worth exploring elsewhere. The campus was decent, considering the rest of the town, but it too seemed a bit sleepy. I tried to solicit a visitor login at the library, so I could use a computer while I was waiting for my interview, but they told me there was no such thing. So, out of sheer boredom (and a dead cell phone), I just hoofed it to the Developmental Learning Division office, which houses the position I applied for, figuring I would risk looking too eager in lieu of being bored to death for another half hour. Fortunately, they gave me a list of questions for the interview that I could use for brief preparation, so I used my best extemporary skills and came up with some answers that I thought were specific and relevant. The position is along the lines of customer service and student services, both of which I have experience doing, so it wasn't too hard to talk about why I'm a good fit. I felt really good about the interview; they seemed to like me, and they were also very nice and professional, which was a relief after not getting a great impression from the commute, surrounding town, or campus. They told me they would make a decision by tomorrow, so I sent a little email of gratitude today, and now I'm just crossing my fingers that it will work out. I don't want to live in Lynnwood, so I'd have to commute if I got the job, which sucks, but at this point I haven't heard back from any other potential employers, so I'll take what I can get. The pay isn't bad, either, and I would have a three-day weekend every week!
So, now I just get to play the waiting game. Waiting for a job offer, waiting for an opportunity to see more apartments, waiting for school to start, waiting to get out of Vancouver and start something new. I appreciate everything I have here, but I'm uber restless right now. I've also had too much time on my hands this summer, working only halftime most weeks, and the boredom is really getting to me. I'm starting to get really irritable with family and friends, which probably wouldn't happen if I was busier. Boredom causes me to have less realistic expectations of those around me because I can't fathom why they don't have as much down time as I do. What's this? People work full-time? What a concept! Anyway, with all due respect to my Vancouver-PDX family, I'm ready to blow this popsicle stand! Until next time...
Monday morning I got up bright and early (well, wasn't so bright yet) so that I could drive a good hour and a half back north for my interview, which was at Edmonds Community College in Lynnwood (about 20-30 minutes north of downtown Seattle). Traffic was pretty much abysmal at that time of the day, but I still made pretty good time (thanks, cruise control and traffic-weaving skills!) and got to Lynnwood about an hour and a half earlier than my interview time. I decided to try and find a Starbucks, since Lynnwood appeared to be prime suburban location for that, and in the process realized that Lynnwood is one dreary and miserable town that I certainly wouldn't write home about. It reminded me of the ghetto-est parts of Gresham or Troutdale, except maybe worse. Not only did it possess 0% of the Seattle culture and charm, it wasn't even nice by suburb standards. All I saw, lining the major arterials, were used car dealerships, automotive repair shops, and sketchy Asian restaurants. Oh yeah, I think I also spotted a casino and an oversized family fun center, too--I guess that's the local entertainment. I decided to just find the college and kill time there, since there was clearly nothing worth exploring elsewhere. The campus was decent, considering the rest of the town, but it too seemed a bit sleepy. I tried to solicit a visitor login at the library, so I could use a computer while I was waiting for my interview, but they told me there was no such thing. So, out of sheer boredom (and a dead cell phone), I just hoofed it to the Developmental Learning Division office, which houses the position I applied for, figuring I would risk looking too eager in lieu of being bored to death for another half hour. Fortunately, they gave me a list of questions for the interview that I could use for brief preparation, so I used my best extemporary skills and came up with some answers that I thought were specific and relevant. The position is along the lines of customer service and student services, both of which I have experience doing, so it wasn't too hard to talk about why I'm a good fit. I felt really good about the interview; they seemed to like me, and they were also very nice and professional, which was a relief after not getting a great impression from the commute, surrounding town, or campus. They told me they would make a decision by tomorrow, so I sent a little email of gratitude today, and now I'm just crossing my fingers that it will work out. I don't want to live in Lynnwood, so I'd have to commute if I got the job, which sucks, but at this point I haven't heard back from any other potential employers, so I'll take what I can get. The pay isn't bad, either, and I would have a three-day weekend every week!
