It is unique and strange to have the opportunity to begin one job before leaving another, particularly when those jobs are somewhat similar. I feel a little bit like a spy. One who doesn't have the energy to report back what she's learned from the other side.
I just returned to New York City after my first two days at SIT, and I have to say, I feel a little schizophrenic*. One part of my brain must function in a world in which I know my job very well, know the systems and files and protocols that characterize AJWS, and have a million things to accomplish before the sun rises tomorrow. The (or an) other part is sort of empty, needing to be filled with the trillion and one pieces of information and systems and procedures, etc., that characterize SIT Study Abroad. I'm very glad I don't have to force those to parts into coexistence for very long, because oh man is it tiring.
Side note: on the systems-and-procedures scoreboard, SIT totally kicks AJWS's ass. It's exciting to be at an organization that's been doing this work for a long time and is very clear on its mission and goals and audience and message. Really exciting. Nothing against AJWS at all. It's just very young and, frankly, pretty confused in some ways, I think.
On yet another depressing note, I just got an email from a high school friend who kicked cancer once only to have it come back, and the second round didn't really go her way. The score is now tied 1-1, and she is about to undergo some hardcore chemo that, frankly, will either kill the cancer or will kill her. So I ask this of you: if you have good health, a home, people who love you, all that jazz... please hug your loved ones and thank your stars and put some good energy into this world. Please think of my friends, whether you know them or not, and hold them in the light. Will it help? Who knows. But it can't hurt, and if nothing else I hope it makes us all glance toward whatever power of the universe we put faith in, and say a big fat thank you.
Now I have to put some stuff into boxes. Because that is what fills the other part of my brain right now.
*with all apologies to people who suffer from real schizophrenia; of course I have no idea what it's like to actually suffer from that illness.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Sunday, March 4, 2007
and now for something COMPLETELY different...
Chicken poop lip balm.
This is not a joke (except for how it sort of is in a way).
http://ilovechickenpoop.com/
I'm totally buying this for my Arkansas farm girl friends (you know how you are). It's too perfect.
This is not a joke (except for how it sort of is in a way).
http://ilovechickenpoop.com/
I'm totally buying this for my Arkansas farm girl friends (you know how you are). It's too perfect.
Friday, March 2, 2007
*hug*
Bad things happen to good people all the time. We can't think about it too much because it would be paralyzing. But a really bad thing happening to a really wonderful person, someone I know and love dearly, is something I'm having trouble not thinking about. Regardless of how suffocatingly pressurized my little work world is right now.
Never wait to tell the people you love that you love them.
Never wait to tell the people you love that you love them.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
reading between the lines
An "overheight" truck shut down the New York City Port Authority bus terminal at rush hour today. By the time I arrived at Port Authority - where I was boarding a bus to New Jersey to have dinner with relatives - things had been shut down for maybe 45 minutes.
Now, most of you have probably never had the pleasure of navigating that bus station, so let me tell you, it is something to behold. Willy Wonka could not have dreamed up a more chaotic-yet-efficient structure for getting a whole lotta suburbanite salarymen (and women) in one door and out the other as quickly as possible.
(Now, I freely admit that I actually take a bus from Port Authority about once every three months, so it's possible that regulars would scoff at this description, whether for misguided praise or misplaced modifiers or whatever. Luckily, I don't think any "real" New Yorkers - or New Jersey suburbanites, for that matter - are reading this blog.)
Anyway, I've always been fascinated by the building itself, how from the outside you can always see a constant stream of buses in circuitous descent of the many levels, and how the inside seems constantly stuck on fast-forward as commuters zip around to their various bus gates, always knowing where to go despite the dizzying number of options and total lack of signage.
But today the zipping ended in surprised halting and amazement at the lines snaking everywhere around the huge terminal building. I cut through three arms of what I realized was all the same line in order to get to the ticket machine, and chatted with several women near the head of the line who assured me (luckily, correctly) that the delays looked worse than they were. As the loudspeaker droningly assured us that the vertically gifted truck had been cleared and the terminal was now running full schedule, people calmly bought their tickets and tracked the various lines to their ends to join the queue.
And here's the thing: just about everyone was quiet, calm and patient. These are New Yorkers; the whole purpose of living and working in the city (or working here and living in the suburbs) is to rush around self-importantly and hiss at tourists who move through our sidewalks and Starbucks at Iowa speed. These are people who can't stand 10 seconds in lines at airports before they begin to mock the poor TSA officers (who, by the way, could make more money working at McDonalds) for their inefficiency, who yell at their baristas at Starbucks for serving the tourists so-what-if-they-were-here-first-I-have-an-important-conference-call.
Yet here they all stood in twisting, confusing lines, either resisting their petty complaining urges or maybe, just maybe, not even feeling them at all. Just reading their magazines and calling their spouses and sometimes even joking with one another about the incredible backup of thousands of people caused by one idiot truckdriver. There were no death threats, no jeering, no snide remarks. It was fascinating and more than a little heartwarming to look around at the sea of faces, the beautiful melting pot of people from all over the city and all over the world, coming from their thousands of different jobs and daily frustrations, just waiting to go home for the day.
Yes, there are things I will miss.
Now, most of you have probably never had the pleasure of navigating that bus station, so let me tell you, it is something to behold. Willy Wonka could not have dreamed up a more chaotic-yet-efficient structure for getting a whole lotta suburbanite salarymen (and women) in one door and out the other as quickly as possible.
(Now, I freely admit that I actually take a bus from Port Authority about once every three months, so it's possible that regulars would scoff at this description, whether for misguided praise or misplaced modifiers or whatever. Luckily, I don't think any "real" New Yorkers - or New Jersey suburbanites, for that matter - are reading this blog.)
Anyway, I've always been fascinated by the building itself, how from the outside you can always see a constant stream of buses in circuitous descent of the many levels, and how the inside seems constantly stuck on fast-forward as commuters zip around to their various bus gates, always knowing where to go despite the dizzying number of options and total lack of signage.
But today the zipping ended in surprised halting and amazement at the lines snaking everywhere around the huge terminal building. I cut through three arms of what I realized was all the same line in order to get to the ticket machine, and chatted with several women near the head of the line who assured me (luckily, correctly) that the delays looked worse than they were. As the loudspeaker droningly assured us that the vertically gifted truck had been cleared and the terminal was now running full schedule, people calmly bought their tickets and tracked the various lines to their ends to join the queue.
And here's the thing: just about everyone was quiet, calm and patient. These are New Yorkers; the whole purpose of living and working in the city (or working here and living in the suburbs) is to rush around self-importantly and hiss at tourists who move through our sidewalks and Starbucks at Iowa speed. These are people who can't stand 10 seconds in lines at airports before they begin to mock the poor TSA officers (who, by the way, could make more money working at McDonalds) for their inefficiency, who yell at their baristas at Starbucks for serving the tourists so-what-if-they-were-here-first-I-have-an-important-conference-call.
Yet here they all stood in twisting, confusing lines, either resisting their petty complaining urges or maybe, just maybe, not even feeling them at all. Just reading their magazines and calling their spouses and sometimes even joking with one another about the incredible backup of thousands of people caused by one idiot truckdriver. There were no death threats, no jeering, no snide remarks. It was fascinating and more than a little heartwarming to look around at the sea of faces, the beautiful melting pot of people from all over the city and all over the world, coming from their thousands of different jobs and daily frustrations, just waiting to go home for the day.
Yes, there are things I will miss.
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