Adventures with Ivory: Back in the Ville

The Annual Returned Peace Corps Volunteer meeting was going to be held at Vanderbilt.  How could I not go?!

So I called up my friend MattE who had been asking me to come visit him in Nashville.  (He’s currently working on his 3rd Vanderbilt degree, a PhD in Political Science to go with his Masters of Divinity and his law degree.)  It was the perfect trio – MattE, Peace Corps, Vandy.

So I got in Betty and we headed down, and down, and down, until we arrived late Wednesday night, hot, sticky and smiling at Cafe Cocoa where MattE and his friends were gathered.

During the day, I went to the Peace Corps events and got to meet up with some people at the law school that I like to say hi to when I’m in town.  MattE and I were able to hang out in the afternoons and evenings.  He showed me all the changes that have happened in East Nashville – it’s going from ghetto to Hipster-ville a block or so at a time.  We went to a number of restaurants, ones I’d been to when I lived there and ones that were knew to me.  And he introduced me to the girl he liked, who was his girlfriend by the time I left. ;)

MattE just bought a house a few weeks before I came down.  It’s super cute, and he has it really well setup.  It doesn’t look like a bachelor’s pad at all.  It even has a library with patio doors that go out onto a deck, and a very nice guest room with an antique bed he and friend assembled.

The Peace Corps events were fun, too.  I found a friend from Cali, the president of the NorCal RPCV group, and we were able to hang out a bit.  He introduced me to some other RPCVs he knows, one runs a chocolate company based in Madagascar.  Neat.  I met lots of other RPCVs over the weekend, including some that served in Nigeria.  It was interesting to talk with them because they served in the 60s.  The city I lived in in Nigeria wasn’t even built until the 90s.

I also met some recently returned volunteers from Zambia!  I know Zambia’s changed a lot in the past ten years; that much I can tell from Twitter.  It sounds like the program I was part of in the Peace Corps has also changed a lot.

Overall, Nashville was a great trip.  I had a lot of fun, enjoyed beautiful weather, saw old friends from different areas of life and picked up a present for Mzzzz Jones’ expected little one.  I also found out about some opportunities to go back to Africa in an IP context…

Moral Dilemmas

“You see the moral dilemmas we have to face….” There are those moments, hopefully in all of our lives, when the world stops suddenly and for a moment you are acutely aware of just how small our bubbles are.  Sometimes it’s your own bubble, when you briefly encounter something that had previously only existed on the other side of your thin protective soap skin.  Sometimes it’s someone else’s bubble, as you see them looking out through their glistening, rainbowed film.  This time, it was the later.

She was talking about palmetto bugs, American cockroaches that aren’t afraid of the light; rather large compared to bitty Nashville cockroaches, but not very big compared to what lived in my host mother’s latrine in Zambia.  Apparently, every home in Georgia has them. They’re part of life there, and so is dealing with them.

And that was her moral dilemma.  “You see the moral dilemmas we have to face in Georgia,” she said as though it was so obviously exactly what she was dealing with.  “Do we serve guests dishes that these bugs have crawled over, or do we live in a house with poison in it.” Buggy dishes, or bug poison; to have live bugs or to have dead bugs.

For her, this may truly have been a moral dilemma. Despite her having lived in Georgia for several years now, her bubble world is still very California.  Natural this, organic that, boo large corporations, yay free range farms, etc.  But I couldn’t see this from my bubble.  All I could see was her pressed up against the very edge of her bubble, a wavy line of soap drifting across her face, and between us a gulf filled with all my thoughts.

“The moral dilemmas we have to face…”  I thought of my friends living in Jos who have to decided whether or not to go to church on Sunday mornings for fear they might be blown up by Boko Haram extremists.  I thought of the Sudanese man I knew at the refugee center in Nashville who described his life before coming to the US as very similar to What is the What and would say no more about it.  I thought of my many colleagues and friends in Uganda where the government and society are daily struggling with if and how to integrate former child soldiers of Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army back into mainstream society.  I thought of the jury panel on the death penalty trial last week in Martinez.  I thought of our soldiers, and our doctors and our leaders.  And, I just couldn’t see poisoning cockroaches as a moral dilemma.

We should all wish for such to be our moral dilemma.

From “Austin” to Nashville

I know it was Amanda.  I don’t remember why or when or even how, but I know it was her.  She has this way of waltzing in and overthrowing everything before you know it.  Born a few decades earlier and the government might have had her on special missions to South America.

Anyway, I know it was Amanda, and I wish I remember why or when or how she got me to sit down and listen to this song called “Austin.”  Staunchly in my Eminem phase (it was college, I remember that much), I listened to two types of music, West Coast influenced hip hop and Metallica.  Well, ok three, there was a heavy dose of 1776 in there.  Yet somehow, this crazy girl got me to listen to country.  That’s right, country.

The door was cracked open.  Granted, it never became wide open, remaining for the next however-many-years ajar, but it was still far more open than I ever expected.  Heck, I never thought that door would even be unlocked.  From “Austin” to Alan Jackson to Toby Keith, new music started to slip into my previously anger-filled cd player.  All because of Amanda and “Austin.”

Blake Shelton was inducted into the Opry this past weekend.  Just happened to be the weekend I was in Nashville.  And we just happened to look into Opry tickets (after discovering that To Kill a Mockingbird at the TPAC was sold out).  As soon as I saw that Blake Shelton was joining the Opry at the show that night, I had to go.

