It Was the Worst of Times; It Was the Best of Times

When I was in 4th grade, and an innocent, some girl with fat sausage curls declared at the lunch table that her mother said the world was going to end in the year 2000. This was before the hype about Y2K and I was already worrying. I did the math and realized I would only 16. My life would only be half lived. I wouldn't get to do anything I wanted because the world was ending. And from that day on I hated New Year's because with every one we were inching forward to the End of the World. Of course when I got older I realized what a ridiculous mother that girl had, what idiot thinks there will be a specific date when everything poofs out, as though the world just couldn't handle coming to an arbitrary date like 2000 and imploded. What a megalomanic idea. What if we were following the Islamic calendar, or the Hebrew one? We'd be goners years ago.
Anyway, I've gotten over my fear of the world ending, but I still don't like New Year's all that much. It seems so sad to see the years pass, and who wants to celebrate it going out with a big drunken party? It doesn't seem like a great way to start a new year. I think the new year should slip out on the dawn, silently, and shining. But, since I can't have my way I've gotten used to it, and I'm even going up to New York this year, not to Times Square, however. That would be a nightmare I don't want. And I've adjusted to the idea that the old year is passing, and change is a good thing. We'll have a new president by the end of next year, and I'll be 25, even more grown up! I'll start grad school, maybe in a new country. Who knows what exciting things could happen.
2007 was an important year for me as well. It's funny how it's gone so full circle. Last year, on January 1, I was making my way up to New York to start a new phase of my life. With my big bags and my new coat I said goodbye to my close friends and sister and got on that bus. Now, at the end of the year I am back here, and going to be getting on a bus on January 1 to come back home. I like that circle.
This year I also started my first real job, realized I wanted to go to graduate school and teach, interned for Robert DeNiro's production company, worked in TV and made some great friends. I started relationships and ended them, became closer with some of my friends and watched as others moved away. I'm so grateful to have my friends around. They make life so much more fun. I can't imagine this time in my life without them. I'm excited to see what will come because of how much I have enjoyed what has passed. I feel as though things can only get better, even the hard things will be exciting because they are all part of this new passage in my life.

List of Videos

These are just a few of my favorite videos lately. Since I don't get to watch videos at work I kirk out on them at home. They go from funny, pretty, and cute to a little melancholic but beautiful.

Kings of Convienence- I'd Rather Dance With You
This video is hilarious and sweet.


Belle & Sebastian- I'm A Cuckoo
Running is actually Stuart Murdoch's hobby, so I like that the video seems like a little, crazy snip of his life.


Kings of Convienence- Failure
One of my favorite songs, and a pretty video.


The Smiths- Bigmouth
Not exactly a music video, but a funny example of young Morrissey in concert. And a good song.


The Smiths- This Charming Man
Another example of young Morrissey, this time in an early, low budget music video. I can just imagaine watching this back in 1985 and thinking he was super cool.


Feist- Secret Heart
This reminds me of seeing Fiest for the first time, and I just think this song is so sad but pretty.


Feist- I Feel It All
Played on a bus and she still makes it very cool.


Iron & Wine- Naked As We Came
I think this video perfectly reflects the music. Lush but calm, beautiful but on the edge of decay.


Ray Lamontagne- Jolene
Not the Dolly Parton song, but emotional in a sparse sort of way.


So I'd like to see what your favorite videos are. Make me a list! Or, here's an idea, go through your itunes and whatever is most popular find a video for it and post it. That will yield some interesting results.

Gonzo Living

I've learned two things about myself today: One is that I can no longer go out and get drunk and show up at work the next day as though nothing had happened. I went to McCormick's last night to drink a shot in memory of Pletch and all my friends came too. Drinking seemed to make things better, so I kept doing it. I stumbled into bed at a reasonable hour and my dreams were full of more friends joining me at the bar. I woke up in time for work and got here early, but was still a little drunk. It is an uncomfortable thing to realize you are still drunk as you stumble up to a gaurded entrance into a military zone. And I don't think my lack of balance has to do with my shoes. It's going to be a difficult work environment, because although I have lost this ability at 24 I will probably not lose the habit until much later.

