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.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
El Paso: Part One
I was away for 5 days last week in El Paso, Texas. El Paso is a small dirty town on the US/Mexico border that I have fallen in love with...it may have something to do with the mountains and the food. So many fun things happened down in El Paso, where to begin?
Pervert 3:00
My mother and I flew down to El Paso together meeting my sister, aunt, and uncle at the El Paso airport from their respective flights. There is an unwritten rule that exists between my mother and I...or at least between her and the rest of the world: I don't do babies and I get the window seat. My mother is the person that sits down only to leap to her feet and move when another mother sits down with a fussy child, and she doesn't hesitate to throw the offending mother a dirty look. I'm amazed I survived childhood without being muzzled. On empty flights this results in my mother taking the window seat and myself enjoying the aisle. This flight however to Phoenix (totally random layover) was completely full and I soon found myself staring at a fairly normal man trying to sit in the middle seat. Oh yeah...my mom doesn't sit next to strangers if I'm around. Basically that means if someone should come for the middle seat it is my job to scoot over, take the worst seat ever, and sit next to the stranger thus protecting my mother from babies and random chatty people (and yall wonder why I am the way I am).
So the guy sits down. He has a baseball cap pulled down low and and wraparound sunglasses on (inside the airplane). Honestly that should have tipped me off. However I was totally oblivious to his strangeness and just pretended he wasn't there. He pulled out a sports magazine, I gave him the "ok, I can do this" look and settled into my seat for the 2 hour ride. About an hour in the guy gets up and walks up the aisle to chat with a girl (I can only assume it's his girlfriend). He returns however with a magazine in a wrapper. I've never seen magazines that come in wrappers except National Geographic. No it wasn't National Geographic, it was Maxim. The guy is "reading" Maxim's top 100 women issue right next to me. Now I'm not saying he was reading the articles (that's why men buy smut right...for the great writing). Every now and then Mr. Perv would pick a page and hold it super close to his face, I guess he was trying to smell the fake tanner? It got worse though...he had to pull down the seat tray to hide his lap. A guy was flipping getting excited two inches from me...I mean I haven't been that close to a man in years! Honestly though I think the creapers are drawn to me. My sophomore year of college on a flight down to Arkansas a guy sat next to me and we started talking about law enforcement, he was in the National Guard/former cop and I was reading a crime book. It wasn't long before he leaned in real close so I could smell how the alcohol on his breath and asked me: "you know the number one accidental death?" He then proceeded to explain auto-erotic self-asphyxiation, you know when a guy chokes himself so more blood will flow to his dick while he's jacking off. Yeah, lovely conversation. Why do they always find me? My mom meanwhile is super happy in her window seat while I'm borderline being harassed by the guy with the stiffer next to me...thanks.
On the way from Phoenix to El Paso I sat next to a guy in a three piece suit playing a playstation portable. Does no one read the paper anymore?
Pervert 3:00
My mother and I flew down to El Paso together meeting my sister, aunt, and uncle at the El Paso airport from their respective flights. There is an unwritten rule that exists between my mother and I...or at least between her and the rest of the world: I don't do babies and I get the window seat. My mother is the person that sits down only to leap to her feet and move when another mother sits down with a fussy child, and she doesn't hesitate to throw the offending mother a dirty look. I'm amazed I survived childhood without being muzzled. On empty flights this results in my mother taking the window seat and myself enjoying the aisle. This flight however to Phoenix (totally random layover) was completely full and I soon found myself staring at a fairly normal man trying to sit in the middle seat. Oh yeah...my mom doesn't sit next to strangers if I'm around. Basically that means if someone should come for the middle seat it is my job to scoot over, take the worst seat ever, and sit next to the stranger thus protecting my mother from babies and random chatty people (and yall wonder why I am the way I am).
