salience
February 27, 2005
February is coming to a close and I am just now realizing it is the month of bland cupid black awareness billboards. The weather here, it's got me in a freeze funk of tunnel vision, this week is five days long and tomorrow will last a lifetime. It could have something to do with me too you know, considering you spell mono M-A-R-I-A. Yet those spellcheck reality moments are snapping back with more frequency, looking at my calendar, amazed at all of the things I never wrote down but finished all the same. The conversations, the compliments. Koalas, and cavaities; know where I can store a pea?? Yes, I may have some locations available. And gracias, I am not a rich person, but I keep it all together: I play your part to get ahead, sure. And does anyone notice the irony of a wonderbread chorale performing slave songs copyrighted from 1934 as a fundraiser for a jesuit mission list, or is it just me?? Uncomfortable and stretched is where your mind should be daily, where you should be as you collect your thoughts in your bedtime sheets. Lay down and leave the tension for someone who wants it, someone who seeks strained addicted fuction. And really, life is only as absorbantly real as you make it, ignorance an escape for those needing to be comfortably coma snug warm on a drowningly cold night.
February 20, 2005
These are the kinds of weekends I will remember. Whether it's spending time with one of the cool modmates at cambridgeside, or encountering drunk foreigners (from peru, argentina and brazil, apparently new to the states: "oh!! carrying open alcohol on the street is no good?? No good. Be careful with Diego!! (the drunk companion who was close to vomitting on the T.) We're going to Avalon, is that good?? Good?? Good... You (pointing to new T riders), sit!! You sit down!! You!! Be careful with Diego!! Strawberry Milk (container full of wine), you try?? No?? No good!!") on our (girl band group) way to Faneuil Hall at Quincy Market, or even when the amigas trek to Harvard to bear performances by the same, Northeastern and BC for a combined concert... It's the support and memories of a familia I can't imagine doing without. Looking at our tiny town of Boston through Red Line windows, all night illuminated winter: this is home.
February 15, 2005
Today exists as the small town main street of your mind. That shadow at the end is Significant himself, waiting for you. You can’t decipher true proportion—this distance is mirror misleading—but you know the end of the road will leave you fulfilled. The day is passing bright, yet much remains for you between now and there. You take care in the details because you know he is watching. His anticipation makes you proud. And the depth of what he carries is irrelevant, the eyes are what you anticipate. Those of care and preparation will be the familiar smile you know and cherish.
February 10, 2005
There are three types of BC seniors: apathetic students who refuse to acknowledge graduation is racing towards us, all in the name of routine and inaction in molding some sort of secure future for the coming months; the snide, smirking one who either does not have to work or who used family connections to get some mezzanine job four months ago; the calm, sad kids who know this childhood of education cannot last forever, so they are (sometimes) dilligently applying, interviewing, deciding Who?! they want to be next.
Being the latter, I've been extremely pensive lately. This is the first semester I've interned while going to classes and such, and the dichotomy is quite shocking. I'm taking two grad level classes, favors from a certain, beloved financial policy professor, and often I can understand how those in grad school feel: work then books, life and textbook examples. The hardest thing, as usual when it comes to any change, is letting go of who you've been. The identity we choose for ourselves is evolving, but it's often hard to shed that layer of skin when you've been so proud of it for so long.
Part of me wants to jump!! at any opportunity offered to me, but I know I will regret it later. I am not someone who has to scrape to find offers, as much as I'd like to have the future decided. It seems all of us business kids are in a race to see who can sign a contract the fastest, when really all I want to do is take my time and watch from the sidelines. It could be a sense of monetary security from the internship, so cool working at a venture capital firm by the way, but I really don't feel the need to sign anything. Quite a few of things I'm looking into have deadlines of April, which is most definitely the month before Commencement, and that's okay.
It's almost a state of hibernation, I'm preparing for it all: the change, the move (oh, the move), the job. Part of me wants to be metropolitan in new york city; another part wants to be certified in linguistics and work for the US State department; part of me wants to stay in boston to avoid paying for an expensive move; and part of me wants to move somewhere warm, near a playa, perpetual tan and all that fun with the job details.
I'm remembering to smile though, we all have our cameras with us everywhere to document every BC last. I'm not too worried about making all of the appearances and parties though, I know this end isn't something I need to cling to: the VP of AEFA is calling me, leaving me voicemails of please consider; I have yet another analyst interview next week; there's an opportunity for me to continue at Watermill after graduation, if I so choose, and I know this isn't how it ends...
Nope ya'll, this is how it begins.
