Know Your Audience

You probably know if you've read this blog before, but my dad's a priest. He's a really good one too. As a good priest, he preaches to his congregation at each church service with great enthusiasm. He would never preach at people, you know, like those people on the subway. One of the very many things that differentiates my dear father from those hell fire and brimstone people you see on the street is that he understands the importance of knowing his audience. If, for example, he decided to give a sermon in a subway car, he knows no one would listen. (And thank God, he would never do that either.) Instead, he might offer a small act of kindness: hold a car door open, offer a hand to someone who slipped. Little things that make others feel better, not inferior.

He knows his audience and he works with them to deliver the right message. That being said, my first night home for Christmas as we gathered around the table for dinner, he offered this blessing: Good food. Good meat. Good God. Let's Eat.

Like I said, he knows his audience. I love you Dad!

Overheard on a Sunday

Overheard in front of the Museum of Natural History . . .

Father: What do you want to see most in the museum.

Daughter (4 years old): I don't know [pause] . . . everything.

Father: We're probably going to have to wait in a line for a while.

Daughter: In a lion?

Father: [Laughs.] No, in a line.

The Greatest City in the World

I live in the most amazing city in the world. People from around the world travel to New York like it's Mecca. Fashion, culture, food, people - it's all here. Name a country, you can find someone from there. (It might be your cab driver, but, hey, he's living the dream.) Actors, actresses, singers, artists of all kinds - they come to make it big, to become a star. Broadway, films, galleries: they're on almost every corner. (Well, Broadway is on Broadway, but let's not get too specific.) Museums and sports, glam and rock, Wall Street and Harlem.

It's New York. Who can ask for anything more? Well, I jcan: where are the grits?

You can take the girl out of the South, but you can't take the South out of the girl.

3000

It's execution time at work this week. We're interviewing over 3000 people across the country. That's right, 3000. The crazy thing is there are 3 more interview periods this academic year and there will be even more people interviewed at each one.

Tweedling My Thumbs

It's Saturday afternoon, and I'm stuck at the office. I've been here since 9:00 this morning. I'm not complaining about working on a Saturday. It might seem like I'm complaining, but it's a differnt kind of complaint. The problem is not that I am at work on a Saturday. The problem is that I'm at work on a Saturday with nothing to do but wait and I have enough time to blog.

It's a beautiful day. Fall is here. The air is crisp, and I'm sitting in the office. Staring at a computer screen. I'm ready to be gone for the day.

What to Wear?

I don't know what to wear. I realize this is a problem most women think they have. They open their closets, pick through the thousands of dollars hanging inside, and debate what to put on. I admit I've done this. I still do this; however, my problem is more real now. Fall is upon us, winter is approaching, and I live some place where I can't wear flip flops year round for the first time in my life. I don't know what to do!

Ok, so I never lived in a place wear I could literally wear flip flops all year, but it was pretty close. SC - flip flops, NO - flip flops, MS - flip flops. NY - no flip flops. I need to buy some boots, and I think I have the pair picked out. We'll see.

As for clothes, I know I need to layer. I just don't want to look like a blob when I'm outside because of all the layers I wear. I suppose I'll have to pick the lesser of two evils, warmth or blob, depending on the situation. My biggest problem, other than footwear, is jackets and coats. I have the body type of thousands of other people in the world. Unfortunately, the fashion world hasn't caught on. Specifically - coats and jackets never fit me in the armpits. It might seem like an insignificant problem, but, trust me, it's horrendous in the winter. In order for something to fit in the armpits, not to mention over a sweater, I have to find something at least two sizes too big which then swallows the rest of me.

I will not let the cold temperatures beat me this winter, but I am a little worried. Don't get me wrong--It will be cold soon and I will freeze, but I will persevere (mostly by staying inside). Who knows? Maybe I'll love the cold weather. My guess is, however, that will not happen until hell freezes over.

