8.11.2007
Editor's Note
My mother is NOT the one I was referring to in the semi-fictional account below. She does a wonderful job of selecting books/food/other random things and mailing them to me. My intention was to speculate on the poor selection of books available in the communal Peace Corps library at our main office, which consists of volumes sent over many many years by many many parents, all of whom love their volunteers dearly and would never intentionally provide their sons and daughters with less than quality reading material. Now that that is all cleared up, I calmly await the arrival of the final Harry Potter and some cookbooks (thanks mom!)
8.03.2007
Memoir-ies
And now...a rant.
I can not possibly read one more memoir. At first I was all into it, delving into the crappy lives of bitter, yet amusing authors, glad that my own life has escaped extreme freakishness (for the most part). I guess i needed to feel normal, but now I'm done. All the whiny, self-pitying, rising above dysfunctional childhood rhetoric is making me sick. I'm to the point where a stack of 2-year-old Newsweek's are more appealing than another David Sedaris wanna-be (to say nothing of the man himself) pouring his/her soul onto the pages of a book. I think the problem originates in the fact that that memoirs are best savored as isolated reading experiences, rather than the 15-book memoir marathon I am coming off of. One life story to grant a busy professional a little perspective may have its time and place, but the long evenings of Peace Corps village life are best spent memoir free.
It's not like I meant to read so many memoirs, it just so happens that about 75% of the books that I have at my disposal are autobiographical teat-jerkers. My theory on this concentration of memoirs in the hands of PCV's is as follows:
A caring mother back in the USA just finished reading a touching true story passed on to her by a coworker. The book is an account of a thirty-something's arrival at success, despite countless obstacles, barriers and breakdowns. This mother thinks of her dear child who is slaving away as a Peace Corps volunteer in the wilds of Central America and can't help but draw some comparisons. My lovely and spirited offspring will enjoy this book, she thinks as she packages up said memoir and ships it off to her pride and joy. Her beloved PCV will read it once before passing it off to the PC library while searching for yet another Tom Robbins or Kurt Vonnegut adventure.
I show up to the PC library once every 3-4 months after a 6-hour bus ride and conduct a similar search for one or two Robbins/Vonnegut's that have slipped past me, only to find stacks of gut-wrenching personal sagas of strife and survival. I take these books, well, because they are better than no books. I should have learned after the first ten depressingly uninteresting experiences, but I didn't and will problem continue to read them due purely to the ideas of classic economics. The whole process has turned me off from writing my own memoir (because I was actually thinking about this). Maybe I do have a funny/sad/unique story to tell, but then again, maybe not. Who am I assume that someone else is so interested in what I have to say that they would be willing to put down $24.95 on a hardcover edition of my unlikely rise to success (that is when I get there, or course)? But then again, you are reading this, so maybe there is room for one more story of a lonely youth who rises above it all, joins the Peace Corps, and single-handedly saves the world through ice-breakers and flip-charts.
I can not possibly read one more memoir. At first I was all into it, delving into the crappy lives of bitter, yet amusing authors, glad that my own life has escaped extreme freakishness (for the most part). I guess i needed to feel normal, but now I'm done. All the whiny, self-pitying, rising above dysfunctional childhood rhetoric is making me sick. I'm to the point where a stack of 2-year-old Newsweek's are more appealing than another David Sedaris wanna-be (to say nothing of the man himself) pouring his/her soul onto the pages of a book. I think the problem originates in the fact that that memoirs are best savored as isolated reading experiences, rather than the 15-book memoir marathon I am coming off of. One life story to grant a busy professional a little perspective may have its time and place, but the long evenings of Peace Corps village life are best spent memoir free.
It's not like I meant to read so many memoirs, it just so happens that about 75% of the books that I have at my disposal are autobiographical teat-jerkers. My theory on this concentration of memoirs in the hands of PCV's is as follows:
A caring mother back in the USA just finished reading a touching true story passed on to her by a coworker. The book is an account of a thirty-something's arrival at success, despite countless obstacles, barriers and breakdowns. This mother thinks of her dear child who is slaving away as a Peace Corps volunteer in the wilds of Central America and can't help but draw some comparisons. My lovely and spirited offspring will enjoy this book, she thinks as she packages up said memoir and ships it off to her pride and joy. Her beloved PCV will read it once before passing it off to the PC library while searching for yet another Tom Robbins or Kurt Vonnegut adventure.
I show up to the PC library once every 3-4 months after a 6-hour bus ride and conduct a similar search for one or two Robbins/Vonnegut's that have slipped past me, only to find stacks of gut-wrenching personal sagas of strife and survival. I take these books, well, because they are better than no books. I should have learned after the first ten depressingly uninteresting experiences, but I didn't and will problem continue to read them due purely to the ideas of classic economics. The whole process has turned me off from writing my own memoir (because I was actually thinking about this). Maybe I do have a funny/sad/unique story to tell, but then again, maybe not. Who am I assume that someone else is so interested in what I have to say that they would be willing to put down $24.95 on a hardcover edition of my unlikely rise to success (that is when I get there, or course)? But then again, you are reading this, so maybe there is room for one more story of a lonely youth who rises above it all, joins the Peace Corps, and single-handedly saves the world through ice-breakers and flip-charts.
