the catch up
So here are all the categorically “Joanie” thoughts and moments that I have been too involved in to type up the last few weeks. For those of you who live with me, feel free to glaze over this, as you’ve already either heard these stories five times (with the exception of Ana who gets to hear them another set of times when I’m on the telephone) or else witnessed them first hand.
Story #1
I started working as an assistant at the Luther W. Brady Gallery this semester, a small but pretentious art gallery owned by the University. It was a job I was particularly lucky to get (good thing that I am dynamic and interview well because I have no appropriate experience) and am trying desperately to keep. That is, I would like for them to continue employing me for the duration of my study here, rather than evaluating new, more qualified candidates every semester. In any case, my boss is one of these “make sure to interrupt me with something important five minutes into this meeting because I’m really too important to be talking to this man” sorts of people, and getting on her good side has proved quite the challenge.
Put that all in the back of your mind somewhere while I begin a new tangent. Now, Amanda (my good good amazing friend from last year who I set up with Dave and had to leave and move back to Arkansas because of money…for those of you who need a frame of reference) has been in contact with the President of our University, Mr. Steven Joel Trachtenberg, about finding her enough financial aid to return next year (which would be one of the best things that could happen right now, in my humble estimation). As a means by which to thank him, as well as give him a bit of a kick in the butt about getting on it, I wrote President Trachtenberg the letter I posted two entries back. That was January 27th. Back to the gallery (see how it’s all pulling together?). January 28th was the opening for the gallery’s major Tunisian Art exhibit, and unbeknownst to me, the President was the honorary speaker.
My job for the night was essentially to look pretty and greet and mingle with rich people. It was a fine night with lots of cheese and baklava, and the caterers and waiters were all really sweet older Spanish men who were enthused to find out I work there (“You work with zee art? Tis Perfect! She belongs with zee art!” aww.). They adopted me, for the night, and kept asking if I wouldn’t let them watch the door for me for a moment, that I might sneak something to eat, or a glass of wine. I got the impression that they are used to being surrounded with far snootier people, and were glad to have some college kid to joke around with. Needless to say, the night was going well, and my boss noticed me, on two accounts, explaining the English meaning of some of the Hebrew texts that were on display from the Jewish quarters of Tunisia.
Finally, the president spoke, and as the night had been going well, I approached him right afterwards to introduce myself.
“President Trachtenberg? Hello, I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Johanna Twersky, I work here at the gallery-”
“Johanna…the name-”
“Ah, well, coincidently, I also wrote you yesterday on behalf of my friend Amanda Stovall…”
“You’re the sweetheart that wrote me! Oh, wonderful, I did reply today, such a nice letter. Let me tell you Johanna…(continuous conversation about financial matters, Martha’s Vineyard and Ms. Stovall until he was pulled away by his many fans)”.
At the end of the night, I said goodbye to the nice Spaniards, the old Israeli man whom you all commented on my dinner engagement with, the other gallery assistant, and about everyone else I could think of besides my boss an Mr. Trachtenberg who were consequently engaged in conversation. Not wanting to interrupt, I approached quietly, an both saw me at the same moment and assumed I had come to speak to them. Not a moment after my boss Lenore began, “Joanie, perhaps you should introduce yourself. This is Presiden-”, the president threw one arm around me and exclaimed, “Joanie!”, then continued to talk about what an intelligent young lady and good friend I was, and how we need more people in the world like me, at which point Lenore turned red and began babbling about what an asset I am to the gallery.
I came back to Julia’s room later claiming, “Julia. I kicked social butt tonight”.
Story #2
National Geographic accepts precisely one photography student a year for a paid summer internship. Although I didn’t have particularly high hopes (I should tell you now that I still have no idea whether or not I got the internship…just so you don’t think you already know where this story is going and get disappointed), I figured I’d take my camera to Israel with me and shoot the best pictures possible, and give it my best shot. Well, as I’m sure some of you have read, I got to Israel to find my camera quite broken, and by the time I got back to the States, my portfolio was due in a week (which is two days in photo lab time) and I had pretty much decided to forget it. Come the weekend before it was due (it had to be postmarked Saturday, January 31st) I had one of those pride attacks, where I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t going to get it because I wasn’t going to try. So, I hauled my tired little butt into the darkroom, and spent the weekend revisiting old shots. Come Saturday afternoon, my prints were still in the lab drying, and I checked online for post offices in the area that would be open past 2 p.m. I found one about seven blocks away, and at three o’clock, picked up my prints and walked in the BITTER cold to a post office that didn’t exist.