When people join the Opry, they’re invited and then inducted by current members.  In this case, both the invitation and the induction were done by Trace Adkins.  That meant both Blake Shelton and Trace Adkins were performing at the Opry. Woo hoo!  - I started liking Trace’s music while living in Nashville when I heard a song with a theme similar to much hip hop, “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk”.

I didn’t hear “Austin” or “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” at the Opry.  But the performances by both men were great.  And their duet, “Hillbilly Bone” was quite entertaining.  Of course any song with Trace Adkin’s deep voice is going to sound good to my ears.  I’d love to hear him and James Hetfield do a duet.

An Autumn Paradise

Warm sun, cool breeze. Crisp autumn leaves.  Beautiful reds, golds and oranges adorn the trees, decorate the sidewalks.  Crunching below my feet as I walk, whirling into little rustles of mini-cyclones.  It’s Fall in Nashville, and it’s beautiful.

I’m here on a mini vacation.  Vanderbilt Homecoming this weekend – the unveiling of a special portrait for an amazing recently-retired professor and a visit to friend who is going for his third Vanderbilt degree (and he didn’t even go here for undergrad!).

The campus is more beautiful than I remember.  Brick buildings, regal reminders of another time, rising high and mighty against the blue sky.  Cobbled pathways that were always murder on my stilettos.  And trees, all the beautiful trees, everywhere trees. 

The people are different, but they look the same.  Polo shirts and khaki shorts; side-swept bangs and pearls.  Prim, proper, hair done, make-up on, bright colors, dresses, shirts, ties, even just for a Saturday afternoon football game.

The law school.  Unchanged.  Well, except for those new fabrics on some of the chairs in the main sitting areas.  Those were needed, I remember some of the chairs being quite threadbare.  Far fewer familiar faces, but that comes with the passage of time.

I spent most of my time wandering around the campus, not the law school.  I often rambled around campus, going to other buildings, studying in the main library with the undergrads, eating in the campus center cafeteria.    It was these places I wanted to see.  The paths I used to take home as I cut through campus between the law school and my apartment.   The Commons area of campus where Mr. Trizzle and I would often hang out.  The ins and outs of my happy memories.

I miss Vanderbilt. I miss living in Nashville.  It’s a really great place.  But I wouldn’t trade my fabulous job for it.

The Two Hearts

Moving, moving, moving.  She felt like she was always moving.  She was tired of it, and tired of dragging around so much stuff with her.  Kneeling down on the hard floor she groped around under the bed until she felt what she was looking for.  Hidden deep in that dark abyss, behind empty boxes, a missing shoe and a few stray pieces of paper.  She pulled the heavy black bag, tugging as it caught on the underside of the bed.  It was a little overstuffed, but she’d never been willing to expand beyond one bag.

These were her ‘mementos,’ discarded remnants of relationships long past.  No use in keeping them anymore.  She wasn’t moving all the way across the country to hold onto this baggage, physically or emotionally.  She probably should have just thrown the whole bag into the trash, but the sentimental never let go that easily.

Making herself as comfortable as the wood floor would allow, she sat down next to the large box that had become the garbage, already full of the crazy odds and ends one finds when packing up their life.  And in the mist of all the other packing, she began to unpack.  Unpack the bag and unpack the corners of her memory, corners she had purposely allowed the cobwebs to cover.

A hair brush from a guy she sort of dated in college, a t-shirt from some frat boy, a framed sketch, all sorts of random things that have use only as sentimental objects.  The trash, the pile for Good-Will, the recycling bin, the different items were distributed as appropriate.  Lingerie that was never worn, birthday cards, printouts of long im conversations.  Some of it seemed downright ridiculous to still be in her possession.

Then she pulled out a small ball of tissue paper.  Confusion crossed her face.  What could this be?  She began to unwrap it.  Sharp edges protruded from the tissue, yet there was a solid circular feel to it.  She knew exactly what it was.

Her 17th birthday.  Her boyfriend, her first boyfriend, had given it to her as a present.  A small clear crystal heart, the tip perched on this circular base with swirls of clear crystal and a pink rose, two birds had sat together on one of the heart’s round humps.  She remembered unwrapping it, sitting in the passenger seat of the car in a parking lot.  She remembered wishing it was her 16th instead of her 17th birthday because then it would somehow be more special.  And she remembered what happened to that gift.

It was a little thing at first, a crack, or maybe one of the birds fell off.  Some sort of damage to the structural integrity of the gift.  That week, they got in a fight.  Then, things were getting better, they were patching it up, they were working on it and moving forward.  At least she thought so.  Until she was trying to adjust something on the bed and knocked the gift off her night stand.  In broke into many, many pieces.  The next week, the relationship ended.  For good.  He moved.  She went on.

Many months later, she came across the broken pieces of the gift, which she had gathered together and kept in her desk drawer.  It really was such a pretty present.  Why not try to put it back together again?  She took a small tube of super glue and attached the first piece back onto the circular base.  The next day, she ran into his best friend.

