Thursday, December 5, 2013

Now Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Blog -- Maybe

Okay, so let's get into something with a little more substance this go-around.

I had my final interview with Teach for America today at Virginia Tech. I can't talk about it because there are rules about those kinds of things (what is this, Fight Club?) but what I can tell you I will.

I went to bed at 7:30 last night because I knew that if I didn't get enough sleep I would be a wreck and I had to get up at 7:00 today to ensure that I left on time. So, I went to bed at 7:30 and around 4:30 in the morning, the poster next to my bed fell on my face and I was not pleased with this. However, there wasn't much I could do about it, being half-asleep and all, so I went back to sleep until I woke up again naturally around 5:30. At this point, my body was just done with sleeping because, well, it had been almost eleven hours and that's a pretty decent sleeping marathon (though I've done better). Still, I had time left to sleep and, really, what else was I going to do by psych myself out? So I returned to dream-land once again. This The Sound of Music with my Dad. This production was not staged, as I had originally thought, but projected onto a screen in this weird concrete-like building thing. I don't even know. It was weird.
God, I look so short. Also, psycho look on
my face. I hope I wasn't wearing that
during the interview...
time, I had a dream that I went to see a production of

So I eventually actually woke up when my alarm went off and, since I built some time in for the snooze button, I enjoyed using that a couple of times. I got out of bed at 7:15, got dressed, took out my eyebrow piercing, brushed my hair, put on my shoes, checked my bag one more time and was out the door.

Before I got on the highway I picked up some McDonald's for breakfast because, why not, and then was on my way. Getting to Tech was easier than I expected and navigating the campus itself wasn't a total disaster, so that was nice. I got to the building I was supposed to go to on time and was not the last person to show up -- A+ for Abby. The two people in the room introduced themselves and then we got on with things. I wish I could tell you more but sadly I cannot.

After the day was finished, I got back on the road (this was around 2:00). When I got off the highway, I went back to the McDonald's I started at in the morning because I knew the dining hall at school was closed and I was hungry. Sue me.

I've had a lot of people ask how the interview went and, to be honest, I don't know. I'm not the greatest at reading people and there were additional circumstances (gah, the secrets) lead me to believe it would have been even harder to read this particular interviewer. That said, I'll just have to wait and see what happens.  In the meantime, I'll remain on the lookout for additional opportunities. It's tough because for the field I'm interested in going into while I earn residency in Maryland, most of the organizations/businesses aren't hiring now or recruiting spring 2014 grads. (If you know of anyone that is, though...you know where to find me!)

As far as my writing goes, it's going. I'm not really writing anything but my thesis at the moment. Sometimes I wish I could write something else but then I'll feel guilty for wasting my creative energy on something that isn't my thesis, especially when I really needed to "get my rear in gear" if I'm going to have a completed and revised draft by the time I rocket out of here.

I know, my life is so exciting. Aren't you jealous?

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Humdrum

It's been a long time since I've posted on here. I've been busy, of course, with other things. Most of the time, I am working (as in, Housing & Residence Life tasks), doing homework, attending class, or maintaining my Tumblr, which is a far more personal blog than this. Sometimes I get a day or a night to do my own thing -- catch up on the many television shows I watch or work on the job hunt, which is just as stressful and tiresome as I remember it being. During meals, I typically eat with friends, though when I don't, you can find me thumbing through my cell phone to pass the time between bites.

I also spend a lot of time working on my novel. I won't say much about it here, but if you see me in person, I'm happy to tell you about it individually. This has been the first book/longer written piece I've done that I haven't gotten bored of by twenty pages in or so. I'm optimistic about it and hope to start sending it out to publishers by the end of next summer. Maybe sooner.

This post probably isn't very coherent. I drove five hours from DC today to get back to school. The drive usually takes about three-and-a-half hours, but with the Thanksgiving traffic and a rather unforgiving sun today, it was atrocious. I'm trying not to think about it and put it behind me.

Other things going on. I'm an aunt now. That's new. That happened on October 10. His name is Aaron. I haven't met him yet, but I expect I will when I go home for Christmas break.

I'll be twenty-two in two weeks. I don't know if I'm doing anything for my birthday. In fact, all I think I really want is a good sleep. I think I sound old.

Ring Night is over. It was so much fun and I'm sad it didn't last longer.

My life has been pretty standard lately, so I don't have much to talk about. Perhaps sometime in the near future you'll hear from me again.

Friday, August 9, 2013

CodeAcademy Cutie

I first learned  HTML (hypertext mark-up language, for those of you who have always wondered) in high school in a computer class. It was easy enough and we used a program called Dreamweaver to make it even easier. Previously I had messed around with HTML on my MySpace page, mostly copying and pasting code from other templates. I had done a little bit of linking and formatting on LiveJournal. But I never coded consistently over long periods of time. Whenever I did pick it back up, it wasn't too hard to re-learn, though I wouldn't say it was like riding a bike.

This year I decided to try again and try harder. I started using a website called CodeAcademy to refresh on HTML and learn the new formatting for HTML5. For several weeks, I hesitated to start learning CSS. I had seen CSS coding in the past and my boyfriend insisted it was really easy, but the number of brackets and semi-colons scared me a bit.

In my sophomore year of college, I took a Java programming class to fulfill my math credit. I did well enough but it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Maybe this is because I think more abstractly than concretely. It took a lot of effort to do well, which is not something I'm used to.

Somehow, I managed to get through it. But when I saw CSS and saw how similar, on the surface, it looked to Java. So I waited and waited and waited.

Two weeks ago, I was tasked with designing (just on PowerPoint -- so, just design, not program) a website for my internship. Although the programming was being contracted out, I decided to mess around with the HTML the site would theoretically use once I'd designed it in my free time. I realized before starting to mess around with the coding, however, that I would need to learn CSS.

So I trudged back to CodeAcademy, feeling less than confident, and began the lessons.

I don't know what it is about CodeAcademy that works so well for me (maybe the repetition?) but it worked. I now feel very confident with my HTML and CSS coding skills and know where to find help/resources if I need it. I can create some really cool stuff and it only took me about a week to get to the level of skill I currently am. I think that's pretty cool.

I was able to code the homepage of the website I designed. Also very cool.

I recognize that this is a valuable skill. While I can't (yet) program a library catalog or anything, I could certainly design and program an About Us or Events or Resources page.
 
I found the CSS and HTML programming to be relatively simple. CodeAcademy explained it in a way that I understood and the exercises were relevant and well-written.
 
Meanwhile, when I started up JavaScript again (nudged into it by my boyfriend who insisted it wasn't so bad), I struggled. I'm still in the JavaScript lessons and, because there are so many more little details to be aware of in JavaScript than there are in HTML or CSS, I get lost. Frequently, I just type what they tell me to and go on without truly understanding what it is I just did. While this happened sometimes with HTML and CSS, I managed to play around with it until I really understood what it is I had accomplished. This isn't the case with JavaScript. This may be my own failing, or it could be a shortcoming of this particular section on CodeAcademy. I'll leave that up to others who haven't learned JavaScript before. I sometimes wonder if it's that I've already learned JavaScript in a different order than its being taught to me now. If one of you try it out, I'd love to hear your take on it and what section you prefer.
"I can code like a boss."
"You're hired." 
 
Still, I'll keep at it because it's valuable and important and, honestly, I imagine it will help me write the novel I'm currently working on for my senior honors thesis.
 
Even if you're not interested in coding or afraid of it, try CodeAcademy out. Start with HTML. It becomes addictive, once you start building things out of nothing. Once you see that you could recreate your favorite website (though maybe not so much in functional terms, because that would include more advanced code, but in its visual aspect). If nothing else, it's great for professional development. If you want to be hirable or even more mobile in your current position (assuming you work in an office of some sort), take up coding. You'll instantly become more valuable.
 
