Adventures!

They're Coming to Take Me Away!

2009-06-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

Last summer, Kirsten and I drove across the country. She needed to get her car home, I love driving across the country, and we'd done it once before, so we knew we were great driving buddies.

Our first overnight stop was planned for somewhere near Flagstaff, AZ, but the forecast there was calling for heavy snow. Yes, snow. In May. We thought about detouring south, but the rest of Arizona was scheduled for severe thunderstorms, so we chatted with a guide at the visitors' center and settled on a campsite right by a town called Williams that was close to Flagstaff, but at a lower elevation.

The campsite at Williams was lovely. We set up our tent right across from a huge lake, then spent some time exploring said lake and enjoying the scenery. I happened to notice that everyone else at the campsite had decided on an RV for their camping experience, but I figured our rain cover and cozy sleeping bags would protect us from any snow [almost] just as well.

Soon, the sun began to set, and since I'm not much for reading by flashlight, I snuggled into my sleeping bag and fell asleep.

A couple hours later, I began dreaming that the military was out to get me for some reason. I ran and I ran, but they were shooting at me from all directions. My dream startled me awake, and I was welcomed to reality with an enormous booming sound, just the noise I would imagine a legion of tanks might make as it makes its way through the woods.

Though I soon got over my fear that the army was out to get me personally, I was convinced that all the noise was indeed a covert military operation through the woods of Williams, Arizona. I just knew that there was a tank brigade making its way through our campground. But then I panicked all over again. The tanks may not have had specific orders to hunt me down and kill me, but Kirsten and I were the only ones at the campground who were not in an RV; there was no way the tanks would see our dinky little tent, and we were sure to be crushed by their covert advance!

Soon, as a few minutes passed and I remained 3-dimensional, I calmed down and decided that I was just being silly. There was no secret military mission through the woods of Williams, Arizona. The noise had not stopped, though, and there had to be some explanation for the cacophony. Instead of a military maneuver, I then decided that the noise was caused by a number of trucks and helicopters swarming the campground. Of course, that explanation needed an explanation, so I decided that there must be a serial rapist-killer on the loose (perhaps one who had just escaped from custody). Again, I panicked. Kirsten and I were two little girls in a tent whose walls could easily be breached with a simple steak knife. And of course, no one would hear our screams because they were all holed up in their big RVs!

Eventually, my fatigue took over and I was able to fall asleep. Thankfully, I woke in the morning to find our tent un-slashed, uncrushed, and Kirsten and me as chaste and pure as the night before. Upon leaving the campground, Kirsten pointed out a set of train tracks that couldn't have been more than a couple hundred yards from where we had slept. Turns out there had never been any secret military operation, nor a frantic search mission, only a routine railroad run. Funny, I would have never guessed trains could be that loud.

When You Wish Upon a Star

2009-06-13T19:38:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I was obsessed with the Animorphs series. When I say obsessed, I mean Seriously. For those of you who have never had the good fortune of encountering the Animorphs story, let me give you a brief overview. There are a group of friends who are visited by an alien and given the power to acquire the DNA of any animal they touch so that they can later morph into that animal. While in the animal state, half of their brain power can be controlled by their own human minds, and the other half is controlled by the mind of the animal. So not only do they get to have the body and abilities of their animal, but they get to experience how that animal thinks, as well. While in this state, they communicate with each other telepathically. Of course, all of these powers are ultimately to serve the greater good of stopping some alien race who implant themselves in human brains from taking over Earth, but I never actually cared that much about that particular plot twist.

Now, to give you an idea of my obsession, let me just say that it is all I wished for. Ever. If an eyelash fell out and I put it on the back of my hand to blow it off, I wished to be an Animorph. If I won the greater piece of a wishbone, I wished to be an Animorph. If I noticed the first star in the sky, I wished to be an Animorph. Even now, I hesitate to admit to these wishes, not because they are embarrassing, but because writing them here most definitely qualifies as telling someone about them, thus rendering these wishes unfulfillable.

While the idea of becoming an Animorph has always been a dream for me, it has also haunted me. Tonight, I was put in charge of caring for my poor, terrified dog during a routine summer thunderstorm. I had to use the bathroom and, with everyone else either asleep or out of the house, I couldn't just leave my dog in the hallway to shiver alone. In fact, I didn't even have to coax her into the bathroom; she just ran right in. But of course, I then felt strange dropping my pants and taking a seat in front of my dog. After all, what if she wasn't actually my dog, but instead were one of my friends simply morphed into my dog? How embarrassing would that be?

I managed to accomplish my bathroom tasks, but not without overcoming a fair share of stagefright. And this is not a rare occurrence for me. Anytime an animal of any sort is in the bathroom with me, or in my room while I am changing, or present while I am picking my nose or something of the sort, I feel awkward and worry that said animal is actually a friend in morphed-form watching me in my personal moment.

I know it's silly, but I just can't get over it. So the next time I'm around friends, perhaps I'll invite one or two into the bathroom with me. At least then, I'm not worrying the whole time about whether or not they're my friends in morphed-form, since they'll be friends in just-plain-normal form. Or maybe I'll just have to get more comfortable with my embarrassing habits. And anyway, if I have a friend who decides that they should morph into my dog and follow me into the bathroom, I guess they kind of deserve whatever show they may get.

This Little Piggy Fell Down Dead

2009-04-30T19:04:00.000-07:00

Swine flu. In two weeks, I'm leaving safe, uninfected Maryland to fly on an enclosed airplane with a hundred or so potentially-infected passengers to Claremont, California, where one case of swine flu has already been confirmed! And that's just one case! There are a ton of other cases of swine flu (120, perhaps?) all across the United States that are quite the hot topic of conversation.

And I'm not scared. Not just because I think I'm invincible and that I could never come down with swine flu, but because everything I've read tells me that this is just another flu virus. It can spread quickly and easily among people. It can mutate faster than we can track. It can kill. Sure, I don't want to come down with any flu, but I've never panicked over the regular flu, so I'm not going to worry too much about swine flu.

Now, I do know that the major difference between the regular, ol' flu virus and this strain of flu is that this one apparently has the potential to kill young, healthy people in their 20s and 30s. That's what happened in Mexico. However, something tells me that there might be a bit of a difference between living conditions in Mexico versus living conditions here in the U.S.. After all, I've never had a friend become violently ill from brushing their teeth with tap water in the U.S.. I have a sneaky feeling that the swine flu may not have been the only factor in the death of these people; their access to resources could very well have also influenced how they reacted to the virus.

And this is what really irks me about this swine flu panic. I know that the World Bank and other agencies or countries have sent aid to Mexico and I think that's awesome. But around here, all the media can talk about is how to avoid getting swine flu, how to tell if you have it, and where cases have broken out in the U.S.. Healthy people in Mexico have died from what is essentially a fancy version of the flu, and instead of seeing that as a sign that Mexico and its people might need some serious assistance, people here focus all their energy on making sure that they don't get sick, that we have a vaccine ready as soon as possible. Don't get me wrong, I want a fever and nausea as little as the next guy, but if I have a few days of vomiting because my country decided to use its resources to save lives elsewhere, I have to say I'm supportive of that.

So really, everyone? We don't have to worry about swine flu. But there are people out there who do, and as far as I see it, that's indicative of bigger problems that should be exposed by this swine flu outbreak. So pull your head out of the toilet, wipe that vomit off your mouth, and let's get to helping them!

Quite the Character

2009-04-22T08:03:00.000-07:00

Apparently, whenever I go dancing in Baltimore, there is some other-worldly force that guides me toward men who are easily described as cartoon characters.

