I gave blood earlier this year in Sacramento. Signed up on a bulletin board and everything. 5:00 pm. A traveling van showed up at the old McClellan airforce base (where I live) with white-clad doctor-looking people inside. I'd never given blood before, but I knew it was for a good cause and although needles aren't exactly my type, I decided that I'd still give'em a shot (no pun intended). I admit it, I was nervous. Naturally, they sat me down and assisted me through ample amounts of paperwork did nothing but increase my trepidation. Phrases like "in case of emergency" and "faintness and dizziness may occur" didn't help. After about 30 minutes the paperwork was done, and they sat me on a dentist chair type of thing and chatted me up. Although their friendliness did ease my nerves slightly, I couldn't help but notice the needle they were fashioning. Then came the old smiling face that says "this will pinch a little bit". Wham bam thank ya ma'am, and just like that there's a tube in my arm, my own blood coursing through it. Whatever, it's over with. I'm home free. Finish this up and get me out of here.
The point of this post is to let you in on a little secret of the red cross blood giving system. As I jumped out of the seat with the intent of whirling out of there as fast as possible, the nurse told me that I had to stick around for 15 minutes and relax. What the fuck? I thought. No wonder nobody gives blood, this sucks ass. She led me to a back room, told me to sit down. And eat. Placed in front of me were the munchies of a stoner's dream. Oreos, Grandma's soft moist delicious chocolate chocolate chip cookies and chips ahoy to mention only a few. The nurse told me to just dig in. For the first time in my life, it was asked of me to stuff my face with all the foods that arouse the guilt in conscience. And I was famished. Low blood sugar, meet cracker jacks. It was awesome.
Why doesn't the Red Cross advertise this? Wouldn't a whole bunch of stoners sign up to give blood if only for the feast afterwards? I think they are missing a huge chunk of society that would not normally give blood, but would consider it with this new added incentive.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
here we goooooo
ooooh boy if you are reading this right now you have just entered a world of random thoughts and anecdotes. I've been off the blog-path for a while now (apologies and a shout out to my 3 loyal followers: Mom, sister, and summer roommate/good high school friend), owing mostly to the fact that I don't feel like I have anything outstandingly witty, intelligent or even interesting to say. I could talk about my trip to Lake Tahoe (thanksgiving with Jules and Jon (home friends), snowboarding, gambling, natural beauty, AWESOME) or my excursion to the Napa wine country (wine is one of my new favorite items, day wine drunk, a tractor parade, team bonding, REDICULOUSLY FUN), but it's not what I want from this journal/blog. Those would be great to write down if I plan on looking back in 20 years and remembering all I did at the tail end of the year 2009, but that won't happen for various reasons, some possibilities include, but are not limited to: The end of the world (roughly 2012), the end of the website www.blogger.com (ha I was wondering if they would make it a blue hyperlink as a form of self-promotion), or the fact that anything on the internet is not really tangible (we could wake up tomorrow and the whole internet may be gone and we'd have lost a lot worse than my journal (I wouldn't be worried about the journal)). Also, when will I remember in 20 years that, oh yea, I wrote a blog about Americorps on the website blogger.com, I should go check that out! I need a new paragraph, so I'll wrap this one up with this: I will no longer ignorantly try to impress my readers (who are all just my closest companions anyways) but instead try to go through my actual thought processes on the topic at hand. This will entertain (maybe help?) me when I am holding down a sick office job starting next fall (hopefully.)
There are a number of reasons why I'm writing this at 12:24 AM two nights before Christmas:
1. I took a hydrocorsomethingsomething (painkiller) after getting my mouth raped and pillaged this morning by misseur dentist, which may have screwed up any vague resemblance of a sleeping schedule I had.
2. The west coast time is catching up to me now (making it 9:30 PM in my head)
3. While lying in bed (I just realized this should be #1), I thought about how my psyche has been doing since "the incident" (I got slammed in the mouth with a table). And I started really thinking. I thougth about how I really felt and how I was reacting to the pain and (for lack of a less dramatic word) misery. I'll get to this later, but I decided that, if my past has proven anything, there is almost 0% chance I wake up tomorrow and write something in here that would remotely resemble what I am thinking right now. This will now get difficult because further writing will require mixing of tenses, something I've never been good at. So I'll end it at that.
Those are the 3 reasons I'm writing right now. #3 led to a tangent while i was lying down. I think all humans have inspiration now and then, but there are those who act on it and those who don't. I'm one who doesn't. I think the ones who do act on it are labeled the more artsy, creative people, while those who don't are more cut and dry, not because they don't have ideas, just that they don't find them worthwhile to document, or it's too late at night, or something or other. This thought inspired me, while fully ready for bed and trying to sleep, to go downstairs, get my computer, and bring it to my room to write. I'll lose sleep. I'll break out in zits from going to bed too late (not really sure if this is true but I needed a second argument for just going to bed.) Now it's a race against my computer's battery life.
So I had "the incident". I got too drunk and got whacked by a table. Not really a heroes reason for going to the hospital. It's accidents like these that everyone gets praised for being tough and brave throughout all the adversity. And that's what I want to do. I want people to view me as having been solemn but thoughtful, to have been very brave to come through the other side of this without much complaint. To learn something from it, and become a better, stronger person. And there are all these newspaper headlines about bravery and courage and heroics (I watch too much sports). And I want my own headline: "Boy amazingly survives tragic table to mouth injury and teaches others to do so also." This would show my toughness and resolve to the world. But when that headline doesn't exist, there's this side of you that just screams "WHYYYY DIDDD THISSSS HAPPPPENNNN TOO MEEEEEEEE???? I DON'T CARE HOW MUCH OF A WUSS I AM JUST END THE PAAAINNNNNNNN!!!! CAN'T WE FIX THIS IN A DAY WITH ALL THE NEW TECHNOLOGY? STOP CREATING SMART PHONES AND MAKE A NEW WAY TO FIX TEETH QUICKER. AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!! (You get the idea.)
And I keep going back and forth. I'll be tough as long as you notice that I'm being tough and commend me, at which point I'll be a pansy for a little while and feel bad about it inside and go back to "tough dan". Perhaps normal, perhaps animalistic (think dog.) It's frustrating that I can't always be tough, like they are in the news.
It's also not fair that when I'm in pain or want pity, I can't just be myself and have a flowing conversation. I really want to, I try so hard. But again, I'm not "tough enough". I end up breaking down and staring ahead waiting for some kind of pity or nursing the pain. My head just can't focus on anybody else when I need to concentrate on my own ailments. I'm not tough enough. Or I'm selfish. But not really. I'M THE ONE HURT! Is that selfish? I think that's why some people (such as myself) cope really badly with getting hurt to the point of needing assistance because they dont' know how to respond to people's sympathies (empathies?) very well. Some go about it in different ways than I do, but the concept is the same: There's the "want" to act normally that isn't possible, which they blame on themselves for not being "tough enough."
Another thought I had while trying to sleep earlier was how nice it feels phsyically recovering from an injury. The first relative time, whether its an hour for a cut, a day for a hangover, or a couple days for the old case of table-to-mouth) you feel no aching or throbbing is the one of the best feelings in the world. All those ailments that hampered you and brought you down are out the window. You can finally begin to live the way you used to, the normal way. This is an homage to that moment in time, when everything again feels right with the world.
I hope to keep writing like this, to grab the computer and go. Not think about it. But who knows? In the future I may decide to let the creative side in me be overtaken by the practical one. But these moments of inspiration sure are nice.
One last short thing. We all need to stop trying to "one up" each other in imple conversations. I am the worst offender. let the other guy go. Listen. Have compassion. I feel too much of human communication is conducted like a boxing match. Duck, jab, avoid. Not a good way to communicate.
There are a number of reasons why I'm writing this at 12:24 AM two nights before Christmas:
1. I took a hydrocorsomethingsomething (painkiller) after getting my mouth raped and pillaged this morning by misseur dentist, which may have screwed up any vague resemblance of a sleeping schedule I had.
2. The west coast time is catching up to me now (making it 9:30 PM in my head)
3. While lying in bed (I just realized this should be #1), I thought about how my psyche has been doing since "the incident" (I got slammed in the mouth with a table). And I started really thinking. I thougth about how I really felt and how I was reacting to the pain and (for lack of a less dramatic word) misery. I'll get to this later, but I decided that, if my past has proven anything, there is almost 0% chance I wake up tomorrow and write something in here that would remotely resemble what I am thinking right now. This will now get difficult because further writing will require mixing of tenses, something I've never been good at. So I'll end it at that.
Those are the 3 reasons I'm writing right now. #3 led to a tangent while i was lying down. I think all humans have inspiration now and then, but there are those who act on it and those who don't. I'm one who doesn't. I think the ones who do act on it are labeled the more artsy, creative people, while those who don't are more cut and dry, not because they don't have ideas, just that they don't find them worthwhile to document, or it's too late at night, or something or other. This thought inspired me, while fully ready for bed and trying to sleep, to go downstairs, get my computer, and bring it to my room to write. I'll lose sleep. I'll break out in zits from going to bed too late (not really sure if this is true but I needed a second argument for just going to bed.) Now it's a race against my computer's battery life.
