the destination blog

this post is so erratic, i changed the name of it three times by the end of this title

2012-02-11T01:25:00.007-05:00

So here's the thing about starting over: it's scary, and it sucks, and it might even make you want to vomit just a tiny bit in your mouth...well, maybe not full-on vomit, but it's definitely enough to give you heartburn. But here's the other thing about starting over: you don't know what's going to happen next, and that can be exciting, and you now have the chance to be the most amazing version of yourself to date because nobody's going to remind you constantly of the myriad ways in which you may or may not have sucked in the past.

And that's where I am. Starting over. Because I went to Chile, then I went to Peru, and then, for reasons that I'd like to say that I don't understand but that in reality I totally do so that would be a lie, I went back to Hahira, Ga. where the population is about one Cocker Spaniel short of 2,000. And that really sucked. And I never found a job. And I have zero friends there. And my family thinks I'm pretty weird.

So I started this blog out of sheer boredom and a desperation to have conversations with people who get where I'm coming from as a 20-something, as a writer, as a traveller, and as a product of this seemingly God-forsaken economic recession. No, I take that back. I am not a product of this recession. In fact, I'm going to make this recession my bitch. But more about that later.

Anyway, I started this blog, and I wrote on it from time to time, did my best to make it pretty and crossed my fingers someone would get a chuckle out of it. But I have a strict policy against blogging when I really don't have anything worthwhile to say because, let's face it, the last thing the Internets need is another self-important "writer" spilling his or her guts about how delicious those vegan tacos he made for lunch were. Or something.

So I don't blog when I don't have anything good to say, and it's been quite difficult to find something good to say these days, people. There's a good chance that no one who reads this (if anyone, in fact, ever reads this) will understand what the hell I'm talking about, but that's okay because I've just gotten to the point where if I don't write down this train of thought that has been barreling through my mind, there's also a good chance that I will simply self-combust.

To make a ridiculous story slightly less ridiculous, I'm going back to Chile. And everyone who convinced me to come home in the first place wants to know why. The short answer is, I don't know why. The honest answer is, because if I ask myself when was the last time I actually really, genuinely felt "home," it was in Santiago. And if I ask myself when was the last time that I felt surrounded by people who have enough patience to put up with my stifling self-involvement and erratic emotions and know-it-all attitude and ironically very simple way of thinking while still managing to love me a whole lot, well...that was in Santiago, too.

I would like to say that I knew that all along, but I didn't. It took me six months of dreading every single dawn because I was living within my dreams--dreams about the people and the life that I left there--to finally realize that going back there would not just be an incredibly glamorous method of avoidance. I didn't want to go back until and unless I felt like I was progressing and getting closer to being a real-live grown-up.

One of the things that I have regretted terribly about what I've lived of my 20s is the time I spent living at home because I couldn't afford to put gas in my car, much less be on my own. I turned 23 on a Sunday, and the only thing I wanted to do that day (and the the only thing I actually did that day) was wallow in bed with the covers pulled vigilantly over my head. I have never given myself enough time to accomplish whatever it is that I feel like I should be accomplishing, but I have chased it with such vigor that I don't even know what in the hell I set out to do in the first place. I have come to think of myself as five years older than I actually am at any given point in my life because in my mind, I have failed at the future if I have no set plans for the present.

How very pathetic.

And this is why, at least in my understanding of how I ended up here, my fate sent me back to this small town of 2,000, which is perhaps one of the most dreadful places I can think of for a 20-something-year-old me. Because I needed the time to shed all those excess layers of contrived failure. I also needed to shed the low self-esteem that drove me to associate my own worth with what I may do for a living. I needed to let go of those five-year plans. I needed to stop eating my emotions. And, apparently, I needed to shed about 15 pounds.

In his "Conservation of Paths," Paulo Coehlo says that we must learn to accept the fact that the path goes forward AND backward. Just because you have to go back doesn't mean you're heading in the wrong direction. And this makes me sooooo happy. Because I don't have to bulldoze my way through life anymore. I can go forward and backward and lose stuff along the way and learn to play guitar and sing outside the shower and write letters to tell people how much I love them and change my mind a million different times. And I'm still going to be me, and nobody can tell me that I'm doing that wrong because in the whole history of the entire world, nobody has ever been me. I don't think I've ever been comforted by that fact before now. Because I never really liked being me very much until now.

I plan to spend my 26th birthday doing things that will probably be very, very bad for me. But not the old stuff that used to be bad for me. I want new, exciting ways to be self-destructive. And I can admit that now because the best thing about getting older is that no matter how long and hard you search, you just absolutely cannot find a fuck to give about what anybody else says or thinks about you. And the other best thing about getting older is that you become absolutely in awe of how stunning you are and before you know it, you start to see that you're beautiful in ways that nobody else can be beautiful and you're finally able to erect monuments of yourself within your own soul. Other people can't see those monuments, but they know that they are there, just because of the way you walk, and how you say "Good morning" a couple of octaves lower because you don't have to pose it as a question anymore and the way you are finally strong enough to feel love--genuine, real-live love--for every other human being who crosses your path. You take up space in the universe, which may not be such a feat in and of itself because you didn't ask to be born, but dammit nobody's ever going to take up space the way you do.

