Hmmmm.
This past week I've been in Boston training for my position with about 400-500 new staff and service leaders. We've had extensive 14 hour days training for various ahhhh-everything-goes-awry-what-do-you-as-the-leader-do? situations. While the national headquarters did not even designate a curfew or alcohol policy, my site did. Out of 18 sites, we are the ONLY one to have a curfew and a zero-tolerance alcohol policy.
Everyone that attended from Seattle was 22 or older.
Naturally, this infuriated me. Instead of absorbing the sessions, I spent lots of time thinking about why they made this decision, contacting people from other sites for their advice, and attempting to talk to my manager and director without breaking into very angry tears. They don't have the right to tell us when to be in the dorm -- we are adults. We take care of ourselves on a daily basis, and yet they don't trust us to act the same way while away from Seattle. This kind of situation deeply offends me, as I imagine it would anyone else my age.
Last night I decided to team up with a co-worker and write a letter to the staff detailing our dissent in much greater detail. I had already lost sleep over it, and I figured I would only lose more if the situation wasn't resolved and discussed. After sending it to the other people at Seattle who share similar positions as mine, and without sending it to the staff that made these rules, the curfew was suddenly lifted for the last night at Academy. You can just imagine my joy!
But I lost my backpack. My notes, jackets, and wallet are nowhere to be found. As such, I can't go out with all my other co-workers because I have no ID.
Coincidence? Forgetfulness? Just plain bad luck? I'm not sure what to think of it. All I know is that I'm still sober, tired, and have to board a plane tomorrow somehow without ID.
Hmmmm.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
I got a heart full of rubber bands that keep getting caught on things.
Before I write (hopefully) extensively on The Feminine Mystique, a book everyone should read, I have to share with you a few bits of what I've been busy with the past couple of days.
If there is one thing I've learned about moving and living on your own, it's that you actually have to have a place to live (but mainly sleep and eat) before you can truly begin your new life. Unfortunately, I have not found that abode quite yet. No matter the number of apartments/duplexes/basements/shared rooms/houses/old laundry rooms I visit, I never quite feel content or at home in them. I've decided this is the main problem with Craig's List -- not many sane AND social young people list on it. Plus, all the good rooms are usually taken by other housemates, and I'm left with the room with a rusting sink and a 6 inch wide window. No fun. Despite these setbacks, my co-worker and I managed to find a couple of decent places, and hopefully we'll decide on one of them soon enough.
When I'm not desperately driving around down NE 50th St., getting lost on 99, or cutting people off on I-5 in order to attend open houses on time around the entirety of Seattle, I've managed to have a bit of fun around Seattle's green, diverse, and amusing community. (Compostable cups are made of corn? holy kernels, Batman!) Two weeks ago I never thought I'd see a Native American powwow. Or have a divorced economist, who is also a devoted, Christian father of five, hit on me while I noshed on hazelnut gelato on the bus ride back to Ballard ("If you'd said yes, I would have taken you to church with me").
In particular, I never thought I’d be sitting on a blanket shaded by towering cypress and oak trees in the middle of Marymoor Park anticipating the opening of The Chieftains, a Grammy-winning Celtic group, in the east side of Seattle. Had I stayed home, I would have missed the opportunity to DANCE ON STAGE with the group -- a train of Irish dancers came along during the finale, invited Kerry (my co-worker and friend) to join the line, and before I knew what I was getting myself into, I was line dancing on stage around these world-renowned artists in front of about 2,000 people. (MAJOR props to Jessie, a very giving King County official and CY board member, who got us in free of charge.) Even though The Chieftains were amazingly talented, I have to admit I kind of enjoyed Ockham's Razor, the opener, a bit more. :) While the Chieftains played awesome versions of Wabash Cannonball and Cotton Eyed Joe (which I can't watch without laughing to the point of tears and general disgust), Ockham's Razor played Devil Went Down to Georgia, a consistent Corey-pleaser.
In short, I don't regret my decision to come out here. That isn't to say that it's been easy -- but I'm hoping that in the weeks and months to come, I will encounter different challenges (namely, work related ones) than the ones currently set before me.
On the ride back from the concert, Kerry and I began to question Jessie about her experience in the Peace Corps in West Africa. She began to talk about learning a new language, culture shock upon returning to the US, and her journals she kept while abroad. Much of her experience impressed me, particularly her amazing amount of independence and sense of morality. While I couldn't do justice in my description of any part of her time there, I have to share one piece that she wrote in her journal -- verse 11 of Walt Whitman's "Song of the Open Road."