Codeacademy image courtesy of uwbnext.
Interview image courtesy of GlassDoor.

Friday, August 2, 2013

Faster than a Speeding Bullet or, #ProductivityProbz

At my internship this summer, one of the biggest "complaints" I've received regarding my work from my supervisors is that I work too quickly. This is a problem for them because they can't always come up with stuff for me to do (that isn't just busy work or has no actual meaning) quickly enough. To be fair, I'm working for a government agency and we all know the government is notorious for their sluggish pace.
I accomplish more in an hour than Congress accomplishes
in a whole year.

It's funny because, in the dozen or so interviews I've ever been questioned in, I'm frequently asked
how I work under pressure. As someone whose first job was at McDonald's (with a double drive-through which I frequently manned independently, even during rush hours when we'd serve up to a hundred or so cars within an hour), working under pressure is one of my fortes.

Additionally, I've always just been someone who works quickly. I was often the first person in class from elementary school on to finish an assignment. Teachers chided me and reminded me that it wasn't a race. But I wasn't working fast to finish first or even just to "get it over with." I am just naturally a fast worker. I type fast (typically I type around ninety words a minute, but I can do more without much strain or effort), I eat relatively fast (maybe because lunches were twenty-three minutes in high school), I get ready to go out quickly (no, you don't understand -- in high school, I woke up at 6:25 and be outside for the bus by 6:32), and I talk fast (maybe this is a New England thing, because it's certainly not this way in the South).

My current supervisors say to me, "Slow down. It's fine."

But why would I slow down if I can comfortably (perhaps more comfortably than if I slowed down) complete a task that takes someone else an hour in half-an-hour? Productivity, in my mind, is a good thing. And I don't believe my work suffers for my speed. I make just as many (or as few) mistakes as anyone else, sometimes even less. Believe me, if my speed was hurting the quality of my work, I would force myself to slow down. I have a thing for doing the best I can at everything -- it's how I enjoy work; even if I don't enjoy the work itself, I like to do things well. But that's another topic for another day.

So I can slow down by taking five minutes here and there to check Facebook or pick a new Pandora station or take a walk around the office to stretch my legs. And I do, but I still work too quickly. Maybe if I'm accomplishing twice as much work as anyone else is, then I should get paid twice as much. (Hint, hint, future employers -- just kidding, of course. Kind of.)

I spoke with my mother about this and put it this way: I work as quickly as my brain allows me to. But my brain thinks as fast as it thinks -- I can't go all meta on it and make it slow down. If there's a way to do this, then I am not aware of it. I don't think meditation qualifies. In fact, meditation, like defragging a computer, probably frees up those jammed neuron paths to make your thought processes outside of meditation even faster. I'm typically not hopped up on caffeine (although I had more coffee yesterday than I've ever had in one day before -- I was desperate and even put a note up facing out on my cubicle that said I was now accepting coffee donations).

I don't have a solution for this problem with the speed at which I work. I don't know that I want to "fix" it. I'm not sure it's really a problem. It's only a problem for me in that I don't always have something to do because I eat up all of the assignments before anyone can make any more for me. I'm not even entirely sure of the source of my fast-moving work style. Maybe it's my fear of death and mortality. Maybe I want to accomplish as much as I can before I die (which I recognize at a conscious level, but perhaps it effects my working style at a more subconscious level). It's not that I can't concentrate on one thing for extended periods of time. I definitely can, but if I don't have to, why would I?

Even this blog post, now at 760 words according to 750words.com, took me approximately ten minutes to write. I began with no plan except for the general topic of how quickly I work. No outline, no phrases in mind, just a topic. And here it is.

Did the quality suffer for the speed?  You tell me.


Congress image courtesy of thinkprogress.org.
Speedometer image courtesy of wallgc.com

Thursday, August 1, 2013

What Would You Do for a Klondike Bar?

"Be good and you can have a cookie."

"If you can be quiet for half an hour, I'll give you a candy bar."

"If you come to the bank with me, you will get a lollipop."

Gummy bear studying incentives.
Food incentives are everywhere from the day we are born onward. Once we've become adults, it becomes an easy way to reward ourselves for completing tasks we did not want to do. I've seen study tips online that include leaving a gummy bear on each paragraph on the page. Once you've read that
paragraph, you can eat the gummy bear.

This has been a huge issue for me. I'm sure its contributed to my weight problems (though it's certainly not the only factor). Our evolutionary mapping encourages it, too. We crave McDonald's even though we know it's not good for us because our hunter-gatherer instincts tell us we may not have access to food later, so its best to stock up on calorie rich foods now our bodies can burn later. But this is no longer the reality in modern society. Unfortunately, it takes more than a lifetime to de-program thousands of years of evolutionary advancement.

So how do we control this urge to reward with food?

As you might've guessed, we replace the reward. This isn't easy. Our bodies will -- and thus our hormones and reacting chemicals, which will in turn change our moods -- prefer a food-based reward. So we have to find things we want more. Or, convince ourselves there are things we want more and commit to those things.

What might these things be?

A vacation. A new piece of clothing. A shopping spree. A CD (or mp3 download). A piece of art.
Maybe the thing you need to accomplish isn't a big thing, though. And you can't justify a vacation just because you read a paragraph in your textbook. So instead, you put a dollar in a jar for every page you read. The money adds up and pays for or supplements your vacation costs. You may be tempted to put money in the jar because you can. What's stopping you from just throwing a few bucks in at the end of the day when you empty out your pockets before putting your pants in the laundry basket? Well, nothing. Just you. You can rely on your guilt to keep you in line for that one.
If you're someone (like myself) who can't necessarily monetary rewards to yourself, promise yourself something else. A trip to the library (for every ten minutes you spend reading your textbook, you get five minutes at the library -- write these down on slips of paper and put them in the jar, take out as many five minute slips as you want when you go to the library and only stay for that long). A trip to the park (same principles). A trip to the magical land of the internet. You can trade time for time in pretty much anything. If you like to draw, then promise yourself ten minutes of drawing time for every ten minutes you spend  doing the task that needs to be completed.

Maybe the cute dress reward
works for you.
This is especially important for people who want to reward themselves for working out or losing weight. It's counterproductive to reward yourself with cake. A lot of people like to promise themselves new running shoes or that dress they've always wanted but could never find their size in. These are okay for some people, but personally, I like to separate my rewards from what I'm doing.
That is, I don't like them to be related in anyway. I find it doesn't motivate me as much. If you're like me, brainstorm for other things. Half an hour of biking may equal twenty minutes of  time in the library.

And there's no reason you can't match your time rather than doing fractions of it. Whatever suits your schedule and works for your motivation mindset is what works. There's no right way to do it.
Whether you're trying to finish a chapter for your psychology class, lose fifty pounds, finish writing your NaNoWriMo novel, or clean the kitchen, find a reward that is meaningful to you. Find a reward that isn't food, because food only lasts for so long. The gratification is instant but it doesn't linger. So the next time you're trying to do something that you don't want to do, don't ask yourself "What would you do for a Klondike Bar?" Ask yourself, "What would you do to get a dollar closer to your dream vacation in Italy?"

Gummy bear image courtesy of APSU.
Dress image courtesy of ModCloth.

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

How Musicals Can Save the Economy (from a Non-Economist)

I don't know a lot of people who really like musicals. The people I  know who do like musicals tend to really like them. Meanwhile, the people I know who don't like them really don't like them. There are some who are neutral, but the people I know tend to fall on one extreme side or the other. I love musicals.