“What are you looking for?” asked a security officer standing nearby.
“There’s supposed to be a post office around here” I replied.
“Not anymore. All the ones near here close at 2:00”.
“Shit”.
As I trudged along, I saw the postwoman that I had waived to while walking up that way.
“Excuse me? Are there anymore post offices open today, anywhere?”
“Sorry ma’am, all the post offices closed at 2:00, why, what’s wrong?”
“I just needed to have this postmarked today, or they won’t accept it”.
“I’m sorry”.
“Hey, you know, it’s alright. It’s not that important. Have a really good day, ok?”
So I began the walk home, intending to ditch my portfolio in the first trashcan I saw, less it sit in my room taunting me for the duration of my life. Two blocks later, I hear the woman’s voice behind me.
“Hey ma’am?” where did you say that was going?
“DC. National Geographic”.
“Do you have postage?”
I shook my head.
“You know what?” she reached out, took my package, grabbed a sheet of stamps from her pocket and slabbed them on, and put it in her bag. “There’s a whole bin of stuff going there tonight, right inside. I’m just going to drop it in there for you”.
(I try not to cry).
Story #3
I was talking to the driver of the Georgetown shuttle last weekend, on my way to drop some slides off at a lab. Great looking black man, probably in his 40’s with really nice dreads. We got to talking to Valentines day, and where he and his wife went. Apparently, they’ve been married for 25 years and are still really happy. He says the key is “keeping it fresh”. He said that things are, after 25 years, bound to become a little repetitive, which is the danger. “The key” he said, “is keeping things fresh. Sometimes we both just take a random weekend off from work and fly somewhere, just to get away. It catches up with you, the bills and all, but it’s worth it. Going new places, trying new things, new music, new friends, new sex positions. The internet is great for that stuff. Just gotta keep it fresh”. It made me happy.
Story #4
The assistant curator was gone today, so when my boss left for lunch, I was in charge of the gallery by myself. The custodians are a little scared of Lenore, but seem to enjoy chatting with me (they said they were rooting for me to get the job there), and as soon as she left they came in to chat. David, is a guitarist for six different gospel groups on the weekends, and tell me I work too hard. Richard, I just found out, was a secretary for the Pentagon before he was a janitor for GW. He said he just likes feeling like he’s worked at the end of the day. “You know, like paint, or sweat, or carpet or something, instead of computer”. I talked about waitressing, and trying to get Steakhouse smell off you (it doesn’t come off), but it being a kind of cathartic at the end of the day. It’s so different from working at a gallery, so much more respect and I don’t work half as hard. We talked about how much money is the ideal amount, and both agreed that it was enough to be comfortable, and not so much that you get lost in it. Then he found out I was paying my own way through school. For some reason he and David got really worried about this.
“How many jobs do you work?” Richard asked.
“Just two right now”.
“And credits?”
“Fifteen.”
“Your boy, the one in Atlanta, does he help you?”
“He always, tries, I won’t let him.”
“Joanie-”
“I’m really fine!”
He and David look at each other worriedly.
“Promise if you need anything, you’ll come to us?”
People are so awesome sometimes.
Those are some of things I would have written about, had I been in a writing mood when they happened. There were many other things I’m sure, that I have already lost by not recording them…it’s been that kind of month. Or maybe, every month is that kind of month, and I just go through spurts where I am more aware.
Besides that, the daily life is my jobs, my classes, and my friends (though I think that last one has been suffering as a result of the other two, something I would very much like to rectify). A lot of decisions keep wanting to be made, about housing for next year, where I want to study abroad, my major, the summer, whether I should commit to-. Sometimes I like exploring the possibilities, and other times I wish more things just wore signs saying “hi, I am the right answer, choose me!”.