While this verse inspires me, something in verse 15 holds me:
Allons! whoever you are! come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.
Allons! out of the dark confinement!
It is useless to protest—I know all, and expose it.
Behold, through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.
No husband, no wife, no friend, no lover, trusted to hear the confession;
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
In the cars of rail-roads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bed-room, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of anything else, but never of itself.
Peace,
Corey
If there is one thing I've learned about moving and living on your own, it's that you actually have to have a place to live (but mainly sleep and eat) before you can truly begin your new life. Unfortunately, I have not found that abode quite yet. No matter the number of apartments/duplexes/basements/shared rooms/houses/old laundry rooms I visit, I never quite feel content or at home in them. I've decided this is the main problem with Craig's List -- not many sane AND social young people list on it. Plus, all the good rooms are usually taken by other housemates, and I'm left with the room with a rusting sink and a 6 inch wide window. No fun. Despite these setbacks, my co-worker and I managed to find a couple of decent places, and hopefully we'll decide on one of them soon enough.
When I'm not desperately driving around down NE 50th St., getting lost on 99, or cutting people off on I-5 in order to attend open houses on time around the entirety of Seattle, I've managed to have a bit of fun around Seattle's green, diverse, and amusing community. (Compostable cups are made of corn? holy kernels, Batman!) Two weeks ago I never thought I'd see a Native American powwow. Or have a divorced economist, who is also a devoted, Christian father of five, hit on me while I noshed on hazelnut gelato on the bus ride back to Ballard ("If you'd said yes, I would have taken you to church with me").
In particular, I never thought I’d be sitting on a blanket shaded by towering cypress and oak trees in the middle of Marymoor Park anticipating the opening of The Chieftains, a Grammy-winning Celtic group, in the east side of Seattle. Had I stayed home, I would have missed the opportunity to DANCE ON STAGE with the group -- a train of Irish dancers came along during the finale, invited Kerry (my co-worker and friend) to join the line, and before I knew what I was getting myself into, I was line dancing on stage around these world-renowned artists in front of about 2,000 people. (MAJOR props to Jessie, a very giving King County official and CY board member, who got us in free of charge.) Even though The Chieftains were amazingly talented, I have to admit I kind of enjoyed Ockham's Razor, the opener, a bit more. :) While the Chieftains played awesome versions of Wabash Cannonball and Cotton Eyed Joe (which I can't watch without laughing to the point of tears and general disgust), Ockham's Razor played Devil Went Down to Georgia, a consistent Corey-pleaser.
In short, I don't regret my decision to come out here. That isn't to say that it's been easy -- but I'm hoping that in the weeks and months to come, I will encounter different challenges (namely, work related ones) than the ones currently set before me.
On the ride back from the concert, Kerry and I began to question Jessie about her experience in the Peace Corps in West Africa. She began to talk about learning a new language, culture shock upon returning to the US, and her journals she kept while abroad. Much of her experience impressed me, particularly her amazing amount of independence and sense of morality. While I couldn't do justice in my description of any part of her time there, I have to share one piece that she wrote in her journal -- verse 11 of Walt Whitman's "Song of the Open Road."
| Listen! I will be honest with you; | |
| I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes; | |
| These are the days that must happen to you: | |
| You shall not heap up what is call’d riches, | |
| You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, | 145 |
| You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d—you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction, before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart, | |
| You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you; | |
| What beckonings of love you receive, you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, | |
| You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you. |
While this verse inspires me, something in verse 15 holds me:
Allons! whoever you are! come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.
Allons! out of the dark confinement!
It is useless to protest—I know all, and expose it.
Behold, through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.
No husband, no wife, no friend, no lover, trusted to hear the confession;
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
In the cars of rail-roads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bed-room, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of anything else, but never of itself.