Tourist Living in the City

Last weekend I moved into my first apartment outside of the South. To be more precise, I moved into an apartment in Astoria (Queens). I've lived in New York for a month now, and I'm not a single step closer to becoming a New Yorker. Don't worry, that's not my goal; I'm just very much a tourist who happens to live and work in New York. I hear you asking how that's possible. Trust me--it is. Let me elaborate . . .

On Tuesday morning I took got off the train and headed to work. My stop is 34th street. If you've been to New York, you know that there are usually multiple exits at each subway stop. The smaller ones might only have one, but often there's at least two. Signs point out whichever intersection you're exiting to and even which corner (e.g. Lexington Ave and 59th St. NW corner). Bigger subway stations have a multitude of options with exits on different streets and such. This particular Tuesday morning, I simply went out the nearest exit instead of walking underground to an exit closer to my office. As I got to the top of the stairs I noticed Macy's. "Nice," I thought, "I know where I am. There's Macy's, and I'm on 34th street." A light bulb went off in my head. "Wait a second, that's the Macy's on 34th street. Oh my God, Miracle on 34th Street." Yeah, I'm a nerd.

Thursday I left my karate class (oh yeah, I started taking a mixed martial arts class - I'm a white belt) and headed to the train to go home. I passed two Broadway shows and Times Square on my way to the train. It's so weird for that to be normal.

The hardest part of living in this city is passing beggars on the street. I don't like it. I want to help, but I don't know how. I know I'm supposed to donate to charities and not give cash to people, but it still sucks. It helps knowing that I work for an organization that's goal is to reduce educational inequity. It still doesn't make it easier passing people on the street though.

Other than that, life is good. I had lunch at Tiffany's today instead of breakfast. I'm learning the subways, sort of. (I will never understand the buses.) I have a very cute apartment (on par with my State Street one). I'm a fan of this place so far.

Dirt

I don't know how I blocked this from memory, but New York is dirty. More precisely, it makes me dirty. Literally. My hands are always dirty. I wash them obsessively. My nose is dirty too, and I'm not talking the outside. (I know that's gross but whatever. It's the truth.) Apparently, the feeling goes away and my body will adjust. In the meantime, I need to invest in some hand sanitizer.

The Update of Updates

On Thursday, July 31st, I picked up my 14 foot U-haul and packed all my stuff inside. Technically, Erich picked up the U-haul because I refused to drive a massive truck that would be towing my car and because Erich never gets to drive and so doesn't let me when he has access to a vehicle. I also want it on the record that I reserved a 10 foot U-haul which still would have been too big for all my stuff so 14 foot one was almost comical. Anyway, on August 1st I left Oxford, Mississippi never to live there again. Not never to visit necessarily, but I'm pretty sure I won't live there again. We drove all the way to my parents house in Columbia, a mere 518 miles, on Friday. The truck and the trailer with my car added two hours to our trip and hundreds of dollars more in gas, but whatcha gonna do? My parents had dinner ready for us when we got there - a feast of grilled salmon, asparagus, and orzo salad. It was delicious. Plus there were fresh peaches for dessert. My dad also shared the news that he accepted the position of priest-in-charge at our home church, so not only is he now employed, but also my parents don't have to move. Yay!

Day 2 - August 2 - Erich and I took our time leaving Columbia. I hung out with my parents as Kate slept on the couch. I said goodbye to my car as I left it in the care of my parents either to be sold or used by them. We headed off for the next leg of our journey in the early afternoon after my parents made sure we knew which gas station to go to for the cheapest gas. Like a good daughter, I indulged my parents and made sure to go to the cheapest gas station which was close, but not easily accessible (especially in a U-haul). We made a couple of minor stops - one for lunch at Groucho's (yum), one in Greensboro, NC to visit Erich's friend Julie, and then we headed on with our sights on New York (is that the right word or is it site or is it a different word entirely?). After an internal debate about whether to stop and spend the night in D.C. we saw the lights of NYC at 4am. It was then that my decision to move hit me. What the hell am I doing, I thought as I saw Manhattan from the BQE (that's the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway for those of you not in the know). At 5 am, we fell into bed after 737 miles on the road.