The second thing I learned today is that I'm really quite jealous of Hunter S. Thompson, who despite everything still managed to get writing done. Granted, he did have an assistant who babied him until his fingers were on the typewriter, but the copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in his body didn't seem to prevent too much. And I'm also jealous of that crazed, lifestyle, uninhibited by social convention or 9-5 jobs. I want to get out of these jobs too. I don't like the idea that I can't get drunk the night before if I want to.

Pletcher Forever

A friend of my ex-boyfriend's just died. I knew him only through Mike, and yet he still touched my life. Life with Pletch in it was a more exciting place. The way he lived was reckless, and dangerous, but fun and carefree. He was like a younger version of Hunter S. Thompson, minus the writing. When I first heard of him, I didn't know how such a person could exist, outside of a work of fiction. He seemed to deny all rational explanation. That night he showed up at Mike's 21st birthday, driving from Hagerstown, drinking all the way.

He carried firecrackers wherever he went and his jeep was filled with gun parts and bullets.

He once couldn't find parking at a bar so he parked across the street in a car dealership, and just happened to have a For Sale sign in his car that he placed on the windshield.

For Mullinex's going away present, when she was leaving Shepherdstown for grad school, he gave her a gun clip. We joked that she was going to keep it until he came busting through her window, dangling from a helicopter and demanding ammunition. Then he would swing back out, guns blazing.

Later that day he was captain of our pick-up rugby game, and we all did shots of whiskey to fortify ourselves during half time. When I told him our victory was due to his daring leadership skills he denied it, saying it was a team victory.

He shot himself December 23, the result of a drunken accident having to do with his friends taking his car keys away from him. He was 23.

Pletch was insane, and wild and funny, but I also got the sense that he could be kind and sweet. His girlfriend certainly put up with a lot, so there must have been something besides a fascination with guns and a high tolerance for alcohol. He was a crazy kid that should still be here with us. He should be telling stories about his antics to the future children of his friends, and boasting about his college years, without fading at all. To think that Pletch and all of his exuberance for living a crazy life, should be gone, and with it, those exciting moments, makes me incredibly sad. Even though I only met him a few times, the loss of his vibrance makes the world as gray and dreary as the view from my window today. I wish he had gone out with his guns blazing, I hope he did not go gentle into that good night, just as I'm sure his friends are raging against the dying of the light. Goodnight, Pletch.

Christmastime is Here

After work on Friday I went to the Mall and did my Christmas shopping. 2 1/2 hours, bitch! I got my friend's wedding present and a cute velvet jacket for the wedding at BR for $41.99 as well as all my remaining presents in 2 1/2 hours. Did you hear that? Must be a new record. I just like to brag. Then I met up with Chris Nixon to see Juno. Loved it. Liked it so much I saw it again the next night with Julia and Ariel.
And then I hung out with my favorite ginger-haired English major visiting from Boston.
Christmas eve was spent with my family eating Chinese and watching the Golden Compass. Fun family gifts all around. Including photos of our impending presents from my dad and a nice colorful clamshell of a laptop for Julia. I think we should set up a museum for it.
Christmas today I got some money for Berlin, Our Dumb World by the Onion from Julia, a Pudgey Pig battery operated wiggly pig from Joong Chal. Minus the batteries. That new book from the guy who wrote the Kite Runner, and I guess I forgot the rest. Some mushy vegetables and roast beef with Asians, a Harry Potter movie and some family time around the Gilmore Girls and Christmas is over for the year.

Scrooge'd

It's the day before the Christmas break, here at my first real job. It's kind of funny when things like snow days and short days break up the monotony of the regular schedule. People congregate by cubicles talking about what they're buying, or baking, or doing. Jokes are called out over the walls and work is slowed down.

I'm still trying to get last minute things done before we leave for the day at one and it struck me, as I brought some work over to the head designer and she and my boss stopped their conversation about Christmas dinner, that I am reminding myself of those mid-eighties comedies where the young go-getter doesn't take a break for the work place festivities, only to learn a lesson the hard way come Christmas night. I print off the work, highlight what needs to be done and expect it in on time, then head back to my desk to answer emails (fortunately, not on those black screens with the blocky green text, like I always see in these movies.) Maybe I'll be played by a young Michael J. Fox, or a Phoebe Cates, if it's a girl's movie. My mother will be played by Dianne Wiest. I can see myself now, swept away by a tide of red and green sweatered shoppers while I'm trying to get my last minute gifts, because I was working too hard. I'll have to climb over them in a mad panic and my trench coat will be knotted around me. I'll be swinging bags full of gifts like makeshift weapons.