She glued on a few more pieces.  She saw his car when she was driving in her neighborhood.  Soon the whole thing was glued back together, minus the tiny slivers that had not been salvageable.  She ran into him in public.  They agreed to meet.  It was late, a 24 hour restaurant.  They sat across from each other.  The conversation was stilted.  It was clear it was too soon to be here, too soon to talk.  It was clear this was not going to come back.  She went home.  The glue gave out, the pieces of the gift fell in on each other, a small pile of fragmented crystal on the base of swirls with the pink rose.

The remaining circular base sat in her hand.  The power of the crystal, as she had started to think of it in that wild imagination of youth, was gone.  With only that circular base left, the gift had no magic left in it.  She had thrown out the pieces long ago, but the base had been tucked inside this bag, wrapped in tissue, waiting.  Waiting for what?  She had no idea.  Waiting for this she guessed, waiting to be put out with all the other pain held in that bag.  Waiting to become part of the trash heap that represented moving away and moving on from so many things.

- - -

Good Ol’ Locky Top!

I had a friend in the Peace Corps named Carl.  Except in most of the Zambian languages the r’s and l’s can be a bit of a problem, so his name came out more like Calr, or just Caaa.  (You can also now see why I got a Tonga name so quickly, r and l being the only consonants in my name.)  Anyway, Caaaa liked to sing a lot, and one of  his favorite songs was the UT fight song.  The kids would run after him yelling “Locky Top! Locky Top!”  And soon Ba Caaa became Locky Top.

So why this sudden discussion of Mr. Locky Top?  I’m nowhere near him, and I’m nowhere near good ol’ Locky Top either.  Ah, but you see, I was last night. ;)

No, I did not take red eye to Tennessee and back (though I’m sure some people wouldn’t put it past me).  No, no.  I went to a Vandy alum happy hour with Mr. Trizzle!  I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to see swooped over bangs, a giant Burberry hand bag or super-sized engagement ring bling.

I miss Nashville.  Not nearly as much as I miss Africa or Milwaukee, but certainly more than I expected.  I miss the weather.  I miss the politeness and the Southern charm.  I miss how nice people dressed.  Heck, I even miss the food.  Well, the stuff without pork in it anyway.  I miss giant trucks and Hummers that might actually be used somewhere that requires a giant truck or Hummer.  I miss being able to drive 20 minutes and be pretty much out in the middle of nowhere.  I really miss my apartment.  And I miss my school.

The happy hour was nice.  I don’t usually enjoy happy hours, but this one was good.  I even got a drink, with whiskey in it, seemed appropriate.  Mr. Trizzle and I met some pretty cool people.  A few people who just moved out here (like me!), and some who had been out here a number of years.  Even one other person who, like Mr. Trizzle, was a Bay Area native!  (Those are really rare, like spotted owls or dodo birds or something.)  Apparently, there are events every month or so.  I’m looking forward to the next one.  I hope we get to see many of the same people again.

One thing’s for certain, Vandy certainly takes care of its own.  Near or far, student or alum, Vandy is Vandy, and that means something.

Moving.... on?

It's one of my last nights in my apartment.  Seems funny to say that since I'm not actually moving until the end of the month.  But, I'm leaving tomorrow and will gone for just over a week and then back for only a night or two.

Doesn't really matter though.  Hasn't felt like my apartment since I started dismantling it.  It's hard work, all this moving.  But it was nice to see some smiles today when I dropped things off at a few places around town.  It's funny how to me the recession means I can keep less, but to those running donation centers, it seems to mean they get less.  I'm surprised there aren't more people downsizing.  I guess most people are trying to sell anything they can for whatever they can get.  *sigh* oh well.

Anyway, tomorrow I head out for Cali.  I was super excited, now I'm just tired.  This drive is to get my car out there and get me up to Seattle for a conference.  After the conference is when I'll really move.  I think there's more to pack than I thought but I'm doing ok.  It's the stuff that's hard to pack until it's time to go: dishes, bedding, the few clothes that are left out, toiletries, the stereo.  You know, the really important stuff you use everyday.

I'll try to keep y'all posted as I'm driving down highway 40.

Let’s Go to the Movies

My sisters and I used to have these funny glasses things that we picked up at some hands-on science museum or another once upon a time.  They were shaped like a plastic headband, with two clear plastic rectangles through which to view a rainbow colored world.  We used to put them on and pretend to be Geordi.

We spent hours practicing pulling our fingers apart, arguing over whether it was better to put the hand straight up and down for “Live long and prosper,” or sideways for “nanu nanu.”  We pulled on our ears in attempts to make them pointy and put Tribbles in our hair.

I’m sure we were the same as many kids; Star Trek culture deeply intertwined with the mass amounts of pop-ness shaping our young lives.  But for me, there was a sharp line between welcoming that influence and barely going beyond tolerating it.  I was about sever years old. 

Actress Denise Crosby decided she didn’t want her part anymore, so she was written out – her character sucked into some black bubbling alien creature.  Seven-year-old me knew nothing of this of course.  I knew two simple things: (1) this yellow-wearing lady was sucked into a giant mess of tar and (2) there was lots of tar on the street outside, on the playgroup at school, and in many other places encountered by a common seven year old.  That was the end of my participation in the family’s Star Trek watching.

Alfred continued to stay involved, becoming quite the Trekkie.  She even tried learning Klingon once.  I think it was mostly her enthusiasm for the show that kept me at all informed about it.  At least with regards to the Next Generation and all subsequent generations. 