So I had "the incident". I got too drunk and got whacked by a table. Not really a heroes reason for going to the hospital. It's accidents like these that everyone gets praised for being tough and brave throughout all the adversity. And that's what I want to do. I want people to view me as having been solemn but thoughtful, to have been very brave to come through the other side of this without much complaint. To learn something from it, and become a better, stronger person. And there are all these newspaper headlines about bravery and courage and heroics (I watch too much sports). And I want my own headline: "Boy amazingly survives tragic table to mouth injury and teaches others to do so also." This would show my toughness and resolve to the world. But when that headline doesn't exist, there's this side of you that just screams "WHYYYY DIDDD THISSSS HAPPPPENNNN TOO MEEEEEEEE???? I DON'T CARE HOW MUCH OF A WUSS I AM JUST END THE PAAAINNNNNNNN!!!! CAN'T WE FIX THIS IN A DAY WITH ALL THE NEW TECHNOLOGY? STOP CREATING SMART PHONES AND MAKE A NEW WAY TO FIX TEETH QUICKER. AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!! (You get the idea.)
And I keep going back and forth. I'll be tough as long as you notice that I'm being tough and commend me, at which point I'll be a pansy for a little while and feel bad about it inside and go back to "tough dan". Perhaps normal, perhaps animalistic (think dog.) It's frustrating that I can't always be tough, like they are in the news.
It's also not fair that when I'm in pain or want pity, I can't just be myself and have a flowing conversation. I really want to, I try so hard. But again, I'm not "tough enough". I end up breaking down and staring ahead waiting for some kind of pity or nursing the pain. My head just can't focus on anybody else when I need to concentrate on my own ailments. I'm not tough enough. Or I'm selfish. But not really. I'M THE ONE HURT! Is that selfish? I think that's why some people (such as myself) cope really badly with getting hurt to the point of needing assistance because they dont' know how to respond to people's sympathies (empathies?) very well. Some go about it in different ways than I do, but the concept is the same: There's the "want" to act normally that isn't possible, which they blame on themselves for not being "tough enough."
Another thought I had while trying to sleep earlier was how nice it feels phsyically recovering from an injury. The first relative time, whether its an hour for a cut, a day for a hangover, or a couple days for the old case of table-to-mouth) you feel no aching or throbbing is the one of the best feelings in the world. All those ailments that hampered you and brought you down are out the window. You can finally begin to live the way you used to, the normal way. This is an homage to that moment in time, when everything again feels right with the world.
I hope to keep writing like this, to grab the computer and go. Not think about it. But who knows? In the future I may decide to let the creative side in me be overtaken by the practical one. But these moments of inspiration sure are nice.
One last short thing. We all need to stop trying to "one up" each other in imple conversations. I am the worst offender. let the other guy go. Listen. Have compassion. I feel too much of human communication is conducted like a boxing match. Duck, jab, avoid. Not a good way to communicate.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Doin' It
Decided that I'm having 3 key difficulties in my job working with underprivileged elementary students:
1. Keeping up constant energy / patience - There comes a point when you want to blow up and just yell and accept nothing less than perfect manners from every kid you ever encounter in your future. But you can't. You just want to yell at them to stop being kids. Just be like me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
UNDERSTAND WHAT I SAY YOU STUPID LITTLE SHIT! Makes me think of when I was in elementary school. Not even elementary school, but high school. I wreaked havoc in my 11th grade Spanish class, for no particular reason. Just some girls to impress and some bros to clown around with. Your mindset is totally different when you have to be there. I doubt I was much better in elementary school. Karma really is a dirty ho.
2. Trying to think like them - Trying not to toot my own horn, but most subjects in school were not hard for me. I had a good family and a great nursery school and kindergarten. When I switched from Private elementary to Public I felt pretty ahead of the game. None of the kids I work with has ever been ahead of the game. It's always a fight to catch up. There are smart kids at the school, but I don't work with them. I deal with the neglected, oppressed kids who were never taught teh value of education. The term "oppressed" was included because of a 2nd grade boy I work with. 2nd grade. Can't get through the alphabet. But this boy can color. Today was the first time we had to color-in outlined objects. He was creative, and always kept his creativity inside the boundaries of the guidelines. Not many second graders can draw without going crazy with the colors and shapes in the end. But there we were still trying to teach him the difference bewteen 'm' and 'n'. "EM!!!" "EN!!!" You stupid little bastard how do you not get this... He just has a different mind. What do we do about kids like this?
3. Balancing helping and being a distraction - Example: I've learned you can't sit cross-legged on teh floor with kids under 2nd grade if there is an group activity that requires there attention. They can't focus on the teacher, because they're climbing all over you. It seems at first thought that getting right in there with the kids would be beneficial, but it backfires. Example 2: In 6th grade, I miss the math lectures but come in for tutoring and homework help. Since I don't know how the material was taught to them, I sometimes teach a method they've never seen before. They don't always realize it's accomplishing the same thing just in a different manner. They think they've learned 2 topics. But now I need to keep asking the teacher if this is the right way to go, and that gets annoying for them.
Funny moment today:
Scene: 1st grade. Early morning. We are learning teh different between minutes and hours by asking the kids to count upwards from zero when we set a 1 minute timer. Ideally, they would count to 60. (60 minutes in an hour.) When it was done, the teacher asked the students what they got. Abotu 6 hands went up:
1st student: 89 seconds (reasonable, kids count fast, whatever, no big deal)
2nd: 134 seconds (errr... kinda totally off but acceptable)
3rd: 9 seconds (Yeaaaaa, she didn't understand the game...)
4th: A pause, a look around teh room, then... 10 seconds (Obviously copying the 3rd students answer)
5th: the last student went with... 8:30. A short silence ensued while everyone pondered that answer internally. I cracked a cheshire cat grin.
1. Keeping up constant energy / patience - There comes a point when you want to blow up and just yell and accept nothing less than perfect manners from every kid you ever encounter in your future. But you can't. You just want to yell at them to stop being kids. Just be like me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
UNDERSTAND WHAT I SAY YOU STUPID LITTLE SHIT! Makes me think of when I was in elementary school. Not even elementary school, but high school. I wreaked havoc in my 11th grade Spanish class, for no particular reason. Just some girls to impress and some bros to clown around with. Your mindset is totally different when you have to be there. I doubt I was much better in elementary school. Karma really is a dirty ho.
2. Trying to think like them - Trying not to toot my own horn, but most subjects in school were not hard for me. I had a good family and a great nursery school and kindergarten. When I switched from Private elementary to Public I felt pretty ahead of the game. None of the kids I work with has ever been ahead of the game. It's always a fight to catch up. There are smart kids at the school, but I don't work with them. I deal with the neglected, oppressed kids who were never taught teh value of education. The term "oppressed" was included because of a 2nd grade boy I work with. 2nd grade. Can't get through the alphabet. But this boy can color. Today was the first time we had to color-in outlined objects. He was creative, and always kept his creativity inside the boundaries of the guidelines. Not many second graders can draw without going crazy with the colors and shapes in the end. But there we were still trying to teach him the difference bewteen 'm' and 'n'. "EM!!!" "EN!!!" You stupid little bastard how do you not get this... He just has a different mind. What do we do about kids like this?
3. Balancing helping and being a distraction - Example: I've learned you can't sit cross-legged on teh floor with kids under 2nd grade if there is an group activity that requires there attention. They can't focus on the teacher, because they're climbing all over you. It seems at first thought that getting right in there with the kids would be beneficial, but it backfires. Example 2: In 6th grade, I miss the math lectures but come in for tutoring and homework help. Since I don't know how the material was taught to them, I sometimes teach a method they've never seen before. They don't always realize it's accomplishing the same thing just in a different manner. They think they've learned 2 topics. But now I need to keep asking the teacher if this is the right way to go, and that gets annoying for them.
Funny moment today:
Scene: 1st grade. Early morning. We are learning teh different between minutes and hours by asking the kids to count upwards from zero when we set a 1 minute timer. Ideally, they would count to 60. (60 minutes in an hour.) When it was done, the teacher asked the students what they got. Abotu 6 hands went up:
1st student: 89 seconds (reasonable, kids count fast, whatever, no big deal)
2nd: 134 seconds (errr... kinda totally off but acceptable)
3rd: 9 seconds (Yeaaaaa, she didn't understand the game...)
4th: A pause, a look around teh room, then... 10 seconds (Obviously copying the 3rd students answer)
5th: the last student went with... 8:30. A short silence ensued while everyone pondered that answer internally. I cracked a cheshire cat grin.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
I was thinking about this at some point today:
What's the goal of a teacher? To educate kids as best as he or she can. To teach. And why is he or she teaching? Because it's a way to make a living, to earn money to feed and shelter themselves and their families. But beyond that, teachers exist because they get satisfaction from some thing that they do. I could be wrong. Maybe some teachers hate their job, but continue it because they don't know what else to do or have no other options. In an ideal world, this wouldn't be the case, so I'm ignoring that option. So teachers gain satisfaction from seeing their students learn and watching them progress. The question I posed to myself was: Do they give up their own potential wealth to educate the next generation? Or, better said, do teachers think of their jobs as a service to the community and country?
Lots of jobs make more money than teachers do. Assuming that money correlates with happiness (it's been proven that it does until a certain high income level is reached than it levels off), it would seem that our life goal would be to reach that point of income where the highest level of happiness is achieved. Basically, most people would prefer more income than the average grade school teacher makes. That made me wonder: How big a sacrifice does a schoolteacher make? At this point, it would seem to be a large one, but I'm positive that none of them view it as a sacrifice. I guess the final question I can pose is: How many grade school teachers would prefer to work at an attainable, but stereotypical, office job that makes significantly more income yearly?
I want to know the answer to this question. Of course their are a million more variables, like age, location, marital status, etc. that determine why teachers choose to teach, but I'm curious right now as to what kind of people America's core of teachers are.
