Going to Pittsburgh (part 1)
David Brooks wrote a pretty funny/withering article about the accelerating effects of memory-loss on people in the hyper-information age last week. The last bit was about how well educated upper middle class narcissists will be, as usual, the loudest group to protest this loss of memory, because they are losing part of the person they most adore - themselves - in the process. This led Brooks to hypothesize tongue-in-cheekily that one of the most enduring traits of our newly-dawned "Bad Memory Century" will be - thankfully - shorter memoirs.
This got me thinking about my neglected old lj, which i had been planning to use to chronicle my impromptu trip to Pittsburgh last week. I couldn't help but wonder if I was included under that "well educated upper middle class narcissist" banner. With so much else to read and keep up on and be informed about, was it narcissistic to expect anyone else to read about my rather short and inconsequential travels with any interest at all?
*shrug*. I don't know. But Simon and Garfunkel told me to preserve my memories, for they're all that's left me. So, for those who care:
I threw myself over the finish line of my lead-teaching last Friday. I praised my former self for making the students' food projects due on the Thursday/Friday before spring break, which both gave me an excuse not to plan for those days and to spend them eating and watching presentations. I drew the ire of my absentee mentor teacher by showing movies after the presentations without making the students try and write down Spanish words from them, which I didn't want to do because a) I empirically found that the day after the movies, no one really remembers what they wrote down, b) most kids either write down words they already know, don't write anything down, or if they try, often incorrectly define the words they write down, and c) it ruins the movie experience, because all of the time spent writing down words and definitions is spent missing what's going on in the film. Whatever. I was done. That was all I cared about.
Fourth hour, I got the call I had been expecting for two days. A representative from the Obama campaign called me to verify all of the information I had sent them on Wednesday, when I had responded to their email asking for out-of-state volunteers to come to Pennsylvania to campaign for Barack. Yes, I was planning on coming Monday through Thursday of next week. Yes, I needed a place to stay while I was there. I had wandered into the hallway to talk, so when the woman on the phone started to give me the phone number of someone to call to set up my housing, I sprinted into Lisa (the intern who teaches next door to me)'s classroom and breathlessly mouthed "Paper! To write on!" and made scribbling motions with my free hand. After a few anxious seconds, she gave me a worksheet, and I wrote down Adam (Pittsburgh office out-of-state volunteer coordinator)'s phone number and email. I apologized profusely for barging in, then went back into the hallway and clicked my heels together. I felt euphoric, freer than I had felt in ages. The shackles that had bound me to Lansing were falling away, and I was getting on the road again, and doing something I believed was important, and could make a difference.
But not before over-celebrating the end of my internship. My parents came up, and took me and Mike and Jeff to Mongolian Barbeque. Good, if undercooked food, and I really enjoyed ringing the bell when there were more than one or two grillers to cheer. Then Jeff and I went to see my teacher-friend Aaron's band, Flatfoot, perform at Scene Metrospace (under the hamster cage parking structure, by Georgio's). They were pretty excellent musically, kinda bluesy and countrified but still rock, and with a sense of humor. The vocal harmonies were pretty sweet. And the whole show was made by Aaron's little four-year-old son, who rocked out on, in front of, and around the stage for the whole show in this enormous pair of headphones he was wearing to protect his little ears. He was probably at least as adorable as you're imagining right now. We stood through a forgettable middle band, and stayed for about half of a Tom Waits inspired growler who played piano, guitar, and a No Parking sign (and was pretty enjoyable on all three), before i was practically falling asleep on my feet, and we decided to go home.
Jeff left early Saturday for his home, but I stayed around EL until like, five thirty or so doing errands, packing, and having a wonderful lunch at Noodles with Bridget and Kim. We ate outside, and I got to talk to just about everyone I knew who still works there. Joy and Elisa came out and told me I should come back to work for them for the summer. I told them I might. And I meant it; my brother was quick to judge me for having a college degree and wanting to bus tables for minimum wage, but I really enjoyed the work while I was there. Most of the staff was great, I was good at what I did, for the most part, and I felt satisfied when I was done. It was an honest day's work, and it let me eat for cheap, which I've sorely missed this year. Plus, there aren't exactly a lot of employment opportunities for Spanish teachers between June and August.
Saturday and Sunday I stayed at Jeff's house in Clinton Township, and saw the Eels and Spoon. The former show was excellent; it started with a BBC documentary about E (lead singer and songwriter)'s physicist father, who invented the theory of parallel universes, but hardly ever spoke to his son. E went around and interviewed his father's friends, and tried to understand his theory, even though he hadn't even passed algebra. It was sweet, and the set, though not long enough, nor including my favorite slower songs I hoped a stripped-down line-up would warrant, was still amazing. Spoon was pretty good, too. The biggest contrasts between shows were that the Eels was seated, which was a revelation, after being used to standing for two openers before seeing the band i came to see, which made doing that the next night at Spoon all the more painful. Also, the Eels was a non-smoking show, which was strange, given E's love of cigars. Spoon, on the other hand, was sponsored by Camel, so people who were seen with a pack of camels got passes to meet the band, signed posters, and were given even more cancer-sticks by young, good-looking soulless promoters. I might have minded, if the atmosphere hadn't been perfect to break in my new Eels hoodie i had bought the previous night, which I felt should smell like smoke and dog as a matter of principle. Spoon provided the smoke, and Jeff's house provided the dog, who had curled up and fallen asleep on the sweatshirt the night before.
