I’ve finished my project in Oklahoma City. It was a good learning experience and I have definitely figured out what I would like to do in Public Health (or at least what I don’t want to do). I met some really nice people at the job and already kind of miss it. However I might just miss it because for the first time ever I had evenings free; for the first time I didn’t have a paper or exam hanging over my head; for the first time I could just watch tv or read for fun and not feel like I was deliberately neglecting something more important. I think getting back into the gradate school swing of things will be harder this year than usual.
So last Sunday morning I packed up all of my things (a couple duffels, two garbage bags of shorts/shirts, tennis bag, all my dress clothes on hangers, and probably 5 six-packs of apple soda). I strategically packed the car and prepared for the seven-hour drive home with my younger sister in the car and my cat. I left early in the morning choosing to try and get the bulk of the drive out of the way before it got blazing hot. I got 3 hours in and was right on the Oklahoma/Missouri border when my car started screaming. I drive a Volkswagen beetle and it has had its fair share of issues. It’s got about 120,000 miles on it and I’m scared it’s on its last legs. The car had overheated and I needed to pull over before I burned out my engine. I was literally in the middle of nowhere – no houses, no cars, no exits. Thank God for cell phone reception. I called Triple A and they sent a tow out to me. The tow truck gets there an hour later (an hour of myself, my sister, and my cat overheating on the side of the highway) and before I could say anything the old man tow truck driver turns to me and says:
Driver: Yall boyfriend and girlfriend?
Me: I’m a chick.
Driver: Oh, yall lesbians then?
Me: That’s my sister.
At this point I was mildly fearing for my life and switched into “ultra-conservative, Sarah Palin tattoo on my ass” mode. I was able to talk the driver into taking my car, my sister, my cat, and me 40 miles up the road to Joplin. Apparently, as he later explained in the car, the last few people he had picked up on the side of the road had been raging lesbians. Seriously, I can’t make this shit up. He felt it was a huge waste of beauty and called me a “good girl” for not choosing that path. At this point I was very happy to be getting out of Oklahoma.
I get to Joplin and creepy tow truck driver unloads my sister, my cat, my car, and me at a Firestone. At this point I figured my car was low on oil and engine fluid (it’s had this issue in the past since my car leaks fluids) and it would just need a little attention and I’d be back on my way. The firestone guys were nice enough to let my cat run around the show room and, aside from one patron threatening to take her to the Vietnamese restaurant across the street, everything went smoothly. Five hours later the Firestone guys tell me they have no idea what’s wrong. Thanks guys, it took you 5 hours to admit you’re clueless. So I arrange for a tow to come in the morning and take the car to a European Import shop down the street. I load ALL my belongings in a mechanics truck and he takes my posse to a hotel down the road. I check in and sneak the cat in the side door. At this point my indoor cat has been in my car, in the tow truck, in the firestone, in the mechanics car, and is now in a foreign hotel room. I’m scared she’s going to reach her breaking point and just croak.
The next morning my wonderful father drove down 4 hours from St. Louis and packed all my crap in his car, took my sister and my cat and droped me off at the Import Shop. They drove to St. Louis so my cat could get into some familiar surroundings and I waited for the very nice mechanics at Sharky’s Import Shop to fix my vehicle. Four soap opera shows, 5 Sports Illustrated magazines, one trip to Wendy’s with the guy working on my car, and about 10 chapters in my crime novel later I was back on the road. I drove back to St. Louis with a new water-pump, timing belt, and temperature gauge (and an ulcer).
Friday, August 13, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
You want me to do what?
I’ve come to an understanding that interns do the scut work. I guess deep down I always knew that as an intern I would be doing all of the tasks others did not want to do, but I’ve taken on that mentality and have been performing my remedial tasks to the best of my ability. However, last week I discovered where I would draw the line. I found my personal jumping off point and I jumped ship.
Last week the organization I’m interning at encountered a bit of an issue with their community forums. They were supposed to set up forums inviting the community to come voice their opinions on the things that hinder them from living a healthy lifestyle. These forums were not incentivized and poorly advertised. On the night of the first community forum they had a grand total of 0 people show up. This in some way can be viewed as a monumental embarrassment for my organization and one of the sub-department heads got an earful from upper management. To fix this attendance rate before the next 8 forums all employees, and by extension interns, were given manila envelopes full of flyers advertising a particular forum location. Their job was to take the flyers and distribute them at the locations near home or places you already had to go. Being the intern I was given all of the places where people did not live, and of course not being from Oklahoma every location I was given was an area where I had never been.
No big deal, I was looking for a way to get out of my cubicle anyway (even though the cube is beginning to grow on me which I find entirely too frightening). I was sent to a library in Edmond, Oklahoma, a 25-minute drive into the burbs. I walked into the library, flyers in hand, and asked them if they would mind me handing them out. They had issues with me approaching individuals in the library so I was relegated to outside. It was 105 degrees. I don’t have much in the way of a summer work wardrobe. My work clothes consist of one of my 4 pairs of pants matched with one of my 1 billion button-up shirts…and either my black shoes or my brown shoes. I don’t have t-shirts; I don’t have short-sleeves; I’m not allowed to wear shorts. Basically I was this poor melty woman chasing people down after they left the library begging them to take a flyer (I wasn’t allowed to leave until all the flyers were gone).
