Elusive Diversions

elusive exclusivity – hey, it rhymes

Over the years I’ve been shocked to see signs in ladies restrooms telling us females to not “flush feminine products down the toilet.” I get it if maybe the restroom is used by young girls who are still learning the rules of this dreaded part of womanhood, but… Seriously? In an office? An office whose female population is at youngest maybe 23?

Seriously? How many times need we be told to keep the products that keep us fresh out of the commode?

I just want to know who is that dense?

/rant

Just yesterday, I finally finished the second required essay, this time describing my motivation. In it, applicants are asked to describe why they want to be a Peace Corps Volunteer as well as how those reasons fit with their experience and goals.

Here is my stab:

So… I need to write two 250-500 word essays, answering two questions, in order to complete my application to the Peace Corps. Of course, I’m working far to hard on these, and have procrastinated for nearly two months in compeleting them. Some would say that if I really wanted to join the Peace Corps that it would come naturally to me. Well, that’s not the issue. The topics have come naturally, just writing out them in 500 words or less while answering the questions the way I think they want to hear is fairly daunting.

The first question I have found to be the most difficult, and thus it is the one I forced myself to finish first (normally I would focus on the easier of the two to furhter procrastinate). Here is the topic:

“Peace Corps Volunteers must be open to ideas and cultures different from their own and may need to modify their appearance or behavior appropriately. Give an example (between 250-500 words) of a significant experience that illustrates your ability to adapt in an unfamiliar environment. Please highlight the skills you used and the perspectives you gained. You may draw from experiences in your work, school, or community in the U.S. or abroad. Please list the date(s) of your experience.”

So I am all set to graduate in December of this year, right before Christmas, as long as what my advisors say is correct. But, what does one do with a Bachelor’s Degree in Oral Communication Studies, a minor in English and hopefully another in French? Well, my goal is to teach. Outside of Texas. Preferably on the East Coast. More preferably still, overseas.

Living with my parents has been quite the experience; and, it has had both its ups and downs, good and bad, and dark and light moments. But, one of the most enlightening aspects has been that it is like looking into a mirror of the future as well as the past, and most definitely the present. As much as my parents’ behavior aggravates me – on a nearly daily basis – it serves to open my eyes up to where I come from and where I may well be headed, should I not attempt to change the course. For example, I look at my mother and think (as many women and their significant others do), “Oh lord, I best not turn into that raving madwoman!” Also, I look at her body and cringe at the fact that I seem to have inherited her lack of muscle tone, cottage cheese on every body part, and skin that fails to produce any hue other than white, lobster-red, or sun-spot taupe. Fortunately, if I work hard, I can most likely overcome some of the emotional distress that such “physical disability” causes. However, it is a commonality with my father that I am most recently concerned with not being able to overcome.

And freaked out my parents. Actually, I’m relatively certain that I freaked out my mother, who sent my father out looking for me. I saw him at a distance, walking swiftly up the road away from me, and away from the house, just as I was approaching home. I tried hollering at him, but he didn’t hear. And, I wasn’t absolutely certain it was him, so I didn’t want to chase down some poor pregnant woman out for a stroll herself. Instead, I got home, asked Mom – who had a look of shockise (that’s shock and surprise) on her face – if that was Dad hoofing it along the street. It was. And so I quickly grabbed my keys, hopped in the car, and drove off after him. But, he had vanished in the 1.36 minutes I had taken my eyes off of him.

Earlier today I heard my dad mention that he would be going to the airport later to pick up a rental car for his drive to Austin tomorrow. The airport is about a 20-30 minute drive away, in the opposite direction of Austin; so, when he returns, he has to drive another 20 miles or so to drop off the rental and pick up his own car, then drive that same distance home.

Personally, I think this is a rather silly practice when there are rental agencies significantly closer to home. However, what he chooses to do is nothing new to me. Once, my mother drove him to the airport for the rental car and I picked him up on my way down from my apartment for a visit. That had to be at least five rentals ago. So tonight was another opportunity – yes, I have attempted this before – to question his logic, just a bit. Now, I didn’t do this in a snide or sarcastic manner (trust me, I’ve learned my lesson); I merely played the role of a curious bystander hoping to save him some time, effort, and money (what with gas prices up to $3.25/gallon).

For my “Introduction to Texts” class (a sophomore level English course that teaches various ways of interpreting and analyzing texts) we had to write a “three voice” one pager using the method N. Scott Momaday used in his book, “Way to Rainy Mountain.” Basically he uses folklore, historical fact, and personal reflections (see, 3 voices?) to tell a story of searching for his Kiowa past. Our own stories were to be about something similar, though not necessarily personal or folklore; simply, something with a common thread through each of the voices. Mine was simple, once I decided on the topic.

I’m not embarrassed to admit that I love a good ghost story. What I am a bit embarrassed to admit is that I like to watch those cheesy cable shows like Ghost Hunters or Most Haunted (my favorite is “A Haunting”). What gets me with them though is how utterly freaked out all the ‘hunters’ get when they think they’ve had an encounter. I mean, it’s not just, “Hmm, wow Nigel, something just grabbed my arm. Isn’t that interesting?” No, it’s all, “OMG!!! F*CK!! SH*T! Something just touched me!” And, what with all the night-vision lighting, their eyes all buggin’ out, it’s all just too friggin’ funny!

So, the point… I know it’s difficult to turn off the reaction, but you would think that after doing so many of these shows that maybe, just maybe, there’d be a bit less of a FREAK OUT SESSION? Like, this.

It’s been a long while since my last post, mainly because I’ve been busy moving and planning a two week vacation. Though I have tons I want to write about, everything, till now, would take a lot of sitting and thinking that I just don’t have time for.

But, since Saturday I’ve been increasingly frustrated at something in the media that I want to quickly toss out here: Royal Etiquette.

This past Saturday marked not only the Kentucky Derby but also an unprecedented visit by the Queen of England at the annual equestrian event. Apparently, according to CNN, some of the Churchill Downs employees had to take lessons in etiquette: “To prepare for the royal visit, a number of Churchill Downs workers took etiquette lessons, and the lead chef planned a sumptuous meal featuring a variety of Kentucky ingredients.” (found here.)

If that wasn’t enough, I heard on the news this morning that in preparation for a White House State Dinner there are a few more elements of etiquette being discussed such as “when the Queen stops eating, everyone must stop eating.”

My frustration is this…

1. I know that we Americans leave a lot to be desired in the ways of manners or etiquette, but some of that is just the way we are – it’s our own values and customs that make us America.
2. Last I recall, we were no longer under British rule. Something around the year 1776 makes me think that… Oh… what was it… The Revolutionary War?
3. Finally, whenever I travel, I try to blend in with the area – be it another state or another country. For instance, when I visit France I do my best to speak French (as poorly as I do it, it has rendered me more assistance than behaving like a brute Texan, as some I know).

I respect that we as a nation are being asked to respect the Queen – I think it’s in fact admirable that we actually are doing so. But at the same time, why can’t the Queen be asked to respect our culture?