Wrap-Up

This is it, last blog of (probably) my life. It was fascinating to scan back through some of my old posts and relive my experiences. Funny thing, I wish I had done that a couple of weeks ago because it gave me inspiration to write more about what I was doing daily, something I've been neglecting of late. It's funny to see how most blogs were written in Alpaugh, when there was very little to do, and the fewest back on campus when I was meeting up with old friends and doping around. I'm satisfied that I attempted and finished an Americorps blog. I sometimes had to force myself to write but it was well worth it in the end.

I've been very negative about my team lately (in my head, not outwardly), and it's something that has got me thinking that negativity is how I naturally respond to situations. Knowing that the end is near, I can finally let loose and be angry with the people that have frustrated me for the past 10 months. And they are probably doing the same. Yet, it's something I'm learning from as I go. I came to a sad realization yesterday that every action that my teammates perform that angers me tends to be the very actions that I undertake regularly. It's completely unjust for me to be having the angry thoughts that I have. But I've figured that out, and it's cast a different light over the last week here in Sacramento. a spirited and upbeat one. I always have a choice of actions, and I will never make the right one 100%, but if I'm savvy enough to gauge how I feel after it, I can slowly change my actions to more satisfying ones. And I want to make people happy, to make them laugh, relax and feel comfortable, not to belittle them. There's an attitude choice that I've made lately, and it's one I will stick with. Maybe you all will see it in me next time we meet.

This program, in hindsight, is so bizarre I have difficulty capturing it in words. 10 months of life, put on a team of randomly chosen kids my age, packing and unpacking, constantly moving around and readjusting to new settings, cooking food for 8 every night, managing 1 van, trying to stay calm amongst too many opinions. For almost a year, I existed in a vortex of difference. Nothing was the same as it had been in college, playing sports, traveling with family (although there were parallels to studying abroad) or living at home. And I did it willingly, because I wanted something different, a unique experience that I could look back on and be proud and satisfied that I tried it. Now here I am, looking back. It's nothing I could have expected, yet I knew that coming in. And even knowing that, I couldn't prepare for the weirdness and surprise of it all. But at the same time, it became normal. By mid-November, it was just my life. Now, in hindsight, it was totally insane. In a very, very good way.


My biggest fear in leaving Americorps NCCC is falling back into the old routine. I've been subjected to difficult and monotonous work, and it has spanked me in the butt. I've grown up here, but now, in my opinion, comes the hardest part: Bringing it all back into my normal life. Because my normal life is living in the Northeast, with family and friends. All the lessons that I have learned here may be washed away when I step foot in Albany airport. Why not? I'm back in familiar territory, with the same people I've known my whole life. Americorps NCCC allows one to completely forget what just happened, to have a different experience but not remember it. It's going to be very, very difficult to reinsert myself into an old life, but with a new Dan. And it's not important to you reading this, but it's important to me, because I like how I am right now. I'm enjoying learning about myself and new people and places. If you care about and know me, you'll understand from these blogs that I am very different, but that it's a positive difference. If you've learned anything from these blogs, it should have been that we can all be open about our feelings, our mistakes, and our inner thoughts. There's no reason it can't happen. Don't be afraid to let your guard down, because people interest people. Hopefully, you have all learned a lot about me from these blogs, and it will make you feel more comfortable and open with me in the future. And please, keep in mind that any one of you can do the same thing I did, or at least something similar, that allows others entrance to your thoughts and feelings, essentially your lives.

There's one last thing I need to mention before I close this out. It's one of the broadest statements there is, but it's a reminder we all need, more often then we realize I think. There exists a ton of people that aren't lucky. We think of luck as winning the lottery or scoring an interview, and that is indeed lucky. But have you ever thought of "unluck". It's losing your job as a teacher because you were 1 year away from tenure and the school system you were in was in such bad economic state that they needed your tenured salary for themselves. Or, as a teacher, being rotated through a consistently contracting school district's classrooms, never able to attain stability. Or being neglected and shunned because you left Mexico to find a home and work in America. Or losing your land and livelihood because the government wanted to restore it back to it's natural state. Or being mentally disabled, not able to wipe your own ass, or even know what "wipe" means. Or being bullied as a janitor by the school district to work more summer hours in sweltering heat. Or living on the street. These are the people that got a little "unluck" in their lives. And it's little fault of their own. So when we go out to restaurants, bars, festivals, concerts, and other leisure activities, consider that we could, with a little "unluck", be drinking freeze-dried milk with 2 hungry children, begging for extra food at a street corner, or enjoying life only after a handle of alcohol. I've learned, seriously, that there is not much different between us and them. Keep that in mind.

Thanks for tuning in everybody. It's been a helluva ride. Dan out.

LAST 2 Negative Thoughts Before The Big Finish

1. The last week in Reno has turned into a free-for-all in the kitchen, a make your own dish affair. Suprisingly (although unsurprisingly at the same time), it turned into a freeloader fest, as a couple teammates prepared some food (both so it didn't go bad in the fridge and because they were hungry), and the rest ate it and ran. It felt like real camaraderie amongst the team last week, that those who ate but didn't cook would help clean-up or help in some other facet of the meal. Alas, when the cooking schedule broke down, the majority got the food, praised the cooks, then ran back to their hiding places. I wish it true that these teammates were just oblivious to what they were doing, but after 9 months of cooking and eating together, we all know what it takes for a meal to be prepared. This last week was just a chance to gain an edge. It's a great representation of my team, Green 6. Our motto: Do only what is required of you, and even then try your hardest not to. I was worried coming into the program that the level of do-goodedness would be out control and I would struggle to cope with high levels of pretension. Never would I have guessed that I would have been the do-gooder on the team. People are people no matter where you go, and we are all just trying to survive. A tough lesson I've taken away from this experience.

2. Oftentimes I set up lists on Sundays or during the week of tasks I would like to accomplish, and, on rare occasion, I actually finish them before the night is over. It's a huge relief, like a weight has been taken off my shoulders. Then I look around at my situation and realize that I have nothing to do. So I figure what will be on my list tomorrow and start on that. But it only makes the list longer the next day. This can't be how life is lived, but I'm getting the feeling it is. Shucks.

Whirlwinds

It's all spinning out of control. 2 weeks of work. 3 weeks total. The end of an era. E-mails abound. Network, network, network. Constant list in my head to check off. Only spite and resentment towards teammates. Why have they not matured through this program like I have? Only grown-up on this team. Would it have been different had Virginia boy stuck around? Would I have had to step in as father/mentor/leader? Why so hypocritical? Read, read, read. 270 of 450 pages done. 1.5 weeks to return book to library. 180 pages left. 12 days left. 180 / 12? 15 pages per day. Can't skip a day or recalculation needed. Are networking e-mails aggressive enough? Too aggressive? Too simple? Unprofessional? Who knows. Just keep writing. No time to stop and relax. More check-offs needed. Exercise for an hour. Run? Lift? Which muscles? Just say "fuck it"? Soccer, soccer, soccer. Sports? Am I capable? Competent? Stay relaxed, that's how the pro's look. Always relaxed. It really doesn't mean much, all in your head. Reeelllaaaaxxxxx. No time to relax. Check through old e-mails. Write again? Just say "fuck it"? Hate phone conversations. Extremely nervous, fast heartbeat. Rather meet in person. Stop interrupting them Dan! Does everyone feel this awkward on phone? Growth, change, learn. Some things never change.

Of 2 Minds

Americorps NCCC has been a spectacular kick in the butt, the jumpstart I needed to move forward with my life. Traveling was incredible: 4 communities, 4 different tasks, 3 different states. Where else is that amount of diversity available? It's enabled me to meet 7 people I would not have known otherwise, and each has provided a new outlook on life and a different world view, a refreshing change of pace from the stuffiness of private college and simplicity of small town living. The work we accomplished over 10 months has allowed full-time workers to not have to work overtime, to gain a few more hours with their families. We made an impact, whether on students, small town folks, mentally disabled children, or warehouse workers. My life has made an about face because of this program, and I will always remember its lessons moving forward.

Americorps NCCC, while having great ideals, is an inefficient program that completes unnecessary work in an untimely manner. It's members arrive hoping to make a difference, but often leave moaning about what a waste of time it was and their desire to leave. There exists a complete disconnect between the administrators making the rules and the corps members that need to follow them, leading to bitter attitudes and utter anger towards authority. We work hard for nothing; The jobs we do are not only periphery, but dreadfully boring. Moving in groups of 10 is difficult, tedious and frustrating. Surviving the enduring tensions and squabbles of teammamtes is not something anyone should have to experience. The program aims to quash freedom of expression for uniformity and consistency. I often felt mistreated and neglected. Numerous times I looked up from my work and wondered what the fuck I was doing with my life. 3 months maybe. 10 months, I'd never do it again, and can't wait to go home and restart my life.

Group Decisions

Weekends are highly regarded in Americorps NCCC, as they represent a chance to travel, move autonomously, or sleep. Quick tangent: So roughly 5 of my 8 teammates religiously take naps. We get an hour for lunch during weekdays, and they return to our Science Lab / Kitchen, scarf down some food, then sleep for 30 minutes before returning to work. I've never been a napper (unless I'm on a long car ride), so I have trouble understanding their motives. They always wake up groggy and stupid, so why do they do it? I have no idea. The most annoying part about it is that only Team Leader sets an alarm, so I have to go wake up everybody else 5 minutes before we leave, resulting in that just-woke-up wide eyed stare/glare that says, "why did you wake me up you bastard?" So this is what elder sibling's responsibility feels like. My sympathies to all you older brothers and sisters out there.

Back on track: Weekends. Throughout the week there is talk of how the upcoming weekend will be spent. There are 3 possible responses to ideas brought up:

1. Serious Interest - The group latches on to the idea like ticks in an animal shelter. Enthusiasm abundant. Other teammates push the idea, even help to organize it. Although 1 or 2 naturally oppose the decision, it gets passed through congress and the house, and the president signs it into law. We go out and do it that weekend.

2. Shoot Down - The idea gets shot down. The idea's architect is resentful and less prone to support other ideas. Everyone quickly moves on with their lives.

