If there is one memory I am glad I don't have it's the first time my mother saw me. That was probably a really traumatic and bloody affair, but I suppose I have to be grateful for it since it brought me here. Being a male, it is hard to imagine the kind of connection a woman has with a person that has been apart of her for nine months because I have never had a strong connection with anything that has come out of me.
I'll move on from the perverse to discuss my mother. I may favor my father in most of my physical features and sense of humor, but everything else came from her. She instilled in me a love of grammar through constant correction, a passion of reading and fantasy, the ability to argue a point even when you are wrong, and the idea that I could be whatever I wanted if I worked hard enough.
She was born into small town Northwest Alabama and grew up in a town that on the map is called Twin but is known to all locals as Yampertown near the thriving metropolis of Guin. From there she went to the University of Alabama, met and married my father, graduated a semester early to have me at age 21 (I feel I should have gotten credit for her fall coursework), and went to UA's Law School the following fall. She named me after the building and the place where my parents met and spent most of their college years, the Wesley Foundation.
She has succeeded at everything she has tried to do with class, sass, and elegance that I have tried to emulate, though sometimes our tact is questionable. For example, in second grade her teacher asked her reading group to give definitions of "pinto." The teacher's daughter who was a little pudgy and for whom my mother didn't care said, "A bean." To which my mother replied, "Of course you'd think of food."
Growing up my mother quickly got a job after law school and ended up moving up to work at a firm in Birmingham. She was quite busy but always found time to read with me and tell me stories. The first book I remember reading a connecting over was Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery. She read to me about this girl that in personality was so much like both of us. Anne was strong willed, a dreamer, and stuck her foot in her mouth quite often. At the end of the book the old man who adopted her dies, and I remember crying on a small bed in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, with my mother over the power of literature.
In this same vein, my mother forced me to be imaginative as a child, and to my embarrassment caught me playing the most ridiculous plot lines alone the most memorable one being the history of the American Indian with clowns. I was not allowed to have any game systems as a child because my mother feared a loss of this wonderful imagination I had developed, and while at the time I was peeved I see the value in it now. I spent my summers climbing trees, going to camp, exploring the small woods in our neighborhood, and forcing everyone who would listen to me to play the game I had just invented.
We have always been close, but it took a hit while I was in college. Toward the end of my freshman year I had discovered that my mother had been diagnosed with Lupus, yet no one in our family had thought to break the news to me until she ended up in the hospital for a week that summer. I spent the six months before her time in the hospital impatiently waiting for her to tell me since the moment my hairdresser had spilled the beans, but it never happened. Once I saw how sick it made her and what she was going through, I stopped bringing up my own personal issues for a long time because I did not want to add to her own. Here was this strong powerful woman, who was one of the best bankruptcy attorneys in the state struggling to do the only thing she ever wanted because of a disease you can't control. It made my problems seem less than important.
She eventually was forced to quit her job because the stress level was too high and only worsened her condition. We had a rebonding trip when we went to Spain for a week to visit my friend Karissa, and it was amazing spending time just the two of us. We got stuck in Paris over night after the Icelandic volcanic ash blocked our direct flight to Madrid and made an impromptu jet lagged trip to see Notre Dame. Those seven days were some of the best of my life because I got to take my mother out of the country for the first time in her life and see her experience it all.
Over the years she has struggled with what her place is in life now, and I have struggled with her. What happens when you are no longer able to do the only thing you ever wanted? How do you find a new niche when your body and mind are working against you? I don't think there's a definitive answer. I am so proud of her and know that she will find her way into something spectacular. She could never earn another cent in her life because I will always love her for everything she sacrificed to give me the life I have had and showing me from an early age that just because you are in a minority does not mean you can't be successful and do what you want to do. I love you, Mother. Lupus is what you have; it's not who you are. Just like Anne with an "e" you can succeed at anything you put your mind to. You taught it to me, so now I return it to you.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
A Heart of Dixie
When I planned a return home to Alabama a few months ago, I did not do so with the intention of it being a meaningful trip. I had the week off; it lined up with the University of Alabama's senior performances, and the plane tickets were unusually cheap. Little did I know how much this visit would come to rejuvenate me. As a child, my first word was "bye," and from there I have not stopped trying to get out of Alabama to places that were further off and more exotic. I eventually grew to appreciate my home more and more each time I returned to it, but until now I had never left with the understanding that I would never call Alabama my home. It was very Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows minus Voldemort showing up as I drove away, though admittedly that would have been awesome and terrifying.
