I just saw the new version of Coriolanus with Ralph Fiennes and Gerard Butler. I've never studied Coriolanus before, so every bit of this was new to me. It was brutal from beginning to ending, well-adapted to a modern urban warfare setting. I wonder what Shakespeare in his day intended us to take from it.
Coriolanus did indeed have flaws, but I am almost positive that his audience and a modern one won't necessarily read this play in the same way. To me, there seems to be so much more fault in the people of Rome than in the tragic hero. He dedicates his life to them, and yes, he is proud, hubris creeping its destructive tendrils in very early on. However, in many ways, he seems not to be too proud. Instead, he seems virtuous for refusing to "play the game" at the cost of his own integrity. He is doomed from the moment he leaves the battlefield. He is placed in a world of lies and manipulation, and even though according to him the world does not work this way, it grinds over him just the same.
If you haven't seen this new version, it is well worth your time. Coriolanus doesn't get a lot of performances, and when you watch it, I think you will see why it is less frequently staged. This version, though, gives a lot to think about after the final credits roll. That's more than I can say for a lot of the movies I've seen....
Friday, June 29, 2012
Different
I've gone through another door lately in my life. Things are different on the other side of it. Maybe it's being on the "other side" of 35. Maybe it's the international travel. Maybe it's the freedom I found after all the bullshit at the end of last school year. Whatever it is, some things have changed.
I bought dresses and skirts today. It may sound like nothing, but for me, that's a huge change. I wanted them and I intend to wear them, so instead of other things that didn't appeal to me, I bought them. I also have shoes on the way here from Zappos. I might not look like a total refugee this school year.
I'm cooking breakfast and making coffee in the mornings, dinner sometimes in the evening. As if the cooking wasn't a big enough change, the coffee all by itself is a huge thing. Just the smell of it in the morning reminds me of my Dad and my grandfathers. In fact, I can almost see my Granddaddy sitting here in the living room with the bowl and mug he always drank his coffee in. The echo and connection is an added pleasure to the beverage itself.
There are other things that are going to take some time to follow through with. I just don't see things the way I did not that long ago. It's nice. It's a relief. I was tired of that point of view, tired of that person. While I'm still trying to figure out all the new corners of this space I'm currently in, it has to be better than where I was.
I bought dresses and skirts today. It may sound like nothing, but for me, that's a huge change. I wanted them and I intend to wear them, so instead of other things that didn't appeal to me, I bought them. I also have shoes on the way here from Zappos. I might not look like a total refugee this school year.
I'm cooking breakfast and making coffee in the mornings, dinner sometimes in the evening. As if the cooking wasn't a big enough change, the coffee all by itself is a huge thing. Just the smell of it in the morning reminds me of my Dad and my grandfathers. In fact, I can almost see my Granddaddy sitting here in the living room with the bowl and mug he always drank his coffee in. The echo and connection is an added pleasure to the beverage itself.
There are other things that are going to take some time to follow through with. I just don't see things the way I did not that long ago. It's nice. It's a relief. I was tired of that point of view, tired of that person. While I'm still trying to figure out all the new corners of this space I'm currently in, it has to be better than where I was.
Too Darn Hot
I decided to go to town today since the thing with the bank has finally resolved. As soon as I left the house, it was like being hit with a draft of air from a blast furnace. Wet, scorching heat wrapped around me. As I drove, I was aware that the air had a yellowish haze hanging just above the treeline, the nastiness literally made visible.
Welcome to summer in Mississippi. I hope you packed your flip flops, your sunscreen, and lots and lots of liquids....
I checked Swackett to see how hot it was, how hot it was supposed to be, and for a short time, the GPS in it was firmly stuck on Brasilia. I had to laugh. I don't blame it. The high today was 79 in Brasilia. If I had a chance to stay in that comfortable, non-humid climate, I'd take it, too.
When Swackett finally hit a weather station near me, it registered 101 degrees. The "feels like" temperature with the heat index is 109, though. 109. We're not even close to August yet, which is when our weather usually gets super-stupid. 109. Cheezus.
I dragged my stuff in the house when I got home and mixed up a jug of pink lemonade. Just looking out the door at that shimmering golden goo that is passing itself off for atmosphere at present makes me feel hot and thirsty. It's a good day to spend the rest of the afternoon on a couch somewhere with a fan turning above you. Luckily, I happen to know just the right place for that.
Welcome to summer in Mississippi. I hope you packed your flip flops, your sunscreen, and lots and lots of liquids....
I checked Swackett to see how hot it was, how hot it was supposed to be, and for a short time, the GPS in it was firmly stuck on Brasilia. I had to laugh. I don't blame it. The high today was 79 in Brasilia. If I had a chance to stay in that comfortable, non-humid climate, I'd take it, too.
When Swackett finally hit a weather station near me, it registered 101 degrees. The "feels like" temperature with the heat index is 109, though. 109. We're not even close to August yet, which is when our weather usually gets super-stupid. 109. Cheezus.
I dragged my stuff in the house when I got home and mixed up a jug of pink lemonade. Just looking out the door at that shimmering golden goo that is passing itself off for atmosphere at present makes me feel hot and thirsty. It's a good day to spend the rest of the afternoon on a couch somewhere with a fan turning above you. Luckily, I happen to know just the right place for that.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Rings and Things
I'm sitting on the couch looking at two rings, one on each index finger. The stone in one is clear quartz crystal. The stone in the other is amethyst. Each is a single large gem in a simple silver setting. As I look at them, I see not the rings themselves but rather the places where I got them and the people who created them. I will always see Brazil when I look at them on my hands. It's why I bought them to start with.
The large amethyst was one of the first things I bought when I arrived. I was walking in the Hippie Market at the base of the TV Tower in Brasilia, and I found a booth that had the most incredible gemstone jewelry. I knew that I wanted a large piece of Brazilian amethyst, and when I saw the cabochon ring in the case, it felt exactly right.