It has finally warmed here, and as a result, so have I. It feels as though a part of people withers away in winter. I love feeling as though I am being reborn with springtime.
Story #1
I started working as an assistant at the Luther W. Brady Gallery this semester, a small but pretentious art gallery owned by the University. It was a job I was particularly lucky to get (good thing that I am dynamic and interview well because I have no appropriate experience) and am trying desperately to keep. That is, I would like for them to continue employing me for the duration of my study here, rather than evaluating new, more qualified candidates every semester. In any case, my boss is one of these “make sure to interrupt me with something important five minutes into this meeting because I’m really too important to be talking to this man” sorts of people, and getting on her good side has proved quite the challenge.
Put that all in the back of your mind somewhere while I begin a new tangent. Now, Amanda (my good good amazing friend from last year who I set up with Dave and had to leave and move back to Arkansas because of money…for those of you who need a frame of reference) has been in contact with the President of our University, Mr. Steven Joel Trachtenberg, about finding her enough financial aid to return next year (which would be one of the best things that could happen right now, in my humble estimation). As a means by which to thank him, as well as give him a bit of a kick in the butt about getting on it, I wrote President Trachtenberg the letter I posted two entries back. That was January 27th. Back to the gallery (see how it’s all pulling together?). January 28th was the opening for the gallery’s major Tunisian Art exhibit, and unbeknownst to me, the President was the honorary speaker.
My job for the night was essentially to look pretty and greet and mingle with rich people. It was a fine night with lots of cheese and baklava, and the caterers and waiters were all really sweet older Spanish men who were enthused to find out I work there (“You work with zee art? Tis Perfect! She belongs with zee art!” aww.). They adopted me, for the night, and kept asking if I wouldn’t let them watch the door for me for a moment, that I might sneak something to eat, or a glass of wine. I got the impression that they are used to being surrounded with far snootier people, and were glad to have some college kid to joke around with. Needless to say, the night was going well, and my boss noticed me, on two accounts, explaining the English meaning of some of the Hebrew texts that were on display from the Jewish quarters of Tunisia.
Finally, the president spoke, and as the night had been going well, I approached him right afterwards to introduce myself.
“President Trachtenberg? Hello, I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Johanna Twersky, I work here at the gallery-”
“Johanna…the name-”
“Ah, well, coincidently, I also wrote you yesterday on behalf of my friend Amanda Stovall…”
“You’re the sweetheart that wrote me! Oh, wonderful, I did reply today, such a nice letter. Let me tell you Johanna…(continuous conversation about financial matters, Martha’s Vineyard and Ms. Stovall until he was pulled away by his many fans)”.
At the end of the night, I said goodbye to the nice Spaniards, the old Israeli man whom you all commented on my dinner engagement with, the other gallery assistant, and about everyone else I could think of besides my boss an Mr. Trachtenberg who were consequently engaged in conversation. Not wanting to interrupt, I approached quietly, an both saw me at the same moment and assumed I had come to speak to them. Not a moment after my boss Lenore began, “Joanie, perhaps you should introduce yourself. This is Presiden-”, the president threw one arm around me and exclaimed, “Joanie!”, then continued to talk about what an intelligent young lady and good friend I was, and how we need more people in the world like me, at which point Lenore turned red and began babbling about what an asset I am to the gallery.
I came back to Julia’s room later claiming, “Julia. I kicked social butt tonight”.
Story #2
National Geographic accepts precisely one photography student a year for a paid summer internship. Although I didn’t have particularly high hopes (I should tell you now that I still have no idea whether or not I got the internship…just so you don’t think you already know where this story is going and get disappointed), I figured I’d take my camera to Israel with me and shoot the best pictures possible, and give it my best shot. Well, as I’m sure some of you have read, I got to Israel to find my camera quite broken, and by the time I got back to the States, my portfolio was due in a week (which is two days in photo lab time) and I had pretty much decided to forget it. Come the weekend before it was due (it had to be postmarked Saturday, January 31st) I had one of those pride attacks, where I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t going to get it because I wasn’t going to try. So, I hauled my tired little butt into the darkroom, and spent the weekend revisiting old shots. Come Saturday afternoon, my prints were still in the lab drying, and I checked online for post offices in the area that would be open past 2 p.m. I found one about seven blocks away, and at three o’clock, picked up my prints and walked in the BITTER cold to a post office that didn’t exist.