So the guy sits down. He has a baseball cap pulled down low and and wraparound sunglasses on (inside the airplane). Honestly that should have tipped me off. However I was totally oblivious to his strangeness and just pretended he wasn't there. He pulled out a sports magazine, I gave him the "ok, I can do this" look and settled into my seat for the 2 hour ride. About an hour in the guy gets up and walks up the aisle to chat with a girl (I can only assume it's his girlfriend). He returns however with a magazine in a wrapper. I've never seen magazines that come in wrappers except National Geographic. No it wasn't National Geographic, it was Maxim. The guy is "reading" Maxim's top 100 women issue right next to me. Now I'm not saying he was reading the articles (that's why men buy smut right...for the great writing). Every now and then Mr. Perv would pick a page and hold it super close to his face, I guess he was trying to smell the fake tanner? It got worse though...he had to pull down the seat tray to hide his lap. A guy was flipping getting excited two inches from me...I mean I haven't been that close to a man in years! Honestly though I think the creapers are drawn to me. My sophomore year of college on a flight down to Arkansas a guy sat next to me and we started talking about law enforcement, he was in the National Guard/former cop and I was reading a crime book. It wasn't long before he leaned in real close so I could smell how the alcohol on his breath and asked me: "you know the number one accidental death?" He then proceeded to explain auto-erotic self-asphyxiation, you know when a guy chokes himself so more blood will flow to his dick while he's jacking off. Yeah, lovely conversation. Why do they always find me? My mom meanwhile is super happy in her window seat while I'm borderline being harassed by the guy with the stiffer next to me...thanks.
On the way from Phoenix to El Paso I sat next to a guy in a three piece suit playing a playstation portable. Does no one read the paper anymore?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Day 3: Boredom
I'm bored. It's not even a mild boredom, it's an intense text all your friends in your phone desperate for conversation kind of boredom. Today was pretty much the ultimate homage to being bored as I filled it with the most worthless activities. Description follows.
Anti-boredom activity number 1: List everything Oklahoma has that St. Louis doesn't have.
This really turned into a shit storm. I don't recommend it. Oklahoma really doesn't have anything that St. Louis doesn't have except for an excess of cowboy hat manufacturers and an intelligently created roadway system (it's a huge grid, I already know my way around). However one thing OKC has that STL severely lacks is APPLE SODA! I'm a nut for apple soda and you can't get it anywhere north of probably Oklahoma City. I'm a huge nerd and I used to order it in bulk on the internet. Some people buy porn, others purchase rare records, I buy soda on ebay. I had to put aside my apple soda obsession when my Christmas stock ran out (yes, I get it as Christmas gifts too) but down here I can just drive to the nearest Walmart and buy a freaking case of it! It is so much cheaper when you don't have to pay shipping.
Activity number 2: Mile run american pie challenge
I started humming the song American Pie by Don McLean, you know the ridiculously long song that old disc jockey's would play when they had to pee. Well I pulled up the song on my computer and discovered I know ALL the words. Thats exactly 8 minutes and 25 seconds of dialogue. That's almost 9 minutes of worthless knowledge. Anyway I decided to make it fun, mapped out how far I would need to run from my current residence to make a mile, and plugged in the ipod. I haven't really tried to run in a while...usually it's just a 1.8 mile jog around the park and I call it a day (no timing and usually a break in there to pet a puppy). I set out to finish my mile before Don McLean finished his song, I finished at the second to last refrain on the word died...then I contemplated the action. Its 90 freaking degrees here in May, that's wrong. So now I know I can run a mile faster than American Pie, an unimpressive feat and probably a massive waste of time
Activity number 3: Me vs the Garage
I decided I would be a pal and clean out the garage. It's filthy and workmen just built some shelves for extra storage. However after inhaling two spiders and discovering one making its home in my hair I said screw this and most likely made a larger mess than was originally there (that saying you have to make a mess before you can properly clean something is a idea I very much believe in). Oh and I discovered another thing Oklahoma has that St. Louis doesn't...an excess of spiders. They're all jumping spiders, little dudes that don't build webs in rafters but prefer to make nests on the ground. They come in all sizes, I saw one as big as a half dollar but thankfully the one in my hair was fairly small. I'd post a picture but nobody needs to look at that.