What's the goal of a teacher? To educate kids as best as he or she can. To teach. And why is he or she teaching? Because it's a way to make a living, to earn money to feed and shelter themselves and their families. But beyond that, teachers exist because they get satisfaction from some thing that they do. I could be wrong. Maybe some teachers hate their job, but continue it because they don't know what else to do or have no other options. In an ideal world, this wouldn't be the case, so I'm ignoring that option. So teachers gain satisfaction from seeing their students learn and watching them progress. The question I posed to myself was: Do they give up their own potential wealth to educate the next generation? Or, better said, do teachers think of their jobs as a service to the community and country?
Lots of jobs make more money than teachers do. Assuming that money correlates with happiness (it's been proven that it does until a certain high income level is reached than it levels off), it would seem that our life goal would be to reach that point of income where the highest level of happiness is achieved. Basically, most people would prefer more income than the average grade school teacher makes. That made me wonder: How big a sacrifice does a schoolteacher make? At this point, it would seem to be a large one, but I'm positive that none of them view it as a sacrifice. I guess the final question I can pose is: How many grade school teachers would prefer to work at an attainable, but stereotypical, office job that makes significantly more income yearly?
I want to know the answer to this question. Of course their are a million more variables, like age, location, marital status, etc. that determine why teachers choose to teach, but I'm curious right now as to what kind of people America's core of teachers are.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Hoochie Mama
Fast times at Larchmont School... Things are flying by. I've gotten into a pretty good routine. We need to arrive at the school by 7:30 AM, when breakfast starts. For whatever reason, we leave campus at 7:10 and get settled in to the teachers lounge by 7:20 (Larchmont is very close.) Next, everyone stares blankly straight ahead for 10 minutes. Every once in a while someone (me) mutters a stupid conversation starter that holds for about 30 seconds. Then we stare blankly again for 2 minutes. Dread makes people mute I guess.
My least favorite part of the day is from 7:30 to 8:15, when the kids show up in the cafeteria for breakfast, much wider awake then any of us. Why do all elementary school cafeterias have that funny smell to them? At least the two I've experienced had it. I think it's because little kids waste so much food. "Yes I'll have some peaches." "No, I won't eat any of them, but I will throw them in the garbage." Whatever the reason, the whole place smells like a mix of compost and floor cleaner.
Talking to the kids isn't really hard, it's just the resulting strain on the larynx (isn't that in your throat somewhere?) that's the problem. I act so damn fake that it hurts my throat. My voice is too high. My compassion is obviously spurious. Of course they don't know. They're kids. It's just exhausting. It's the part of the day where I do the most talking to a group of kids at once. You may be calling me a pansy, but it's rougher than you think.
My favorite part of the day is working with a 6th grade girl named Eliza. She's hispanic, not sure where her parent(s) are from. She gets special tutoring because she's so freakin far behind (she recently transferred from anotehr school.) I began by trying to explain what the rest of the class was doing (multiplying fractions), but I quickly backtracked to counting backwards from 30. But her progress has been astounding. She didn't have any confidence. She had learned a lot of the stuff I covered over the past 3 days beforehand, but didn't want to use it or be wrong. We shot through adding, subtracting, multiplying, and we're now on long division. She just did 112/8 flawlessly today. Bet most of you fuckers can't do that without your handy cell phone calculator. I felt like a proud parent. She's opened up a lot to me and told of her 4 siblings and parents. I met her little brother and he's the cutest little dude. But her parents speak little to no English. Tough.
Other than these parts, the day is pretty standard. I don't know if I mentioned in previous posts, but I work with 1st graders and 6th graders. The first graders my job is just to be there and help the ones lagging behind. 6th graders I usually tutor math to 2 at a time. It's rewarding. The days go fast. Can't ask for much more.
What else do you want to hear about? I'm struggling to think of things that will interest...
Late for dinner...
My least favorite part of the day is from 7:30 to 8:15, when the kids show up in the cafeteria for breakfast, much wider awake then any of us. Why do all elementary school cafeterias have that funny smell to them? At least the two I've experienced had it. I think it's because little kids waste so much food. "Yes I'll have some peaches." "No, I won't eat any of them, but I will throw them in the garbage." Whatever the reason, the whole place smells like a mix of compost and floor cleaner.
Talking to the kids isn't really hard, it's just the resulting strain on the larynx (isn't that in your throat somewhere?) that's the problem. I act so damn fake that it hurts my throat. My voice is too high. My compassion is obviously spurious. Of course they don't know. They're kids. It's just exhausting. It's the part of the day where I do the most talking to a group of kids at once. You may be calling me a pansy, but it's rougher than you think.
My favorite part of the day is working with a 6th grade girl named Eliza. She's hispanic, not sure where her parent(s) are from. She gets special tutoring because she's so freakin far behind (she recently transferred from anotehr school.) I began by trying to explain what the rest of the class was doing (multiplying fractions), but I quickly backtracked to counting backwards from 30. But her progress has been astounding. She didn't have any confidence. She had learned a lot of the stuff I covered over the past 3 days beforehand, but didn't want to use it or be wrong. We shot through adding, subtracting, multiplying, and we're now on long division. She just did 112/8 flawlessly today. Bet most of you fuckers can't do that without your handy cell phone calculator. I felt like a proud parent. She's opened up a lot to me and told of her 4 siblings and parents. I met her little brother and he's the cutest little dude. But her parents speak little to no English. Tough.
Other than these parts, the day is pretty standard. I don't know if I mentioned in previous posts, but I work with 1st graders and 6th graders. The first graders my job is just to be there and help the ones lagging behind. 6th graders I usually tutor math to 2 at a time. It's rewarding. The days go fast. Can't ask for much more.
What else do you want to hear about? I'm struggling to think of things that will interest...
Late for dinner...
Monday, November 23, 2009
Moving Mayhem
Remember when my pod got separated and divided into new "teams" that would be ours for the next 9 ish months? Well, with that separation came a change in rooms so that we could be closer to the team. We all moved to the hall where our Team Leader resides to make communication easier. Or we were supposed to...
First off, don't ever tell 300 people to move their rooms at the same time, it's fuckin pandemonium. There were traffic jams up and down the stairs. Trying to switch buildings was like playing Mario Kart in Reverse Mode at Toad's Turnpike. There was clothes strewn about that had fallen out of hampers and unzipped duffel bags. People were getting clotheslined by bed posts (not really but it sounds cool.) It became very clear why traffic exists on the roads.
I got to my room, saw that my roommate had already moved his stuff in, and plopped my last bags down by the open bed. I vaguely started unpacking (even made my bed) before I decided to try and visualize my new roommate by looking at his shit. Well, first thing I saw was Mickey Mouse bed sheets. Ok, so he's a little childish, maybe a momma's boy (I have odd-colored light purple sheets so I can't judge on sheets alone). Next, I saw a white tank top sticking out of the duffel bag. An immature, white trashy meat stick? Unlikely, but not implausible. I got a little nervous at this point. The next thing I hear from across the bathroom door that connects to the other suite is "Christina... are you in there?" A girl I vaguely know named Finley bounds into the room and we stare at each other for a split second, than grin. Hi, suite mate.
So it turns out they roomed me with a girl in a suite with all girls. Why can nobody understand the name Ari? Even after Entourage? I thought that show would be my coming out party in the world of jewish names. I met Christina, a rather shy asian girl. I asked her how she'd feel living with a dude, and she said that she didn't mind. The other suite mates agreed. I even worked in some of the dano charm in the hope to stay there. Alas, the Americorps higher ups did not approve, and moved me within the hour, to a room one floor higher and on the opposite end of the hall. In hindsight, I don't think I would've lasted long in that room. Not many appreciate the socialist style of living where everyone in the room owns everything, and "everything" is usually located somewhere on the floor. Just pick through it damn it. It's gotta be there somewhere.
As I said earlier, now I live just far enough away to make meeting with my team a bit of a drag. It's mostly mental. Realistically it's about 50 steps away, but when you leave your water bottle in your room consistently, it gets old walking the route again. Not only do I miss out on a lot of the gossip going down amongst the team, I also miss such important things as "departure time" and "dinner time" if they forget to text me. To make matters worse, only 5 teams are left on campus right now. Guess how many live on my floor. 0. I have an entire floor and suite to myself. I'm still convinced they intentionally quarantined me after the results of my shots came in. I wonder what disease I've got...
It sounds great at first, a whole suite to oneself. But it's lonely. I try to spread out the clothes lying around the floor as much as possible, but that empty bed across the room still glares at me. It's also always dark in the hallways, because I can't find the light switch. My team may or may not think I'm a totally dependent mooch from the amount of time I spend in their rooms. I hope I'm kidding.
Not much new has happened. Been a little slow at Larchmont because of Thanksgiving this week. They have the whole week off. We went to the school today and weeded the gardens and helped the injured janitor (we think he strained his hip flexor) get the rooms cleaned. Of course he doesn't go to a doctor due to a fear of paperwork. He is orginally Guatamalen and speaks minimal english. It sucks. I recommended ice and rest, but he says he can't sleep it hurts so much. Send a prayer to Isea for a quick recovery.
I'm missing everyone quite a bit, just had to throw that out there. I presume you knew, but it means something more in writing. Be good.
First off, don't ever tell 300 people to move their rooms at the same time, it's fuckin pandemonium. There were traffic jams up and down the stairs. Trying to switch buildings was like playing Mario Kart in Reverse Mode at Toad's Turnpike. There was clothes strewn about that had fallen out of hampers and unzipped duffel bags. People were getting clotheslined by bed posts (not really but it sounds cool.) It became very clear why traffic exists on the roads.