The stars all pretty much belong to Alfred: Star Trek, Star Wars, Stargate, Starburst…  (Ok, maybe not the last one; she doesn’t eat a whole lot of candy.)  So, when I went to see the new Star Trek movie with Mommy and Daddy and Mr. Trizzle, I felt like I was stealing Alfred’s parents from her.  This was a movie that should have “belonged” to her, been hers to talk about with Daddy.  But here I was, standing in line an hour early with Mr. Trizzle, excited to see the show.

The “Old Generation,” as I call it, was always my favorite.  It was sillier, less scary than the yellow-person-eating-tar-pit generation.  Plus, I loved that the ladies had those cute skirt outfits and tall boots, instead of the ugly pants suits.  I think I was also amused that I had a cassette tape with Captain Kirk and Spock singing Bob Dylan songs.  (The cassette also had Mae West singing The Doors.)  The movie kept the skirts!!  That may have been my favorite part.  Ok. well that and several other things, including the old fashioned weapons and gear, but I don’t believe in spoilers.  You’ll just have to see it yourself. :D

More Fun with Munchkinhead

I forgot to mention some of the exciting things Munchkinhead and I did this past weekend.  Maybe I forgot because they were both near the beginning of the visit.  Maybe it's just cuz I'm old.

Friday and Saturday was Rites of Spring at Vanderbilt.  T.I. was the big headliner.  (One of his last shows before he goes to jail.)  I didn't get tickets because Munchkinhead claims she doesn't like T.I. (put it on the radio and watch how quickly she starts singing along.), and I have seen him live before and didn't think he put on a very good show.  So, instead of going to the concert, we walked up to the beautiful Vandy campus and toured around it with T.I. as our live background music.  It was a beautiful night, and a nice walk.  Munchkinhead spent most of the time on the phone with Boots-With-Spurs guy.  (He's got those funny cut jeans, boots with the spurs; the cowboy was moving his herd; they all got through, next thing you knew, the cows went moo moo moo moo moo.)

Saturday evening, after all our shopping, we went out for a classic Nashville treat: dinner at Swett's.  The restaurant's really really old.  It was founded in 1954!  (Hee hee, just kidding Mommy.)  It is a staple of the city and an important part of the area's history.  The food is also delicious.  (Only the greens and beans are cooked with pork, so I can eat plenty of other veggies.)  It's down-home Southern cooking, meat and three, set-up cafeteria style.  I like picking up the tray and going down the line; it reminds me of going to Ponderosa with my family when I was little.  I finished the last of the leftover cornbread today.

Munchkinhead Go Bye-Bye :(

My little sister, Munchkinhead, came to visit me this weekend.  Yes, it's the middle of my finals, but I don't care.  I value time with my family above everything else, even exam prep time.  (I took one exam Monday morning while she was sleeping and think it went fine.)

We had a fabulous weekend!  She came in Friday night and we headed up to school for what was left of Blackacre (flight delayed).  She got to meet a few of my friends and luckily for us, the food that was left was all the yummy, expensive cheeses.  After the Blackacre, we did a bit of grocery shopping (I was out of milk!) and headed home for a nice evening in.  We watched what very well may be my new favorite movie, Lost in Austen.  If you haven't seen it, do!  Then you'll understand why Munchkinhead and I like to say things like "one peacock is probably sufficient."  (Mommy, don't watch it yet!  Watch it with me!)  Later in the weekend we also watched the real Pride and Prejudice.  (Do not ask which version!  There is only one real one!)

Saturday, the weather was gorgeous.  It was the only nice day, and our busiest day.  We started the morning by dropping some stuff off at a donation center in East Nashville.  (Shhh... don't tell my mommy my little sister came to visit and one of the first places I took her was the ghetto.)

We spent most of the morning enjoying the Parthenon and its surrounding park.  It was also good exercise as we walked there and wandered around for awhile.

In the afternoon, we headed out to the Adventure Science Center with Foo Foo.  I think I had the perfect person to go with; nobody else would have been that much fun there!  (Ok, maybe Alfred.)  I learned something important: I'm big.  Sometimes that makes things that used to be fun scary.  I tried crawling through this giant heart, but I barely fit and was afraid I'd get stuck!  (Here's an example of some of the places we crawled.)

We did manage to climb up through lots of little spaces though to get to the top of the Adventure Dome and Look out over the entire city.

Foo Foo had fun playing with the different sound equipment.

We also discovered that if Foo Foo stands on Munchkinhead's head, they're almost as tall as me in my shoes.

After Adventure Center - we went shopping.  The trouble with having Munchkinhead around is that she makes me spend more money than normal because shopping with her is just so much fun!  We bought dresses at the South American import store down the street (more walking), then headed out to use one of my gift cards at DSW.  I had the hardest time finding shoes I liked!  The store was so uppity!  I did finally find a nice pair of brown dress shoes.  Can't believe I now own some BCBG.  We headed to Target but didn't find anything of interest there.  Finally, we went to Ross and were both delighted with the cutest dresses!

The rest of the weekend, Munchkinhead helped me pack because it was icky outside.  We did go out to Cafe Coco for dinner.  And we went bowling!  11 games on Sunday night, 5 more on Monday.  We had so much fun!  Munchkinhead beat me twice.  I started bowling with my left hand, too and now have 2 sore arms instead of one.  (And a sore back, and sore legs, and sore anything that can be sore.)