And oh-em-gee, that is one of the most colorful emotions ever.

counting rooftops

2011-08-15T21:43:00.004-04:00

When was the last time you found yourself on a terrace, or a patio, or the rooftop of a 28-floor apartment building gazing at the moon perched on top of a view of the city? When was the last time you were doing all of this with more people that you love than you can count on all your fingers or toes and a great glass of wine in your hand? Did your favorite song play from the speaker? Did you hug your sweater tight to you to keep warm? Did you shiver still with giddiness at the thought that this was really your life?

Because that's what it feels like to be 20-something, living in a foreign city and realizing that moments like these are not to be taken for granted. I'm in the States for now, but I'm planning to be on that rooftop again soon. Not in Santiago, not in Lima, but...somewhere.

weinergate 2011 (or, wtf, america?!?)

2011-06-11T16:12:00.005-04:00

In July of last year, a popular bill came up for vote in the United States House of Representatives. It was a law that would provide healthcare to the public service workers who responded to the 9/11 attacks, and it is known as the James Zadroga 9/11 Health and Compensation Act. Many of those workers were, and still are, facing grave health crises because of their willingness to help out after our country had suffered the terrorist attack.

While they waited for health care for these potentially life-threatening illnesses, some congressmen wished to delay the bill due to disagreements over procedure.

The bill, which was fast-tracked to prevent the attachment of controversial amendments, was voted down largely by Republicans in the House who claimed that they didn't like the procedure through which it was presented. They wanted amendments, presumably unrelated to the issue that the Zadroga Act was meant to address.

As Representative Weiner put it, the reasons cited for voting 'nay' on this bill were cowardly. Here's his minute-and-a-half speech.

This kind of blocking from GOP is, in a nutshell, what's been going on for the last two and a half years. People depend on elected officials to legislate on their behalf, and instead they go to Capitol Hill and treat their jobs like it's pickup volleyball. Nobody wants to be unpopular among his or her colleagues; nobody wants to be the last one picked. You'd think that the real outrage would be over how these representatives vote down measures and disregard the wellbeing of their constituents for political gain. But instead, everybody's off their rocker because a congressman sent photos of his junk to some random girls--err, women.

It appears from the video that not one of his colleagues had the audacity to speak on behalf of the 9/11 First Responders.

Not one but Weiner.

Weiner's a d-bag (for lack of a better term) who made a really dumb mistake on Twitter. He embarrassed his wife and broke her trust, and that's really, really bad. It's also none of our business.

The next time I hear someone speak of Anthony Weiner, I hope they bring up this video because, honestly, it should be what matters most.

educating a younger generation on Osama bin Laden (or, what not to say in the classroom)

2011-05-03T20:15:00.005-04:00

Given the events and press coverage of the past 48 hours, it's hard to determine how to explain the so-described "Global War on Terror" (TM) to people in their teens. It's incredible to think that it's been almost a decade since the day I sat in my second-period biology class listening to my teacher explain to us that there had been a terrorist attack on U.S. soil. I was 15 years old.

Now there's a new crop of 15-year-olds, and as the news of the day suggests, many of them do not know who Osama bin Laden was and why it was so important that he was killed. In a cloud of historical confusion, it's frightening to me that the only information many of them will encounter on this topic will arrive to them via a Yahoo search on their Blackberrys, or Droids, or iPhones, or whatever technological toy is popular among the young folks these days.

GOOD just tweeted a link to an opinion piece on its Web site today about how these conversations should take place in the classroom and whether they should take place at all. I struggled for a couple of minutes, trying to write a 140-character response that seemed to convey my concerned. Then, remembering the magic of digital media and self-publishing, I gave up and came here.

Liz Dwyer, the education editor for GOOD raised some excellent points against having this type of conversation in the classroom. Teachers face rigorous demands to prepare their students for standardized tests, and they often have little to no training on how to facilitate these conversations in a way that will not offend students or give them the wrong idea. What if a student begins an incendiary anti-Muslim rant in the middle of class?

As much as I share these concerns, I don't think they outweigh the need for more open dialogues in schools and more education about foreign policy. The young student who is prone to starting that anti-Muslim rant will not simply give up on those ideas if they go unchallenged. And what's more disturbing is that he probably harbors those feelings because of being told what to think, not how to think.

It is not wise for school administrators to forbid their teachers from speaking about events like these in a classroom in order to be on the safe side. A good way to help younger Americans process events like this one is to encourage them to assess their own ideas about what happened. The question isn't what teachers should say; I agree that maybe they shouldn't say much at all. But if kids are actually curious about what happened, as evidenced by the most common queries on Internet search engines and the curiosity of Dwyer's ten-year-old son, it's worth considering giving them some objective facts and letting them flesh out their own opinions. It's an excellent opportunity to listen to what's going on in the minds of the generation that will shape our foreign relations policy in the future.