I tried it on, and of course it was too small for me. The jeweler and I negotiated in our respective languages for him to adjust it, and by the time I went back to the hotel for dinner, I was wearing the large dusky purple stone on my hand. When I came back to Brasilia, my friends and I went back to the Hippy Market for one last bit of shopping before leaving the country. I made sure to stop back by the gemstone jewelry booth while we were there.
To my happy surprise, the jeweler remembered me instantly. I do understand that I am a little remarkable in my appearance, standing out even more when I'm abroad usually. It still pleased me that he was happy to see me, not running away since we'd been through the whole resizing of the ring thing before. A customer was there with him when we walked up, and as I looked through the cases, she started to speak to us in English. She was a language teacher who liked to come down and buy things from the jeweler. She helped us talk to each other, and I found two other pieces by him I liked, a pair of earrings and a pendant that matched my ring almost exactly in size and color. As I was leaving, the jeweler asked me when I was coming back to Brazil. I told him, "As soon as possible." I meant it. I also told him with the assistance of the teacher who was there that every time I saw the ring on my hand I would remember him and his kindness. I meant that, too.
The other ring, the crystal one, is from Pocos de Caldas. I bought it in the little shop downtown that was full of beautiful things from top to bottom, the mineral wealth of the region and the nation. The girl in the shop and I found a way to communicate, she speaking Portuguese, me answering in Spanish, and she told me about each of the stones in the rings and necklaces when I asked. Given the situation, it was a surprisingly good conversation.
When I saw the ring, I knew I wanted it. The stone is clear as ice, and it catches light beautifully. She brought it out of the case, and of all the things in the store, it was the only ring I tried on and had fit instantly. I needed to go get more cash (since by this time the theft of my debit card number had occurred) to get it though. I told her I would be back in my broken communication, and I headed for the ATM. About 45 minutes later, after walking to the bank, calling my US bank and having an unpleasant conversation about my access to my accounts, and finally getting some money, I came back. The ring balanced the Brasilia amethyst the remainder of the trip, and now every time I look at it, I think of Pocos, the hills, the city of clear, pure spring water, the cool and sweet air there. The crystal quartz just fit.
Now, even though I am thousands of miles away from Brazil, I still carry it with me both metaphysically and literally. It is as if the memories I have in some way solidified, were polished, have been wrapped in delicate silver, and now can be seen by others, too. I like the idea of that, actually. These may not be pieces that fit every single person's tastes, but for me, they are a perfect memento of my journey.
The large amethyst was one of the first things I bought when I arrived. I was walking in the Hippie Market at the base of the TV Tower in Brasilia, and I found a booth that had the most incredible gemstone jewelry. I knew that I wanted a large piece of Brazilian amethyst, and when I saw the cabochon ring in the case, it felt exactly right.
I tried it on, and of course it was too small for me. The jeweler and I negotiated in our respective languages for him to adjust it, and by the time I went back to the hotel for dinner, I was wearing the large dusky purple stone on my hand. When I came back to Brasilia, my friends and I went back to the Hippy Market for one last bit of shopping before leaving the country. I made sure to stop back by the gemstone jewelry booth while we were there.
To my happy surprise, the jeweler remembered me instantly. I do understand that I am a little remarkable in my appearance, standing out even more when I'm abroad usually. It still pleased me that he was happy to see me, not running away since we'd been through the whole resizing of the ring thing before. A customer was there with him when we walked up, and as I looked through the cases, she started to speak to us in English. She was a language teacher who liked to come down and buy things from the jeweler. She helped us talk to each other, and I found two other pieces by him I liked, a pair of earrings and a pendant that matched my ring almost exactly in size and color. As I was leaving, the jeweler asked me when I was coming back to Brazil. I told him, "As soon as possible." I meant it. I also told him with the assistance of the teacher who was there that every time I saw the ring on my hand I would remember him and his kindness. I meant that, too.
The other ring, the crystal one, is from Pocos de Caldas. I bought it in the little shop downtown that was full of beautiful things from top to bottom, the mineral wealth of the region and the nation. The girl in the shop and I found a way to communicate, she speaking Portuguese, me answering in Spanish, and she told me about each of the stones in the rings and necklaces when I asked. Given the situation, it was a surprisingly good conversation.
When I saw the ring, I knew I wanted it. The stone is clear as ice, and it catches light beautifully. She brought it out of the case, and of all the things in the store, it was the only ring I tried on and had fit instantly. I needed to go get more cash (since by this time the theft of my debit card number had occurred) to get it though. I told her I would be back in my broken communication, and I headed for the ATM. About 45 minutes later, after walking to the bank, calling my US bank and having an unpleasant conversation about my access to my accounts, and finally getting some money, I came back. The ring balanced the Brasilia amethyst the remainder of the trip, and now every time I look at it, I think of Pocos, the hills, the city of clear, pure spring water, the cool and sweet air there. The crystal quartz just fit.
Now, even though I am thousands of miles away from Brazil, I still carry it with me both metaphysically and literally. It is as if the memories I have in some way solidified, were polished, have been wrapped in delicate silver, and now can be seen by others, too. I like the idea of that, actually. These may not be pieces that fit every single person's tastes, but for me, they are a perfect memento of my journey.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Home Again
After a day of Wal-Marting and catching up on things undone here at home, I am relaxing on the couch. I woke up with slim ankles again. Inexplicably, despite the fact that they were swollen my entire two-week trip, all that was needed to take care of the problem seems to have been a night at home. I don't understand my body's reaction to air travel.
Everything is unpacked and all the laundry is done. All my purchases, what few I made, are put away. It amused me to see that mostly this trip, I bought Havianas or necklaces made from natural materials, acai seeds, bits of murano glass, semiprecious stones. I didn't spend a whole lot of money this trip, but somehow, I feel like I brought back worlds of wealth.
I set the tremendous crystal ball the teachers at David Compista gave us as a gift on my bedside table for the time being. I like to look at it at night before I go to bed. I'm trying to decide whether or not I will really take it to school. I like the idea of having it there, but it might be safer and less hassle to have it here.