And on the last night, after bowling, we played Candy Land with Foo Foo, Daddy Bunny, April and Whiskey.  April and Foo Foo each won one game.  The pictures are on Munchkinhead's camera.  :(

Today, I had to take her back to the airport.  :(  She has more school now.  But we had fun, and she made it back safely.  I can't wait to see her again in July.  And then Alfred will be there, too!  What fun we shall have!!!

In the Ayer

Palm Sunday.  My second favorite holiday.  I always wear green.  It's the start of the most exciting time of the year.  And it means spring is on the way.  This year it was particularly exciting because it was also my birthday.

I sat in the back of the church alone, watching all the families and couples sharing this wonderful day.  Sad to be alone, but glad to be there with God and hymns and the joy that comes with a man riding into town on a donkey.

The children's choir sang, the real little kids; it was cute.  Then came the youth choir.  Ten and Twelve year olds grouped together in the front of the church, donned in long black choir robes with the short white ruffled mini robe on top.  Several of them began beating drums, which were slung over their shoulders.  "African drums for Palm Sunday, hmmm, neat,"  I thought.  The rhythm sounded sort of familiar.  I couldn't place it, so I decided it must just be a standard rhythm.

Then the boy on the end opened his mouth.  And my head started shaking.  His blond bangs swooped to the side, he looked like one of those choir angel Christmas decorations people put out at the holidays, or maybe a member of the famed Vienna Boys Choir.  But what came out was anything other than angelic.  The young boy opened his mouth and started rapping. (Yup, looked pretty much just like this picture.)

Not just rapping, mind you, but a particularly insane sort of thing.  The choir, or presumably the stout bald headed man directing the choir, had rewritten the lyrics to Flo Rida's In the Ayer!  For church!

I, in fact, did not even realize this until a week later when I happened to be listening to Flo Rida's old album.  The beat started and I was like "where have I heard that recently?"  Then the hook came on: "oh hot dam, this is my jam,  keep me partying until the a.m.  make me throw my hands in the ayer, ay-ayer, ayer, ay-ayer."

You see, the church version had said some stuff about donkeys and such and then the kid said "they threw their palms in the ayer, ay-ayer, ayer, ay-er."  This little choir boy, standing in the front of a massive church, stained glass crucified Jesus rising high behind him, a baptismal font across the aisle from him, wooden pews, stone floors, arches, Bibles, Bibles everywhere for goodness sakes, and this kid is standing up there saying, no rapping "ayer, ay-ayer, ayer, ay-ayer!

By the time the kid got to the ayer part, I had burried my head in my hands.  It's too much for me.  I like hip hop; I like heavy metal.  But rapping and electric guitars do not belong in church.  I want bells and a nice pipe organ, putting joyful church-sounding music into the ayer, ay-ayer, ayer, ay-ayer, thank you very much!

I am Sooooo Entertaining!

Tonight was the annual BLSA 3L banquet.  It's the last official BLSA event of the year, when the organization says good by to it's graduating 3Ls.  It was my third one.  I had been waiting for this particular banquet for quite a long time, especially for the slide show and the superlatives.  "Finally, I'll get to be in the pictures on that big screen!  Me and my friends, being silly and studious and pretty..."  There was no slide show. :(  Darn 2Ls (they plan the thing) dropped the ball.

There were however superlative awards.  The superlatives are these silly awards for things like 'Next Johnnie Cochran,' 'Best Dressed,' or 'Most Likely to Commit Malpractice.'  (Mr. Trizzle won two of those last year; I'll let you guess what two.)  All the 3Ls vote on their classmates. 

I was excited about seeing which of my friends would get what awards, but was pretty certain I wouldn't get any myself.  Some of the awards might have kinda fit me, but not better than they fit my classmates.  So, I was prepared to sit back and watch My Rhyming Twin get the award for 'Most Likely to Brighten Someone's Day,' and my newly married friends get 'Most Likely to Have Children First', etc.  Well, I was wrong. 

I did get an award.  And not just any award.  One of the most ridiculous awards (probably just behind 'Most Likely to Buy a Luxury Vehicle w/ 1st PayCheck' and the malpractice award - both of which went to the same person this year).  For some confounded reason, my classmates voted me "interesting enough to watch during prime time."  Yes, I got the 'Most Likely to be a Reality TV Star' award.  What?!

All I have to say to my classmates is, 'y'all better mean Top Model, cuz if you think I'm going on one of those Real-College-Trip-Bug Eating-Mud Wrestling-Find a Spouse shows, you've got another thing coming!  Geesh, I don't even have TV to watch reality TV, and if I did, I sure as heck wouldn't watch that stuff!  Excuse me, but can I please get the 'Most Likely to be Laura Petrie' award instead?   ... oh never mind, she wears flat shoes anyway.

Regions Bank has Just Lost a Customer

I went to the bank today to deposit some money.  The bank wouldn't let me.  Well, wouldn't let me without a fee.  Regions wanted to charge me $5 to deposit MY money in MY savings account! This makes absolutely no sense.  It's the bank's job to deposit my money in my accounts.

