I have apparently done something to offend postage stamps. They regularly have a mass exodus from the box they are kept in under my desk. Can't think of what it is.
Is there a stamp pilgrimage or Hajj that I am unaware of? If so, I have very devout stamps.
TODAY? The AWKWARD
1. Wanting dexterity in the use of the hands, or of instruments; not dexterous; without skill; clumsy; wanting ease, grace, or effectiveness in movement; ungraceful; as, he was awkward at a trick; an awkward boy. [1913 Webster]
2. Not easily managed or effected; embarrassing.
"An awkward affair is one that has gone wrong, and is difficult to adjust." --C. J. Smith.
3. Perverse; adverse; untoward.
I throw around the word "awkward" frequently. This is largely because I have learned to embrace it. People spend so much of their life trying to escape what they perceive to be awkward, as it is admittedly an uncomfortable experience. But awkward is certainly yet another way to look at the world.
Even the most suave person has a great potential for awkward--whether it is awkwardness of the limbs or a situation.
Awkward is also a bonding experience. If you survive an awkward situation with someone, you will be able to commiserate over it later in life. Unless it’s the sort of awkward where you never want to think about it ever, ever again. Then it will probably have the opposite effect.
I may be putting the awkward aside after this summer, but my studying of all that is awkward has led me to understand that awkward is all in the timing. I've always had a pretty good grasp on timing, so changing it slightly to allow for awkward to ensue is not that difficult.
Say something a second too soon, a second too late (or five minutes too early/late, if you reeeeally want to go for the gold), and you have some awkward on your hands.
By living in a constant state of awkward as shown in the second definition, it is entirely possible you will take on some of the physical attributes of awkward. At least, this is my experience.
(AHHHH FLOBOTS WHY?! Sorry, Pandora Radio just ambushed me with "Handlebars.")
While the awkward has served me well as both an experiment and a defense mechanism, I think I will have to severely cut back on the amount of awkward I introduce into my own life. It can help, but does not usually go over well in interviews. One cannot allow it to become an ingrained habit. Obviously exterior awkwardness will obviously still have a place in my life.
On this note, I must now go buy more stamps, and hold them hostage until the others come out of hiding.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The Otters Made Me Do It
"It's because of the pigeons," he said, nodding in agreement with himself, “they use them to track me."
We both glanced up to the flock of pigeons roosting on the roof of Peet's Coffee Shop. From that distance, it did look as though they were focusing their avian attentions on us, but in reality it was were probably waiting for someone to drop some food. But I had begun to realize that "reality" wasn't a place that my new friend seemed to stay for long. We'll call him "Ted."
I'd seen him sitting at the firepit outside Peet's occasionally, where I would wait for the bus on cooler days. Ted was in his 60's, or possibly 40's or 50's, homeless, and more than a little crazy. The former was probably caused by the latter, in this case. He seemed to know a great deal about music, religion, and economics. And pigeons, apparently.
Our conversation had been relatively normal until he had made the leap from grain prices in Africa to pigeons, and how the Swiss were using them to track him. The pigeons were apparently at fault for any misfortunes that befell him as well.
As it is difficult to go anywhere in Monterey without pigeons, seagulls, or the evidence of their having been there quite recently, Ted probably was not having the best time hiding out there.
"Oh. Well. Best to avoid them, then," I said, gathering my Arabic notebook into my purse. The firepit outside of Peet’s was a nice place to sit, but it seemed many of my conversation had rather abrupt expiration dates.
---
The past few months have not been overly eventful, but haven't lacked excitement. I have moved into 2 new apartments since June, had a bike stolen, started and finished an intensive Arabic program, adventured around the Monterey Peninsula, took long walks on the beach, drank pina coladas, attended seya sayyida (happy hour), eaten a great deal of Lebanese food, and spent time with some great folks. Most of them are not homeless or crazy, but I have somehow managed to become acquainted with the bums in Monterey. They're helping me to hunt down my stolen bicycle.
Sadly, I can't hang out at the firepit as often as I did, due to scheduling, and because Peet's is potentially going to be one of my new jobs. Peets and Bubba Gumps Shrimping Co. As I read up about every job I apply for, minimum wage or otherwise, I now know a good deal more about Peets and Bubba Gumps than strictly necessary. But here are some fun tidbits.
Peets was originally established in 1966 by a Mr. Alfred Peet, a German immigrant who was appalled by the caliber of coffee that Americans consumed. Good man. Also after Peets was established, Mr. Peet shared much of his coffee knowledge with a budding coffee company known as "Starbucks."
And as for Bubba Gumps (hopefully everyone gets the Forest Gump reference here), the location here is apparently the first Bubba Gump Shrimping Co. that was ever established. The restaurant is right on the shore, and has a great feel to it. I'm actually looking forward to working there.