3. Mild Interest - This is where things get interesting. The proposed idea gets mild interest, generating responses like "that's a good idea, I'd like to do that." Notice the lack of commitment in that reply. Mild interest ideas receive a modest following, but it's generally spurious interest. The time to potentially do the activity comes around, and still nobody is sure if it will happen. We all wait around for somebody to initiate it. Finally, the idea gets brought up again, and the same uncommittal answer is received. Ultimately, we don't do it. Mild interest ideas generally don't get done.

Quick example: It's a Saturday afternoon, the whole team is back at the school, talking on the phone, making lunch, or sitting down staring at a wall. Team Leader has taken the van to go to the gym (our school gym doesn't have enough weights or machines for his liking.) He'll be back in an hour. We've heard of this giant sporting goods store called Scheels that is located in an outdoor mall complex about 10 minutes away, so one girl proposes we go there. There's also other shopping options, some outlets, etc. The idea generates mild interest. We wait around until Team Leader returns, than a majority commits to going, but in an hour or so. As the hour passes, people get involved in streamed reality shows or phone conversations or continue to stare at the fascinating wall. Another hour passes. The idea gets brought up again, and we all say "Yea, let's do it, just give me a couple minutes." 30 minutes passes. Eventually, some girls realize that they could do laundry and go to Borders to use free wireless internet (which we don't have), and that idea is met with serious interest by 1 other person, the minimum number of proponents requisite for attainment. The idea of going to Scheels came up first, but because it produced mild interst, it never happened. Mild interest is idealism; Ideally we would like to go to Scheels and the mall complex, but in actuality staying home offers just enough to deem it not worthwhile.

I've learned to avoid these curious and sometimes obnoxious group equivocations by taking the van by myself at odd hours. Lately I've been watching World Cup games at 7 AM, way before anyone else has awoken. In fact, I usually get back before anyone has eaten breakfast. Mornings are the best bet. I have until about 11 AM to get the van back. I suppose I shouldn'thave been so apologetic towards older siblings earlier in this post. I never knew they had such good morning hours to avoid brats like me.

Reno, Nevehda

It's Nevaahda. Not Nevawda. The locals get grumpy when you say Nevawda. So think of a baby crying: "Weeeaaahhhh". Get rid of the 'W', throw in the 'eeaahhhhh' and that's how you say Nevada. Annoying, but acceptable. The new spelling of Nevada, however, is Nevehda.

We stormed into Reno this past week, with only Team Leader getting more than 3 hours of sleep. I got back to Sac in a haze of wedding disorder and shell-shock at 2 AM. But I wasn't packed. Pack, sleep, wake up by 7 AM, drive baby drive. That first day was a blur and a half. Only the next day did I wake up to fully realize that I was living in an arts, careers, and technology charter school a stone's throw from downtown Reno.

Have you ever lived in a school? No? It's like a bad dream where you wake up and are forced to live in your old Earth Science classroom. You can do wahtever you like to the room. Shove the tables in the corner, stack the chairs on them. You want to take down the posters? Sure. But by no means does it become a bedroom. Now it's just an Earth Science classroom that you sleep in, on uncomfortable cots about shoulder length wide with two metal bars running lengthwise that are great for bonking your head on at 3:30 AM following a rollover. There's one computer desk in the corner that, while anyone sits at, immediately promotes them to teacher-of-the-room status. It's required of the computer user to sneak sidelong glances at the rest of the room, as high school teachers were prone to do. It's like some spell is cast as soon as you sit at the teacher's computer, a spell necessitating that the user knows what is happening beyond the realm of the computer screen. OK, that's enough. We live in a school. Our kitchen is the Science Lab. It's weird.

Reno itself isn't all that bad. To repudiate my prior claims and set the record straight, Reno is not, in fact, a dessert, but a city perched 5,000 feet above sea level (for some perspective, Denver, the mile high city, is 5,280 feet above sea level). The city has a great view from every angle: It's surrounded by the Sierra Nevehda Mountain Range, some of whom have snow on their tops. So as you desiccate yourself working outside in 90 degree heat, the mountains leer down at you, just daring you to swipe some of there snow off their summit's and plop it on your neck. Every bar has some form of video poker in it. Dangerous. Reno's a really simple city, easy to get around, little traffic, everything available in 15 minutes or so. Gambling is synonymous with Reno, but it can be avoided, leaving a fun little city to enjoy. I don't particularly mind it at all.

Been here one week, job's good. We're moving desks, tables, chairs, electronics and anything else school's use to educate around a warehouse, getting it prepared to be replaced, reused, or trashed. We will be changing jobs weekly or biweekly, and are left mostly in the dark as to what we will be doing. But who cares. 4 weeks left. Fuck it.

Quick funny story. I watched the USA-Slovenia World cup game from a downtown casino at 7 AM on Friday morning. Apparently, Reno casino's are not soccer hotspots, as I was alone at a table in the bar area. Of the 12 tables available, I was the only one seated. A couple degenerate gamblers sat at the bar, not interested in the game. I got some breakfast, sat down, and watched the game. USA scored two goals in teh second half. At the first one, I individually stood up, clapped my hands and yelled at the TV screen, drawing a few puzzled looks and stirring from teh bar members. When USA tied it up with the second goal, I jumped into the air and started high-fiving the bar dwellers, and to my surprise, they matched my excitement with whoops and high fives of their own. I don't know if they knew what was going on or even that soccer was a sport, but they seemed happy to have some new blood in their casino (except one really old curmudgeon who threatened to kick my ass if I ever shook his hand again.) On the third goal that was disallowed (awful call) I yelled so loudly that the kitchen staff came out to see what the commotion was, and I had to tuck my tail between my legs and explain to them that I had celebrated prematurely. Luckily, most of them were Latino and understood the game of soccer. They stuck around to watch the rest of the match. I even got the casino manager interested in the match. Just spreadin' the appeal of soccer throughout the globe.

Predictions #1

Reno Odds:

1. Our task at the Washoe County School District is all-intensive. Our time and energy are put towards weekday hours. We are too tired from the week to do much more than explore Reno, save one weekend where we hit up South Lake Tahoe. Unable to stand each other anymore, the "team" splinters apart, resulting in a drunken street/casino brawl, complete with flying chips, smashed cocktail glasses and giant bouncers escorting us out. We go home without any legal repercussions. Chances: 2%

2. Same as 1, but the Reno 911 cops show up, imprison us in a cell of comedy overnight, then forget to keep watch and we walk out. We are on tv, and become celebrities overnight. Chances: 5%

3. I continuously forget to apply suntan lotion to my face and arms. The dry dessert heat slowly melts my constantly peeling body. I go home in a world of pain and misery. Chances: 3%

4. I continuously forget to apply suntan lotion to my face and arms. The dry dessert heat slowly bronzes my muscular body. I go home and get all the babes. Chances: 10%

5. With the end in sight, I drink heavily as I count down the days until we finish. Eventually, I lose track of my sober existence, my team disowns me, and then leaves me in Reno. I live out my days a hopeless and homeless bum. Chances: .01%

6. I come up with the idea that Reno should rename itself "Las Vegas, But Cheaper". It is met with much fanfare, and I am immediately hired to run a variety of city real estate ventures. I fanagle it so that I end up owning multiple lucrative luxury casinos, and live out my days philanthropically. Chances: 20%

7. I decide that I do actually want to go pro in sports, start up the Reno Pro Curling League and win the championship every year. Chances: 2%

8. I slowly find myself seated more and more at the casino's poker tables. This time is different, however, because my new volunteering alter ego can't stomach winning other folks' money. I realize my destiny: To siphen off all of my stipend money from the Americorps program by purposefully losing at the poker table. I'm dead broke as July heats up, but I know deep down that this is stupid, but the volunteerism has taken over. There's not going back.
Chances 57.99%

Realization #1

A thought occurred to me recently, one that later made me reflect deep reflective reflections. I have a natural instinct to promote, even if what I'm promoting is not something I believe. Is my internal being an undercover used car salesman bursting to be released from years of repression? No. But I do yearn to represent an entity and convince my subject, and myself, that what I represent is the best.

The epiphany came to me during parents weekend at Camp Stand-By-And-Clean-Up-Pee, a chance for families with a child with disabilities to vacation together. This particular time, it included a first-time family scoping out the scene to determine if the camp was a suitable place for their child. Before I continue, let me briefly review my sentiments towards camp. It's very harshly run, to a point that it becomes counterproductive. The director is a misanthropic rule stickler that makes counselor's lives a living hell and disgruntles some camper's families as well. Regardless of how much better the camp could be operated, it has a monopoly on disabled children, as the parents need it for their own sanity, and as bad as they feel dropping their kid off in the old Soviet Union, they really have little choice. So I've felt like Kim Jong Il's servant for the past 6 weeks. This past weekend, I was assigned to chill out with the inquiring parents' child with down syndrome and autism. I did my duties, took him when they needed a break, and for the most part didn't totally mind the experience, except, of course, whenever camp director Voldemort came around the corner. By the end, I'd established a repoire with the family. Here's where my salesman alter ego took over. I ended up explaining the great camp atmosphere, undying attentiveness of counselors, and overall safety at camp. Is this what I believe? No. Did I say it anyways? Yes. Why?

It's as if the words tumbled subconsciously from my mouth. I couldn't help it, it sounded so right. The other critical part of the interaction: I initiated the sales pitch. I felt compelled to go out of my way to explain that sending their child here was the correct move. It's like there's a competitive streak that I can't eliminate from my nature. I want to win mother fucker, and hitting the targets with some well placed compassion and coersion would bring me home the bacon. Got em hook, line and sinker.

But in reality, I think the pitch stemmed from some sense of obligation to where I work. I wasn't going to badmouth the place in front of the family, but I could have said nothing. A pride welled up in me at that moment that I couldn't fend off. It resulted in me pouring a fresh glass of maple syrup on the camp to make it delicious and sweet. It's lame, because it was fake. At the same time, I wanted them to be conscious-free when they dropped their priceless little ball of life off at our door, as they inevitably would do. So, in a way, what I said was as much for their benefit as mine, a relief to know that I'm not as slimy as I thought I was.