When I was a little girl, I would go to the bank with my grandpa and stand on my tip toes to peer over the big, tall counter.  The teller would lean over to say hello and hand me a Dum Dum sucker.  If I was lucky, it'd be ? flavor; my favorite.  The room was gigantic, and the fancy woodwork and velvet ropes made me feel like royalty.  Against the back wall was a long row of gadgets on display - blenders, mixers, ice cream scoops - gifts from the bank to its customers for different accounts and stuff.

Now I go into the bank and wait on a cold tile floor wound around airport security line-like belts and wait to approach the bullet proof glass covered counter.  I slide my little slip under the counter.  The teller demands an id and that I remove my (prescription) sunglasses and types away at their computer.

Daddy used to have this jar of pennies on top of his dresser.  When it would get fall he'd take the jar (and me) to the bank to deposit his pennies.  The teller would pour the pennies into a big machine that would jumble them all together and tell the teller how much money Daddy was depositing.  Saving spare change like that is a great way to save money.  (Especially when not having change in your purse prevents you from using the vending machine.)

Every week, or when my purse gets to heavy, I empty out the change, setting the quarters aside for laundry and putting the pennies, nickels and dimes in my piggy bank.  My 'piggy' bank is actually a wooden truck.  My grandpa made it for me.  It's green and says US Mail, and the wheels really work!  Today, I went to my little green truck bank and discovered it was full, so I headed to the bank.  The worthless, scummy bank.  $5 to deposit my bank of change that probably only adds up to about $5!

So - I am now looking for a new bank.  One that actually acts like a bank.  In the meantime, Mommy, are you guys driving down in May?  Can you take my piggy bank to deposit in my Marine Savings account?

It's Days Like This That Make Me Excited about My Future.

8:30 am - end of breakfast.  felt like I had walked into a lion's den.  breakfast chatter for a few minutes brought out Lessig-bashing.  I sat holding my Creative Commons laptop case on my lap (Lessig founded Creative Commons), trying not to get boiling mad and only correcting the lady when it would be uncontroversial. 

The day soon improved.  Keynote speaker from Universal Music Group filled me with hope for the future.  (They aren't as dumb and ostrich-like as I thought - see Wed. IP blog post for more.)  The session on Digital Copyright was an amusing blood-bath like escapade with high tempers and enemies sitting next to each other.  One guy who is the CEO for a music publishing association (i.e. helps song-writers get paid) said Apple is making money off of selling iPods and people use their iPods to put music on them, so song writers and musicians should get part of Apple's iPods profits.  Right, and I say I buy socks and use them to wear shoes, so the sock companies should get part of the proceeds from the shoe sales.  After all, what good are socks without shoes?  Or vice versa.  What good's a music file (or cd/record/tape) with nothing to play it on? 

Sadly, the industry logic is often like this.

There was also some nice cat fighting over whether there's too much or too little copyright protection.  Ironically, the panelists turned it into America vs. America.  Free Markets vs. The Constitution.  If you care, I'll explain more, otherwise I'd wind up spending a page explaining the foundations of copyright law.  There was also much disagreement over whether users have a right to content once it's been released (legal access, not right to just take) or whether creators should always have a right to say "no."  (Ironically, that's a bit more moral rights, which is something Europe has, but not the US.)

All fighting, scratching, nitpicking aside, the best part of the conference (to me) was those speakers from yesterday speaking again.  Sadly, only about 6 people went to their panel, and of the ones that were there, few people understood.  I think part of it was that American music industry folks are too worried about their "crisis" to care about anything having to do with Africa.  And the other part, they just don't get Africa.  Sometimes I hate those save the children ads for the impression they perpetuate.  Problem is, those kids do need help.  But Africa is so much much more than that!  If I had one wish, I think I'd wish that everyone in the world could see the true beauty that's in Africa, and all the exciting, wonderful things it has to offer, instead of just the disease and destruction.

Anyway, I like these guys' work a lot and don't worry, as soon as they send me the reader-friendly version (as opposed to the law journal version) many of you will be getting an email.  (And there's a new post about their work on Afro-IP.)  It was just so neat to talk to them again.  I hope it wasn't the last time. ;)

The Most Amazing Day

When I got up this morning, I had a plan.  By 9:30am, that plan had been chucked out the window.  Why?  Well, this was in my inbox as part of the weekly school announcements:

ESLS, TELP, and the International Law Society present Mark Schultz and Alec van Gelder: "International Intellectual Property Development and the World Intellectual Property Organization"
Monday, March 23  |  12:00pm - 1:00pm  |  Moore Room
Mr. Schultz and Mr. van Gelder will be in Nashville for the Leadership Music Digital Summit, and they have kindly agreed to come to Vanderbilt Law to discuss their recently published paper, "Nashville in Africa," which discusses similarities between Nashville's music industry and currently developing creative industries in Africa.  Their talk will focus more generally on international intellectual property development.  Pizza will be served.

 

By noon, I had received several emails, including one from one of my favorite professors, making sure I had heard about the event.   Guess people know me!  Mzzzz Jones even asked if I set up the panel (that they'll be on at the Leadership Music Digital Summit).

