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.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
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
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
Thursday, February 18, 2010
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!
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
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’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.)
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.)
Thursday, February 4, 2010
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?
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?
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