Or maybe I'm brainwashed, because I've given the same pitch about Americorps NCCC, a program that also has good intentions and does a poor job of accomplishing them. It seems like their is a disconnect between how I feel when I am promoting and when I am working for what I'm promoting. Working for it makes me hate it, but telling others about it makes me believe that what I'm saying is true. Whether it's just me or the general population, it's scary to think about. Talk about a vicious cycle.

Do we all like saying what sounds right more than what is the actual truth?

(Ok, ending a blog with a question really makes it sound like a Sex In the City episode. Speaking of, gotta see that second movie. Samantha single again? I think yes. Let's go girl!)

(I actually saw the first movie while holed up in downtown Alpaugh (a valentines day thing, the girls made me watch it, I promise). I couldn't believe what I was watching. It was like being forced to sit and listen to that person who tells stories that drag on and on and on, with no pauses to allow for a hasty escape. So you're stuck in the middle of it, your mind wandering and all you hope for is a quick pause to excuse yourself that never comes.)

Maintenance Work

I've discovered 2 types of workers on my team:

1. The Perfectionist - These personality types focus very heavily on the little things, taking the utmost care in each and every task. The most important part of a job is to get it right and have it looking it's best. They take pride in their work, generally beaming upon their final product contentedly. Oftentimes, these types lose track of the task at hand, focus too heavily on what's in front of the, and are inefficient with their time. Painting style: Carefully trim the edges, rag in opposite hand. Clean, dainty strokes.

2. The Road Runner - Slowwww downnnnnn speed demon! These workers fly around the joint, getting done what's necessary in as little time as possible. Although effective, their work tends to be shoddy, at least compared to The Perfectionist's. It feels like they either care little about their work or are continually late to the ball (Cinderella reference, I know.) Painting style: Slop-it-on-Polly. Put as much paint on as humanly possible before wiping off what you can, if you remember.

I make generalizations. I like to enumerate. I know. But if there is no personal investment in a task, both parties eventually expose their true worker-type characteristics.

Sob Stories

In each of the three locations I've settled into (Sacramento, Alpaugh, Vaughn), there has been consistent complaing amongst local residents. Actually, I have experienced excessive amounts of whining since Americorps started. Now that I think about it, whining is the culture within Americorps. Everyone has something to lament about. 5 thoughts on this matter:

1. America has actually become a nation of compulsive complainers who can comprehend when they are being slighted but not when they are being benefited. Complaints help us fit in, to feel connected with others. Whining about all our problems is a great way to feel better about ourselves, to convince us that it's not our laziness or incompentence causing the problem, but another faction. We're all screwed.

2. My team, more than most, is compelled to complain about the program, supervisors, living arrangements, etc., skewing my judgment on complainers.

3. The regions we have sojourned to are particularly barren. Residents are thus justified in complaining, because no matter their actions no changes to their towns or statuses are made.

4. The west coast is filled with a bunch of pansy asses.

5. I may complain more than anyone else, and am not helping my cause by writing a blog complaining about how other people complain too much.


I guess my point is this: Everyone complains. It's become part of our culture, but I don't think it has to be. If we stopped looking at everything from a purely selfish viewpoint, I think we'd see how many of our complaints are simply structural, a part of living in a society with so many intricacies and different personalities. Sometimes it helps to just grin when that urge to inform others of your mistreatment takes over. Trust me, they usually don't care anyways.

But seriously, today I tried to use the printer, and guess what? The camp director said no! She is such a...

Camper Weekend #2

Friday Night

7:32 PM - Camper Ben soils himself. 20 minute clean up ensues. I've never wiped a single butt that many times.

8:21 PM - Me, to Camper Jay: Jay, would you like a S'more?
Jay: YEAAA!
Me: Would you like one of those (pointing at a S'more)?
Jay: ...No...

1:15 AM - Camper Devin's alarm goes off. I get up to escort him to the restroom (he's blind).

3:30 AM - Camper Neil: Dan... I have to go to the bathroom

Neil has cerebral palsy and a rod in his back, rendering him unable to walk. I carry him the 20 feet to the bathroom, plop him down, pull down his pants, wait, put on his pants, carry him back to bed.

4:15 AM - Jay's incessant snoring/grunting wakes up Camper Mark and Camper John. Both are unhappy, but only mutter under their breaths.

6:00 AM - Camper Devin's alarm goes off. I get up to escort him back to the restroom.

Saturday Morning

7:04 AM - Camper Aaron stirs, wakes up, and assumes it's time to get up, but breakfast is at 8:30. He asks me twice in the span of two minutes if he can turn on the lights. I cave in on the second attempt.

7:05 AM - I walk to the bathroom to find half a sloppy turd in the toilet, the other half on the toilet seat. I clean up the hardened mess.


7:10 AM to 8:00 AM - We end wake up with 3 wetted beds and 1 pair of soiled underwear.

11:15 AM - Team Leader John dresses Camper Kenny in Counselor Dennis' clothes on accident after swimming. Chaos ensues as Dennis is showering campers and we can't figure out why there are extra clothes in the locker room.

2:15 PM - Camper Aaron, a chronic thumb-wrestler who turns every high-five into a thumb-locked battle, defeats Camper Jay in a thumb wrestle. The competition lasts 4 seconds, since Jay is not fully functional, and rarely has any idea what's going on.

2:34 PM - Camper Matthew gets hit straight on in the head with a high-arcing basketball while staring up at the rim (he does this for 20 minutes at a time.) Instead of reacting like a normal child, he just stares blankly straight ahead for a couple of seconds before returning to his trance.


4:30 PM - Camper Jay, not totally grasping the game, continues to run around the circle while chasing his goose. He circles it 4 times total before realizing what to do.

6:32 PM - Camper Roarke attempts to eat his excrement after first wipe.

Sunday Morning

9:01 AM - Camper Matthew #2 repeats "tractor", followed by jibberish while staring 6 inches from my face. I continue to feed him as he repeats this for 10 minutes.

12:30 AM - Camper Neil's shoes are nowhere to be found. After a 30 minute camp search, we find them on Camper Matthew #2's feet.

Teammates Update #3

This is getting easier as I lose teammates...

Team Leader from Connecticut: The most interesting human I've encountered. I would shadow him for a day if I could (I'd have to be invisible of course), just to witness his strange interactions with the rest of humanity. He's 1/4 asshole, 1/4 computer nerd, 1/4 gym rat, and 1/4 lost soul. Every 2 weeks or so I feel really sorry for the man, like there's a really happy, knowledgable, friendly guy trapped below a facade of pretentious, egotistical, perfidious man. He's so helpless in some situations, but ensures you that he's got a firm grasp on everything. Overall he's gone way up in my book from the first 2 projects, hopefully he's maturing from this program.

Last Boy Left from Vermont: Again, everything feels normal about him on the exterior. Like's sports, drugs and rap. Simple 19 year-old happy about the simplest things. But there's something about him that irks me, that gives me visions during the day of me Mortal Kombat-style uppercutting him 10 feet into the air. He has a girlfriend in Vermont that he talks to about 75% of the time he is off of work, and who he texts throughout the workday. I'm not exaggerating. It's weird to me his dependency. He also has no idea how brash his voice sounds whenever he speaks. I'm sure he doesn't mean it, but 50% of his words come out aggressive and demeaning. Yet he is compelled to lament about how mean everyone is to him for no reason. He plays the victim in every situation, not realizing how he brings most altercations upon himself. How do you tell somebody that their personality is quarrelsome and annoying?

1st Girl from Boston: Can't say anything about her, she now has access to this blog. And farts a lot.

2nd Girl from Springfieldish, Illinois: I've misjudged her before and feel guilty about only focusing on her bad character traits. She's actually an extremely friendly woman, very positive. She and Boston are the only teammates that get along with everyone, feeling their way through the delicate situations that arise. She's also reliable, a great trait for a teammate. She's loquacious, upbeat and a stubbornly good motivator. I've mentioned before that she has demons deep inside, but I would like to retract that statement. She sometimes says the funniest things on accident, like knows what to say in her brain but somewhere on it's route to the mouth the words get jumbled up, resulting in hilarious sentences.

3rd Girl from Denver via Long Beach, CA: The youngest one, still naive. Also rarely gets angry and listens very well when you have her attention. It's getting her attention that is the problem. You have to sort of snap your fingers in her face, then she'll refocus her eyes on you. She's bubbly and smiley. Deadlines are not her thing, as she is always scrambling to be on time or get an assignment in. But she has grown on me, also, I look forward to keeping in touch with her. She is going to Davidson this fall.

4th Girl from Orlando: She has medicine that calms her down, but their's still this serious edginess and attitude that exudes from her. We are friends, but I always feel like she's waiting for me to say something so she can pounce on it. Predictably unpredictably.

5th Girl from Cincinnati: She's really fun, spunky, a lot of good charisma. But she's also lazy, smokes religiously, and gets downtrodden when required to participate in an organized activity. It's like she would rather be doing anything but what she's doing right then. Always looking for something better. But she has a good heart and good intentions. She's vegan, too.

Dan's Fireside Chats

I've struggled with the name Camp Stand-By-Me for a while now. Half of me thinks it's corny and Free Willyish, while the other half scolds me for being inconsiderate towards children with disabilities. So, since the kids have disabilities, the camp name must be extra sappy? What about The Camp at Vaughn Bay OR, if the namer has a sense of humor and full job security, Camp Pee Your Pants. It also forces my inner conscience to hum that song, "I'll stand by you. I'll staaaaaand by you. Blubber blibber blabber. I'll stand by YOU", a horrific daily occurrence.

Camp Stand-By-Me (BLAST THAT NAME!*^#!!!!) has nature trails off to the left side of it if you were facing up the hill from the bay. Because of it's hilly nature and campers' needs, the trails require boardwalk to traverse, giving it a bunch of switchbacks and wild bends in the road. The problem is that these boards are covered with what camp director Ellen dubbed "Northwest Slime", the most slippery substance known to mankind. I scoffed at this prospect at first (which I seem to be prone to do judging from previous posts, you think I'd learn something one of these days), but changed my tune quickly upon watching one of her dogs slide about 3 feet forward in an attempted stop. These boards are a menace to society.

