Television

In college I was absolutely that annoying girl who was all, "TV? Please, I don't own a TV." Then I would go to my friends' place and watch tv with them, all because I was too cheap to get a decent tv and cable. When I moved into my current abode with OfficeMate, we agreed that nice cable was a necessity since we weren't going to be spending any money doing anything else. Oh nice cable, it will be hard to go back. We never had cable growing up, and man is it NICE.

I like to pride myself on having pretty solid taste in tv shows. As a child, I enjoyed Reading Rainbow and Wishbone, and later grew into gems such as Sister Sister (admit it, you loved it too) and Home Improvement (thanks, UPN!). I was a HUGE Sopranos fan in high school, love House and have recently developed an appreciation for Mad Men. There is also a soft spot in my heart for the Office (early seasons only), How I Met Your Mother and 30 Rock, because I aspire to become Tina Fey.

I'm a HGTV junkie, but I blame that on being a woman. I try to only watch it when no one else is in the apartment, so as to not subject OfficeMate to programming for women full of commercials for yeast infection creams and tampons. There's just something so therapeutic about watching extraordinarily wealthy people shop for villas in Italy and wonder where they'll put their hot tub. I wish I had those problems.

This summer, I have found myself entrenched in America's Got Talent. Grammatical errors in their title aside (how did no one call them out on this?), it's entertaining and I have my top picks to go all the way. Then, one day, NBC had one of those annoying, "STAY TUNED SO YOU DON'T MISS OUR NEW SHOW!" ads.

And then I watched the new show, even though the whole time I kept saying, "This is idiotic. What a waste of my time." But it's true, I am now hooked and have yet to miss an episode of...

Love in the Wild.Yes. I said it. Love in the Wild. I have kept silent (except to a select few) about this addiction of mine for too long. I am no longer ashamed (lie. I'm still ashamed) of myself.

For those of you lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the premise, they take shallow, fake&bake, early 20 something who have given up on love (because, if you haven't found love by 24 you're obviously SOL forever) and throw them in Costa Rica hoping they'll cause drama to make for excellent reality tv. Oh, and how they do. People say things like, "I like that she cares about her appearance" and do awesome things like drop wooden statues on their feet and (SPOILER ALERT) get kicked out of the competition as a result. Last week, two couples went home! DRAMA.

So while I am excited about America's Got Talent tonight and the youtube contestants, nothing can compete with my excitement for tomorrow night. Gosh, I hope Mike & Sam make it! Or Miles & Heather, they're cute too.

I may regret admitting this to the internet, but this is the reality of poverty, guys. You're driven to watching such gems as Love in the Wild. (Honestly, with a logo like that, who WOULDN'T want to watch?)

A Eulogy

Today has been a long day. Maccy had an appointment with the Genius Bar this morning, something I figured I'd take advantage of while in the DC area with our plethora of Apple Stores. I knew the diagnosis would be bad, but was still somewhat hopeful they'd be able to perform their Mac voodoo and he'd come back to life. But it was not so. His diagnosis was more of an autopsy.

There is, I learned, a little chip around the qwerty section of MacBooks that is responsible for relaying information to outputs: monitor, mouse, keyboard, etc. His was fried; that chip was responsible for the burning smell that occurred whenever I turned him on. The man at the Genius Bar was able to hook Maccy up to an external monitor, mouse and keyboard and he worked well enough. The repair cost was $750. Oh goodness, that number hurt to hear. I struggled to keep myself composed and talked over my options with Genius Bar Guy. I could buy a refurbished 2010 MacBook for $850. I could get a 5% discount on the warranty because I'm a government employee. It wasn't that bad, he promised. It just wasn't worth repairing a five year old computer when I could get a new one for $100 more.

I told him I wanted to think it over, and went to visit Brother at his coffee shop to drown my sorrows in a latte and read some Wall Street Journal. I discussed my options with OfficeMate, the parentals, and a handful of friends. My loving parents offered to front the cost of a new machine until I get a real job and can pay them back. I then made my way to a different Apple Store where I had them wipe Maccy clean, so I can recycle him without the possibility of someone getting my files. This process apparently takes forever, because I was waiting for well over an hour. I just ordered a new computer, who will probably be named Maccy Jr, in honor of the computer who came before him.Dearest Maccy,
You were by my side for almost five whole years. You stood by me in my awkward eyebrow stage. You edited so many awful cliche college photos. You didn't shudder that time I installed AIM on you (I'M SO SORRY!). You traveled to Spain with me where we enjoyed many a cafe con leche in Bar Alberto. You helped me skype so many people. You were there for me when I videochatted Brother and his dog, Holly, in class. Maccy, you endured my writing some seriously bad papers on you, but also were the reason I wrote some of the best analytical pieces of my life. You let me put embarrassing music on your iTunes, and helped me find this job. Let's be honest, I finished my first grant proposal with you. You will be followed by a 2010 MacBook - he'll be a lot like you, but larger (250GB to your 60GB), faster (I don't even know how much RAM you had...), and won't be held together by tape. I'm sure Maccy Jr. and I will have many great adventures and memories, but you, you Maccy, were my first Mac. You were there for me for college, studying abroad, and beyond. You were an amazing computer and I know that had it not been for this water incident, we would have many more years to compute together. Thanks for five fun years (and sorry if I ever bored you with excessive facebooking).
Sincerely,
MV

Life Lessons: Internet, Poverty, Roanoke

Dearest Blog, how I have seemingly neglected you. Let me explain!