First, there was the leprechaun. He was remarkably short, had messy red hair, and used "fuck" at least three times a sentence. He may not have worn a little green top-hat, and he certainly did not have a pot of gold, but he was legitimately Irish (not yet a US citizen), and fit the stereotype well with his 30-odd cousins and penchant for drinking.

Then, a couple Thursdays ago (Holy Thursday, to be exact), I met a sailor. To be fair, his status as a genuine sailor is questionable, but he was legitimately a mate on a boat and had sailed around the world three times. I didn't get around to questioning him about any bouts with scurvy, but he did inform me that he did not fit the stereotype of a drunken sailor. After all, he explained, someone on the boat must be responsible, and that's hard to do while drunk.
He also, however, described to me his inability to return to his hometown near Charleston, SC because he had an ex-girlfriend there whose dad wanted to kill him. And then he tried to pull down his pants to show me where this man had actually shot him in the ass with buckshot. To which I responded that it's good he lives on a boat, where it's hard to find him.
Finally, despite my neglect in the scurvy-answers category, I did get a chance to ask him if he had an anchor tattoo. To my surprise, he did not - he had a large cross on the back of his arm, instead - but was indeed looking for a good tattoo shop to get his next tattoo, which was to be - you guessed it - the anchor.

Last, but not least, I met a policeman last Saturday. Kind of. A man approached me while dancing and told me that - according to what I could hear - his friends had dared him to ask me to touch his "junk." Of course, I've never been one for touching the genitals of strangers just because they asked, so I argued that he had held up his end of the bargain. He had asked me, after all; the dare wasn't that he must get me to actually do it.
He didn't seem to follow this logic, however, and repeated his request, but this second time, "junk" sounded almost like "gun," so I jokingly placed my hand on his pants pocket. He shook his head and told me to touch higher and - since higher meant farther from his penis - I comfortably obliged. That's when I found out that he had indeed said "gun." He was an undercover police officer and I had just groped his concealed weapon.
Because policemen make me uncomfortable - and because he probably had a good 10 years on me - I did not ask for any more specifics on his job. So, sadly, I cannot venture a guess as to how many times he's been shot nor to whether he frequents Dunkin' Donuts for their coffee or their namesake.

And now, it's Wednesday and I don't have any plans to venture to Magerks until at least the weekend. But perhaps I'll get lucky and meet a millionaire on my next visit! Or a prince!
Oh, the possibilities are endless.

April Fools!

2009-04-01T08:39:00.000-07:00

I do not like April Fools Day. My second-hand embarrassment plus my fear of looking stupid makes me a poor sport in the case of April Fools pranks. I don't like fooling and I don't like being fooled. Last year's April 1st was the first exception to this rule, after I became the butt of a remarkably well-played joke.

April 1, 2008 started out just like any other day. I biked to school, I ate lunch with friends, and I hated life on the bike ride up Indian Hill on the way home from school. But when my housemate, Margy, came home that night and greeted me with, "Is someone living in our garage?" the day took a turn for the weird.

Apparently, Margy had been looking in the garage for an exercise ball (or something) and stumbled upon a bed. When I went to investigate, I found that -sure enough - there was a sleeping bag, a pillow with a book on top, a jar lid full of cigarette butts, a broken cookie, and even a paper bag with a little bottle of booze sticking out, all hidden behind the spider chair.

Explanations raced through our heads as we ran back into the house to discuss the situation. It had to be someone we knew; otherwise, how would they know that we hardly ever go into the garage? If it was someone we knew, what kind of trouble would spur them to secretly move into our garage instead of just asking for help? Should we leave a note on the garage door explaining that they should just come talk to us and we can probably find a space for them in the house if they need it?

Then it dawned on me. It was April 1st! Margy laughed and yelled that we had been so fooled. But there were more questions to answer: Who did it? How did they know that we would find the bed on April 1st, especially considering that we really never go in the garage?

To be sure that we were right, we returned to the crime scene. With this revelation, the setup did indeed look too perfect to be real. The determining factor, though, were the cigarettes. The jar lid held cigarettes, but no ash, and I ask you - who smokes a cigarette in one place and returns to their bed to deposit the butt in their "ashtray?"

Finally, a call to Kirsten cleared up the entire mystery. She and Phoebe had made the set up and even had plans to sneak out that night when we were all home and make creepy noises in the garage to freak us all out. Turns out, they hadn't planned on Margy going into the garage that day, either. I have to say, I'm pretty glad it didn't get that far; I'm not so sure I would have thought it so great a prank in that case.

So, my friends, that is the story of last year's April Fools Day, the first time that I enjoyed the holiday for what it is - friends playing good-hearted tricks on other friends. I'm still not sold on the holiday, though. So don't get any ideas.

Book Report

2009-03-26T09:27:00.000-07:00

In middle school, I became a huge fan of KoRn. As an impressionable 12-year-old who was trying to figure herself out, the band offered me an identity. I didn't have to fawn over the Backstreet Boys like all the girls at my school, and I didn't have to turn to Hanson just to be different (because, let's face it, the two weren't ever all that different). I could listen to KoRn and other rock bands and be all cool and alternative. And while I don't make it a point to be freaky and different anymore, I like to think that my love for alternative interests has stuck with me, so - silly as it may be - I give a lot of credit to KoRn for helping me become the quirky, lovable girl I am today.

For anyone who is not up on their current pop culture trivia, the lead guitarist of KoRn, Brian "Head" Welch, recently became a born-again Christian and published a book (Save Me From Myself) about his trials with KoRn and how he found God. Of course, since KoRn had had such an impact on my life, it only seems right that I read Head's book about KoRn's impact on his life.

Let me start off by mentioning that I would not actually recommend this book to anyone. I love this guy Head and what he did for KoRn and all, but, considering that he graduated from high school long ago, I can't say that he's a good writer.

Poor prose aside, Head's journey through his addiction to meth and his final commitment to God is interesting material to ponder. He gives an interesting description of speaking in tongues that certainly made me rethink the practice (as in, I don't think it's just people being crazy and yelling gibberish anymore, but instead, I think that those who partake in tongues are undergoing a legitimate religious experience).

He also talks about how by turning his life around, he's lost his addiction to meth and is now addicted to God. He's living his whole life for God. Whatever Head might want for himself is irrelevant; the Lord makes his decisions for him, now. While I think it's great that Head has found something better to live for and is finally happy with his life, I don't agree with his kind of faith. I don't think that - if God truly created the world and we are each one of His children - His desire was for every person to devote her life to Him. I don't think that a desire such as that is love. I think it is entirely selfish and I don't think that this God should ever be described as "selfish."

Personally, I believe in some sort of God. Maybe it's just because I don't like the idea that we're out here in the universe on our own, or perhaps it's remnants from my nine years of Catholic schooling, but I don't think there's any way to truly rule out the possibility that a God exists. When I think of this God, though, I don't think that I need to live my life for him. I think of God as a parent, someone who loves me and wants me to make the right decisions and grow into a good person. Sure, I believe that God can punish me if I do something terribly wrong and I'll pray to God for things that are really important to me. However - just like my mom doesn't mind when I forget to thank her for all that she does - I don't think God gets her panties all in a bunch if I forget to pray every day. I think God created me (not in a creationism sense - I believe in evolution) so that I could have my own life, my own adventures, and my own happiness. I think that it's through my own experience of my life, which God hopes I live as a moral, upstanding person, that God finds happiness. Sure, I shouldn't kill anyone, but the decisions I make regarding what organized religion to follow (or not), or who to love, or whatever are part of the path I've forged for myself and I believe that God will support me in whatever endeavor I undertake.