Enter Americorps NCCC Green 6. Our daily routine: Ply up boards from the boardwalk with crowbars and hammer, pressure wash them, stain them, put a layer of sand on them for rough texture, apply 2 layers of sealant, nail those willies back in. The difficult part is managing drying time, keeping the process flowing smoothly, and the fact that everything bottlenecks at the pressure washer (because there's only 1.) When we are not working on the nature trails, we are disassembling bunk beds and reassembling new ones, moving truckloads of new furniture, or doing paperwork or other odd jobs.

Another problem is the Camp Director, Ellen. She is our first attrocious boss, a change of pace from the well-managed last 2 projects. She's like an oversized mother hen pecking at her chicks, but instead of using a beak she impugns us with passive aggresive clauses. Although not always around, we eat lunch at her apartment, which is above us. The tension in the room is palpable, sort of swirling around the room from person to person as she suggest dietary restrictions and healthy, sustainable living habits. Her austerity hurts. A little cloud of "smug" hangs over her head. She's one of those people that, as you see her coming your way, you can do nothing but groan and wish you were invisible so you don't have to go through this painful interaction and lecturing.

The maintenance guy, Jason, comes to camp 2 days a week. He is a baller. Funniest, most easygoing guy in the business. Sample conversation:

Jason: "What's up, mang."
Me: "Yo, Dawg."
Jason: "How's the wife and kids"
Me: "All 7 of them are doing well, thanks. And you?"
Jason: "Pregnant as all hell, but doing well."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ml_R9QisgRY

Easter Seals Camp Stand-By-Me

This past weekend inspired one sure thing in my search for a career field: I WILL NOT work with disabled children. Some stuff I say here may be politically incorrect, even offensive. I apologize if it goes too far. I know some people relish the opportunity to handle kids' disabilities, to use every ounce of patience and persuasion available to them so that the kids may enjoy themselves. These human saints will find happiness in their work. I am not one of them.

Camp Stand-By-Me has the best intentions: Give parents of children with disabilities weekends to get some rest in their chaotic lives. In the summer, they can drop their kids off for weeks at a time. It certainly isn't too much to ask of us as Americorps volunteers to handle disabled children for one weekend. Many of my teammates found the work rewarding and, to add a touch of Hollywood, inspiring. I did not chime in to this sentiment. I found it to be an uncomfortable mix of exhausting, depressing, and boring. Exhausting because there's a constant pressure to straddle the line between letting them enjoy their time here and making sure they follow the rules. Depressing because there was no way to communicate with them, to find common ground, and no way to get them to listen to you. Boring because every activity takes 2 to 3 times longer to complete. Let me detail.

I slept in the "older boys" cabin, with 7 campers and 1 other counselor hired by Camp Stand-By-Me. They boys were older than the average, if you hadn't guessed from their cabin name. 1 of them was blind and mute, he needed a wheelchair to get around and required 2 depends at night accompanied with a special absorbent sheet for when he wet the bed. Another spoke only 2 words: Wa-Wa and Beer! (or Beard!? I couldn't tell). He needed someone to hold on to going up and down the hill that makes up Camp Stand-By-Me, something due to his legs not functioning properly. He also would automatically wet the bed, and sometimes deficate in it. Another young man was severely autistic, speaking back to you only what you said to him. He would masturbate in his bed throughout the night. One camper had cerebral palsy, and when needing to pee in the night would have to notify a counselor of his predicament and we would carry him to the toilet. 2 more kids with down syndrome were unrelentingly stubborn, rendering it useless to even try to get them out of bed without physically lifting them up, which required a couple counselors. Sleep was limited to a 6 hours, way better than the 3-4 hours for those posted to the "younger boys" cabin. But the sleep was restless wondering when the next camper would need help in the middle of the night.

Little things like cleaning up their private areas after a bowel movement or urination, feeding them as they drooled and half the food fell to the ground, and persuading them to stay in my sight made the experience unpleasant. The most frustrating part was not being able to understand what they wanted. Many times I had to guess at their intentions and motivations. It's weird to finally be getting a grasp of human nature and social intelligence, only to be put in this situation and feel so useless. I hated the feeling. This was where it got boring. I gave up trying and so had only myself to "hang out" with. I don't blame myself for giving up. I'm not suited for this type of misery. I don't look forward to the next 2 weekends with the campers, early and late May. Then again I'll be positive and it will eventually end. Just hopefully this time I won't be the one fishing turds out of the pool with a pool net.

The Great Northwest

What's better than a fresh start? Not much. I ended transition in Sacramento with a vague uneasiness of the days to come. Green 6 (my team) is down to 8 members, 5 girls, 2 seven-year-old boys, and me. Before my Central Virginia God-loving sports enthusiast left to pursue other interests, the burden of trustworthy maledom was split between us. Now it falls on me. The other two don't have the girls' trust, and refuse to take on any responsibility (even though one of them is the "Team Leader"). So it's me who's left to quell the storms as they approach. Beyond that, it is imperative that I stay even-keeled, not blow up, and, in turn, lose my respectability. This will be the hard part if you know my past. I also can't retreat to a mental hole if things start to turn sour because there's nobody left to step in and mediate the disparaging remarks being thrown around. I'm uneasy about my transition to manhood. Is it worth spending so much effort on people I don't necessarily like?

Monday rolls around, next stop: Washington. Not exactly. First we go to iHop for breakfast. Anyone been to that place recently? I left feeling like I had just been suckered into an internet money scam. I've never thought poorly of iHop before; I usually sling myself onto that bandwagon if the opportunity arises. This morning was no different. I couldn't wait to devour some savory pancakes with a carafe of fresh orange juice. Our budget was 9 dollars. Since my bladder was filled above it's tolerable capacity, I got back to the table with less than a minute to spare before the waitress would politely require my order. I ditched the pancakes. Two eggs, 2 bacon strips, home fries, toast. Yum. For 8.99. What I got was worth between $2.12 and $2.14. The eggs came from mini-land, the hashbrowns looked more like the dish that someone brings to a potluck that nobody touches, and the bacon seemed to be the meat from a mouse, or another small rodent. It was a good meal for pinocchio. For 8.99. Tricked by that blue roofing. Never again. There's this mystique about iHop, but I don't know where it comes from. Insanely overpriced, average portion sizes, annoying blue roofs. They just have a bright-colored menu with all sorts of great deals and specials! YA!!! (just don't look at the pricetag.) damn you capitalism and good advertising. All you can eat pancakes? NOBODY CAN PHYSICALLY EAT MORE THAN 2 OF YOUR FLUFFY ASS PANCAKES! And they make my mouth dry. iHop? iStop.

We stayed the night in Portland after about 8 hours of driving and a couple stops. I met up with some Hamilton alums who had moved out after graduation (Lars, Jesse and Steve Rowe for those who care.) They showed us a cross-section of Portland, and I liked what I saw. We arrived at what looked like a residential neighborhood on the north side of the city on Monday at 11 pm. I wasn't sure what the plan was, but Lars said he had some places in mind. We walked about 2 blocks before we reached a mini main street that had everything you could ask of a neighborhood. Italian, Mexican, Bars, Strange shops, normal shops, even light bulb store. And the bar we walked into was occupied by people, an astonishing fact considering the time and place. I got a great vibe from Portland, Oregon.

We arrived in Key Corner, Washington the next day around 2 PM and met with our bosses, Ellen and Jason. Ellen runs the camp, and acts like a camp director should in my mind: Smart, tough, omniscient of her camp. She rubbed people the wrong way because it was obvious she would be demanding, but thats alright by me. Rather have that than a wishy washy complainer for a boss. Reduces my responsibility I hope. Jason is the man. He approached us wearing a US Soccer jersey from Champion that I think was size Xtra Small. It just barely covered his belly button, a sweet shirt by just about any standard. He is the maintenace guy for the camp and he constantly cracks jokes and grins like a ninja turtle or Tiki Barber (they are one and the same). He'll be our day to day boss as we revamp the nature trails. I look forward to his leadership style and overall nature.

This weekend about 25 campers are staying at Easter Seals Camp Stand By Me (where we are). Their disabilities range from Autism to Down Syndrome to Epilepsy. The training they have given us has only made me more apprehensive, as they outline only teh worst case scenarios. I'll get back to you on how it turns out... if you stick around after these messages from your local station.

A week has gone by since I've moved out of Alpaugh, a place that will always hold a special place in my memory. What an annoyingly great experience. How many restrictions existed there? Spotty cell service, no internet or tv, living with 9 people in 2 bedrooms, working long hours in hot sun, 1 means of mobility, no money. In hindsight, I'm so glad I survived it, but I did not enjoy my time there, no matter how much I say it. Too much easily accessible information exists to be sequestered in remote places at this age. Right now, my thirst for learning outweighs that for soul-searching. I'm happy to have endured it, happier to be away from it.

We spent the past week back at McClellan, where 6 hours a day of brain-washing occurred back in October. This time the 7 teams deployed to the Gulf area came home, meaning the entire Americorps NCCC Pacific Region was back in Sac for the first time since training ended. I expected a week long party of sorts, but was surprised to find a lack of enthusiasm amongst the crowds. As predicted by those wiser than the typical corps member, teams became extremely tight over the 4 months away and found it difficult in their psyche to return to the old McClellan Air Force base. I was one of them. It's easier to be around the people you know well than the ones you assumed you knew well. Many had high expectations for returning, and were severely disappointed to experience the changes everyone, and by default themselves, had undergone. Yet after the first couple days things settled down and a slight nostalgia swept over the campus as tensions eased and friendships were renewed.

As I settled back into a groove here, I began to realize that July is fast approaching. Some of my closest friends from orientation are going to New Orleans, meaning I won't see them again until the last week of July, our last at McClellan. With this realization comes a freedom that always seems to accompany knowing how little time a group of people has in your life. Humans tend to be conservative knowing that they'll see someone regularly in the future, and downright reckless when ensured that they won't. As the week began to move along, I noticed (at least thought I noticed) a transition to that freedom.