Being the latter, I've been extremely pensive lately. This is the first semester I've interned while going to classes and such, and the dichotomy is quite shocking. I'm taking two grad level classes, favors from a certain, beloved financial policy professor, and often I can understand how those in grad school feel: work then books, life and textbook examples. The hardest thing, as usual when it comes to any change, is letting go of who you've been. The identity we choose for ourselves is evolving, but it's often hard to shed that layer of skin when you've been so proud of it for so long.
Part of me wants to jump!! at any opportunity offered to me, but I know I will regret it later. I am not someone who has to scrape to find offers, as much as I'd like to have the future decided. It seems all of us business kids are in a race to see who can sign a contract the fastest, when really all I want to do is take my time and watch from the sidelines. It could be a sense of monetary security from the internship, so cool working at a venture capital firm by the way, but I really don't feel the need to sign anything. Quite a few of things I'm looking into have deadlines of April, which is most definitely the month before Commencement, and that's okay.
It's almost a state of hibernation, I'm preparing for it all: the change, the move (oh, the move), the job. Part of me wants to be metropolitan in new york city; another part wants to be certified in linguistics and work for the US State department; part of me wants to stay in boston to avoid paying for an expensive move; and part of me wants to move somewhere warm, near a playa, perpetual tan and all that fun with the job details.
I'm remembering to smile though, we all have our cameras with us everywhere to document every BC last. I'm not too worried about making all of the appearances and parties though, I know this end isn't something I need to cling to: the VP of AEFA is calling me, leaving me voicemails of please consider; I have yet another analyst interview next week; there's an opportunity for me to continue at Watermill after graduation, if I so choose, and I know this isn't how it ends...
Nope ya'll, this is how it begins.
February 6, 2005
Scream soapbox, but I feel teaching isn't something that can be taught. Throughout my life I've been surrounded by teachers, people who instruct in many different environments, whether through positions of leadership or career tracks that just happened to lead to a different destination than the one intended. Education itself isn't something that ever ends. Formally maybe, but really, it is an indefinite product of living. Each day is an opportunity to gain expertise, looked at in the right light.
Inherent in quality people is the need to express and help. Be an individual in your contributions. Find what you're good at and share. List what you know nothing about and research.
Teachers everywhere are usually commendable citizens. Often times though, I feel it's an education path, when chosen too early, for those who are too scared to pursue their dreams. We will all teach at some point, in some capacity. There is no greater feeling in the world than genuinely affecting another individual by what you have to bring to show and tell. It recalls that old cliche of the daughter who educates herself on education because it's what her mother did by accident and experience. Two people who are in similar roles in society, yet who cannot have the same impact on those they come into contact with.
I will always be wary of those who paint themselves into the teacher corner. It's a cute answer for an after school special, but it begs the question, yeah and what else??
I think back on all of the teaching I've had the opportunity to do. No matter what the capacity or material, it's become a given. It's not something I do, a job per se. It's more a part of who I am.
Sonic Wave has become one of the most energizing and fulfilling experiences I've ever had in Boston. Even if the rehearsals are in East Bridgewater. The kids, the other staff, the haphazard show and rough instruments, it's all so enriching. No one on staff does anything musical as a career. It is all volunteer, and it makes it that much more rewarding. We are all of us the same. The time and travel commitment each week, it's a lot to pencil in, but it makes the coming week just a holding period until the next rehearsal. There's improvement and dedication. Musicality and friendship.
It's everything Santa Claus can never bring you, but year after year, you still hope he just might find a way. It's a sometimes innate universal that a student lecture just can't contain, you know??
Inherent in quality people is the need to express and help. Be an individual in your contributions. Find what you're good at and share. List what you know nothing about and research.
Teachers everywhere are usually commendable citizens. Often times though, I feel it's an education path, when chosen too early, for those who are too scared to pursue their dreams. We will all teach at some point, in some capacity. There is no greater feeling in the world than genuinely affecting another individual by what you have to bring to show and tell. It recalls that old cliche of the daughter who educates herself on education because it's what her mother did by accident and experience. Two people who are in similar roles in society, yet who cannot have the same impact on those they come into contact with.
I will always be wary of those who paint themselves into the teacher corner. It's a cute answer for an after school special, but it begs the question, yeah and what else??
I think back on all of the teaching I've had the opportunity to do. No matter what the capacity or material, it's become a given. It's not something I do, a job per se. It's more a part of who I am.