I need to be blogging over on the other space, but for tonight, I just want to do a little trivia. I'm not up to feats of grandeur that I always feel are required with that trip blog. Maybe tomorrow I will focus on getting it all shaped up. I've already done most of my pictures. I suppose there are still about 50 I need to edit, but I didn't feel up to dealing with that today.
Today, I have felt odd in my own spaces, a consequence of a big trip that changes everything, I suppose. Brazil, even though it was only a 14-day hop, was that for me. I haven't even sounded out all the things that are different yet. Some of them are very small. I have a mug of coffee sitting next to me. I had a glass of the wine I've had since the last time I went to Bloomington with my casserole tonight.
Some of them are not. I am constantly turning over ways I can do things related to Brazil in my classes next year. I have a couple of ideas, and I am hoping very much that I can get them to work out. I think I have a couple of ideas for projects for the National Honor Society, too. I want to get started on it.
Regardless, I am still caught between two places mentally. It's astonishing how fast I got used to Brazil, how comfortable it was. I didn't feel that at home even in Costa Rica, and I could communicate much better in CR. I want to learn Portuguese and go back to Brazil, spend real time there, see what it is that makes it feel so oddly familiar.
Now, I'm going to finish this cup of coffee and a book I've been working on forever. Maybe by tomorrow it will have registered that there is not something I have to run around and do. It still feels strange to be still and quiet. I guess that's something else to get used to.
Everything is unpacked and all the laundry is done. All my purchases, what few I made, are put away. It amused me to see that mostly this trip, I bought Havianas or necklaces made from natural materials, acai seeds, bits of murano glass, semiprecious stones. I didn't spend a whole lot of money this trip, but somehow, I feel like I brought back worlds of wealth.
I set the tremendous crystal ball the teachers at David Compista gave us as a gift on my bedside table for the time being. I like to look at it at night before I go to bed. I'm trying to decide whether or not I will really take it to school. I like the idea of having it there, but it might be safer and less hassle to have it here.
I need to be blogging over on the other space, but for tonight, I just want to do a little trivia. I'm not up to feats of grandeur that I always feel are required with that trip blog. Maybe tomorrow I will focus on getting it all shaped up. I've already done most of my pictures. I suppose there are still about 50 I need to edit, but I didn't feel up to dealing with that today.
Today, I have felt odd in my own spaces, a consequence of a big trip that changes everything, I suppose. Brazil, even though it was only a 14-day hop, was that for me. I haven't even sounded out all the things that are different yet. Some of them are very small. I have a mug of coffee sitting next to me. I had a glass of the wine I've had since the last time I went to Bloomington with my casserole tonight.
Some of them are not. I am constantly turning over ways I can do things related to Brazil in my classes next year. I have a couple of ideas, and I am hoping very much that I can get them to work out. I think I have a couple of ideas for projects for the National Honor Society, too. I want to get started on it.
Regardless, I am still caught between two places mentally. It's astonishing how fast I got used to Brazil, how comfortable it was. I didn't feel that at home even in Costa Rica, and I could communicate much better in CR. I want to learn Portuguese and go back to Brazil, spend real time there, see what it is that makes it feel so oddly familiar.
Now, I'm going to finish this cup of coffee and a book I've been working on forever. Maybe by tomorrow it will have registered that there is not something I have to run around and do. It still feels strange to be still and quiet. I guess that's something else to get used to.
Friday, June 22, 2012
That Moment When
In every trip, there comes that moment when it becomes necessary to just walk away. I had mine this afternoon. I suppose it was about time, really. It's almost the last day. All the shine has worn off. People are tired. Perhaps they're not at their best. I know I could use a long hot shower, some clean clothes that are not the ones I've been wearing for two weeks straight, and the sight of the people and places I love.
When the moment came, I felt everything in me rise up and declare war. What I did was make myself quiet and still, tap my finger as a release mechanism, and wait. And then, when the opportunity presented itself, I just got the hell out.
What good would have done to say what I was thinking? It might have felt good at the time, but probably I would have regretted it later, if for no other reason than that it would have further soured what has been mostly a good trip more than the actions of the other individual had done.
Tomorrow, it will be gone, something ephemeral in the wind. For now, a little solitude and a little music are powerful and necessary healers.
When the moment came, I felt everything in me rise up and declare war. What I did was make myself quiet and still, tap my finger as a release mechanism, and wait. And then, when the opportunity presented itself, I just got the hell out.
What good would have done to say what I was thinking? It might have felt good at the time, but probably I would have regretted it later, if for no other reason than that it would have further soured what has been mostly a good trip more than the actions of the other individual had done.
Tomorrow, it will be gone, something ephemeral in the wind. For now, a little solitude and a little music are powerful and necessary healers.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Things I Am Learning in Brazil
(a list)
- To let it go (whatever it is...stolen credit card, stressful year, premade plans)
- To go with God
- To be hugged
- To buy the thing when I see the thing if I want the thing at all
- To take more pictures than I possibly think I could ever want
- To drink the wine
- To try to other stuff, too
- To fold up like origami again
- To see slices of Mississippi between the leaves of banana trees
- To buy perfume
- To drink the coffee
- To feed monkeys bananas
- To buy the Havianas with the little jewels on the thongs
- To wear clothes twice (or more) and do laundry in the sink
- To be on TV. A lot.
- To communicate in a mixture of bad Portuguese, middling Spanish, and flailing hands
- To look around and try to remember everything because I know all too soon, this is going to be over. I will still have with me all the things I have learned, though.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
When Bad Things Happen
(written Friday)
Today deserves a special award. It had included having to deal with the consequences of some right red sonofabitch somewhere in North Carolina who stole my debit card number somehow (may he rot in Hell) and also an extended period of handwashing my own delicates in strong detergent and hot water in the hotel sink. As I type Adele’s voice is masking the sound of things dripping dry. I have had SNAFUs and bank misunderstandings abroad, but I’ve never opened an email and seen, basically, “Call us. It’s all gone to hell. Kisses, Your Bank.” I thought at first it was a spam mail, and as busy as things are on this trip, I truly started to ignore it. That little niggling voice of paranoia in the back of my head, though, said, “No. Call. Even though it’s going to cost you a small fortune, at least you will have peace of mind. Call.” That was when all the wheels came off a day that was actually going pretty well….