It was not lost on me that my selected dates of travel included the two year anniversary of the April 27th tornadoes. After my aunt passed away a few weeks ago, I had the idea of spreading some of her ashes at the location of her home in Phil Campbell. My family took to the idea, and it quickly grew into a larger affair including a memorial service at a church up the road in Bear Creek where my grandfather was the head football coach for so long they named the stadium after him. I had already planned to spend the night before Tuscaloosa, and because I deplore driving I had asked my friend Sarah to ride up with me into the far reaches of Northwest Alabama. She has family in the area as well, so we just made it an event. It was a tour of former small industry hubs turned Southern ghost towns as urbanization draws young people into the city and away from their rural homes.
I have fallen victim to that process myself leaving the "small" city of Birmingham for the lure of Washington D.C., but this return to the deeper sections of my family tree's roots instilled my love of Southern geography and culture. As Sarah and I drove through the lush green forests and over the tiny creeks that stem off from the main river veins of the state, I realized not for the first time how much a part of me Alabama is. Life is so simple within the realm of slow accents and savory meals. All of that gets lost in the fast paces life of walking, metros, and work.
I had no idea what to expect when we pulled up to the Methodist church in Bear Creek. Most things were pretty standard for any Southern event like a potluck and a lack of ethnic diversity, but what I was not ready for was during the service when everyone was given the opportunity to speak about my aunt and what they had meant to her. I knew so few of the people, but the pastor asked me if I'd say something. I felt improv would cause me to be a teary mess while babbling on, so I chose to read something and be a teary mess with a plan. I read my last blog post since it had been the inspiration for the preacher's eulogy at the actual funeral in Chattanooga.
I had forgotten what I had written in that last post, and when it got to the part about the tornado I could barely speak through my tears. Even two years later this event has such a profound effect one me and it always will. After the service we went to my grandfather's football field to take pictures since we now have no reason to return, and he told me about how he dug out the place for the bleachers to be laid in the hill when he first got there. Once we got to where their homes were, he told me about all the trees he had planted that were still standing and the irises and lilies species he had created in his pursuit of a black flower. I can only describe the feeling of being back there like that of being a stranger in a familiar place. There were things I recognized like where my dog Scraffy was buried or the Piggly Wiggly where Barrack Obama landed to see the damage, but the flatness of the land was unsettling. Where houses stood and memories permeated the heavy air, now there was nothing.
The purpose of our our visit kept me from being lost completely in nostalgia. We had brought my aunt home and left part of her there where she was her bravest battling disease and tornadoes and still fighting on. Two years ago she sat in that house alone in a wheelchair while the roof was ripped off of it and debris punctured the walls. My grandmother was in almost the same situation next door as she someone convinced several dogs and a cat to get into the basement as it hit. I only hope that I can show as much bravery in my life as the two of them showed not only that day but in their lives as well.
As I watched my grandmother release a fistful of ashes into the air with tears in her eyes, I saw the wind take them and swirl them away over the earth. I truly realized how beautiful and important this state is to me. Even with its negative publicity the state attracts that I myself shake my head at sometimes, Alabama has given so much to me: a family, friends, a job with a purpose, and I gave all of myself back. I may never own a house or apartment here at any point in my life, but I will always call it my home because I have a heart filled with Dixie.
It was not lost on me that my selected dates of travel included the two year anniversary of the April 27th tornadoes. After my aunt passed away a few weeks ago, I had the idea of spreading some of her ashes at the location of her home in Phil Campbell. My family took to the idea, and it quickly grew into a larger affair including a memorial service at a church up the road in Bear Creek where my grandfather was the head football coach for so long they named the stadium after him. I had already planned to spend the night before Tuscaloosa, and because I deplore driving I had asked my friend Sarah to ride up with me into the far reaches of Northwest Alabama. She has family in the area as well, so we just made it an event. It was a tour of former small industry hubs turned Southern ghost towns as urbanization draws young people into the city and away from their rural homes.
I have fallen victim to that process myself leaving the "small" city of Birmingham for the lure of Washington D.C., but this return to the deeper sections of my family tree's roots instilled my love of Southern geography and culture. As Sarah and I drove through the lush green forests and over the tiny creeks that stem off from the main river veins of the state, I realized not for the first time how much a part of me Alabama is. Life is so simple within the realm of slow accents and savory meals. All of that gets lost in the fast paces life of walking, metros, and work.
