Listening to Talking Heads and studiously avoiding the disaster that is my room, I try to decide what to write about the subject of packing. I’m the first to leave, so I have the honor of broaching the subject, although it is likely Megan and Jen will have plenty to say about the subject on the eves of their departures.
You should know that I am an American, ergo I am a notorious over-packer who tries to compensate for insecurities with more stuff. Carting my junk from Colorado to California and back again, however, has taught me a few essentials and helped me hone down the mountain of stuff I apparently* own. So many travel blogs tell you what to bring. Bull. This is hardly useful; I will tell you what not to bring before I even go there. Learn from my “experience.”
DON’T BRING:
Lots of extra books. I’ll be in a Spanish speaking country, with limited access to English books, yes, but books are bulky and heavy. I am trying my best to keep the number below five.
The electric toothbrush: I just think it would be annoying to my host family, a high pitched WHEEEEER early in the morning, and then you have to bring or buy batteries. Not worth it.
Lots of dresses: Sure they look nice, kind of pack small, but they are the most limiting wardrobe piece. We’re talking months with the same dress. Skirt/shirt/belt combos are more bang for your cubic space.
WHAT TO BRING:
Your towel: Don’t Panic, you’ll be a frood who really knows where his towel is.**
Your Cowboy Hat: The Hat is turning out to be ridiculously difficult and fragile item to pack, but it’ll be worth it in the end…?
---Nicole
*I have my own theories about the mysterious multiplication of matter in my dorm, which may or may not go against currently accepted theories in physics.
**Not going to bother referencing this.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Cowgirl Up
I started writing this post before we even had a blog- “How to be the Perfect Intern”. Actually, I started writing before I even had the job. Robbed of my traditional summer vices, I had to focus my energies into more productive outlets. My initial goal, looking like I spent a month at fat camp, proved to be a little lofty. So instead, I decided to find an internship. And eventually, through a fantastic mix of luck and connections, I ended up working with a magazine publishing company. It wouldn’t have happened without the hat though. Stumbling on a beat-up cowboy hat after starting my Equine Media Internship had to be divine providence.
…especially because landing the job felt like a miracle to me. I should point out that I know as much about horses as I do about publishing. Almost nothing. My new job working for a company that published magazines exclusively about horses was sure to involve more than a little of both. Still, I walked in utterly convinced that I was going to blow them away with my commitment and attention to detail. What I lacked in skills, I could make up for in zeal. Armed with my notebook, I was prepared for any task.
So when that first job turned out to be packing the office into boxes, I responded like I was about to wash Jesus’ feet with my hair and tears.
“Great! I’m really good at packing! I am a college student!” These were going to be the best mother-flipping boxes ever packed. Seven long hours and 20 cubic feet later, I wasn’t as sure, but actually, it did work out. However misguided my initial enthusiasm was, people actually appreciated my attitude. My coworkers gave me sympathetic grins as I dragged trash bags down the hall. And when I cheerily dashed downstairs to fish magazines out of a dumpster, I earned gratitude and an ally in my new office.
So yeah, my internship is turning out less like “The Devil Wears Prada” and more like “The Devil wears Wranglers and doesn’t really care what you do”. And yeah, I haven’t done much real work yet. But I’m still going to be the best intern ever.
--Megan
…especially because landing the job felt like a miracle to me. I should point out that I know as much about horses as I do about publishing. Almost nothing. My new job working for a company that published magazines exclusively about horses was sure to involve more than a little of both. Still, I walked in utterly convinced that I was going to blow them away with my commitment and attention to detail. What I lacked in skills, I could make up for in zeal. Armed with my notebook, I was prepared for any task.
So when that first job turned out to be packing the office into boxes, I responded like I was about to wash Jesus’ feet with my hair and tears.
“Great! I’m really good at packing! I am a college student!” These were going to be the best mother-flipping boxes ever packed. Seven long hours and 20 cubic feet later, I wasn’t as sure, but actually, it did work out. However misguided my initial enthusiasm was, people actually appreciated my attitude. My coworkers gave me sympathetic grins as I dragged trash bags down the hall. And when I cheerily dashed downstairs to fish magazines out of a dumpster, I earned gratitude and an ally in my new office.
So yeah, my internship is turning out less like “The Devil Wears Prada” and more like “The Devil wears Wranglers and doesn’t really care what you do”. And yeah, I haven’t done much real work yet. But I’m still going to be the best intern ever.