I don't know when, exactly, I discovered my love for musicals. For a long time, my favorite movie
was White Christmas. I forgot about it (somehow) and rediscovered it in middle school where I once again declared it as my favorite. For my birthday/Christmas one year, my family went to Boston to see the show live in the Wang Theater. After going through the ordeal of parking in Boston (no easy feat) and finding the theater, I stood in the lobby surrounded by gold-painted embellishments and a chaotic flow of people.


Part of the original cast of White Christmas (from left; Bing
Crosby, Danny Kaye, and Rosemary Clooney)
And I began to cry.

My parents, confused and maybe even a bit annoyed because this was, largely, for me, asked me what was happening.

I was overwhelmed with happiness.

And this is why musicals are so important.

I know a lot of people who complain about musicals because they aren't realistic (because wizards running around riding half-horse-half-eagle things are so true-to-life). "No one just bursts into song like that!" they argue. "Oh, come on! How did they ALL know the lyrics and the choreography?"
Does it matter? I ask.

Like fantasy novels (and even realistic fiction, in many cases), the purpose of the musical is not to make us examine our lives and reconsider our paths as an individual or as a society, but to draw us away from such intense and often depressing thoughts. Musicals are designed to help us escape.
I've been thinking a lot about musicals lately because some people complained about the hoopla surrounding the birth of Prince George (Prince William and Kate Middleton's baby, if you somehow managed to successfully avoid news of the royal birth the last week), saying that there were more important things the world should be concerned about like the abortion bills in Texas, the NSA-Edward Snowden situation, the Trayvon Martin case, and a number of other big things going on. There was an excellent post (I believe on Tumblr -- if I can find it, I'll link to it later) that explained that people were excited about the royal baby because of all of these bad things going on -- not despite them.

The same is true of musicals. We -- I -- love them because they're not some docu-pic about the recession or September 11 or the War on Drugs. It's just pure escapism. And slowly, musicals are making a comeback.

I wish Hollywood would take on the characteristics of Hollywood of the past. The musicals of today tend to have music at the center of the plot, rather than of an element of the film. Admittedly, some of the older and greatest musicals had music as part of the plot -- Singin' in the Rain, White Christmas -- but other just included music for the sake of including music and engaging the audience -- Guys and Dolls (music played a very small part in the actual plot with Adelaide's performances), On the Town. Now, with movies like Pitch Perfect (which I have yet to see) and shows like Glee and Hannah Montana (moment of silence for the loss of the Best of Both Worlds), music is inherent in the plot. It's a good way of easing people who are less musical friendly into the narratives. A commercial move, and not one that I hope remains a trend because some of the best musicals had plots that were devoid of music, but one that is helping to bring musicals back to the mainstream.

Part of what makes these pieces escapism is that they literally allow the audience to join them. Once you've seen the movie once or twice, you can join in on the song with at least a hum if not a hearty belting out of lyrics along with the cast. You become, for two hours, part of the cast, part of a fiction separate from this sometimes-horrible world.


Escapism is what helps us endure the bad times.
Its this kind of escape that helps us cope with real world issues. If we are constantly beaten down by reality, we won't be able to cope with it.

I'm not sure why musicals fell out of fashion on screen. Broadway remained (and remains) a popular source of entertainment, with the huge successes of shows such as Phantom of the Opera, Rent, and the Book of Mormon. Yet we've forgotten to make these musicals more accessible by putting them on film.

Chicago crept its way back into the mainstream in the early 2000s with its cinematic adaptation starring Catherine Zeta-Jones and Renee Zellweger, but other adaptations have -- as of yet -- been scarce. We've, too, seen new twists on the musical, such as with Moulin Rouge, which used mashed up pop songs to populate the musical score. Slowly, but surely, the musical is coming back.

Sad times  have a way of making the seemingly irrelevant relevant again. When the economy boomed in the 90s, musicals were irrelevant. As we approached this recession -- and even now -- many wonder why we need superfluous films -- we should be spending money on creating more jobs, they say. Cut the arts programs in schools. Give more money to the sciences. English classes don't need new text books.

But they do. We do.

Musicals allow escape. Musicals bring refreshment. Musicals revitalize people, give them hope.
Which is why we can't let them go just yet. Musicals are important. Art is important. And not only are these things important, but they're more important when we lack the resources for them than when we do not, precisely because they will bring back the resources lost.

White Christmas image courtesy of Movie Moron.
Escapism image courtesy of nenny89.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Summer in Summary

I regretfully and shamefully come back to you after a long and unintended hiatus. That is, the coming back isn't regretful, but the fact that I have to come back because of this accidental hiatus is. I did not intend to leave you all for so long, but as they say, life happens. I had hoped, at the beginning of the summer, that I would faithfully record this summer because I expected it to be something great. And it was -- so great and busy, in fact, that I did not feel I had the energy to write  about it most days. I have a smattering of pictures sitting on Facebook as a sort of record, but beyond that, my personal journal's proof of the summer rests on exactly one entry, and everything else remains in my unreliable memory.

That said, I will attempt to recount all of the things that have happened of note in this entry.
Ghost, who I mentioned in a post some time ago, was presumably adopted. We went back to PetSmart several times, but his name and picture had been removed from the adoption binder next to the wall of cats. I sincerely hope he joined a good, loving family who can care for him better than I can.

I took last Friday off and met my boyfriend in the city. We went to the zoo and ate Lebanese food
At the Molon Lave winery.
after. I ate calamari for the first time. If you can get past the fact that the thing you're eating used to be waving, squirmy tentacles, it's not so bad. I also ate falafel. The following day we went to Molon Lave winery for a tour, wine tasting, and olive oil tasting. It was some of the best wine I've ever had -- very smooth, quite fruity -- and the olive oil included unique and surprisingly delicious flavors such as lemon and blood orange. It rained that day. Prior to the tour, we spent time in downtown Warrenton, where we ate in a basement restaurant called Brick. It was delicious. We got rained on during the walk back to the car but we survived. The town was lovely and I'd like to go back sometime.

One evening we drove to Walmart to pick up the futon my boyfriend ordered online. After lugging it out in the scorching heat to the back of the parking lot where the car was, we decided, after forty-five minutes of trying, that the futon was not going to fit. We returned it (which took another extended period of time, because Walmart was just not cooperating with us) and went back sweaty, exhausted, and annoyed. We ordered another piece of furniture from another place and got it sometime last week. It's been great having a couch to sit on.

Earlier in the summer we spent time in a part of DC before going to a Doctor Who happy hour at the Black Cat. Prior to the showing of "The Doctor's Daughter" we ate at Ben's Chili bowl (where only the President, his family, and Bill Cosby eat for free). We waited outside the bar after that. Inside, I had some kind of hard lemonade. In hindsight, I should've known it would be hard indeed when I watched three quarters of the glass fill with vodka.

We did the whole Fourth of July thing. That evening we walked from a metro to Roosevelt Island. We walked around Roosevelt Island, hoping to have a better view from the other side. No dice. As the sun was setting we did our best to find our way out to avoid getting stuck in the swampy mess that was the island and get back to the bridge. We got back in time, ate some granola bars, and
The marshy path on Roosevelt Island.
watched the half-tree-hidden fireworks with a dozen or so other people on the footbridge. We walked back from the metro and ended up walking about eight miles that evening.

My internship has been a mixed bag. I typically write a to-do list each day on my legal pad and highlight an item in orange when I've completed it. Some things are on-going and other things I finish in half-an-hour. I'm lucky that it's not like McDonalds in that I don't have to interact with people all day long. Mostly, I'm left to my own devices and trusted to be self-motivated, which I appreciate. Jameson and I talk when we feel like it and feed off each other's energy fairly well. We both contribute to the other's successes and depend on each other for answers and advice -- or moral support when we have to seek these things elsewhere. It's nice to know someone else is in the same place I am here.