Day 3 - August 3 - You thought Day 2 ended it didn't you? Well, in typical Sarah and Erich fashion we incorporated the most retarded plans into my move. Instead of unloading my stuff into a storage facility in New York, we continued on to New Haven, Ct (home of Yale and Erich's mom who was gracious enough to let me store my stuff there until I find an apartment). We unloaded, spent the night in New Haven (or East Haven). It was an easy day - only 77 miles in the car.

Day 4 - August 4 - (Told you we make crazy plans.) What else could we possibly fit into a move to NYC? Why, a trip to Maine of course. We headed out in our rental car now that neither of us has a car and drove. And drove. And drove. And stopped in Freeport, Maine at the L.L.Bean store which is massive and advertises tons of free parking, but there's not nearly enough for all the people that go just for L.L.Bean. I got an xl canvas bag with my initials on it because I'm a nerd like that, Erich got some toys for his bike, and then we got back in the car. And drove. And drove. And drove until we got to Bar Harbor - 414 miles. Ugh.

Maine is beautiful, and everything I wanted it to be. We went on a whale watch, a lobster and seal watch, and to Acadia National Forest. By the way, you don't watch lobsters - everyone asks - we watched them pull up traps and then saw the lobsters. Did you know every resident of Maine is entitled to 5 lobster traps for their personal use? After 5 relaxing days, we headed back to New York. Last Monday, I started my job as the Operations Logistics Associate. The easiest way to explain my job is to say that I reserve all the sites for the TFA interviews across the country. That's 4 times a year x ~3 days each time x hundreds of cities.

I'm settling into life in New York which is to say that I'm not settled at all. I don't have an apartment and finding one is pretty much a pain in the ass. Fortunately, I amazing friends who let me stay with them. (Thank you, thank you, thank you.) It's a huge change, I'm out of my comfort zone a bit, and I'm not sure what the future holds, but I'm excited. It's an adventure.

Putting Southern Studies to Good Use

Today I was offered a job. Hell yeah! I did it all on my own too. Uh, huh. More details to come as I learn them.

Oh yeah, it's in New York. I'm putting my southern studies degree to good use.

Catch 22

If I get the job, I don't go on vacation. I drive to Columbia, drop off my car, see my family for a brief amount of time, and move to the big city.

If I don't get the job, I go to Maine for a week. I drive from a state on the bottom of the country to the one on the top, see some friends along the way, and fake move to the big city.

I want the job. I want to go to Maine.

Catch 22.

The Cheesiest Post I've Written

My life consists of work right now with a few outside activities. This is not a bad thing. In fact, I'm enjoying it quite a lot. I do my jobs, and for the most part, I do them well. I am happy and content, which is saying a lot considering I don't think if you asked most people they would say the same. I do question things in my life and wonder where I am going at times, but at the moment I am not worried. A couple of weeks ago, I was. Waking up night after night at three and four in the morning, restless and fearing the future. It is hard for someone like myself, a person with control issues, to let go and let what will happen happen.

I know for a fact the next few months will bring uncertainty, upheaval, and change into my life. I will move to someplace new - I haven't yet decided where. My parents will move to a new place - they haven't yet found out where. In effect, I will be homeless for a while, and that is terrifying, but I know that I am strong enough to handle it. I have the resources and people in my life that will anchor and support me. They will not, however, pave the path for me, but they will encourage and push me in the direction of my choosing. I just hope that I will be strong enough to decide which path is the best for me at the moment, because life is simply a series of moments. (This post is getting cheesier and cheesier.)

A couple of weeks ago someone told me that I need to grow up. I don't think that's entirely true. I don't think that a person can ever truly grow up, because if he does then he stops learning. The best thing is to continue to grow so that you continue to learn. I hope that I continue to grow into the best person I can be.

And now for some updates from the weekend.

• Taught a group of kids and their parents to make a tornado in a jar.
• Saw "Much Ado about Nothing" at the Oxford Shakespeare Festival.
• Went to dinner with a group of friends.

Like I said, I'm pretty content at the moment.