Activity number 4: Rankings!
When I get bored I organize. However I don't organize things like documents or my closet...that would make me normal. I like to organize random things like a tub of buttons (by size, color, shape, endless possibilities) or Dolly Parton songs. Dolly won out over the buttons today, honestly Dolly always beats buttons. I ranked Dolly by best songs, best song writing, and then I organized her music by genre shifts. Dolly is a chameleon, every time I engage in this exercise I develop a newfound respect for this woman. Dolly is my gay mans Cher... After the Dolly ranking extravaganza I considered the various pros and cons of taking up an obscure sport. I was waffling between European Handball and curling. Handball won...but good lord when players look like this wouldn't handball always win?
Handball:
The rest of the day was filled with watching my indoor cats stalk leaves in the backyard, attempts to master the perfect backwards somersault, and heckling Ryan Seacrest on American Idol. I'm not proud of myself but I'm totally prepared to repeat the day tomorrow if someone doesn't come up with something productive for me to do. I'm currently watching competitive eating...please help me.
Anti-boredom activity number 1: List everything Oklahoma has that St. Louis doesn't have.
This really turned into a shit storm. I don't recommend it. Oklahoma really doesn't have anything that St. Louis doesn't have except for an excess of cowboy hat manufacturers and an intelligently created roadway system (it's a huge grid, I already know my way around). However one thing OKC has that STL severely lacks is APPLE SODA! I'm a nut for apple soda and you can't get it anywhere north of probably Oklahoma City. I'm a huge nerd and I used to order it in bulk on the internet. Some people buy porn, others purchase rare records, I buy soda on ebay. I had to put aside my apple soda obsession when my Christmas stock ran out (yes, I get it as Christmas gifts too) but down here I can just drive to the nearest Walmart and buy a freaking case of it! It is so much cheaper when you don't have to pay shipping.
Activity number 2: Mile run american pie challenge
I started humming the song American Pie by Don McLean, you know the ridiculously long song that old disc jockey's would play when they had to pee. Well I pulled up the song on my computer and discovered I know ALL the words. Thats exactly 8 minutes and 25 seconds of dialogue. That's almost 9 minutes of worthless knowledge. Anyway I decided to make it fun, mapped out how far I would need to run from my current residence to make a mile, and plugged in the ipod. I haven't really tried to run in a while...usually it's just a 1.8 mile jog around the park and I call it a day (no timing and usually a break in there to pet a puppy). I set out to finish my mile before Don McLean finished his song, I finished at the second to last refrain on the word died...then I contemplated the action. Its 90 freaking degrees here in May, that's wrong. So now I know I can run a mile faster than American Pie, an unimpressive feat and probably a massive waste of time
Activity number 3: Me vs the Garage
I decided I would be a pal and clean out the garage. It's filthy and workmen just built some shelves for extra storage. However after inhaling two spiders and discovering one making its home in my hair I said screw this and most likely made a larger mess than was originally there (that saying you have to make a mess before you can properly clean something is a idea I very much believe in). Oh and I discovered another thing Oklahoma has that St. Louis doesn't...an excess of spiders. They're all jumping spiders, little dudes that don't build webs in rafters but prefer to make nests on the ground. They come in all sizes, I saw one as big as a half dollar but thankfully the one in my hair was fairly small. I'd post a picture but nobody needs to look at that.
Activity number 4: Rankings!
When I get bored I organize. However I don't organize things like documents or my closet...that would make me normal. I like to organize random things like a tub of buttons (by size, color, shape, endless possibilities) or Dolly Parton songs. Dolly won out over the buttons today, honestly Dolly always beats buttons. I ranked Dolly by best songs, best song writing, and then I organized her music by genre shifts. Dolly is a chameleon, every time I engage in this exercise I develop a newfound respect for this woman. Dolly is my gay mans Cher... After the Dolly ranking extravaganza I considered the various pros and cons of taking up an obscure sport. I was waffling between European Handball and curling. Handball won...but good lord when players look like this wouldn't handball always win?