One man decided this was a good time to ask me my thoughts on Obamacare. Without thinking (or remembering that I was in Oklahoma) I responded I thought insuring 45 million people was a good thing. He shot back “well they’re planning on taking my Medicare, did you hear that?” Feeling backed into a corner I took a professional stance and declared I was pretty certain his Medicare was safe. Apparently my professional stance was quite unimpressive (it’s hard to look important when your orange striped shirt is dripping and your hair is stuck to your forehead) and he turned to me and said “you look like a dyed in the wool liberal, I can just tell”. At this point I was tired of him and wanted him to go away, he clearly didn’t want a flyer and I was wasting precious library patron stalking time standing here talking to a nut. I just said, “yeah I’m a liberal and I’m proud of it”. He then called me a flaming socialist communist. This guy looks like he could be my grandpa. He had on nice khaki slacks and a good old fashion red plaid shirt; his grandson was hugging his knees. Why was grandpa ripping me a new one? I was hot, pissed, and REALLY wanted him gone so I said, in a slightly louder more affirming tone, “communism and socialism are really very different you know…Medicare is pretty socialist when you think about it”. He didn’t like that; he asked me what I was reading that was spewing this crap. Grandpa why? Why are you ruining the sacred image of the happy old man? I didn’t even answer his question, I said there were people here that might be interested in what my organization was trying to do and he was bothering me. He finally left me alone. I thought about crying but figured people would mistake tears for sweat and it wouldn’t get me anywhere.
Last week the organization I’m interning at encountered a bit of an issue with their community forums. They were supposed to set up forums inviting the community to come voice their opinions on the things that hinder them from living a healthy lifestyle. These forums were not incentivized and poorly advertised. On the night of the first community forum they had a grand total of 0 people show up. This in some way can be viewed as a monumental embarrassment for my organization and one of the sub-department heads got an earful from upper management. To fix this attendance rate before the next 8 forums all employees, and by extension interns, were given manila envelopes full of flyers advertising a particular forum location. Their job was to take the flyers and distribute them at the locations near home or places you already had to go. Being the intern I was given all of the places where people did not live, and of course not being from Oklahoma every location I was given was an area where I had never been.
No big deal, I was looking for a way to get out of my cubicle anyway (even though the cube is beginning to grow on me which I find entirely too frightening). I was sent to a library in Edmond, Oklahoma, a 25-minute drive into the burbs. I walked into the library, flyers in hand, and asked them if they would mind me handing them out. They had issues with me approaching individuals in the library so I was relegated to outside. It was 105 degrees. I don’t have much in the way of a summer work wardrobe. My work clothes consist of one of my 4 pairs of pants matched with one of my 1 billion button-up shirts…and either my black shoes or my brown shoes. I don’t have t-shirts; I don’t have short-sleeves; I’m not allowed to wear shorts. Basically I was this poor melty woman chasing people down after they left the library begging them to take a flyer (I wasn’t allowed to leave until all the flyers were gone).
One man decided this was a good time to ask me my thoughts on Obamacare. Without thinking (or remembering that I was in Oklahoma) I responded I thought insuring 45 million people was a good thing. He shot back “well they’re planning on taking my Medicare, did you hear that?” Feeling backed into a corner I took a professional stance and declared I was pretty certain his Medicare was safe. Apparently my professional stance was quite unimpressive (it’s hard to look important when your orange striped shirt is dripping and your hair is stuck to your forehead) and he turned to me and said “you look like a dyed in the wool liberal, I can just tell”. At this point I was tired of him and wanted him to go away, he clearly didn’t want a flyer and I was wasting precious library patron stalking time standing here talking to a nut. I just said, “yeah I’m a liberal and I’m proud of it”. He then called me a flaming socialist communist. This guy looks like he could be my grandpa. He had on nice khaki slacks and a good old fashion red plaid shirt; his grandson was hugging his knees. Why was grandpa ripping me a new one? I was hot, pissed, and REALLY wanted him gone so I said, in a slightly louder more affirming tone, “communism and socialism are really very different you know…Medicare is pretty socialist when you think about it”. He didn’t like that; he asked me what I was reading that was spewing this crap. Grandpa why? Why are you ruining the sacred image of the happy old man? I didn’t even answer his question, I said there were people here that might be interested in what my organization was trying to do and he was bothering me. He finally left me alone. I thought about crying but figured people would mistake tears for sweat and it wouldn’t get me anywhere.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Chores
You can’t teach an old cat new tricks, or really any trick
Cats are pretty much worthless little creatures. They do nothing but order you around. Down here in Oklahoma City my mother has an enclosed backyard so she thought it would be nice if the cats could go outside and play, free of predators and cars. We decided that we would put a cat door inside the storm door so we could keep in the cool air but still allow them hypothetical freedom. The door cat door went in two weeks ago and the cats absolutely refused to use it. In fact they suddenly developed a fear of the outdoors because it involves the cat door. One cat got so angry about the door that she peed on a rug…great animals huh? To solve this issue my mother and I decided we needed to “teach” the cats how to use the door. I am under the impression that cats do not need to be taught anything and simply delight in you making a fool of yourself attempting to show them how to do something. If they really wanted to do it they would. Anyway we started just by showing them the door mechanism. This process involved me sitting next to the door and pushing on it so they could see it opened and closed. Pretty simple, not impressive, they didn’t care. My mother then decided we should show the cats that things can go in and out of the door…so I crawled through the door. That freaked them out and made me feel mildly ridiculous (although I have been known to climb through animal doors when I forget my key, be forewarned). Lastly we just grabbed the cats and started shoving them through. My mom sat on one side and I sat on the other and we just handed them off to each other. The cats got no joy out of this and my forearms look like I’ve started cutting. Last week I got home from work and opened the door to let the cat out, as has become the tradition since the very expensive cat door was a useless investment. Thirty minutes later I got up to let her back in only to discover her in the living room lying on the fireplace. She used the door! I did a dance and everything. However the cat refuses to show me she knows how to use the door, she wants me to think she won’t use it so that I will continue to let her out (she hates the door hitting her nose). Cats are smart; humans are dumb; I’m returning to St. Louis with one less cat. Who’s the winner now?