So, now I just get to play the waiting game. Waiting for a job offer, waiting for an opportunity to see more apartments, waiting for school to start, waiting to get out of Vancouver and start something new. I appreciate everything I have here, but I'm uber restless right now. I've also had too much time on my hands this summer, working only halftime most weeks, and the boredom is really getting to me. I'm starting to get really irritable with family and friends, which probably wouldn't happen if I was busier. Boredom causes me to have less realistic expectations of those around me because I can't fathom why they don't have as much down time as I do. What's this? People work full-time? What a concept! Anyway, with all due respect to my Vancouver-PDX family, I'm ready to blow this popsicle stand! Until next time...
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
the early boys part deux
The second part of my mini-memoir on crushes of the mid-90s. See the first part below, if you haven't already. Otherwise, confusion may ensue. Thanks for tuning in...
***
Johnny, like William, had a mien that properly reflected his all-American name. He was about the same height as most of the girls in the class, perhaps shorter, and was also just as slender. His hair was dirty blond and rounded closely to the scalp, while still appearing soft, much like a traditional Roman cut. Having eyebrows that were notably darker than the hair on his head and teeth that were spaced far apart, he imparted a gremlin-like aesthetic that was somehow not off-putting. What made him most appealing was his polite charm, which stood the test of childhood tendencies to engage in cruel and unusual ridicule. I have no memory of him asking me my gender, nor commenting on my strange boy haircut, so that counted for something.
I can recall one juvenile summer that was comprised of sporadic and spontaneous visits to Johnny’s house. It was never my idea, and I never went alone—my timidity wouldn’t allow it. Instead, it just so happened that one of my best friends, Gabby, who also lived in the humble but quaint Casper neighborhood, was a close friend of his. A typical day started off with my older sister suggesting we take a walk down the block to our friends’ house (she was besties with Gabby’s older sister), where we would play out in the front yard for a while, perfecting cartwheels, round-offs, and other pseudo-gymnastics. After tiring of that, we’d eat a hearty lunch, which I recall always included blue corn chips—the origins of which mystified me for years—and fresh-squeezed lemonade. Finally, just before wearily nudging my sister to take us home, someone would suggest we stroll over to Johnny’s house, and I’d nearly bubble over with nervous excitement.
His abode had a comforting quality, despite being outdated and kitschy. Like most Wyoming homes of the 1990s, it was a ranch-style with dark, marbled brown shag carpeting and wood-paneled walls. It smelled of stale cigarette smoke, which may or may not have been from its then-inhabitants, mixed with Lipton soup or another quick, easy meal. Every inch of countertop was adorned with some trinket likely purchased at a holiday bazaar: creepy rubber dolls with crocheted dresses; stuffed animals dyed obnoxious colors; Virgin Mary and Jesus statuettes; sugar canisters and cookie jars with matching paisley patterns; and tacky but endearing plaques announcing that “home is where the heart is.” I can’t say what exactly about it was comforting; perhaps just the fact that it was his, and it contained character and unconditional love.
We’d usually end up playing “Go Fish” or another mundane card game, and all the while, I would try to keep a running tally on how often Johnny asked me if I had any sevens. I’m quite certain, in retrospect, that he had the hots for Gabby or even for my sister, but I maintained the deluded fantasy that I was his secret shy-girl crush. He was an only child, whose mother taught at our Catholic primary school, so he was good-natured, smart, and just lonely enough to spend his summer days with a bunch of girls. In fact, I don’t recall Johnny having many male friends. He got along with just about everyone at school, but I could tell he preferred the more conversational and creative company of females, which of course earned him the hearts of each of them. Despite our time together, nothing ever came of my unrequited feelings for Johnny, not even a staged recess wedding. I wonder what he is doing these days, and I especially wonder if he ever came out of the closet.