Peace,
Corey
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Sittin' on the dock of the bay
I arrived in Seattle this past Friday, and unlike previous moves, I was nothing but excited. My most sublime discovery? The city is so green that even the interstate bridges and overhangs downtown have vegetation dangling from them! After meeting some CY folks (quite kind people!), Mom and I headed out to Bothell, a northern 'burb of Seattle, for the night. We headed to the local ale house and I had my first true meal in Seattle: a half-portion of Mac n' Cheese made with penne pasta, tillamook cheddar cheese, heavy cream, and bacon with a mixed greens side salad and an Alaskan summer ale to drink. Delicious! (Mumsie had fish and chips with white wine.) The Bothell area was beautiful, but definitely too far from the CY office for me. The housing search is ongoing, but hopefully I will find a place soon (and yes, I'll post pictures!)
The next day we headed out to Whidbey Island, an island just to the northwest of Seattle and apparently a popular summer hangout. Dogs, frisbees, and barbeques everywhere -- and I thought we were only going to go to small arts and crafts towns, so I wore a dress! Despite my inappropriate attire, I managed to hike onto some rocks at Deception Pass and admire this amazing view.
It's amazing to be in such a lush, beautiful, and fairly warm area and see the snow-covered Olympics just over the water. Even though this area isn't particularly close to Seattle, I had this feeling that this is just where I was meant to be. I was at peace, calm, and oh so close to what I hope was the feeling of freedom.
However, this feeling didn't last long. While I enjoy a quiet view, Mom was fidgety and talkative -- two qualities that don't describe her particularly well. Later she admitted to me that she almost regretting coming to the island for the day -- talk about a guilt trip! Luckily, we happened upon a street arts + crafts fair in Langley on the southern side of the island. Choochokam apparently takes place every year, and my mother just went wild. Huge woven rugs, handmade leather crafts, family-owned pottery businesses, knitted
hats, a shady backyard that sold locally brewed beer and wine, local music, and one ADORABLE hand-blown pig light fixture were just a few of the booths that brightened her day. Now she dreams of moving there and holing up in the winter to weave and touring the northwest the rest of the year selling her crafts.
I just now realized how weird it is that I'm writing a lot about my mother. I really miss her these days, along with everyone else. As I've said before, the CY people are nice, but it's always hard for me to get to know new people, especially when I'm in a new place, and especially when I have so little sense of permanency, what with no housing, true work routine, or close friends. Through everything, my mother has been there for me, and I am so happy that we got to road trip together and spend my first couple of nights in Seattle driving around listening to Car Talk and Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!. Perhaps it's also easier to write about this right now rather than my own situation. I'm confident it will improve soon though -- the days will get easier, the nights will be less long, and I'll not only enjoy the beauty of this town but be a happier, less lonely person in it.
Corey
-- This is a reminder to myself that I need to write about the Feminine Mystique and its influence on bringing me here :)
The next day we headed out to Whidbey Island, an island just to the northwest of Seattle and apparently a popular summer hangout. Dogs, frisbees, and barbeques everywhere -- and I thought we were only going to go to small arts and crafts towns, so I wore a dress! Despite my inappropriate attire, I managed to hike onto some rocks at Deception Pass and admire this amazing view.
It's amazing to be in such a lush, beautiful, and fairly warm area and see the snow-covered Olympics just over the water. Even though this area isn't particularly close to Seattle, I had this feeling that this is just where I was meant to be. I was at peace, calm, and oh so close to what I hope was the feeling of freedom.However, this feeling didn't last long. While I enjoy a quiet view, Mom was fidgety and talkative -- two qualities that don't describe her particularly well. Later she admitted to me that she almost regretting coming to the island for the day -- talk about a guilt trip! Luckily, we happened upon a street arts + crafts fair in Langley on the southern side of the island. Choochokam apparently takes place every year, and my mother just went wild. Huge woven rugs, handmade leather crafts, family-owned pottery businesses, knitted
hats, a shady backyard that sold locally brewed beer and wine, local music, and one ADORABLE hand-blown pig light fixture were just a few of the booths that brightened her day. Now she dreams of moving there and holing up in the winter to weave and touring the northwest the rest of the year selling her crafts.I just now realized how weird it is that I'm writing a lot about my mother. I really miss her these days, along with everyone else. As I've said before, the CY people are nice, but it's always hard for me to get to know new people, especially when I'm in a new place, and especially when I have so little sense of permanency, what with no housing, true work routine, or close friends. Through everything, my mother has been there for me, and I am so happy that we got to road trip together and spend my first couple of nights in Seattle driving around listening to Car Talk and Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!. Perhaps it's also easier to write about this right now rather than my own situation. I'm confident it will improve soon though -- the days will get easier, the nights will be less long, and I'll not only enjoy the beauty of this town but be a happier, less lonely person in it.