I had no idea what to expect when we pulled up to the Methodist church in Bear Creek. Most things were pretty standard for any Southern event like a potluck and a lack of ethnic diversity, but what I was not ready for was during the service when everyone was given the opportunity to speak about my aunt and what they had meant to her. I knew so few of the people, but the pastor asked me if I'd say something. I felt improv would cause me to be a teary mess while babbling on, so I chose to read something and be a teary mess with a plan. I read my last blog post since it had been the inspiration for the preacher's eulogy at the actual funeral in Chattanooga.
I had forgotten what I had written in that last post, and when it got to the part about the tornado I could barely speak through my tears. Even two years later this event has such a profound effect one me and it always will. After the service we went to my grandfather's football field to take pictures since we now have no reason to return, and he told me about how he dug out the place for the bleachers to be laid in the hill when he first got there. Once we got to where their homes were, he told me about all the trees he had planted that were still standing and the irises and lilies species he had created in his pursuit of a black flower. I can only describe the feeling of being back there like that of being a stranger in a familiar place. There were things I recognized like where my dog Scraffy was buried or the Piggly Wiggly where Barrack Obama landed to see the damage, but the flatness of the land was unsettling. Where houses stood and memories permeated the heavy air, now there was nothing.
The purpose of our our visit kept me from being lost completely in nostalgia. We had brought my aunt home and left part of her there where she was her bravest battling disease and tornadoes and still fighting on. Two years ago she sat in that house alone in a wheelchair while the roof was ripped off of it and debris punctured the walls. My grandmother was in almost the same situation next door as she someone convinced several dogs and a cat to get into the basement as it hit. I only hope that I can show as much bravery in my life as the two of them showed not only that day but in their lives as well.
As I watched my grandmother release a fistful of ashes into the air with tears in her eyes, I saw the wind take them and swirl them away over the earth. I truly realized how beautiful and important this state is to me. Even with its negative publicity the state attracts that I myself shake my head at sometimes, Alabama has given so much to me: a family, friends, a job with a purpose, and I gave all of myself back. I may never own a house or apartment here at any point in my life, but I will always call it my home because I have a heart filled with Dixie.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Chicken and Cheese
My Aunt Pam was one of my first friends in the way that only an aunt or uncle can be. She was like a parent but without all of the rules placed on me at home. I don't have a first memory of her, but I know a little bit about what she was like before I was born. She's my dad's younger older sister and was a majorette back when it was cool at Phillips High School near Phil Campbell, Alabama. She was married, had a kid, and divorced. During that time she was also diagnosed with Diabetes, which gave my grandmother M'Lynn style Steel Magnolias freak outs when she was pregnant.
Her home was built on the same land that the house the grew up in was. It was a cute little yellow house that stood out with the large amber fields and beginnings of the deep green forest in the background. She lived right next door to my grandmother, so I'd often run between there two houses and the dirt path and through the grass barefoot enjoying the beauty of Alabama under the stars that are hidden in the city. It was one of the most naturally beautiful places to me as a child.
Growing up I would always stay at her house when I went to my grandparents' because she would let me stay up later and her son was allowed to have video games, which I was not due to my mother's fear of me losing my imagination. I agree with her now, but at the time it was a nuisance. Every morning my aunt would bake frozen chicken fingers and melt a small slice of cheese on each of them to go with biscuits and chocolate milk. After mornings filled with cartoons, she'd let me pick how I wanted to spend the day. That was the best thing about her. She let me be me when I was there. I could ride on the swing outside her house or play Mario Party all night long with her as Yoshi and me as Princess Peach. Along with my grandmother and cousin, we'd go to every McDonalds to collect Teenie Beanies and stand outside of Walmart to try to get a Furby while stopping at every flea market in Northwest Alabama. All of these things were such simple pleasures that I feel I sometimes lose in my love of urbanization.
While I was in elementary school an probably before, my aunt had a plethora of complications because of her Diabetes. She had transplants and portions of her feet and legs removed and ended up having more surgeries than everyone else in the family combined, but she would always try to stay positive in front of me. I know she wasn't always successful, but it meant a lot that she was able to comfort a child when she was the one going through so many difficult changes. She would always tell me that I needed to find her a body shop so that she could get a new one to replace the one that was falling apart. One time I actually thought I had found one and told her all about it, but it was just a body shop for cars. I do remember that every time she had a big operation my dad would make a movie for her about that operation. The best way for him to cope with the gravity of the situation was humor. I always had at least a small role in these home movies that we'd send her. My mother even participated once and will be glad if a copy of that film never resurfaces.