Money-wise, things are tighter than I'd like, but I should be used to this by now. Now that I am living in a much cheaper apartment, I expect the next few months to be a bit better. I’ve been working on ruthlessly convincing myself that I do not have any money. This endeavor is helped along by the fact that I have an otter on my Monterey Credit Union debit card. Everytime I take out the card to buy something that I do not need to survive, the otter gives me a disapproving look.
Barista: Okay, so a coffee and a Danish. Will that be all for you today?
Me: Yup! ::reaches for wallet and pulls out card::
Otter: Why are you doing this? You don't need that coffee. You can make coffee at home.
Me: But it's Plumes. And look at that Danish. Tell me you don't want that Danish.
Otter: I'm an otter on your debit card. I don't want that Danish.
Me: Well... you don't know what you're missing. ::goes to hand the card to barista::
Otter: Don't you dare buy that!
Me: FINE. You don't let me have any fun.
Barista: Ma'am... are you feeling okay?
Okay, so these conversations don't actually happen. If they did, I would have no right to classify someone who believes the pigeons are tracking him as crazy.
I'm sure there is more, such as the interesting but non-crazy folk I know here, classes, etc. That'll be for another day.
We both glanced up to the flock of pigeons roosting on the roof of Peet's Coffee Shop. From that distance, it did look as though they were focusing their avian attentions on us, but in reality it was were probably waiting for someone to drop some food. But I had begun to realize that "reality" wasn't a place that my new friend seemed to stay for long. We'll call him "Ted."
I'd seen him sitting at the firepit outside Peet's occasionally, where I would wait for the bus on cooler days. Ted was in his 60's, or possibly 40's or 50's, homeless, and more than a little crazy. The former was probably caused by the latter, in this case. He seemed to know a great deal about music, religion, and economics. And pigeons, apparently.
Our conversation had been relatively normal until he had made the leap from grain prices in Africa to pigeons, and how the Swiss were using them to track him. The pigeons were apparently at fault for any misfortunes that befell him as well.
As it is difficult to go anywhere in Monterey without pigeons, seagulls, or the evidence of their having been there quite recently, Ted probably was not having the best time hiding out there.
"Oh. Well. Best to avoid them, then," I said, gathering my Arabic notebook into my purse. The firepit outside of Peet’s was a nice place to sit, but it seemed many of my conversation had rather abrupt expiration dates.
---
The past few months have not been overly eventful, but haven't lacked excitement. I have moved into 2 new apartments since June, had a bike stolen, started and finished an intensive Arabic program, adventured around the Monterey Peninsula, took long walks on the beach, drank pina coladas, attended seya sayyida (happy hour), eaten a great deal of Lebanese food, and spent time with some great folks. Most of them are not homeless or crazy, but I have somehow managed to become acquainted with the bums in Monterey. They're helping me to hunt down my stolen bicycle.
Sadly, I can't hang out at the firepit as often as I did, due to scheduling, and because Peet's is potentially going to be one of my new jobs. Peets and Bubba Gumps Shrimping Co. As I read up about every job I apply for, minimum wage or otherwise, I now know a good deal more about Peets and Bubba Gumps than strictly necessary. But here are some fun tidbits.
Peets was originally established in 1966 by a Mr. Alfred Peet, a German immigrant who was appalled by the caliber of coffee that Americans consumed. Good man. Also after Peets was established, Mr. Peet shared much of his coffee knowledge with a budding coffee company known as "Starbucks."
And as for Bubba Gumps (hopefully everyone gets the Forest Gump reference here), the location here is apparently the first Bubba Gump Shrimping Co. that was ever established. The restaurant is right on the shore, and has a great feel to it. I'm actually looking forward to working there.
Money-wise, things are tighter than I'd like, but I should be used to this by now. Now that I am living in a much cheaper apartment, I expect the next few months to be a bit better. I’ve been working on ruthlessly convincing myself that I do not have any money. This endeavor is helped along by the fact that I have an otter on my Monterey Credit Union debit card. Everytime I take out the card to buy something that I do not need to survive, the otter gives me a disapproving look.
Barista: Okay, so a coffee and a Danish. Will that be all for you today?
Me: Yup! ::reaches for wallet and pulls out card::
Otter: Why are you doing this? You don't need that coffee. You can make coffee at home.
Me: But it's Plumes. And look at that Danish. Tell me you don't want that Danish.
Otter: I'm an otter on your debit card. I don't want that Danish.
Me: Well... you don't know what you're missing. ::goes to hand the card to barista::
Otter: Don't you dare buy that!
Me: FINE. You don't let me have any fun.
Barista: Ma'am... are you feeling okay?
Okay, so these conversations don't actually happen. If they did, I would have no right to classify someone who believes the pigeons are tracking him as crazy.
I'm sure there is more, such as the interesting but non-crazy folk I know here, classes, etc. That'll be for another day.
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