Man, I need to stop watching AMC's holiday movie line up.

The Morning Sun Is Shining Like A Red, Rubber Ball...

Today is a day for writing. I could feel it as soon as I got on the bus and saw my fellow bus riders. One was a man with a white beard and tangled hair over his shoulders tinged with yellow like dirty snow, wearing a Santa hat but looking like his spare time was spent on a Harley. Across from him were three old ladies, cooing and chatting while they handed each other things from their bags. Dressed all alike but with different caps they looked like old maiden triplets. One strained forward as she carefully applied rosy lipstick. I smiled and knew good things would come of this day.

Right now I'm a little swamped under taking care of loose ends at work, but as soon as that is done I will get down to the real business of the day...

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

As my friend the Designer said, in a moment of particular kindness, 'For someone so smart you sure can be dumb.' Despite the obvious insult I have to agree. Otherwise I wouldn't have stayed out until 12:30 with Mark, knowing I had only gotten four hours of sleep Monday night and had to get up early this morning too, seriously depleting my already low level of sleep even further. I make bad calls in judgement constantly, partially because I can't say no, and partially because I hate to think I'm growing up and turning into a person who can't have fun when she wants because she has to go to a job she doesn't really care about anyway.

I'm incapable of turning down an opportunity that might present a moment of hilarity, answers, or experience. If someone said to me, 'Hey, do you want to go live for a week in a crack house?' I'd think, 'Can I bring my notebook to record this experience?' My sister knows this, and uses it to her advantage, but feels the same way. That's why we drove my dad's car up to New York one weeknight to see World Inferno Friendship Society at the Knitting Factory and then drove home, arriving back at five a.m. so I could take one of my finals and she could take the PSAT in science (which she rocked, by the way). Oh, did I mention that she was sixteen then?

It's why I will always hang out with the locals when I travel, take a train to another country on a moment's notice, give my heart away when I know I shouldn't, think that heartbreak isn't completely bad, travel, take back roads whenever possible, talk to anybody worth talking to at a bar, become their instantaneous best friend, and never get to work on time. Not only do I think life is too short to worry about sleep and a job I don't love, but I'm insanely curious about the things others are doing, why they're doing it and what they've learned from the experience. What started out as the inability to say no has turned into the ability to learn and experience things that others might not, which I'm certain will influence my writing and my life.

It's The Little Things

Maybe it was just the early hour, or the four hours of sleep I got last night. Maybe it was just that I fell off the tightrope that one walks on while living at home, this morning (and several mornings lately), but my mom and I got into another argument. Not a fight, I don't have any black eyes this time, and there was no yelling or anger, but it was still ridiculous. Why? Because it was over a pen. And the fact that someone had apparently, blatantly, and without regard to the niceties of civilization, stolen said pen from the visor of my brother's truck. It seems that back in July, when my brother was home, he left that pen and wanted to keep it, so my mom has been keeping it safe for his return, by sticking it in the visor. The best place possible for keeping safe our sentimental mementos. And now the pen was missing and it was an affront to her, because this was her car and someone had stolen something from it.

I pointed out that, in fact, it was my brother's car. I mentioned that someone might have needed to use it and forgotten to put it back (I did not point out that it might have been her, or that by accusing someone of borrowing and then forgetting something she is calling the pot black, when she, the kettle, is blacker than a night in Hell). I suggested that maybe it had fallen out and she would find it when she got out. I defended my own innocence. And then I told her that I thought her argument was just stupid, and that it was just a pen that could be easily replaced, and it's dumb to be that sentimental over a pen that my brother probably forgot he ever wanted. And then, the real issue came out but fortunately, we were at the bus stop and I could get out. I shut the door and rolled my eyes just like I had when I was a teenager and she was dropping me off at school.