Over the course of the weekend, I had gotten in touch with Adam, who had gotten me in touch with Jim, who was willing to put me up at his place in Pittsburgh for three days. I kind of wondered what sort of person would be willing to do that on such short notice; I decided it was probably the awesome sort. He gave me an address, and some vague directions using streets in Pittsburgh I obviously didn't know, but wrote down anyways. Jeff printed me off some directions, and I went to bed tired, but full of hope and excitement for one of the first times in months.
This got me thinking about my neglected old lj, which i had been planning to use to chronicle my impromptu trip to Pittsburgh last week. I couldn't help but wonder if I was included under that "well educated upper middle class narcissist" banner. With so much else to read and keep up on and be informed about, was it narcissistic to expect anyone else to read about my rather short and inconsequential travels with any interest at all?
*shrug*. I don't know. But Simon and Garfunkel told me to preserve my memories, for they're all that's left me. So, for those who care:
I threw myself over the finish line of my lead-teaching last Friday. I praised my former self for making the students' food projects due on the Thursday/Friday before spring break, which both gave me an excuse not to plan for those days and to spend them eating and watching presentations. I drew the ire of my absentee mentor teacher by showing movies after the presentations without making the students try and write down Spanish words from them, which I didn't want to do because a) I empirically found that the day after the movies, no one really remembers what they wrote down, b) most kids either write down words they already know, don't write anything down, or if they try, often incorrectly define the words they write down, and c) it ruins the movie experience, because all of the time spent writing down words and definitions is spent missing what's going on in the film. Whatever. I was done. That was all I cared about.
Fourth hour, I got the call I had been expecting for two days. A representative from the Obama campaign called me to verify all of the information I had sent them on Wednesday, when I had responded to their email asking for out-of-state volunteers to come to Pennsylvania to campaign for Barack. Yes, I was planning on coming Monday through Thursday of next week. Yes, I needed a place to stay while I was there. I had wandered into the hallway to talk, so when the woman on the phone started to give me the phone number of someone to call to set up my housing, I sprinted into Lisa (the intern who teaches next door to me)'s classroom and breathlessly mouthed "Paper! To write on!" and made scribbling motions with my free hand. After a few anxious seconds, she gave me a worksheet, and I wrote down Adam (Pittsburgh office out-of-state volunteer coordinator)'s phone number and email. I apologized profusely for barging in, then went back into the hallway and clicked my heels together. I felt euphoric, freer than I had felt in ages. The shackles that had bound me to Lansing were falling away, and I was getting on the road again, and doing something I believed was important, and could make a difference.
But not before over-celebrating the end of my internship. My parents came up, and took me and Mike and Jeff to Mongolian Barbeque. Good, if undercooked food, and I really enjoyed ringing the bell when there were more than one or two grillers to cheer. Then Jeff and I went to see my teacher-friend Aaron's band, Flatfoot, perform at Scene Metrospace (under the hamster cage parking structure, by Georgio's). They were pretty excellent musically, kinda bluesy and countrified but still rock, and with a sense of humor. The vocal harmonies were pretty sweet. And the whole show was made by Aaron's little four-year-old son, who rocked out on, in front of, and around the stage for the whole show in this enormous pair of headphones he was wearing to protect his little ears. He was probably at least as adorable as you're imagining right now. We stood through a forgettable middle band, and stayed for about half of a Tom Waits inspired growler who played piano, guitar, and a No Parking sign (and was pretty enjoyable on all three), before i was practically falling asleep on my feet, and we decided to go home.
Jeff left early Saturday for his home, but I stayed around EL until like, five thirty or so doing errands, packing, and having a wonderful lunch at Noodles with Bridget and Kim. We ate outside, and I got to talk to just about everyone I knew who still works there. Joy and Elisa came out and told me I should come back to work for them for the summer. I told them I might. And I meant it; my brother was quick to judge me for having a college degree and wanting to bus tables for minimum wage, but I really enjoyed the work while I was there. Most of the staff was great, I was good at what I did, for the most part, and I felt satisfied when I was done. It was an honest day's work, and it let me eat for cheap, which I've sorely missed this year. Plus, there aren't exactly a lot of employment opportunities for Spanish teachers between June and August.
Saturday and Sunday I stayed at Jeff's house in Clinton Township, and saw the Eels and Spoon. The former show was excellent; it started with a BBC documentary about E (lead singer and songwriter)'s physicist father, who invented the theory of parallel universes, but hardly ever spoke to his son. E went around and interviewed his father's friends, and tried to understand his theory, even though he hadn't even passed algebra. It was sweet, and the set, though not long enough, nor including my favorite slower songs I hoped a stripped-down line-up would warrant, was still amazing. Spoon was pretty good, too. The biggest contrasts between shows were that the Eels was seated, which was a revelation, after being used to standing for two openers before seeing the band i came to see, which made doing that the next night at Spoon all the more painful. Also, the Eels was a non-smoking show, which was strange, given E's love of cigars. Spoon, on the other hand, was sponsored by Camel, so people who were seen with a pack of camels got passes to meet the band, signed posters, and were given even more cancer-sticks by young, good-looking soulless promoters. I might have minded, if the atmosphere hadn't been perfect to break in my new Eels hoodie i had bought the previous night, which I felt should smell like smoke and dog as a matter of principle. Spoon provided the smoke, and Jeff's house provided the dog, who had curled up and fallen asleep on the sweatshirt the night before.
Over the course of the weekend, I had gotten in touch with Adam, who had gotten me in touch with Jim, who was willing to put me up at his place in Pittsburgh for three days. I kind of wondered what sort of person would be willing to do that on such short notice; I decided it was probably the awesome sort. He gave me an address, and some vague directions using streets in Pittsburgh I obviously didn't know, but wrote down anyways. Jeff printed me off some directions, and I went to bed tired, but full of hope and excitement for one of the first times in months.