As I grew up, we became less close than we had been when I was a child. We still talked and spent time together when I visited, but I had a younger brother and cousin that she focused on because that was her niche. I still fit in just in a different way. I was too large to share her bed or to make her play with Barbies. Instead we made a brain out of Legos for a Psychology project in high school and talked about what I was going to do with my life. In April of 2011 her house was destroyed by one of the tornadoes that tore through Alabama on the 27th, and she was forced to move to Chattanooga with my grandparents without getting a real chance to say goodbye to the place she had lived her entire life. It was while at her house that I was offered my job at Red Cross, and it was for her and all the people affected that I took that job. I hated seeing that place that brought me such joy as a child being devastated and unrecognizable.
My aunt passed away during her dialysis treatment this morning due to complications with her heart. I am so glad that I was able to see her over Christmas and talk to her on my birthday. It feels so weird not to be with my family at a time like this. I know there is no movie we could make to bring out humor. She wasn't always perfect, but I admire her for what she went through and had to deal with as a disabled single mother in rural Alabama. I already miss her but know that all I need to do to find her again is to preheat the oven and slide in a tray of frozen chicken fingers with slices of processed American cheese ready to melt on top.
Her home was built on the same land that the house the grew up in was. It was a cute little yellow house that stood out with the large amber fields and beginnings of the deep green forest in the background. She lived right next door to my grandmother, so I'd often run between there two houses and the dirt path and through the grass barefoot enjoying the beauty of Alabama under the stars that are hidden in the city. It was one of the most naturally beautiful places to me as a child.
Growing up I would always stay at her house when I went to my grandparents' because she would let me stay up later and her son was allowed to have video games, which I was not due to my mother's fear of me losing my imagination. I agree with her now, but at the time it was a nuisance. Every morning my aunt would bake frozen chicken fingers and melt a small slice of cheese on each of them to go with biscuits and chocolate milk. After mornings filled with cartoons, she'd let me pick how I wanted to spend the day. That was the best thing about her. She let me be me when I was there. I could ride on the swing outside her house or play Mario Party all night long with her as Yoshi and me as Princess Peach. Along with my grandmother and cousin, we'd go to every McDonalds to collect Teenie Beanies and stand outside of Walmart to try to get a Furby while stopping at every flea market in Northwest Alabama. All of these things were such simple pleasures that I feel I sometimes lose in my love of urbanization.
While I was in elementary school an probably before, my aunt had a plethora of complications because of her Diabetes. She had transplants and portions of her feet and legs removed and ended up having more surgeries than everyone else in the family combined, but she would always try to stay positive in front of me. I know she wasn't always successful, but it meant a lot that she was able to comfort a child when she was the one going through so many difficult changes. She would always tell me that I needed to find her a body shop so that she could get a new one to replace the one that was falling apart. One time I actually thought I had found one and told her all about it, but it was just a body shop for cars. I do remember that every time she had a big operation my dad would make a movie for her about that operation. The best way for him to cope with the gravity of the situation was humor. I always had at least a small role in these home movies that we'd send her. My mother even participated once and will be glad if a copy of that film never resurfaces.
As I grew up, we became less close than we had been when I was a child. We still talked and spent time together when I visited, but I had a younger brother and cousin that she focused on because that was her niche. I still fit in just in a different way. I was too large to share her bed or to make her play with Barbies. Instead we made a brain out of Legos for a Psychology project in high school and talked about what I was going to do with my life. In April of 2011 her house was destroyed by one of the tornadoes that tore through Alabama on the 27th, and she was forced to move to Chattanooga with my grandparents without getting a real chance to say goodbye to the place she had lived her entire life. It was while at her house that I was offered my job at Red Cross, and it was for her and all the people affected that I took that job. I hated seeing that place that brought me such joy as a child being devastated and unrecognizable.
My aunt passed away during her dialysis treatment this morning due to complications with her heart. I am so glad that I was able to see her over Christmas and talk to her on my birthday. It feels so weird not to be with my family at a time like this. I know there is no movie we could make to bring out humor. She wasn't always perfect, but I admire her for what she went through and had to deal with as a disabled single mother in rural Alabama. I already miss her but know that all I need to do to find her again is to preheat the oven and slide in a tray of frozen chicken fingers with slices of processed American cheese ready to melt on top.
Finding Foundry
I realized that in my previous catch up most at the beginning of this month that I completely left out my church that I started going to a the end of November. A good church community has been one thing lacking in my life since the loss of the Wesley Foundation post college. I didn't realize how important it had been to me until I went back to camp last summer as a volunteer, so the second I got here I started looking for a church that could give me that same sense of community I had felt in college and at camp in an age range during which those things are difficult to get from many churches.