Handball:
The rest of the day was filled with watching my indoor cats stalk leaves in the backyard, attempts to master the perfect backwards somersault, and heckling Ryan Seacrest on American Idol. I'm not proud of myself but I'm totally prepared to repeat the day tomorrow if someone doesn't come up with something productive for me to do. I'm currently watching competitive eating...please help me.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Excuse me son, is your mommy or daddy home?
I've only been in Oklahoma City one day, one 24 hour period, and already things are different. Oklahoma City is a hotbed of conservative crazy. To give you an example the legislature recently passed a law that says doctors have a right to withhold information concerning a mother's unborn child in case the child has a birth defect and the doctors are afraid the mother will consider abortion. So imagine you are pregnant, imagine your baby has down syndrome, imagine your doctor knowing this months in advance and not telling you. That is Oklahoma. I'm going to love it here.
In Saint Louis I fit in rather well...and I like it that way. I usually look a little young for my age but people generally put me in the 20 something range (an occasional 18) and I'm almost always called a girl (old people don't count). On my first full day in Oklahoma City my mother signed me up to fold clothing at the local tornado relief shelter (my job doesn't start for another week). I drove out to a warehouse and organized clothing for just an hour or so, people were volunteering in short shifts. In the 60 minutes I folded clothing I filled two large boxes with XL and XXL clothing and half a small box with medium/small sized clothes. Wow...either really large people are the only ones that donate or Oklahoma City has an obesity problem. The latter is unfortunately true. That however is my public health side coming out and has nothing to do with the story. What I'm getting at is I stick out here. While folding clothes I started talking to one of the daughters of another volunteer. She was a fourth grader, rangy hair, and super social. Reminded me of who I wasn't as a kid. She proceeded to fill me in on everything Oklahoma, mainly football. She also ripped into me for not knowing much about the Oklahoma State Cowboys and Pistol Pete...apparently a much loved mascot in these parts. As I was finishing up and about to leave with my mother she called out to us "Maam, what's the name of your son?" Yes, this kid had a whole conversation with me and thought I was a boy. I'm trying to walk a fine line here. My goal is to look androgynous, to be the in-between. I don't want the labels that come with women and I sure as hell don't want the ones that come with men. But for some reason my Devon Sawa meets Ellen Degenerous style with a Dana Fairbanks mindset isn't getting me where I need it to go.
Case in point, after the volunteering I went to bootcamp with my mother at the local ymca. Apparently having good abs does not translate into anything this bootcamp does. My god wall sits! This is a satanic exercise. Who needs to pretend to sit in a chair for 4 minutes at a time, I sure don't. We also ran up a bridge with medicine balls, did pushups in the street, and attempted to do leg lifts with the ball between our ankles (this just propelled me into the air...not sure if it was the point). Then this morning the doorbell rang. I answered and was met with a young man probably only 3 years older than myself. He glanced at me and asked "is your mommy or daddy at home?" My mommy or daddy? I just stood there and waited for him to look up. He did, did a up/down and responded oh... He then said "well, do you own the house?" I responded "no, and my mommy and daddy aren't here...sorry." Then I shut the door. I'm putting out the wrong message here. In Oklahoma people notice me and I don't like it. I went to the local mall today to get my data transferred from my pc to my new mac (I may be savvy but I can't do that) and folks wouldn't leave me be. I have yet to see one gal that looks like me...I stand out.
