Way too much of my time over the last few weeks has been spent discussing what this chart might look like.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
i give you a flow chart
Way too much of my time over the last few weeks has been spent discussing what this chart might look like.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
I ain't steppin outta shit all my papers legit
you'd think i'm listening to something really hardcore based on that GANGSTA RAP title (represent. i don't know what i'm talking about.) but to be honest it's a Neil Diamond kind of morning (early afternoon).
This is going to be a long one...I decided to type up scribblings from my 16 hour vacation in the Casablanca airport, then I have ALL SORTS of fun facts to share about my romp through Europe.
For those of you who have no patience for my writing style, I give you something that those of us in the Biz call a "teaser:" A CRIME WAS COMMITTED IN MADRID. Who dunnit? Was he (OR SHE) apprehended? Do I still have all my limbs? Where are my pants?
This section dates from 13/05/2010:
My flight leaves at 9:15 am tomorrow and I decided I was too stingy to pay for a hotel room. Who needs it? I'm a hard-core, burly PCV. I wear flannel and am best known as the spokesperson for Bounty paper towels. I sleep all night and I work all day.
Correction: I am a small white girl who has a pretty sweet set-up in Morocco (one of my main complaints is being "too loved") and as I curl up on the bench to write this I pull my hood over my head to look less friendly. Too bad my hoodie is white with bright green stripes, has big festive buttons and flairs out jauntily.
Note to self: start dressing like an adult.
What was I talking about? Well whatever. So I'm at the airport for another 7 hours or so until I can check in, then another two hours before I am airborne. You know, like a disease. Next stop: Barcelona.
So far, mixed feelings about this airport. I like how easy it was to get here (taxi to Rabat. Train to Casablanca. Only one transfer.) and it's a spectacular place for people watching.
However. I paid 40 Dh for a cheese, lettuce and tomato sandwich. And the sandwich was not served politely at all. I get so used to small town hospitality that when people in cities are rude it's really shocking.
General thoughts on the trip ahead: Very excited. It will be weird to not hear Darija everywhere, but I am in desperate need of a break from PCV life. I love my job but when I get burned out like this I can't do it properly.
-Time check: 4:51 am
I dozed about 2 hours, then the cafe re-opened. Whoop! Now sitting in cafe, blasting Jesus Christ Superstar in my headphones, fighting the urge to break free in song and sipping coffeeeeee.
7:20 am
Holy shit, I almost just crapped my pants. They almost didn't let me through security because I don't have a carte sejour yet, just the receipt for it. Like, seriously I think the only reason I was allowed to go was that the security guy felt bad for the little American who mysteriously speaks Darija. I had to buy a Moroccan crepe to make myself feel better.
Okay so that's all I got in my scribble pad. Now for a brief account of the trip.
Barcelona:
Andy was nauseated in the airport when he met me at the exit. How flattering. He liked his gifty though (A Raja jersey, one of the Moroccan club football teams). And he brought me some baller stuff, too. SOUR PATCH WATERMELONS. ONE OF MY CALVIN AND HOBBES BOOKS. TRAVEL-SIZED CONTACT SOLUTION (it ended up being the wrong thing and almost burned a gaping, smoky hole in my eye, but it's the thought that counts.) A BALLET DVD because all I do is whine about how I miss taking class.
Our apartment was awesome. Nuff said.
We got to watch a Barcelona game in Barcelona, which was pretty ridiculous. We went to this bar called Dow Jones, where the price of drinks rises and falls based on demand. For those of you who don't know me well, I find economics incredibly stressful and confusing beyond the most basic supply and demand graph, but I still had a lot of fun.
Berlin:
Um, hello beer towers and currywurst. I'm not really sure how I survived 23 years without you.
The proprietor of our apartment was kind of a dick...he was mad at us for being late, but it's not like it was any of our faults that the EasyJet crew was convinced there was a terrorist on our flight and our departure was delayed by like an hour.
Some fun bars...a few we went to were:
Flo- only stayed for like 5 minutes because it was pretty empty, but in my short time there a song that sampled "The Dance of the Knights" from the Prokofiev version of Romeo and Juliet, immediately followed by a Lou Reed song. Um, hi, welcome to my brain.
Studio 54- I imagine it wasn't much like the ACTUAL Studio 54, unless the ACTUAL Studio 54 was about the size of my house, had a backyard patio and a DJ playing fantastic mix of 90s and early 2000s rap. But whatever, I had a good time and got my awkward groove on.