Sonic Wave has become one of the most energizing and fulfilling experiences I've ever had in Boston. Even if the rehearsals are in East Bridgewater. The kids, the other staff, the haphazard show and rough instruments, it's all so enriching. No one on staff does anything musical as a career. It is all volunteer, and it makes it that much more rewarding. We are all of us the same. The time and travel commitment each week, it's a lot to pencil in, but it makes the coming week just a holding period until the next rehearsal. There's improvement and dedication. Musicality and friendship.
It's everything Santa Claus can never bring you, but year after year, you still hope he just might find a way. It's a sometimes innate universal that a student lecture just can't contain, you know??
February 4, 2005
I knew it. I was feeling a precursor, some preemptive premonition that something would happen. But I went through last weekend as planned, claro.
Damon's Bomb Squad rocked Harper's Ferry. For all you band kids who aren't yet twenty one, buy his cds. His shirts even. These guys rocked the entire place. Their opening band was from UMASS Lowell... And as much as I feel sorry for them, I do not want to hear the same two songs presented in different ways for an hour set, gracias. We were all up front for the last part of the show. Damon threw his disposable camera offstage to Pooks, geez that's what the girls in the mod call Alex, now I'm doing it too apparently, who took pictures of him playing his suave auxilliary percussion. The drummer was this awesome black guy; he and Damon were having so much fun. There was much dancing and even two Latin groove enjoyments with Alex. We saw the band faculty there. Kristen, assistant director of BC Bands, my girl-I-was-drum-major-too-and-I-played-clarinet walked past me, literally, at one point. My heart was broken. How can I be that transparent?? Hmph. Yet it was pointed out that she probably wasn't too sober. Still, ouch. They played for almost two hours, everyone just loving it. Afterwards we took pictures. Happy Belated Twenty One to Jack and what have you. And that was that.
Saturday was a long day of music intentions and JenMirski's Twenty One. Lots of fiesta plans, more intentions in fact. Yet, had to wait for Alex while he was changing out some equipment for Spataro Slick, so that ended up being not too fantastic.
Sunday saw "Alone in the Dark." Although I love Christian Slater, I do NOT love Tara Reid. And man, that movie was horrible. Borderline "Dawn of the Dead" wannabe with some situations, but no way can a museum curator and a half monster of true evil save the world...
Monday comes and it's lunes. Office morning as usual, and then all of a sudden I'm in the bano, snarfing up anything I try to eat. Even water. Convulsing... And my mind is racing, did I eat something funny this weekend?? Nope. I slept. Que pasa?? And I even leave work a little early 'cause I know I'm going to feel so carsick driving home this way, but I'm so hungry. And it doesn't stop when I get back to the mod. Anything food related: smells, hunger pains, spelling comida in my mind: f-o-o-d, and I'm snarfing the phleghm.
And: for the first time in three years, I did not go to concert band rehearsal. And music is, has been, my extracurricular V.I.D.A. My world was collapsing, the apocalypse had to be near.
Next morning I decide to head back to the grandma nurses in search of answers. Stop this snarf compulsion, why am I dying?? A result of stomach virus/flu/strep throat-ish discoveries landed me in locked down BC Infirmary observation.
And just for the record, I loathe any institution remotely resembling a hospital.
But my friends made it all bearable. Alex showed up minutes later, grasping at anything to make me feel better. I'm lying in a hospital bed, trying to ignore the fact that I am where illness is tangible and recorded, and he's gone with promises to be back in a bit, he just needs to yeah... And he's out the door. Not twenty minutes later he's back in the doorway with my laundry bag, stuffed with things from my room. My computer was being fixed in the Service Building, conveniently next to the Infirmary. He brought all my computer cables for when it was ready, my animales the pollo and the vaquita, my PNPN hat, every cd I own and my discman, and books: "LOTR" and "Diary." He brought me payamas and lotion. Suddenly my side of the room looked lived in, not so sickly sanitized. Florita and Shell brought me a coloring book, crayons, colored pencils, and "Motorcycle Diaries." I snuck out at one point to do order my graduation announcements, a "BC Bookstore Special: You Must Order These NOW or You Lose." I took a shower, got some toothpate, toothbrush and deoderant. And yeah I had to stay, but at least I was living there.
After three nights, my fever is gone. My flu symptons are gone. My snarf impulse has evaporated. But the strep: I have a "Non Group A" raw grapefruit of a disease remaining in the left side of my throat. Mr. Flashlight Doctor said I am borderline mono, bringing me handful after handful of penicillin and strict rules for diet and life plus a prescription for Darvacet. I am welcome to come back, the nurses will miss the pollo and the vaquita.
But I missed the mod laughs and the True-Life-I'm-a-college-student-in-Boston excursions. And the Edwin McCain forced scream alongs by Florita. And I needed the reminder. Slow down, take it easy. This is it before you're Grown Up. Old. Aging in the Real World.