Their paper had somehow come to my attention while I was in Nigeria, so it was saved on my computer, though I hadn't yet had a chance to read it.  Perfect time to have Adobe read it to me! (while I scrapbooked.  I am of the multi-tasking generation.)  It was very interesting.  My favorite part: Mondo Music and the large sections of the paper devoted to the Zambian music industry.  Yes, that's right, I said Zambian.  You don't happen to know anyone who knows anything about Zambian music do you?  Yeah, me neither.  ;)

So I walked up to school for the noon event.  I was sitting in the hallway, waiting for the 1Ls to empty out of our meeting room (their class room), when who should walk up, but the speakers themselves!  The student escort left them there, room still occupied by 1Ls.  It didn't take too long, we were soon all talking about about Africa and copyright.  Then my professor walked up, he knew one of the guys already and mentioned to them that he had just emailed me about their event.

Sitting in the hall, talking with the three of them, it was so neat!  I mean to just be able to sit and talk to people about the stuff I care about, wow.  Cuz really now, how many people do you know that will sit down and talk about Zambian music, the Nigerian Copyright Commission and African copyright laws with me?  Sure, sure, you all humor me (and I appreciate it!) but do you really want to talk about it?  Didn't think so.

They're speaking again at that conference tomorrow.  One of my Twitter friends gave me all the info about the conference.  (He goes to Belmont, it's at Belmont.)  I'm heading over tomorrow morning for a nice day of music, tech and IP issues.  The founder of Pandora will be there, too - could be helpful for my paper on Pandora and int'l licensing, if I can miss class.   We'll see.

What a great day!  Now I have to try to go to sleep.

The Ball

I returned to an almost empty house.  Just me and the shadows of a house-guest who's gone home.  A greasy bacon pan in the sink, blow pop wrappers scattered here and there, extra towel in the bathroom, the little things that just aren't quite right.  It's quiet here tonight; quiet and a little bit lonely.  But also, in a strange way, refreshing.  I can breath a little more; my routine and schedule can return.

Now, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade anything for this past weekend.  It was wonderful, and Mr. Trizzle and I had a lot of fun.  I was really happy to see him again and am excited about going to Cali on Friday for Spring Break.  But, it's hard to sort of throw aside your whole life for a few days, trying to squeeze in school work in other places, staying up later, sleeping longer, eating at different times, all that sort of stuff.  In any case, I have all sorts of random stuff going on this week, so I probably won't really have my schedule back until sometime after Spring Break.  Oh well.

Now, for what you guys are all really dying to hear about: The Suit.

Yes, it fit.  Sort of.  The shirt sleeves were a bit short, and the tie was too long.  Good thing I decided to put the French cuffs on the shirt.  He just left them unfolded, the same way I wear my French cuff shirts (cuz the sleeves are too short.)  And we safety-pinned the tie so no one could see it was too long.  The important stuff fit fine.  Here's some pictures.  (Fyi, these were taken near the end of the night, so it's a little more wrinkled than when he first put it on.)

 

The Ball was a lot of fun, despite the crappy DJ.  And happily, many of my friends who said they weren't going showed up anyway!  Here's some pics:

Me and two of those friends who changed their minds at the last minute, the Prez and Chas.

 

Me and Mr. Trizzle, our full outfits.  Don't you just love my shoes?!  They lace up but that part's sort of hidden by my skirt.I was so concerned with Mr. Trizzle's suit that I didn't really know what I was going to wear until the night before.  I pulled the corset and skirt out of my closest.  I threw the skirt together in an hour or so for a college formal, and it was obvious.  I spent the morning before the ball removing pink basting from the waist line, re-tacking down the bias tape "waist band" and putting a hook and eye on the skirt.

More pictures with friends, My Rhyming Twin and the Giant Jamaican.

  

Th is is one my favorite photos of the night.  (Taken by Tarik Downey.)

And... two more nice photos:  (it was going to be one more, but I couldn't make up my mind.)

Sometimes, I Just Love the South

It's 72 here today.  Hee hee :D  Not to gloat over my friends and family in Wisconsin; I'm sure the 40 degrees there feels wonderful after all those single digit days.

There's a wonderful breeze here today, sun shining, a few rolling clouds - perfect weather really.  I walked up to school, had lunch with a friend at a yummy new Indian restaurant just a few blocks from my house, walked home, walked back to the bike shop next to the restaurant to take my bike in for repairs and walked back home.  Happiness...*sigh*

Now it's time to get back on my grind: assignment due tomorrow, report due Wednesday, presentation on Thursday and a final on Friday.

A Great Week in Review

  The fun began on Friday, and it's just kept going.  Friday afternoon I went to hang out with Pita and her parents.  Pita's parents are good friends of mine and I love hanging out with them.  Plus, with Pita around, there's always something interesting going on.  And Pita's mommy, besides being a good storybook-reader, is a great cook.  She made a very yummy spinach/feta/lentil/other stuff salad and even sent me home with some of us.  There are some Southern customs that aren't so bad. ;)  (Pita reading along with her mommy.)

After a great afternoon with Pita's parents, I headed across the Ville for a sleepover at Mzzzzz Jones' place.  (No relation to Mrs. Jones.)   We colored, ate yummy triscuits and watched two movies, on great, one not so good.  One of my favorite parts of the evening was when Mzzzzzz Jones accidentally made Sandra Day O'Connor look like a girl in our class. (Pics of me and coloring book taken by Mzzzz Jones.)