I've made some big decisions about life after graduation. Those came in the last few days and I'm sure details will develop over time. I won't specify my decisions here and now in case things change. Just know I've been busy and thinking about these things.

I'm preparing to enter my final year at Hollins. It's sad, and I frequently think about people who were seniors when I came to Hollins. I remember specifically the SGA (student government association) president and my SSL (student success leader) at the time, Kyra Orr. I remember thinking how sophisticated and prepared for the world she seemed. How adult. Mature. Capable. Now I find myself in the same position she was three years ago, although my leadership positions and involvement differ from hers, I've no doubt we share an equal amount of responsibility. Still, I don't feel like I expected to feel. Hollins has, I know, prepared me for great things. But I thought I'd feel older. I thought I'd feel professional.

Really, I just feel like a kid.

I keep seeing quotes on the internet about how adults are really just kids pretending to be adults. Each day I find this to be more true. I still make a wish twice a day at 11:11. I still stay in my pajamas as
Still doing dumb kid things at the zoo.
long as possible. I still crave cake over vegetables. The difference now is I can choose to eat cake instead of vegetables because I'm an adult. And I'll pair it with a glass of sparkling wine, thank you very much.

My resume continues to grow with new experiences. Between my time at the National Science Foundation and a recent addition to my list of publications, I certainly look like I'm a professional adult. Yet, I look at my resume and wonder why I didn't write it in crayon, instead.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Hi, My Name Is Abby and I'm an Elitist

I am lucky in that I am good at a lot of things. I recognized this to some extent growing up, but have come to appreciate it more as I've aged. And like a good wine, I've only gotten better.

Conceitedness aside, I'm both blessed and, in some ways, cursed to have such ease with so many things. While I appreciate that I have an excellent grasp on (English) grammar, an easy time picking up academic pursuits (such as German, math [when it's explained/taught well], and chemistry), and artistic endeavors, I find it makes having good relationships with people more difficult. And if there's one thing I'm definitely not good at to begin with, it's being social.

The existential skeleton.
Typically when I visit my boyfriend, I draw a picture on his giant whiteboard for him to enjoy once I've left again for school.  Yesterday I realized it had been the same for a while, so I decided to put up something new.  I erased the old drawing and started on a skeleton who, with one hand on his un-fleshy hip and the
other scratching his head, looked up at all of the comments and plans on data analysis my boyfriend had written on the board and said, "What does it all mean?"

I thought this was hilarious. In my mind, the skeleton wasn't only asking about what the items on the board meant (can drawings read? can skeletons?) but was asking about what everything -- that is, life, the universe, and everything if you've read Hitchhiker's Guide -- means. And it was funny that a skeleton -- a being that is dead, that no longer exists -- was having an existential crisis.

Maybe I'm just good at amusing myself.

Once I finished the drawing, I looked over it and was pretty pleased. Given that I had only worked with one dry erase marker and a whiteboard, it was pretty good. Maybe I could make a career of it, if I cared enough.

I drew a lot when I was in middle school. During one math class, I sketched away at a little elf-ish boy in my notebook. The math teacher addressed me from his desk (from which he often taught, which I now realize was kind of odd and lazy) in front of the class.

"Abby, what are you doing?"

I didn't think it was such an issue that I was drawing. I was getting an A, regardless of how much I paid attention. Math was boring to me and I paid attention most of the time anyway.

"Drawin'," I answered shyly. As much as I disagreed with being called out, I was a goody-two-shoes and incredibly uncomfortable with getting in trouble. I still am, which explains why I'm so judgmental of people who don't follow the rules. I always worry how their lack of respect to the law, policy, or whatever it may be, will affect me.

The teacher asked me to put it away and I did, resentfully.

So I drew a lot. It never really amounted to anything. I have several full sketch books with lots of emo drawings -- some of made up people, many of favorite band members in favorite bands, some guitars I "designed."  Now I doodle sometimes, or draw pictures for cards that I send to family members, but that's the extent of my visual art career.

I won several coloring contests when I was young, too. One of them got me a pumpkin or something at a local farm where we always got our pumpkin for Halloween.  Another got me a gift certificate to Toys - R - Us, which I used to purchase a bicycle.

In tenth grade, I received honorable mention for a state-wide Constitution Day essay contest. The following year I won the school-wide contest. They said they were going to submit it to the state-wide consideration from there so I didn't bother submitting it. I don't think they ever did.

I've been recognized for various academic achievements, I've been published in a legitimate magazine, I've been published on the NPR website.  My work is continuously validated by "people who would know."  Yet
I remain not confident of my abilities.

In school, I worry that I am not at the same intellectual level as many of my classmates. I sometimes feel myself falling behind in discussions, wondering what they mean by post-modernism and transcendentalism. I sometimes then decide they don't know what they're talking about, either. But maybe they do.

I can spit out the quadratic formula in no time, and I can even use it -- but ask me when, in a real-life situation, it would be appropriate to use it, and I'd freeze like a popsicle.

Despite these feelings of inadequacy (or maybe because of) I frequently catch myself correcting and judging people for doing things incorrectly on the things I can do well. Grammar has always been an issue with me. While my grammar is certainly not perfect, I recognize that my abilities with the English language are often greater than that of the people who surround me. I mean, of course, no offense with either correcting people or pointing this out here. Other people are far more adept at plenty of things that I'm not. I am sometimes painfully aware of this.

I admit I'm an elitist. I admit that I am good at many things. But I also admit that I am imperfect.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

A Little Less Heaven

The baseball park, Sox practicing.
After work yesterday, my boyfriend and I headed to Baltimore, Maryland because the Red Sox were playing the Orioles. With my team in first place for the AL East and a pretty good away record, I figured we had a pretty good chance of winning.

Furthermore, knowing secondhand that Camden Yards was a nice park and the fans were even better, I expected quite a different night than what I got.

On the ride there, we were predictably stuck in traffic for quite some time. We got there in good time, though, arriving around 5:30. When we walked to the park from the parking lot, we bought our tickets at the box office -- something you could never do at Fenway Park. Even more impressive was the price. As it was a student night, I was able to present my student ID and get (up to six) tickets for $6 each. Amazing deal, given that the cheapest tickets I could have gotten at Fenway would have been at least ten times that and I would have had to buy them ahead of time, no question.

We entered the stadium from there. At the gates, people handed out white t-shirts with a military-inspired Oriole logo on it. I accepted it and the guy who handed it to me, who saw I was wearing my Red Sox gear (shirt, hat, earrings) said, "I better see you wearing that!" He laughed, I laughed, all was good and merry.

My boyfriend and I went on to find our seats. Getting to them was kind of interesting -- we took an elevator to the third "floor." It was a pretty big elevator and crowded, but soon we were at the top and we located our section. Once there, a really nice guy led us to our seats and wiped them down with an orange felt cloth. We sat down and settled in, the sun in our eyes. But the Red Sox were practicing down below!

I snapped a few pictures before we decided we wanted something to drink, so I headed back down to get a bottle of water, which cost $4.50. That seemed like a lot (though not for a baseball park) but there was a water fountain, so we could refill it if we so desired. I headed back to our seats (and got a little turned around on the way) and we went back to enjoying the view and the weather. People began to fill in around us in the meantime.

You could definitely tell we were in the student seats. The college students behind us (who admitted, in their conversation with each other, to being underage) talked about getting wasted and how everyone they knew was a "prostitute" (not literally, it sounded more like they were using it as an insult). My RA-self was bursting at the seams to do something, but there was nothing I could do but sit there, annoyed. I'm a stickler for rules -- sue me. What was worse, though, was when one of the girls was explaining Red Sox history to the guy next to her.

