When you say it's going to happen now, what exactly do you mean?

I received my first job offer today. I spent one full month of applying to non-profit jobs that would fit with my school and volunteer schedule, going to job fairs for coffee shops and retail jobs, and being turned down for all of the above. It was very humbling not to receive phone calls for a second interview for several of those, while I received interviews for jobs I was underqualified for.

Perhaps the message is this: Welcome to Adulthood.

The job seems to be right up my alley. I will think I be working with juveniles who have drug abuse issues (majority of those are meth users), and I'll work with a non-profit agency and the DHS. The downside: the job is an hour away, and I'll have to ride the bus for a long time.

Who would have thought that I would go into a field of addiction counseling and services? I am direct, sometimes tactless, I tend to lose interest in what others are saying, and I consistently have foot-in-mouth disease. However, I am extremely empathetic to these kids who simply don't have resources to quit doing drugs, who are given mixed messages by their parents and families, and who just need someone to care about them and help them in a respectful way. I don't think it's my calling by any means, but it's certainly more interesting than selling pet supplies to rich yuppies or people with dogs as decoration.

Over three weeks of full unemployment and job searches. It's times like these that I miss Albuquerque nepotism.

There Really Is More To Life: A List

After reading what people put on these here blogs, I was inspired to write a list of my top favorites and least favorites. Unemployment seems to make me more prolific toward writing, anyway. Here goes:

Top Fifteen Albums To Listen To (Or Not Listen To) While Cooking, Cleaning or Doing Other Remedial Kitchen Chores:
Alternate title-Top Fifteen Albums To Dance To or Sing at Karaoke

15. A Tribe Called Quest-The Low End Theory I love "Butter" on my tortillas, which I eat like most people eat bread.

14. The Replacements-Let It Be It is my dream to sing "I Will Dare" in front of people...if I did that sort of thing, and if any karaoke bar had this on the karaoke list.

13. Public Enemy-It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back
No one fires up my anger like Chuck D. Plus, Flavor Flav wears a clock, so he always knows what time it is. That really helps when you're cooking something.

12. Beat Happening-Self-Titled
It's good to throw out ba-ad, bad bad seeds.

11. Beck-Guero
I love this one. He may be a Scientologist, but Beck still rocks. Plus, he was animated in "Futurama."

10. Bjork-Debut
Although some say Post is a better album, this one has "Big Time Sensuality" and "There's More to Life Than This," which make washing dishes fun! Okay, not really.

9. Deee-Lite-World Clique
This is just an excuse to put this album on one of my lists. "Try Me On, I'm Very You" actually seems more like a shopping song, and "World Clique" speaks more toward peace in the Middle East, but it is good enough to be on all of my lists.

8. The Rolling Stones-(tie)Sticky Fingers and Let It Bleed
Sticky Fingers is for those pesky dishes that have been sitting in the sink for a few days. It was also the soundtrack to my high school years. Let It Bleed is for the knife washing. Ouch!

7. The Roots-Things Fall Apart
This is what would happen if I had nice plates or crystal glasses.

6. The B-52s-self-titled
Sarah Vowell said that she cuts celery and carrots to "Rock Lobster." Due to my current financial situation, all I can do is "Rock Tuna In A Can."

5. Talking Heads-More Songs About Buildings and Food
I couldn't resist this one. I am partial to "Remain in Light" because the content is better, but the title of "MSABAF" wins this round.

4. Sleater-Kinney-The Hot Rock
"Burn Don't Freeze" is terrible advice, especially for me, since I usually live on microwave dinners.

3. Le Tigre-This Island
"Don't Eat Poison" is really the best advice from the queens of feminist electronica.

2. Jon Spencer Blues Explosion-Now I Got Worry.
Even though "Fuck Shit Up" is only good if liquor is involved, this is one of my favorites for everything!

1. Ol Dirty Bastard-Shimmy Shimmy Ya (single) This is because I don't like it raw.

Heart and soul, one will burn...

It is the day before my 25th birthday and I can't help but cry. This time, it's not because I think I am getting too old. This time, it's not because I am having a pity party for myself.

This time, it is because I don't think I will make it home for a long time. For the very first time in almost a quarter of a century, I am crying while watching the news. I am crying for my country, my family, the world as I knew it.