A news publication entitled The Washington Blade had a best of DC article that I found online while searching liberal United Methodist churches online, and Foundry United Methodist was the winner in the church category. Then when I discovered that they had a Friday night contemporary service, I was sold. I am terrible at having motivation in the morning, so a 5:30 service seemed like a good idea.
From the first night, I was hooked. I happened to attend a night of one of their coffee house services, which just means that different people were sharing things that had to do with the theme of the sermon. I love how casual it is. Everyone wears what they want to and snacks on cheese and other food during the service. There are people from a multitude of diverse backgrounds, income levels, sexual orientations, and political parties. Even with all f these differing opinions, I have never felt like anyone is being judged.
I felt so lucky to have found a church I liked on my first visit, so I haven't even bothered trying any others. Every week we go out for dinner afterward for fellowship. It's been a great way to make friends in the city that are al going through the same things I am and different things as well.
I also joined a small group through the church and have met even more new friends that are willing to have difficult discussions about faith and how it ties into the secular. Our group is reading a book about chastity, so it definitely brings up interesting conversations. I hate that I'm missing it during tour season, but the great thing is I know that any Thursday I'm free I have a place to go.
A news publication entitled The Washington Blade had a best of DC article that I found online while searching liberal United Methodist churches online, and Foundry United Methodist was the winner in the church category. Then when I discovered that they had a Friday night contemporary service, I was sold. I am terrible at having motivation in the morning, so a 5:30 service seemed like a good idea.
From the first night, I was hooked. I happened to attend a night of one of their coffee house services, which just means that different people were sharing things that had to do with the theme of the sermon. I love how casual it is. Everyone wears what they want to and snacks on cheese and other food during the service. There are people from a multitude of diverse backgrounds, income levels, sexual orientations, and political parties. Even with all f these differing opinions, I have never felt like anyone is being judged.
I felt so lucky to have found a church I liked on my first visit, so I haven't even bothered trying any others. Every week we go out for dinner afterward for fellowship. It's been a great way to make friends in the city that are al going through the same things I am and different things as well.
I also joined a small group through the church and have met even more new friends that are willing to have difficult discussions about faith and how it ties into the secular. Our group is reading a book about chastity, so it definitely brings up interesting conversations. I hate that I'm missing it during tour season, but the great thing is I know that any Thursday I'm free I have a place to go.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Barristers' Ball, Bowling, and Diplomacy
My friend Krishna has really been riding me hard to post something about the new friends that I have made since moving to D.C., so this is for her and anyone interested in Law School prom and/or bowling adventures.
When I came for my final interview with EF Smithsonian back in September, I was able to go to trivia one night with Krishna and her friends from George Mason Law School, of previous dark horse in March madness fame. George Mason actually has a statue memorializing him near the Jefferson, but hardly anyone knows who this founding father is. I just new him as the statue whose lap you could sit on. See below. His head is kind of in there. Just in case you enjoy trivia, George Mason was significant because he was the leader of delegates at the Constitutional Convention who pushed for adding a section for states' and individuals' rights. He didn't sign the Constitution because it didn't include such a segment and drafted his own declaration of rights for Virginia, which later became the basis of the Bill of Rights.
That wasn't really relevant to the rest of this post, but I feel a good back story always makes things more interesting. After moving here at the beginning of November, I continued going to trivia and have adopted Krishna's friends as some of my own, so I quickly jumped at the chance to spend an evening with all of them at Barristers' Ball. The best way I can describe it is as a law school prom. The only differences from high school are that there are no chaperones, drinking is encouraged and included with admission, and a shot glass is a parting gift. Here we are at the event.
We also recently went bowling for Kev's birthday and had some great Mexican food out in the Columbia Pike neighborhood of Virginia. Due to my carlessness, I was dependent on the kindness of others to actually make it to these places. Jason and Candace took Krishna and myself to the restaurant, bowling, and back, but we had a little bit of trouble getting out of the parking deck after dinner. It was one of those where you have to validate your ticket based on how long you spent in the area. We think the machine got fed up with Jason putting his credit card in the wrong slot because it ended up charging him but not returning our validated ticket. We tried pushing the help button, but no one answered. We came up with some unlikely scenarios to help us escape the parking deck like knocking someone out after they validated their ticket. Finally someone in the grocery store called the company in charge of the help line and they agreed to buzz us out of the deck if we'd push the button. Well, she still didn't answer, so I got out when another car came up to try and grab a new ticket to validate. At that exact moment, the bar rose, and all I could do was yell at Jason to go through without me. Unfortunately, I think many people witnessed this. Below are the four of us.