This Other Bar- It was furnished with thrift store furniture and Pretentions British Actors Talking About Acting (PBATAAs). There was a functional door, but most people preferred to enter the bar through an open window.
Madrid
RIP wallet and passport. WOKKA WOKKA WOKKA. (This is the crime I referred to earlier. Less interesting than a story that involves he/she criminals who may or may not have been caught and situations involving the loss of body parts and pants, but let me assure you it was a traumatic experience.)
More interestingly, the Munich-Inter Milan game was really fun to watch and the city was totally nuts with Italians and Germans running around everywhere in Blue and Red, respectively.
Our hostel was a pretty big flop--the reservation was for a room with a double bed and shared bathroom and we ended up with a room, slightly smaller than the last place I lived in in DC (my room was a modified kitchen pantry with no lock), with two twin beds and access to a bathroom wayyyy down the hall.
There was also a bit of a club fail. Turns out I'm pretty lame. I finally got around to wearng my Cute Dress for Going Out but spent the majority of my time in it stuffing my face with a ham sandwich, hanging around waiting for other people to get ready, wandering around a Madrid neighborhood then going home after a few glasses of sangria with absolutely no desire to club it.
I experienced culture shock at a fancy restaurant. A mix of not having any money (remember my wallet was stolen), not understanding the menu, not being dressed accordingly, not having been in a nice restaurant for 9 months and getting stressed out by the high-tech hand dryer in the bathroom led to me kind of shutting down and staring at my plate most of dinner.
I had to wait until Monday (same day as my flight back to Morocco) to get my emergency passport because of the Embassy's hours. The American Embassy is not a fun place to be, by the way. The only person who was remotely friendly turned out to be an RPCV from Burkina Faso, go figure.
Okay so that's my vacation in a nutshell... I got home okay, have enough money to hold me over 'til I can get a new bank card and my paperwork for a new passport is coming together. It's good to be back.
This is going to be a long one...I decided to type up scribblings from my 16 hour vacation in the Casablanca airport, then I have ALL SORTS of fun facts to share about my romp through Europe.
For those of you who have no patience for my writing style, I give you something that those of us in the Biz call a "teaser:" A CRIME WAS COMMITTED IN MADRID. Who dunnit? Was he (OR SHE) apprehended? Do I still have all my limbs? Where are my pants?
This section dates from 13/05/2010:
My flight leaves at 9:15 am tomorrow and I decided I was too stingy to pay for a hotel room. Who needs it? I'm a hard-core, burly PCV. I wear flannel and am best known as the spokesperson for Bounty paper towels. I sleep all night and I work all day.
Correction: I am a small white girl who has a pretty sweet set-up in Morocco (one of my main complaints is being "too loved") and as I curl up on the bench to write this I pull my hood over my head to look less friendly. Too bad my hoodie is white with bright green stripes, has big festive buttons and flairs out jauntily.
Note to self: start dressing like an adult.
What was I talking about? Well whatever. So I'm at the airport for another 7 hours or so until I can check in, then another two hours before I am airborne. You know, like a disease. Next stop: Barcelona.
So far, mixed feelings about this airport. I like how easy it was to get here (taxi to Rabat. Train to Casablanca. Only one transfer.) and it's a spectacular place for people watching.
However. I paid 40 Dh for a cheese, lettuce and tomato sandwich. And the sandwich was not served politely at all. I get so used to small town hospitality that when people in cities are rude it's really shocking.
General thoughts on the trip ahead: Very excited. It will be weird to not hear Darija everywhere, but I am in desperate need of a break from PCV life. I love my job but when I get burned out like this I can't do it properly.
-Time check: 4:51 am
I dozed about 2 hours, then the cafe re-opened. Whoop! Now sitting in cafe, blasting Jesus Christ Superstar in my headphones, fighting the urge to break free in song and sipping coffeeeeee.
7:20 am
Holy shit, I almost just crapped my pants. They almost didn't let me through security because I don't have a carte sejour yet, just the receipt for it. Like, seriously I think the only reason I was allowed to go was that the security guy felt bad for the little American who mysteriously speaks Darija. I had to buy a Moroccan crepe to make myself feel better.
Okay so that's all I got in my scribble pad. Now for a brief account of the trip.
