Our internet is down. It has been down for more than 24 hours already. I think I may die.
On the plus side, Sarahlita is babysitting her 4-year-old cousin for a few days here, meaning he's staying with us. He's so much fun. His teddy bear is a people-eating grizzly, and if you don't watch out, it will attack anyone except Sarah's friend Aaron, who claims to be "bear-proof". This kid is the best thing to happen to our apartment since we got the cat.
How many times will I have to hear it before I begin to believe?
As always, at least once more.
I met with my writing teacher today to talk about my work. He said my writing shows immense potential and where it is now puts me in the top fraction of the class. He also said he wants me to speak up more in class, that I have interesting things to say. Professors have been telling me this for a good year now, to no avail. I still stay silent, mostly.
I spent seven years training myself not to speak up too much, not to look like a know-it-all or teacher's pet. I spent seven years trying desperately to appear average even in my advanced classes, and failing. Silence is comfortable, and it's become reflex for me. It's a hard habit to kick.
If you didn't know it, I spent this weekend at camp. We ran program for the Cubbies: archery, rowing, nature hike, crafts. I led the cooking rotation, which is always a challenge for two reasons. First, it has to be simple and not involve dangerous tools like sharp knives, because some of the kids are only six years old and can't handle advanced cooking. At the same time, it has to be hands-on enough that the kids stay interested Secondly, we only have 40 minutes for everything, including handwashing and cleanup. It's quite a challenge. This year we made baked apples. Each kid got his own apple, and the parents and my staff helped the kids core out the apples with butter knives. Then the boys got to fill the hole through the center with a variety of sweet and/or cinnamony fillings. They wrapped their apples in foil and I placed them in the coals. Ten minutes later, the kids got to eat their syrupy creations. The kids loved it, and the adults loved that the kids were involved and that it was something they could duplicate at home or on a campout. Perfect.
When I got in to camp Friday evening, I found out that nobody had ordered apples for the weekend, so we didn't have any. I drove to town that night (setting all kinds of land speed records, I'm sure) to procure apples for the next day. When I pulled into line at Albertsons, my cart contained 80 apples and four bags of candy. "Somebody must really love apples," the checker remarked haughtily. Ha. Ha.
Now that Leah is married and not around much, I'm really the camp mama. The guys come to me with their girl troubles and dehydration cases. The girls come to me when the guys are giving them an undeserved hard time or they need a bit of ceremony explained. I'm so proud to be the one they feel they can trust with their problems, and I'm glad I can help them out. Seriously, I love this role.
This weekend was the first real chance to see how a lot of the new staffers would handle themselves in a program setting. Mostly, they were outstanding. I was very impressed with the guys who worked in my area, and a few of the kitchen cadets were great also. The issues that seem to be cropping up will either work themselves out gradually over time, or we will nip in the bud when camp begins for real with appropriate training, counseling, and if absolutely necessary, discipline.
I have a very good feeling about this summer. I think it's going to be one of the best in a long time, and I think that I and the other seasoned senior staff have the vision and ability to make it a real sucess. I can't wait.
Today I had to turn in my portfolio for my writing class. I found myself filled with panic and insecurity I haven't felt about school since calculus in high school. I haven't written anything good enough to turn in yet, I thought to myself. I had to revise an earlier piece, just so I could be assured that the first thing my professor saw wouldn't be utter crap.
The results were seriously a breakthrough for me. I wrote something I really liked. And I invented a character, based partly on people I know and partly on certain voices in my head. I'm so excited with this. I think I'm going to have to switch to fiction full-time to really tell the truth in my writing.
And because I want to show off, and maybe you want to see it, here's the best chunk from my revision. Once I finish revising the rest, I'll probably post that also.
* * *
"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asks in a lowered voice with eager tone.
"Yeah, just let me grab a sweatshirt. I'll meet you out front." I step into my room, sink down on my bottom bunk, and sigh. I know it's a bad idea to get involved with another counselor. Leah, a tough girl in her fourth year at camp, had warned me against it my first night there.
"It won't work out, and when it doesn't--"
"How do you know it won't work out?" I demanded.
"Because you're 18, and teenage relationships never work out. Like I was saying, when it doesn't work out--and it won't--it's going to be you that gets burned. Regardless of the circumstances, you'll be the bad guy. If you're lucky, they'll just call you a bitch."
"And if I'm not?"
"Whore. And they'll mean it, too. It's not easy being a girl at Boy Scout camp."
"But I'm not just a girl," I contend. "I've been backpacking since I was three. I've gone whitewater canoeing in Alaska. My scout group has run weekend events here for years. I'm the real deal."
"Doesn't matter. You're still just a girl to them. You'll learn ways to cope with it and ways to sidestep it, but it'll always be present. These are quality guys, mostly, but they're still guys. They're gonna try to fuck you. And when that doesn't work--and honey, make sure it doesn't--they're going to try to fuck you over. You're invading their manly turf. Be sensitive to that, and you'll make it."