After a night of bowling fun including a 186 in my third game (I really have no clue what demon possessed me to get that score), I rode the metro home on the last train. The metro was in fine form on Saturday. Martha happened to get on the same car as me and sit right across from me without noticing on my way into Virginia, and then I chose the same car as Matt Brown on the way home. I thought this would end my metro experience for the day, but no I was in for more. While reading the seventh Harry Potter book in Spanish I noticed the woman across from me slumped over next to her boyfriend. She began to slowly throw up on the floor without him noticing. I was about ten feet away, and I could smell it. I have no clue how he was oblivious until it was pooling around them. Once he did notice, he kept telling her to stop as if that was going to do any good. I think if I cold control my throwing up I would do so without needing the support of a friend.
When the doors opened for the stop immediately following the one at which the barf couple departed, a guy came up to a dude drunk sleeping, punched him in the head three times, and then ran off the train. What is going on with people in the city? I thought the no food and drink rule and the carpeted floors enforced some classiness on the metro. I now see it as wishful thinking.
The last thing currently involving my Virginia friends is a game of online Diplomacy. If you have never heard of the game, it's a classic board game like risk but with fewer armies. It's all about dominating Europe by making and breaking alliances. Playing online adds to this experience in that none of the conversations, or very few, are done in person. I have no clue what other players are saying to each other, and I can't trust what they say to me either. I feel like we're on a reality show trying to decide which person to vote off by taking their territories. I was luckily randomly assigned England, so I am up in the corner out of the way of the crazy action in the middle of Europe. Krishna was assigned Austria and has already been screwed. I wish I had someone filming confessionals for all of us, so that I could go back and see what people were really thinking at each step of the game. That is probably one of the nerdiest things to wish for, and I am not the least bit ashamed. I know I'm going to get really competitive over this rather quickly like most things, so I better at least not get eliminated too early on. That's my biggest fear of being on a reality show. I'll stop there before we delve to far into my psyche. I will post some updates as the game goes on. I'm almost caught up in my blogging! Only two more to go on the church I've been going to and the production of Canterbury Tales I saw tonight.
When I came for my final interview with EF Smithsonian back in September, I was able to go to trivia one night with Krishna and her friends from George Mason Law School, of previous dark horse in March madness fame. George Mason actually has a statue memorializing him near the Jefferson, but hardly anyone knows who this founding father is. I just new him as the statue whose lap you could sit on. See below. His head is kind of in there. Just in case you enjoy trivia, George Mason was significant because he was the leader of delegates at the Constitutional Convention who pushed for adding a section for states' and individuals' rights. He didn't sign the Constitution because it didn't include such a segment and drafted his own declaration of rights for Virginia, which later became the basis of the Bill of Rights.
That wasn't really relevant to the rest of this post, but I feel a good back story always makes things more interesting. After moving here at the beginning of November, I continued going to trivia and have adopted Krishna's friends as some of my own, so I quickly jumped at the chance to spend an evening with all of them at Barristers' Ball. The best way I can describe it is as a law school prom. The only differences from high school are that there are no chaperones, drinking is encouraged and included with admission, and a shot glass is a parting gift. Here we are at the event.
We also recently went bowling for Kev's birthday and had some great Mexican food out in the Columbia Pike neighborhood of Virginia. Due to my carlessness, I was dependent on the kindness of others to actually make it to these places. Jason and Candace took Krishna and myself to the restaurant, bowling, and back, but we had a little bit of trouble getting out of the parking deck after dinner. It was one of those where you have to validate your ticket based on how long you spent in the area. We think the machine got fed up with Jason putting his credit card in the wrong slot because it ended up charging him but not returning our validated ticket. We tried pushing the help button, but no one answered. We came up with some unlikely scenarios to help us escape the parking deck like knocking someone out after they validated their ticket. Finally someone in the grocery store called the company in charge of the help line and they agreed to buzz us out of the deck if we'd push the button. Well, she still didn't answer, so I got out when another car came up to try and grab a new ticket to validate. At that exact moment, the bar rose, and all I could do was yell at Jason to go through without me. Unfortunately, I think many people witnessed this. Below are the four of us.
After a night of bowling fun including a 186 in my third game (I really have no clue what demon possessed me to get that score), I rode the metro home on the last train. The metro was in fine form on Saturday. Martha happened to get on the same car as me and sit right across from me without noticing on my way into Virginia, and then I chose the same car as Matt Brown on the way home. I thought this would end my metro experience for the day, but no I was in for more. While reading the seventh Harry Potter book in Spanish I noticed the woman across from me slumped over next to her boyfriend. She began to slowly throw up on the floor without him noticing. I was about ten feet away, and I could smell it. I have no clue how he was oblivious until it was pooling around them. Once he did notice, he kept telling her to stop as if that was going to do any good. I think if I cold control my throwing up I would do so without needing the support of a friend.