So I think it's great that Head got himself out of his meth addiction and has found a love for God. But I think that attaching himself so completely to this God is also unhealthy. As far as I see it, Head is still trying to shirk responsibility for himself. As hard as it may be to take responsibility, I think that responsibility is part of what makes life so much more worthwhile. Personally, I think I've been given a life so that I can find my own happiness and self-worth. And maybe God will help me on that path, but she's not going to dictate it for me (nor should she) and she's not going to disown me for choosing a different one. I like to think she's got my back and she'll protect me and love me for who I am as her child and, more importantly, as an individual.

Sorry that turned into more of a sermon than a book report. I hope I don't sound preachy. Them's my thoughts, though.

You're So Silly, America!

2009-03-12T11:06:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, a search through the Catonsville branch of the Baltimore County Public Library for some book title that has since been forgotten led me to a memoir-esque book detailing the adventures of two Englishmen as they crossed the US breaking numerous "dumb laws." Though the book initially sounded interesting, turns out they had plans only to break 25 laws total, and thus far have been unable to break at least 8 of them. The lack of truly interesting material can be forgiven, however, because this book has inspired me to do my own cross-country crime spree. Sure, it's unoriginal and cliche, but it sounds like such an adventure, I have to do it.

So, my tentative itinerary is as follows:

Maryland

1. Stand in a public park in a sleeveless shirt.

2-3. Curse and then spit on the sidewalk within Baltimore City limits.

New Jersey

4. Pass people without warning on the interstate.

5. Frown at a police officer.

New York

6-7. Stand on the street wearing "body hugging clothing" while greeting someone by putting my thumb to my nose and wiggling my fingers.

7-9. Eat an ice cream cone on the sidewalk while wearing high heels and standing next to a man in a jacket that does not match his pants in Carmel.

Pennsylvania

10. Sing in a bathtub.

Ohio

11. Wear patent leather shoes.

Michigan

12. Swear in front of a woman or child.

Wisconsin

13. Cut a woman's hair.

14. Wave a burning torch in the air.

15. Wear something red in public in St. Croix.

16. Put litter into someone else's trash receptacle without their express permission in Hudson.

Minnesota

17. Stand around outside a building with no good reason to be there.

18. Sleep naked.

North Dakota

19. Lie down and fall asleep with my shoes on.

20. Wear a hat while dancing in Fargo.

Montana

21. Go fishing alone.

22-23. Worry squirrels and throw hard objects by hand in Excelsior Springs.

Washington

24. Destroy the beer cask or bottle of someone else.

25. Eat a lollipop.

Oregon

26. Leave my car door open for longer than necessary.

27. Dry my dishes with a towel.

28. Eat a donut while walking backwards on a city street in Marion.

29. Walk around with my shoes untied in Portland.

30. Make someone think that their property may be subjected to "offensive physical contact" in Portland.

California

31-32. Drive while wearing a housecoat (or a robe) at speeds in excess of 60mph.

33. Kiss a man with a mustache in Eureka.

34. Wipe my car with used underwear in San Francisco.

35. Carry my lunch down the street between 11 and 1 in Riverside.

36. Hunt moths under a streetlight in LA.

37. Throw salt on the highway in Hermosa Beach.

38. Drive my car in reverse in Glendale.

There it is - 38 laws all within easy breaking range. Of course, this roadtrip follows my ideal route, but I'm up for any adventure, really.

Now, all I need are companions for this journey. Preferably at least one man so that he can grow a mustache and kiss me. Who's ready?!

People Who Should Really Consider Kissing Me

2009-01-12T19:35:00.000-08:00

Or at least holding my hand.
In no particular order:

1. Mark from Empire Records
2. Josh Holloway
3. Ian Somerhalder
4. Anyone named Andrew
5. Daniel Radcliffe
6. Shia LaBeouf
7. Boys with mohawks
8. Boys with tattoos
9. The hot, androgynous girl from the Hookup
10. Keira Knightley
11. Michael Cera
12. Bike punks
13. Awkward boys

...to be continued.

Vegas Escapades

2009-01-10T09:26:00.000-08:00

Now that I've graduated college and no longer have the awful cloud of schoolwork-I-should-be-doing looming over my head every time I do something fun, I've decided that I'm going to try blogging more. However, since I'm temporarily unemployed and living in a city where I know very few people, I may write about past adventures to make up for any lack of current adventures. This is one of those moments.

As a student at Pitzer College in Claremont, California, my sunny SoCal location offered me easy access to many exciting destinations. Like Vegas, which was only 4 hours away.

During the spring break of my junior year, most of my friends - who were seniors - were dedicated to staying at home and working on their theses. We went to Joshua Tree for a night, but other than that, it was home, home, home. That Thursday, though, I mentioned Vegas to Kirsten. And Kevin. And Michael, though in the end, Michael was not as blindly enthusiastic about the proposal as the rest of us.

By 5:00, Kirsten, Kevin, and I were off. That night I learned many valuable Vegas lessons:

Number 1. It is very difficult to get free drinks while playing slots on the strip.
Number 2. If you are staying at the Imperial Palace, be warned that their idea of a "view of the strip" means a view of the warehouses next door.
Number 3. If you are staying at the Imperial Palace, also be warned that while admiring your view of the warehouses next door from your balcony, the door may shut and lock behind you. Leaving you stranded on your 17th floor balcony with a poor view.
Number 4. If you are gambling at the Imperial Palace and find yourself on a winning streak, know that the casino managers will card your baby-faced friends, switch out your dealer for one who will offer you more winnings, and huddle in front of your table whispering - even if you are unfailingly playing the minimum.
Number 5. If you are gambling at the Imperial Palace, you may find yourself in the company of Christina Aguilera - because she will be dealing cards for you. However, she may be forced to leave so that she can perform, leaving you afraid for your life as a creepy Lionel Richie looks to take her place.

The next semester - before my senior year really got underway - another Vegas excursion presented itself to me. Though my plans for the day had been only to get delicious Patty's burritos with Terri and sit around 'til it was time to play some ball with Kevin and Michael, I should have known adventures were on the way once Hamlet 2, bowling, and polyamory got thrown into that mix. After donning our basketball gear in preparation for our last planned activity for the night, Kevin, Terri, and I decided - while Michael used the restroom - that we'd rather go to Vegas. This time, Michael was in, and we were off and ready for fun despite our 8pm departure. Once again, I learned many a secret about Vegas.

Number 6. Vegas Downtown is far more colorful, bright, and fun than the strip.
Number 7. According to testimony, there exists somewhere in Downtown a fancy Wizard-of-Oz slot machine that will induce a drug-like adventure complete with rumbling seats and Glenda the Good Witch.
Number 8. While watching your friends play craps, it is best to stagger the ordering of drinks amongst yourselves. That way, you can finish your drink while the waitress fills other orders and be ready to order another once she is back.
Number 9. While watching your friends play craps, it is also polite to shower everyone at the table with innumerable cheek-kisses.
Number 10. If you are asleep in your shared hotel room, one of your friends will not hesitate to poop in front of your other friends who are hiding out in the bathroom in an attempt to allow you sleep. These other friends may then throw water on said offender, causing you all to be mighty damp the next morning.
Number 11. The scrambled eggs at the Four Queens are not eggs. They may be rubber, they may be glue, but they are most certainly not eggs.
Number 12. Do not attempt to attend a Carrow Family India party immediately after returning from your trip. It will not bode well for your stomach, your head, or your physical well-being in general.