Excitement from the Weekend

Weekend Activity List

1. Worked - not exciting, but lucrative
2. Roasted a pig - well, I didn't roast it, but I did host it.
3. Wedding reception - not mine. The bride wore a below the knee dress with sandals and the groom wore a pinstripe suit with tennis shoes. The wedding was at Faulkner's house and the reception followed at Barnard Observatory. (I didn't go to the wedding, but I wish I'd seen it.)
4. Girls Night - Sex and the City movie followed by dinner at Yocona. All, surprisingly, paid for my boss.
   

In case you're wondering

So in case you're wondering, I did it. I completed my master's degree. I am a graduate of graduate school. What they don't tell you about graduate school is that it's easier than undergrad. Seriously. Don't get me wrong, I wrote tons and read even more, but it still seemed easier than undergrad. I wish I felt smarter than I did before grad school. Oh well.

So now I'm done, and I'm searching for a "real" job. It's not fun. The economy has gone to shit. Jobs keep disappearing. I kept reading about it happening and then it hit home. Literally. My mom lost her job. Try accepting money from your parents that they want to give you for your birthday and graduation when all you want to do is take care of them instead--it sucks. All I do right now is work. Day in, day out. My internship turned into a job for the summer, so that's nice. Not that it's a lot of money, but still, money is money. I'm still working at the restaurant too. I had probably my worst shift ever on Friday night. It wasn't bad financially; it just wasn't my night. I was not on top of my game, and I hate feeling that way. Not to mention the fact that I'm not one of those people that can hide their emotions well. In fact, I wear them completely on my face. Friday night, my face said, "I hate you people, and I hope you all die." Apparently it came across, because one customer took it upon himself to go the restaurant the next morning before we opened and complain to the owner about me. And I know the manager from the night before left her note about my performance as well. I don't know what it said, but I know it couldn't be good. Like I said, it was a bad night. Not to mention the fact that I'd already worked at the restaurant earlier in the day. Whatever - it was just one night - I have to keep telling myself that.

So yeah, I'm a little tired and overwhelmed right now. I work at the museum from about 9 until noon pretty much Monday through Friday. I do some job searching/applying/eating lunch/running errands from noon until about 4. Oh yeah, then I go to the restaurant from about 4:30 until 10 or 11. Then I pass out. There's some variation in the schedule, but it's pretty much six days a week of work. Doesn't it sound glamorous? I have Sunday and Monday off - two whole days in a row. I'm retardedly excited.

I didn't expect this post to be quite so whiny. In fact, there was other stuff to write about. I guess it'll just have to wait.

I'm Rich!

Woohoo for being a student and therefore being poor thus getting all my taxes refunded to me. Woohoo for getting $600 in Bush's economic stimulus plan - I'm not sure how the government just gives everyone $600 but whatever. Maybe they should cut federal spending on, oh I don't know, the war in Iraq, but this is not that blog.

So, let's see with my refund and stimulus money I can now pay my car payment for the next 4.5 months, or pay my rent for the next 3 months, or save it to repay part of my student loans in the next 6 months.

Then again, I could just go on vacation and pretend I'm made of money like my friend who's rich. His name even says he is.

Birthday Blog

I turned 25 on Monday - woohoo? Val made me these for my birthday. They're cupcakes in ice cream cones. Pretty cool, huh? I thought it was a pretty novel idea. All in all it was a lackluster birthday. I jogged, I ran errands, I worked. Some friends came to the restaurant while I worked. Truthfully, I wasn't very excited about this birthday. I mean, I guess 25 is a "big" one. Maybe that's why I'm not excited - who knows. I need to buy myself a present. I'm sure that'll help. I think I want this or this. Or a job.