The Motion Sensor
My mother went on a short weekend trip to Ohio and left me a list of things to do while she was gone. Since I am staying here free of charge I can at least do some manual labor to earn my keep. The first thing on the list was “fix motion sensor light”. My mother’s house here in Oklahoma was previously owned by some super paranoid individuals. There are can spot lights that run across the front of the house and two different sets of motion detectors in the back. If there is even the smallest breeze rustling the tiniest branch our backyard lights up as if Cher just walked on stage. One of the sensors was “out” and my mother figured as long as it’s there we ought to have it working. I went to Home Depot and bought the very strange light-bulbs for the light and set out to replace them. One would consider screwing in a light-bulb one of the simplest of home improvement tasks no? I am well trained in the art of replacing a bulb so I grabbed the ladder and set it up under the sensor. There is no way to turn “off” a motion light or so I’ve come to believe. I slipped in the first bulb and fell off the ladder. No, I’m not that clumsy. Motion sensor lights are bright and incredibly hot; I had popped in the new bulb with my face 2 inches from the light and basically blinded myself when it flipped on. I spent the next 20 minutes changing the other two bulbs with sunglasses and oven mitts (please no “female” jokes). It’s done…don’t make fun if I got it done.
Only in Oklahoma…and maybe Arkansas
Last week the health institution I work at went out to lunch to celebrate the completion of a grant. Where do people who work in public health go for lunch? Panera? Subway? Whole Foods? No, try Roosters. Roosters is down in Bricktown, a thriving section of downtown Oklahoma City where the minor league ball field is and various other nightclubs and bars. Roosters, as I come to understand, sells fried chicken…only fried chicken. Oh wait, I lied, it sells fried pickles and fried okra too. Now I’m not a health freak, far from it, but I think if I’m wearing my department ID (intern ID for the department prom…I’m really glad nobody seems to care how outdated it is) I should set a good example. How can we expect others to be willing to live healthy lifestyles if the most recognizable health institution in the area goes out to eat at the local fried chicken joint? I don’t judge, I’m terrible too but we need to learn. I guess I just need to try and get my “coworkers” to walk the talk. If an individual is trying to tell me to join a diabetes program or participate in a wellness program and they are clearly overweight/unhealthy what kind of impact is that program going to have? You wouldn’t take financial advice from your plumber would you?
Cats are pretty much worthless little creatures. They do nothing but order you around. Down here in Oklahoma City my mother has an enclosed backyard so she thought it would be nice if the cats could go outside and play, free of predators and cars. We decided that we would put a cat door inside the storm door so we could keep in the cool air but still allow them hypothetical freedom. The door cat door went in two weeks ago and the cats absolutely refused to use it. In fact they suddenly developed a fear of the outdoors because it involves the cat door. One cat got so angry about the door that she peed on a rug…great animals huh? To solve this issue my mother and I decided we needed to “teach” the cats how to use the door. I am under the impression that cats do not need to be taught anything and simply delight in you making a fool of yourself attempting to show them how to do something. If they really wanted to do it they would. Anyway we started just by showing them the door mechanism. This process involved me sitting next to the door and pushing on it so they could see it opened and closed. Pretty simple, not impressive, they didn’t care. My mother then decided we should show the cats that things can go in and out of the door…so I crawled through the door. That freaked them out and made me feel mildly ridiculous (although I have been known to climb through animal doors when I forget my key, be forewarned). Lastly we just grabbed the cats and started shoving them through. My mom sat on one side and I sat on the other and we just handed them off to each other. The cats got no joy out of this and my forearms look like I’ve started cutting. Last week I got home from work and opened the door to let the cat out, as has become the tradition since the very expensive cat door was a useless investment. Thirty minutes later I got up to let her back in only to discover her in the living room lying on the fireplace. She used the door! I did a dance and everything. However the cat refuses to show me she knows how to use the door, she wants me to think she won’t use it so that I will continue to let her out (she hates the door hitting her nose). Cats are smart; humans are dumb; I’m returning to St. Louis with one less cat. Who’s the winner now?