Corey
-- This is a reminder to myself that I need to write about the Feminine Mystique and its influence on bringing me here :)
Sunday, July 13, 2008
First day on my own
I’m sitting in my first Seattle Starbucks (because I don’t really know where else to go) sipping my grande skim latte and questioning what exactly I should do next. The past few days have been eye-opening (I’ll post pictures later, promise), and not a bit of me regretted coming out here until I said farewell to Mom this morning at Sea-Tac Airport. I felt irreversibly fearful and alone – all I could think about was the familiar people and places of home. I’ve never ventured out on a journey like this one before, and it scares me, probably as it should. After managing to hold myself together while going through these emotions, I realized I was running low on gas and also didn’t have a clue where a gas station was on 405 North. Ah good, something else to think about rather than my current situation! Unfortunately, I exited the interstate (I originally typed “I got off,” but I’m trying to remove that phrase from my everyday vocabulary) and got on a highway that apparently heads towards Mount Rainier. Despite the number of cars on the road, there were no gas stations in sight. How can there be so many cars and no gas stations?! Is this another attempt by this eco-friendlier city to green up the area? That makes no sense! Eventually I found one, but seeing as gas is on the more expensive side in this part of the country ($4.40 per gallon), I decided not to fill it up completely. Hopefully I won’t need to drive my car for a while. (holla for my free bus pass from work!)
I also got to talk Jessie, the friend I’ve had longest in this world. I don’t know what it is, but chats with her always either take my mind off of whatever is bothering me or make me see it in a more humorous light. Although I miss her greatly, little has changed between us since we graduated high school, and talking with her makes me remember that no matter the distance, I am never truly alone.
While I could sit here and type forever, I should probably get in contact with the City Year members I’m staying with the next couple of nights and figure out what the next few days have in store for me. My first day of work is tomorrow, and while I met some other very kind and funny service leaders on Monday, I’m still a bit nervous and curious about what the organization is truly all about. At least I have my coffee and comics for company.
I also got to talk Jessie, the friend I’ve had longest in this world. I don’t know what it is, but chats with her always either take my mind off of whatever is bothering me or make me see it in a more humorous light. Although I miss her greatly, little has changed between us since we graduated high school, and talking with her makes me remember that no matter the distance, I am never truly alone.
While I could sit here and type forever, I should probably get in contact with the City Year members I’m staying with the next couple of nights and figure out what the next few days have in store for me. My first day of work is tomorrow, and while I met some other very kind and funny service leaders on Monday, I’m still a bit nervous and curious about what the organization is truly all about. At least I have my coffee and comics for company.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Giggles on the Road (Ah, tourists.)
It began when the tourists at the hotel in Rapid City, SD couldn't figure out how to get the cereal out of the dispenser. Even though there was an arrow on the container that clearly showed to turn the knob clockwise, this poor tall, hairy, gray calf-high socks with shorts man kept turning it the opposite way. Nearby, his wife decided she wanted some orange juice. Instead of holding the cup near the dispenser, she set it on the tray designed to drain excess juice. The problem was that the tray lay about a foot below the dispenser, so when she pushed the dispense button, the juice splashed the lady and an innocent bystander. Meanwhile, cereal man opted for Froot Loops instead of Raisin Bran, because the Raisin Bran dispenser was clearly defective. However, it seems that this dispenser is also bad, as he begins to shake the entire container in vain hope of sugar-coated corn meal at 7:00 in the morning.
I began to laugh a little out loud, until I noticed Mom conversing with yet another old lady (apparently older tourists love Rapid City, and in all likelihood, Mount Rushmore.) This white-haired woman was accusing Mom of stealing her bagel out of the toaster. Mom kindly explained to the lady that it was a four slot toaster, and then proceeded to point to the bagel this hunched over, SAS-shoed lady placed in the toaster not seconds before.
Ah, days on the road. Other highlights:
- Montana has a "Testicle Festival." I saw a billboard for it between Butte (teehee) and Missoula. (I explored the site a found a little more than I bargained for. Woo nudity!)
- RUN! Giant Prairie Dog on the loose!
- Keystone, SD is a miniature of Gatlinburg, TN. That is something I will not miss about home.