--Megan
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Poke me with a magic stick
"Proceeded on down the hall gettin more injections, inspections,
detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me
at the thing there" --Arlo Guthrie, "Alice's Restaurant"
Yeah...I'm not being drafted, but the amount of injections, inspections, detections, and neglections a person has to go through just to leave the country is both daunting and uncomfortable.
Take, for instance, vaccines: fantastic miracles of modern science, preventing the seeing from blindness, the walking from polio. They allow the developed world to walk untouched and unmarred by the bad microbes that trouble the developing world. But in order to receive the special protection the friendly microbes, certain rituals must be observed…
I had the pleasure of undergoing several of these rituals in preparation for my trip to Buenos Aires. Although the city is safe from most of the germs that could make me sick, in order to explore the rainforest and the remoter parts of that magnificent country, I needed to get typhoid and yellow fever inoculations. I went to my local travel shaman, known widely as a “nurse practitioner,” who kindly initiated me into the that elect order of the Immunity. She poked a needle into the bare skin of my arm, after muttering the magic words to lessen the pain: “There will be a small sting—“
For protection from typhoid, I had to collect the special pills from the apothecary’s store. The pretty priestess in the white robe peered at me from behind the counter and told me I could only take the pills every other day with tepid water and that I had to keep them chilled and not take them with alcohol or cold water otherwise the magic wouldn’t work. If I did everything right, I would be protected for 5 years from the bad bugs, but if I messed up a single step, the evil eye could fall on me, and my journey would be dominated by trips to the baños. It might as well be magic for all I understood it.
--Nicole
Thank God for modern science.
detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me
at the thing there" --Arlo Guthrie, "Alice's Restaurant"
Yeah...I'm not being drafted, but the amount of injections, inspections, detections, and neglections a person has to go through just to leave the country is both daunting and uncomfortable.
Take, for instance, vaccines: fantastic miracles of modern science, preventing the seeing from blindness, the walking from polio. They allow the developed world to walk untouched and unmarred by the bad microbes that trouble the developing world. But in order to receive the special protection the friendly microbes, certain rituals must be observed…
I had the pleasure of undergoing several of these rituals in preparation for my trip to Buenos Aires. Although the city is safe from most of the germs that could make me sick, in order to explore the rainforest and the remoter parts of that magnificent country, I needed to get typhoid and yellow fever inoculations. I went to my local travel shaman, known widely as a “nurse practitioner,” who kindly initiated me into the that elect order of the Immunity. She poked a needle into the bare skin of my arm, after muttering the magic words to lessen the pain: “There will be a small sting—“
For protection from typhoid, I had to collect the special pills from the apothecary’s store. The pretty priestess in the white robe peered at me from behind the counter and told me I could only take the pills every other day with tepid water and that I had to keep them chilled and not take them with alcohol or cold water otherwise the magic wouldn’t work. If I did everything right, I would be protected for 5 years from the bad bugs, but if I messed up a single step, the evil eye could fall on me, and my journey would be dominated by trips to the baños. It might as well be magic for all I understood it.
--Nicole
Thank God for modern science.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The divine birth of the Hat
The craft store giveth and the craft store taketh away
Before finding the Hat we lived your run-of-the-mill hatless existence. We had been friends for quite some time now. Megan and I bonded in 6th grade throwing Gushers at people in the lunch room and ended up going to the same IB high school where we joined the forensics debate team together. We met Nicole there and she quickly completed our quirky friendship with her own sparkle of inventiveness.
Our friendship survived the test of time as we all went our separate ways after high school. Nicole was off to Santa Clara to study Anthropology and Women’s Studies. Megan headed to GW in our nation’s capital to study International Affairs and later added minors in Journalism and Economics. I attended the University of Denver to pursue a degree in Public Policy and International Studies.
Having one of us on the East Coast, one on the West coast, and one of us smack in the middle of the country only deepened our bond. We always seemed to rewind the clock when we reunited in our hometown in Colorado. The Holy Trinity (as I affectionately and sacrilegiously refer to us as) was here to stay.
Because the Holy Trinity, above everything else, has a fixation on all things cheap, we decided to stop by our local craft store on an ordinary July evening. While perusing the aisles, we debated the merits of exotic animal wall hangings, do-it-yourself pet rock kits, and decoupage crucifixes. When we got to the bead isle, the fateful moment occurred.