I went out on the town one night to dinner with the old Pod and a night of cheap drinking at Olde Tavern, our downtown hotspot. While there I ordered 5 redheaded sluts for $17 (redheaded sluts = jager, cranberry juice, something else). Noteworthy here is the cost of those drinks. Not only were they cheap, but they indicate that each Slut was $3.40 a piece. I thought about this as I brought them back to the table, tried to justify the price, and couldn't. Did that bartender just arbitrarily pick a number between 15 and 20? Either way, about 3 dollars a shot is insanely cheap. Did he screw up? What the hell is going on here? The place is the most beautiful hole in the wall, the type of joint that when anything extraordinary happens, everyone can fall back on the old proverb: "Only at Olde Tavern." Now that's my kind of bar.

Team Dan Dropkin-Frank trolleys off to Gig Harbor, Washington tomorrow to being project #3. I expect a challenge, but can't decide if I'll rise to it yet or shrink from it. One thing I know is I can't wait to write about something new on this damn blog, Alpaugh really dried me up. Hopefully I can find a pick-up soccer night also, I'm pining for some action. Until next time...

This is the True Story - Alpaugh

Here's an one from about 2 weeks ago that I never posted:

Alpaugh has slowly stifled us all. Even the most spirited teammates have developed a melancholic despondency to our situation. It has drained our creative juices, resigning us to reading, video games, or movies for evening leisure. But video games have lost their edge, our movie selection is thin, and reading feels too inconsiderate in such a social setting, resulting in sets of glaring eyes peering over books. An especially perceptive passer-by may notice the storm cloud slowly and steadily manifesting itself over our home, darkening by the second. The contentment first felt within Green 6’s Alpaugh home has been battered to the ground. The invader: Gossip.

I grew up incredulously watching the Real World, wondering how the producers found such vain and irascible human beings to be on the show. This is the true story, of 7 strangers, picked to live in a house… it didn’t make sense to me. If this was real life as they inferred, why was there constant fighting? I always imagined myself on the show being content to sit back and watch my roommates go at it like a bunch of hormonal 8th graders. They would love my composure as I intervened, sorted out the problem, and imparted my wisdom. To me, the show was the least real thing on television, and I wanted ever so badly to prove that I was right.

I was wrong. Even without cameras rolling, Alpaugh became that opportunity. A lack of stimulants like TV and internet causes one to think of nothing but your roommates. The Real World uses alcohol to start the fire. In Alpaugh, it’s scheduling and unordinary occurrences. There just is nothing else to focus on but your teammates, forcing the negativity naturally associated with a 9-hour workday upon us during our free time. The tension mounts as an issue arises until the bubble bursts, at which point voice de3cibels rise and anger flows openly. And what is left to talk after each argument? The argument, of course. Aggravating each spat is how finely ingrained everyone’s personalities, specifically certain tendencies, are in each of our minds. It’s difficult to fairly assess a situation when most of it is based on assumptions of personality-types, and those seem to rise to the top during heated arguments. For example, I assume that the house guacamole lover has left it our yet again after lunch. I approach them to metaphorically squish the guacamole in their face. Right after I’ve finished my diatribe, the angry face across from me says bitterly, “I didn’t eat any guacamole today.” Even though that person often leaves out her food, this time it wasn’t her, giving her leverage in any future altercation. Why do we even buy guacamole? That stuff’s mad gross. Anyways, there’s a propensity to eat ones words in this household, even though the point trying to be proven is, in a general sense, correct.

The house morale ebbs and flows, but my inability to cope with the low points is starting to bother me. I can feel it coming, yet I haven’t found a personal solution for curing it when it’s bad, I feel that every action undertaken by any teammate is irritating. And there’s nowhere to turn to for relief. It lingers under my skin, waiting for the right time to expose itself. Hopefully when it does, the cameras will be rolling… This is the true story, of 9 strangers…

Final Alpaugh

And it’s been a while… Since you said you were sorrrryyyyyyy. There’s some late 90’s soft rock radio hit that went like that, probably a Nickelback specialty. Then they mention how we should hold our heads up high. Because it’s been a whilllleeeeee. But since I’ve been gone, you couldn’t breathe for the first time, so on and on, YEA YEA. Kelly Clarkson. A couple of interesting, worthwhile, even fun events have happened since I last checked in.

We finished our observation deck. The final product is such that only unskilled, amateur construction workers could appreciate the true effort expended to create it. Not 100% aesthetically pleasing, the deck has spunk, a characteristic of an observation deck that no private construction company would desire, but the general populace would appreciate. From far away it looks majestic and bold, set against the flat wetlands backdrop. Up close, however, some glitches are noticeable, the fault of hiring an Americorps team. It’s all little nit-picky stuff such as a couple of poorly fit planks, a smudgy paint job, or an uneven line of bolts. Perfection comes with a cost, but imperfection is free. I still have my money on that deck lasting 50+ years, although since I’ve made that bet I’ll probably come back in 5 years and see it sunk 10 feet into the ground, an infallible stray dog brothel.

The Alpaugh Community Clean-Up / Throw Away took place. My role as Project Outreach Liaison requires 2 separate community volunteer days throughout my time in Americorps, and this was my first one. The operation’s goal was to allow Alpaugh residents to dispose of their trash for free, an act not allowed by the county (they have to pay a flat rate of $10 plus a per pound rate for disposal.) It began like any other day that takes months of planning and preparation to put together: With a bad night’s sleep. Similar to the night before a job interview or a big game, there’s no end to the tossing and turning. But when awoken, my mind went straight to work. My vision for this day went something like this: Impoverished Alpaugh residents would bring their plentiful bags of trash to the park where we were set up, and my team of 10 would swarm their trucks, like fire ants to their prey, hoisting bags of garbage into the 40-foot long trash bins until none were left, at which point we would whisk them on their way and start the next truckload. Knowing that not many families lived in Alpaugh, I struggled to envision any potential problems. Yet, amazingly enough, we encountered one huge, revolting, putrid problem: Alpaughians don’t use trash bags. Instead they throw it all in a trailer over the course of a year and then dispose of it. So rather then chucking bags into a bin, we were shoveling, pitch-forking and front-end loading layers of dirt, trash, filth and baby diapers. My life may actually have hit rock bottom somewhere around 9:45 AM Pacific Time, when I looked up from the 3 baby diapers stuck to my pitchfork and glanced around to see my teammates all wearing the “ugly face” and trying not to vomit. I have to credit them, however, for sticking with it through 2 PM without too many complaints. Some highlights of this day include: A dead snake with a half-digested rat poking out of its side, an ant hive halfway down one of the trash piles, wading through the top of the trash bins ankle-high in garbage trying to pack it down, and any attempted communication between us and the Spanish-speaking Alpaugh residents. The feeling of relief when it was all over could only be compared to that felt when she tells you she’s not pregnant. My shoes still smell a bit like rotting milk.

Whenever something ends, reflection is required to reconstruct what you did and, of course, to mentally make it better than it actually was. So Alpaugh was great! I gained a bunch of handy-man tool skills, probably to be forgotten in the near future or never actually used. The team got a lot closer, only to most likely part like a 6th graders hair once we get back to Sacramento for a week. That’s overly pessimistic, but the need to get away from each other is quite strong at this point. I met a lot of great people from Alpaugh, and learned more than anticipated about modern day small towns in America. It’s a depressing story of inadequate funding, a form of government abuse that results in desperate, distant communities straining to find consolation or hope. My eyes have been opened, but just as soon as Alpaugh has become my priority, it will shortly turn into a shadow of a memory in my mind, because it’s not my fight. I do, however, hope that each Alpaugh family finds some form of happiness in their lives, if for no other reason than to free me from the guilt in my gut. I don’t know their solution, but I hope someone does.

Malcolm Gladwell

This blog is about Malcolm Gladwell, author of the medal winners at the all-time best nonfiction books Olympics. I’ve read few books like them (Freakonomics). If I read 20 books, only 1has to be like his books to keep me reading. He has this incredible ability to comprehend what the specialized experts understand and then convert it into a lucid prose for the rest of us to read. Most interesting to me is that he isn’t a genius, but a great interpreter. When dissecting the highest levels of math and science, you can’t hope to understand everything, but need to pick out the important parts that allow readers to understand how your conclusion was reached, and then explain it simply. He has a knack for this. I wonder where that kind of talent is learnt.

I don’t think I’ve ever seriously idolized anyone the way I admire him. He’s one of the people that I hope to meet at some point in my life, along with Bill Simmons, if only to watch his mannerisms and to see how he interacts. Since he isn’t a celebrity, I have no idea how he acts in normal day to day life. This vision is stuck in my brain: A laid-back master of language, keen to further his knowledge of any topic that wanders his way. He may not understand it all first try, but gets the gist enough to respond intelligently, with questions that further his pointed comprehension. Another part of my vision of him is someone that listens to conversation with no intent to speak himself unless it’s to pry more information from his quarry. In his writing, you don’t get a great idea of who Malcolm Gladwell is. He writes about simple topics in the most fascinating way without letting his ego influence his work. It’s a characteristic I hope to eventually obtain in my line of work.

Construction

You know how you’re driving down the road, the glory of your destination the only thing on your mind, when you reach a tan, hard-hat wearing young man or woman in jeans and rugged work boots holding a stop sign, and your heart just sinks into your stomach: Construction. Sometimes it’s not all that bad; some guys are repairing a telephone pole or something. But sometimes it’s just a full on testosterone potluck, with groups of men clustered around large, ungainly machines, leaning on their trucks and flexing their guns. These are the ones that slow you down for double digit minutes. And there’s something totally frustrating about watching 6 guys stare down blandly at one guy working in the hole, or at the one guy working the heavy machinery. Do something you useless Homo erectus! Personally working construction, however, has changed my attitude towards this phenomenon.