I began to laugh a little out loud, until I noticed Mom conversing with yet another old lady (apparently older tourists love Rapid City, and in all likelihood, Mount Rushmore.) This white-haired woman was accusing Mom of stealing her bagel out of the toaster. Mom kindly explained to the lady that it was a four slot toaster, and then proceeded to point to the bagel this hunched over, SAS-shoed lady placed in the toaster not seconds before.
Ah, days on the road. Other highlights:
- Montana has a "Testicle Festival." I saw a billboard for it between Butte (teehee) and Missoula. (I explored the site a found a little more than I bargained for. Woo nudity!)
- RUN! Giant Prairie Dog on the loose!
- Keystone, SD is a miniature of Gatlinburg, TN. That is something I will not miss about home.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Les reves dans South Dakota.
Yeah, I'll be living there. IN TWO DAYS. As I drive along in Pearl, my trusty '97 Taurus, these are the attributes of Seattle I'm dreaming about the most.1) Making full use of The Slog
To be honest, I didn't know about Slog until my lovely sister-in-law Christin found out about my cross-country move and said that I absolutely had to read it. It is, quite frankly, like no other blog I have ever found. Although I don't have a hard copy of the Stranger, the weekly newspaper that created Slog, I'm guessing that Slog basically covers online media that the Stranger can't cover as a printed publication. The combination of snarky commentary (a supposed common trait among Seattleites), interesting news (dachshunds = godless, man-eating animals) and your basic news, comedic videos, and information about the fun stuff going on in Seattle (bike ride, anyone?) I can go to Slog for a laugh, a rant, or if I need to get out of the house? apartment? hostel? and explore the city! The downside? It's often blatantly insulting and horribly biased. As long as the reader is smart enough to keep this in mind, it's always an entertaining read.
2) Living in neighborhoods
When I visit my friends Rob and Annie in NYC, I was at first enamored by the normal tourist sites: Times Square, Chinatown, Wall Street, Central Park, and so on. For whatever reason, perhaps the tourist schtick, these areas got old. Being the great friends they are, Annie and Rob offered to show me the "real" New York -- hole-in-the-wall restaurants, street fairs, the occasional drag queen, people speaking in languages I didn't even recognize. As I continued to visit the city, the only aspect of the city that continued to draw my attention and thought was the neighborhoods. Annie lived near Times Square while Rob lived near Avenue A. As I explored both areas (but mainly the lower east side), I began to love just observing the diversity of people and their actions in each neighborhood. People watching is quickly becoming a favorite hobby of mine, and it certainly is easiest to do when you live in a densely populated neighborhood. Rob also took me to restaurants I never would have visited unless he insisted on their delectable fare -- and delectable they always were. The ability to walk around my future neighborhood and feed my curiosity as well as my belly truly excites me.
3) Olympic National Park + Mt. Rainier
Corey + mountains + greenery = happiness. It's a pretty simple equation. Some quality about being away from Mount Rainier and the Olympics are the main reason Mom and I are driving out to Seattle instead of flying -- I want to be able to get to these fun places easily, since they are about an hour away from the city. Just look at this rainforest!
4) Required recycling
This doesn't take too much explanation: curbside recycling pickup is free in Seattle, while you have to pay for garbage pickup and may be fined for placing recyclable goods in the trash can. Take note, Lexington -- you can also recycle glass. Also notable is the recent proposal to ban styrofoam food containers and charge 20 cents per plastic bag used at groceries to encourage residents to bring their own bags to shop with. Yay for environmentally progressive cities!
5) Biking paths
East Tennessee isn't particularly conducive to easy bike riding. There are no bike paths besides the Greenway, and while it's a well-kept and shady path, it's not very practical. I'd like to be able to use my bike (well, my brother's actually, but he's kept it at home for 5 years so I'm assuming he's not all too attached to it) to run errands, explore town, and hopefully get to work. Plus it works towards my goal of living a greener lifestyle! Seattle has about 140 miles of some type of bike path, and I plan on making good use of at least a few of them.
This isn't to say that I'm not nervous about parts of my move -- luckily, I found out more about my future accomadations and work today. I don't really have a place to stay until Sunday night, so instead I get to take a mini-vacation with Mom to Whidbey Island and Columbia Winery on Saturday and Sunday. Mom loves small arts and crafts towns, and I love wine, so it all works out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