Would we have these threats if hadn't attacked Iraq under false pretenses? I don't feel safer because of security. A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend about how traveling both internationally and locally would be almost impossible in a few years. I didn't realize how true that was.

I am crying because there are now people who will probably never, ever get to travel outside of their hometown. I have the sinking feeling that it is going to get worse before it is going to get better. I legitimately believe that we are going to face inflation of unimagined proportions and an economy comparable to that of World War II.

Why the fuck are we still at war? Has anything changed since 2001, besides an escalated number of terrorist attacks, deaths over oil, and civilian abuse at the hands of Americans? Would things be different if the 2004 election went to Kerry?

But I'm wasted and I can't find my way home...

Despite my birth into a fire sign according to the western zodiac, I am not a fireworks person. Luckily, I spent this independence day on a full-day plane ride to Sweden.

I hate flying, so I didn't sleep on the plane. Liv's plane arrived a few hours after mine, so after chatting and eating with my aunt and grandma at the airport, I took a well-deserved nap on one of the airport benches. Our first real, non-airport meal was spent with my cousins, pictured here:

As you can tell, height only runs on the Swedish side of the family, not the New Mexican side.

My grandma and aunt live in Ytterby, which is outside of Goteborg. Much of our time was spent in the city. It is beautiful, and I appreciate it as an adult much more than I did as a kid. This picture was taken at the Goteborg Art Museum on one of the few days of rain. I almost felt like I was back in Portland, but the lack of Starbucks made that pass.


One of the most fascinating things to me is the fact that Europeans cherish their old buildings, as opposed to tearing them down. I don't remember which building this was, but it's old...and Swedish. We managed to get a decent amount of sightseeing done, since most of my previous trips were spent with a native Swede (my dad) or a bratty child (wait, that was me...).
Here is a picture of a Viking ship:

The most fascinating thing about Viking ship displays in Sweden is their lack of stability. This ship sank before it made its maiden voyage because it was too heavy. Here is a link to another ill-fated ship that sank because it was too heavy: The Vasa Museum.
Here are some other pictures from our tour of the Goteborg canals:
Now who is the king of the jungle, Simba?

Another ship that is a museum and restaurant, (unsurprisingly, unvisited by the Hochhausler-Olsson crowd).
I don't remember exactly which building this is, either...
This duck was found at the Universeum in Goteborg. It was labeled as a Scandinavian native, but I never saw another one on my entire trip (or on any previous trips, to my knowledge...).

This is a picture of Liv and I, happy because we just ate really excellent whitefish on an island outside of Goteborg with our grandma. There is also a picture from the boat back to the mainland.



Liv and I spent one weekend in Copenhagen, which was better, more fun and crowded than I expected. One of the first landmarks I spotted was this: a Rio Bravo Tex-Mex restaurant in Denmark...



Sometimes, Liv would get bored as I was trying to take pictures of beautiful Danish scenery with my unwieldy manual Canon camera. Here is one example of her walking quickly away as I act as a tourist:


You can't see it in this picture, but there are also American capitalist representatives from the fine companies of Burger King, McDonald's and KFC right next to the Palace Hotel, in the oldest sidewalk market in the world.



Here is downtown Copenhagen. People actually ride bikes here!


A trip to Copenhagen isn't complete without a story from Hans Christian Andersen. He doesn't seem very interested in telling one, though, possibly because he is distracted by Tivoli Gardens across the street.

Our last and final day in Scandinavia was spent on the island of Marstrand. There is a fantastic sidewalk market, a 17th century fortress, and an excellent, yet crowded, beach.
In my final picture of the trip, I am representing the bling from the U.S., (not to mention our poor spelling reputations), Swedish-style.

How many roads must a Bob walk down...

So I'm watching "No Direction Home" on OPB. I've always admired Bob Dylan, although I never quite got into him in the same way as other 60s fixtures like the Rolling Stones, Joni Mitchell (that is thanks to the parents), or even Jethro Tull. "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" makes me sad, I love "Blood on the Tracks" and I will always have a special place in my heart for the video for "Subterranean Homesick Blues," although his physical sex appeal on first sight pales compared to that of Michael Hutchence or Jon Farriss in "Mediate." However, I am immediately addicted to anything on public television with the exception of crappy craft shows, much less anything Scorsese, so I am finding myself entranced by the Minneapolitan "folk" artist.

