In an alternate reality right now I'd be putting on green.
In this reality I'm up late studying for finals and packing up to go home for Thanksgiving.
For the record...I finally believe that I picked the right reality.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Vote Hank Oreos for Congress
This past weekend I saw an emo-hipster Republican youth. I have to tell you, I didn't even know such a thing existed. I had volunteered to go canvassing for a Republican candidate in the suburbs and when the coordinator told me we were waiting on a volunteer from a local high school I imagined Hank the Republican from my high school.
Okay, that wasn't his real name. But we'll call him Hank, since I call everything Hank. Hank was my high school's token Republican. No, he wasn't the ONLY Republican in school, but he was definitely the only guy wearing a suit to school every day, complete with a symbolically red tie. This was, of course, Southern California, what I consider the most casual place in America, where people would sunbathe on top of their cars during breaks and lunch, where people couldn't be bothered to change out of last night's pajamas and instead just threw on some flipflops. And here Hank was, immaculately dressed in a fine suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe put together, accessorized by an American flag lapel pin and quite possibly the most perfect set of teeth I'd ever seen (until I came to college and met a guy who consumes flouride like a normal college kid would consume alcohol, and whose teeth actually turn pitch black in photo negatives). I guess the best word to describe Hank would be "groomed." The guy had made it clear from an early age that he intended to be president, and from what I can tell he'd been shaking hands like a pro since the age of eight. I'm guessing that if any of us at high school had had babies he would have been right there, kissing them. Ultimately what I remember about Hank was his sense of humor. During classes, no matter what the subject, he'd make witty remarks and clever jokes about Democrats. It didn't matter if we were studying history or trigonometry, he'd find a way to make a political joke. A friend and I took to calling him "Marmaduke," like the cartoon dog, because just as the cartoon's jokes were always about "Oh, Marmaduke, haha, you're such a DOG!" so too were Hank's jokes about "Oh Hank, haha, you're such a REPUBLICAN!"
Anyway, that was my idea of a high school Republican. But when this other kid we were to go canvassing with finally showed up....I almost burst out laughing. He was the skinniest thing I've ever seen, wearing tight, dark jeans. He had like rubber band-ish jewelry around his tiny wrists, and he was wearing a tight, dark t-shirt that said something about saving Darfur. His hair was pitch black, and it sorta swooped across his face, all emo-like. Oh man...
So anyway, we went door-to-door, handing out fliers and talking to people. Most people just didn't answer the door, either because they weren't there or because they saw we were holding fliers. Frankly, I wouldn't have opened the door to me either. Occasionally people would answer the door. I really liked it when we would start talking and the person who opened the door clearly had no idea what we were talking about. I enjoyed their half-embarrassed, half-confused expressions. I gotta admit, I only volunteered to do this because my life was pretty dull and I was hoping having some awkward encounters with neighbors would liven things up. Soon after I started I started feeling really bad for the people we were approaching. I felt kind of like this:
Ding dong!
"Hi, I'm ringing your doorbell and annoying the shit out of you on a Saturday afternoon on behalf of Hank Oreos. You are probably confused out of your mind since you most likely were not even aware that a primary was coming up. Can I hand you a flier while you stare blankly at me and wonder what the hell I'm talking about? Theeeeeeenks. Now I'm gonna talk for five minutes about irrelevant crap and political jargon that you don't really understand....but that's okay, because I don't really understand it either. Anyway, Hank Oreos is a strong Republican candidate, and I'm gonna tell you to vote for him in the primary, but you're probably not going to remember his name anyway, and let's face it, they're ALL Republicans in the primary, so you probably don't even give a shit. Oh, how cute, your dog has come up to say hello! And now it's barking incessantly, giving me the perfect opportunity to get the fuck out of your face, and for you to close the door, maybe give the flier another cursory glance, and then throw it away. Thanks so much for your time, have a wonderful day!"
Later on in the day an older gentleman opened the door. We started talking, and then he said very calmly, "Can you wait right here? I'll be right back..." If we were back in LA I would have screamed to my partner, "RUN! HE'S PROBABLY GETTING HIS GUN!!!!" but my partner didn't look the slightest bit concerned, so I kept my mouth shut. He came back and went off on a rant that started with, "Do you know what I just saw on the news?" and after a long rant about taxes, healthcare, homosexuals, Barney Frank impressions (he did a GREAT Barney Frank impression), the cost of a college education, unemployment, and war, ended with a warning that America is going to soon erupt into another civil war. At one point he asked me what I wanted to be. I said, "A teacher." And he said, "Good. So you can't ever get fired." I wanted to shoot back that that's not a proper reason for being a teacher, but my partner interrupted me at that moment.
During his long rant I was sort of nodding my head along to what he was saying (but only during the rare moments where I agreed with him), and at one point he snapped at my partner, "I don't get it, why is she nodding her head?!" And I was suddenly horribly embarrassed and stated the obvious, "Um....because I agree with you?"
In any case, everyone we encountered, minus this older gentleman, were amazingly NORMAL. You know, families and whatnot who are just chilling at home on a Saturday, with dogs and kids and whatever. And that was pretty cool to see.