Living at home has advantages, but I'm slowly realizing that the disadvantages are big ones. I've always gotten along well with my family, even when I was a grumpy, crotchety teenagerthe dramatic screaming matches and slammed doors were few. But now that I'm an adult the things that I dislike aren't just childish rebellions but actual differences and therefore harder to ignore. I'm no longer thinking "Ohhhh, when I grow up I'm gonna do it so different!" I'm thinking something more along the lines of, "That doesn't make sense, why would she do it that way? This way is obviously better. Well, it is her house. I can't say much." It's getting time to move out. I know this, and yet I don't want to just yet, because I'll be leaving for grad school soon enough and leaving my friends and family for new shores. But on mornings like today, when I get griped at for never taking out the trash, but no credit for doing the dishes like she's always complaining about I really, really can't wait.

You Know What Assuming Does...

--No, what?
--It, uh, makes you look like, uh... a fool.

Mad props to my friend, Jason, for setting me er, straight.
Keep it up. And thank you for the present. You're the best new friend ever.

And to The Pea for my cultural enlightenment about Scandinavian bazaars, or bizarres, and St. Lucia celebrations. You haven't lived until you've heard the Swedish version of "I'm Dreaming of A White Christmas".

We're SO Much Cooler Than You!

I'm hanging with my sister and her friends tonight. We spent the last twenty minutes playing 20 questions and now we're watching BioDome while stringing popcorn. Isn't this what the Christmas spirit's all about?

Battle Hymns

I was reading about The Grapes of Wrath on Wikipedia today. It's one of my favorite novels and I'm using it as a source in my paper (which I really should be spending every minute on, as it's due on Wednesday) so I was doing a little research. I came across an explanation of the name, it's from this song, the Battle Hymn of the Republic, which was made famous in the Civil War. Anyway, it's very easy to get this song stuck in your head if you've heard it once, and I was wandering around my office trying to find the motivation to slog on with my paper, when this version popped in. So, taking advantage of creativity where and when it pops up, I made my own version instead of continuing on with the paper, even though I'm so close to being finished and then I will be done with this class forever. But, in memory of the years spent finishing up papers and studying for tests while anticipating the holidays to come, here it is:

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the freedom of my days:
I am churning out the papers where those grades of mine are stored;
I have loosed the fateful lightning of my "powerful" lit. brain:
My paper’s marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
My paper’s marching on.

I have seen my freedom in the coming of the holidays,
We will celebrate mightly the end of tests and essays;
I can read whatever I want and watch mindless movies:
The day is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah !
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
My day is marching on.

Foggy Days

On a foggy, cool winter day in Washington like today, I want nothing more than to wake up with my room dark, light making the clouds pearly white, the roads wet and gleaming. The trees stained dark by the mist and standing out against the woolen sky, the lace of their branches the only decoration for the day. I want to drink a cup of tea and wear my old professor sweater (which the Pea still has) and gray socks. Then I want to ride the metro in the late morning, when everyone else has gone to work and I am alone, imagining the world as it might have been before I arrived. And walk along the soggy Mall until I get to the Hirshhorn, my favorite of DC art museums. Wandering around the art feeling like I'm with old friends. I remember discovering Calder for the first time in high school and the happiness his whimsical kinetic circus figurines brought. Picasso and his cubism, Lucien Freud and his beautifully ugly human bodies, David Smith and the way his rusted farm implement sculptures remind me of a William Carlos Williams poem. Then I would home and watch a favorite movie, or read a favorite book, with a cup of tea.

From my office window the skyline of the city is growing fainter, as though it is disappearing from the photograph, and the fog comes in 'on little cat feet.' Foggy days fill me with longing and anticipation. It's as though magic could happen in the shroud provided by the fog, and fairies might come out of the trees on days like this- so full of mist and mystery. I remember when I was younger and we were homeschooled, these sorts of days were saved for field trips that really did involve fields. They remind me of what it was like to be a child and be freed from the tyranny of classrooms for the holidays and explorations. Today is chilly enough to put roses in your cheeks but not so cold as to keep you from being outdoors. I don't like sitting in an office when the world is transformed by magic. I almost made a run for it and didn't go in, when I got on the shuttle that took me to work. It's hard having a job that you must go to everyday when things like foggy cities and art museums are calling out to you.