Surprisingly enough, I didn't know that he lived in the Land of Entrapment. My home state. My stomping grounds (the state may be big, but damn it, so is my personality) for 23 point 5 years. This documentary shows an early interview with him saying that he was raised in Gallup, New Mexico. Not the state of Minnesota, as most sources state. Even as I'm searching the World Wide Web, I had to specifically search for "Gallup" and Bob Dylan. The websites I found show that he lied about his time in Gallup, but still...This is a state (and town) whose proudest celebrity accomplishments involve the birth place of Doogie Howser and Freddie Prinze Jr. According to Wikipedia, the only notable resident of the town of Gallup is Miss New Mexico USA 2006 (which apparently is different from the Miss America pageant). Even if Dylan lived in the state for a single year, why don't we brag about him as a resident? It's as interesting as the Norman Petty studios, or the Shins (who also are concurrent residents in my adopted state of Oregon), and much more interesting than Randy Castillo (RIP).

Claiming the Rainy Day Man as a state resident would bring much needed money to the state. That can be a political slogan: "Bob Dylan May (Or May Not) Have Lived in This State At One Point or Another."

Did I mention that school is over, and I need intellectual material and research to stimulate the few living brain cells I have before I leave the country?

Funk gettin' ready to go...

This summer is already starting on a bizarre note. I wasn't able to get any financial aid for the summer term, which left my financial situation spotty. I was planning on going to Mexico for a class that studies non-profits and non-governmental organizations in September. Now all that has changed...FOR THE BETTER!!!
Yesterday I got a phone call from my sister asking if I wanted to go to Sweden. The answer, of course, was yes...especially since I haven't seen my cousins or aunt in 12 years, and my grandmother in 5. The issue was when I would go.
Liv bought a ticket for July, because she had a creepy feeling that she should go. I have been feeling the same karma, looking up castles and amusement parks that we went to in Sweden when we were kids...for no apparent reason. I spoke to both of my parents, and they agreed to assist me with the ticket purchase...
SO I'M GOING TO SWEDEN!!!!
Mexico can wait.

I'm a little too obsessed with my cats...

This is the closest that the cats get to each other. Oprah loooooves this blanket for some reason. She's my little puppy: she barks when she yawns, she sleeps in one place all the time, and she'll chase after anything that I throw at her, including my heavy clogs. I like the colors of this one. Nice contrast, and Oprah is actually staying still.

Uma is kind of a camera hog. During my last semester of college as an undergraduate, I had an assignment to take pictures of one subject. I chose Oprah because she's the cute one.

However, Oprah would rather chase after the glare from the camera (or currently, the camera phone), not to mention anything that moves slightly, so she makes an absolutely terrible photo subject.

Poor Uma has had troubles since birth: she marked her territory when she was two months old, she completely regurgitates her food (sometimes with a hairball) once a week, she has cat acne, and she's nervous. She helped me during the worst of the summer of 2005. We're kind of codependent on each other...

And she makes a damn good photo subject.

Where the world's headed, nobody knows

It's ironic that I chose a title of a song that was released over 30 years ago. We aren't any more confident in our current wartime president than we were in 1970.

It's fascinating how different things affect you at certain times and how different movements spring up at opportune times. Maybe you weren't paying attention the first time. Maybe a certain idea must be planted to serve as an impetus for change. I think it's slightly more than coincidental that I'm reading about the hip-hop movement while being interested in civil rights policy and grassroots political organizing.

On the other hand, I have a hard time being convinced that widespread national political movements like ACORN or the state PIRGs are the signal for the next revolution. It's too planned. It lacks the allure and anger of the Black Panther movement, the leadership of the U.F.W., and the immediacy of the Vietnam War.

It's hard to understand what these new nationwide organizations are fighting for. ACORN works for a higher minimum wage, better schools, and housing. I'm definitely for all those things. However, I don't know how well a national organization can work in a state like my home state of New Mexico where politics are deeply rooted in families and old-school politics, or here in Oregon, where employment is high and minimum wage is high as well. I'm still glad other people are willing to fight for a cause.