I talked to four different departments of my own bank and a service of Visa called “Visa 911.” I gave my personal identifying information about 847 times. I ran up a phone bill that I can’t even bear to ponder out of the corners of my mind’s eye. It was a truly surreal thing to be standing in the cool airy courtyard of a school here in Pocos de Caldas while my entire financial life was on the verge of spinning into the toilet. Birds sang, a soft breeze blew continuously. Life was continuing, but I felt angry, worried, and most of all, violated by some anonymous person who felt like what was mine should be theirs just because.
It’s resolved to the point that it can be while I’m still abroad. When I return home, the next round of fun will begin. I don’t even want to think about how many things are keyed to that damn number. That’s fine, though. It will all get taken care of eventually. I am grateful to my bank for its vigilance. What I can’t get back is that feeling of utter helplessness as I was thousands of miles away from home and locked away from my money. There are not words for what I hope happens to the cause of it.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Yeah. What You Said....
I've been using a hybrid Portuglish (or Spanglese) mix to get things accomplished here in Brazil. It's been going okay. It hasn't been a stunning success every time. I am picking up more and more Portuguese, catching the sound of it more quickly than I had thought I would because of its relationship to Spanish, but there have been some really ridiculous moments.
There have been endless patient people in restaurants, stores, and taxis who have helped me get what I need with my mixed and flailing language. If you've never had this experience, you ought to put yourself on a plane most immediately and go do it. I think nothing puts you in your appropriate place as much as spending some quality time trying to deal with the basics of life while having to work for basic communication.
I am still laughing about realizing that I told our waitress at lunch that I and my group were separated like people getting a divorce instead of using the word that means wanting separate checks. Damn you, false cognates and near homophones. There is, after all, a world of difference in the RIGHT word and the word that is ALMOST right. The waitress at the place we had lunch, a sushi restaurant by the lake here in Brasilia, was fantastic. She assumed my language command was way better than it was, but we pressed on, had lunch, paid for it, and had a good time.
Tonight, we went back to that same area by the lake for a late dinner. We didn't go to the sushi bar, but rather to a place that serves caipirinhas with a limeade popsicle in them. I had one and didn't finish it. I could feel the cachaça from the first sip, and while I liked the taste, Topamax and alcohol really don't mix well. One of the members of my group kept telling me to finish the drink, and I told him he'd have to carry me out. I will probably try one again, but sheesh.... I think two would put me on the floor.
I need to be in bed, but I feel like reading and listening to some music. Tomorrow, we leave Brasilia for our other city. I am looking forward to it, but it's hard to think this time has gone so fast. I guess it always does when you're having fun with language....
There have been endless patient people in restaurants, stores, and taxis who have helped me get what I need with my mixed and flailing language. If you've never had this experience, you ought to put yourself on a plane most immediately and go do it. I think nothing puts you in your appropriate place as much as spending some quality time trying to deal with the basics of life while having to work for basic communication.
I am still laughing about realizing that I told our waitress at lunch that I and my group were separated like people getting a divorce instead of using the word that means wanting separate checks. Damn you, false cognates and near homophones. There is, after all, a world of difference in the RIGHT word and the word that is ALMOST right. The waitress at the place we had lunch, a sushi restaurant by the lake here in Brasilia, was fantastic. She assumed my language command was way better than it was, but we pressed on, had lunch, paid for it, and had a good time.
Tonight, we went back to that same area by the lake for a late dinner. We didn't go to the sushi bar, but rather to a place that serves caipirinhas with a limeade popsicle in them. I had one and didn't finish it. I could feel the cachaça from the first sip, and while I liked the taste, Topamax and alcohol really don't mix well. One of the members of my group kept telling me to finish the drink, and I told him he'd have to carry me out. I will probably try one again, but sheesh.... I think two would put me on the floor.
I need to be in bed, but I feel like reading and listening to some music. Tomorrow, we leave Brasilia for our other city. I am looking forward to it, but it's hard to think this time has gone so fast. I guess it always does when you're having fun with language....
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Swollen Ankles, Chocolate Bonbons, and the Perfect Pizza
Today was a marathon of meetings. I had a lot of great cross-cultural experiences which I probably won't discuss much here as I need to save something for the other blog. After it was all done, I found myself back at the food court again for dinner. That wasn't such a bad thing. I think about half the group went to a bar by the lake, but I just wasn't quite up to barring tonight. We had so much today that it didn't even sound good.
I had been told before I came to make sure I tried the pizza, so merrily to the pizza stand I went. They were out of the stuff for the four cheese pizza which was what everybody has been telling us we MUST EAT, so I had pepperoni instead. You just cannot go wrong with pepperoni. It doesn't matter where you are; this is always a good option.
I ran down to the little store in the basement of the mall again for a few more Sonho de Valsa and I brought myself back hotelward after that. My ankles are hugely swollen still from the flight. I hate that. Anytime I fly or drive a really long time, it takes days for my body to adjust. I look like the marshmallow girl around my ankles, and no amount of water I drink seems to help. Now, I'm on my bed with my laptop playing fluffish music finishing up my presentation for tomorrow with my feet up. Soon it will be bedtime.
I will write up today tomorrow more than likely. I just need to get a little rest tonight. Maybe tomorrow my feet won't look be silly.
I had been told before I came to make sure I tried the pizza, so merrily to the pizza stand I went. They were out of the stuff for the four cheese pizza which was what everybody has been telling us we MUST EAT, so I had pepperoni instead. You just cannot go wrong with pepperoni. It doesn't matter where you are; this is always a good option.