7.18.2007
Heat Index
The second day I was in Spokane during my recent retreat in the USA, the temperature hit 104 degrees Fahrenheit. It also hit a blistering 98 in temperate Seattle. Both of those marks are hot by anybody's standards, but, and I am not trying to make all you Pac Northwester's sound like a bunch of sissies, it just didn't strike me as particularly oppressive. Surprisingly, as far as I know it rarely gets above 90 in tropical Belize. I say as far as I know because I don't actually have a thermometer. I know that 104 in the desert heat of Eastern Washington is not quite the same as a comparable temperature in the dripping wet rain forest of Central America, but without an accurate gauge and some meteorological research I just couldn't be sure.
In the spirit of good empiricism I stopped by the nearest mega-multi-purpose-store that makes America so American (don't you dare judge me) and purchased a pocket sized digital thermometer/humidity gauge combo for only $8.99. I carried that thing (and at least 100 additional pounds of crap that I probably wont need here in Belize but looked so pretty and useful up there in the USA) all the way back to my village. And it works too. But back to the problem of the heat/humidity interaction, known as the Heat Index to ever-zealous weather reporters. This was a job for the internet. It was here that I found a great Heat Index table that I immediately copied onto the yellow ledger that was on Jeff's desk and later taped to my bedroom wall. No longer would I be curious about the temperature outside (which is always the same as the temperature inside) as well as how hot it felt to us of the human species. Which brings up the question, does the heat index apply to cats and lizards as well? Anyways, here is what I learned during my first day as amateur jungle weather recorder.
I will resist the urge to bore you with the weather every time I write, but do expect updates on the most extreme situations. For instance, if the Heat Index tops 125 F, you will be hearing about it because that is just ridiculous. With that, I leave you to enjoy your climate controlled 68.
In the spirit of good empiricism I stopped by the nearest mega-multi-purpose-store that makes America so American (don't you dare judge me) and purchased a pocket sized digital thermometer/humidity gauge combo for only $8.99. I carried that thing (and at least 100 additional pounds of crap that I probably wont need here in Belize but looked so pretty and useful up there in the USA) all the way back to my village. And it works too. But back to the problem of the heat/humidity interaction, known as the Heat Index to ever-zealous weather reporters. This was a job for the internet. It was here that I found a great Heat Index table that I immediately copied onto the yellow ledger that was on Jeff's desk and later taped to my bedroom wall. No longer would I be curious about the temperature outside (which is always the same as the temperature inside) as well as how hot it felt to us of the human species. Which brings up the question, does the heat index apply to cats and lizards as well? Anyways, here is what I learned during my first day as amateur jungle weather recorder.
- 7am: temp = 80 F, humidity = 74%, feels like = 83 F (chilly)
- 2pm: temp = 91 F, humidity = 79%, feels like = 112 F (I’m melting)
- 7pm: temp = 84 F, humidity = 78%, feels like = 93 F (I’m not even sweating)
I will resist the urge to bore you with the weather every time I write, but do expect updates on the most extreme situations. For instance, if the Heat Index tops 125 F, you will be hearing about it because that is just ridiculous. With that, I leave you to enjoy your climate controlled 68.
7.16.2007
Coast to coast
You know it's going to be a long day when your watch reads 8:15am and you
have already been up for 5 hours. That was today, my last full day in the
USA for another year. I could try to sum up my last 12 days of vacation in
the states, but it would make for a long read. The most notable aspect of
my trip was the lack of shock and the ease of adjustment. I really was
expecting a difficult, or at least weird experience as I entered my old life
after a year gone, but it was easy. It was almost too easy. Sure, the
grocery store was a fun experience, but I knew exactly what I wanted and
where to find it, even Target was a pleasant outing. So maybe I am not as
hard-core as I like to think I am, or maybe Belize isn't far removed enough
from life in the states. In any case, I am ready to get back to Belize, but
spending a few weeks in my old shoes reminded me how great it will be to
return as well.
have already been up for 5 hours. That was today, my last full day in the
USA for another year. I could try to sum up my last 12 days of vacation in
the states, but it would make for a long read. The most notable aspect of
my trip was the lack of shock and the ease of adjustment. I really was
expecting a difficult, or at least weird experience as I entered my old life
after a year gone, but it was easy. It was almost too easy. Sure, the
grocery store was a fun experience, but I knew exactly what I wanted and
where to find it, even Target was a pleasant outing. So maybe I am not as
hard-core as I like to think I am, or maybe Belize isn't far removed enough
from life in the states. In any case, I am ready to get back to Belize, but
spending a few weeks in my old shoes reminded me how great it will be to
return as well.
So now I sit in a shady Miami Airport hotel watching cable and eating Trader
Joes Wasabi Peas for dinner. Hey, for $59 a night it's not like I am
getting room service, but I do have a bed and a shower all to myself.
Tomorrow I begin Shella in Belize, the Second Season. Stayed tuned for more
rants about rice and tales of tarantulas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)