“What are you looking for?” asked a security officer standing nearby.
“There’s supposed to be a post office around here” I replied.
“Not anymore. All the ones near here close at 2:00”.
“Shit”.
As I trudged along, I saw the postwoman that I had waived to while walking up that way.
“Excuse me? Are there anymore post offices open today, anywhere?”
“Sorry ma’am, all the post offices closed at 2:00, why, what’s wrong?”
“I just needed to have this postmarked today, or they won’t accept it”.
“I’m sorry”.
“Hey, you know, it’s alright. It’s not that important. Have a really good day, ok?”
So I began the walk home, intending to ditch my portfolio in the first trashcan I saw, less it sit in my room taunting me for the duration of my life. Two blocks later, I hear the woman’s voice behind me.
“Hey ma’am?” where did you say that was going?
“DC. National Geographic”.
“Do you have postage?”
I shook my head.
“You know what?” she reached out, took my package, grabbed a sheet of stamps from her pocket and slabbed them on, and put it in her bag. “There’s a whole bin of stuff going there tonight, right inside. I’m just going to drop it in there for you”.
(I try not to cry).
Story #3
I was talking to the driver of the Georgetown shuttle last weekend, on my way to drop some slides off at a lab. Great looking black man, probably in his 40’s with really nice dreads. We got to talking to Valentines day, and where he and his wife went. Apparently, they’ve been married for 25 years and are still really happy. He says the key is “keeping it fresh”. He said that things are, after 25 years, bound to become a little repetitive, which is the danger. “The key” he said, “is keeping things fresh. Sometimes we both just take a random weekend off from work and fly somewhere, just to get away. It catches up with you, the bills and all, but it’s worth it. Going new places, trying new things, new music, new friends, new sex positions. The internet is great for that stuff. Just gotta keep it fresh”. It made me happy.
Story #4
The assistant curator was gone today, so when my boss left for lunch, I was in charge of the gallery by myself. The custodians are a little scared of Lenore, but seem to enjoy chatting with me (they said they were rooting for me to get the job there), and as soon as she left they came in to chat. David, is a guitarist for six different gospel groups on the weekends, and tell me I work too hard. Richard, I just found out, was a secretary for the Pentagon before he was a janitor for GW. He said he just likes feeling like he’s worked at the end of the day. “You know, like paint, or sweat, or carpet or something, instead of computer”. I talked about waitressing, and trying to get Steakhouse smell off you (it doesn’t come off), but it being a kind of cathartic at the end of the day. It’s so different from working at a gallery, so much more respect and I don’t work half as hard. We talked about how much money is the ideal amount, and both agreed that it was enough to be comfortable, and not so much that you get lost in it. Then he found out I was paying my own way through school. For some reason he and David got really worried about this.
“How many jobs do you work?” Richard asked.
“Just two right now”.
“And credits?”
“Fifteen.”
“Your boy, the one in Atlanta, does he help you?”
“He always, tries, I won’t let him.”
“Joanie-”
“I’m really fine!”
He and David look at each other worriedly.
“Promise if you need anything, you’ll come to us?”
People are so awesome sometimes.
Those are some of things I would have written about, had I been in a writing mood when they happened. There were many other things I’m sure, that I have already lost by not recording them…it’s been that kind of month. Or maybe, every month is that kind of month, and I just go through spurts where I am more aware.
Besides that, the daily life is my jobs, my classes, and my friends (though I think that last one has been suffering as a result of the other two, something I would very much like to rectify). A lot of decisions keep wanting to be made, about housing for next year, where I want to study abroad, my major, the summer, whether I should commit to-. Sometimes I like exploring the possibilities, and other times I wish more things just wore signs saying “hi, I am the right answer, choose me!”.
It has finally warmed here, and as a result, so have I. It feels as though a part of people withers away in winter. I love feeling as though I am being reborn with springtime.