Ellen Gilchrist, MLK, and Victoria's Secret

This past weekend, the Center for the Study of Southern Culture helped host the Oxford Conference for the Book. I must admit that I did not participate in the conference, neither as a presenter nor a participant. I did, however, volunteer with registration and monitoring a panel discussion one afternoon. Someone bribed me to take one of the authors, Ellen Gilchrist, to the airport in Memphis today. Now I know the name Ellen Gilchrist, but for the life of me I have no idea why. Last night after I got home from work, I googled her but to no avail. I still know her name, but I don't recognize any of her work. Oh well. In googling her I discovered that Ms. Gilchrist writes both novels and short stories, and she was born in Mississippi in 1935. Let me just tell you, I'm not a literature person. I also do not interact with people over the age of 40 on a regular basis except when working and then it's only to serve them gyros. I was a little worried about the drive to Memphis. Afterall, it's an hour away and I didn't know what we would talk about. Fortunately that was not a problem. Ms. Gilchrist traveled in my car without a hitch. She was easy to talk to and quite a character. (Anal sex came up in conversation, and I was not the one who brought it up.)

The adventures didn't end with Ms. Gilchrist. I accidentally happened upon the Civil Rights Museum during commemoration festivities for the 40th anniversary of MLK's assassination. I should have stopped, but I didn't. I did however go to Victoria's Secret where the sales associate gave me the number to her personal bra specialist because alas my boobs are enormous. Not as large as the sales associate's mind you, but still too large for the average bra store. Oh yeah, one more random tidbit for the day - I was promoted at work. I'm now the newest manager at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Woohoo.

Jogging

I don't like to run, or so I thought until last spring. Right around a year ago I started going to Lake Patsy. The nice thing about going there is that the path is marked off in quarter mile increments so I could figure out distances. I started by walking a quarter mile and jogging a quarter mile, and when I say jog I mean pick up my feet differently than when I walk, not faster than when I walk. There were definitely people who could walk faster than I could jog, but I was out there huffing and puffing. It is really is harder to jog than it is to walk even if you go the same speed. I'm not entirely sure why. Anyways, I worked my way up to jogging a mile and then two miles. Let me tell you, for someone who never ran except when chased before, jogging a mile was a milestone (yeah, I just said that). Jogging two miles was even more amazing. Soon, I started to miss the days when I didn't jog. Summer came and I moved to New Orleans for a couple of months. I still worked out and did cardio, but I didn't do much jogging. I went on the treadmill every once in a while, but I kind of fell out of the habit. When I got back to Oxford I virtually stopped. I claimed I could run a mile, but I don't know if I actually could.

Flash forward to March 2008, I rediscovered running. Jogging, whatever. It's something I really enjoy. My biggest mistake comes when I start my jog too quickly. I get tired and want to stop almost immediately. I then remember to slow down and move into my stride. Jogging I've discovered is a competition with myself. I'm sure runners know this, but I never said I was runner. Anyways, I see how far I can push myself. Jog to that next stop sign. Until the end of this song. After I reach my goal, I walk for a song or so and start again to see how far I can go. It really is therapeutic.

A Slip and a Fall

It iced in Oxford Friday night. When I was at work, a bunch of firemen came in around six to get some food and told us all the bridges iced over already. I told everyone I saw to be careful. After work I drove apprehensively to Nelson's, over a bridge, for his birthday cake and ice cream festivities. I never had any problems driving. (I did leave after only a short time before the temperature dropped even more in case there was more ice on the bridge.) I made it out to meet McCann even though I was tired from work and it was already late when I left Nelson's. Everything was fine until I walked outside of McCann's house. Splat! I fell forward on her concrete steps and caught myself not on my hands mind you, but on my shins. It hurt. It still hurts. My big toe is swollen because somehow I jammed it, and I have huge bruises on both shins and one of my knees.

I talked to (Dr.) Kate last night and she said icing my shins would help, but wrapping an ace bandage around ice packs on my legs would be even better.

I don't have an ice maker. So, as I write this, I have a bag of frozen edamame wrapped around each leg. I am so cool.

Have You Been There?

"Who are you," I ask him. He gives me a puzzled look.

"I'm Lee," he replies, telling me his name again.

"Yeah, thanks. I got that part, but that doesn't tell me anything."

"Well," he starts, "I'm a huge Democrat."