Learning how to fit in isn't as important as feeling empowered to be yourself. I've heard so many arguments against the Mexican immigrant movement using the Mexican flag and having a Spanish national anthem. Did anyone ever think that two of the border states haven't even been in the union for 100 years? My great grandparents were born in New Mexico when it was still Mexico.

Other nations have something that the U.S. lacks: a pride in history. We are afraid to teach our kids our native languages if they are something other than English. We tear down old buildings to build abominations like Wal-Mart and Starbucks. Those of us who are outraged should take a stand.

My juvenile sense of humor strikes again!
From AP:

Pink Taco Restaurant Name Causes Stir

Mon May 15, 10:46 PM ET

SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. - The name of a new restaurant in Scottsdale is stirring up some trouble. The Las Vegas-based Pink Taco Mexican Restaurant is scheduled to open its second location in downtown Scottsdale in June.

Nearly half a dozen people in the upscale city recently expressed their objection to the name, claiming it's a derogatory slang term for a portion of the female anatomy.

In late April, the city received four e-mails, three of which bore no names, objecting to the restaurant's name.

One of those e-mails stated: "The City of Scottsdale has a very fine reputation around the world. Let's keep the standards high. Let's let what plays in Vegas stay in Vegas."

Scottsdale Mayor Mary Manross has said she is offended by the name and went so far as to ask the owner to change it, although he refused.

Restaurant spokeswoman Lisa Perez said the company's name comes from one of its menu items.

Perez said the company has not received any complaints or objections about its name.

The original Pink Taco is inside the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas.

The Scottsdale City Council is scheduled to decide Monday whether to recommend the restaurant get a liquor license. If granted, the restaurant's application would then be sent to the state liquor board for review.

I'm walking a line, just barely enough to be living...

The first step in my own personal recovery Bible is admitting that you have a problem. It's in some other recovery manual as well...

This week I made the final step in recovering from the shortest yet most painful breakup of my life. I don't even know if that was the cause of my bitterness, since most of the emotional pain was inflicted not by the ex-boyfriend but by the ex-boyfriend's roommate, a man who I normally would have absolutely nothing to do with and who continued to call me, even though I did not answer my phone or return his calls for over six months.

That is, until this week. I didn't think that this would be one of the benefits of changing my phone number. Had I known, I would have done it a lot earlier.

I admitted that I had a problem. That problem was known as the crazy stalker.

Problem solved.

I've got the desert in my toenail...

I once had a life, or rather
Life had me
I was one among many
Or at least I seemed to be

Sometimes I wish I was born in the 50s so that I could enjoy the Rolling Stones before they became a joke, the Beatles when they were still together, Funkadelic in all their glory before Bootsy Collins and Bernie Worrell left the band, Michael Jackson before his personality preceded his music, Talking Heads when they were still playing CBGBs or with aforementioned members of Funkadelic...

Then again, if that were the case, I'd have to live through Nixon, the racist, law-breaking, warmonger president. Oh, wait, that's a parallel to the present administration.

At least Nixon did something for the environment by signing NEPA into law. So far, Bush's legacy is being the worst president without receiving any substantial Congressional action toward impeachment. I just hope that calls for impeachment don't start until next year, when the Democrats have control of the House, so that we have some hope of getting a Democrat in office...

I'm so sick of all the partisan politics, though. I haven't changed my voter registration from Independent to Democrat for two reasons. Reason one: It took me six months to receive my initial registration card; I can only imagine how long it would take to get a second one. Reason two: although I still believe in the tenets of the Democratic Party, I think the leadership is too busy pandering to the marginal constituents that they haven't set an adequate platform.

The activists of the 1960s and 1970s hated both Nixon and Johnson equally. It almost seems that Johnson wasn't recognized for pushing the civil rights legislation (and it's debatable as to whether segregation would have ended under any other president) until recently. Of course, he had the Vietnam quagmire to answer for...

Why aren't we, the fine citizens of the 21st century, holding our politicians accountable for our situations in Iraq? The 2006 Democratic nominee was a guy who voted for the war. If I wasn't such a Constitutionalist (one who loves the Constitution, not the Constitution Party), I would have given up on politics.

It could all be so simple...