I got to my room, saw that my roommate had already moved his stuff in, and plopped my last bags down by the open bed. I vaguely started unpacking (even made my bed) before I decided to try and visualize my new roommate by looking at his shit. Well, first thing I saw was Mickey Mouse bed sheets. Ok, so he's a little childish, maybe a momma's boy (I have odd-colored light purple sheets so I can't judge on sheets alone). Next, I saw a white tank top sticking out of the duffel bag. An immature, white trashy meat stick? Unlikely, but not implausible. I got a little nervous at this point. The next thing I hear from across the bathroom door that connects to the other suite is "Christina... are you in there?" A girl I vaguely know named Finley bounds into the room and we stare at each other for a split second, than grin. Hi, suite mate.
So it turns out they roomed me with a girl in a suite with all girls. Why can nobody understand the name Ari? Even after Entourage? I thought that show would be my coming out party in the world of jewish names. I met Christina, a rather shy asian girl. I asked her how she'd feel living with a dude, and she said that she didn't mind. The other suite mates agreed. I even worked in some of the dano charm in the hope to stay there. Alas, the Americorps higher ups did not approve, and moved me within the hour, to a room one floor higher and on the opposite end of the hall. In hindsight, I don't think I would've lasted long in that room. Not many appreciate the socialist style of living where everyone in the room owns everything, and "everything" is usually located somewhere on the floor. Just pick through it damn it. It's gotta be there somewhere.
As I said earlier, now I live just far enough away to make meeting with my team a bit of a drag. It's mostly mental. Realistically it's about 50 steps away, but when you leave your water bottle in your room consistently, it gets old walking the route again. Not only do I miss out on a lot of the gossip going down amongst the team, I also miss such important things as "departure time" and "dinner time" if they forget to text me. To make matters worse, only 5 teams are left on campus right now. Guess how many live on my floor. 0. I have an entire floor and suite to myself. I'm still convinced they intentionally quarantined me after the results of my shots came in. I wonder what disease I've got...
It sounds great at first, a whole suite to oneself. But it's lonely. I try to spread out the clothes lying around the floor as much as possible, but that empty bed across the room still glares at me. It's also always dark in the hallways, because I can't find the light switch. My team may or may not think I'm a totally dependent mooch from the amount of time I spend in their rooms. I hope I'm kidding.
Not much new has happened. Been a little slow at Larchmont because of Thanksgiving this week. They have the whole week off. We went to the school today and weeded the gardens and helped the injured janitor (we think he strained his hip flexor) get the rooms cleaned. Of course he doesn't go to a doctor due to a fear of paperwork. He is orginally Guatamalen and speaks minimal english. It sucks. I recommended ice and rest, but he says he can't sleep it hurts so much. Send a prayer to Isea for a quick recovery.
I'm missing everyone quite a bit, just had to throw that out there. I presume you knew, but it means something more in writing. Be good.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Larchmont Elementary School
Just now finished my second half day at Larchmont Elementary School. Larchmont educates children grades K-6, there's about 350 kids. Upon arriving Monday morning, the first things I noticed were the numerous fences and blacktopped recess area. The fences are there due to the high rate of gang activity in the area, although our morning drive brought us through what looked to me like a passive suburb. Not sure where the gangs are, but I'll take their word for it. The blacktopped recess area is filled with paint lines to outline more games than I know. It makes for a lot louder recess than I remember from elementary school, since blacktop goes "thud" while grass goes "psshhhh". Here's a rough sketch of how the school is set up:
(Microsoft Paint is so refreshing)
For the first two days we've been going to each of the classrooms to see how each teacher commandeers their ship and to decide which grades we'd most like to work with. Yesterday I worked with grades 3, 4, 5 and 6, while today I did Kindergarten and 1 and 2nd grades. Kindergarten... Just no. I spent 1.5 hours their this morning and it felt like I had lead eyelids when I left. My mind was flying around at 1,000 miles per hour. This kid, that kid, what's his name?, who's this little girl holding my hand?, how do I deal with this kid continuosly stealing the other kids plastic hammer?, why does he keep hammering my arm?, where the hell are the crayons?. One teacher for 24 kids is insane. I respect her. So much. I also got kicked in the balls helping a kid get across the monkey bars. The pain went straight to the gut. Down I went. On top of me went the little rascals. Game, kindergarten.
Grades 4-6 were just too hormonal. And the teachers are pretty weaksauce up there. I wrote down that I'd prefer grades 1-3. But I assume everyone requested these grades, so we'll see how that goes.
The teachers overall are very supportive and always thank us for helping them out. You can see how stressed out they always are, so it feels good to at least give them some support in their never ending quest to control and teach. Teachers need to get paid more. Plain and simple. I don't know how to get them more money, but they need it.
The kids seem to want to kill each other, but are suffocatingly kind to us Americorps volunteers. Although I haven't seen any of the "bullying" we were brought in to squash, little arguments occur here and there that I coudl see escalating into something bigger. I hope not to have to break up any 6th graders fights. Some of these kids are not small. But so far they've acted tame enough. I'm very grateful.
Going to Larchmont made me think of my elementary school experience, where there were only between 8 and 12 kids per teacher. Not only that, we were all relatively affluent children with caring families. Having to deal with 24 kids in a classroom who get no family support is just unfair and unjust. Most of the teachers time goes into dealing with the 5 wild, out of control kids. The other 20 have to choose themselves whether to get left behind or not. Hopefully that's where we come in, to deal with the crazy mofos.
I've forgot half the shit I wanted to say. I've been making mental notes at school if something interests or intrigues me. Of coures, the term "mental notes" was only created to excuse people for being forgetful. More on this deep, faschinating topic later.
(Microsoft Paint is so refreshing)
For the first two days we've been going to each of the classrooms to see how each teacher commandeers their ship and to decide which grades we'd most like to work with. Yesterday I worked with grades 3, 4, 5 and 6, while today I did Kindergarten and 1 and 2nd grades. Kindergarten... Just no. I spent 1.5 hours their this morning and it felt like I had lead eyelids when I left. My mind was flying around at 1,000 miles per hour. This kid, that kid, what's his name?, who's this little girl holding my hand?, how do I deal with this kid continuosly stealing the other kids plastic hammer?, why does he keep hammering my arm?, where the hell are the crayons?. One teacher for 24 kids is insane. I respect her. So much. I also got kicked in the balls helping a kid get across the monkey bars. The pain went straight to the gut. Down I went. On top of me went the little rascals. Game, kindergarten.
Grades 4-6 were just too hormonal. And the teachers are pretty weaksauce up there. I wrote down that I'd prefer grades 1-3. But I assume everyone requested these grades, so we'll see how that goes.
The teachers overall are very supportive and always thank us for helping them out. You can see how stressed out they always are, so it feels good to at least give them some support in their never ending quest to control and teach. Teachers need to get paid more. Plain and simple. I don't know how to get them more money, but they need it.
The kids seem to want to kill each other, but are suffocatingly kind to us Americorps volunteers. Although I haven't seen any of the "bullying" we were brought in to squash, little arguments occur here and there that I coudl see escalating into something bigger. I hope not to have to break up any 6th graders fights. Some of these kids are not small. But so far they've acted tame enough. I'm very grateful.
Going to Larchmont made me think of my elementary school experience, where there were only between 8 and 12 kids per teacher. Not only that, we were all relatively affluent children with caring families. Having to deal with 24 kids in a classroom who get no family support is just unfair and unjust. Most of the teachers time goes into dealing with the 5 wild, out of control kids. The other 20 have to choose themselves whether to get left behind or not. Hopefully that's where we come in, to deal with the crazy mofos.
I've forgot half the shit I wanted to say. I've been making mental notes at school if something interests or intrigues me. Of coures, the term "mental notes" was only created to excuse people for being forgetful. More on this deep, faschinating topic later.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Castro Street and Getting Caught Up
Last Saturday I went back to San Francisco on a whim. Me and two girls rolled out at about 1 pm, with the plan of meeting up with more friends in the city, some of whom I knew were guys. We got there and did the normal tourist stuff, met some friends of friends living in San Fran, blah blah blah. We had yet to meet up with the other group of friends, but I was sure we'd catch up with them out at the bars. We got dinner with a second group that consisted of 4 girls who had arrived in San Fran the night before. We get back to the hotel, it's me and 6 girls (not all straight) pregaming in the hotel room. Pretty good ratio. I was still too elated by the situation to think about what was going on here. The next thing I know I'm on Castro Street, the gay bar neighborhood of San Francisco.
The first clue as to where I was located came in the form of two completely naked guys just "chillin" outside the bar we would go into, called "Badlands". At this point I knew where I was and what I was doing, and grew a little uncomfortable with the situation. It was only about 11 pm, so things were at least civilized outside the bar (minus the two naked dudes.) Moving inside and looking around, the bar was to my right, and there were a bunch of guys to the right milling around tables about 5 feet high to accomodate standing. We moved to the back of the bar and it turned into a club of sorts. I bought a beer to ease my nerves, and the night began.
We found a spot that separated us from the dance floor by a railing. I clung to my girls, trying not to stare at the unfamiliar scene developing around me. I suppose the only unfamiliar thing was that it was guys hitting on guys. There were still creepy guys standing in the corner, still drunken guys talking too closely to their companions. What was not present was girls. The first line I received after being there for about an hour was: "Hey, you're sthuper cute, what's your name?" We talked for about 20 seconds (he lived in Saugerties about 1 hour from my home), before he goes: "Hey, are you gay?" I guess not many straight guys go to these bars.