I ran down to the little store in the basement of the mall again for a few more Sonho de Valsa and I brought myself back hotelward after that. My ankles are hugely swollen still from the flight. I hate that. Anytime I fly or drive a really long time, it takes days for my body to adjust. I look like the marshmallow girl around my ankles, and no amount of water I drink seems to help. Now, I'm on my bed with my laptop playing fluffish music finishing up my presentation for tomorrow with my feet up. Soon it will be bedtime.
I will write up today tomorrow more than likely. I just need to get a little rest tonight. Maybe tomorrow my feet won't look be silly.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Introverts Abroad
It's hard to be an introvert on a group trip. I don't want to appear antisocial or disinterested, but there are moments when I deeply, profoundly, and truly need time to myself. I like all the people on the trip. They are interesting, intelligent, insightful, and yet, when I've been crammed into meeting rooms and on buses with them for eight hours, I start to feel my edges fray.
I don't know if any of them feel this or not. I can't tell if I'm the only "quiet one" or not. I don't want to be the one who hides up in her room, and, as far as I know, I haven't been, but I need to be quiet some, think some, recharge some. I don't think extroverts get that. I think they take it personally when, really, it doesn't have anything to do with them. I've been on trips where I (and others like me, the quiet ones) also have been shut out of doing everything with the group out of some misunderstanding of what this is.
So for those of you who don't get it, let me explain and make a small request: this is not about being stuck up. It's not that the quiet chick in the corner doesn't want to do stuff with you. It's that sometimes she desperately needs not to. Not always. And most of the time she really wants to. But sometimes, just briefly, she is going to need that little bit of alone time. She feeds off it the way you feed off being in a crowd.
I have often thought that life must be so much easier for extroverts. They can walk into a crowded space and, zing, their little internal batteries are charging right up. I don't even know what that must be like. I have to push myself, and then, by the end of the day, I'm worn out with it.
This trip has included several breaks between things so I can come back to the room for a few precious minutes of recharging. Even more important, I have no roommate, so in the evenings, total privacy and necessary solitude is mine. I can face the others in the morning refreshed and ready to enjoy them again.
There is no point in wishing I were not this way. There are a lot of books and things out now talking about the benefits to individuals and society of the introvert. I haven't read the first one of those, but I can't believe it's all bad. It's just different, and I wish it were better understood by the "other half." I hope the people on this trip will be tolerant of me. So far so good. Maybe if I can push forward and they can wait just a minute while I catch my breath, all will be well.
I don't know if any of them feel this or not. I can't tell if I'm the only "quiet one" or not. I don't want to be the one who hides up in her room, and, as far as I know, I haven't been, but I need to be quiet some, think some, recharge some. I don't think extroverts get that. I think they take it personally when, really, it doesn't have anything to do with them. I've been on trips where I (and others like me, the quiet ones) also have been shut out of doing everything with the group out of some misunderstanding of what this is.
So for those of you who don't get it, let me explain and make a small request: this is not about being stuck up. It's not that the quiet chick in the corner doesn't want to do stuff with you. It's that sometimes she desperately needs not to. Not always. And most of the time she really wants to. But sometimes, just briefly, she is going to need that little bit of alone time. She feeds off it the way you feed off being in a crowd.
I have often thought that life must be so much easier for extroverts. They can walk into a crowded space and, zing, their little internal batteries are charging right up. I don't even know what that must be like. I have to push myself, and then, by the end of the day, I'm worn out with it.
This trip has included several breaks between things so I can come back to the room for a few precious minutes of recharging. Even more important, I have no roommate, so in the evenings, total privacy and necessary solitude is mine. I can face the others in the morning refreshed and ready to enjoy them again.
There is no point in wishing I were not this way. There are a lot of books and things out now talking about the benefits to individuals and society of the introvert. I haven't read the first one of those, but I can't believe it's all bad. It's just different, and I wish it were better understood by the "other half." I hope the people on this trip will be tolerant of me. So far so good. Maybe if I can push forward and they can wait just a minute while I catch my breath, all will be well.
Saturday, June 09, 2012
Packing...Again
I HATE packing. Hate it. I wish I had magic little elves who could do it for me. There is always a debate about which piece of luggage to use, the big monster I have that holds EVERYTHING but frequently makes me run overweight if I'm not really careful or the smaller and more maneuverable case that doesn't leave much space for bringing things home. This trip, to avoid having to repack at the gate coming home, I'm taking the small one. Let's hope this doesn't turn into a mistake.
One thing I am trying this time that I already love is the packing cube system. Mine are Eagle Creek, but I think several companies make them. I have three, and they corralled all my garments. I had several of the compressor bags already, and between the cubes and the compressors, everything is tightly organized and compartmentalized. This way, if TSA gets after my bags, they should go back together neatly. They will also pack and unpack fast.
It never ceases to amaze me how much there is to getting ready for a trip. There is always one more thing left to do, to clean, to take care of. I have been trying to get everything rounded up for this one for a long time now, but now, it's the night before and I still have many little things on my list that aren't checked off.
Fortunately, for once, my flight isn't leaving at the crack of dawn. I am going to take care of a few more things, shoo Pearl off my suitcase (her method of protesting my leaving involves a great deal of grey cat hair on the exterior), and get a little sleep. Before I go to bed, I'll make sure all the electronics are charging so the final syncs and packing of all the gadgets can be done when I get up (one more little travel chore that seems trivial but actually takes time).
It will all be worth it when I get there. I am so excited for this trip. If I just keep telling myself that everything I'm doing is getting me that much closer to Brazil, then it will all seem worth it.
One thing I am trying this time that I already love is the packing cube system. Mine are Eagle Creek, but I think several companies make them. I have three, and they corralled all my garments. I had several of the compressor bags already, and between the cubes and the compressors, everything is tightly organized and compartmentalized. This way, if TSA gets after my bags, they should go back together neatly. They will also pack and unpack fast.
It never ceases to amaze me how much there is to getting ready for a trip. There is always one more thing left to do, to clean, to take care of. I have been trying to get everything rounded up for this one for a long time now, but now, it's the night before and I still have many little things on my list that aren't checked off.