Barcelona:
Andy was nauseated in the airport when he met me at the exit. How flattering. He liked his gifty though (A Raja jersey, one of the Moroccan club football teams). And he brought me some baller stuff, too. SOUR PATCH WATERMELONS. ONE OF MY CALVIN AND HOBBES BOOKS. TRAVEL-SIZED CONTACT SOLUTION (it ended up being the wrong thing and almost burned a gaping, smoky hole in my eye, but it's the thought that counts.) A BALLET DVD because all I do is whine about how I miss taking class.
Our apartment was awesome. Nuff said.
We got to watch a Barcelona game in Barcelona, which was pretty ridiculous. We went to this bar called Dow Jones, where the price of drinks rises and falls based on demand. For those of you who don't know me well, I find economics incredibly stressful and confusing beyond the most basic supply and demand graph, but I still had a lot of fun.
Berlin:
Um, hello beer towers and currywurst. I'm not really sure how I survived 23 years without you.
The proprietor of our apartment was kind of a dick...he was mad at us for being late, but it's not like it was any of our faults that the EasyJet crew was convinced there was a terrorist on our flight and our departure was delayed by like an hour.
Some fun bars...a few we went to were:
Flo- only stayed for like 5 minutes because it was pretty empty, but in my short time there a song that sampled "The Dance of the Knights" from the Prokofiev version of Romeo and Juliet, immediately followed by a Lou Reed song. Um, hi, welcome to my brain.
Studio 54- I imagine it wasn't much like the ACTUAL Studio 54, unless the ACTUAL Studio 54 was about the size of my house, had a backyard patio and a DJ playing fantastic mix of 90s and early 2000s rap. But whatever, I had a good time and got my awkward groove on.
This Other Bar- It was furnished with thrift store furniture and Pretentions British Actors Talking About Acting (PBATAAs). There was a functional door, but most people preferred to enter the bar through an open window.
Madrid
RIP wallet and passport. WOKKA WOKKA WOKKA. (This is the crime I referred to earlier. Less interesting than a story that involves he/she criminals who may or may not have been caught and situations involving the loss of body parts and pants, but let me assure you it was a traumatic experience.)
More interestingly, the Munich-Inter Milan game was really fun to watch and the city was totally nuts with Italians and Germans running around everywhere in Blue and Red, respectively.
Our hostel was a pretty big flop--the reservation was for a room with a double bed and shared bathroom and we ended up with a room, slightly smaller than the last place I lived in in DC (my room was a modified kitchen pantry with no lock), with two twin beds and access to a bathroom wayyyy down the hall.
There was also a bit of a club fail. Turns out I'm pretty lame. I finally got around to wearng my Cute Dress for Going Out but spent the majority of my time in it stuffing my face with a ham sandwich, hanging around waiting for other people to get ready, wandering around a Madrid neighborhood then going home after a few glasses of sangria with absolutely no desire to club it.
I experienced culture shock at a fancy restaurant. A mix of not having any money (remember my wallet was stolen), not understanding the menu, not being dressed accordingly, not having been in a nice restaurant for 9 months and getting stressed out by the high-tech hand dryer in the bathroom led to me kind of shutting down and staring at my plate most of dinner.
I had to wait until Monday (same day as my flight back to Morocco) to get my emergency passport because of the Embassy's hours. The American Embassy is not a fun place to be, by the way. The only person who was remotely friendly turned out to be an RPCV from Burkina Faso, go figure.
Okay so that's my vacation in a nutshell... I got home okay, have enough money to hold me over 'til I can get a new bank card and my paperwork for a new passport is coming together. It's good to be back.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
new time, old time and packages
listening to "stand by me" by john lennon
Daylight Savings Time stresses me out. It stressed me out in America, where people heed it, and it stresses me out in Morocco, where people heed it if it suits them. Here I feel like going by "new time" or "old time" depends on how late you are. Or maybe it depends on which hour will be less convenient for me at any given moment.
For example, on Saturday I threw a party for the kids that participated in the Reading Race. It was set at 4:30. I showed up at 3:30 to make sure the venue was all arranged, and found that about five kids were there waiting to be let in. It seemed really weird because I was actually expecting everyone to start showing up around 4:45 or 5:00...but just figured it was some new aspect of Moroccan culture I don't understand.
I greeted everyone and remarked that they must be excited to have shown up an hour early, and they all gave me these "oh, you" looks then informed me they were going by "new time."
Great, no that's cool. Just hang out and be obnoxious for an hour while I try and set up THIS PARTY I WORKED SO HARD TO ORGANIZE FOR YOU. No you CAN'T HAVE A COOKIE YET.