In Saint Louis I fit in rather well...and I like it that way. I usually look a little young for my age but people generally put me in the 20 something range (an occasional 18) and I'm almost always called a girl (old people don't count). On my first full day in Oklahoma City my mother signed me up to fold clothing at the local tornado relief shelter (my job doesn't start for another week). I drove out to a warehouse and organized clothing for just an hour or so, people were volunteering in short shifts. In the 60 minutes I folded clothing I filled two large boxes with XL and XXL clothing and half a small box with medium/small sized clothes. Wow...either really large people are the only ones that donate or Oklahoma City has an obesity problem. The latter is unfortunately true. That however is my public health side coming out and has nothing to do with the story. What I'm getting at is I stick out here. While folding clothes I started talking to one of the daughters of another volunteer. She was a fourth grader, rangy hair, and super social. Reminded me of who I wasn't as a kid. She proceeded to fill me in on everything Oklahoma, mainly football. She also ripped into me for not knowing much about the Oklahoma State Cowboys and Pistol Pete...apparently a much loved mascot in these parts. As I was finishing up and about to leave with my mother she called out to us "Maam, what's the name of your son?" Yes, this kid had a whole conversation with me and thought I was a boy. I'm trying to walk a fine line here. My goal is to look androgynous, to be the in-between. I don't want the labels that come with women and I sure as hell don't want the ones that come with men. But for some reason my Devon Sawa meets Ellen Degenerous style with a Dana Fairbanks mindset isn't getting me where I need it to go.
Case in point, after the volunteering I went to bootcamp with my mother at the local ymca. Apparently having good abs does not translate into anything this bootcamp does. My god wall sits! This is a satanic exercise. Who needs to pretend to sit in a chair for 4 minutes at a time, I sure don't. We also ran up a bridge with medicine balls, did pushups in the street, and attempted to do leg lifts with the ball between our ankles (this just propelled me into the air...not sure if it was the point). Then this morning the doorbell rang. I answered and was met with a young man probably only 3 years older than myself. He glanced at me and asked "is your mommy or daddy at home?" My mommy or daddy? I just stood there and waited for him to look up. He did, did a up/down and responded oh... He then said "well, do you own the house?" I responded "no, and my mommy and daddy aren't here...sorry." Then I shut the door. I'm putting out the wrong message here. In Oklahoma people notice me and I don't like it. I went to the local mall today to get my data transferred from my pc to my new mac (I may be savvy but I can't do that) and folks wouldn't leave me be. I have yet to see one gal that looks like me...I stand out.
A Fitting Beginning
Hello, this is the first post of my new summer blog. My friend Grace (shout out Grace) suggested I chronicle my summer experiences in Oklahoma City and honestly I pretty much do whatever she says.
I am a native Midwesterner from St. Louis, recent college graduate, and just finished my first year of graduate work in public health. Through numerous tennis related road trips as a youngster and a brief two year stay in Arkansas I've become quite familiar with the Midwest (Missouri, Arkansas, Illinois, Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, and Oklahoma). However as one grows and, for lack of a better word, evolves I've abandoned my rose colored glasses and begun viewing my home a little differently while also embracing what makes it unique. This summer I'm going to put on my anthropology hat, lace up my cowboy boots, and start really EXPERIENCING the Midwest.
Day 1: The Drive
I started my road trip to Oklahoma City around 9am, no big deal. I packed the day before, just a few essentials like clothes, shoes, tennis rackets, and baseball caps. My mother recently relocated to Oklahoma City so I have a free place to stay for the 6 weeks I'm here working. My car looked something like this: front seat empty, back seat full of two duffels, two garbage bags, and 20 articles of clothing on hangers. Everything was covered with a large green polar tech blanket. Oh yeah...the trunk had two cats in it. Yes, I brought my cats down with me. Now my mother made the move in September with two cats and she experienced no issues; the cats behaved appropriately and she made it to OKC with two animals in fairly good shape. She didn't place the cats in a carrier because she felt the carrier would just "stress out" the animals. Therefore when I loaded up my cats in the trunk (its an open trunk so they have access to the back steat and the rest of the car, I didn't lock my cats in a hot trunk...I'm not that person) I gave them a shoe box full of litter and a bowl of water for the ride. I figured they would scream for 30 minutes and then fall asleep.