Okay, that wasn't his real name. But we'll call him Hank, since I call everything Hank. Hank was my high school's token Republican. No, he wasn't the ONLY Republican in school, but he was definitely the only guy wearing a suit to school every day, complete with a symbolically red tie. This was, of course, Southern California, what I consider the most casual place in America, where people would sunbathe on top of their cars during breaks and lunch, where people couldn't be bothered to change out of last night's pajamas and instead just threw on some flipflops. And here Hank was, immaculately dressed in a fine suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe put together, accessorized by an American flag lapel pin and quite possibly the most perfect set of teeth I'd ever seen (until I came to college and met a guy who consumes flouride like a normal college kid would consume alcohol, and whose teeth actually turn pitch black in photo negatives). I guess the best word to describe Hank would be "groomed." The guy had made it clear from an early age that he intended to be president, and from what I can tell he'd been shaking hands like a pro since the age of eight. I'm guessing that if any of us at high school had had babies he would have been right there, kissing them. Ultimately what I remember about Hank was his sense of humor. During classes, no matter what the subject, he'd make witty remarks and clever jokes about Democrats. It didn't matter if we were studying history or trigonometry, he'd find a way to make a political joke. A friend and I took to calling him "Marmaduke," like the cartoon dog, because just as the cartoon's jokes were always about "Oh, Marmaduke, haha, you're such a DOG!" so too were Hank's jokes about "Oh Hank, haha, you're such a REPUBLICAN!"
Anyway, that was my idea of a high school Republican. But when this other kid we were to go canvassing with finally showed up....I almost burst out laughing. He was the skinniest thing I've ever seen, wearing tight, dark jeans. He had like rubber band-ish jewelry around his tiny wrists, and he was wearing a tight, dark t-shirt that said something about saving Darfur. His hair was pitch black, and it sorta swooped across his face, all emo-like. Oh man...
So anyway, we went door-to-door, handing out fliers and talking to people. Most people just didn't answer the door, either because they weren't there or because they saw we were holding fliers. Frankly, I wouldn't have opened the door to me either. Occasionally people would answer the door. I really liked it when we would start talking and the person who opened the door clearly had no idea what we were talking about. I enjoyed their half-embarrassed, half-confused expressions. I gotta admit, I only volunteered to do this because my life was pretty dull and I was hoping having some awkward encounters with neighbors would liven things up. Soon after I started I started feeling really bad for the people we were approaching. I felt kind of like this:
Ding dong!
"Hi, I'm ringing your doorbell and annoying the shit out of you on a Saturday afternoon on behalf of Hank Oreos. You are probably confused out of your mind since you most likely were not even aware that a primary was coming up. Can I hand you a flier while you stare blankly at me and wonder what the hell I'm talking about? Theeeeeeenks. Now I'm gonna talk for five minutes about irrelevant crap and political jargon that you don't really understand....but that's okay, because I don't really understand it either. Anyway, Hank Oreos is a strong Republican candidate, and I'm gonna tell you to vote for him in the primary, but you're probably not going to remember his name anyway, and let's face it, they're ALL Republicans in the primary, so you probably don't even give a shit. Oh, how cute, your dog has come up to say hello! And now it's barking incessantly, giving me the perfect opportunity to get the fuck out of your face, and for you to close the door, maybe give the flier another cursory glance, and then throw it away. Thanks so much for your time, have a wonderful day!"
Later on in the day an older gentleman opened the door. We started talking, and then he said very calmly, "Can you wait right here? I'll be right back..." If we were back in LA I would have screamed to my partner, "RUN! HE'S PROBABLY GETTING HIS GUN!!!!" but my partner didn't look the slightest bit concerned, so I kept my mouth shut. He came back and went off on a rant that started with, "Do you know what I just saw on the news?" and after a long rant about taxes, healthcare, homosexuals, Barney Frank impressions (he did a GREAT Barney Frank impression), the cost of a college education, unemployment, and war, ended with a warning that America is going to soon erupt into another civil war. At one point he asked me what I wanted to be. I said, "A teacher." And he said, "Good. So you can't ever get fired." I wanted to shoot back that that's not a proper reason for being a teacher, but my partner interrupted me at that moment.
During his long rant I was sort of nodding my head along to what he was saying (but only during the rare moments where I agreed with him), and at one point he snapped at my partner, "I don't get it, why is she nodding her head?!" And I was suddenly horribly embarrassed and stated the obvious, "Um....because I agree with you?"
In any case, everyone we encountered, minus this older gentleman, were amazingly NORMAL. You know, families and whatnot who are just chilling at home on a Saturday, with dogs and kids and whatever. And that was pretty cool to see.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
This side of that conversation.
Today I walked over to Sbarro to order me some spaghetti. I noticed a girl was sort of hovering around the area...you know, where she's not really in line, but she's clearly thinking about eating there and she's sort of weighing her options. You could tell she was concerned or confused about something, because she kept stepping like she was about to get into line, but then she'd sort of change her mind, step back into her hovering position and look even more flustered.
I didn't really think much of it, and walked over to the back of the line. As I grabbed a tray, I heard an accented voice say behind me,
"Excuse me?"