Oh, and while it was borderline creepy, using the year anniversary of your muerte, your burial and the accompanying mariachi formalities was a nice touch, yes. But thank you grandma, I've missed you and your jokes.
Damon's Bomb Squad rocked Harper's Ferry. For all you band kids who aren't yet twenty one, buy his cds. His shirts even. These guys rocked the entire place. Their opening band was from UMASS Lowell... And as much as I feel sorry for them, I do not want to hear the same two songs presented in different ways for an hour set, gracias. We were all up front for the last part of the show. Damon threw his disposable camera offstage to Pooks, geez that's what the girls in the mod call Alex, now I'm doing it too apparently, who took pictures of him playing his suave auxilliary percussion. The drummer was this awesome black guy; he and Damon were having so much fun. There was much dancing and even two Latin groove enjoyments with Alex. We saw the band faculty there. Kristen, assistant director of BC Bands, my girl-I-was-drum-major-too-and-I-played-clarinet walked past me, literally, at one point. My heart was broken. How can I be that transparent?? Hmph. Yet it was pointed out that she probably wasn't too sober. Still, ouch. They played for almost two hours, everyone just loving it. Afterwards we took pictures. Happy Belated Twenty One to Jack and what have you. And that was that.
Saturday was a long day of music intentions and JenMirski's Twenty One. Lots of fiesta plans, more intentions in fact. Yet, had to wait for Alex while he was changing out some equipment for Spataro Slick, so that ended up being not too fantastic.
Sunday saw "Alone in the Dark." Although I love Christian Slater, I do NOT love Tara Reid. And man, that movie was horrible. Borderline "Dawn of the Dead" wannabe with some situations, but no way can a museum curator and a half monster of true evil save the world...
Monday comes and it's lunes. Office morning as usual, and then all of a sudden I'm in the bano, snarfing up anything I try to eat. Even water. Convulsing... And my mind is racing, did I eat something funny this weekend?? Nope. I slept. Que pasa?? And I even leave work a little early 'cause I know I'm going to feel so carsick driving home this way, but I'm so hungry. And it doesn't stop when I get back to the mod. Anything food related: smells, hunger pains, spelling comida in my mind: f-o-o-d, and I'm snarfing the phleghm.
And: for the first time in three years, I did not go to concert band rehearsal. And music is, has been, my extracurricular V.I.D.A. My world was collapsing, the apocalypse had to be near.
Next morning I decide to head back to the grandma nurses in search of answers. Stop this snarf compulsion, why am I dying?? A result of stomach virus/flu/strep throat-ish discoveries landed me in locked down BC Infirmary observation.
And just for the record, I loathe any institution remotely resembling a hospital.
But my friends made it all bearable. Alex showed up minutes later, grasping at anything to make me feel better. I'm lying in a hospital bed, trying to ignore the fact that I am where illness is tangible and recorded, and he's gone with promises to be back in a bit, he just needs to yeah... And he's out the door. Not twenty minutes later he's back in the doorway with my laundry bag, stuffed with things from my room. My computer was being fixed in the Service Building, conveniently next to the Infirmary. He brought all my computer cables for when it was ready, my animales the pollo and the vaquita, my PNPN hat, every cd I own and my discman, and books: "LOTR" and "Diary." He brought me payamas and lotion. Suddenly my side of the room looked lived in, not so sickly sanitized. Florita and Shell brought me a coloring book, crayons, colored pencils, and "Motorcycle Diaries." I snuck out at one point to do order my graduation announcements, a "BC Bookstore Special: You Must Order These NOW or You Lose." I took a shower, got some toothpate, toothbrush and deoderant. And yeah I had to stay, but at least I was living there.
After three nights, my fever is gone. My flu symptons are gone. My snarf impulse has evaporated. But the strep: I have a "Non Group A" raw grapefruit of a disease remaining in the left side of my throat. Mr. Flashlight Doctor said I am borderline mono, bringing me handful after handful of penicillin and strict rules for diet and life plus a prescription for Darvacet. I am welcome to come back, the nurses will miss the pollo and the vaquita.
But I missed the mod laughs and the True-Life-I'm-a-college-student-in-Boston excursions. And the Edwin McCain forced scream alongs by Florita. And I needed the reminder. Slow down, take it easy. This is it before you're Grown Up. Old. Aging in the Real World.
Oh, and while it was borderline creepy, using the year anniversary of your muerte, your burial and the accompanying mariachi formalities was a nice touch, yes. But thank you grandma, I've missed you and your jokes.