Fortunately, for once, my flight isn't leaving at the crack of dawn. I am going to take care of a few more things, shoo Pearl off my suitcase (her method of protesting my leaving involves a great deal of grey cat hair on the exterior), and get a little sleep. Before I go to bed, I'll make sure all the electronics are charging so the final syncs and packing of all the gadgets can be done when I get up (one more little travel chore that seems trivial but actually takes time).
It will all be worth it when I get there. I am so excited for this trip. If I just keep telling myself that everything I'm doing is getting me that much closer to Brazil, then it will all seem worth it.
Friday, June 08, 2012
Random
(what it says on the tin)
- What does our TV say about us as a culture? I've been watching some daytime TV (and by that I mean things like reruns of I Love Lucy, Criminal Intent, and Doctor Who) while I've been home, and the commercials just blow me away. If, as psychology classes will tell you, commercials indicate the values of a culture, we are obsessed with some pretty horrible and depressing stuff. Just sayin'.
- Still not packing. Once again, a trip is upon me and I have not yet begun to pack. I feel stubborn about this, too. I will do it this evening. I just want a little bit of time that is peaceful.
- The multi-gesture pad on this new laptop takes some getting used to. I have reduced the size of the font on this screen to the point of not being able to read it at all twice now. Yeaah. The messing it up was easy. The undoing of it, somehow, was not.
- I'm going back to scarf weather in Brazil. This makes me a lot happier than it should.
- I'm looking forward to having stuff to photograph again. Just thinking about having my camera in hand makes me smile. I haven't been out with it in awhile. It will be good to be in a place where I can see new things and try to capture them. I enjoy that part of travel maybe most of all.
- Tonight I need to teach my parents how to use Google video chat. You may laugh hysterically now. No. I'm not selling tickets.
Off to slack more.
Fragments
When you mend the patches of my clothin'
You know every thread goes through my heart
Guessin' that the river's gonna dry up
Well, I said that's not the reason why we part....
"The Sparrow and the Medicine" ~ The Tallest Man on Earth
______________________________________
When you break something fragile, pieces go everywhere. If you've ever dropped a glass in your kitchen, you know this all too well, probably. Even after carefully sweeping and getting into all the corners, if you're not very, very careful, at some point a careless foot will encounter that one remaining fragment.
It's like that when a relationship ends. I'm not necessarily talking about romance, although certainly it applies to that. When any sort of relationship that means anything ends, there are always bits of it floating around waiting to catch you when you're not quite paying attention. Right now, for me, it definitely wasn't a romance that ended (nothing could have been farther from it if it had been trying), but it was a friendship that meant something to me, at least. And now that it's apparently gone, the pieces of it that are still skittering around on the kitchen floor despite my best efforts at sweeping up bother me profoundly.
The music is the worst right now. There's so much of it that I love that got attached to that particular situation, that particular person, and now I have to reclaim it, remake it, find a new way to go on with it. Some of it I am just staying away from altogether for awhile. I will come back to it again, I am sure, and when I do, the absence perhaps will have made my heart grow clichedly fonder.
It's not just the music, though. There are little shining fragments everywhere. Topics of conversation. Books. Movies. I hate that. I hate that I see things and think, "Oh, I should tell...." and then I remember that this is not something that happens anymore. I hate that the reflexive action to share things is still active. I hate that things I love are now always going to be tied to this...ending.
And when I think about the why... There wasn't even an open disagreement. I would have felt better if there had been a loud shouty fight. At least, then, there could have been a legitimate and honest ending. Instead, there is just this tacit absolute silence that has grown to the point of being something lethal. Sometimes nothing is more deadly than anything else. There are many kinds of silences. There is the companionable and pleasant kind, there is the polite but attentive kind that tolerates, and then there is the f-you kind. We're over into that last kind. It frequently makes me frustrated and angry, mostly with myself I guess, for making such an error in judgement and allowing someone to get close enough to me to matter when they were gone.
I tend to hold on to my friends. Even if our lives change, I usually find a way to keep up with them somehow when they matter and are not just acquaintances. My group of true friends is small, and I've had most of them for a very long time. I don't do the whole casual cloud of millions thing. I have only lost one or two who I considered close over the years, moved away from them or our lives just changed completely and by mutual agreement we stopped talking. This, I guess, is going to wind up in that file. I I just wonder how long I'm going to keep cutting myself accidentally on the fragments of regret left behind.
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
Hugin Lives
My trusty netbook died on me yesterday. It has been more than a trooper, having been to England, Rome, San Francisco, DC twice, Nashville, Louisville twice, New Orleans a couple of times, and who knows how many other little local trips. It has been my travel workhorse banging around in my bag and through airport security. When I was getting ready to go to England for Spring Break, I noticed that it was behaving badly, blue screening me and so forth, but I had hoped it was a software issue that I had remedied. Apparently not.
I got on NewEgg and started looking. I managed to find this Acer Aspire One 722. It's a dual core netbook, and the difference in performance from my old one to this is completely a night/day thing. I'm amazed at how well this little computer is working. It settles my mind in so many ways, not having to worry about the old one dying (because that's over with), not having to worry about it hanging up or being insufficient to the tasks at hand, having about as much horsepower under the hood here as with my big laptop (I think).
I kept the name. This one, too, is Hugin. I like my paired ravens from myth, and I still find them appropriate. Just as I had rechristened my 1GB external hard drive Muninn2, the new netbook is HuginII. The newest incarnations of my sleek black technological birds can fly and deliver now.
It's been a long day of setting up Hugin and trying to get my desktop in the back office working right again. I had been very neglectful of the desktop, and the antivirus had run out. That was the least of the problems. It was in bad shape. It took HOURS of work to get it unSNAFUed. It had to be updated, cleaned out, synched, protected, and generally made functional rather than a liability again. I could not do computers all day everyday. I would lose my mind. There are hours of wait-time while they "do their do," and moments of blood pressure elevating frustration when they refuse to do what you want them to do. Granted, if I were more technically savvy, I might be able to hack through the latter with greater ease, but some things, I think, just take time to walk through all the steps and stages.