When I have children I will take them out of school on these sort of days and make sure that magic happens in the museums of natural history, or among the trees of the park.

Keep it up, Keep going, You can do it. (Higher Achievement chant)

Last night revived my spirits, in a way. Higher Achievement, where I mentor in 8th grade literature, has been difficult lately. My three scholars have been driving me crazy. They're all pretty good kids, but two of them banter and chatter so much I want to knock their heads together. One is so loquacious (her own word) I fear we'll spend the entire session talking about whatever pops into her head if I don't stop her. I feel a little bad because I'd like to get to know her better and let her chatter away, but I need to get her to stop and focus. Sometimes I wonder if she rambles so much because she's trying to avoid getting to the work. The only boy in the group can be great, when he puts his mind to it, or when I push him for more substantial answers. His most common response is 'I don't know,' with a wide eyed expression, like I'm about to start accusing him. I can see that clearly he does, he's just afraid of being wrong and embarassing himself. I remember that feeling too. The third, another girl, never seems to want to be there. She makes the others giggle or groan at her farts and burps. The first session she was great, but since then she's made it her role to let me know she doesn't want to be here. Two weeks ago I told her off, sounding exactly like my own teachers. It was a sad day. Last week I gave all three of them checks, for not listening to me. It's weird being in charge of these kids because sometimes I feel like I remember that time so well, and others I realize how long ago that was, and what I must seem like now.

This week, however, was so much better. The troublemaking girl wasn't there today and I breathed a sigh of relief while feeling slightly guilty. A new girl joined our group and it was a nice, new dynamic. We read about Anne Frank and Zlata's Diary. They were engaged in the diaries and for once, in what we were discussing. I was so happy. I was in my element, talking about WW2 and the Bosnian war. It came as a little shock to realize these kids were born in 1994! I was in 5th grade and the Bosnian war was over, or just about over. 1994!

Higher Achievement is a great organization. I really think everything they do is beneficial and I want to continue working with them for as long as I can. I like my scholars and I like the other mentors. But I was really struggling in the past few weeks, wondering why I thought I could teach anyone anything, if they didn't already want to learn. Today I went to the website and was filling in my lesson checklist, showing what the scholars had covered and mastered, and then I went and looked at some of their links. Here's a couple I found that helped revive my spirit and ambition:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/11/30/AR2005113000704.html

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/02/13/AR2007021301170.html

A couple kids from our center, Ward 7, are mentioned and I got so excited, reading about them.

GRR.

My boss annoys me so much that just now, after he had corrected me once again for my mistakes, I was thinking 'grrrrrr' so much it's how I started to sign in: geredyth.
He's just so set in his ways that when I stray a little he gets nervous and his back hunches even more than usual. It's not that he's mean, he's just difficult. And he's old. It makes him grumpy and stodgy. He's been doing this job for 18 years and I've only been doing it for three months, so is it any surprise that I make mistakes?

Then there's the stuff that he thinks I should know though no one's told me, or the things that he changes but sincerely believes he's always been doing that way. He doesn't listen when I try to explain my method. I'm the type of person who does things in a unconventional way because it solves the problem, not because it's the most practical way. His life is based on sense and practicality.

I've worked under a boss like this before, and while I'm sure my current boss can hold his temper better than Verne, the previous one, he doesn't listen like Verne, or want the best for me. Verne was like a second father; in fact, his advice was probably more practical than my own father's, who tends to be as much of an idealist as myself. I knew that no matter what I did I would be forgiven. I might be fired, but I'd still be forgiven (in fact, there were a few times where the only reasons why I kept my job was because he was my mother's friend, and because the previous girls who held my job were somehow even stupider). My current boss would probably just shake his head and wonder why I couldn't follow his exacting methods of paper pushing to get the job done. And then not listen to me as I stumble through another convoluted explanation of why I did it the way I did.

I can already see that he's going to be the thorn that will eventually make my exit so sweet. I'm just hoping we can both hold on and compromise until next fall.