"So here's what happened -- the Red Sox sold Babe Ruth for like, a lot of money. And then for like, eighty years after that, they never won a World Series. They didn't win until 2009."

Um. What? No, actually, it was 2004. Also, that's eighty-six years.

I am annoyed to no end when people talk about things they know nothing about (though I'm guilty of it too, I'm sure).

So excited to be at a baseball game!
Two young women then sat diagonally in front of us. They appeared to have no connection with the older man to their left, but one of the girls was all over him. She kissed his cheek, batted his arm, rested her head on his shoulder. That was incredibly uncomfortable. Things got worse with these two girls though -- one of them got up so many times, we figured she saw maybe half an inning. Eventually, she would sit down and we started making bets as to how quickly she would get up and leave again. Both times we overestimated. The
first time, we guessed five minutes and it took three. The second time we guessed ten and it took seven. The problem was, though, she wouldn't just get up and leave. She would stand there talking to her friend and the guy for a few minutes, blocking our view of the already ant-sized baseball players, and then leave. We missed several crucial plays because of that.

I was in a sea of orange, though I wasn't the only Red Sox fan in the park. Around the seventh inning, I could hear chanting coming from the left: Let's go, Red Sox! Clap, clap, clap clap clap! People started booing them so I joined in, even though I was at least a whole section away from the instigators. Then I got booed. I kept going, chanting all by myself louder and louder until my voice was tired and the boos less enthusiastic.

Most of the Red Sox players were booed, too. This was especially true with David Ortiz. I chalked it up to jealousy.

We got food just before the game started -- hot dogs and a bag of peanuts. Later we got a crab cake sandwich that made up the best $15 five minutes of my life. (Okay, may be an exaggeration, but it was really good!)  We shared a refreshing root beer with the sandwich because they were out of Coke.

Speaking of which, when I went to get the hot dogs, I originally asked for popcorn because it was on the menu and I didn't feel like having peanuts yet. The girl looked at me and said, "We don't have popcorn."

"Uhhh," I said, glancing up at the menu board.

"Oh, it just says that we do. But we don't. Sorry."

So at this point, I didn't trust the menu board. I decided to ask what they did have. She started to list everything that was in the display rack in front of me, as if I couldn't already see it. I wanted to face-palm right there.

The game was not as exciting as the Nationals game I attended last year. I can't blame that on the stadium, though. I can't really blame it on anyone, though I was disappointed at how the Sox were swinging at pretty much everything the pitchers threw, rather than "waiting for their pitch" as I was taught in my years of t-ball and softball.  (Yeah, yeah, t-ball and professional sports aren't the same -- hush. This rule stands.)

If you haven't already read the headlines, the Sox lost, 2-0. It was pretty abysmal. We still had the fireworks to look forward too, however, and I wanted to have my picture taken with the sign I made outside the park.

The fireworks were awesome. I love fireworks -- it's why Independence Day is my favorite holiday -- and these were just really good fireworks.  The American-themed music was kind of cheesy, but most of the songs they selected were at least good songs.

After the fireworks, we headed down the long cases of stairs, surrounded by people. I saw more Red Sox fans but they didn't acknowledge me and I didn't really acknowledge theme. It was getting late and I was tired with a long-ish walk ahead to the parking lot.

Still, we stopped by the gate for a picture with my sign. I held it up while my boyfriend took some steps back
If you know these people, I suggest you un-know them.
to get more of the background in. Just as he was pushing the button to take the picture, some Orioles fans jumped in front of and behind me to flip off the camera. My boyfriend flipped them off back and I just stood there, angry. Not only was that really rude, but there were kids around and my sign was essentially complimenting their stadium. One of the guys who had been behind me came around and looked at me.

"Grow up!" I said.

"I was just doing a peace sign!" he defended himself, holding up two fingers as if to prove it.

I shook my head and he walked away. My boyfriend later told me that the guy hadn't done a peace sign, but exactly what I suspected he had done.

Walking away from the park I was disappointed and angry. But then I remembered I had been breathing the same air as Jacoby Ellsbury, Dustin Pedroia, and David Ortiz, if only for a little while. And that was pretty cool.

And the fireworks were great.

And the crab cake was delicious.

And my boyfriend was great company.

And I had a good night.



Saturday, June 8, 2013

Cats!

Every time my boyfriend and I go to Target, we also go to PetSmart because it's right next door and I like cats. On the weekends, PetSmart hosts adoption fairs. They bring the dogs and puppies outside and have cats in just-big-enough cages on the left side of the store. We had visited PetSmart last week but, because it wasn't an adoption day, did not get to pet the cats. Instead, we watched them from behind plexiglass, trying our best to interact with them even though we could not hear or touch them. There were a few cats I remember, including a calico named Candy and a fluffy gray cat named Ghost.

Candy and Ghost were both at PetSmart today, still waiting to be adopted. Candy was still behind the plexiglass, but Ghost was out in a row of four or five cages. No one seemed to be paying much attention to Ghost so I went over and opened up the cage so I could reach in and pet him. He was one of the silkiest and nicely-groomed cats I've ever pet. Ghost took to me immediately, sniffing at my hand and rubbing his face all over it when he was satisfied with the smell.

This is Tigger.
I have two cats at home, in New Hampshire: Tigger and Sergeant Pepper.  I got (and named) Tigger when I was six. (We got Pepper at the same time, but he's not "technically" my cat.) As Tigger has aged, he has become more social with others and less social with me. This may be because I leave for lengths of time for school and he doesn't trust me when I return. When my boyfriend and I visited home a few weeks ago,
Tigger was fairly aloof to me but was all over my boyfriend. Of course, once my boyfriend left a bag of open prosciutto on the dining table, Tigger hopped up the minute we were gone and ate about a third of it. Now, Tigger's a big eater (despite his small frame), but I've never seen him eat anything as excitedly as he ate that prosciutto.  We joke that, next time I go home, I should stuff my pockets with prosciutto so Tigger will come to me more easily.

Anyway, Ghost was very friendly and I fell in love with him immediately.  For a while now, my boyfriend and I have discussed getting a cat.  There are, however, a few problems with that.  Neither of us really make enough money to guarantee that we can take care of a cat consistently well and once I go back to school, he'll be the only one taking care of the cat for a year.  While there isn't a whole lot involved with caring for a cat, I sometimes have to nag my boyfriend to even feed himself -- this makes me concerned for any animals that might join our little "family."  (The names we've picked out for cats, if they haven't yet been named, are Oopsilon and Mr. Giggles.)

I tore myself away from Ghost to pet a calico named Katrina who clearly did not want the company.  After one last look at Ghost and a puppy-eyed look at my boyfriend, we left the store.  I spent the entire shopping trip in Target moping and talking about how wonderful Ghost (or, Ghostie, as I was now calling him), was.  He was soft and sweet and I'll never have another connection with a cat like that again!

My boyfriend could see how badly I wanted this cat. Slowly, his resolve began wearing away and we began to consider the logistics of everything. However, the hope which had started to flicker in me was soon smothered. After the adoption fee (which would be anywhere from $60 - 150) and the initial deposit for owning a pet in the apartments we live in ($200) and the litter box ($10), we'd already be spending a huge chunk of money.  And this is not including food dishes, toys, and a collar (which I typically wouldn't get for a cat given my past experience with my cats and collars, but given the urban-ish environment, would feel safer with).  Oh, and cat litter and food, both of which would be recurring costs.

I consoled myself by deciding that Tigger, my cat back home (who is approaching fifteen years old!), would be jealous if I got another cat. (Trust me, I know Tigger. He totally would.)  So until we're both actually working and we've moved to perhaps a more convenient space (because I'm not sure there's a good place for a litter box in this apartment and it's not necessarily big enough for a cat, either), we probably shouldn't get a cat. As much as I would love one. And boy would I.