But only slightly. I still think ego plays a large part in the rationalization of standing around looking important. There are some reasons for it though. I have found construction is best suited for people that take criticism lightly, or use it as motivation to work harder, because you are inevitably doing something wrong or something that someone else dislikes. A lot of time is spent watching how other people work on a job, and learning that way. But more importantly, construction is constantly overstaffed, and I think it’s for a reason. There are times when all workers have separate jobs and utilize all resources to complete their task in the minimum possible amount of time, but each task is part of the whole, so until the last person is done it’s difficult to move forward. And it’s very difficult to plan hours efficiently in construction, because predicting how long something will take is impossible. It doesn’t seem difficult to plot out who’s doing what, at what time, and where, but it just isn’t, unless you are using machines. Human error always factors in. So waiting for another worker to finish his or her job gives one the chance to stare cockily at them (since you’re all done with your task), maybe peer stoically off into the distance, perhaps even move away a little to take a wiz or let a fart go. If the boss comes up to you with a job, you automatically stare smugly at them like it’s no problem, nod at whatever he or she says, than bound off, desperately wondering what the fuck they meant and how best to improvise without making your cluelessness obvious. So next time you come to that bastard holding a stop sign, understand that your wait is just the nature of construction. Much of the time, there just isn’t anything for those ogres standing around to do.

Our Little Family

Sometimes it feels like the house in Alpaugh is home to a large, dysfunctional family. First we have Grandpa, Age 31. He sleeps in the living room because he is woken up easily (although he snores like the whirring of a tractor motor.) Although friendly, he often gets grumpy in the afternoons if he hasn’t had his 4 pm nap. His time to shine is during board games or charade type games, where he is goofy and good-natured. He likes his meals cooked his own way, and often makes his own evening meal.

Next is age 22 to 23, or middle-aged adults. These folks clean up after themselves, put the utility of the team before their own happiness, and work hard during the day. They work out problems amongst the children, monitoring their behavior and reprimanding that which is intolerable. Although fun to be around, they can often be spotted sneaking off to bed before the others, preferring a good night’s rest to a sleep deprived morning.

Then there is the 21 year-old, the eldest step-daughter of the home. Slightly deranged and prone to blow up on any one person at any given time, this quarrelsome lass enjoys the drama of a good diatribe. Not keen on reciprocation of one of these tirades, she often becomes extremely emotional once actually confronted. Extremely fastidious, she wants everything her way, and anything not done in this manner receives a loathing look. Although accepted as a family member, she constantly feels like she doesn’t belong in the house and longs for something bigger and better, whatever that may be.

Finally, there are the little tykes, the 18 year-olds who act as children of the family. Too young to appreciate what a nice home they have and loving family they are blessed to be a part of, they rebel against any authority, going out of their way to be deviant. They do not believe it necessary to clean up after themselves, and do not spearhead anything but mischief. Rarely anything but complaints are heard from their mouths. This standard holds true for all except one, the youngest child, who is too naïve to misbehave, and realizes that her attention is granted through exceptional behavior, top quality moral values, and dejected puppy dog faces.

Regimented Life

Lately I’ve been slicing and dicing my day up like a sushi chef. “Time Management” has replaced Dan as my middle name. There’s something about Americorps’ structure that promotes this. Wake up at 7. Work until 4:30. Physical Training 3 times a week from 5 to 6. Cook dinner 2 times a week. You get the idea. In the end, we get about 4 hours per night for ourselves. To see what I’ve got to do on any particular night, I pop open my handy dandy mini-notebook, flip to that day’s half page, and see what I’d jotted down that morning. It always reads “To Do: Evening, 2/xx/09” (I consistently forget what year it is.) (As an aside, flipping through said notebook would lead many readers to question whether I was a schizophrenic (A Beautiful Mind) or a serial killer. Not for what it says, but because of my hand-writing that resembles a lie detector reading. Accompany this chicken scratch with jet black ink and an unwillingness to stay within the lines and I look like a future Rain Man. I wonder if hand-writing classes exist… I’ll have to look it up.) But then, Bam! I’m planning my hours, estimating the time it takes to complete tasks. Just stepping up my game. Distractions? No worries, my rigidly planned schedule doesn’t allow time for distractions. Unannounced team meetings? No problem, just push back one To-Do for the next night. Dinner? No way, there’s no time. Friendship? Not worth it. Hygiene? Pshhhhhh. Nobody here cares if I smell like 6-month-old-refrigerated-chinese-food, right? I’m in Americorps, and I’m gettin’ things done!

Disclaimer: Some parts of previous text are merely fabricated for dramatic effect. Do not worry; the entire team has never complained about “that kid who smells like a rotting carcass” or asked questions like “should we force him to shower?” There is nothing to worry about.





This is the most productive I have ever been with my free time, and it’s gratifying at the end of the day.

Daily Work and Big Bill

I’ve yet to tell you about our work here in Alpaugh this past week. As of this moment in time, Green 6 has been constructing an observation deck in the marshy wetlands of Atwell Island (it’s not an island, but a park named an island. Go figure.) Our supervisors picked the plot of land, but had yet to do any work on it until we arrived. So we’re going build the whole thing from scratch. We began by attempting to dig thirty-two 30x30 inch square holes in the ground. This was one of those situations where we got right to it without a second thought, hoping to get it done quickly and move on. Dumb. The next emotion we felt was regret at not considering the consequences of our actions. We still haven’t finished digging half of them.

We dig each day for a while, but alongside that we have also have been inserting 300 pound, 8 to 13 foot metal pillars into the holes and pouring cement to hold them. Sounds easy enough, but it’s actually quite a process. Each person has a specific task that needs to be done at the necessary time. But there is a lot of standing around due the difference in time required to achieve each task. It’s also fun like woah. There’s an omnipresent sense of danger that excites everyone. These pillars are heavy mothas. And they are transported via a 5 pound chain attached to a tractor through muddy ground and around big holes. It’s fun stuff, extremely gratifying when you get one upright into a whole and cemented. As an aside, they call cement “SEAment” out here. Redonkulous. It sounds like they are saying something less relevant. Every time. And since we are laying pipe and digging box, you can imagine where my head is at. And SEAment. Absurd.

Our bosses name is Bill. He is a character from a western movie, or the head highway patrol officer in Super Troopers. He’s an elderly man, and wears this brown uniform consisting of chocolate cake colored pants and chocolate mousse colored shirt. He’s like a walking Hershey’s kiss. His mannerism is difficult to describe. On one occasion, he had left to get more SEAment, which takes a while, so we decided to take lunch a little early so we could get back to work while he was there. On the way back we encountered him driving the other way. We both slowed down, and our team leader proceeded to give a 2 minute explanation of why we were leaving early, stuttering over our reasoning and extending every tangent as long as socially tolerable. It was painful to listen to. Bill replies only with “See you then” and rolls away, leaving us awestruck and enlightened. A man of few words, for sure. He has that aura of power and knowledge that when he requires something of you, you want nothing more than to please him. Usually he gives you some terse, befuddling instructions, and watches to see how you do, correcting you as you inevitably do it wrong. (Teaching construction is kind of like trying to explain the rules of card games. No matter how many times you go over it, the new player usually has no idea what’s going on until you play a couple of rounds. Then he or she gets it.) There’s no better feeling than the one after he comments on your work with something as simple as “Now THAT’s how you pour concrete.” Rereading this description hasn’t given him justice, because he’s also friendly and mild-mannered. He’s a guy that knows his shit, makes fun of himself, and laughs at the simple things. Great boss.

Next: Dan’s new self-prescribed, uncomfortably regimented life

Trying to instill a kitchen system for 9 people in one house is difficult. We have dinner worked out. 2 people cook every night, dish of their choice. Partners are drawn on Saturday from pieces of paper in a plastic jar. Dishes are chosen before food shopping on Monday. Precise ingredients are required to ensure that we stick to budget and don’t waste food. We are allowed $4.50 per day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It sounds like a pittance at first but it’s enough. Our Team Leader does the dishes each night in return for not cooking (we have a dishwasher.) Anyways, dinner is a thriving enterprise. If only the same were true for daily dishes.

It doesn’t seem difficult in my mind. We agreed to put our own dishes away in the dishwasher after use. If the dishwasher is full of clean dishes, remove them and insert your dirty dishes. If you are running late, leave the dirty dishes in the sink and empty the clean dishes when you get back, followed by the loading of your dirty dishes. Why do stacks of dirty dishes pile up in the sink every single day? It’s as if 6 invisible members of our team had to miss the kitchen advisory meeting due to “personal reasons”. Ohhhh, so the pile of dishes only exists because they missed the memo. No prob, Bob. But there are no fucking invisible people on the team. They haven’t even invented invisibility cloaks yet, obvi. So someone (or something) is neglecting his or her duty in the kitchen. Let the detective work begin…

And why do 18-year-olds not understand the concept of putting away the things they took out? ‘Yes, 18-year-old #1, when you take the mozzarella cheese out of the refrigerator, you need to put it back after it’s done.’ ‘No, I know that other people might use it, but there’s a chance they don’t, in which case they have to put it away themselves, which isn’t fair.’ ‘Yes, I understand you just forgot, but you forgot the milk earlier today, the mayonnaise at lunch and the leftover quiche before that… You are a moron.’ (I don’t say the moron part). Was every child 5 years younger than me raised in a McDonalds Play Pen? I’m being unbelievably hypocritical here, but gosh darn it children, grow up!

The Merits of Reading

Finally, I am almost finished with a book that will have taken me 2 months to read. Titan is about John D. Rockefeller from start to finish. It’s his biography, and no detail of John Senior’s life escapes it. 675 pages long, it reads more like a textbook than a nightly read. At this point, some of you may notice the irony of me choosing to read textbooks after college, but I assure you that there was a good reason I didn’t read them before. They suck. I spent the past two months reading this monstrosity because the company I interned at over the summer gave out a recommended reading list, and I felt obligated to at least get through one of them as tribute to them hiring me. Unfortunately, I chose the apparent mac daddy of the Marwood book assortment, the German shepherd over the weiner dog, the Yao Ming instead of the Earl Boykins, Stephen Hawking not Carrot Top. I’m almost positive the book title refers to Rockefeller’s stature in society, but it could just be warning the potential reader of its shear length, complexity and dullness.

