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...