And that, my friends, is what I learned from living a mere 3 hours away from Vegas. Now that I'm on the East Coast, I'll have to find a new destination to offer me such an extensive education. But I hear you learn something new each day, so I think I'll be fine for now.

Lost, Hatch, Shirtless, Bleeding, Dead People

2009-01-04T20:30:00.000-08:00

This weekend I moved to Brooklyn. That statement may be slightly misleading because, so far, that only means that I sleep on Cara's couch in Brooklyn and watch Lost all day long while working on a puzzle that I swear is missing a number of pieces. Though I would certainly be content to sit around always and oogle at the beautiful people that ABC somehow convinced to all join one spectacularly attractive cast, I have been searching for ways to get off this couch. That being said, if anyone knows of anyone who is looking for an apartment-mate or - more importantly - of anyone who is looking to hire me, I will bake you cookies if you hook me up.

Anyway, back to Lost. Anyone who knows me well knows that I really don't like movies or television shows or even books where things go wrong. I like my entertainment with as little plot as possible. That's why Empire Records is my favorite movie.

One might wonder then, why I would ever agree to watching all four seasons of Lost in preparation for the 5th season. A lot goes wrong in that show. And I mean a lot.

Cara and I have worked out a system, however. Some may think it ruins all the fun, but really, it just saves me immeasurable amounts of strife. You see, when a particularly beautiful cast member was killed off in the first season, it really upset me, so I went online and looked up when all my other favorite characters die. When I told Cara what I had done, she didn't scold me. Instead, she just apologized for neglecting to warn me about the beautiful boy's death. Now we have a lovely setup where she warns me anytime a situation begins to get intense. That way, it doesn't feel like my heart is going to explode with anxiety over whether someone is going to die or not. Sometimes Jon tries to trip me up by telling me that someone is going to die when they aren't, but I don't fall for his shenanigans.

The only problem now is what we will do when Season 5 finally gets here. Cara won't be able to warn me then. I'm going to try and struggle through it, but we have a backup plan in case I can't handle it.

As long as that show continues to showcase some of the most beautiful people on the planet, however, I think I will be able to survive the suspense. Plus, now that I'm working on becoming a grown-up, I guess I better start appreciating adult things. Like plot twists. And the Unknown.

I Don't Like Commitment

2008-12-30T08:10:00.000-08:00

Amy: On a scale of 1 to 10, how often do you actually use a one or a ten to describe something?
Julian: ...Two.

In a World Stacked Against Love

2008-11-12T10:28:00.000-08:00

It's important to me.

Return to Africa

2008-09-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

Well, not exactly...but my lifestyle here at my "luxury" apartment in Claremont (or Upland, to be exact) has mirrored my life in Botswana in so many ways, it's a little weird. And so I give to you...
Ways in which my apartment makes me feel like I'm abroad again:

1. The hot water is unreliable.
This is not exactly true for Botswana. I was pretty much guaranteed hot water for my morning bath every day; however, since only my feet could be submerged in the warmth of this bath, leaving the rest of my body to shiver in the chilly air of the African morning, I feel justified in including my baths in this category.
At my apartment, I have the luxury of feeling water cover my entire body during my showers, but there is still no guarantee that my bathing experience will be a warm one. The hot water has been a bit flaky, so my rushed showers in California probably provide just as much (or little) cleaning as my bucket baths in Botswana.

2. My commute to school involves an inordinate amount of dust in my face.
In Botswana, as you'd expect from a country that is half desert, the land was incredibly dry and barren. Thus, on my trek to and from school every day, I had to hike through piles of dust and endured many gusts of wind that gave me a faceful of the stuff.
Here, the stretch of road leading from my complex to Claremont Blvd. is essentially a wasteland of quarrys and nothingness. In the dry heat of Southern California, this also means dust. To make matters work, numerous construction projects are underway on this empty expanse, causing the dirt to be disturbed and facilitating its journey into my face.

3. I cook things on a gas stove.
I know many houses in the U.S. have gas stoves, but having grown up on an electric stove, the smaller high to low temperature spectrum and constant fear of extinguishing the flame are (almost) new experiences for me. The only other real experience that I've had being in Africa. Granted, in Botswana, I had to turn the dial on the actual gasoline tank and then light the stove with a match by hand in order to get the burner going, but it was a gas stove nonetheless. Similarity.

4. I live behind a gate.
I had a fence the yard of every home I lived in in Botswana, but when I lived with my third host family in Gaborone, the capital of Botswana, I had a legitimate gate that often required a key to get through. And on the occasions that it was unlocked, it took some serious pulling to secure an opening wide enough to squeeze through.
At my luxury apartment complex, we too have gates that require either a key to open or an oversized remote control. Though some would see this as an appreciated form of security, I see it only as a hassle - an extra obstacle in my journey to and from school.

5. I open cans with a knife.
That's right. Who would have thought I would come away from Africa not just with a new cultural understanding, but with practical how-to knowledge. It may not surprise you that I had no can openers in Botswana, so my opening tin cans with a knife would be a plausible, resourceful practice. However, you may feel differently upon learning that I use the same technique here in my luxury apartment. But what do you expect from a college kid in a new, unfurnished home?

So maybe I didn't really have to get all those shots and take long plane rides to experience a different way of living. Of course, I won't make that claim just yet...at least not until I have to dodge cows and donkeys on the road and my neighbors start speaking Setswana.

Homelessness and Harmony

2008-08-12T08:19:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, I went down the Inner Harbor for a day of leprechauns, Johnny Rockets, and people in crazy Otakon outfits.
For those of you who aren't from Baltimore and don't know of it's amazingness, there's an amphitheater right in the center of the Inner Harbor called Harborplace and every Saturday and Sunday evenings they have live, outdoor performances for free.

After having a delicious grilled cheese and wandering around the waterfront for a while, the leprechaun and I settled down to watch a barbershop quartet-kind of deal perform. They sang many favorites, like "My Girl" and "Stand by Me." However, there was a performer of a different kind out to steal the show. A tall, skinny, very dirty man wearing a zip-up vest that was a little too short, a white bandanna around his head to hold back his short, greasy blond hair, and no shoes, staggered into the center of the amphitheater to dance. He clearly did not have what most people would consider a respectable home (aka - he probably slept on stoops and under bridges) and he was definitely either under the influence of a controlled substance or had frequented such substances to such a degree that he could no longer function in a "normal" way, but he was having the time of his life.

Not too long after he started dancing, a shorter, rotund fella in raggedy camo shorts also staggered into the amphitheater and began dancing. He had long, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail and he was wearing dress shoes that didn't quite match his outfit. He danced for a while and then went and sat with the other man (who was sitting with a dirty woman who was nothing remarkable) on one of the steps. As they sat, the skinny guy began to brush round-guy's hair. I'll be damned if it wasn't one of the cuter things I've ever seen. Sure, they were dirty, drug-addict hobos, but come on - a man brushing his friend's nasty hair? That's cute.

Now, I'll admit that the first time the skinny man came out and started dancing, I was uncomfortable and wished he would stop. I told myself it was second-hand embarassment, but really it was a mixture of that and a kind of disgust that he would showcase himself like that in front of all these nice people. But then, after the hairbrushing event, as they continued to get up at random intervals and dance, I realized that they had just as much of a right to be there as anyone else. They weren't panhandling; they weren't trying to steal from anyone; hell, the only time they even touched anyone else was when the skinny man tried to shake an old woman's hand to wish her a happy birthday.