Holy crap, everything that could have gone wrong did. The two cats were out of the safe and clutter free trunk within 25 minutes. Cat one settled on the polar tech in the back seat and seemed to fall asleep; cat two felt she belonged in my lap, by my feet, on the dashboard, and for a brief moment she tried to burrow under my shirt. Again, I can handle this. 45 minutes into the 7 hour car ride cat 1 poops on the back seat. Shit...literally. I opened the sun roof to get rid of the smell and both cats went freaking ballistic. They started panting and trying to both sit in my lap...all the while my little car is swerving all over the road and I'm trying not to gag from the rancid smell. Finally I see a rest stop and pull over. The slowing of the car seems to calm the cats and they again settle in the backseat on the blanket. I had some old Arby's napkins in my glove compartment and a jug of water my mom made me bring "in case of emergencies". I cleaned up the poop as best I could, watered the blanket down, and got back on the road.
For those who have never driven through the Midwest there isn't much to see. It's mostly fields of corn or soy beans and for a 30 minute stretch in southern Missouri there are a ton of porn shops and strip clubs (farmers get lonely too I guess). I usually amuse myself by either singing show tunes at the top of my lungs (which strangely seemed to comfort the cats) or by counting the number of times I see advertisements for Meremec Caverns or Branson. Meremec Caverns has the best low budget advertising ever.
Ok so I'm through southern Missouri. Cat one has settled herself on the passenger side where the feet go and cat two is laying on the passenger seat. Suddenly cat 2 sits up, looks at me, and pukes all over the seat. Yes, I've already cleaned up crap and now I've got puke everywhere. Cat puke smells worse than cat crap if you want to know...all I can say is thank God for leather seats. I pull off at a gas station and immediately open the door and gasp for air (I couldn't open windows for fear the cats would flip out again, run through the puke, and track it everywhere). I doused my seat in water and grabbed those gas station paper towel things you can use for your windshield and start trying to wipe up all the puke. This time cat 2 seems to think we've arrived and is trying to escape the vehicle. All of this is made a million times harder with the portly gentleman in overalls behind me yelling "Dem cats you got in yar car der?". Yes, Midwestern gem number 1: the language is different. While in Arkansas you normally read road signs that look like this:
So I cleaned the front seat, escaped the "nice" man, and told the cats "next one to crap or spew in my car goes out the window". They got the point. My final adventure from the ride down was turnpikes. Did you know the two turnpikes in Oklahoma cost $4? That is ridiculous! I found this out the night before I left and since ATM's don't give you singles and nobody was able to tell me if these were manned turnpikes or if I had to have exact change, I dug out my old quarter jar and started counting. I've been saving change for YEARS now and apparently I have $33 worth or quarters. So I threw all the change in a baggie and set out. Yep, you guessed it, I paid for each turnpike in change (and yes they are manned and yes they do look at you funny when you hand them 16 quarters). I also had to dig out these quarters from a now puke soaked baggie and try and count out 16 while driving. There are several ways I could have planned better.
I arrived to Oklahoma City in 7 hours exactly, with two very pissy but very much alive cats, and one Volkswagen Beetle that no longer smelled like crayons. Day two adventures to come soon.
I am a native Midwesterner from St. Louis, recent college graduate, and just finished my first year of graduate work in public health. Through numerous tennis related road trips as a youngster and a brief two year stay in Arkansas I've become quite familiar with the Midwest (Missouri, Arkansas, Illinois, Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, and Oklahoma). However as one grows and, for lack of a better word, evolves I've abandoned my rose colored glasses and begun viewing my home a little differently while also embracing what makes it unique. This summer I'm going to put on my anthropology hat, lace up my cowboy boots, and start really EXPERIENCING the Midwest.