Politics As Unusual

I hate being pigeonholed as "just a girl" or as a typical female when I talk about my obsession with makeup and interest in George Clooney; or as an anomaly when I say that I want to make my own money and my own career before I get married. I get disgusted with pro-life men or women who try to tell me that controlling my internal organs and bodily reactions violate the laws of a religion I don't even believe in or follow. I get depressed just thinking of the war in Iraq: how many Iraqi civilians and American soldiers are dying, how many soldiers come back to a country that doesn't provide veteran's benefits, how the president misled the public and has failed to provide an adequate reason for the invasion, and how our constitutional rights are suppressed in the name of "freedom."

However, I hate people who argue that voting isn't worth it and take a fatalist view toward activism. President Bush's approval rating has reached an ultimate low, but there are still a ton of people who aren't taking any action against him. These are people who apparently are blissfully ignorant or intellectually lazy. It's easier to blame the leaders than to take action. It's also easier to throw up your hands in defeat than to look for alternatives.

Of course, activists aren't average people. A lot of people look at me with confused expressions when I tell them that I believe in total drug decriminalization and abortion without restrictions. It gets worse when I emit that I voluntarily give up my Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to give out clean hypodermic needles to drug addicts, and that I belong to a Planned Parenthood group that voluntarily canvasses or calls pro-choice supporters at least five times a month.

Complacency and laziness never solved anything. Staging a revolution requires the existence of revolutionaries who are willing to work without a paycheck for a common cause. The students at UC Berkeley weren't paid for their protests during the Vietnam War. Cesar Chavez didn't assist in the formation of the UFW because he was paid for it. True activists see that something was wrong with the system, and they work to change it. I hope to be one someday. More importantly, I hope my fellow citizens do too.

Don't worry about the present day...

How to Do A Lot and Not Get Paid For It: Prolific Unemployment

If all goes accordingly, I will graduate in three academic terms. This means I have less than a year left. Saying that I'm worried or stressed is putting it mildly. I need to start studying for the LSAT soon, thinking of where to apply, and figuring out how to pay for all of this. Staying in Portland isn't really an option.

My initial complaint of Portland was that it was hard to get a job. My entire summer of 2005 was spent looking for jobs while my layabout significant other did the same. Our nights were spent drinking or watching banal television shows like INXS: Rock Star. The initial relationship was built on great conversations on politics and music since I was a graduate student in public administration with an interest in public policy and he was somewhat of a career activist.

Unfortunately, unemployment changed all that. My only solace at the time was my five-hour shift at the syringe exchange where I felt that I was actually doing something worthwhile, but I did it without a paycheck. I realized that I didn't want to do any sort of retail work anymore, so I started filling out volunteer applications everywhere I could think of to prepare for my future job options.

It is now May, fourteen months after I started the program. I have learned a lot in the past year, on a personal, professional and academic level. I know that I want to work with marginalized and minority populations to protect their civil and legal rights, especially those with drug citations or issues.

In October, I went to hear Sarah Vowell (author, NPR commentator on This American Life, the voice of Violet in The Incredibles, and one of my personal heroes) speak at a benefit for Write Around Portland, a non-profit that holds writing workshops for marginalized populations. I filled out an application last year, but since the trainings for facilitating the workshops was full, I asked them to hold onto my application until the summer. I hadn't heard anything from them, but I knew that the deadline for new applications was soon. I just figured it was a sign, since I have so much else (that I don't get paid for) on my plate.

Today, I received an email from them asking to set up an interview time. It doesn't necessarily mean that I've been selected. However, I haven't decided what to do yet. I always go into these things thinking "when will I be able to do this again"? Unfortunately, when I have too many obligations, I end up reneging on some of them. I function a lot better when I'm busy. This is an option to work with writers without previous writing opportunities.

I just don't know if it's worth my sanity. It's not worth it to the participants, either. But when can I do this again?

The LSAT is another huge stress for me. I took it the first time in February 2005, right before i moved out here. I didn't do as badly as I should have, considering that I didn't study or devote time to it. My score is lower than necessary to get into any of the schools I want to (including UNM). I knew that I'd have to take it again before applying, even though they still report the first score and average the two scores in the application. A week ago, I got friendly advice from a friendly lawyer: Don't retake the LSAT. If I do worse the second time, I'm not going to have the excuse of not studying. However, if I do better, I'll be able to get into the schools I want.