The book is fine, I still have 40 pages left, 43 to be exact. But who’s counting. As I approach the finish, I’m wondering what in God’s name prompted me to finish. Not only did I have to extend my library loan for another 4 weeks, but I had to LIE about why. You see, I toyed with the idea of returning Satan’s light reading to the Sacramento Public Library before heading to Alpaugh about 200 pages short of the end. I finally sucked it up, called the main branch, admitted that I had “accidentally” brought one of their books to downstate Cali, and inquired how to send it back. The friendly voice on the other end said that he could extend the return date and I could mail it back to the main branch. Hallelujah!
Anywho, why did I feel the need to finish Hitler’s right-hand man? First off, there’s the sense of accomplishment that would eventually come with its slaying. Second, I couldn’t let it win. Just call it competitive reading. Lastly, I felt that I was advancing my vocabulary, religiously looking up words I hadn’t seen before. Often, I’d look them up 2 or 3 or 4 or 5 or 12 times before I’d get it. Come to think of it, I don’t think I actually learned any new words that I could use on a day to day basis. Now I just say them randomly in regular sentences (incorrectly if you couldn’t guess), and pray that those listening don’t know what it means. Of course, I did that before I read the Holy Grail, but now the words have just become more obscure.

I don’t read because I like reading. I absolutely hate reading. But it has to be good for me somehow right? I’ve realized lately how much I stutter while speaking, and wonder if it’s because I didn’t read enough as a kid. Maybe reading increases your ability to create coherent sentences in your brain, man. Makes sense right? I don’t know, but while I “know” reading’s good for you, I’ma keep doing it, no matter how much loathe it. Just not the The 8th Wonder of the World.

Lazy Sunday

I spent this past Sunday at our pad with 18 year-old Vermont boy, relaxing to fresh beats and playing video games while the rest of the crew journeyed to Panera for a day of interneting and food shopping. I wasn’t ready to leave the sheltered life of no internet quite yet, so I decided to spend some time with the immature, habitual marijuana smoking, dowdy young whipper snapper on our team. It brought back vivid images of me fresh out of high school and entering college. First off: Video games. I remember a time when I played Madden 2005 seasons all the way through, padding my favorite players stats so they’d be better next year, drafting prospects after the season ended and practicing plays to use in games. I cared so much about these results (I’ve always had a rabid obsession with video games.) On this lazy Sunday, me and Vermont played Gauntlet: Dark Legacy, a game in which you try to kill all the enemies and reach the end of a level so that you may move on to the next level, kill more enemies, and repeat until boredom sets in. And bored I got. Vermont, however, remained engrossed in the game for about 3 hours. I played for a while, went for a run, started a load of laundry, did some dishes, and came back and played some more before he finished up. The game felt petty, irrelevant, a sort of time filler while I gathered motivation to be productive. For Vermont, however, the game was his world. The level he reached measured how successful or productive his day was. The contrast humored me, before I realized how similar I was at that age. Its little realizations like these that I wanted from this program. I predicted correctly that it would force my own maturity, but it has also allowed me to view it on my own.

Later on that day Vermont told me that he thought he would learn a lot from me over the coming months. As vague as that statement is, it might be the most respectful thing anyone has said to me. That’s the thing about Vermont: He’s completely ignorant, combative, totally useless most of the time and loves video games, but there’s some honest naivety that forces you to make the effort to dumb things down for him. This is the first time I’ve felt like a mentor to someone. So, to respond to his admonition, I tried to think of something deep and profound, but uttered something more along the lines of “yea, that’ll be sick.” Not always the quickest on my feet, I feel now like I have a little protégé to take care of and teach the ways of the elder folk. Nice.

First Days In Alpaugh

The situation gets more and more tense. Small quips seem ready to blow up into full on verbal brawls, a small raincloud slowly building up to a deluge. Sarcasm dribbles from our mouths like it would from a rabid dog’s mouth. A long run signifies anger at someone. But who? I tippy toe around the cracks, praying that my feathery steps will not break the ice. Pssssst Dan. You there? I have something to tell you. IT HAS ONLY BEEN 5 DAYS! WE’RE FUCKED!!!!!!!

Alpaugh’s rough. I see the same faces every day of my life, the drowsy faces, the spritely faces, the passive faces. I see them in the morning, during work, at lunch, after lunch, even farther after lunch, in the van, out the van, brushing teeth, eating beef. Body odor, lurching motor. I see these faces left and right, up and down, even at night. Sometimes I wish they would go away, but know that they are here to stay. Dimples, sideburns, freshly shaved legs. Making morning breakfast: Sausage and fresh eggs. I see these faces everywhere, down the hall and in fresh air. I don’t know how to end this jingle, hopefully it’s not my first hit single. (Think Dr. Seuss.)

Anyways, I got that off my chest. The moral of the story is this living situation is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And I’m the low key one; I can only imagine how everyone else is feeling. Maybe it’s just a hump to get over, I sincerely hope so. Today we split up work. Half worked at the Atwell Island Park, planting a specific type of grass native to the area along the banks of a marsh. The other half went to the World Agricultural Exposition in Visalia (about 100,000 people) and helped the Alpaugh Historical Society make Tri Tip steak sandwiches to sell. I did the latter. Most delicious steak sandwich I’ve ever eaten at the most rural, simple event I’ve ever attended. Here’s the idea (as if ‘we’ were farmers): We farm. We want to show you farm stuff. Come look at our farm stuff. Admire our monstrous machines. Want one? No? Ok, well I’ll tell you about each one and how it works, and a story to go along with it. I think I actually met a legitimate cowboy, along with about 6,000 wannabes. Wearing our Americorps issued grey hoodies and tan cargo pants, we stood out sorely against the backdrop of tucked in plaid shirts, tightish blue jeans, boots and cowboy hats. There was plenty of time to wander around. It was fun as hell.

Alpaugh Arrival

We arrived at Alpaugh, CA at approximately 1:52:40 PM on Friday, February 5th, but it feels like we showed up 3 weeks ago. The idea behind leaving on Friday was that we could have a weekend to orient ourselves and get to know the neighborhood. It didn’t take long. The town sign of Alpaugh read 608 residents (down from the previously mentioned total.) Coming from the New Lebanon metropolis, I thought that I would have a feeling for small towns. I was way off.

Alpaugh is, by first impressions, the scariest place I have ever been to (rivaled only by the end of the Blue Metro line in Budapest.) It’s an eerie town placed in the middle of endless farmlands. The first thing to see is the shanties that house the residents, broken down trailer homes with piles of junk strewn about the front yards. There is one, I repeat, one intersection in Alpaugh, a 4-way stop sign smack dab in the middle. On one corner is the Alpaugh grocery, a fairly sizable building with lovely potential. Its faded name on the side of the building, peeling paint, and unpaved parking area, however, lay claim to its truly dilapidated state. The K-12 school is kitty corner to the grocery store. The Alpaugh Unified School District’s only school lies on an expansive plot of land relative to the size of Alpaugh itself, but there’s something eerie about it, too. The fields are all rough and patchy. Weeds spurt out of the sides of the cement track that surrounds the overgrown football field. I don’t know how many kids attend the school, but I know that the classes are doubled and tripled up. For example, one classroom may serve as 4th, 5th and 6th grade. Again, the paint is faded. I think that’s what makes the place so eerie, everything looks like it was painted on 2 decades ago and not been touched since. Nothing is fresh.

Stray dogs are the greatest indicator that Alpaugh is an actual ghost town. On our first drive in we passed a platoon of stray dogs rambling around the center of town (the 4-way stop). Turning down our road we encountered a dead beagle lying right along the side of the road, and before we could finish displaying our horror at this atrocity, the side of the slowly moving van was attacked by some kind of collie. We sped by it of course, but that first impression left its mark. Alpaugh has a dog issues. We now take care of one pup we named Maggie, a little weiner dog that adopted our back porch. 2 more retriever type dogs come and go, but we give them food when they are here.

The house itself is magnificent relative to what I assumed all my dwellings would be. Walking in the backdoor (which is really the main entrance but still gets relegated to backdoor status), there is a spacious living room with wood flooring that is separated from the tile floor kitchen by a tile L-shaped countertop. Actually, screw this it’s not worth trying to explain how the house looks. But I’m in an average sized bedroom with 2 bunk beds sleeping alongside two other guys. Just the way I like it. The kitchen is meant for a king. There is a projector that we can connect to a computer, enabling DVD watching and video game playing. No cell service or internet though. Can’t have it all. So don’t try and text me, I won’t answer (sometimes if the wind blows right I’ll get a bar.)

No Dice

This week, all teams stationed in the Pacific region came back to McClellan Park's campus (9 teams in Louisiana did not) to debrief. A whole slew of Corps Members moved back to the previously unoccupied 3rd floor. My primal instincts kicked in and I got very territorial. To protect my turf, I shot angry glares at the friendly kids up and down the hall who tried to actually meet me and become acquaintances. How dare they disturb the peace and quiet I had become accustomed to (almost dependent upon) for the past 2 months. How dare they crowd into their rooms and chat as if they owned the floor when, in fact, I was it's rightful owner. Kids these days. No respect.

Along with these boisterious folks came my long lost roommate. He's from Wisconsin, automatically giving him a laid back nature and pearly white skin. The irony of our roommateship is that he will begin dentist school in the fall, while I am currently getting my teeth knocked out on a regular basis. We get along great. He's clean, I'm sloppy. But he's from Wisconsin, and thus easily manipulated into consistently believing that I will clean the room the following day. Cash, money........

This week has been incredibly laid back. All teams are back so that they can debrief their unit leaders on the work they did while away (or in our case, still here.) Let me briefly brief you on debriefs. Conducted via a 20 minute presentation, the debrief is not difficult. 10 team members (we now have 9), 2 minutes each. It's very structured, each person talks about a different part of our last project. No matter what we say (I'm pretty sure we could have a tag-team wrestling match instead of lecture and be fine), the unit leaders and other Americorps NCCC office workers say that they think "we'll do a great job" and "good luck getting things done". There's no grade. There's no incentive to do a good job, it just has to get done. I'm positive the office personnel that listen to the debriefs think we spend hours upon hours of brain storming and practicing the presentation. Some teams may do this, but mine sticks to a strict only-work-on-the-debrief-1-hour-prior-to-presenting rule. One compliment we received went something like, "...it's obvious you spent a lot of time rehearsing this presentation, and it showed!" Then again, they may just be so numbed from listening to about 20 debriefs that they have morphed into complimenting machines. It's difficult to say.