Last week, there were some crazy storms in these parts. When our internet began to get temperamental, I wasn't completely surprised. Phone lines were down throughout the valley, and we didn't even have internet at the office last Friday. Then the internet started just... not existing in the apartment. OfficeMate being cursed with being tech savvy was plagued with my unending questions: "Can you make the internet work??" "Why is the internet down?" "THE FOURTH LIGHT ON THE MODEM STILL ISN'T BLINKING. YOU SAID THAT MEANT NO INTERNET STILL. WHAT'S GOING ON?" I generally was told the internet was down, to be patient, and "You have internet on your phone."

Internet on my phone is all well and good, but I can't blog on my phone. I can't apply for jobs on my phone. Google reader on the iPhone is far from fantastic. First world problems are hard.

At the moment, our internet is still down (kind of). The cable in our living room just doesn't want to work, and the one in OfficeMate's room is connected to it. The one in my room, however, just mysteriously appears out of the wall and is seemingly connected to the outdoors (or the guy-below-me-who-I-can-hear-snore). So at the moment the modem is plugged in my room, stretched across my bed to the lone plug in here, with an ethernet cable to get this 2004 piece of machinery on these crazy intertubes.

I digress. It is now June. I have slightly over two months left in my AmeriCorps tenure. I'm legitimately qualified for these jobs I've been applying to. I've begun wondering if I need to start thinking about moving out things I'm not using anymore (winter sweaters, coats, boots, etc). While on one hand, I wonder where the time went and I become all nostalgic for the valley, I am very much ready to continue on to the next phase of my life. Roanoke has been amazing to me (other than having my money stolen, moving three times, losing my computer to a ghetto apartment building, having my car get hit, just to name a few), and Lord knows I'll miss these mountains, but it's time.

I've learned so much this year. I've learned how to stretch a dollar. I've learned how to get by on next to nothing without the assistance of food stamps or handouts (One can absolutely get by on minimum wage in this valley without food stamps. Anyone who tells you otherwise is buying things they do not need). I've learned how to cook so many more things. I've learned how to fill my tires with air (don't mock, I never had a car with tires to fill with air before). I've learned how to write a grant proposal, do development work, look for foundations. I've learned to appreciate the silence and slow nature of my life rather than get antsy about having nothing to do. Well, actually, that one I'm still in the learning process. Just today I learned that a cable splitter can go bad!

But I've also learned that, while I can get by on less than minimum wage, I'd rather not anymore. I miss simple things like a new pair of shoes. I've worn out my clothing since I've moved, since I've bought almost nothing new since I moved and laundromats are eating my unmentionables. I want to be able to buy a new computer when one gets leaked on, without having to worry about financial repercussions. I want to be able to afford rent somewhere other than where the shirtless, seemingly unemployed guy sits outside on his folding chair with his dog and cigarette in the midst of racial slurs and shotgun-toting neighbors. I want to be able to get groceries and an oil change in the same day and not cringe at the thought of my checking account suffering as a result.

My life is not glamorous. I'm not saying it's tough, because honestly, it comes down to creative budgeting and nothing more. I'm not a math whiz, I'm just smart enough to know how much I need to get by. But it gets old, and it gets old FAST. And I didn't go to college to have to be creative with my budgeting, I went to college to get myself a job that allows me to be creative in the office so I don't have to be with my checkbook. I'd rather spend my time at exhibits, concerts or productions than at home crunching numbers or, brace yourself, on the sofa doing sudokus because that's free. I'm just ready to live the life that the rest of my peers have been living for a year. And if you guys haven't been living that life, then stop making it look like you did on facebook! (Facebook creeping is also free) I'm just ready to take what I've learned, and continue on with the rest of my life.Roanoke is a chapter, not the end.

Guest Blogger - Hermana Oso

As I hopped into the shower tonight after Glee, I was grumbling to myself about poor life decisions by fictional characters in Ohio and about how my iPhone has yet to reach me for an array of reasons that I won't get into today. Needless to say, I was insistent on being glum.