These volunteer opportunities also give me a more positive outlook on life. I may regret my frugal lifestyle and student loans that support me, but it's really cool to sign up for interesting programs.

Eye know eye love you better

Out of Sight!

Nothing makes you question your own mortality like a visit to the doctor.
My last day in Albuquerque was Thursday. It was an excellent eight days, and everything went great until Wednesday morning, when I had an appointment with bad news.

Tuesday night I went to Rio Chama Brewpub for a nostalgic and crazy night with Rachael, Raquel and Genevieve. I would have entertained the idea of going home early had I remembered the optometrist appointment the next day...but unfortunately, I pulled a serious all-nighter.

I am notorious for sleeping in my contacts and rarely taking them out. I figure they are already called "disposable," I might as well treat them as if they were more permanent. It can't help their self-esteem to be thrown away like garbage. I should have treated this visit like one to the dentist, when I brush my teeth ten times a day for a few days before the visit so I can say "yeah, I treat my teeth well" before he tells me I have six cavities...

I believed my astigmatism had changed, which made reading difficult while wearing my contacts. My glasses had a slightly different prescription, but I can't read while moving around...not to mention the fact that they are still missing both arms.

It's hard to be in grad school when you are physically illiterate, therefore, I made an appointment with an optometrist while I was still covered by my mom's insurance.
One of the first things the doctor required me to do was read the eye chart. Wearing contacts for 24 hours straight makes reading an almost impossible task, especially if your prescription is slightly off anyway. The doctor did some other tests on my eyes, including waving a pen around and forcing me not to blink for a while. I felt like Alex in "A Clockwork Orange" when he's watching the violent movie the first time.

Then came the bad news: it wasn't my astigmatism. I had a muscle imbalance in one of my eyes, plus corneal growth caused by a lack of oxygen from overwearing my disposable contacts. That sounds scary enough, but the worst news was yet to come: it could only be fixed by reading glasses.

Reading glasses? I started getting gray hair a year ago when I moved to Portland (and luckily I've only counted a total of about 10), I have written 2 letters to both of my Oregon congressmen, and I had a letter to the editor published in the Albuquerque Journal.

What's next? An AARP packet? I don't want to be a senior citizen yet! I'm not even a quarter century!

Don't Go Away Mad, Just Go Away

Private Enemy Number One: A Story About Dec. 29

It's been almost two weeks since this day happened, but it's still bothering me.
I started the day feeling optimistic and responsible. I finally decided to pay Oprah's pet deposit on the day I left for New Year's since I've had her since Labor Day. Before I brought her out here, the resident assistants and resident life coordinator said the deposit wasn't a pressing issue, so I kept putting it off...and putting it off...and yes, putting it off some more. I didn't want Kali and Rob (the people who watched the cats during the break) to freak out if the main office found out that I had two cats instead of just one.

I try to be a responsible pet owner, after all.

PSU uses an outside vendor to rent out their apartments. I get to the office on the other side of campus to talk to the receptionist/office slave. Her first comment: "you're only allowed to have one cat, and only in certain apartments." Now, I read the handbook beforehand, just to make sure that it was technically allowed. I showed that part to her, and that's when she noticed that only apartments over 500 square feet are allowed to have cats.

Mine is 492 square feet.

Eight fucking feet. For CHRIST'S SAKE!!!

Which is exactly what I said...without including the profanities. She made some statement under her breath about me wanting to bend the rules for certain things and not for others. We argued about it for several more minutes, until I did what all composed, confident citizens do in this case: I started to cry.

Although I did lose any credibility I may have had, I did gain the second best thing: pity. She said that I could deal with it after I got back from Albuquerque. The day I got back, I went to one of the resident assistants to pick up my brand new camera phone and to open my apartment for me since I didn't have the keys. I asked about the 8 feet discrepancy issue, and here is the answer I got:
"Just keep the second cat a secret."

I try to do the right thing, and people just try to make me regress. Sigh. College life.

I went to pay my rent yesterday and managed to avoid the fascist receptionist. However, this can't go on forever. I have several different identities to hide behind since none of my identification cards or credit cards have the same name (Britt Baca-Hochhausler, BM Hochhausler, etc.). If anyone has any appearance-altering devices that I can use on the first of every month, though, I'm all ears.