As an aside, my team position is POL, or Project Outreach Liaison. My job is to set up team community service opportunities outside of our daily duties (we need 80 hours to complete Americorps NCCC) and talk to organizations about our program and determine ones that could benefit from our help. The latter part of my position seems to be the most troublesome because it involves the dreaded cold-calling, which isn't SO bad, except that there's no force requiring me to actually do anything. It's difficult to take the intitiative without a boss reviewing your performance. It's college all over again. Put it off. Put it off. Date your notebook and write a heading for the notes you will take. Put it off. Check the organizations website again. Put it off. Before you know it you haven't done anything, exactly what happened to me this time around. I'm not worried about my lack of drive, but the way I've convinced myself that it doesn't really matter worries me some. But they have 3 professionals in the next building working on the same things, so why should I worry about it? I do try and tell any organization that I work with (whether its independently or at my project) about Americorps NCCC, how it could benefit them, etc. Isn't that enough?

Green 6 Revisited

Since who my teammates are is such an important factor of my life, I want to remember how I thought of them during each different project. Here they are:

I will be calling them all by their city or general region...

Nashville girl went home for good yesterday. She was reclusive, but fun when she came out of her shell. She had a great personality with some southern charm that you couldn't help but smile at. Although primarily taciturn, she spoke with animation when she felt it necessary. There was a general feeling around the team this week that something was wrong with her and we needed to figure out what it was. She announced on her going away dinner that she was bipolar and really struggled with Americorps rigidity. She only got along with a couple people, but I'm very sad to see her go. We had a relationship in which I acted like an idiot and she tried to suppress a grin, ignored my actions or shook her head at them. It was wholly impersonal but I liked it. I think she did too. It feels like we didn't try hard enough to get her in the fold, although that's just not true. Her sarcasm and wit will be sorely missed.

Central Virginia boy is my best friend here. College graduate. We have strong similarities and strong differences. Nothing's in the middle. On one hand, he is a very religious protestant, doesn't drink, no sex til marriage, and a stout republican. On the other, he's a football fanatic, loves to pal around, and is extremely easygoing. Our relationship is mostly playful, but I know I can depend on him for anything. I hope he feels the same about me. He's really the only "guy" outlet I've got on the team, and losing him would really hurt. He is currently in the final 20 for a very prestigious clinical psychology internship at the university of virginia that starts in April, so if he gets that he'd leave the program. It seems pretty assured that he'll get it. Frustrates me. I didn't think there would be a high rate of turnover in this program.

Vermont boy is a character. 19 years old. He's pretty normal, played sports in high school, has a girlfriend back home. But he's immature to a point that I really don't know what to say to him. Now that I think about it, I've never had a legitimate conversation with him except when we run together. He just doesn't think that critically about things. I'm not sure why he came here, I assume I'll find that out eventually. We get along fine, there's just not that much to work with.

Boston girl is easily my favorite of the girls. College graduate. She's quiet, but in a way in which you can tell she's processing your words. She's thoughtful, kinda socially awkward in a really cute way (she's also 5' tall which is probably what makes it cute), and drinks way too much coffee per day. She's very artsy, likes to color and has a slideshow of emo internet pictures as her screen saver. She's always great to have around because she adds constant positivity to any outing.

Orlando girl is sassy and dramatic. She's unpredictable and lashes out when not in a good mood. She starts or is fully involved in, any imbroglios amongst the team. The other night at the local bar she attacked one of the local firefighter trainees, scratching his arm (granted she was provoked, but still). There's some serious rage within her that is scary, but mostly harmless. She's one of those boyfriend girls, the ones that you cannot talk to without them mentioning him. He is serving in the Air Force and is in Monterrey, about 2.5 hours from Sac. She leaves some weekends to see him. Her attitude gets in the way sometimes, but on the majority she's alright. Everyone on the team has seen her volatility, and we stay clear when she's not happy.

Springfield, Illinois girl is an odd one. College Graduate. She's very garrulous, having befriended many of the teachers at Larchmont, attending their poker nights and other get togethers. She's odd because she is obsessive with working out, and she signed up at the local gym for spin classes and whatever else she does there. I think she used to box when she was younger. She's the daughter of a priest, but a rebel one. I'm positive she has serious demons inside of her, and although it's fairly apparent what they are (questioning her religion), I'd like her to outright say them some day. She has this forceful manner of getting her way. It's as if at some point in her life she told herself "fuck what other people say", like she had so many influences she couldnt' keep track of them, rebelled against them, and resorted to trusting only herself. But it all seems like a facade. She's very likable, but her need to control a conversation with brute force is a huge turn off. Not my favorite person on the team, but we get along fine. She loves sports, as do I. She's a team player. I'm struggling to explain her, hopefully the next time I try it will be a little more clear.

Cincinnati girl was mostly a mystery to me until recently. She's 18 and goes out a lot with friends. She smokes cigarettes (about 10 a day) but keeps saying she wants to quit. I think she has a little bit of an alcohol issue, she thinks she drinks too much (and she probaly does for her age.) She's so friendly, always laughing and smiling. Her weakness comes from a lack of motivation and organization, which makes her untrustworthy. Good-hearted but lazy. Weren't we all at 18?

Denver via Long Beach girl is the most naive, socially and emotionally immature person on team. She is also 18. There's this airy nature about her, you have to ask her a question at least twice before she realizes you're talking to her. Sheltered her whole life, she can't cook or clean (she had maids to do that growing up.) Incredibly book smart, she is so unaware of her surroundings that it's impossible to know if she understands any implicit meanings involving the subject at hand. You can't hint at anythign with her. It has to be blunt and to the point, at which point she'll give you a blank stare and ask you to repeat it. She loves to sing broadway tunes or any radio song, which pisses about 50% of the team off. She doesn't pick up on any social cues, like body language or intonation. It's almost comical, but is really getting under some peoples skins. happy, smiling, bouncy.

Back to the Grind

It seems I have a propensity to stop blogging for weeks at a time. It's just procrastination. I've always been the type to push off doing something until I can't really wait any longer. This case is different, becaus although I do feel obligated to write something here, I also want to do it. I've been out of touch with this white screen and black Courier New font for too long. Time to let 'er rip.

Let me see, let me see... I'm in Sacramento. I assist teachers with daily duties at an Elementary School called Larchmont. The kids are in bad socioeconomic situations. Ohhh here we go. So apparently there's a "rainy season" in Sactown that goes from late december to late feberuary. Never having experienced a "rainy season" I wasn't totally sure what to expect. here it is: It's between 30-50 degrees every day and it rains. Every day. More accurately, it drizzles every day. We rarely actually get any full-fledged rain (maybe at night, I think I hear rain drops... hard to tell). So every time you go outside without a hat or hoodie you get about 1 drop on the bridge of your nose or forehead every 30 seconds. It's like Chinese water torture. More over, recesses are cancelled at Larchmont, inevitably leading to...

YAHHHHHHHAYAYAYAYHAFHOWEQOEFNEPCONUQAGAYHAYAYAYAAYYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYAYAYAYAYA

This is the sound that kids make when forced indoors with no physical activity for weeks at a time. Some sort of mix of a bellowing gorilla and a crying baby. And that's the background noise. When engaged in an activity with them, it resembles a circus. Kids being shot out of cannons to your left, a kid flying around on a trapeze to your right. One is furiously scribbling on a piece of paper than darkening his hands in the graphite right in front of you. When they can go outside they seem to be better at differentiating between study time and play time, but when it all meshes together they can't discern between the two.

On another note, the rain seems to bring down entire Americorps NCCC teams also. Last week was one of the most depressing I've had in a while. It's difficult to pinpoint the exact causes (kids with spring fever was certainly one of them), but my little family of 10 had a rough go of it this week. And of course it was all done secretly and passive aggressively. Every little thing seemed to aggravate everyone. Edgy would be an understatement. In fairness, it can't all be blamed on the rain. This was bound to happen eventually spending so much time with each other. that's the way these Americorps teams work, and that's why they trained us for 2 weeks on team dynamics, etc. For times like this. Too bad i forgot most of the stuff they told me. Also, I learned today that apparently when groups of girls spend a ton of time together, they start to have the same menstrual cycle!? Well, it was last week for my girls. Reminds me of this...
http://blog.syracuse.com/healthfitness/2008/02/having_a_happy_period.html

Other news - The team had been having a lot of issues with our Team Leader. He's just a weird guy and the girls feel very uncomfortable when he is around because he makes a lot of crude, unnecessary jokes. His stories would have you beileve that he is acutally superman, although he doesn't run around in a cape. We've just stopped believing them they are so far fetched. My theory is that he has heard all of these stories from acquaintances in his past (he's 31), and takes them as his own. Apparently he's had something like 30 different jobs, and has screwed his employers out of money numerous times. He's like a compulsive liar, but he lies about stupid shit which he thinks is cool. Anwyways, the team has kind of allied against him, but since none of us have any real authority over one another, it makes getting anything done as a team very difficult. Simple majority rules don't matter, there's too much politics. Right now it has subsided a lot. I talked to our Team Leader and asked him to step up more as a leader, and he has responded extremely well. I think he's growing on everyone else too. We'll see where this goes for the next 6 months.

I finish up at Larchmont this Friday. Really sad, these kids need peopel to stay in their lives for more than 2 months at a time. Just today I consoled a 6th grader who needs to choose by next week whether to stay in Sacramento with his mom or move to Mexico with his Dad (they just recently divorced.) He wants to do both. He's all torn up about it. Not a decision any of us had to make at 11. What do I say to that?

Next Project: Alpaugh, CA. Town of 700. Central part of the state, near Bakersfield. (Google maps that shit.) We are bulding bridges and trails at a national wildlife refuge for 2 months in the morning, and working with kindergarteners in the afternoon. All 10 of us live together in one house. Real World: Alpaugh. Get ready. In light of this, my next post will be dedicated to updating you all on my 8 teammates. Boom.