I hope Ghost goes to a good family who deserves him and has as much of a connection as I do with him. In addition to having an awesome name, Ghost has an awesome personality. The moral of the story, folks, is this: Don't go into pet shops if you can't feasibly get a pet. It will break your heart.

Just kidding -- moral of the story: Adopt cats (and other pets) responsibly. Consider their well-being before your own loneliness.


Moral of the story image courtesy of Dinah Lord.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Wednesday Blues and Walking Shoes

Days two and three have come and gone now. I woke up this morning and thought, "OH! It's Thursday!" and then I quickly realized it was in fact only Wednesday. After a lengthy two days of mostly filling out paperwork and familiarizing myself with my new environment, I was tired. Still, I got up and got dressed, ate my oatmeal and headed out the door at 7:40.

My black flats -- cute, yet comfortable. An unusual match
in the world of shoes.
Once I arrived I got started on a list of on-going tasks. This is one thing I prefer about work to school -- I don't have to wait on anyone else to get started on something and I can work as quickly as I like.  I dropped off some paperwork -- the final ones, I hope -- and worked until 10:00, at which time I had a meeting.

The other intern (hi, Jameson) came to the meeting, too, because we were both invited. Lots of acronyms were thrown around, but we introduced ourselves with a little more detail earlier in the meeting before moving into other stuff. I find it's sometimes difficult not to space out a little during these meetings since I don't yet have the context to understand what, exactly, is going on. It doesn't make sense to ask questions at this point, either -- I'll learn everything better just by absorbing pieces as we go along. There's too little time in the day to ask all of the necessary questions and I know it will come with time.

I got through the rest of the day okay. Lunch was nice because I was able to be by myself for a little while. That, I think, is something that has made these last few days so draining for me -- as an introvert, it's incredibly exhausting to be interacting with people for eight hours straight. Of course, now that I've settled in some, I'll be able to work more independently and I'll get used to interacting with people more.  As of right now, however, I'm used to either spending the day at home alone or spending a few hours in class with people, maybe a couple of hours in the office, but the rest of the time in my dorm by myself.

I like walking home, though. The weather hasn't been too cruel yet so it's pretty enjoyable, even in business casual clothing -- including my little black flats, which, as it turns out, are comfortable enough to walk to and from work in. While sitting in an office all day gives me a bit of an itch to be outside (why is that, by the way? When I'm able to go outside, I don't care to; but when I can't go outside, I want to.), it's better than standing in a drive-thru window for eight hours straight.

This work makes me more mentally tired whereas McDonald's made me physically (and occasionally emotionally) tired. I don't know if that's a better or worse thing. I have, at least, enough energy in the evenings to take a walk with my boyfriend after dinner. I think we're trying to make it a regular thing, even though we both already walk a little over a mile every day. It's good for us to go out and see things, anyway. Otherwise we'd both just sit inside and stare at our computer screens (me, scrolling through Tumblr and him on Hulu or an online class), which is basically what we both do at work all day.

He said he'll be home late tonight. This is fine with me. I like having the apartment to myself for a little while. I like hearing the traffic outside, watching the light shift throughout the room, listening to my computer keys click and glancing over at Stuart, my toy hamster in his pink ball to the right of my laptop. (Margo, the rubber duck librarian, sits nearby, too.)

Stuart, a hot dog eraser on heart-shaped sticky notes,
 Wonder Woman usb, stapler, pens, and Margo the
 rubber duck librarian.
I'm hoping to finish up rereading Feed for my honors thesis this weekend. Then I can head over to the library and get a library card so I can check out some other stuff for my thesis. I also need to be checking in with my plans as head resident assistant for the first series of programs.

Speaking of libraries, when I introduced myself to the group today I mentioned that I intend to become a YA librarian. One of the women I work with said that they might have some assignments they can give me that will allow me to work with the library and librarians at the National Science Foundation library (which has materials for the people who work at NSF -- both work-related and pleasure reading). I'm really excited to get some more library experience. If I've learned anything today specifically, it's that I don't want to be a copy-editor. I've been going through some training manuals and polishing up the language and, while it's good to have some kind of writing involved in this internship, I'm fairly certain I could not edit anything on a permanent and constant basis.

Monday, June 3, 2013

First Day Jitters at the National Science Foundation

As I was preparing for my first day of my internship today, I had lots of advice flowing in from different sources in the days leading up to it. Many of my friends and family reminded me not to be nervous. I thanked them for their advice, but decided to ignore that specific nugget. If I'm not at least a little bit nervous, how can I be prepared?
The entrance I used into the NSF.

I've tried ignoring nerves for important events in the past. In those instances, when something went wrong, I was totally emotionally and mentally unprepared to deal with the setback. This time, however, I embraced the nerves. In doing so, I felt less nervous. My stomach did not turn the way it usually does before big events, I had a clear mind, and I was able to eat breakfast with ease.

Once I was ready, I grabbed my umbrella and headed out into the spitting rain.  I put up my umbrella, even though it wasn't raining very hard so I wouldn't get even a little bit drizzled on. I stopped in the mall near the National Science Foundation, changed from my sneakers to my black flats, and headed on the rest of the short walk.

When I got into the building, it seemed I had entered the wrong side, which I had. That ended up being okay, though, because the security desk was easy enough to find from where I was. I located the desk, introduced myself and said that I needed a visitors badge.

The woman there looked at me for a moment and said, "Are you here for the intern ...thing?"

I paused. "Um, yeah," I said. I was there for an internship, after all.

She asked for my name again and I gave it to her. Then she searched through rows of paper badges with names on them. She reported that there was no badge with my name on it.

"Um, okay. So...?"

I felt as if I was supposed to have the answer to this problem. I checked through the sheets of paper I had been sent a few weeks before in preparation for this very moment but found nothing that could help me out of this situation. The woman looked around and then said I could go into room 120 and get a badge after. I was doubtful, given that my sheet said I was to report to room 315, but figured if other interns were headed there then it couldn't be the worst option.

When I got into the room, it was full of people who looked a few years older than I am. They were, I also noticed, very ethnically diverse. While I expected the program to be somewhat diverse, I wasn't prepared for the number of accents I heard in the room. It seemed off to me and the agenda on the big pull-down screen on the wall didn't seem appropriate, either. I checked with a woman with a badge.

"Excuse me? I just want to be sure I'm in the right place." I showed her the letter I had received.

"Room 315," she noted.

"Thanks." I gathered my bags and folder and left then, unsure of where to go next. I headed back to the security desk with no other ideas in mind. The elevators were nearby so I considered them for a moment while a security guard watched on.

"I can't let you on without a badge," he said.

Again, I was stuck. I returned to the desk. This time I spoke to a different woman. She was soft-spoken but I explained my predicament. Again she checked for a badge with my name. Then she conferred with others behind the desk. She asked for the name of a contact and I gave her the letter.

She called someone upstairs and they told her to give me a visitor's badge -- exactly what I had requested the first time around. I was told to return the badge at the end of the day and sent to room 315. The security guard allowed me on the elevator this time and I headed up to the third floor.  There, I made my way to room 315. I entered the room and saw a woman sitting at a desk.

She asked me if I was one of the interns and I said yes.

"You just missed them. They went down to the lobby."

I groaned. A man walked through the office just as I said, "Okay."  He said he was heading down to the room where the others were and that he could take me down. I followed.

Don't let the jitter bugs intimidate you. They're here to help!
Once I was settled downstairs (late, because of the chaos of finding the right pace), I looked around the room and realized that, despite how stressful the last fifteen minutes had been, that I had not freaked out. Two years ago, I would have cried in frustration, maybe even gone home. Today, I sat in my chair and waited for the next section of the agenda to begin, as if nothing had happened.