During one of the breaks, the dirty hobo woman walked over to a woman who was sitting in front of us with her infant and tried to talk to the woman about her child. She wagged her finger in the baby's face and cooed just like any friendly person. While watching this, the woman sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, "No way in hell I'd ever let her touch my child." I smiled awkwardly, but the comment made me sad. These were people who were just trying to have fun; after all, they probably don't have the opportunity to hear music frequently at all, let alone live music. Just because they are less fortunate than the rest of us doesn't deny them the right to gather peacefully, watch a free show, and dance and sing along when they feel fit.

After the barbershop quartet, it seemed time for the two men to leave. As they walked off, it was like something out of a cartoon - a tall, skinny, short-haired man in barefeet tottering next to a short, round man with long hair and dress shoes. It couldn't have been better if it were fiction. I'm glad they were there and that they had a good time. They certainly enhanced my Inner Harbor experience.

The Time My Fake Band Turned Real

2008-07-29T17:51:00.000-07:00

So many of you may not know this, but I am in a world-famous rock band. We are called Niptuck Bruiser and I play the drums and am the rapper. Cara is the singer, Jessica is the bass player (because she has the biggest hands), Sarah plays the keytar, Caroline plays the triangle, Sophie plays the digeridoo, and Mandi plays a tiny harmonica. Like Disney movies, our albums are currently in the vault, but we have a number of them. Through the years, band members have come and gone, but every year, those of our band members who are available make an appearance at my summer camp where we are mean to little kids.

Our band, however.....is fake. It all started when Cara, Jess, Sarah, and I were sitting in Sorrento's Pizza in Catonsville and realized that we were such an incredibly pretty group of girls that we should probably be in a band. We called ourselves The Bruisers and assigned instruments and funny accents for each of us. The "Niptuck" bit got added when we went home that night to watch the amazingly trashy Paradise Hotel and were astounded by the graphic commercials for a new soft-core-porn-slash-slasher-show called Nip/Tuck. Since then we have dressed up for our campers every year, but we haven't really played any shows or recorded anything.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I discover that our band actually exists in boy form. They are called The Polygons and - though they are lacking a digeridoo, tiny harmonica, and triangle - they are a real-life incarnation of our band.
I met the members of this band while out dancing at Magerks in Federal Hill. Cara and Kate noticed this guy in the room singing along to every single song and told me to dance with him. And once he started doing the lawnmower, how could I resist? Turns out, his name is Lee and he is the drummer for the Polygons. He has since told me that he is also a rapper, but I like to think of him as a liar and that would just be creepy, besides.

Anyway, Lee is the drummer for this band...big deal, right? Except that he then tells me about Ed, who plays the bass and Parker, who plays the keytar.
AND. Though they don't have funny accents like those of us in my fake band, Ed is Mexican and Lee is Irish - making them a real band with nearly the same multicultural status as our fake band.

Perhaps next year, we will invite the Polygons to come play at our camp. They can open for Niptuck Bruiser. After all, while they are a real-life band, let's not forget that NTB is still a world-famous band.

Following Doctor's Orders

2008-07-23T16:29:00.000-07:00

After Jen stopped her silly attention-grabbing death act at the hospital, she was moved from her private room in the ICU to a double room in general care so she could recover with proper medical supervision without taking up a high-demand specialty bed in intensive care.

As a few friends and I were visiting the first night she moved in, we heard her roommate page the nurses quite a few times requesting some ice, but to no avail. We cringed as Jen's sister, Heather, ranted an "I-told-you-so" speech about the lousy service people get in general care. So when Jen's doctor came in to introduce himself, Jen (being the kind soul that she is) asked him if he could get her roommate some ice because she had been asking for it for a while but no one had come. He said he would see what he could do and left the room.

He came back a few seconds later and quietly told us that Jen's roommate wasn't allowed to have anything by mouth because they thought they might have to perform surgery on her for some reason. Once he left, Heather, the only one in the room who actually had a view of the other side of the room-divider curtain, looks at us and goes, "She's drinking an orange soda!"

Her soft-drink transgression was just the beginning. The next morning, as the nurses who serviced both the roommate and Jen were taking Jen's vitals, the roommate, who was hidden by only a flimsy curtain, chowed down on some KFC that her boyfriend had lovingly delivered to her earlier that morning. Though the curtain kept her secret out of sight, I'd venture a guess that the nurses could somehow sense her disobedience as the thick aroma of fried chicken filled the room.

Later, when Jen's dad was visiting, he boasted of his abilities to woo anyone into giving him free food while asking us if we wanted any soda or anything from the nurses station. Since he's kind of a loud guy, Jen's roommate overheard and called over to ask if he could get her a bag of chips. Jen and I hurriedly whispered that she's not supposed to have anything by mouth, but the damage was done. Thinking quickly, Jen's dad walked into the hall and went "This woman wants some chips? ....Oh, she's not supposed to eat anything? Oh, alright." And came back to explain that the nurses had told him that the roommate wasn't allowed to eat anything by mouth. Though the roommate protested, he explained rather sincerely that he didn't want to do anything to mess her up and that he was really sorry.

Two days later, she checked herself out of the hospital after refusing to let anyone even check to see if she needed surgery. After all, surgery would have required a much longer stay in the hospital and, though they had pain medication, the hospital's food service couldn't compare to her fine, fast-food cuisine.

Words Fail Me.

2008-07-04T20:09:00.000-07:00

A week ago, my B.F.F., Jen, skipped out on a concert where my other best friend, Cara, was performing because she had a fever.

Three days ago, Jen's sister, Heather sent me a text message saying Jen had been taken to the hospital because her fever had risen to 105.

Wednesday, Jen was released and not 8 hours later, had to be taken back to the emergency room because she was bleeding from her eyes. At the hospital, her blood pressure was 55/27, her left lung collapsed, and everyone thought she was going to die.

Tonight, I got to watch Baltimore's 4th of July fireworks from the waiting room windows with Jen. She still has monster eyes and she still needs morphine every once in a while for her chest pain and headaches, but she talks and walks (in little bits) and she still thinks I'm funny. I don't want to sound too sentimental and corny, but I just want to vomit with happiness.

For those of you who knew about this whole situation and kept Jen in your prayers, thank you so much. For those of you who are just finding out and who pray, it would mean a lot to Jen (and me and her family) if you would pray for her. For those of you who don't pray, you should wish on a star or think about her a lot or just do whatever you do to send happy thoughts and hopes for a speedy and thorough recovery.

An Alliterative Start to Young Actors' Theatre

2008-06-23T19:08:00.000-07:00

A camper complained of feeling under par per an upset stomach. Prior to accomplishing a trip to the proper care provider, this poor, inopportune person puked on the playground.

A silly, slightly unwise student searching for the restroom and discovering both first and second prospects in use, secured herself in the stairwell after supposing the entrance suggested access to another chance to assuage her pressing necessity.

A tremendously talented troupe completed an entire instruction of a tough, tricky quantity of tunes.

Other awesome incidents occurred, although I am out of alliteration and exhausted.

Doublecrossed

2008-06-15T15:21:00.000-07:00

When the Pennysaver came in the mail a few days ago, I was at our kitchen table working on a crossword puzzle from The Catonsville Times that was proving to be too much of a challenge for my inexperienced little brain. Eager to move on to something a bit less strenuous, I turned to the crossword in the Pennysaver. The great thing about this crossword is - it has the answers upside-down on the bottom of the page so that when I've exhausted all the answers I can come up with, I can give a quick check, fill in a word or two, and see if those extra letters help me figure out other words.