I turned around. It was that girl. I don't want to make fun of her, so I'm adjusting how/what she said to represent how a native speaker might express what she said. In reality it was very difficult to understand her, both because of her word choice/order and accent. So here's more or less what she said to me:
"Um...I'm new here...could you please explain how I order and what to order?" You could literally feel her embarrassment.
Oh boy, do I know what that feels like. I know what that flustered pacing feels like, when you really want to order food but you don't know how this place works or even how to pronounce what you want. When you don't get lettuce on your hamburger at Burger Bar because you can't remember the word for it. When you point at the word in the menu for you want because, even though you know what it is, you don't know how to actually pronounce the word. A lot of the time I would try to avoid this embarrassment by just buying food at the supermarket--you don't have to ask for things there. If you see something you want to eat, you just take it without ordering. The only thing you have to say is "No" when they ask you if you are part of the club or if you want to buy something from the sales. But ordering food at a restaurant or food court would turn me into a nervous wreck.
So I explained to this girl the process of ordering food at Sbarro. She asked me what I was getting, so I said spaghetti and meatballs. She asked me which dish that was, so I pointed at it. She said, "Okay, I'll get that too....but how do you pronounce this? (pointing at the card labeled 'spaghetti')" I told her, and then she quietly repeated to herself, "Spuhgeddi......spuhgeddi...spuhgeddi" so she wouldn't forget.
It really made me wonder why I didn't ask people for help in Israel. I guess it's because I'm shy in general, but also I was afraid of getting made fun of. But here I was on the other side of the conversation, and I have to tell you, there wasn't anything funny about it. I don't know if maybe my past experiences made this not funny to me, or if it's sort of a general thing that no one would make fun of another person for. My instinct is to say that an Israeli would have laughed at me for asking for help in this area, since I got made fun of for a lot of other things relating to language, but I guess I'll never know for sure since I never really asked an Israeli to help me with Hebrew at a restaurant.
At that point the man behind the counter handed me a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, then handed me a breadstick. The girl then looked confused all over again, and asked, "Please explain this to me."
Me: "The breadstick?"
Her: "....yes?"
Me: "Well...it's a bread....um......stick---uh, I guess it's just bread. But it's good. You should get it."
Eventually we both finished ordering, and as we parted ways we gave each other a smile and a thumbs up.
It was sort of like doing the immigrant full circle. I wanted to be like, "I've BEEN you before." In any case, I have to tell you...it feels REALLY good to be back on this side of that conversation.
I didn't really think much of it, and walked over to the back of the line. As I grabbed a tray, I heard an accented voice say behind me,
"Excuse me?"
I turned around. It was that girl. I don't want to make fun of her, so I'm adjusting how/what she said to represent how a native speaker might express what she said. In reality it was very difficult to understand her, both because of her word choice/order and accent. So here's more or less what she said to me:
"Um...I'm new here...could you please explain how I order and what to order?" You could literally feel her embarrassment.
Oh boy, do I know what that feels like. I know what that flustered pacing feels like, when you really want to order food but you don't know how this place works or even how to pronounce what you want. When you don't get lettuce on your hamburger at Burger Bar because you can't remember the word for it. When you point at the word in the menu for you want because, even though you know what it is, you don't know how to actually pronounce the word. A lot of the time I would try to avoid this embarrassment by just buying food at the supermarket--you don't have to ask for things there. If you see something you want to eat, you just take it without ordering. The only thing you have to say is "No" when they ask you if you are part of the club or if you want to buy something from the sales. But ordering food at a restaurant or food court would turn me into a nervous wreck.
So I explained to this girl the process of ordering food at Sbarro. She asked me what I was getting, so I said spaghetti and meatballs. She asked me which dish that was, so I pointed at it. She said, "Okay, I'll get that too....but how do you pronounce this? (pointing at the card labeled 'spaghetti')" I told her, and then she quietly repeated to herself, "Spuhgeddi......spuhgeddi...spuhgeddi" so she wouldn't forget.
It really made me wonder why I didn't ask people for help in Israel. I guess it's because I'm shy in general, but also I was afraid of getting made fun of. But here I was on the other side of the conversation, and I have to tell you, there wasn't anything funny about it. I don't know if maybe my past experiences made this not funny to me, or if it's sort of a general thing that no one would make fun of another person for. My instinct is to say that an Israeli would have laughed at me for asking for help in this area, since I got made fun of for a lot of other things relating to language, but I guess I'll never know for sure since I never really asked an Israeli to help me with Hebrew at a restaurant.
At that point the man behind the counter handed me a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, then handed me a breadstick. The girl then looked confused all over again, and asked, "Please explain this to me."
Me: "The breadstick?"
Her: "....yes?"
Me: "Well...it's a bread....um......stick---uh, I guess it's just bread. But it's good. You should get it."
Eventually we both finished ordering, and as we parted ways we gave each other a smile and a thumbs up.
It was sort of like doing the immigrant full circle. I wanted to be like, "I've BEEN you before." In any case, I have to tell you...it feels REALLY good to be back on this side of that conversation.
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