The Motion Sensor
My mother went on a short weekend trip to Ohio and left me a list of things to do while she was gone. Since I am staying here free of charge I can at least do some manual labor to earn my keep. The first thing on the list was “fix motion sensor light”. My mother’s house here in Oklahoma was previously owned by some super paranoid individuals. There are can spot lights that run across the front of the house and two different sets of motion detectors in the back. If there is even the smallest breeze rustling the tiniest branch our backyard lights up as if Cher just walked on stage. One of the sensors was “out” and my mother figured as long as it’s there we ought to have it working. I went to Home Depot and bought the very strange light-bulbs for the light and set out to replace them. One would consider screwing in a light-bulb one of the simplest of home improvement tasks no? I am well trained in the art of replacing a bulb so I grabbed the ladder and set it up under the sensor. There is no way to turn “off” a motion light or so I’ve come to believe. I slipped in the first bulb and fell off the ladder. No, I’m not that clumsy. Motion sensor lights are bright and incredibly hot; I had popped in the new bulb with my face 2 inches from the light and basically blinded myself when it flipped on. I spent the next 20 minutes changing the other two bulbs with sunglasses and oven mitts (please no “female” jokes). It’s done…don’t make fun if I got it done.
Only in Oklahoma…and maybe Arkansas
Last week the health institution I work at went out to lunch to celebrate the completion of a grant. Where do people who work in public health go for lunch? Panera? Subway? Whole Foods? No, try Roosters. Roosters is down in Bricktown, a thriving section of downtown Oklahoma City where the minor league ball field is and various other nightclubs and bars. Roosters, as I come to understand, sells fried chicken…only fried chicken. Oh wait, I lied, it sells fried pickles and fried okra too. Now I’m not a health freak, far from it, but I think if I’m wearing my department ID (intern ID for the department prom…I’m really glad nobody seems to care how outdated it is) I should set a good example. How can we expect others to be willing to live healthy lifestyles if the most recognizable health institution in the area goes out to eat at the local fried chicken joint? I don’t judge, I’m terrible too but we need to learn. I guess I just need to try and get my “coworkers” to walk the talk. If an individual is trying to tell me to join a diabetes program or participate in a wellness program and they are clearly overweight/unhealthy what kind of impact is that program going to have? You wouldn’t take financial advice from your plumber would you?
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Oklahoma City Pride 2010
I've only been to the PRIDE parade in St. Louis once. It was three years ago and a good friend basically dragged me there. I did have a good time though and it blew my self imposed sheltered existence wide open. I'd never seen so much color, so much skin, so much flamboyance in one place. I was reeling, I think my friend had to constantly ask if I was alright. Flash forward a year, 12 months to get more comfortable...to become me. I actually missed the parade to pick up a good friend at the airport, a trip I deemed more important and more relevant at the time. It turned out to be a poor decision and I found myself longing to be in the crowd where a person's ultimate goal is to get a set of rainbow beads, where drag queens take off their own beautiful beads so you can get the one color you're missing...where no matter the sex, gender, stye of dress, age, or race everyone goes out of their way to make sure a stranger is having a good time. It's ironic that religious groups picket Pride; Pride is the only event I have ever been to where I've felt surrounded by love. I missed all of that. I had to wait 12 more months to experience it again.
One of my projects here in Oklahoma was to help plan and participate in the OKC Pride event. I went from my first Pride in St. Louis where I essentially jumped around a bit and went home exhausted to actually being IN the parade. The organization I'm working at put together a float (read pickup truck) and I was expected to march in the parade and run through the crowd passing out materials with our organization's information on it. We had tattoos, mood cups, rainbow bracelets (like the livestrong ones), and t-shirts. People go crazy for free shit. I soon found myself surrounded by all walks of life. In one particular instance I was surrounded by a group of gay boys in their underwear desperate for mood cups, I of course obliged. Later as I was handing out bracelets an individual (I assume male) grasped me from behind and asked "sugar I would just love one of those bracelets". Haha, he called me sugar. My own grandmother would never call me sugar...I gave him 5.
At Pride I was never once called young man and aside from a few people who were a little too grabby for the merchandise, everyone was wonderful. I especially loved the little kids screaming "Happy Pride" to everyone as they walked by and the team of gay guys in their front yard passing out water they purchased to every person walking in the heat. The adrenaline was pumping so hard I didn't even realize I had run the 3 mile course in flip flops. My feet were killing me the next morning, I also discovered a rather large bruise on my left bicep that I couldn't for the life of me remember how it got there.
But anyway, happy pride everybody! Future posts will entail the very exciting process of teaching the cat to use the cat door, changing the lightbulb in our motion detectors, and the grant appreciation lunch I went to today.
One of my projects here in Oklahoma was to help plan and participate in the OKC Pride event. I went from my first Pride in St. Louis where I essentially jumped around a bit and went home exhausted to actually being IN the parade. The organization I'm working at put together a float (read pickup truck) and I was expected to march in the parade and run through the crowd passing out materials with our organization's information on it. We had tattoos, mood cups, rainbow bracelets (like the livestrong ones), and t-shirts. People go crazy for free shit. I soon found myself surrounded by all walks of life. In one particular instance I was surrounded by a group of gay boys in their underwear desperate for mood cups, I of course obliged. Later as I was handing out bracelets an individual (I assume male) grasped me from behind and asked "sugar I would just love one of those bracelets". Haha, he called me sugar. My own grandmother would never call me sugar...I gave him 5.