I hate that.
Anyway, I do feel some accomplishment in finally getting this big list of tasks taken care of. I am thrilled with the new netbook. It should be perfect for keeping in touch with everyone and keeping them up to date with what is going on during my trip. While I know that the need for it when I travel indicates the level of my technology addiction, I don't really intend to apologize.
I got on NewEgg and started looking. I managed to find this Acer Aspire One 722. It's a dual core netbook, and the difference in performance from my old one to this is completely a night/day thing. I'm amazed at how well this little computer is working. It settles my mind in so many ways, not having to worry about the old one dying (because that's over with), not having to worry about it hanging up or being insufficient to the tasks at hand, having about as much horsepower under the hood here as with my big laptop (I think).
I kept the name. This one, too, is Hugin. I like my paired ravens from myth, and I still find them appropriate. Just as I had rechristened my 1GB external hard drive Muninn2, the new netbook is HuginII. The newest incarnations of my sleek black technological birds can fly and deliver now.
It's been a long day of setting up Hugin and trying to get my desktop in the back office working right again. I had been very neglectful of the desktop, and the antivirus had run out. That was the least of the problems. It was in bad shape. It took HOURS of work to get it unSNAFUed. It had to be updated, cleaned out, synched, protected, and generally made functional rather than a liability again. I could not do computers all day everyday. I would lose my mind. There are hours of wait-time while they "do their do," and moments of blood pressure elevating frustration when they refuse to do what you want them to do. Granted, if I were more technically savvy, I might be able to hack through the latter with greater ease, but some things, I think, just take time to walk through all the steps and stages.
I hate that.
Anyway, I do feel some accomplishment in finally getting this big list of tasks taken care of. I am thrilled with the new netbook. It should be perfect for keeping in touch with everyone and keeping them up to date with what is going on during my trip. While I know that the need for it when I travel indicates the level of my technology addiction, I don't really intend to apologize.
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
What to Say and How to Say It
The hardest part hasn't been the technical assembly. PowerPoint, the medium I chose because it works best in an environment that has limited tech access, and I are old friends. The hard part has been trying to figure out what to say. If my job is to give an overview of my state, what do I put in? What do I leave out? This is complicated if you're from Mississippi.
There are so many ways to approach my state. You can take the Glorious Past route with strains of "Dixie" playing in the background. You can take the Tourism route with casinos and Pilgrimage homes shining in the afternoon sun. You can take the Race Hate route and display all the ugliness and inequality that have been a part of life here in the past. You can take the Redneck route and show the poverty and ignorance that abound. You can look at the Arts, show the massive contribution Mississippi has made to literature and music. You can even go with the Southern Sports life route, focus only on all the aspects of football and hunting if that's what floats your boat. This is not even an exhaustive list. Mississippi has all these things and more for people to pull out of her depending on what it is they personally want from her.
So what about me? As I am planning to try to tell others about my state, what should I leave in? What should I leave out? What is the best way to explain what this state is? I am not going to bash it. Certainly I think there are things it does poorly, but I think that can be said of anywhere, everywhere. I think we are a mixture of good things and bad things, just like every other place. At the same time, I don't think it is right to gloss over the bad things in our past, pretend like everything has always been some kind of sterilized Technicolor dream here. When people have fought and bled and died, you don't dishonor that sacrifice because it doesn't make for good PR. We have a huge horrible thing in our past. America has a huge horrible thing in her past. We are still moving on from it. That doesn't mean that we have the right to sweep it under the rug because it makes us or others uncomfortable to look at it.
And yet. All so many people know of Mississippi is a stereotype of poverty, racism, and...well...bare feet and overalls. They seem to think we're all Snopeses somehow. Those of us who were born here and live here are sort of used to that misunderstanding. We know there is a lot more to us than that, that things here have changed tremendously, that we are frequently generalized and misrepresented, that we have great good as well as struggles we are trying to overcome. What I want to make sure that I do, though, is find a way to show us accurately. When it is as complex as this situation is, though, how can I be sure to do that with honesty and sensitivity?
All I can do is try. It makes me nervous to say, "Here is my state. This is the truth of it." Instead, what I would like to say is "Here is my state. This is the way I see it." This would be more comfortable and more true. Who among us can really know the heart of a place, the whole of it? Even though I have lived here my entire life, I find new parts of Mississippi all the time, every time I meet somebody new or go somewhere I haven't been before in the state. It would be arrogant to think I knew it through and through just because I happened to be born here. Maybe if I approach this presentation with that mindset, I will be more comfortable. Of all the things I'll be doing, this is the one that is difficult.
Sunday, June 03, 2012
City of Death
There are so very many things that make this one good. I hardly know where to begin. There's the fact that this was the first series to be filmed outside the UK. Therefore, the locations aren't cheesy backlots. They make much of that. You get to see lots of Paris, and it really makes a difference somehow.
The setting, though, isn't nearly as great as the dialogue in this one. Tom Baker's DW years always had good witty repartee between the main characters. I think that if it wasn't there, he was sort of ad libbing it as he went. This series was mostly written by Douglas Adams (and if you don't know who he is, turn in your Geek Card now) and it just sparkles like a gem in bright light. Everybody is clever. The baddies are clever. The secondary characters get good lines. And the Doctor and Romana, well, the Doctor and Romana absolutely scintillate.
It is, then, in every possible way, perfect. If you've never seen Doctor Who before or only watched the new series, this is a good place to start. There are other episodes I like better to be sure. The Pyramids of Mars and Sutekh's absolute Egyptian camp cannot be defeated for first place in my heart of hearts, but this one with its charm and its wit are probably running a close second.