Day 1: The Drive
I started my road trip to Oklahoma City around 9am, no big deal. I packed the day before, just a few essentials like clothes, shoes, tennis rackets, and baseball caps. My mother recently relocated to Oklahoma City so I have a free place to stay for the 6 weeks I'm here working. My car looked something like this: front seat empty, back seat full of two duffels, two garbage bags, and 20 articles of clothing on hangers. Everything was covered with a large green polar tech blanket. Oh yeah...the trunk had two cats in it. Yes, I brought my cats down with me. Now my mother made the move in September with two cats and she experienced no issues; the cats behaved appropriately and she made it to OKC with two animals in fairly good shape. She didn't place the cats in a carrier because she felt the carrier would just "stress out" the animals. Therefore when I loaded up my cats in the trunk (its an open trunk so they have access to the back steat and the rest of the car, I didn't lock my cats in a hot trunk...I'm not that person) I gave them a shoe box full of litter and a bowl of water for the ride. I figured they would scream for 30 minutes and then fall asleep.
Holy crap, everything that could have gone wrong did. The two cats were out of the safe and clutter free trunk within 25 minutes. Cat one settled on the polar tech in the back seat and seemed to fall asleep; cat two felt she belonged in my lap, by my feet, on the dashboard, and for a brief moment she tried to burrow under my shirt. Again, I can handle this. 45 minutes into the 7 hour car ride cat 1 poops on the back seat. Shit...literally. I opened the sun roof to get rid of the smell and both cats went freaking ballistic. They started panting and trying to both sit in my lap...all the while my little car is swerving all over the road and I'm trying not to gag from the rancid smell. Finally I see a rest stop and pull over. The slowing of the car seems to calm the cats and they again settle in the backseat on the blanket. I had some old Arby's napkins in my glove compartment and a jug of water my mom made me bring "in case of emergencies". I cleaned up the poop as best I could, watered the blanket down, and got back on the road.
For those who have never driven through the Midwest there isn't much to see. It's mostly fields of corn or soy beans and for a 30 minute stretch in southern Missouri there are a ton of porn shops and strip clubs (farmers get lonely too I guess). I usually amuse myself by either singing show tunes at the top of my lungs (which strangely seemed to comfort the cats) or by counting the number of times I see advertisements for Meremec Caverns or Branson. Meremec Caverns has the best low budget advertising ever.
Ok so I'm through southern Missouri. Cat one has settled herself on the passenger side where the feet go and cat two is laying on the passenger seat. Suddenly cat 2 sits up, looks at me, and pukes all over the seat. Yes, I've already cleaned up crap and now I've got puke everywhere. Cat puke smells worse than cat crap if you want to know...all I can say is thank God for leather seats. I pull off at a gas station and immediately open the door and gasp for air (I couldn't open windows for fear the cats would flip out again, run through the puke, and track it everywhere). I doused my seat in water and grabbed those gas station paper towel things you can use for your windshield and start trying to wipe up all the puke. This time cat 2 seems to think we've arrived and is trying to escape the vehicle. All of this is made a million times harder with the portly gentleman in overalls behind me yelling "Dem cats you got in yar car der?". Yes, Midwestern gem number 1: the language is different. While in Arkansas you normally read road signs that look like this:
So I cleaned the front seat, escaped the "nice" man, and told the cats "next one to crap or spew in my car goes out the window". They got the point. My final adventure from the ride down was turnpikes. Did you know the two turnpikes in Oklahoma cost $4? That is ridiculous! I found this out the night before I left and since ATM's don't give you singles and nobody was able to tell me if these were manned turnpikes or if I had to have exact change, I dug out my old quarter jar and started counting. I've been saving change for YEARS now and apparently I have $33 worth or quarters. So I threw all the change in a baggie and set out. Yep, you guessed it, I paid for each turnpike in change (and yes they are manned and yes they do look at you funny when you hand them 16 quarters). I also had to dig out these quarters from a now puke soaked baggie and try and count out 16 while driving. There are several ways I could have planned better.
I arrived to Oklahoma City in 7 hours exactly, with two very pissy but very much alive cats, and one Volkswagen Beetle that no longer smelled like crayons. Day two adventures to come soon.
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