This reaction, or lack thereof, I think is a result of embracing the nerves. I was prepared for emotional and mental upset because I did not deny that I was nervous. So, rather than deny feelings of anxiety, sometimes it's best to greet them, look them in the eye, and say, "I'm glad you're here."

National Science Foundation image courtesy of NSF.
Cute bug image courtesy of Cute the World.

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Of D.C., Dunkin' Donuts, and Daring

Tomorrow I will be returning to the Arlington/Washington, D.C. area. I've spent the last week in southern New Hampshire. It was not until now, driving around familiar places and showing my boyfriend around town, that I realized how simple my hometown really is.  Unlike Arlington, there are far fewer main roads in my town.  Traffic is lighter, the food is less exotic, and it's not unusual to bump into a few people you know when you go out (we saw my cousin and cousin-in-law at Applebees for lunch the other day and they do not even live in this town anymore).

Distance between Arlington and Derry (though this isn't the
route I take, because driving through NYC is horrible).
My boyfriend has assured me that, by the end of the summer, I will feel similarly about Arlington. Everything will be familiar and safe. I'm not so sure. Most of my days will be spent within a two-mile radius, I'm unsure about with how many people my own age I'll be interacting, and given that I'll spend most days working, I probably will not have a lot of time to explore the city. Furthermore, the culture is, I already know, very different from what I grew up with.  As of 2011, New Hampshire was 94.6% white. Arlington has a white percentage of 77.3%. Certainly its still the majority, but it will be a fairly significant change. Virginia itself has nearly eight times the number of people as New Hampshire does. I've had roughly eighteen years to acclimate to New Hampshire and my relatively small town. A few short months in Arlington will not be enough to truly feel as comfortable.

There can never be enough Dunkin's
iced coffee in my life. 
I expect to feel perfectly safe. My safety isn't an issue. But will I feel like myself? I don't know. This is what has been plaguing me the last few days as I drive by my local library, the familiar buildings of my high school, and making trips to the mall twenty minutes from my house. I know the exact location of all of these things. If I need a gallon of milk, I can immediately name three nearby places to obtain it. If I want some Dunkin' Donuts, I know there are at least six of them in my town, and two more not much farther off. I have a vague idea of where I can find one Dunkin's in Arlington, but I couldn't tell you how to get there.  With gas prices what they are, particularly near the city, it doesn't make sense for me to just drive around until I gain my bearings. I could study maps, but I doubt it would do much good for me -- my brain doesn't take in maps very well, it seems.

Just as I was several months ago when I originally decided to stay in Washington, D.C., I am scared. I am confident that I will survive, just as I always do, but a little fear is healthy.  We don't admit to our fear frequently enough. We see it as a weakness, rather than what it really is: just the awareness that we are entering a situation in which we will be uncertain or in potential danger. This awareness is an excellent feature evolution has fashioned for us to keep us safe. Why do we continue to reject it? Why do we tease people who experience fear? We should be embracing fear.

My boyfriend and I were talking about bravery the other day. It occurred to me that it is impossible to be brave without being afraid. By my definition (and perhaps the dictionary definition), you experience bravery because of fear. Acting despite the fear is bravery. Ignoring fear or denying fear is not bravery. Accepting fear and using it to propel you is bravery.

This summer I will be afraid, but I will also be brave. Despite the sense of unfamiliarity and disorientation, I will take on Arlington just as I took on Roanoke when I began college at Hollins University three years ago. I know it will be a challenge but recognizing that its a challenge is half the challenge itself. Every day I will take time to praise myself for successfully completing another day, for taking risks, for doing something that is challenging and scary.  I will take the time to recognize that I was brave that day, even if I "chicken out" on in some circumstance.

Maybe if we all accept that fear that plagues us, we will be able to claim it for our own use and overcome it. Nothing is ever accomplished if we don't first acknowledge our challenges and obstacles. Fear is that first obstacle.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

The Assassins Continue to Fail


In late August 2011, I began a blog called the Discomfort Zone. The aim of this blog was to detail things I had done that made me uncomfortable, such as the flash mob which resident assistants and members of the student government association prepared for the first year students. I ended up forgetting about the blog after two or so posts.

For the 2011-2012 academic year, I did not embody much of my plan.  Being an RA was something that I had pushed myself to do and knew I would struggle with, but there were few specific instances of me trying
Me, Gatsby'd up for the NEFA party.
things that I knew would put me out of my comfort zone.  This year has been different.  I applied for a Library of Congress internship, submitted my work to a dozen or so literary journals, took two classes that are notorious for being some of the most difficult English classes, applied (and was accepted) for a position as a Head Resident Assistant, explored Washington, D.C. by myself, accepted the challenge of an Honors Thesis for next year, spoke to strangers when I didn't want to, went to a NEFA (Near East Fine Arts -- a specialty house on campus dedicated to the arts) party, flew on an airplane by myself, drove seven hundred miles by myself, took an unfamiliar route from New Hampshire to DC and from DC to Roanoke and back...you get the idea.  This year, I pushed myself.

And for the most part, I was okay.  I survived.  I won't say it wasn't hard, because it was.  Especially because I've been going through a lot of personal issues this semester.  But I tried and I lived.

My current desktop background is wood with a post-it note that reads, "Good morning, I see the assassins have failed."  I originally selected that image just because I thought it was funny.  But looking at it the other day, I realized it means more to me than that.  It means I have survived another day.  Whatever the world has thrown at me, I have gone to bed and woken up alive and safe.  Whether the assassins were personal problems, new challenges I thrust upon myself, school work, or changes in the weather, I have made it through.  The assassins continue to fail.

I can't say what, exactly, got me through this year.  Maybe it was the support of family and friends.  Maybe it was sheer determination.  Maybe it was late nights on Tumblr and Pinterest.  Maybe it was my guitar, or my books, or the thought of my cats curled up at the foot of my bed.  Most likely, it was some strange recipe of these things.  And a hell of a lot of nerve.  Sometimes, I think I have nerve in spades.

For those of you still struggling, nerve isn't something that you can buy or just happen upon.  Nerve comes with ages of suffering.  Nerve comes with finding role models and knowing that they made it through (whether those role models are real or fictional is irrelevant).  Nerve comes with accepting that sometimes you are going to lose, but it doesn't mean you are going to die.

The next year, for me, looks like it might be even more difficult than this year.  But now, unlike before this year, I know I am equipped to handle these things.  What's more, I can handle them in healthy ways.  I've had people around me say that I'm taking things too far when I try to deal with things.  But I'd rather be over-prepared than not prepared enough.  I know what's best for my mental health and if it means going too far in the eyes of someone else, then so be it.
Don't let the ninja assassins get to you.

This blog post has been less organized than I intended, but I won't apologize for it. Self-discovery is rarely (if ever) an organized process and hardly ever intentional.  Still, if you have the opportunity, make yourself do something out-of-character, something scary, this week.  And when you tell yourself you want to stop, give it
just a little while longer before you quit.  This is the trick to learning about yourself and to learning about the world around you.

If you can, reflect on it. Write about it or draw a picture. Sit under the sky and contemplate what, specifically, about the event made you uncomfortable.  Then you can conquer it, then you can be better, then you can take on the world.

But only one step at a time.

Ninja image courtesy of How to Draw Funny Cartoons.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Half There, Half Gone: Living like a Ghost


The academic year at Hollins University is drawing to a close. Today will be the last day of exams, I finished everything on my academic to-do list on Friday afternoon, and graduation is in less than a week. Many students have already gone home for the summer, and I, along with seniors, their friends, and the other RAs, will be through the 20th.  Then I will finally be heading to D.C. for a few days, then up to New Hampshire for a week, then back to D.C.  But, while excitement for the summer has been filling me, I've also been struck with moments of a feeling of uncertainty and loss.
Tinker Day, 2011

I have one year left at this place.  Just one.