At Pride I was never once called young man and aside from a few people who were a little too grabby for the merchandise, everyone was wonderful. I especially loved the little kids screaming "Happy Pride" to everyone as they walked by and the team of gay guys in their front yard passing out water they purchased to every person walking in the heat. The adrenaline was pumping so hard I didn't even realize I had run the 3 mile course in flip flops. My feet were killing me the next morning, I also discovered a rather large bruise on my left bicep that I couldn't for the life of me remember how it got there.
But anyway, happy pride everybody! Future posts will entail the very exciting process of teaching the cat to use the cat door, changing the lightbulb in our motion detectors, and the grant appreciation lunch I went to today.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Being Politically Correct, PC, or "Nice"
I'm not sure if it's the state of Oklahoma, the Midwest, or if this is the norm in workplaces across the country...people have to jump through hoops to be politically correct. My position at practicum this summer (where I'm working should probably not be mentioned since I do not want to get anyone in trouble) has allowed me to attend all kinds of different events in all parts of Oklahoma City, however it has mostly been focused in NE OKC. While fashioning my beautiful learning agreement for my summer program I discussed how the department I'm working in was going to be involved in OKC Pride. Under normal circumstances no big deal, I assumed since I was working there and part of my position was to help with Pride that the department condoned the activity. My supervisor however circled that section and informed me that I needed to change the department name to an inner department name (a coalition name) whose funding we'll be using and whose name we will be operating under. Apparently higher ups in the department would kill our presence at Pride if they had access to it. Really? I was blown away. I'm doing my practicum in the health field, a field concerned with making everyone healthy and safe but they would pull the plug on participation in an outreach event because of who we were reaching out to? Since when is health political?
I attended a coalition meeting yesterday composed of concerned citizens and organization heads located in Northeast Oklahoma City. The meeting itself was meant to be a kind of networking session, a way for all organizations in NE OKC to share their events and even establish partnerships for future programs. I was told the meetings are usually low key and good places to learn about future community events. A woman walked in,10 minutes late, wearing white cut-off shorts, a big straw hat, and had a shorter, meaner looking woman bring up the rear. The woman sat down and at first seemed like she was just another concerned citizen interested in future events. However once the floor was opened up for organizations to speak she took over. She was running for district commissioner and was "concerned" abut things she saw going on in NE OKlahoma City. She talked about drugs, drop-outs, and a lack of swimming pools (I didn't really see the significance there). She monopolized the meeting and then before the rest of the organizations could speak she got up and said, as if she was being kind, "I wont take up anymore of your time." Thank god for the coalition head, he told her to take a seat. If she was going to attend a meeting then she was going to hear all of it. Why does politics always interfere when good things are happening? Why did this woman feel the need to interrupt a meeting of involved community members to harangue them for not doing enough?
Last night I was surfing channels and I came across the film "12 Angry Men". I had to read the play in high school and enjoyed it. It has a strong message and I think it's very relevant. However this wasn't the 12 Angry Men I remembered from high school, the one with Henry Fonda and the table of white men trying to put a young African American in prison for a crime he didn't commit. This version had a jury of African American men trying to put a young hispanic boy in prison for a crime he didn't commit. I know the film has a message, I know it is a message of essentially "don't judge a book by its cover or an individual by their color". But why do people need to recreate the film to preach the same message and further promote a hierarchy of ancestry?
In the department I'm in there is an outreach coordinator. She's incredible, has networking in the blood. She's African American and wonderful at relating to the NE Oklahoma Community. She has improved department outreach in that area exponentially, I'm learning so much just by watching her work. In the department we have several members of the LGBT community. Because of them the department is developing a presence in the LGBT part of town. We don't have members of the hispanic community, we don't have much outreach there...how is that fair? We need to stop representing the familiar and getting to know what we don't understand. Cause if people in the health field wont do it, who will?
I attended a coalition meeting yesterday composed of concerned citizens and organization heads located in Northeast Oklahoma City. The meeting itself was meant to be a kind of networking session, a way for all organizations in NE OKC to share their events and even establish partnerships for future programs. I was told the meetings are usually low key and good places to learn about future community events. A woman walked in,10 minutes late, wearing white cut-off shorts, a big straw hat, and had a shorter, meaner looking woman bring up the rear. The woman sat down and at first seemed like she was just another concerned citizen interested in future events. However once the floor was opened up for organizations to speak she took over. She was running for district commissioner and was "concerned" abut things she saw going on in NE OKlahoma City. She talked about drugs, drop-outs, and a lack of swimming pools (I didn't really see the significance there). She monopolized the meeting and then before the rest of the organizations could speak she got up and said, as if she was being kind, "I wont take up anymore of your time." Thank god for the coalition head, he told her to take a seat. If she was going to attend a meeting then she was going to hear all of it. Why does politics always interfere when good things are happening? Why did this woman feel the need to interrupt a meeting of involved community members to harangue them for not doing enough?