"That's not a bad thing," I interrupt.

"And I'm finishing my last year in law school after spending the last two years in Iraq with the Army."

There are thousands of young men and women fighting a war in Iraq right now. It's rare, at least for me, to put a face with the label "soldier." Looking at Lee I never would have guessed that he spent 18 months in Iraq. Later in the night he asks, "Have you ever seen Batman or James Bond? That's what I did." I'm not entirely sure if he was serious or not, but I did hear about some of his experiences. As the result of close exposure to a few bombs, Lee suffers from migraines. He's also scared to shower with the shower curtain closed all the way because he was trained to always be on alert even though living in the middle of nowhere Mississippi doesn't exactly scream crime and terror. (At least not this year in this town in the middle of nowhere.)

Lee does not think that Americans should be fighting in Iraq. I agree with him, but his reasoning resonates more. "I hate all the conservatives who say we should be over there," he says. "My response to them is 'Have you been there? No, then shut up.'"

In Other News

In Other News . . .

I deactivated my facebook account because I realized I care too much about the lives of people I don't care about and do it all via facebook. No one tells you this, but when you deactivate your account they ask you why you're deactivating. After picking a reason out of a list, facebook suggests alternatives to deactivating the account such as limiting your "friends" or unsubscribing from e-mails. You even have to opt out of receiving e-mails about events people may still invite you to or photos they tag of you. It's a vicious ploy to keep you, but I persevered.

Let's see other news of the day, hmm. Powerpoint crashed every time I tried to look up some clip art. Grrrr.

What else, what else. I hate that I make time for people who don't make time for me. It drives me up the wall.

I'm supposed to read 100 pages in Playing the Race Card, but that's gonna have to happen tomorrow.

I found a new blog that I find entertaining. It's one guys adventures, or lack thereof, waiting tables in Manhattan. You should check it out, especially if you 're in the hospitality industry. (Waiter Rant)

The Plan Ends Here

During the last week, I started to worry. Worry about school (only a little). Worry about jobs (more so than school). Worry about where I will be in six months (a lot). In case you don't know already, I worry about the future, the unknown. Next week starts my last semester of school. At this point in my life, it's the last, last semester that I planned. As of right now, there's now PhD in my future. I'm not ruling it out, but it's not part of my plan at the moment. In fact, my plan since high school effectively ends in May of this year.

Graduate High School - Check
Graduate College - Check
Go to Grad School within two years of graduating college - Check
Graduate from Grad School - Check

There's never been a plan for after grad school. Sure part of it is get a job. Duh. But where will I go, what will I do? Ok, so part of this is somewhat thought out. I want to be a Museum Educator and work in a U.S. history museum, preferably one with an emphasis on the South. Does that exist, you ask. Good question. The only place I know of is the New South Museum in Charlotte. I could move to Charlotte, but I'm not really sure I want to. In fact, I'm not sure where I want to go. A wise man once told me that you can either pick the place you want to live or you can pick your job, but you can't usually pick both. (Ok, that wise man is my dad, but he's still wise and it's still good advice.) I used to think Charleston was the place for me. It's old and historic, southern, on the water, beautiful, etc. However, after talking to an old friend over Christmas, he pointed out that I've lived in South Carolina. Maybe I should try something else. Now, I'm thinking I just might want to try someplace else.

But where, what? Older people keep telling me this should be the most exciting time of my life, and you know what, I can see that. I understand that outlook. But at the same time, it's terrifying. Starting new in a brand new place is scary. I definitely need a brand new place too. Living in Oxford is an experience, but I'm glad it's almost over. The pros just don't outweigh the cons. They might for some people but not for me. (I swear I don't hate Oxford. I just don't like it very much.)

The next 5 months will be treacherous, full of stomach turning stress, but I will make it out the other side. I always do. Maybe not without restless nights and frantic phone calls to friends and family, but I'll make it.

So anyone that wants to give me a job, feel free to contact me. If it's in a fun city, even better. I have no shame in asking. You'll never know if you don't ask.