Let me take this moment to say - I'm not very good at crossword puzzles, so when I come to a clue that I definitely know, it's really exciting for me. This was the case with 8-across: a four-letter word for "The radiant glow around the head of a saint." I confidently penned in "HALO" and moved on.

Later, while trying to figure out the answer to 11-down - a three-letter word for "helps small business" (or something like that) - which shares its last letter with "HALO" of 8-across, I take a peek at the answer key. "SBA" it says...and I pause. Halo doesn't end in an A...

So I check their answer for 8-across. They've put "AURA."
...What?!

I apologize, Pennysaver-crossword authors, but auras are not "the radiant glow around the head of a saint." That would be the definition of a halo, and though similar to an aura, the two are not alike enough to share the same crossword clue.

To be sure, I checked Dictionary.com and they have defined an aura as:

1.	a distinctive and pervasive quality or character; air; atmosphere: an aura of respectability; an aura of friendliness.

2.	a subtly pervasive quality or atmosphere seen as emanating from a person, place, or thing.

3.	Pathology. a sensation, as of lights or a current of warm or cold air, preceding an attack of migraine or epilepsy.

Somehow, "a subtly pervasive quality or atmosphere seen as emanating from a person, place, or thing" doesn't quite seem the same as "the radiant glow around the head of a saint."

But maybe that's just me.

I've Heard Hitler was Pretty Kinky

2008-06-09T13:12:00.000-07:00

Last night I had an awful dream where my school was taken over by fascists. Through the whole thing, I just kept thinking about what I had learned in my Philosophical Roots of European Fascism class that I took last semester at CMC, but these were Spanish fascists taking over, and we only learned about German and Italian fascists so I was screwed.

It's interesting that I would somehow have a dream (kind of) about that class in particular because I certainly did not like it at first. The professor, as one of my CMC associates put it, "had one foot in the grave" and, though I don't have anything against old people, she certainly didn't seem completely "with it." She often told us not to be afraid to speak up in class because she couldn't remember who we all were, so there was no way she would mark us down for a stupid question - not exactly what I'm looking for in a professor, but hey, the tests weren't that hard, so I stuck with it, and by the end she had grown on me.

On the first day back from spring break, I decided it would be fun to wear my "Kill" shirt as a little commemoration of how I felt to be returning to classes. Of course, everytime I wear this shirt, it's all in good fun.

This apparently did not come across to my Fascism professor, though, because she noted my shirt and commented, "That's a very hostile shirt you have there."
I laughed and responded, "I thought it was appropriate for the first day back after break." To which she asked "So that's what you would like to do to all your teachers."
Baffled, I told her that I wouldn't want to kill anyone and she responded with some comment about the fascists and killing and we got on with class.

For the next couple classes, everytime I came into the room, she would ask me if I were wearing "that angry shirt" until one day, when I happened to be wearing some very flamboyant orange, blue, yellow, black athletic pants, I tried to explain that I wore the shirt ironically. "Kind of like these pants - they're ridiculous!" I told her.

The next week, we had a midterm. We all put our cell phones at the front of the room because, according to this professor, students themselves have told her that they use them to cheat, and sit down to receive our exams. A little way into the period, as we're all silently working, our professor says to me, "I saw your pants in Vogue." I looked down at my pants confusedly; I had worn a pair of my gross, plain black pajama pants to school that day and thought that, of course, she would see pants like this in Vogue - they probably have plain black, somewhat baggy pants in Vogue all the time. I give a little "Oh" to acknowledge that I heard her, but to be sure not to encourage conversation. We were in the middle of a midterm, after all.

"You know, those pants that you called 'revolutionary.' They were in Vogue. Isn't it funny how revolution gets co-opted by capitalism?" She continued. At this point, I truly feel like an ass for having instigated this rant in the middle of a test. I try another "Mhm" and continue working on my exam. When I had finished - early, because I don't like to dwell on things - she made an announcement to the entire class that they should strive to be like me because I had finished first. I grabbed my cellphone and hurried out the door, anxious to escape any more interruptions that I may cause. I can only hope that my classmates recognize that these disruptions were spurred by our crazy professor and not by my crazy fashion sense.

Shower Power!

2008-06-05T20:48:00.000-07:00

I smell like a dirty hippy who tried to cover up the rank smell of her b.o. with patchouli oil. It's probably because I tried to cover up the rank smell of my b.o. with patchouli oil.

Glory to God in the....Desert

2008-06-05T08:30:00.001-07:00

I don't remember if Jesus Christ Superstar would have made it into my list of favorite plays as a kid, but it certainly worked its way into my list of most-often-attended plays when I was littler. So when I was browsing the On Demand movie menu on my mom's fancy television the other day and saw it listed, I had to watch it. Turns out that it's not just a movie version of what has become one of my favorite rock operas of all time, but it's a glorious hippy version!

To get a sense of the wonderfulness that is this movie, check out the overture:

It's a little slow-going at first, but at about 1:25, the glory that is the The Bus makes its debut. The movie is essentially a huge group of wonderful, 70s hipsters who go out into the desert and act out Jesus Christ Superstar.

The movie makes me want to take a huge bus into the desert with all my friends and pretend like we're biblical characters reliving the rock spectacle that led to the crucifixion of Jesus! Of course, I'm not so much into role-playing, so we could leave out the acting part and just kind of party in the desert in our own little communities that each have their role in some larger society that we've created especially for our desert excursion.

Or I guess I could just go to Burning Man.

The Masculinist Coalition at Pitzer

2008-04-02T17:13:00.000-07:00

So there's been a lot of positive press surrounding what's been going on at Pitzer with this kid who's trying to start a "Masculinist Coalition" club and this is all I can think to do right now to try and get some word out there about what is so bad and awful about this club. (Plus I was thinking about starting to blog a little more often now, so why not start with this?)

A couple weeks ago, this kid at Pitzer (who I'm not going to name since I have a lot of issues with the way this person has been putting everyone else out there on the internet) sent out an email about starting a Masculinist Coalition for heterosexual men on Pitzer's campus to get together and do "manly" things like drink beer, watch sports, grill, go to strip clubs, etc. Twice in the email, it said that they would "celebrate men (not in a gay way [not that there's anything wrong with that])," which is just not a good way to start (you know, kind of hostile and unaccepting and all that).

At the first meeting, many of my friends who are members of the Pitzer Feminist Coalition and the Pitzer Queer and Allies club, along with a bunch of people who aren't affiliated with these groups but are feminists and queers and allies, came to voice their opinions about why this club is hurtful, offensive, and oppressive. I didn't go to the meeting because I can't deal with people being assholes (any people - even my friends), but I of course received lots of reports from my friends. One of the things that upset me the most is that, apparently, the person who sent out the first email (who is also the leader of the club) made a statement about discussions the group might have about prison rape that went something to the tune of "I'm not going to say that rape of men in prison is more intense than other kinds of rape, but..." and left off there.

Additionally, throughout the entire meeting, this person had a video camera rolling (though it was only focused on this person leading the meeting). Afterwards, this kid posted the video to the masculinist coalition website (yes, they have a website) with some really upsetting captions. For one video, it ridiculed my friend, we'll call him Ryan, for getting upset after being harassed for his comments at the meeting. The leader of the masculinist coalition later sent an email to the entire student body with a link to these videos and the statement: "Please be aware that any emails sent over student-talk or to me
privately might very well be posted in multiple locations online."