I'm really starting to get good at my job. It was a steep learning curve, because there are so many miscellaneous bits of background information and office policy and computer codes underlying everything. Also, I only get hours when nobody else wants them, which is almost entirely Saturdays and Friday afternoons, and not all that many of those. But finally, I feel like I've got it down. I do contact lens trainings, and I'm really good at those now. I recently got a raise, so I now make 25 cents more per hour. But the real indicator for me is that today, one of the optical technicians asked me a question about how things operate here, and I knew the answer. Now that other people in the office ask ME for information and I can answer them correctly, I know I've arrived.
Too bad I only have a half-dozen more days to work at this office. I'm moving to camp for good in mid-June, and before then I have a couple weekends where I can operate the climbing tower for rental groups and get paid. It's nice and sunny out, and my new job will actually let me enjoy it.
I feel entitled to inform you that taco night was a rolicking good time. My spicy lentils were a hit. The day after, we baked a turkey, which was delicious in its own right, but was outshone by the following day's turkey noodle soup, which is in all likelihood the best soup I have ever made. Take that, Martha.
I just found out my tax return may not have gone out exactly on time yesterday...if it went at all. That's one more stressor I REALLY don't need right now. I'm going to cry now...I mean, do my homework.
Those Drinky-Drink Kids is the most hilarious new cartoon I've come across in a long time. Thanks to Kellie for this one.
Campbell's Mexican Lentil Soup is hands-down the best canned soup I have ever had. It's spicy but not so spicy it overwhelms the subtler flavors. Plus, it has cactus in it. And who doesn't love that?
The International District has dozens of delis that offer large sandwiches for $2 or less. Saigon Deli, the one we've been going to, specializes in pork sandwiches on baguettes, filled with carrots, cucumber, cilantro, and jalapeños. It's a meal and a half, for $1.50.
We both know what a serif is, and are unequivocally pro-serif. Comic sans font drives us crazy.
We have what can only be termed an addiction to garlic. It goes in everything we cook.
Our wardrobes consist almost entirely of jeans, flip flops, tank tops, and black fleece jackets. We wear the same size everything except shoes.
We say "y'all" and "right-o" and "blaargh!" without compunction.
We relish opportunities to use words like "compunction" and "demurely" and "hamartia."
We spoil the cat.
We're completely sugared out after Easter...yet we keep on eating the candy.
I come before you today to bring an important issue to your attention:are there gay hobbits?
My cat Bill is very fond of dark closets, as many of you know. The other day my roommates and I were pondering whether this is simply further evidence of his hobbit heritage, or if it is evidence that he's a closet queer. Or, the train of thought went, could he be both a hobbit AND gay?
It seems clear that Tolkien wouldn't have written gay hobbits into his work. He was a generally conservative guy on moral issues. And I'm pretty sure all the scenes of Frodo making moony eyes at Sam in the LOTR movies were added by Peter Jackson.
OK, so Tolkien didn't plan for them. But could there be gays in the Shire? Well, Hobbits don't like change, or unexpected things. They're big on tradition and on following the simple lives lived by their forebearers. So they wouldn't stand for flamboyant or promiscuous behavior. But could they endorse monogamous gay hobbit marriages? I'm not sure. It seems it would be out of character for that community, but they might find such an arrangement acceptable as long as it was not disruptive to other hobbits. I would guess, however, that Hobbiton is a lot like semirural, highly religious communities in the United States today. There must be gay hobbits, but I imagine they'd be more or less in hiding, keeping it to themselves, passing. The moralistic structure would frown on any other behavior. And if two male hobbits fell in love? Unless they kept it very much to themselves, I think there would be an uproar. That's sad.
My intrepid roommates and I drove to the U-District yesterday to watch the movie Touching the Void. For those of you who don't know it (which is probably most of you; it hasn't received much mainstream recognition), it's a true story about two British mountaineers who met with disaster during the first ascent of a forbidding Andean peak. They summitted with little difficulty, but on the descent, one of the men shattered several bones in his leg and fell deep into a crevasse. His partner, understandably so, left him for dead. The story does have a happy ending, since the man who was in the crevasse is the one who wrote the book on which the movie is based. It's an amazing story, and the movie is very well done. It's done documentary-style, with actors and stunt climbers portraying the two men, and the climbers themselves providing narration. It's very factually accurate, very moving, and rather humorous in places. Best line: "I'd got a song stuck in my head that I couldn't get out, by a band called Boney M. I don't really care for Boney M.....I remember thinking to myself Bloody hell. I can't die to Boney M."
Lest the cheerful movie review convince you otherwise, I have to confess that I'm more than a little overwhelmed right now. For the past three weeks or so, nearly every person I'm close to has been having one major crisis after another--and I mean real, serious problems. I'm not exaggerating on the number of people either; if I were to choose the ten people I most care about, 7 of 10 are currently or have just recently been through a major conflict or problem. I've done an excellent job up to now on being with it enough to actually be of some help, but right now I'm barely holding on. So please, somebody get it together so you can pick up my pieces when I crumble.