Saturday, June 02, 2012
History Speaking - Old Capitol Museum
Today, I went to Jackson seeking things to take to Brazil. I knew that I wanted to take things that were as representative of Mississippi as I could, things made here, crafted by people from here if possible. The big problem is finding things like this, especially affordable things in the quantity I needed. I picked up my best friend, and we made a day of it.
We started at the Old Capitol Museum in downtown. I had remembered a large gift shop there from when I had gone a long time ago, and I decided it would be a good place to start. The Old Capitol was damaged heavily when Katrina came through, and it underwent major renovations after that. It was very different. The restored building has multimedia exhibitions and is very nice. It is a very pleasant place now.
One of the exhibitions is a screen that scrolls down from the ceiling in the former House chamber on the hour and half-hour. A film is projected onto it with actors recreating the debate that took place when Mississippi chose to secede from the Union. It is rather intense to stand and watch as the actors attempt to persuade you to vote for or against secession. As I stood on the third-floor balcony looking down at that film playing to the huge chamber, empty except for my friend and me, it struck me suddenly that I was standing in the place where that decision had happened, that it wasn't an abstract nebulous concept, some random string of dead letters on a page, but real people who had argued with each other and had come to the decision that the best thing for the state was to leave the Union.
Somehow, even though I have lived here and grown up as any Mississippi native or transplant does surrounded by the Past (with the capital P on purpose), it seldom feels real. Maybe it is exactly because we are so inundated with it that it lacks sharpness. You don't have to go far to see it. It might be a redneck with a rebel flag sticker or a devout bunch of costumed Civil War reenactors on a major holiday, but keeping the past alive is a full-time hobby or job for people here. There are even holidays that nobody else takes, for example, my trash didn't get picked up because it was Confederate Memorial Day. (Who takes THAT? Apparently my trash guys.) I think all this familiarity breeds contempt, though, or at least builds up a giant callus. We drive past major moments in history everywhere, and I think that sometimes we need to shake off that ennui and remember that real people struggled, chose, lived, and died during them. I don't mean that every moment needs to be dedicated to glorifying or resurrecting that past, but when we become so numb to it that it becomes just another part of the background, I think something important has been lost.
The museum had a very fine edge to tread, and it did it well. While we have some things and some people of which we may be very rightly proud in our state, Mississippi's past, let's face it, is not exactly 100% glorious. I won't absolve my state of any past transgressions nor will I try to gloss them over, but I will say that we are not alone in that in this nation. We are not alone in that in this world. Every place has some part of its past that it must overcome. Every place, just like every person, has some scar to carry with it, some wound to heal.
That's the other reason museums and the going to them are important. For better or worse, even if it's something quite terrible, I think it's always better to know who you really are and what you really come from. Know your good and your bad, your strengths and your weaknesses. Such self-knowledge gives a firm foundation to build a future on. The museum is a living example of that, and not just in its exhibitions. In its various stages and phases of renovation, it has physically removed the bad, that which has decayed through time so much as to be no longer functional, and it has replaced those things with that which supports, that which meets the needs of the current day. One whole room chronicles the various changes the Old Capitol has had to make to survive including removing original brick in some cases because it was crumbling or damaged and of course restorations after not one but two hurricanes sheared away its roof. I guess we can use the Old Capitol as a bit of an object lesson, not just for what is housed inside it but also for the structure itself then. If we as a state and we as individuals within it can manage to do as well as this one museum, perhaps we can all use the past, whatever mixture of good and bad it may be, to reinvent ourselves gracefully to meet the challenges ahead.
 |
| Rotunda, Old Capitol Museum, Jackson, MS |
One of the exhibitions is a screen that scrolls down from the ceiling in the former House chamber on the hour and half-hour. A film is projected onto it with actors recreating the debate that took place when Mississippi chose to secede from the Union. It is rather intense to stand and watch as the actors attempt to persuade you to vote for or against secession. As I stood on the third-floor balcony looking down at that film playing to the huge chamber, empty except for my friend and me, it struck me suddenly that I was standing in the place where that decision had happened, that it wasn't an abstract nebulous concept, some random string of dead letters on a page, but real people who had argued with each other and had come to the decision that the best thing for the state was to leave the Union.
Somehow, even though I have lived here and grown up as any Mississippi native or transplant does surrounded by the Past (with the capital P on purpose), it seldom feels real. Maybe it is exactly because we are so inundated with it that it lacks sharpness. You don't have to go far to see it. It might be a redneck with a rebel flag sticker or a devout bunch of costumed Civil War reenactors on a major holiday, but keeping the past alive is a full-time hobby or job for people here. There are even holidays that nobody else takes, for example, my trash didn't get picked up because it was Confederate Memorial Day. (Who takes THAT? Apparently my trash guys.) I think all this familiarity breeds contempt, though, or at least builds up a giant callus. We drive past major moments in history everywhere, and I think that sometimes we need to shake off that ennui and remember that real people struggled, chose, lived, and died during them. I don't mean that every moment needs to be dedicated to glorifying or resurrecting that past, but when we become so numb to it that it becomes just another part of the background, I think something important has been lost.
 |
| Doorknob Detail Governor's Office Door |
That's the other reason museums and the going to them are important. For better or worse, even if it's something quite terrible, I think it's always better to know who you really are and what you really come from. Know your good and your bad, your strengths and your weaknesses. Such self-knowledge gives a firm foundation to build a future on. The museum is a living example of that, and not just in its exhibitions. In its various stages and phases of renovation, it has physically removed the bad, that which has decayed through time so much as to be no longer functional, and it has replaced those things with that which supports, that which meets the needs of the current day. One whole room chronicles the various changes the Old Capitol has had to make to survive including removing original brick in some cases because it was crumbling or damaged and of course restorations after not one but two hurricanes sheared away its roof. I guess we can use the Old Capitol as a bit of an object lesson, not just for what is housed inside it but also for the structure itself then. If we as a state and we as individuals within it can manage to do as well as this one museum, perhaps we can all use the past, whatever mixture of good and bad it may be, to reinvent ourselves gracefully to meet the challenges ahead.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)