It was culture shock. I couldn't just say that I wasn't gay. It would be rude. As the night moved along, things got gayer and gayer. I ended up getting groped or ass smacked more than 5 times by the end of the night. The funnny thing is I got used to it. That's just the culture of Castro Street after hours. It took a little time, but after being immersed in it for a couple hours I relaxed and just rolled with it. I thoroughly enjoyed the night, but in hindsight would probably prefer to just keep it simple and go to bars with girls. We never did meet up with the other Americorps group we meant to.
In other news, I graduated from CIT (training) on Friday, so am now officially in Americorps NCCC. We donned our AmericTuxes (collared white shirt with black cargo pants and boots) and recited the Americorps pledge. I got that tingling up my spine for no reason. Too many graduations.
The first clue as to where I was located came in the form of two completely naked guys just "chillin" outside the bar we would go into, called "Badlands". At this point I knew where I was and what I was doing, and grew a little uncomfortable with the situation. It was only about 11 pm, so things were at least civilized outside the bar (minus the two naked dudes.) Moving inside and looking around, the bar was to my right, and there were a bunch of guys to the right milling around tables about 5 feet high to accomodate standing. We moved to the back of the bar and it turned into a club of sorts. I bought a beer to ease my nerves, and the night began.
We found a spot that separated us from the dance floor by a railing. I clung to my girls, trying not to stare at the unfamiliar scene developing around me. I suppose the only unfamiliar thing was that it was guys hitting on guys. There were still creepy guys standing in the corner, still drunken guys talking too closely to their companions. What was not present was girls. The first line I received after being there for about an hour was: "Hey, you're sthuper cute, what's your name?" We talked for about 20 seconds (he lived in Saugerties about 1 hour from my home), before he goes: "Hey, are you gay?" I guess not many straight guys go to these bars.
It was culture shock. I couldn't just say that I wasn't gay. It would be rude. As the night moved along, things got gayer and gayer. I ended up getting groped or ass smacked more than 5 times by the end of the night. The funnny thing is I got used to it. That's just the culture of Castro Street after hours. It took a little time, but after being immersed in it for a couple hours I relaxed and just rolled with it. I thoroughly enjoyed the night, but in hindsight would probably prefer to just keep it simple and go to bars with girls. We never did meet up with the other Americorps group we meant to.
In other news, I graduated from CIT (training) on Friday, so am now officially in Americorps NCCC. We donned our AmericTuxes (collared white shirt with black cargo pants and boots) and recited the Americorps pledge. I got that tingling up my spine for no reason. Too many graduations.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Community Service
For the past 4 weeks, we've had one day service projects about once a week. These consist of my team and usually a few others getting to the destination by about 7:30 and working until 3, with 45 minutes for lunch. So far, I've dug trenches (mentioned in a previous post), done odd jobs at a homeless kibbutz type place (community of homeless that work and live together in a sprinkle of cottages in downtown Sac), raked and weeded McKinley garden in downtown Sac, and cut back brush in another community park/garden. They've all been daunting in their own way. Let's discuss...
Since most days we wake up between 5:00 and 5:24 in the morning (depending on time required to get ready for PT), having a service day means that we get to wake up at 6:15 instead. A huge upgrade. At the sanme time, it lulls us (or me, at least) into thinking that I can stay up hours later than normal. So I've actually only been to 1 service day not tired and hungover (sorry mom). Glancing around at all the other groggy faces at breakfast allows me to conclude that everyone else is in the same boat (buying beers for them the previous night is another clue). Let me remind you we are all wearing our "made for a hurricane, earthquake, mudslide and volcanic eruption all at the same time", 45 pound combat boots, a pair of ill-fitting khaki cargo shorts with zippers replaced by buttons just to make peeing that little bit more difficult, our grey Americorps T-shirts tucked in, the bottom of which is hidden by a belt whose buckle is from the year 2025 that the government time-traveled back to us. We sloppily shove cereal into our mouths and pile into the van. The 20 minute van ride to the work site seems to take about 2 minutes instead. We get out, the project sponsor (the head maintenance person at the park or a community leader) briefs us on our task, and we get to work.
The hardest part is seizing up our task and realizing that we are always the ones to shovel the first dirt pile or whack the first weed. Usually nobody has touched the spot for what looks like years. We aren't exactly brought in for finishing touches. The first hour goes by soooooooo slowwwwwwwwwwllllllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Easily the hardest stage of the community service process, it's hard not to lean up against your tool after exerting a high level of effort and just look around at how many more times you will have to repeat the action. It's demoralizing. You're just starting to become conscious of where you are and how you got there and instead of relaxing you have to shovel, or rake, or weed. The first hour is the toughest hour.
But then progress becomes visible. Everyone gets encouraged. Chatter begins. It's so much more enjoyable raking while talking. Silence just exists to catch our breaths. Some people sing (I dislike this act, it makes me feel uncomfortable for some reason), some play word games such as 6 degrees of kevin bacon, and some just talk about whatever it is they feel like talking about. Before you know it, the place is starting to look pretty good. The next hardest step is the time between 10:00 to 11:00. The "infatuation phase" ends. Lunch is close, but your muscles are starting to get sore. People are starting to get bored with the activity. Someone groans that it's only 10 and people start muttering under their breaths. Somehow we push through and get to lunch. Which sounds so much grander than it actually is. Lunch is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple, and a granola bar. Hello 5th grade, good to see you again.
Productivity takes a nose-dive post lunch. Everyones just too tired to continue efficiently. The same parts get done over and over again. Nobody wants to start a new task. The Team Leaders try their best to be encouraging, but in reality they are thinking the same way as us, they just get paid to do their job. Most of them are between 23 and 25 anyways, still young enough to not feel fully responsible. We finish up at 3:00, with renewed vigor and the relief that comes with knowing that we won't have to do this until at least next week.
Community service is funny because it sounds so sexy while in Americorps to be all gung ho about it, to accumulate as many Indedpendent Service Project (ISPs) hours as you can while still being trained. And then when you get there to serve, it's always just: Ugh. You can plan and plan and plan and it sounds like you're "getting things done", but then you have to go do it. And that part isn't nearly as fun. It's incorrect to assume that all of us in Americorps NCCC love to be on the front lines of the community service initiative. Don't get me wrong, they are here. And they do a great job. But the majority of people here like the concept of service, even if we don't like the act. That's why we applied and decided to come. We know we won't like it, but we've committed ourselves. There's no turning back. And that's why it's imperative that you get to know your team well. They remind you of your past and the other parts of your life besides Americorps NCCC and raking and shoevlling that have made you who you are at that instant. You're always telling them things about yourself that they didn't know, and vice versa. They keep things in perspective.
Coming soon: San Francisco weekend and Castro Street
Since most days we wake up between 5:00 and 5:24 in the morning (depending on time required to get ready for PT), having a service day means that we get to wake up at 6:15 instead. A huge upgrade. At the sanme time, it lulls us (or me, at least) into thinking that I can stay up hours later than normal. So I've actually only been to 1 service day not tired and hungover (sorry mom). Glancing around at all the other groggy faces at breakfast allows me to conclude that everyone else is in the same boat (buying beers for them the previous night is another clue). Let me remind you we are all wearing our "made for a hurricane, earthquake, mudslide and volcanic eruption all at the same time", 45 pound combat boots, a pair of ill-fitting khaki cargo shorts with zippers replaced by buttons just to make peeing that little bit more difficult, our grey Americorps T-shirts tucked in, the bottom of which is hidden by a belt whose buckle is from the year 2025 that the government time-traveled back to us. We sloppily shove cereal into our mouths and pile into the van. The 20 minute van ride to the work site seems to take about 2 minutes instead. We get out, the project sponsor (the head maintenance person at the park or a community leader) briefs us on our task, and we get to work.
The hardest part is seizing up our task and realizing that we are always the ones to shovel the first dirt pile or whack the first weed. Usually nobody has touched the spot for what looks like years. We aren't exactly brought in for finishing touches. The first hour goes by soooooooo slowwwwwwwwwwllllllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Easily the hardest stage of the community service process, it's hard not to lean up against your tool after exerting a high level of effort and just look around at how many more times you will have to repeat the action. It's demoralizing. You're just starting to become conscious of where you are and how you got there and instead of relaxing you have to shovel, or rake, or weed. The first hour is the toughest hour.
But then progress becomes visible. Everyone gets encouraged. Chatter begins. It's so much more enjoyable raking while talking. Silence just exists to catch our breaths. Some people sing (I dislike this act, it makes me feel uncomfortable for some reason), some play word games such as 6 degrees of kevin bacon, and some just talk about whatever it is they feel like talking about. Before you know it, the place is starting to look pretty good. The next hardest step is the time between 10:00 to 11:00. The "infatuation phase" ends. Lunch is close, but your muscles are starting to get sore. People are starting to get bored with the activity. Someone groans that it's only 10 and people start muttering under their breaths. Somehow we push through and get to lunch. Which sounds so much grander than it actually is. Lunch is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple, and a granola bar. Hello 5th grade, good to see you again.
Productivity takes a nose-dive post lunch. Everyones just too tired to continue efficiently. The same parts get done over and over again. Nobody wants to start a new task. The Team Leaders try their best to be encouraging, but in reality they are thinking the same way as us, they just get paid to do their job. Most of them are between 23 and 25 anyways, still young enough to not feel fully responsible. We finish up at 3:00, with renewed vigor and the relief that comes with knowing that we won't have to do this until at least next week.