Of course, Daylight Savings wasn't supposed to start until Sunday morning at midnight, but whatever.
The next day (when daylight savings actually went into effect) I woke up nervous. I had changed all my clocks before going to bed, but upon awakening I couldn't remember FOR SURE if I had changed them or not. It LOOKED like 8:00 am, but how could I be sure? The street was still quiet...then again it was Sunday.
When I showed up to Dar Chabab, things went about as I expected them to. One kid was there at 10:00 and the rest trickled in after 11, shocked I was using "new time." Their chess club leader never showed up at all, even though I had seen him the day before (his wife and I had tea) and asked him TO HIS FACE if he'd be there Sunday. I'm assuming the stress of changing all his clocks led to some sort of breakdown and he needed "me-time" (he-time?).
My question is this: if you are going to bother to implement Daylight Savings Time, and everyone seems to know it exists (everyone always asks if you are going by "new time" or "old time") then WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE JUST USE NEW TIME. Or do away with DST and always use old time. Whatever, I don't care. Just pick one and send me an SMS. I'll be at home, pantsless, watching episodes of Glee.
Haha...I just got a mental image of important people having a huge round table meeting and just going back and forth about "what are we going to do with this new-fangled time business?" "well I think it's trouble. it doesn't make sense." "actually it kind of does...Benjamin Franklin--" "--I DON'T KNOW WHO THAT IS." and so forth.
And now: Mondays just got better.
I've had a care package stuck in customs in Rabat for awhile, and I decided that since I have Monday off, I would go out there Monday morning and see what's what. Maybe crack some skulls, if needed.
I wasn't super-psyched to go to Rabat on Monday, because, to be honest, I wasn't sure I'd still be able to get in a ton of doing nothing with no pants* on in my house. However, I am a responsible adult and I said to myself I said "Hey you! Roll up those shirt sleeves, eat your nutritious breakfast (four bowls of Wheaties and 12 egg yolks) and ease on down the road!"
If I had time right now I would link you to a youtube video of Diana Ross and Michael Jackson singing "Ease on Down the Road," but I don't. I do urge you to research this on your own time because it's the stuff jive dreams are made of.
My goodness am I glad I did (go to Rabat...I'm also glad I youtubed "Ease on Down the Road", though). Sure I had to pay an obscene amount of money at customs, an amount that forced me to leave, go to the atm, and come back. But my mom sent me nail polish! And a really cute dress! And new jeans! And saline solution! And Earl Grey tea for those days where I feel too classy for my instant coffee (rare, but treasured, days are these). Plus, by some lucky twist of fate I didn't have to wait for a really long time and ended up being out the door, package in hand, by 11 am, conveniently in front of one of my favorite spots in Rabat. There is a big swanky hotel across from Parliament and it has an outdoor cafe perfect for sitting around, drinking over-priced coffee and not being bothered by anyone. Then you can pop over to the art supply store around the corner and drool over all kinds of cool markers and pens. This is my life.
I made a really delicious salad for lunch today. It came from my handy Peace Corps cookbook and I am going to post the recipe here:
You need:
4 T olive oil
3 med apples, cored and quartered
2 green peppers, seeded and diced
salt and pepper
2 T parsley
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 med onion, finely sliced
4 med tomatoes, quartered
juice of 1 lemon
2 T mint, finely chopped
Heat oil in large frying pan and add garlic, apples, onion and peppers. Fry until lightly browned. Add tomatoes and heat through. Season to taste with salt and pepper; then pour into serving bowl. Arrange neatly and leave cool. Sprinkle with lemon juice and fresh herbs; serve.
Um, party in my mouth.
*The No-Pants Policy is still in effect, but at the moment it is no longer mandatory. Reasons include:
1. I may have over-reacted because
2. it's actually not that hot out
3. I think I was just having trouble adapting.
4. It's like my first semester of college when Emma and I experienced "fall" for the first time and it reduced us to whiny, crying brats rolling around on her dorm bed wearing seventy layers of clothing.
Daylight Savings Time stresses me out. It stressed me out in America, where people heed it, and it stresses me out in Morocco, where people heed it if it suits them. Here I feel like going by "new time" or "old time" depends on how late you are. Or maybe it depends on which hour will be less convenient for me at any given moment.
For example, on Saturday I threw a party for the kids that participated in the Reading Race. It was set at 4:30. I showed up at 3:30 to make sure the venue was all arranged, and found that about five kids were there waiting to be let in. It seemed really weird because I was actually expecting everyone to start showing up around 4:45 or 5:00...but just figured it was some new aspect of Moroccan culture I don't understand.
