The Case of the Counterpoint (Part I)
"So tell me when you're gonna let me in, I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin."
It seems that if the harrowing events that transpired last February were the worst of the year, then this August serves as the counterpoint, the equinox six months later. If the events of the last four days are any indication, this is a valid hypothesis and predicator of more good things to come.
My time in Carlisle had been horrible and I was dying for a release. Wednesday night Karen and I had gone out with a cadre of karaoke enthusiasts to sing our little hearts out at the Carlisle All-Star Cafe. I thought I should probably stay home and practice, prep for what is the first shaping moment of my career. Then again, I've decided that I'm not going to lose my sense of fun and party-boy mentality to my career, so I went out. On the way to and back, Karen and I sang "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" in her convertible. I got home, packed, and was asleep by midnight. Not the best of hours when you need to be up by four the next morning, but I stand by my decision. I see her too little as it is.
I woke at four, showered, dressed, got ready to leave and shortly after five my mother and I left Carlisle for Washington D.C. The drive was unremarkable, she got lost getting into the city so I wasn't able to make the eight o'clock session I'd wanted to arrive in time for. By the time we pulled up in front of the Hilton Garden Inn, it was about half past eight. I checked my bag and headed toward the Washington Convention Center. See the problem with this was I really didn't know where I was going. I had an idea from various representations I'd seen, but no concrete directions.
Through trial and error and many a circled block, I found my way to the Convention Center in time to catch the second hour of the symposium on Men and Masculinity. Following that, I went to two presentations regarding college students, one on self-disclosure and one on mental health issues. After this, I needed a break, so I went to register and hung out watching people for a little while before I had to start heading toward the Smithsonian.
Andrew Pekarik is one of the great resources Dr. Bluhm stumbled across in the Curator - which turned out to be a lifesaver. She communicated with him and he agreed to meet with us and chat at three on Thursday afternoon before leaving for home. I traversed the city, guessing my way toward the Smithsonian, finally finding the Arts and Industries building at twenty to three. I found a fountain and sat down on the rim, relaxing and listening to the sounds of the carousel across the street. Being in the city was remedy enough for the chronic irritations of family life, everything else was a remarkable bonus.
At 2:45, Dr. Bluhm walked up and we sat by the fountain, catching up and shooting the breeze while waiting for three o'clock and our meeting. It took us a little while to find an open door and get the security guard to look for Pekarik. These academics aren't known for their punctuality, but he found us and brought us back to his office where we sat, drank some Chinese long life tea, and rhapsodized on zoo life for about an hour.
After leaving the Smithsonian, Dr. Bluhm and I took the Metro to the Renaissance Hotel where there were several social hours taking place. I met Susan Opotow, one of Susan Clayton's collaborators - both of whom I recognized from my fall syllabus in Justice. She told me about a first-timers hour next door and I checked that out while Dr. Bluhm and Dr. Opotow caught up. I used my convention cunning to start a conversation with a pair and we got to talking about psychology and law. Dr. Bluhm came in and told me she was taking Dr. Opotow to meet her daughter and that if I was interested in having dinner with her to call. I said I would and if not, we decided to meet at the Grand Hyatt the next day for lunch.
I finished up with my duo and then made my exit. I was exhausted. I traipsed back to the Hilton Garden Inn, checked into my room, and stripped down to my boxers, flipped on the TV, and opened up a Mt. Dew. James called and we chatted for a bit before the wall of fatigue hit me. I tried to sleep, but was hungry. I ordered room service, watched the Simpsons and ate. After I was done I opened the curtains and stared out at the city. How great it was to be back. With cautious elation, I crawled under the covers and feel into sleep fast as a guillotine blade.
It seems that if the harrowing events that transpired last February were the worst of the year, then this August serves as the counterpoint, the equinox six months later. If the events of the last four days are any indication, this is a valid hypothesis and predicator of more good things to come.
My time in Carlisle had been horrible and I was dying for a release. Wednesday night Karen and I had gone out with a cadre of karaoke enthusiasts to sing our little hearts out at the Carlisle All-Star Cafe. I thought I should probably stay home and practice, prep for what is the first shaping moment of my career. Then again, I've decided that I'm not going to lose my sense of fun and party-boy mentality to my career, so I went out. On the way to and back, Karen and I sang "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" in her convertible. I got home, packed, and was asleep by midnight. Not the best of hours when you need to be up by four the next morning, but I stand by my decision. I see her too little as it is.
I woke at four, showered, dressed, got ready to leave and shortly after five my mother and I left Carlisle for Washington D.C. The drive was unremarkable, she got lost getting into the city so I wasn't able to make the eight o'clock session I'd wanted to arrive in time for. By the time we pulled up in front of the Hilton Garden Inn, it was about half past eight. I checked my bag and headed toward the Washington Convention Center. See the problem with this was I really didn't know where I was going. I had an idea from various representations I'd seen, but no concrete directions.
Through trial and error and many a circled block, I found my way to the Convention Center in time to catch the second hour of the symposium on Men and Masculinity. Following that, I went to two presentations regarding college students, one on self-disclosure and one on mental health issues. After this, I needed a break, so I went to register and hung out watching people for a little while before I had to start heading toward the Smithsonian.
Andrew Pekarik is one of the great resources Dr. Bluhm stumbled across in the Curator - which turned out to be a lifesaver. She communicated with him and he agreed to meet with us and chat at three on Thursday afternoon before leaving for home. I traversed the city, guessing my way toward the Smithsonian, finally finding the Arts and Industries building at twenty to three. I found a fountain and sat down on the rim, relaxing and listening to the sounds of the carousel across the street. Being in the city was remedy enough for the chronic irritations of family life, everything else was a remarkable bonus.
At 2:45, Dr. Bluhm walked up and we sat by the fountain, catching up and shooting the breeze while waiting for three o'clock and our meeting. It took us a little while to find an open door and get the security guard to look for Pekarik. These academics aren't known for their punctuality, but he found us and brought us back to his office where we sat, drank some Chinese long life tea, and rhapsodized on zoo life for about an hour.
After leaving the Smithsonian, Dr. Bluhm and I took the Metro to the Renaissance Hotel where there were several social hours taking place. I met Susan Opotow, one of Susan Clayton's collaborators - both of whom I recognized from my fall syllabus in Justice. She told me about a first-timers hour next door and I checked that out while Dr. Bluhm and Dr. Opotow caught up. I used my convention cunning to start a conversation with a pair and we got to talking about psychology and law. Dr. Bluhm came in and told me she was taking Dr. Opotow to meet her daughter and that if I was interested in having dinner with her to call. I said I would and if not, we decided to meet at the Grand Hyatt the next day for lunch.
I finished up with my duo and then made my exit. I was exhausted. I traipsed back to the Hilton Garden Inn, checked into my room, and stripped down to my boxers, flipped on the TV, and opened up a Mt. Dew. James called and we chatted for a bit before the wall of fatigue hit me. I tried to sleep, but was hungry. I ordered room service, watched the Simpsons and ate. After I was done I opened the curtains and stared out at the city. How great it was to be back. With cautious elation, I crawled under the covers and feel into sleep fast as a guillotine blade.