I have climbed Tinker Mountain three times and will do it once more.

I have lived in Tinker Hall three years and will do it once more.

I have suffered the perils of Moody food for three years and will do it once more.

I have completed fall finals three times and will do it once more.

Soon, the Hollins bubble will pop for me and about a hundred more of us.  We will move on from this place and encounter old friends and new friends, old jobs and new jobs, old homes and new homes.  Maybe we'll be back in two years for our two-year reunion -- maybe we won't.  Maybe, three years after that, we'll be back for our five-year reunion -- maybe we won't.  By then, some of us will have families, will have jobs, will have obligations that will keep us from the Blue Ridge Mountains which surround campus.  Things will hold us back and we will sit at our windows, watching the sky overhead and wondering how Hollins has changed, because change it does -- just as we change.

The other day, I packed up some boxes and put them in storage. Since then, I've been staring at the posters left on my wall and wondering when the appropriate time to take them down is.  Maybe I should have done it then.  Maybe I should wait until the day before I leave.  I hate taking posters down.  Doing so makes the walls look bare, the room less cluttered -- it makes me feel like a ghost living in my own space, half there and half gone.

I expect that is what a lot of next year will feel like.  I didn't have this problem in high school.  High school was horrible for me.  It was not, as many of my classmates expressed, the best year of my life.  Friends were few and far between, classes were not challenging, traditions were silly and meaningless, there was no sense of community.  But here, I have all of those things in abundance.  Despite the challenges I've faced here and the challenges I've faced while I've been here, Hollins is home.  As much as I am eager to start life in the "real world," I'm just as eager to stay here, keep taking classes, continue to learn, make more friends, participate in more traditions.

We are all just ghosts.
A lot of colleges seem to advertise that they will prepare their students for life after college in the sense that they will learn a skill they can use in a job.  At Hollins, I've learned so much about not only writing, but also how to be myself, how to have healthy relationships, and how to take care of myself.  I'm not convinced I would have the same experience at any other institution.  Maybe it's the size of Hollins that makes a difference.  Its population is about a quarter of what my high school had.  Maybe it's that it's a single-sex school. There aren't many out there and the bonds of sisterhood are great indeed.

Whatever it is, Hollins is an incredibly special place for me.  I am dreading leaving next year, though I know there are many great things ahead of me.  I have accomplished so much here, from being published for the first time to working as a head resident assistant.  Nothing could ever replace the experiences I have had here.  I have had amazing support from friends, faculty, and staff.

I have one year left to really immerse myself in and appreciate this place.  All I can do is do my best not to take it for granted, savor every moment of my time here, and celebrate not the end of it all, but that I was fortunate enough to experience it to begin with.

Saturday, May 11, 2013

The Great Gatsby is Great Indeed


Warning: Potential spoilers.

If you don't like the recent film adaptation of F. Scott Fitzerald's The Great Gatsby, I'm judging you. Hard.  I know a lot of you have concerns about the modern music in the film and the sense of extravagance and the fact that it's adapted from a book (because those never go well, I know), but let me tell you, this film is phenomenal.

Who wants to buy me this poster?
I will start off with addressing the music.  Yes, the film uses almost exclusively modern music.  However, I think there is a (very valid) reason the choice to include modern music was made.  Think, if you would for a moment, of Elvis (forget that he is not relevant to the 1920s or today, just think of him).  For his time, he was pretty scandalous, right?  I mean, pelvic thrusts, singing "black music," he was practically the Devil's son.  But looking back today, we just shrug our shoulders and point to Lady Gaga.  She's a hell of a lot more scandalous than Elvis.  And sixty years from now, there will be some other character on stage who trumps Lady Gaga.

Much of The Great Gatsby (the book, that is -- and from now on, if I'm referencing the book, it will be denoted with an asterisk [*], if I'm referencing the film, there will be no denotation) is about excitement and extravagance.  If the filmmakers had decided to use jazz-age music, that excitement and extravagance would not have come across as well as it does with recognizable songs that we associate today with clubbing, hundred dollah bills, and Hollywood.  Sure, there would have been the visual aspect, but I highly doubt the effect would be the same.  Essentially, jazz music would have acted as Elvis -- extravagant in its time, but no longer as exciting.  In order to really depict the chaos Fitzgerald writes of in his novel, modern music was entirely necessary.

Now, a note on the camera work.  (Which is my one complaint with this film, but only one part of the camera work.)  For the rising action of the film, the camera work is chaotic.  Prior to Nick Carroway meeting Jay Gatsby and at the party where he does, it's almost stomach-turning how quickly the camera cuts and swoops and dances around the actors.  As the time goes on, however, the camera work becomes more traditional.  I think this shift exists for two reasons.  One, the calming of the camera work indicates Nick, who was originally anxious in this foreign world of lavishness, has settled in it.  He has found his place and is no longer feeling such anxiety as he was before.  Therefore, the camera reflects it.  Second, part of the point of The Great Gatsby* is that the characters become disillusioned with the Jazz Age.  As this disillusion occurs in the course of the film, the camera reflects this as well.  The Jazz Age becomes increasingly serious throughout the film, and so does the camera become increasingly serious in its movements.  All of this I have no problem with and, in fact, (although it troubled me some to begin with because I couldn't keep up with the chaos of it all -- which is the point), think it rather clever.

The part I do take issue with, however, is that some of the scenes were clearly included  or set up for 3D viewing.  When I arrived at the theater, the woman who sold me my ticket asked if I wanted to see it in 3D.
F. Scott Fitzgerald says, "NO!" to 3D.
Knowing that I get headaches when I see films in 3D and not really seeing the point in it anyway, I opted for 2D.  Some of the remnants of the 3D filming were clear.  Daisy, lying in a room in which gauzy curtains blow about.  Streamers, bursting from all corners at Gatsby's party.  The reckless driving of Gatsby himself.  A number of other scenes.  It's not that each individual scene exists that bothered me, but that some of them were clearly only included for the sake of 3D and that there were so many of them is what bothered me.

The sense of extravagance depicted in the film, meanwhile, is absolutely crucial to the book.  If you disagree with me, go reread the book.  Because you missed some things.

I can't praise this film enough.  There were so many clever things going on with dialogue, lighting, set design, choreography, and a million other things, that it's impossible to catch it or even make not of all that you do see in the first run of the film.  The chemistry between all of the characters was fantastic, the acting superb (someone please give Leo a damn Oscar for this -- it's about time), the casting spot-on.  Oh, and let's not forget that this is one of the most faithful film adaptations of a book I have ever seen (it's not word-for-word, but very close).  Everything was reflected so perfectly that it felt like reading the book all over again but with fantastic visuals.

I will even say that, as someone who has read The Great Gatsby* twice (three times?), I never quite understood the geography involved.  This film makes it a million times clearer.

After the film was over, I walked out of the theater feeling a little drugged.  Outside, everything looked sharper but somehow hazier.  This could've been the misty rainy weather, but I think it had something more to do with the frame of mind the film puts you in, the way the visuals toy with your brain, the way the themes creep into your subconscious and hold on with tight, golden fingers.

Even if you're not into film analysis, go for the visuals themselves.  I don't know how much money they spent making this film, but it must have been an amazing amount.  While some CGI was evident, plenty of it is "real."

Just, go see the movie, okay?  You can thank me after.  In fact, save me a seat -- I'll go with you.

Movie poster image courtesy of Business Insider.
F. Scott Fitzgerald image courtesy of Find a Grave.