A few minutes into my shower with a head full of conditioner, my water goes ice cold. This happens on occasion, and I generally chalk it up to paying nominal rent. I stepped back and waited, as usual, for the water to heat back up. It didn't. At least not for a good five freezing minutes, complete with me stepping out of the shower, contemplating sticking my head in the sink, and wondering if maybe perfume in the morning would have been a better option than this shower.

When I was eighteen, I went to visit my sister who was serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ecuador. It's true, we're those obnoxious do-gooder sisters. Go go civil service! However, I recall showering at her house there and having to do jumping jacks prior to hopping into what was truly a freezing shower, with no hot water available. I skipped conditioner every day I was there, to avoid the very conundrum I found myself in today.

My sister used to send out mass emails to those of us state-side during her time as a PCV, to let us know she was alive and to keep us abreast of her adventures. I bring you her adventures on an Ecuadorian bus, circa 2007.

For all of you Peace Corps volunteers, past and present, thank you. Thank you for being solid representatives of us abroad, proving the importance of global citizenship. Thank you for all you've done, and all you continue to do. Thank you for your inspiration. (Sister, that means you!)

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Written by: Hermana Oso

During my last day in Quito, I was able to meet up with Lauren from my freshman hall at William and Mary. Lauren is studying in Quito on a Rotary Scholarship, and it was great to meet up with her two years after graduation. The time absolutely flew by, and I am still waiting on her to call me up and announce she is coming to visit me in Cuenca (that´s a hint, Lauren!).

Also while in Quito, it dawned on me that I could request 100 PC Ecuador folders to use during the upcoming Anti Trafficking Conference. Patting myself on the back for thinking ahead, I joined the line to board the 10pm night bus back to my home in Cuenca, all the while toting my backpack that held the contents of three days of survival in the capital city, and lugging the 100 folders as well as a plastic bag of small candle molds I had inherited from the PC Office.

The bus line my friend Matt (or, here in Ecuador, Mateo) and I take from Quito to Cuenca is the Panamericana. Due to it`s lack of heat while taking on the frigid temperatures of the Sierran Panamerican highway in the middle of the night, ancient seats, and the lone TV from 1983 blasting such unknown American classics such as "Komodo vs. Cobra" or anything violent with Jean Claude Van Damme or Sylvester Stallone, we affectionately call this bus line The People's Bus. Don't knock the People's Bus, though. If you still can't figure out where the People's Bus´ more posh and expensive big brother bus line Flota Imbabura is located, The People's Bus gets the job done.

Imagine my surprise when trying to board the People's Bus the attendant stares at my innocent backpack and says: That needs to go under the bus.

I'm sorry, what?

That needs to go under the bus.

(Now, I have heard enough stories of peoples´ stuff getting robbed from underneath the bus that I know better than to trust this lady. Right, like I haven't been taking night busses for two years in this country. You think you're messing with your everyday gringa? Think again, lady.)

Um, well, I took this same bus line up from Cuenca and they let me bring it up top. Look, I know it looks large, and maybe I have been accused more than once of overpacking in my lifetime, but trust me. Don't worry, it fits in the overhead bin.

That needs to go under the bus.

(As I open my mouth to protest, she busts out with…)

We aren't letting anyone bring anything up because the luggage will block the heating vents.

Heating vents? On the People's Bus? I must have the wrong bus line! As I silently revel in my good fortune, I hand over my backpack to another attendant wrestling luggage from other stubborn passengers like myself. The monstrous bag of Peace Corps folders and candle molds, however, I sneak past the attendant. There is no way I am putting these under the bus, just to get to Cuenca to discover they have been abused and smashed beyond all recognition by the unforgiving curves of the mountain road.

Before I settle into my seat, I take in this new addition to the People's Bus fleet. This baby has comfortable, clean reclining seats, a flatscreen TV, and sure enough, the upper bin is empty so as not to block the heating vents. I take the lead of some other rebellious passengers and place my bag of cherished PC folders up top. Certainly one bag won't really make a difference in the heat circulation of this beautiful bus? I smile, pop a Dramamine, and, after thinking, ¨Maybe night buses aren't so bad after all¨, am off to sleep…

…until about 4 hours later (on this 10 hour journey) when we hit the major curves of the Panamerican highway and all I (and the other 44 passengers on the bus) can hear is the WHOOSH of the bag of my coveted PC folders as it slides back and forth, threatening to slide off the bin which is not really a bin at all but more of a ledge, actually. Each turn, each curve, is one step closer to impending doom for the passengers ahead of me. I can see the headlines already. Panamericana passengers injured due to PC folder injuries. Doctors save Quiteño from gringo paper cuts.

Maybe it was the Dramamine making me loopy, but I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. Do I stand up and try and adjust the bag's location? Then I´d be admitting the bag was mine. No, better lay low. It won't fall, right? As I try to ignore the whooshing bag and try and return to my pimped out People's Bus slumber, I suddenly hear a new noise. CLANK. CLANK CLANK. CLANKCLANKCLANKCLANK. Ah yes. It seems that the candle molds Irene, the friendly PC secretary, had regalar´d (gifted) me, were feeling rebellious and had escaped from their cozy bed of PC folders to explore the upper storage bin of the People's Bus. Again, picture the headlines. Well, you get the idea.