Eventually, the group went to Pitzer's Student Senate for funding and recognition of their charter (which would make them an official club) and were denied on the basis of their behavior at the meeting. The leaders of the club came to Feminist Coalition that week and a very productive and calm dialogue about what about the club was offensive and how they can fix it and everyone came up with the idea that the club should be called the "Broalition" and it should be about drinking beer and watching sports and everything that they originally wanted to be about. That way, all of these activities can be tied to a male identity if they want it to be, but it isn't making such a blanket statement that that's what masculinity is all about. Not to mention, it helps Pitzer save a little face, too, since apparently the masculinist movement was a hate movement against women.

However, the leader of the club decided that, in good faith, the name could not be changed and they would remain the Masculinist Coalition. They returned to Senate again this past Sunday with a revised charter and were again denied funding, this time on the basis of their name. Keep in mind that, this whole time, everything regarding these decisions has been publicized on the internet.

Yesterday, the kid who sent out the email (who is also the leader of the club) went on KROQ for an interview regarding the whole situation. My friend, let's call her Lauren (even though her real name is on the internet - I'm sticking to my disgust with that, though), called in to offer a voice about why the situation is actually serious and offensive and more than just a matter of some poor kid being denied funding. I haven't listened to the interview yet (again, because I can't stand assholes), but Lauren said that she was cut off by the DJ with the statement: "Now you think you're a feminist and that's adorable, but this is the real world and I'm the man." (something along those lines - but definitely "I'm the man"). The masculinist coalition leader then sent an email out an email to the entire student body with the link to the streamed version of the interview that was posted (by this person) on funnyordie.com, where Lauren's full, real name has been used to tag the video.

Now, I'm not well-versed in gender and queer theory at all and I probably couldn't tell you the broader implications that a formation of a group like this might have in regards to the feminist and queer movements, but I do know that on a practical level, not theoretical, the person who started all of this has been really intimidating, and not just unintentionally. It has become bigger than just some joke, and it really upsets me, not because of the implications it has for feminism and for gay rights, but because I don't feel safe anymore.

So I don't know what to do. Right now, I'm just trying to get a voice out there about why this club is bad. This isn't a voice that says a club like this can't work out or that straight men don't deserve their little space on campus, too. It's a voice that's saying that I should feel comfortable in that space as a girl and I don't. That's what's wrong with this group.

So do what you can to make this voice heard. Visit this blog from as many different computers and IP addresses as you can - get as many hits as possible. If you blog, write a little something about it. I dunno - I'm clearly not as internet savvy as this kid. But I'm hoping other people will help. Get this side of the story out there. Make people realize that it is not a joke.

Sending all my love to the world (even to the haters).
heart out to the max!
-Amy

CREATIVITY ESCAPES ME

2007-11-15T02:26:00.000-08:00

So life here is great. Awesome, really!
Last week, school ended so this week I've just been hanging out doing not a whole lot...hanging out with Laura (Tebogo) and doing nothing... it's been pretty awesome.

Um...I joined a choir! It's officially what I'm doing for my Independent Study Project. It's this choir called KTM and it's sort of funny because they're doing Christmas Carols right now so I know most of the music. Actually, the conductor wants to talk to me because he says he's not sure if I should stay with them since they're not doing any Setswana music right now. I mean, I'm thinking I'm going to ask my program director if there's any other choirs I could join as well as this one so I could sing traditional music, but even just singing in this one is so different from the choirs at home. The music is COMPLETELY different - there is no treble or bass clef - and no notes! It's written according to do-re-me and it's sort of hard to get used to. That and the way we learn the music is really different, too, so I feel like even if I'm not singing traditional songs, I'm learning something either way.

Last weekend, my mom had this soccer team, the Township Rollers, who are like THE team of Gabs staying at the lodge so I got to go on Saturday and hang out with them and it was awesome! Tebs came along and we went to a football game with them where they were getting in free since they're an organized team, but the people at the stadium were giving them all sorts of crap since me and Laura were quite obviously not on the team. But this one, Not Kago (we thought his name was Kago for a long time, but it's not and we don't remember what it is so we call him Not Kago) told them we were team doctors and the team ushered us in and it was awesome. It was pretty cool sitting with them, too, cuz they're pretty famous-ish and everyone was asking about the game they had the next day against the Police. Then, we went back to the lodge and hung out with some of them some more - we mainly hung out with Chicken (they call him Chicken Nandos cuz his last name is Koko, which is "chicken" in Setswana and Nandos is a chicken place here) and Bernard, who's from Zambia and it was awesome. Bernard kept showing us pictures on his phone of his wife (who he called his queen) and kids, and kissing his phone (btw. they range in age from 17 to 30). And we listened to music on Chicken's phone and talked. We met this guy, Gumgum (they call him Gumgum cuz he likes to listen to his music real loud and all you can hear is "gumgumgumgum") who is the team captain and who is BEAUTIFUL. He hung out for a bit which was awesome and this other kid, Aubrey, who's the 17 year old, came and hung out and he's sort of a brat, but it was fun. And then Bernard got up and was dancing all crazy and Chicken got up and joined him and it was so so so much fun!
Then, the next day, we saw them off to their game and Gumgum was playing music all loud from the combi (of course) so I danced a bit with this kid Lesego (which is funny cuz that's my name) and he and the goalie, Toldo, told us they'd take us out dancing sometime so that's super exciting. We went to their game and they tied 0-0 but it was SO nerveracking because the Police were playing super dirty and the ref wasn't calling much and now that we knew them, we were so worried for them. Ha, but it was awesome.

Oh, and I dyed my hair! (yes, I found a way to dye my hair all the way over here). It's just a blond stripe down the right side of my head, but it's pretty much awesome. My little brother now calls me "Jeff Hardy" because that's a wrestler who they call the "rainbow haired warrior" cuz he has his hair dyed all different colors which is AWESOME because Jeff Hardy is absolutely my favorite wrestler (did I mention that I have become grossly obsessed with WWE RAW here? It's like the best thing ever!). Actually, Nicki and I went to this flea market-type place the other day to try and get Jeff Hardy t-shirts but all they have is J ohn Cena, so this guy we met gave me his number and might import some shirts especially for us from South Africa! Ha!

Sorry I haven't put up any pictures, yet. It's really hard to get my pictures to a computer that has internet, but I have a TON and I can't wait to show them all off. AND. Lots lots of love to my wonderful Dad for being super awesome and cute with his comments and SUPER SHAME on the rest of you who are just living vicariously through me and not telling me so! Tahaha

I LOVE YOU ALL and miss you lots and CAN'T WAIT to come home and show off pictures and presents and happiness! YAY

A Whole New World!

2007-10-31T04:05:00.000-07:00

Oh, I love Botswana!
So. A family bio. I live with a woman named Kemonnye who is 45 and she's not really around all that much because she's working at the lodge alot. But she's super nice and I really enjoy talking to her and last weekend, she made us have a photoshoot where she took 80 bajillion (or like 20) pictures of me in her garden to show off how pretty her garden is. I have a little brother, Ryan, or Kago is his Setswana name, who is technically a cousin (his mother was my dad's sister, but she died last year so now Ryan lives with us). He loves wrestling and dances all around the house and is in general an ADORABLE 10-year old. I have a dad who's only really around in the mornings before he goes to work and a semi-sister named Patience, or Naledi. She's actually a Zimbabwean maid, but I think of her as my sister. In fact, there were two little neighborhood girls at our house last week and Patience told them I was her little sister (she's 22) and one girl was like "but you're brown!"and Patience told her that our mother was white like me and our father is black like her. She's cute and super energetic. My house rocks.