Last night I was surfing channels and I came across the film "12 Angry Men". I had to read the play in high school and enjoyed it. It has a strong message and I think it's very relevant. However this wasn't the 12 Angry Men I remembered from high school, the one with Henry Fonda and the table of white men trying to put a young African American in prison for a crime he didn't commit. This version had a jury of African American men trying to put a young hispanic boy in prison for a crime he didn't commit. I know the film has a message, I know it is a message of essentially "don't judge a book by its cover or an individual by their color". But why do people need to recreate the film to preach the same message and further promote a hierarchy of ancestry?
In the department I'm in there is an outreach coordinator. She's incredible, has networking in the blood. She's African American and wonderful at relating to the NE Oklahoma Community. She has improved department outreach in that area exponentially, I'm learning so much just by watching her work. In the department we have several members of the LGBT community. Because of them the department is developing a presence in the LGBT part of town. We don't have members of the hispanic community, we don't have much outreach there...how is that fair? We need to stop representing the familiar and getting to know what we don't understand. Cause if people in the health field wont do it, who will?
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
New Discoveries
I'm learning here in Oklahoma, maybe not so much about the Midwest but more about the real work world. I've been teaching tennis in the summers between school semesters for about eight years. Life teaching at a country club is VERY different from 9 to 5 cubicle jobs. At country clubs the head pro wanders in 3 hours late, the assistant pros don't teach tennis so much as corral kids for their one hour bulk lessons, and we all learn how to kiss member ass. I'm an expert at pretending to be interested and convincing middle aged men that if anyone could make it on the pro tour after age 40 its them. I wore a lot of white, groomed a lot of clay courts, and learned how to teach in 115 degree heat without moving more than 2 steps. It's an art. I however do not know how to sit in front of a computer for 8 hours straight, get used to only having half an office, and go to mindless meetings where people spend more time figuring out the logistics of the next meeting than they do talking about actual topics. It is all so new to me.
The Cubicle
Just the word cubicle clues you into what it really is. Like the icicle or fudgecicle, it's masquerading as a legitimate delight but failing on every level. The cubicle, my cubicle, has only two real walls...the third wall is shared with your neighbor or in my case your supervisors office wall. Nothing about the cubicle screams privacy, everything I say or do for the most part can be seen by the entire office. Now you may ask "what do you NEED to do that cannot be seen by everyone in an office?" Well, little things. I can't stand up and adjust my shirt, I can't pick my wedgie, I can't text my friend telling them I'm bored out of my mind, and I can't surf the Internet. Everything I do is on display. Also, we all fart right? If I'm having a particularly unfortunate day everyone suffers and, with 10 other women in cubicles near me, someone is having a bad day pretty much every day. It just isn't fair, I feel like a penned animal only I don't even have the luxury of a complete pen. I'm a cow that can see freedom but is just too darn stupid to run. Instead of longing for riches, love, or divine inspiration I just aspire to that damn fourth wall. It's the corporate world's way of telling me to set smaller goals.
The Meeting
I've been to many unproductive meetings in my lifetime, it's a true art to conduct a meeting with 5 or more people and stay on task the entire time. I've been to meetings for two hours where we discussed a 50 page grant and I've been to two hour meetings where we talked about business for ten minutes and then spent the remaining 100 listening to stories told by the former infectious disease investigator (you have to track down an individuals sexual partners and tell them to get tested for syphilis etc. It's actually really entertaining because you're usually tracking down crack whores and have to bribe them with fast food to get them to describe their tricks). I went to a meeting last week with representatives from every department to finalize a community survey and determine potential distribution centers. It was funny how a. all the departments had their own quirks, b. the meeting facilitator after about ten minutes of interruptions look like he was contemplating suicide by hot coffee, and c. how even in the corporate world there is always that one person everyone wants to throw sharpened pencils at. I had to try very hard not to laugh. There was even a moment when the epi nerds got up with a 10 foot long chart covered in numbers and tried to explain how it was to be read. They looked insulted when the meeting facilitator suggested they convert their gorgeous chart to a very pretty line/bar graph (public health reference). Such is public health though! In this very meeting as an intern I solved the distribution problem and fixed part of the survey, things these people have been working on for weeks. I don't know if it's beginners luck or if I'm actually learning something in this graduate program of mine.
The Gossip
At the country clubs the gossip was always about members e.g. who is sleeping with who, who the head pro is flirting with, what kind of food the golf assistants get, and why Suzie can hit in her bikini but Bertha isn't allowed. All of this gossip was done in "safe" zones, areas where you knew people couldn't hear you. Here, in cubicle land, everyone can hear you. Why do people gossip? I've learned more shit just by sitting outside my supervisors door (which if you have a door why don't you flipping shut it when you are going to talk shit about someone) than I've heard in the ladies bathroom my short adult life. I even hear people talking about me within eye and ear sight of me. Dude you can see me. Luckily it's all been pretty good stuff (boss telling another gal in the office that we're both "softball" enthusiasts, grant writer telling boss that I'm actually really good at this whole writing thing...boss acting surprised) but seriously I wonder. My boss also gets very clever and lowers her voice when she is really talking the good smack, I just listen harder. Word to the wise, if you throughout most of the day just shout questions at me through your door and I shout answers back I can probably hear you when you are talking to someone else. I know more dirt about people in the building I've never even met than I know about my own family. Watch out for Betty in school health...