Nicole noticed a straw cowboy hat and put it on. It had been lying there unobtrusively next to a pile of “My First Baby” beanies and Nicole put it on. It was fashionable but not overly stylish, a look we had perfected over the years. The Hat rested perfectly atop Nicole’s blonde hair. As she passed it to me, I felt the magic of the Hat envelope me. I somehow felt invincible. Could you get superpowers from an ordinary hat? I wondered. As I handed it to Megan, something truly remarkable happened; it fit her like a glove too.
Considering the fact that my forehead is so large you could probably build a commune on it, Nicole’s head is medium sized, and Megan's head is pretty lumpy, it was clear this was no ordinary hat. We looked at each other in awe and I swear we all had the same idea run through our minds. The Hat was going to change the course of our lives forever.
The more we excitedly passed around the Hat, the more possibilities arose. Suddenly, Megan looked pale as she took the Hat in her hands and remarked, “You know…there is one slight problem. We’re all going to be in different countries in the Fall, not just coasts.” Megan was right. There were clearly some complicated and unresolved issues.
“What if we just share the Hat? We could keep it for a few weeks at a time and then send it to each other?” I asked. “Yeah,” Nicole agreed. We began to devise a plan. The Hat would accompany Nicole on her 15 hour flight to Buenos Aires and after four weeks of tango the Hat would makes its way via UPS ground shipping to Megan in D.C. where it would delight in some whirlwind patriotic escapades before spending its last four weeks in Kenya with me.
Would the shipping be expensive? Yes. Would we all wait impatiently for the Hat to come to us and transform our lives? Yes. Would we Carpe this Diem all the way to a new blog? Yes indeed.
-Jennifer
Before finding the Hat we lived your run-of-the-mill hatless existence. We had been friends for quite some time now. Megan and I bonded in 6th grade throwing Gushers at people in the lunch room and ended up going to the same IB high school where we joined the forensics debate team together. We met Nicole there and she quickly completed our quirky friendship with her own sparkle of inventiveness.
Our friendship survived the test of time as we all went our separate ways after high school. Nicole was off to Santa Clara to study Anthropology and Women’s Studies. Megan headed to GW in our nation’s capital to study International Affairs and later added minors in Journalism and Economics. I attended the University of Denver to pursue a degree in Public Policy and International Studies.
Having one of us on the East Coast, one on the West coast, and one of us smack in the middle of the country only deepened our bond. We always seemed to rewind the clock when we reunited in our hometown in Colorado. The Holy Trinity (as I affectionately and sacrilegiously refer to us as) was here to stay.
Because the Holy Trinity, above everything else, has a fixation on all things cheap, we decided to stop by our local craft store on an ordinary July evening. While perusing the aisles, we debated the merits of exotic animal wall hangings, do-it-yourself pet rock kits, and decoupage crucifixes. When we got to the bead isle, the fateful moment occurred.
Nicole noticed a straw cowboy hat and put it on. It had been lying there unobtrusively next to a pile of “My First Baby” beanies and Nicole put it on. It was fashionable but not overly stylish, a look we had perfected over the years. The Hat rested perfectly atop Nicole’s blonde hair. As she passed it to me, I felt the magic of the Hat envelope me. I somehow felt invincible. Could you get superpowers from an ordinary hat? I wondered. As I handed it to Megan, something truly remarkable happened; it fit her like a glove too.
Considering the fact that my forehead is so large you could probably build a commune on it, Nicole’s head is medium sized, and Megan's head is pretty lumpy, it was clear this was no ordinary hat. We looked at each other in awe and I swear we all had the same idea run through our minds. The Hat was going to change the course of our lives forever.
The more we excitedly passed around the Hat, the more possibilities arose. Suddenly, Megan looked pale as she took the Hat in her hands and remarked, “You know…there is one slight problem. We’re all going to be in different countries in the Fall, not just coasts.” Megan was right. There were clearly some complicated and unresolved issues.
“What if we just share the Hat? We could keep it for a few weeks at a time and then send it to each other?” I asked. “Yeah,” Nicole agreed. We began to devise a plan. The Hat would accompany Nicole on her 15 hour flight to Buenos Aires and after four weeks of tango the Hat would makes its way via UPS ground shipping to Megan in D.C. where it would delight in some whirlwind patriotic escapades before spending its last four weeks in Kenya with me.
Would the shipping be expensive? Yes. Would we all wait impatiently for the Hat to come to us and transform our lives? Yes. Would we Carpe this Diem all the way to a new blog? Yes indeed.
-Jennifer
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)