Admitting defeat, I arose from my plush People's Bus armchair to survey the damage. Expertly balancing myself against the swaying chariot so as not to be propelled into the lap of the man next to me, I did the best I could to stuff the folders and molds back into the bag, now torn with battle wounds from hours of Sierran highway curves. Hoping I had avoided catastrophe and that the 44 pairs of glaring eyes would forgive me and my funda of PC folders, I settled back into my seat and hoped that sleep would arrive before the dawning Equatorial sun.

But alas. Sleep was not in the cards for me that night, nor for my fellow passengers. The plastic bag, the folders, and the molds were not to be silenced. Twenty minutes later, they were at it again, robbing the Peoples´ Bus of precious slumber. It finally occurred to me to place the bag under my seat. Brilliant. I blame the Dramamine for not thinking of this sooner. That, or I was just too stubborn to give in so easily. While this solved the problem, I was so afraid of a bus uprising against me that I did not shut my eyes until we rolled into Cuenca at 7 am and I was safely in my bed.

There are now WANTED posters of me in all offices of the Panamericana. Next time, I´ll just take Flota . And put my stuff under the bus.

Hunger

I got sick this past weekend. Nothing big, just a 24 hour deal where I, yet again, worshiped the porcelain god. I know these all sound like hangovers every time I write about them, but I swear, that's not the case.

As a result of being sick, I was very weary of eating. I picked at some soup, had a grapefruit, and generally just complained about my stomach hurting. Because I'm apparently three, not twenty-three.

Yesterday being Martin Luther King Day, there was no work to be had. I, for one, was grateful for the extra day to recuperate from my stomach being upset with me. I had told a friend and fellow AmeriCorps volunteer that I would attend her Hunger Banquet she organized today. So I convinced OfficeMate to join, and the two of us headed over.

The Hunger Banquet was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Each person draws a card that either reads "Low" "Middle" or "High," and you are given your meal accordingly. The cards are made so that the correct percentage of the room is in each category, according to worldwide poverty levels. Being that the majority of the world is in poverty, it wasn't super surprising when OfficeMate and I both drew "low." We feasted on a spoonful of rice out of a napkin on burlap sacks on the floor with the majority of the others in attendance, while a select four or five were allowed large meals at a table, and a few others were served beans and rice in a bowl with a fork, like fancy folks do.

It really helped put poverty into focus. For me, I have the occasional complaint about my current tight budget, but realistically, I'm hoping to search for a salaried job after this. I'm hoping to be able to pay off student loans in a realistic amount of time, and I'm hoping to learn from this experience of living in poverty for a year, but not stay in it for an undetermined period of time.

It gets me thinking, how can I help? Other than volunteering for one year, how can I help? How can I make equality a lifestyle, not just an idea?

Volunteer. Not just as an AmeriCorps volunteer, but hands-on, direct service. I want to get back into the habit of going every Wednesday to the food pantry. I've had weeks where things legitimately come up, but other weeks I just say I'm too tired. Laziness is no way to combat poverty.

Stay educated. Education is the single largest weapon against poverty. However, those that need education are not just the impoverished. A pet peeve of mine are people who don't follow the news - like current events don't apply or affect them in any way. Just because you don't feel the need to inform yourself, doesn't mean things don't go on happening. Things like Hunger Banquets, the One Campaign, the Catholic Campaign for Human Development, Heifer International, hell, even AmeriCorps.... while these things all exist to combat poverty, they also offer a wealth of information regarding poverty statistics and the reality of it. To combat poverty, we must educate ourselves before we can even fathom educating others.

Patience. I am an impatient person. When a commercial comes on tv, I have a back up channel to watch instead of sitting through ads. I switch the radio station to avoid listening to commercials. I'd rather take a right turn on red and go an alternate route than wait through a red light. When my five-year old macbook, Maccy, takes his sweet time loading a website, I go do something else like make tea.

But patience is a necessity in overcoming poverty. Poverty is a mindset, a roadblock, a commercial, a red light, a slowly loading webpage with too many images. It won't change with the click of a button or one grant. It won't be solved in my lifetime.

What I hope is that it can be alleviated in my lifetime, and I hope to be the cause of some alleviation. So for now, I"ll do what I can to assist in the process of battling poverty. I'll continue to volunteer, I'll educate myself, and I'll force myself to be patient. Maybe I'll even sit through a red light.


Here are some links to some GREAT nonprofits out there. Feel free to comment with other organizations you know doing fantastic work!
OxFam
One
Catholic Campaign for Human Development
Heifer International