The Cubicle
Just the word cubicle clues you into what it really is. Like the icicle or fudgecicle, it's masquerading as a legitimate delight but failing on every level. The cubicle, my cubicle, has only two real walls...the third wall is shared with your neighbor or in my case your supervisors office wall. Nothing about the cubicle screams privacy, everything I say or do for the most part can be seen by the entire office. Now you may ask "what do you NEED to do that cannot be seen by everyone in an office?" Well, little things. I can't stand up and adjust my shirt, I can't pick my wedgie, I can't text my friend telling them I'm bored out of my mind, and I can't surf the Internet. Everything I do is on display. Also, we all fart right? If I'm having a particularly unfortunate day everyone suffers and, with 10 other women in cubicles near me, someone is having a bad day pretty much every day. It just isn't fair, I feel like a penned animal only I don't even have the luxury of a complete pen. I'm a cow that can see freedom but is just too darn stupid to run. Instead of longing for riches, love, or divine inspiration I just aspire to that damn fourth wall. It's the corporate world's way of telling me to set smaller goals.
The Meeting
I've been to many unproductive meetings in my lifetime, it's a true art to conduct a meeting with 5 or more people and stay on task the entire time. I've been to meetings for two hours where we discussed a 50 page grant and I've been to two hour meetings where we talked about business for ten minutes and then spent the remaining 100 listening to stories told by the former infectious disease investigator (you have to track down an individuals sexual partners and tell them to get tested for syphilis etc. It's actually really entertaining because you're usually tracking down crack whores and have to bribe them with fast food to get them to describe their tricks). I went to a meeting last week with representatives from every department to finalize a community survey and determine potential distribution centers. It was funny how a. all the departments had their own quirks, b. the meeting facilitator after about ten minutes of interruptions look like he was contemplating suicide by hot coffee, and c. how even in the corporate world there is always that one person everyone wants to throw sharpened pencils at. I had to try very hard not to laugh. There was even a moment when the epi nerds got up with a 10 foot long chart covered in numbers and tried to explain how it was to be read. They looked insulted when the meeting facilitator suggested they convert their gorgeous chart to a very pretty line/bar graph (public health reference). Such is public health though! In this very meeting as an intern I solved the distribution problem and fixed part of the survey, things these people have been working on for weeks. I don't know if it's beginners luck or if I'm actually learning something in this graduate program of mine.
The Gossip
At the country clubs the gossip was always about members e.g. who is sleeping with who, who the head pro is flirting with, what kind of food the golf assistants get, and why Suzie can hit in her bikini but Bertha isn't allowed. All of this gossip was done in "safe" zones, areas where you knew people couldn't hear you. Here, in cubicle land, everyone can hear you. Why do people gossip? I've learned more shit just by sitting outside my supervisors door (which if you have a door why don't you flipping shut it when you are going to talk shit about someone) than I've heard in the ladies bathroom my short adult life. I even hear people talking about me within eye and ear sight of me. Dude you can see me. Luckily it's all been pretty good stuff (boss telling another gal in the office that we're both "softball" enthusiasts, grant writer telling boss that I'm actually really good at this whole writing thing...boss acting surprised) but seriously I wonder. My boss also gets very clever and lowers her voice when she is really talking the good smack, I just listen harder. Word to the wise, if you throughout most of the day just shout questions at me through your door and I shout answers back I can probably hear you when you are talking to someone else. I know more dirt about people in the building I've never even met than I know about my own family. Watch out for Betty in school health...
Friday, June 11, 2010
El Paso: Part Two
I guess my last post mainly focused on creeper men I've had to sit next to on airplanes. Notice how it's always men...just sayin.
El Paso, Texas like I said above is a decent sized city right on the Mexican border of Juarez. If you read the newspaper you'll know that Juarez is currently engaged in super major drug wars resulting in at least 20 deaths a week (sometimes upwards to 100). It used to be really easy to cross the border into Juarez and do some shopping. My uncle always thought it was really fun to try and sneak fruit back into the country, it's not that much fun and it draws a lot of attention to your chevy astrovan as you block all traffic trying to reenter the country. Anyway Juarez is totally sealed off now as in if any white blonde girl tries to cross the border she doesn't come back. However the violence has not spilled into El Paso so we felt pretty safe the entire time we were there.
The first two days in the west were spent in Cloudcroft, New Mexico. It's a small town up in the mountains in New Mexico that makes you feel like you're in Colorado. You drive through about an hour and a half of desert to get to the mountain and then you watch as the terrain literally just morphs before your eyes. A classic example of this is you drive through White Sands, New Mexico 30 minutes before you reach Cloudcroft. White Sands is miles of pure white sand dunes surrounded by desert bush. I'll put pictures below.
White Sands
Cloudcroft
It was a wonderful little 2 day stay. We ate waaay too much food, did a little shopping at a the local arts fair, and played a ton of spades (a card game I enjoy but suck at).
Dedication
The school dedication was scheduled for the day after Memorial Day. That morning we met up with my great aunt and uncle who drove in from Globe, Arizona. My great aunt and uncle are pushing 80, they shouldn't drive...ever. But anyway they arrived and reminded me why my Uncle Jim is the best guy ever. My Great Uncle Jim, my great grandmothers son, was the supervisor of the Inspiration Mine in his hay day (largest copper mine in US). He's old, kinda racist/sexist, and wicked funny. My fondest memory is when he took me, my uncle, and two male cousins to the country club for 18 holes. I'm a God awful golfer and have no business on a course but when I connect with the ball I can make it go pretty far. Anyway after about 9 holes of super suckage I outdrove my Uncle Jim. At the end of the hole he turned to me and said, completely serious I might add, "Kid, you're tired, go home". The only thing you can say when Uncle Jim puts you in that situation is, "alright Uncle Jim...you're probably right".