As you know from an earlier post, I got a lot of sewing done Saturday.  Sunday was very productive, lots of homework done and a bit of home cleaned up.  Also broke down and decided to get my favorite pizza from Papa Johns - pineapple and no sauce.  It's a been a long time since I'd had that yummy treat!

My weekends are always three days long, since I don't have Monday classes.  Usually makes for nice, happy Mondays.  This Monday was even happier.  I got a phone call for an interview - I won't say any more about it now, don't want to jinx anything!

Yesterday at school, I was a little nervous heading into class.  We were talking about sampling - and as anyone who knows me knows, I love hip hop (partly because I love finding the samples in the songs.)  But some of my classmates had some different views on hip hop and sampling, one described allowing sampling as " encouraging the creation of Hip-hop at the expense of 'established music."  Others called sampling "lazy" or "uncreative." 

Then, the professor opened class with this and this, switching between MIA's Paper Planes and T.I.'s Swagga Like Us in a way that emphasized the sample of the first that becomes the hook of the later.  And he came out swinging in defense of sampling - first order of business: establishing the creative aspects and importance of it.  Yay!

Class also brought a little pride boost.  A classmate asked me what program I use to create my assignments because they look so neat.  My answer: Word.

  (Assignment sample.)

And of course, every day was sprinkled with wonderful conversations with Mommy, Munchkinhead and Mr. Trizzle.  I think I only emailed with Alfred... hmmm guess it's time to give her a call ;)

What a great run.  I hope the next 7 days are just as great! :)

Help! Nashville's Turning into Berkeley

Within 20 minutes of me, there is now a Whole Foods, a Harris Teeter and a Trader Joe's.  I can't tell you the last time I drove down to school and didn't see a car with about 8 bumper stickers on it proclaiming anti-war, anti-life and anti-mainstream sentiments.  And then today, when I got to school, I parked next to a Honda Civic Hybrid!

If they're going to important Bay Area "stuff", couldn't we get some of the good things.  Decent public transportation?  Mandatory recycling?  Pedestrian-friendly roads?

But noooooo, we get the junk.  Free speech to the max (as long as you're extreme liberal), expensive fancy so-called-natural grocery stores and ... ok, the hybrid's not bad, though I'd prefer if it wasn't a Honda.  Can I get a hybrid Buick up in this place?  A hybrid anything I can fit in?

Grrr... at least there's always Wal-Mart...

Anyone Got Any Super Glue? (Feet Need to Stay Attached to Ground)

Vanderbilt.  The name right there says a lot, carries a certain stigma with it; is, in it's own way, a high class brand.  After two years, I should be used to what Vanderbilt is, in all its preppiness glory.  Yet today I was completely taken by surprise when I was reminded of just how much I don't fit in here.

It used to be different, last year I mean, and the year before.  There were some great real, down to earth, people in the classes before mine.  You know, those people who remind you about real life just by being themselves.  They've left now, graduated, on to bigger and better things: being attorneys.  My best grounding person has up and left, back to the Yay.  Schools not the same, somehow less tolerable.

Tonight was the first night of my Intellectual Property Licensing short course.  The class itself was great, but a few of my classmates made some comments that smacked me upside the head.  The worst part is, they were all members of what used to be my "group," the BLSA people (not all members of BLSA, but the general group that hangs around BLSA).  But most of the BLSA people with whom I connected are gone, what is left is a strange (to me) mix of bougie pretentiousness and snobbish wealth.

Chello's Wife (who really isn't married to or even dating Chello, but got this nickname because she's always just a few feet behind him, like a Muslim wife) piped in on the discussion about brand dilution.  She was upset about how designer Michael Kors diluted his brand by offering a line called Michael by Michael Kors at Macy's.  If you're asking who's Michael Kors, that was exactly my first thought.  My second thought was "wtv?!  Macy's is expensive high end stuff."  Well, turns out a sweater by this Kors guy runs somewhere around $1500.  At that price, it better include the whole flock of sheep, too!

Then another girl started talking about how she used to be a food elitist and only buy brands she had seen her mother buy because if she bought the store brand she was convinced it would be nasty.  She explained that she's no longer an elitist because now she'll buy store brands.  Stores like Whole Foods make it possible because the level of the store ensures that the food inside will all be quality.  (And for a moment I almost thought she was no longer an elitist.  Meanwhile, I'll be walking to Apple Market to get my 33 cent Always $ave macaroni and cheese.)

Another girl was explaining that people buy Prada because they know they'll get good quality and yadda yadda yadda.  I don't care how good you think your quality is, there's a point where it doesn't matter and isn't worth the arm and the leg to buy it.  Yes, sometimes it makes a difference.  Do I think my new Timberlands will outlast my $15 KMart boots?  Sure, but that's mostly because my Timbs are made out of stronger, more durable materials, not solely because they're Timbs.  There's a point where a leather jacket is a leather jacket and a purse is a purse, and shoes that cost as much as rent are just absurd.

Luckily, I got to sit by one of my old friends, JT, in class.  He's fairly grounded, although I can't give him complete down-to-earth cred because his fiance (who is very sweet) is very much a part of the high priced brand club and he goes along with it sometimes to keep her happy.  At least I had someone who could understand my eye rolling though.  And when I got home, my good grounding person was only a phone call away....  :)