Community service is funny because it sounds so sexy while in Americorps to be all gung ho about it, to accumulate as many Indedpendent Service Project (ISPs) hours as you can while still being trained. And then when you get there to serve, it's always just: Ugh. You can plan and plan and plan and it sounds like you're "getting things done", but then you have to go do it. And that part isn't nearly as fun. It's incorrect to assume that all of us in Americorps NCCC love to be on the front lines of the community service initiative. Don't get me wrong, they are here. And they do a great job. But the majority of people here like the concept of service, even if we don't like the act. That's why we applied and decided to come. We know we won't like it, but we've committed ourselves. There's no turning back. And that's why it's imperative that you get to know your team well. They remind you of your past and the other parts of your life besides Americorps NCCC and raking and shoevlling that have made you who you are at that instant. You're always telling them things about yourself that they didn't know, and vice versa. They keep things in perspective.
Coming soon: San Francisco weekend and Castro Street
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Camp Mendecino
Last weekend the Green Unit (7 teams of 10 corps members, roughly 70 people) went to Mendecino to bond over humongous trees, camp fires and ropes courses. It was fun, kinda like summer camp. Except that Americorps NCCC is pretty unorganized so times of activities were always changing, primarily angering and confusing the Team Leaders. And as they go, we go. It was a rocky start, some serious tension as blame was tossed around. The settling point was reached when every team gathered in the large mess hall for a round of "the newly wed game". For those who don't know this game, here's how it works. Each team split up 5 and 5 and sat across from each other at adjacent tables. In front of the now split teams were the names of each member of that team and it's leader. A clue was read from a neutral party, something akin to "Most likely to double dip at dinner." The goal was to match names when the time came to show the names. You got a point if both answers were the same. Although my name didn't win any points for my team, I was voted by the other half of the team to be "Most likely to go to Chuck E. Cheeses" and "Most likely to arrive at dinner on time." They think I'm a childish, fat kid. Almost nailed it.
Camp Mendecino itself is split in the middle by the aforementioned mess hall. On one side is cabins and firepits for one unit, and the other was for the other unit (two units were there at once.) On my side was a basketball court and some sort of little field that could be used for many activities. I played many a game of knockout during downtime. Which brings to something that's been bothering me for a while. I'm a solid basketball player, not amazing, not terrible. I know my role. But when it comes to knockout, I get tooled on. And I know why. Through some sort of Darwinian evolution, a generation of specialized knockout players has emerged. These players have mastered the straight shot, utilizing the backboard to it's full potential. They can make a foul shot with their eyes closed. Seriously, kids were making 9 of 10 foul line shots. If they missed it took them 3.5 minutes to make an f'ing layup but man could they shoot from teh foul line. In a regular 5 on 5 basketball game they'd be useless unless we found them wide open at the top of the key every possession. So I lost a lot of my ego that came with coming second in the 1.5 mile fitness test that happened a couple weeks ago. I officially retire from Knockout. Forever.
Anyways, I've lost my train of thought. The first day of Mendecino my team had a little service project in which we painted the head haunchos house that was looking pretty decrepit on the outside for 3 hours. We then had some free time, and went exploring. Let me tell you, California has some big ass mother fucking trees. At first you're a little awestruck, kinda like meeting someone again for the first time since childhood. It's hard at first, but once things get rolling and reminiscing begins, it's all fine and dandy. Once I went up and touched these trees and felt their spirits, it was all good. But man... they are big.
The next day we went to the ropes course and rock climbing wall. Fun stuff, I've got a great team. Very supportive, very positive. We'll see how long that lasts. In the evening each team had to make a skit and perform it in front of the whole unit. We did one making fun of the team leaders' quirks. It went over pretty well I think. I'm still in Americorps so...
So it was about 2.5 days there and 3 nights. Got ot know the team. It should be a good year. We learned that our first SPIKE (it's the term used to describe the 6 to 10 week community service projects your team does)would be in... Drumroll Please.......... SACRAMENTO!!! Yea, so I'll be living at this campus until January 19th, assisting teachers in an elementary school 5 minutes from the campus I'm at currently. I was a little bummed hearing this, consider a whole unit (7 teams, about 70 corps members) was going to New Orleans to build houses for Habitat for Humanity. But thats the luck of the draw. I've learned some things from poker: You won't win every time. But since every team has to do one service project here, doing it first is just like getting it out of the way so I can go somewhere else in the country next time.
Camp Mendecino itself is split in the middle by the aforementioned mess hall. On one side is cabins and firepits for one unit, and the other was for the other unit (two units were there at once.) On my side was a basketball court and some sort of little field that could be used for many activities. I played many a game of knockout during downtime. Which brings to something that's been bothering me for a while. I'm a solid basketball player, not amazing, not terrible. I know my role. But when it comes to knockout, I get tooled on. And I know why. Through some sort of Darwinian evolution, a generation of specialized knockout players has emerged. These players have mastered the straight shot, utilizing the backboard to it's full potential. They can make a foul shot with their eyes closed. Seriously, kids were making 9 of 10 foul line shots. If they missed it took them 3.5 minutes to make an f'ing layup but man could they shoot from teh foul line. In a regular 5 on 5 basketball game they'd be useless unless we found them wide open at the top of the key every possession. So I lost a lot of my ego that came with coming second in the 1.5 mile fitness test that happened a couple weeks ago. I officially retire from Knockout. Forever.
Anyways, I've lost my train of thought. The first day of Mendecino my team had a little service project in which we painted the head haunchos house that was looking pretty decrepit on the outside for 3 hours. We then had some free time, and went exploring. Let me tell you, California has some big ass mother fucking trees. At first you're a little awestruck, kinda like meeting someone again for the first time since childhood. It's hard at first, but once things get rolling and reminiscing begins, it's all fine and dandy. Once I went up and touched these trees and felt their spirits, it was all good. But man... they are big.
The next day we went to the ropes course and rock climbing wall. Fun stuff, I've got a great team. Very supportive, very positive. We'll see how long that lasts. In the evening each team had to make a skit and perform it in front of the whole unit. We did one making fun of the team leaders' quirks. It went over pretty well I think. I'm still in Americorps so...
So it was about 2.5 days there and 3 nights. Got ot know the team. It should be a good year. We learned that our first SPIKE (it's the term used to describe the 6 to 10 week community service projects your team does)would be in... Drumroll Please.......... SACRAMENTO!!! Yea, so I'll be living at this campus until January 19th, assisting teachers in an elementary school 5 minutes from the campus I'm at currently. I was a little bummed hearing this, consider a whole unit (7 teams, about 70 corps members) was going to New Orleans to build houses for Habitat for Humanity. But thats the luck of the draw. I've learned some things from poker: You won't win every time. But since every team has to do one service project here, doing it first is just like getting it out of the way so I can go somewhere else in the country next time.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Camp Mendecino
Team Leaders kept insisting that Camp Mendecino would be a great experience: A chance to bond with your team, to experience some of California's great outdoors. Whomever you asked said the same thing. But it just didn't matter. There's always unease when it comes to such catch phrases as "team bonding" and "trust exercises". I suppose what's scary is learning about your teammates and realizing that you have nothing in common with them, and wondering why the hell you came out here in the first place. I may be getting ahead of myself. First, let me introduce you to my team for the next 10 months:
Team Leader - 31 years old, never participated in Americorps. Army for 2 years. Beta tested (means tested the earliest versions) of video games like Starcraft (My favorite) and Warcraft. Was rock, paper, scissors champion of his school. Completely bald with beard and moustache combo. Jacked, but sort of uncoordinated (a dangerous combo). Hilarious, he's very funny in a sarcastic way. Very relaxed, not a rule stickler like I originally assumed.
Boy #1 - Me
Boy #2 - 22 or 23, From Central Virginia. Classic southern simpleness. Enjoys long road trips (15 hours to New Orleans was apparently commonplace) for simple pleasures (shrimp gumbo.) Bought a 10,000 dollar ring for 2.5 year girlfriend as engagement before she broke up with him. He returned the ring at full price. Went on over 40 "dates" at Liberty College. Balding. Nicest dude. No mean words out of his mouth.
Boy #3 -18, From Vermont. Best word to describe him is "doofus". Maybe that's too strong in a negative sense. He's a nice enough kid, he's just loud and very blunt with his words. But he has this group of other 18 year olds that he hangs out with until all hours of the night. Won't know how big an issue the girls will have with him until we travel for our first 6 to 10 week project (we learn where and what it is tomorrow night.)
Girl #1 - 22, From Somewhere in Illinois. Most outgoing of the girls. Friendly. Has some sort of scars on her face from teen acne, or maybe something else. She's emotionally strong and very good at communicating. Fun. She may be a lesbian from her water bottle that is from an LGBTQ conference (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgendered and Questioning)
Girl #2 - I think about 20. From Orlando. The most opinionated of the crew. Never afraid to offer her opinion or stand up for what she believes. Easily the most confrontational. She's sort of the outcast right off the bat, but I got to spend some time with her and she's alright. Messed up home life and not much of a support system. I look forward to getting to know her better.
Girl #3 - 18. Denver. She's the bubbly smiley one. She's young and sorta takes a lot of flack for being naive. Never afraid to suggest an idea. Loves singing (in the shower too apparently) and theatre. She gets like a scolded puppy dog when someone calls her out for her constant input. So young and unafraid. Makes me feel young again.