When the doors opened for the stop immediately following the one at which the barf couple departed, a guy came up to a dude drunk sleeping, punched him in the head three times, and then ran off the train. What is going on with people in the city? I thought the no food and drink rule and the carpeted floors enforced some classiness on the metro. I now see it as wishful thinking.
The last thing currently involving my Virginia friends is a game of online Diplomacy. If you have never heard of the game, it's a classic board game like risk but with fewer armies. It's all about dominating Europe by making and breaking alliances. Playing online adds to this experience in that none of the conversations, or very few, are done in person. I have no clue what other players are saying to each other, and I can't trust what they say to me either. I feel like we're on a reality show trying to decide which person to vote off by taking their territories. I was luckily randomly assigned England, so I am up in the corner out of the way of the crazy action in the middle of Europe. Krishna was assigned Austria and has already been screwed. I wish I had someone filming confessionals for all of us, so that I could go back and see what people were really thinking at each step of the game. That is probably one of the nerdiest things to wish for, and I am not the least bit ashamed. I know I'm going to get really competitive over this rather quickly like most things, so I better at least not get eliminated too early on. That's my biggest fear of being on a reality show. I'll stop there before we delve to far into my psyche. I will post some updates as the game goes on. I'm almost caught up in my blogging! Only two more to go on the church I've been going to and the production of Canterbury Tales I saw tonight.
Finding Nemo
I wish I were referring to the cute clown fish, but I made the insane decision to travel to the Northeast during Winter Storm Nemo. While in Albuquerque I was picked up by a second student tour company, and their training was scheduled in New York for the weekend of the storm. I thought it might be cancelled, but luckily it was not. Thus I found myself on a bus at 5 AM on a Friday morning attempting to make it into the city before the snow drowned us all.
As it turned out, the predictions for the storms impact on New York City were overzealous. It did snow quite a bit, but it was all within in the amount that the city could maintain. Nothing was closed or affected within Manhattan, but I know the effects were much more substantial outside of that wealthier hub.
As a Southern boy, this was my first experience with legitimate snow, save the Blizzard of '93. It was amazing to see the amount of snow falling outside the window during training only to discover that it had not accumulated on the roads at all. This is a stark difference to the debilitating results of an inch of snow in Alabama. It was so pretty to see the small patches of grass covered with pure white snow! Washington Square Park was exquisite. We even saw a couple get engaged under the Washington Arch in the snow. The romance is removed a little when you think about the history of items in the park. The Washington Arch's architect Stanford White was murdered for supposed adultery. The tree from which people were hanged is over in one corner, and bordering the park is the building in which the Triangle Shirtwaist fire occurred in 1911, killing 146 workers because they were locked inside and the fire trucks' ladders were not long enough to reach the top floors. At least it led to workplace safety measures?
I wish the snow had made all of New York fantastical. It didn't. The streets were filled with grimy piles of slush at every corner. I did not have appropriate footwear for this. I brought boots but didn't think about how the leather might react when walking in the salt filled slush. Lesson learned, I suppose.
Other than the temporary staining of my boots, the trip to New York was amazing! I actually ate at unique restaurants and avoided chains, which I fell victim to during my previous visit in January. The company paid for us to have dinner at La Palapa on the last night. The food was so good as were the margaritas, but I can't speak to the price. I had the chicken enchiladas in green tomatillo sauce. I'm not a big mole fan, so I prefer the strong tomato flavor. Apparently, they eat there at annual meetings as well, so I look forward to returning for that alone.
Having a training in New York got me really excited to lead tours there this season. I only have three, but it'll liven up the DC heavy months. I love this city, but I'm afraid I'll get tired of it if it's the on;y place I take people. I'm really pumped that my NYC groups all have Broadway shows on their itineraries, which means I get to go for free! Matilda at the end of the month is going to be amazing. I leave again for New York via train in a week and half's time. I'm sure Megabus will miss me, but I'm looking forward to celebrating my birthday weekend with a little more style.
As it turned out, the predictions for the storms impact on New York City were overzealous. It did snow quite a bit, but it was all within in the amount that the city could maintain. Nothing was closed or affected within Manhattan, but I know the effects were much more substantial outside of that wealthier hub.