Last Saturday, we all went back to Mmankgodi to see our first families and my mom picked me up and then we cooked diphaphatha (home-made bread) and it was awesome. Then we spent the night at Nicki's for a party for Greg's 21st birthday. I went to sleep around 9:30 cuz I'm just that awesome, ha! And now I have tor un cuz we're going to get ice cream and watch HOLES cuz we rented it! (We rented Aladdin and the Lion King too, I'm in heaven!)

HEARTS

The internets suckssss

2007-10-23T03:38:00.000-07:00

So I'm in Gabs! That's Gaborone, the capital for those of you who aren't all in the know around here.
Last week I went up north where all the famous African wildlife is and it was awwwesome! We camped out for 2 nights in Savuti, where we couldn't leave our tent at night without a torch (aka, flashlight) and a buddy because we could get eaten by hyenas or lions. Needless to say, I just held my pee till it was light out again, especially after I heard all these growling noises the first night (though apparently they were just the elephants) and lions groaning the second night (that was confirmed - they were, indeed, lions). I got to see all sorts of crazy animals - more elephants than I could ever count, warthogs, which I LOVE and are my new favorite animal, hyenas, giraffes, some lions, hippos, and tons of antelope. We also got to go to Zimbabwe to see Victoria Falls, which is one of the seven wonders of the world! We walked along all these paths to see the falls and on one of the last ones, off a side path, we managed to get really close to a baboon and her cute, cute little baby. But then, people tried coming down the other side of hte path (where there were other baboons) and the mother growled at us and we literally had to sprint away from her and another mother and baby as they chased us down the path. It was terrifying at the time, but pretty awwesome now!
The trip back was pretty awful; we had to take a combi, which is like a utility van, with 11 of us plus a driver and "conductor" and all our bags for 6 hours from Kasane to Francistown, then on the overnight train, they booked us in a car that wasn't actually attached to our train, so we ended up with 9 of us in 6 beds and I slept head-to-foot with Laura. Then, we got to Gabs and moved in with our families.
And, oh! Has my standard of living gone through the roof! My house is huge and has an air-conditioning unit and more than one television channel and really comfortable couches and TWO toilets (it doesn't even HAVE an outhouse!) and a shower and a tub and I get my own room with a little bit of closet space! That and the first night, my mom bought me pizza for dinner (did I mention I'm not so vegan here - just Vegetarian? I'm actually really excited to go back to being Vegan when I get home) and the second night we had corn on the cob!
Other than that, all is well; I'm learning the city and all sorts of good stuff. Sending my love toa ll of you at home!
HEARTS

We Don't Care What People Say...

2007-10-05T04:53:00.001-07:00

For those of you that don't know, that title would indeed be a tribute to the great Kanye West. Right now I'm living in Kanye, which is about 45 minutes southwest of Gaborone and is a big village. It's huge, actually, but I think I'm learning my way around.

I live with a pretty awesome family. My mom, Osadi, is 42, my uncle, Mpho, is 31, my sister, Monnye, is 20, and my little brother, Popo, is 15. Plus there are two other 20 year-old boys living in our house so we all just hang out. Oh, and I have a crazy gradnmother who talks to herself. There are only three of the 9 kids from my program in Kanye, me, Greg, and Nicki and the others are in Molepolole and Mochudi and it's been pretty rough being away from them. However, my family is pretty much amazing, so it's okay.

And a note to Claire, if you read this (if she doesn't, someone tell her to) - I told mom this, but Popo wants to move to the US and be a doctor and I think it would probably be best for everyone involved if you two got married. You know, once you're older, the age difference won't matter at all. And he cooks! tahahaha

I "teach" at a primary school (which is standard 1-7, essentially the same grade-wise). It's okay, nothing to write home about (ha!).
I also get hit on at least twice a day here (depending on my exposure). Just today, this man drove me and my principal home from school and told me I was beautiful, asked if Iw as married, asked if I had a boyfriend (to which I lied and said yes), and then proceeded to ask me if he could marry me AND when I went to get out of the car, asked if he could kiss me. It all sounds real nice and flattering, but it gets old real fast.

Oh, and I have a request for advice. For my Directed Independnt Study Project, I have the choice to go up north and work with the board of tourism or stay in Gabs with my friends and intern at a diamond valuing company. I want to study the ethics involved in either industry and I really have no idea so you should all write back what yout hink and why.

And now, I'm apparently on the only working computer and others want it so I must go. I LOVE YOU ALL and miss you ALOT!

I'm in AFRICA

2007-09-19T07:55:00.000-07:00

So this is really the first time I've had access to the internet in Botswana (except once for like 15 minutes at the University of Botswana - which, to Jen, everyone calls UB and it weirds me out).

I just left my village home this morning and I cried and it was rough. My family was amazing - I had a mom (Belemina) who was so proud and ran around yelling my name proudly (which around here is Lesego - "le-saÿ-ho" which means lucky), a dad (Mosetle) who wasn't around much because he worked in Gabs, but who was super nice, two older brothers, Collen (24) who was super fun and James (29) who worked most of the time but was nice. I had two older sisters, Nkamu (31) who always brought me yogurt when she visited (neither of them lived with me, they live in Gabs) and Mmaserame (26) who was chill. I also had a younger brother, Michael (19) who seemed nice but never talked and was only around like 4 days and a little niece, who I call a sister, Maoshubena (5) who was cute sometimes and an awful spoiled brat other times. Our house had electricity, but no running water, so I had to bath in a bucket in my room and pee in an outhouse in the corner of our yard, but it was cool. There are goats and donkeys and cows and chickens running all over our village, which was called Mmankgodi, and my great grandmother even gifted me a chicken on my last day (we neglected to mention to her that I had no intention of eating it, since I don't eat meat).

Um....the food here is gross, I don't even know how to explain it, so you'll just have to ask me later. Everyone in my village would call my name when I walked by because most of them knew me from the wedding and funeral that were across the street from my house at my grandmother's (it was like a movie - I went to a wedding and that night the father of hte bride died). Most of the little kids all call us "lekgoa"which means "white person"(or Ënglish person") which has gotten to be a little annoying. I've had two people offer to marry me and just today a guard at the immigration office told me that the best time to learn Setswana was at night (between the sheets) and that I have tog et myself a Motswana boyfriend.

So all in all, it's pretty wonderful here. We have a beastly suite at a lodge right now for our orientation to the big village and I'm super excited just to hang out and speak English and be American for a few days. So I send all my love and YAY!
Love love love love love!

Oh My, I can't believe I'm actually leaving.

2007-08-11T14:48:00.000-07:00

So it's two days before I leave...less than 48 hours till my first plane takes off for Atlanta. Dunno which is going to be better...this blog or email, but I like email so who knows. Hopefully I'll keep them both somewhat updated.

Anyway, in case you lost it or something of the sort, my address in Botswana (well, the address to which you can send me things...like candy!) is:

Amy
c/o Pitzer College in Botswana
Box 1482
Gaborone
Botswana

And I can get care packages, letters, and all sorts of fun stuff, although I would recommend not sending like...yourself; you might get pretty beat up in transit. Plus I don't know how you would ever get through customs.

So here's to hoping I actually update this thing. Feel free to comment on here or email me (or just reply to my emails) at amy_callanan@pitzer.edu and let me know how things are at my various homes and at your various homes and all that good stuff.

I LOVE YOU ALL.
heart out.