Those Were the Days

Sometimes I wonder if I randomly meet people or if it's all part of some bizarre interconnected web. I've six degreed people from all over the country. Meeting the cousin of a former classmate in New York, working with the former roommate and good friend of my sister's boyfriend, having two of my friends meet at a party in New York and coincidentally realizing they know me, are just some of my examples. Yesterday I was waiting for my train in Rosslyn when someone I knew got off.

Benita Keller was my very intimidating photojournalism professor at Shepherd University my freshman year. Her wild woman artist mood swings left me a little tongue tied and feeling bourgeois. Her trailer, behind the art center, was always hot and furnished with thrift shop couches that you sank into, making it very difficult not to fall asleep as we discussed images and places to find a good picture. I went to Cuba with her and my classmates over spring break and it remains one of the most exciting things I've ever done, with memories that only leave me wanting more. We had a saying there, 'if you can't afford film and food both, buy film. If you can't afford film and rum both, buy rum,' meaning, do anything you can to get the picture, except sacrificing a good time. I danced under the feet of Christ on an island with friends I had just made, speaking Spanglish and sign language. They taught me how to salsa that afternoon, in the dirt floor one room shack while drinking beer from down the street. I got drunk with my classmates in a pool by the ocean, when we found out we were invading Iraq. I took some of the best pictures I've ever taken, and then I quit.

Seeing Benita get off that train, with her crazy cat eyed glasses, white knit cap and black curly hair, made me remember for a minute that girl who was passionate about photojournalism and traveling the world. Who wanted to explore and do something adventurous to feel alive. But it also made me remember that once I attempted that dream I realized I didn't like invading people's lives, while hiding behind my lens and journalist's objectivity. I'm not objective, I'm bad at making rational decisions. That's why I'm good at writing commentary and opinion pieces, asking people questions and crying at commercials. Telling human stories is something I think is incredibly important, but doing it by (possibly!) exploiting the tragedies of people poorer than me is not something I can do, nor can I handle the constant heartache of such a job. Maybe because I was more fascinated by the stories I couldn't capture with my camera, the histories and subtleties, that can't be seen in the developing fluids. I wanted to tell them with my words, and tell fictional ones, ones where I create and get to control the chaos and tragedy. And I also remembered how much I hated the darkroom.

We're Not in Kansas Anymore, Toto. We're in the Military!

One thing I've had to get used to working as a contractor for a military agency is the profusion of insider lingo. And I'm not just talking about the acronyms, although they're crazy about them. I'm talking about the different world of how things run in the military, and how they talk. All the insider jokes that I just don't get because I'm an outsider. It's a bit like not getting British humor, except the jokes are lame.
I've made numerous mistakes because we work with a couple different branches of the military, and their ranks all sound the same but they mean different things, and they're even written in different ways! For example, a Colonel that is written "Col" means he's in the Air Force, but "COL" means he's in the Army. As my boss says, 'the Army lives in capitals'. But I have no idea why.

And today, when I went to the bathroom I was strolling down the hall with my hands in my pockets when this man says 'You must be in the Air Force!' 'why?' I ask, confused. 'Because you're wearing Air Force gloves!' he says. 'But I'm not wearing any gloves.' I pull my hands out of my pockets to show him. 'I know! Your hands in your pockets are Air Force gloves!' He chuckles. I have no idea what this means. Why would hands in pockets signify anything? His badge had a lanyard that said U.S. Navy, so is this a little dig at the Air Force from a Navy guy? I asked my boss and he said it's because it's considered poor form to walk around with your hands in your pockets. Now where did that come from? And who cares? I'm not in the military, so why shouldn't I walk around with my hands in my pockets? It's not like I'm burning a flag, or not supporting my troops or something.

We Like to Party! We Like to Party! We Like to Party, Party, Party!

As The Designer says, "White people throw the best parties!" We sure do! Why, just look at our Friday night at Brent's house!

First Matt and Brent made some music, while Aja looked on:

Then Brent decided to try and make a shirt skirt too, just like Aja's! It's harder than it looks.

He sure can dance! And this was before we even finished the first bottle of wine.

Aja's no slouch either! Look at her knit!

Then we made Matt watch optical illusions! Which way does the lady turn for you? Don't tax your brain too much! It's a real doozy.

Still knitting!

After all this fun we were tired, so we took a nap.

What a night!