As a Southern boy, this was my first experience with legitimate snow, save the Blizzard of '93. It was amazing to see the amount of snow falling outside the window during training only to discover that it had not accumulated on the roads at all. This is a stark difference to the debilitating results of an inch of snow in Alabama. It was so pretty to see the small patches of grass covered with pure white snow! Washington Square Park was exquisite. We even saw a couple get engaged under the Washington Arch in the snow. The romance is removed a little when you think about the history of items in the park. The Washington Arch's architect Stanford White was murdered for supposed adultery. The tree from which people were hanged is over in one corner, and bordering the park is the building in which the Triangle Shirtwaist fire occurred in 1911, killing 146 workers because they were locked inside and the fire trucks' ladders were not long enough to reach the top floors. At least it led to workplace safety measures?
I wish the snow had made all of New York fantastical. It didn't. The streets were filled with grimy piles of slush at every corner. I did not have appropriate footwear for this. I brought boots but didn't think about how the leather might react when walking in the salt filled slush. Lesson learned, I suppose.
Other than the temporary staining of my boots, the trip to New York was amazing! I actually ate at unique restaurants and avoided chains, which I fell victim to during my previous visit in January. The company paid for us to have dinner at La Palapa on the last night. The food was so good as were the margaritas, but I can't speak to the price. I had the chicken enchiladas in green tomatillo sauce. I'm not a big mole fan, so I prefer the strong tomato flavor. Apparently, they eat there at annual meetings as well, so I look forward to returning for that alone.
Having a training in New York got me really excited to lead tours there this season. I only have three, but it'll liven up the DC heavy months. I love this city, but I'm afraid I'll get tired of it if it's the on;y place I take people. I'm really pumped that my NYC groups all have Broadway shows on their itineraries, which means I get to go for free! Matilda at the end of the month is going to be amazing. I leave again for New York via train in a week and half's time. I'm sure Megabus will miss me, but I'm looking forward to celebrating my birthday weekend with a little more style.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
How Many Tour Directors Does it Take to Change a Light Bulb?
At the end of January, I went to Albuquerque for the ITMI Symposium, which is an annual gathering of tour directors and tour operators to discuss the industry and interview for open positions with different companies; however, it's mostly just a chance to network in an industry in which we all rarely see each other. I'm grateful I went for that purpose and to see my friends that I went to training with, but I didn't really glean that much from the sessions themselves. I roomed with my friend Rhonda, which was fun, even when she accidentally locked me out and fell asleep. I also got to see one tour director slap another for coming on to her too aggressively, and the same night a tour operator told me I looked like Frodo. Events like this definitely blur the line of professionalism.
As well, the location was a bit on the boring side, so I guess it was good that there wasn't much free time to experience the city. Albuquerque is in a beautiful location with mountains nearby making a gorgeous skyline, but the town itself is lacking in substance at least in my experience. There is the historic Old Town district which consists of a few blocks of older buildings dating back to the founding of the city and a gorgeous church; however, all of the other buildings in the square are now filled with lame souvenir stores, which to me ruins the historic factor. They have a portion of historic Route 66 going through town with the neon signs and classic diners littering the street.
My friends and I went to one of these Route 66 diners for dinner after our interviews to celebrate. It was called Standard Diner, and the food was excellent. I had a great Cream of Calabasita soup along with the Macaroni and Cheese. I judge all restaurants by their mac and cheese if it's on the menu. Apparently the restaurant was on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives, not that it matters to any amount of legitimacy as an eating establishment. The other restaurant I went to was traditional New Mexican cuisine. Just like friendships in Alabama can be drawn based on your college football team of choice, New Mexicans get serious when it comes to liking red or green chilies in your food. Apparently, no self-respecting person orders it "Christmas style," which mixes the two. I LOVED that type of food. I ordered the enchiladas, and the rice, beans, tortilla, meat, and cheese were all mixed together on the plate so that it was just one big blob of deliciousness. Obviously, presentation is low on my scale of importance when it comes to the tastiness of food. The restaurant is called Sadie's, and I highly recommend it if you find yourself in New Mexico. The owner was one of our speakers on the conference and prides himself on customer service, so feel free to complain if something goes wrong.
The one cool thing I experienced and the only thing I can see giving Albuquerque a draw was the Balloon Museum. I would love to go back and see the Balloon Festival. It looks gorgeous and brings so many people from all over the world to a tiny town in New Mexico. This would be the only reason I would see myself returning unless I become a big fan of Breaking Bad in the future. I am glad to cross it off my list of destinations and to have seen all of my friends while making new ones, but overall Albuquerque was not an impressive travel destination on its own.
Here is a picture from inside the Balloon Museum
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