I greeted everyone and remarked that they must be excited to have shown up an hour early, and they all gave me these "oh, you" looks then informed me they were going by "new time."
Great, no that's cool. Just hang out and be obnoxious for an hour while I try and set up THIS PARTY I WORKED SO HARD TO ORGANIZE FOR YOU. No you CAN'T HAVE A COOKIE YET.
Of course, Daylight Savings wasn't supposed to start until Sunday morning at midnight, but whatever.
The next day (when daylight savings actually went into effect) I woke up nervous. I had changed all my clocks before going to bed, but upon awakening I couldn't remember FOR SURE if I had changed them or not. It LOOKED like 8:00 am, but how could I be sure? The street was still quiet...then again it was Sunday.
When I showed up to Dar Chabab, things went about as I expected them to. One kid was there at 10:00 and the rest trickled in after 11, shocked I was using "new time." Their chess club leader never showed up at all, even though I had seen him the day before (his wife and I had tea) and asked him TO HIS FACE if he'd be there Sunday. I'm assuming the stress of changing all his clocks led to some sort of breakdown and he needed "me-time" (he-time?).
My question is this: if you are going to bother to implement Daylight Savings Time, and everyone seems to know it exists (everyone always asks if you are going by "new time" or "old time") then WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE JUST USE NEW TIME. Or do away with DST and always use old time. Whatever, I don't care. Just pick one and send me an SMS. I'll be at home, pantsless, watching episodes of Glee.
Haha...I just got a mental image of important people having a huge round table meeting and just going back and forth about "what are we going to do with this new-fangled time business?" "well I think it's trouble. it doesn't make sense." "actually it kind of does...Benjamin Franklin--" "--I DON'T KNOW WHO THAT IS." and so forth.
And now: Mondays just got better.
I've had a care package stuck in customs in Rabat for awhile, and I decided that since I have Monday off, I would go out there Monday morning and see what's what. Maybe crack some skulls, if needed.
I wasn't super-psyched to go to Rabat on Monday, because, to be honest, I wasn't sure I'd still be able to get in a ton of doing nothing with no pants* on in my house. However, I am a responsible adult and I said to myself I said "Hey you! Roll up those shirt sleeves, eat your nutritious breakfast (four bowls of Wheaties and 12 egg yolks) and ease on down the road!"
If I had time right now I would link you to a youtube video of Diana Ross and Michael Jackson singing "Ease on Down the Road," but I don't. I do urge you to research this on your own time because it's the stuff jive dreams are made of.
My goodness am I glad I did (go to Rabat...I'm also glad I youtubed "Ease on Down the Road", though). Sure I had to pay an obscene amount of money at customs, an amount that forced me to leave, go to the atm, and come back. But my mom sent me nail polish! And a really cute dress! And new jeans! And saline solution! And Earl Grey tea for those days where I feel too classy for my instant coffee (rare, but treasured, days are these). Plus, by some lucky twist of fate I didn't have to wait for a really long time and ended up being out the door, package in hand, by 11 am, conveniently in front of one of my favorite spots in Rabat. There is a big swanky hotel across from Parliament and it has an outdoor cafe perfect for sitting around, drinking over-priced coffee and not being bothered by anyone. Then you can pop over to the art supply store around the corner and drool over all kinds of cool markers and pens. This is my life.
I made a really delicious salad for lunch today. It came from my handy Peace Corps cookbook and I am going to post the recipe here:
You need:
4 T olive oil
3 med apples, cored and quartered
2 green peppers, seeded and diced
salt and pepper
2 T parsley
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 med onion, finely sliced
4 med tomatoes, quartered
juice of 1 lemon
2 T mint, finely chopped
Heat oil in large frying pan and add garlic, apples, onion and peppers. Fry until lightly browned. Add tomatoes and heat through. Season to taste with salt and pepper; then pour into serving bowl. Arrange neatly and leave cool. Sprinkle with lemon juice and fresh herbs; serve.
Um, party in my mouth.
*The No-Pants Policy is still in effect, but at the moment it is no longer mandatory. Reasons include:
1. I may have over-reacted because
2. it's actually not that hot out
3. I think I was just having trouble adapting.
4. It's like my first semester of college when Emma and I experienced "fall" for the first time and it reduced us to whiny, crying brats rolling around on her dorm bed wearing seventy layers of clothing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