Wish me luck. Also, wish Uma and Oprah luck...they certainly need it.

Don't Go Away Mad, Just Go Away Pt. 2

Intelligence Quotient Decrease: Dec. 29 a.m.

My travels to the Land of Enchantment continued with a, um, enchanted discussion on the bus. I was carrying my suitcase and backpack, thereby giving the impression that I was traveling. A fellow bus patron asked where I was going. I said to Albuquerque, presuming that this person would know where it was, since it is a "booming metropolis" approaching the 1 million population mark.

Portland is supposedly one of the most educated cities in the country. Maybe I assumed too much out of this new friend. He said that $300 for a round-trip ticket wasn't too expensive to Albuquerque, which I disagreed with, since there are travel agencies who sell tickets to the U.K. for $350. He said he heard there was a lot of really great artists there, which I took as a compliment.

Most people say Taos have the great artists, after all, but Albuquerque has the car on Gibson. Great art indeed.

Then he started to say that he had only been to Tijuana, implying that he believed that Albuquerque was in Mexico. He said some other comments in this direction as well.

Will we as New Mexicans never win? I don't even have a passport...or a birth certificate. At least the Swedes said "New Mexico...that's in Texas, right?"

I got off the bus shaking my head. Next time, I'm going to bring out my map....and my middle finger.

Don't Go Away Mad, Just Go Away Pt. 3

Implementing De-Escalation Strategies in Airports: The Dec. 29 Saga Continues

I went through the security checkpoints successfully and entered the airplane feeling excited and jubilant to be heading back to Albuquerque. "Woodstock," one of my all-time favorite comfort movies, was playing on the television. It was only at Country Joe and the Fish's first performance, which meant that I could still see Arlo Guthrie; Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young; Ten Years After; Country Joe McDonald solo; Santana; Sly and the Family Stone; and Jimi Hendrix.

I just recited those performances from memory. It's obvious how many times I watched that movie in middle and high school, until my dad confiscated it, afraid of re-living his youth.
Granted, his youth was spent in Swedish boarding schools, and he didn't come to the U.S. until the 1970s, but this was the excuse I was given.

Maybe my parents felt that pot-smoking hippies were a bad influence for a middle-schooler. Maybe they felt that Jimi Hendrix's performance of the Star-Spangled Banner was unpatriotic. Maybe they felt that these white upper-class kids (currently called Trustafarians) weren't doing anything worthwhile or productive for the minorities being persecuted or the men drafted for the war. They were just listening to gentrified bands like the Grateful Dead singing songs about drugs, then selling out to the Yuppie Party of the 1980s. Sound familiar?

I then had a three-hour layover in Denver. I spent the beginning hours checking email in the airport, then eating spinach artichoke dip at my favorite airport bar. They carry Stella Artois on tap, after all.

I sat at the terminal chairs doing random free writes and listening to CDs for the next half hour. The flight sign was finally saying "Albuquerque." I smiled and zoned out for a while. I look up again. Now the sign is saying "St. Louis."

St. Louis? It was like a bad horror movie....or worse, a Jennifer Lopez movie.

I look at the Departures schedule, screening for a-l-b-u-q-u-e-r-q-u-e. "Flight cancelled." I was about to cry....again.

I go to the desk to calmly ask what happened. I decide to utilize some de-escalation strategies instead of crying or sounding like an irritating asshole customer. She tells me I can take the next Frontier flight...which means I have to wait another three hours, and I wouldn't get back to Albuquerque until 11 or so. I calmly mention that I saw a flight leaving through a competing airline. Could they reimburse me for the flight if I was to fly standby? She directed me to the main Frontier desk. I calmly left....and ran (BRITTSPEAK: walked slightly faster than usual) to the desk, where I collected a *free* United ticket.

I had to go from one part of the airport to the next while having a severe anxiety attack and trying to maintain my fragile composure. Somehow, I was the only one who was flying standby on the flight. Other people must have more patience than I have.

Then I was informed that there was a problem with the airplane. Was I ever going to get to a city I was comfortable in, or was I to live in a crappy airport for the rest of my life?

Somehow, I made it to Albuquerque in one piece. I was tired, but that night we went to Martini Grille, where I had some of their infamous mayonnaise fries. All was well. Happy ending to a long-winded story. Yay.