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Thursday, August 11, 2011
the early boys
This is the first little vignette in a series of mini-memoirs I've decided to write, just to keep the creative juices flowing. The topic of the first mini-memoir is boys I had crushes on as a kidlet. This was inspired by my most recent reading of Lolita, in which Vladimir Nabokov is utterly fearless about describing in rich detail all those Freudian thoughts and memories most of us are too reserved to talk about. Mine won't be quite as intimate, since I'm posting it on this here blog (nor will it come close to being as genius, for that matter). I may only post this first mini-memoir and confine the others to forever remain nestled on my hard drive, just so I can write them without imagining a potential audience that is anyone with Internet access. Anyway, here's what I got so far...
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I don’t know what developmental psychologists would say is the normal age for little girls to start developing attractions, but I know that by first grade, if not sooner, I was fully capable of such a feat. I may not have known the implications behind these feelings, but they were identifiably amorous or romantic in nature. Actually, even those aren’t the right words because it’s not as if I knew what sex was at the time, nor did I have any concept of the meaning of romance, which to my elementary mind, was about as esoteric and useless as it is to most adults. There was just something about the way I perceived and interacted with certain boys that set them apart from others. Put differently, I didn’t think they had cooties, but if they did, I had no qualms about catching them.
One such fortunate fellow was William Koenig, whose appearance was as charmingly German as his name. He had blond, thistle-like hair that sprouted straight up from his head like the wildflower itself, presumably impervious to even the most copious amounts of water or hair gel and resistant to the coarsest of boar-bristle brushes. His face had the seemingly unlikely quality of being cherub-y and Neanderthal at the same time, for his brow was protruding, especially for a young boy, but was balanced by gentler features, like his cheeks (which are dimpled in my mind).
Throughout kindergarten and most of first grade, I didn’t believe William wanted anything to do with me, since I was a shy, boyish-looking teacher’s pet who tended to blend into the walls during class time and the chain-link fence during recess. He was as much of a jock as a six- or seven-year-old can be and probably spent most of his recess time playing kickball and throwing rocks. In the classroom, I imagine he was none too bright, for which the only evidence I possess (aside from his Cro-Magnon brow) is the fact that he blatantly used me for answers on math quizzes. I put up with it for quite some time, despite that he was pushy and unsubtle (“Hey, let me cheat off you,” he would say) because it flattered me to receive any attention whatsoever from him, especially the kind that would indicate I was smarter.
However, one day I was feeling particularly saucy, and, like usual, consented to his entitled request to exploit my intellect, but instead of diligently cranking out flawless arithmetic, I penciled in wrong answers for every problem. Like a fool, William fastidiously copied them down, without so much as a feigned pause for the appearance of thoughtfulness, and turned his quiz in to Mrs. Morrison’s tray. I then erased my incriminating answers and filled in the correct ones, post-haste, giving him a quick glance of smugness, before submitting my own quiz. Where most boys would have written me off like the wily Benedict Arnold I was (rightly or not), I think using such trickery to defend my honor earned me points in William’s book. Things changed after that. For one, he never demanded to cheat off me again, and for two, he invited me to marry him.
Now don’t get too riled up, it was all part of a new coed trend at recess to enact a mock-wedding between a boy and a girl whom the whole class knew to be crushing on one another. Up until this point, I had only assumed the pathetic roles of congregant and presider, due to the fact that none of the boys openly admitted to liking me and instead doubled or tripled up on my more popular and feminine-looking friends. But finally it was my turn! Nervously tucking my hand into William’s hooked arm, we glided down the blacktop to our classmate’s rudimentary rendition of “Here Comes the Bride” (they at least had the reverence to omit “all fat and wide”). I put on my best bride face, which was likely very sad and unconvincing—growing up being mistaken for a boy causes one to forget how to be girlish—and said my “I do’s.”
When the bell rang, I should have been a very happy schoolgirl indeed, but there was one problem. Now that I had gotten the guy, I didn’t want him anymore. Oh yes, I was blooming into a fickle pickle already, and the thrill of the chase had dissipated. But all hope was not lost because it was the officiator of my phony nuptials who had captured my heart that day. He spun out his contrived vows with such sophisticated pomp that I knew he was something special. He may not have been the sporty show-off that William was, but Johnny Brown was quite literally the boy next door that earned my affections for the rest of first grade and well into second…
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