Girl #4 - 22. Nashville. One of the 3 "mutes" on the team. Rarely speaks. Fairly noticeable southern accent. Black boyfriend from home (she's white.) Sorta cute, but very shy. Or maybe she has no personality. Dunno yet.
Girl #5 - 22. Boston. First quiet kid from Boston I've ever met. She's like 4'9" or something, really small. Went to Conn College. Relate to her well for it. But so quiet I don't have a great feel for her. She likes music a lot and listens to it on her ipod constantly during van trips.
Girl #6 - 18. Not sure where she's from. Know almost nothing about her. Hangs out with the young late night crowd I mentioned earlier.
Blogging is exhausting. I'll do Camp Mendecino tomorrow (it's like a summer camp type place) where I've been the past few days with no cell service.
Team Leader - 31 years old, never participated in Americorps. Army for 2 years. Beta tested (means tested the earliest versions) of video games like Starcraft (My favorite) and Warcraft. Was rock, paper, scissors champion of his school. Completely bald with beard and moustache combo. Jacked, but sort of uncoordinated (a dangerous combo). Hilarious, he's very funny in a sarcastic way. Very relaxed, not a rule stickler like I originally assumed.
Boy #1 - Me
Boy #2 - 22 or 23, From Central Virginia. Classic southern simpleness. Enjoys long road trips (15 hours to New Orleans was apparently commonplace) for simple pleasures (shrimp gumbo.) Bought a 10,000 dollar ring for 2.5 year girlfriend as engagement before she broke up with him. He returned the ring at full price. Went on over 40 "dates" at Liberty College. Balding. Nicest dude. No mean words out of his mouth.
Boy #3 -18, From Vermont. Best word to describe him is "doofus". Maybe that's too strong in a negative sense. He's a nice enough kid, he's just loud and very blunt with his words. But he has this group of other 18 year olds that he hangs out with until all hours of the night. Won't know how big an issue the girls will have with him until we travel for our first 6 to 10 week project (we learn where and what it is tomorrow night.)
Girl #1 - 22, From Somewhere in Illinois. Most outgoing of the girls. Friendly. Has some sort of scars on her face from teen acne, or maybe something else. She's emotionally strong and very good at communicating. Fun. She may be a lesbian from her water bottle that is from an LGBTQ conference (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgendered and Questioning)
Girl #2 - I think about 20. From Orlando. The most opinionated of the crew. Never afraid to offer her opinion or stand up for what she believes. Easily the most confrontational. She's sort of the outcast right off the bat, but I got to spend some time with her and she's alright. Messed up home life and not much of a support system. I look forward to getting to know her better.
Girl #3 - 18. Denver. She's the bubbly smiley one. She's young and sorta takes a lot of flack for being naive. Never afraid to suggest an idea. Loves singing (in the shower too apparently) and theatre. She gets like a scolded puppy dog when someone calls her out for her constant input. So young and unafraid. Makes me feel young again.
Girl #4 - 22. Nashville. One of the 3 "mutes" on the team. Rarely speaks. Fairly noticeable southern accent. Black boyfriend from home (she's white.) Sorta cute, but very shy. Or maybe she has no personality. Dunno yet.
Girl #5 - 22. Boston. First quiet kid from Boston I've ever met. She's like 4'9" or something, really small. Went to Conn College. Relate to her well for it. But so quiet I don't have a great feel for her. She likes music a lot and listens to it on her ipod constantly during van trips.
Girl #6 - 18. Not sure where she's from. Know almost nothing about her. Hangs out with the young late night crowd I mentioned earlier.
Blogging is exhausting. I'll do Camp Mendecino tomorrow (it's like a summer camp type place) where I've been the past few days with no cell service.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Sunny California #2
Back to business...
So I've become very close with/to my pod over the past two weeks. We really had a pod of all-stars, although all the pods said the same thing about themselves. It's an amazing unintentional experiment of human needs (at least for my age group.) In my opinion, since nobody knows anybody at the beginning, we're all more prone to opening up to the kids we spend the most time with, which was the pod. It sounds simple, but these kids really were great. There were three college graduates from George Washington, Dartmouth and Wesleyan, a 24-year old coming back from a year in Australia, and even more easygoing, adventurous children of nature. We hit it off right out the gates.
The first service project we had was in a town called Winters, a small, rural place 1 hour northwest of Sac town at a community garden. Or at least it would soon become a community garden. Right now it was an uneven plot of land with some posts marked out. We dug trenches for 8 hours for irrigation purposes. Nuff said.
The following day the crew went to downtown Sacramento and spent the first 2 hours eating brunch and exploring a sizable park behind the capital building. It was breezy, but warm. There are rarely clouds in the sky in Sacramento. But after those first couple of hours, we branched out into different parts of Sacramento and found a very different scene. Not only were 95% of stores closed (granted it was Sunday), but some parts of teh city looked stuck in the 60's. The only people on the streets were homeless and mostly crazy. It was a really sad scene. My first glimpse of poverty. We rambled over to Old Sacramento (affectionately dubbed Old Sac, guffaw guffaw) and found a kind of frozen 20's small town setting, but the stores were filled with souvenirs and some were restaurants and ice cream parlors. Nicer then downtown Sacramento, but still shady. Either way, the pod endured a laugh fest that continued all day. For lack of better description, we just laughed at each other and stupid things (like Old Sac) all day. My abs were sore the next day.
A moderated crew went to San Francisco the next Saturday night. Talk about an awesome city. It's all on a hill, just beautiful. We met a friend of a friend working there, ate Thai food, and went out on the San Francisco town. It was awesome. The friend of a friend was Latvian, so we all went back to her friend's house and partied there for the rest of the night. Reminded me heavily of times spent abroad. I learned only the most essential Latvian phrases, which I won't repeat. The next day consisted of breakfast, Golden Gate Bridge park, Pier 39 (where Sea Lions whore themselves out to each on docks in plain sight of humans), and a store called 826 that sold pirate gear (don't ask).
We started Physical Training (heretofore called PT) the week after we arrived. It consists mostly of running, with some pushups, situps, and other exercises mixed in. Not hard, unless it's at 5:30 every morning. Ever tried serious physical activity in the middle of the night? Add some dew and you have PT. Not to mention grumbling guys and whining girls. And overspirited team leaders. And 300 kids running every which way to nab the best "night vests" (bright orange). Because if you don't get the best night vests they end up falling down one side of your body as you run, an unwanted distraction to even the least serious of runners. PT just sucks. Plain and simple. I see why some people need it, but it's too early. Simple bodily functions don't operate that early. See what I mean by "grumbling guys"? And of course you stay up too late with your new found friends and deprive yoruself of sleep. Everyone has a cold. Seriously. Everyone.
The nightlife at McClellan Air Force Base consists of two options: the local dive bar Harvey's, or the hookah bar a little down the road. The 18-year-olds prefer the hookah bar, while I like Harveys. For those who know what I'm talking about, imagine Don's Rok meets the pub. Only beer is served, but it's small and crowded with only the most suspicious townies posted up at the bar. The primary activity at Harvey's is pool. I've seriously improved my game. Or maybe I just get drunk and think I've improved my game. More coming on that once I've figured it out. On the way back to campus is the 24-hour taco restaurant Adalberto's. I have yet to stop in, but I can only imagine how much effort they put into their ingredients and flavorings. Can't wait.
So I'm almost caught up. The most recent event (happened 2 days ago) was the break up of Pod 5 (my pod). I am now fully with the team I will spend the next 9.5 months with. They are a great bunch, but the energy isn't there yet. They are quite reserved. 3 boys and 6 girls, with a male Team Leader. Everyone's starting to loosen up, but we have a long way to go. I guess that's why they put us together for 10 months. More on this later.
Just a warning, I want this blog to be just that, but also a journal. So at times I may wander off into thought, at which point if you find it boring or not understanding what I'm saying move on to the next paragraph. Not sure if this will work, but I want to remember some things I was thinking also. And keeping a blog and journal is difficult. I'm bound lose one of them.
As you were. Still "Getting Things Done" in Americorps. Even if what's "getting done" wasn't supposed to be.
So I've become very close with/to my pod over the past two weeks. We really had a pod of all-stars, although all the pods said the same thing about themselves. It's an amazing unintentional experiment of human needs (at least for my age group.) In my opinion, since nobody knows anybody at the beginning, we're all more prone to opening up to the kids we spend the most time with, which was the pod. It sounds simple, but these kids really were great. There were three college graduates from George Washington, Dartmouth and Wesleyan, a 24-year old coming back from a year in Australia, and even more easygoing, adventurous children of nature. We hit it off right out the gates.
The first service project we had was in a town called Winters, a small, rural place 1 hour northwest of Sac town at a community garden. Or at least it would soon become a community garden. Right now it was an uneven plot of land with some posts marked out. We dug trenches for 8 hours for irrigation purposes. Nuff said.
The following day the crew went to downtown Sacramento and spent the first 2 hours eating brunch and exploring a sizable park behind the capital building. It was breezy, but warm. There are rarely clouds in the sky in Sacramento. But after those first couple of hours, we branched out into different parts of Sacramento and found a very different scene. Not only were 95% of stores closed (granted it was Sunday), but some parts of teh city looked stuck in the 60's. The only people on the streets were homeless and mostly crazy. It was a really sad scene. My first glimpse of poverty. We rambled over to Old Sacramento (affectionately dubbed Old Sac, guffaw guffaw) and found a kind of frozen 20's small town setting, but the stores were filled with souvenirs and some were restaurants and ice cream parlors. Nicer then downtown Sacramento, but still shady. Either way, the pod endured a laugh fest that continued all day. For lack of better description, we just laughed at each other and stupid things (like Old Sac) all day. My abs were sore the next day.