Well Uncle Jim was on a roll when we met up with him. We went out for lunch and on the way there he was being his usual cocky self. He pulled a correct turn out of his ass and muttered "It's hard to be humble when you're practically perfect in every way". Ah good man. When we were driving back to the hotel he talked about how difficult it had been to find the hotel. He said "Now the directions were confusing but as a typical male chauvinist I blame Jacque (his wife)". It's a shame I only get to see him once a year at most.
At the dedication I sat next to my mother and younger sister. I was introduced to many people that worked with my great grandmother and most people thought I was my mothers son. Now, yes I've got a butchy haircut now and if I had been in cargo shorts and an old t-shirt I'd have expected it...but I was in dress pants, a button up, and flipping heels! I can't catch a break. One woman, after my mother corrected her on my sex, pulled me towards her and said "you may not want to cut your hair so darn short". Thanks, I'll consider it.
My uncle Jim gave a speech and apologized that he wouldn't be able to get to all his points because it was so damn hot. Yes, he said damn in front of 400 elementary school kids. It was hot though. I had to keep my arms glued to my sides after about 15 minutes because my pit stains were so obnoxious. Note to self, never wear a dress shirt without an undershirt in El Paso in June. Alright this post is really long, longer than I anticipated. I'll leave yall with a picture of the school, beautiful school.
El Paso, Texas like I said above is a decent sized city right on the Mexican border of Juarez. If you read the newspaper you'll know that Juarez is currently engaged in super major drug wars resulting in at least 20 deaths a week (sometimes upwards to 100). It used to be really easy to cross the border into Juarez and do some shopping. My uncle always thought it was really fun to try and sneak fruit back into the country, it's not that much fun and it draws a lot of attention to your chevy astrovan as you block all traffic trying to reenter the country. Anyway Juarez is totally sealed off now as in if any white blonde girl tries to cross the border she doesn't come back. However the violence has not spilled into El Paso so we felt pretty safe the entire time we were there.
The first two days in the west were spent in Cloudcroft, New Mexico. It's a small town up in the mountains in New Mexico that makes you feel like you're in Colorado. You drive through about an hour and a half of desert to get to the mountain and then you watch as the terrain literally just morphs before your eyes. A classic example of this is you drive through White Sands, New Mexico 30 minutes before you reach Cloudcroft. White Sands is miles of pure white sand dunes surrounded by desert bush. I'll put pictures below.
White Sands
Cloudcroft
It was a wonderful little 2 day stay. We ate waaay too much food, did a little shopping at a the local arts fair, and played a ton of spades (a card game I enjoy but suck at).
Dedication
The school dedication was scheduled for the day after Memorial Day. That morning we met up with my great aunt and uncle who drove in from Globe, Arizona. My great aunt and uncle are pushing 80, they shouldn't drive...ever. But anyway they arrived and reminded me why my Uncle Jim is the best guy ever. My Great Uncle Jim, my great grandmothers son, was the supervisor of the Inspiration Mine in his hay day (largest copper mine in US). He's old, kinda racist/sexist, and wicked funny. My fondest memory is when he took me, my uncle, and two male cousins to the country club for 18 holes. I'm a God awful golfer and have no business on a course but when I connect with the ball I can make it go pretty far. Anyway after about 9 holes of super suckage I outdrove my Uncle Jim. At the end of the hole he turned to me and said, completely serious I might add, "Kid, you're tired, go home". The only thing you can say when Uncle Jim puts you in that situation is, "alright Uncle Jim...you're probably right".
Well Uncle Jim was on a roll when we met up with him. We went out for lunch and on the way there he was being his usual cocky self. He pulled a correct turn out of his ass and muttered "It's hard to be humble when you're practically perfect in every way". Ah good man. When we were driving back to the hotel he talked about how difficult it had been to find the hotel. He said "Now the directions were confusing but as a typical male chauvinist I blame Jacque (his wife)". It's a shame I only get to see him once a year at most.
At the dedication I sat next to my mother and younger sister. I was introduced to many people that worked with my great grandmother and most people thought I was my mothers son. Now, yes I've got a butchy haircut now and if I had been in cargo shorts and an old t-shirt I'd have expected it...but I was in dress pants, a button up, and flipping heels! I can't catch a break. One woman, after my mother corrected her on my sex, pulled me towards her and said "you may not want to cut your hair so darn short". Thanks, I'll consider it.
My uncle Jim gave a speech and apologized that he wouldn't be able to get to all his points because it was so damn hot. Yes, he said damn in front of 400 elementary school kids. It was hot though. I had to keep my arms glued to my sides after about 15 minutes because my pit stains were so obnoxious. Note to self, never wear a dress shirt without an undershirt in El Paso in June. Alright this post is really long, longer than I anticipated. I'll leave yall with a picture of the school, beautiful school.
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