A moderated crew went to San Francisco the next Saturday night. Talk about an awesome city. It's all on a hill, just beautiful. We met a friend of a friend working there, ate Thai food, and went out on the San Francisco town. It was awesome. The friend of a friend was Latvian, so we all went back to her friend's house and partied there for the rest of the night. Reminded me heavily of times spent abroad. I learned only the most essential Latvian phrases, which I won't repeat. The next day consisted of breakfast, Golden Gate Bridge park, Pier 39 (where Sea Lions whore themselves out to each on docks in plain sight of humans), and a store called 826 that sold pirate gear (don't ask).
We started Physical Training (heretofore called PT) the week after we arrived. It consists mostly of running, with some pushups, situps, and other exercises mixed in. Not hard, unless it's at 5:30 every morning. Ever tried serious physical activity in the middle of the night? Add some dew and you have PT. Not to mention grumbling guys and whining girls. And overspirited team leaders. And 300 kids running every which way to nab the best "night vests" (bright orange). Because if you don't get the best night vests they end up falling down one side of your body as you run, an unwanted distraction to even the least serious of runners. PT just sucks. Plain and simple. I see why some people need it, but it's too early. Simple bodily functions don't operate that early. See what I mean by "grumbling guys"? And of course you stay up too late with your new found friends and deprive yoruself of sleep. Everyone has a cold. Seriously. Everyone.
The nightlife at McClellan Air Force Base consists of two options: the local dive bar Harvey's, or the hookah bar a little down the road. The 18-year-olds prefer the hookah bar, while I like Harveys. For those who know what I'm talking about, imagine Don's Rok meets the pub. Only beer is served, but it's small and crowded with only the most suspicious townies posted up at the bar. The primary activity at Harvey's is pool. I've seriously improved my game. Or maybe I just get drunk and think I've improved my game. More coming on that once I've figured it out. On the way back to campus is the 24-hour taco restaurant Adalberto's. I have yet to stop in, but I can only imagine how much effort they put into their ingredients and flavorings. Can't wait.
So I'm almost caught up. The most recent event (happened 2 days ago) was the break up of Pod 5 (my pod). I am now fully with the team I will spend the next 9.5 months with. They are a great bunch, but the energy isn't there yet. They are quite reserved. 3 boys and 6 girls, with a male Team Leader. Everyone's starting to loosen up, but we have a long way to go. I guess that's why they put us together for 10 months. More on this later.
Just a warning, I want this blog to be just that, but also a journal. So at times I may wander off into thought, at which point if you find it boring or not understanding what I'm saying move on to the next paragraph. Not sure if this will work, but I want to remember some things I was thinking also. And keeping a blog and journal is difficult. I'm bound lose one of them.
As you were. Still "Getting Things Done" in Americorps. Even if what's "getting done" wasn't supposed to be.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunny California
I hoped to only blog on my own computer, to relax with some music, clear my head, and try my hand at this blogging stuff. But it has yet to arrive, so for now I'll do a short post in the computer lab at McClellan Air Force Base. In all honesty, it's not fair writing my first post at this time. So much has happened that trying to sum it up in one sitting can't be justified. In this way I've failed in my first blog attempt, but hopefully future posts will fill you in. Eh fuck it i'll try and do it now:
It's boring to list off the activities completed day by day, mostly because said activites were more boring than Home Ec class. So assume that by day (roughly 8 - 4), I was sitting in a drab, grey, mess hall type-room, sitting in drab, grey chairs, leaning over (you guessed it) drab, grey tables staring at a projector screen and listening to a lecture that could have been cut down by a quarter of the time in which it was given. Diversity training does not take 8 hours. I refuse to believe it. Anyways, much time was spent playing 4-person scrabble on iphones and trying to figure out how to sneak a headphone into one ear without the team leaders noticing.
I will, however, start you off at the beginning. I took a 5:40 AM flight to Sacramento Airport, stopping in Philly and Las Vegas. I met 3 other kids from Albany somewhere along the way (who knew Albany was a hotbed for Americorps NCCC members?), and we played the let's-make-awkward-conversation-as-we-size-each-other-up-in-our-anti-sunday-best-comfort-clothes-while-hoping-that-everyone-else-in-the-program-does-not-look-as-bedraggled-and-dishevelled-as-these-shmucks-look game. A laborious game with very few winners. Naturally, I became good friends with them and remain so to this moment. I hope they don't consider me a shmuck.
Arriving on campus (jetlagged and tired), we were thrust into the pandemonium that was the administering of uniforms and gear. It was a similar sitaution to the game played with the Albany kids at airports, but multiplied by about 75. Instead of 4 kids sizing each other up, there's 300. And it's much, much louder and more chaotic. There's 9 stations to get to, and you can go in order, but there's a twist. If one station looks too crowded, you can skip it and move on to the next one, or just hop around at random if you are so inclined. Either way, you can see where the chaos comes from. Some questions I inevitably overheard at this time: "Wait, we can go to ANY station we want?", "But I don't have my boots yet... Can I get my shirt first?" and "Is this station 2, 3 or 4?" What they didn't tell us was that stations 4, 5 and 6 had to be consecutive. Anyways, you can see how frustrating this could be with a temporarily deaf left ear (from jetlag), sleep deprivation, and the always overzealous try-to-meet-everyone-kid shaking your hand twice in the span of 10 minutes. However, I got all my gear, a room and a roommate in a little under 2 hours. Not terrible I guess. Perhaps time for a hot shower...
We learned later on that evening that half of the team leaders that would normally be there were in American Samoa helping that area get back on its feet after a hurricane or tsunami or something hit the area a month or two ago. So the team leaders left at campus were overworked and very stressed. We were separated into 12-person pods by alphabetical order. So, in my pod, was a Dixon, Drago, Duff, Dye... you get the idea. These pods, in normal circumstances, woudl last 4 days, as they sorted out who would be in what team. But this year they kept us in them for 2 weeks, leading inevitably to all-consuming infatuation with the members of ones pod and pure spite and anger when we were separated 2 weeks later. Seriously, people cried. But I'm really tired now, so I will finish this tomorrow...
Things to look forward to in tomorrow's post: Physical Training Starts, Trips to Downtown Sacramento and San Francisco, The local nightlife scene, campus dynamics and kitchen chaos.
It's boring to list off the activities completed day by day, mostly because said activites were more boring than Home Ec class. So assume that by day (roughly 8 - 4), I was sitting in a drab, grey, mess hall type-room, sitting in drab, grey chairs, leaning over (you guessed it) drab, grey tables staring at a projector screen and listening to a lecture that could have been cut down by a quarter of the time in which it was given. Diversity training does not take 8 hours. I refuse to believe it. Anyways, much time was spent playing 4-person scrabble on iphones and trying to figure out how to sneak a headphone into one ear without the team leaders noticing.
I will, however, start you off at the beginning. I took a 5:40 AM flight to Sacramento Airport, stopping in Philly and Las Vegas. I met 3 other kids from Albany somewhere along the way (who knew Albany was a hotbed for Americorps NCCC members?), and we played the let's-make-awkward-conversation-as-we-size-each-other-up-in-our-anti-sunday-best-comfort-clothes-while-hoping-that-everyone-else-in-the-program-does-not-look-as-bedraggled-and-dishevelled-as-these-shmucks-look game. A laborious game with very few winners. Naturally, I became good friends with them and remain so to this moment. I hope they don't consider me a shmuck.
Arriving on campus (jetlagged and tired), we were thrust into the pandemonium that was the administering of uniforms and gear. It was a similar sitaution to the game played with the Albany kids at airports, but multiplied by about 75. Instead of 4 kids sizing each other up, there's 300. And it's much, much louder and more chaotic. There's 9 stations to get to, and you can go in order, but there's a twist. If one station looks too crowded, you can skip it and move on to the next one, or just hop around at random if you are so inclined. Either way, you can see where the chaos comes from. Some questions I inevitably overheard at this time: "Wait, we can go to ANY station we want?", "But I don't have my boots yet... Can I get my shirt first?" and "Is this station 2, 3 or 4?" What they didn't tell us was that stations 4, 5 and 6 had to be consecutive. Anyways, you can see how frustrating this could be with a temporarily deaf left ear (from jetlag), sleep deprivation, and the always overzealous try-to-meet-everyone-kid shaking your hand twice in the span of 10 minutes. However, I got all my gear, a room and a roommate in a little under 2 hours. Not terrible I guess. Perhaps time for a hot shower...
We learned later on that evening that half of the team leaders that would normally be there were in American Samoa helping that area get back on its feet after a hurricane or tsunami or something hit the area a month or two ago. So the team leaders left at campus were overworked and very stressed. We were separated into 12-person pods by alphabetical order. So, in my pod, was a Dixon, Drago, Duff, Dye... you get the idea. These pods, in normal circumstances, woudl last 4 days, as they sorted out who would be in what team. But this year they kept us in them for 2 weeks, leading inevitably to all-consuming infatuation with the members of ones pod and pure spite and anger when we were separated 2 weeks later. Seriously, people cried. But I'm really tired now, so I will finish this tomorrow...
Things to look forward to in tomorrow's post: Physical Training Starts, Trips to Downtown Sacramento and San Francisco, The local nightlife scene, campus dynamics and kitchen chaos.
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