Debate can be testy, and I agree that this can lead to some sticky situations when it comes to class discussions. But there is more than one way to express opinion. A writing assignment based on the killing of bin Laden and the subsequent reactions the students witnessed is a way to have the discussion without putting teachers on the spot. It gives students a chance to think thoroughly and unpersuaded about the situation and then present their ideas without feeling threatened. And often it fuels a thirst for the knowledge that they'll have to dig a little deeper than a two-second Yahoo search to find.

peruvian politics for gringos (or, a very liberal interpretation of a presidential election)

2011-04-18T19:13:00.002-04:00

The first round of the 2011 presidential elections in Peru has come and gone. I say 'the first round' because no winner has been decided. In Peruvian elections, a candidate must receive more than 50 percent of the vote to be declared the winner. If the votes are jaggedly split between numerous candidates, as they were in the April 10 elections, a second round between the candidates with the highest percentages of the vote takes place.

I'll admit upfront that I still don't have a clearcut understanding of Peru's political past. I'm not even sure there is such a thing. But what I do know is that living in Lima makes it very easy to be immersed in a one-sided view of the politics here. Before the elections, if I had to put a month's salary on one candidate, it would have been Pedro Pablo Kuczynski(or, PPK, as his rally cryers would call him). The reason is not because of his platform or political track record; he was the most visible here in the city. Every weekend I witnessed PPK rallies and every day we can spot dozens of flyers and bumper stickers advertising his candidacy. But, hindsight has always been 20/20, hasn't it?

In the city, PPK is known as a progressive leader who will solidify the wellbeing of Peru. A one-time Wall Street exec, former Prime Minister and alum of both Oxford and Princeton, he promised to improve access to clean drinking water, provide more money for education and reduce drug trafficking and poverty. To rural Peruvians, he's simply too white, but Limeños paint him as the choice of "the educated." Here's where the heart of Peruvian politics lies, if you're listening close enough.

The divide is between the haves and the have-nots, or more appropriately, the knows and the know-nots. There were three other notable candidates for president, and the straightforward nature of Peruvian culture comes in handy when trying to sort them out, basically painting each candidate in a neon color easily discernible from the others in seconds. In most cases, these characterizations are based on past political happenings.

OLLANTA HUMALA once branded himself as the protegé of Hugo Chavez. But! He's gained support in part due to his promise to bolster education and healthcare programs.

KEIKO FUJIMORI is the daughter of jailed former president Alberto Fujimori, who lead the country from 1990-2000 and notoriously oversaw the killing of innocent Peruvians in his quest to end the 15-year violent streak of the terrorist organizations that held the country hostage during his presidency. When I listen to my friends speak of the car bombings and tragic deaths of the 90s, I know that his name is on the tip of their tongues. However, the rural citizens still remember his work to make housing more easily accessible for low-income families, an effort that the younger Fujimori has vowed to revive.

ALEJANDRO TOLEDO was president from 2001-2006. He's credited for jailing Fujimori, although he violated Peruvian law in the process. He gained a reputation as a frivolous spender during his first term, but he's also known for being socially progressive. His platform included a promise to double teacher salaries and support same-sex civil unions.

Ollanta and Fujimori came out on top in the first round, with 30% and 23% of the votes, respectively. It was a sad day at the office the following Monday, with most of my colleagues lamenting the defeat of PPK and expressing anger over the "ignorance" of "uneducated Peruvians." Worried about their fellow countrymen "stealing" their wealth, they steeped in an arrogant isolationism that was in no way based in reality. This conversation was beginning to take on an unpleasant familiarity for me.

It seemed that the hubris of my own country was not as unique as I had once imagined it to be. In Lima, at least, the metropolitan population has managed to psychologically detach itself from the rest of Peru. Not one of my coworkers reasoned that perhaps their guy didn't win because he wasn't reaching out to the rural two-thirds of the population--a population that has watched for nearly a decade as their city-dwelling counterparts have gobbled up the rewards of Peru's economic growth without offering so much as a crumb to them. This gaping disparity of income and quality of life between the the educated and the uneducated is a disturbing problem for those who dare to consider it long enough. What happens if those people, the rural "know-nots," never receive the help that they so desperately need?

April 10 was the answer. What happens is that they hoist on their shoulders the first person to promise them a chance to become one of "the educated," a sound house to live in and clean water to drink. And if it happens at the expense of the "knows" that were content, even while watching them starve and languish in poverty for years, then so be it.

I don't claim to understand all of the subtle nuisances that go along with being raised in a developing country, whether you're a city-dweller or rural resident, but the lack of actual intellect in the political discourse of the self-proclaimed "educated" has annoyed me.

Referring to the upcoming elections between Humala and Fujimori, famed Peruvian author and one-time presidential candidate Mario Vargas Llosa likened the ballot to a choice between "terminal cancer and AIDS." But I think, for those who believe in this metaphor, the very real disease that threatens their existence is complacency.

And unfortunately for the people of Lima, the outcome has already been determined.

More info:

http://ca.news.yahoo.com/factbox-candidates-platforms-peru-race-20110406-072029-089.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/apr/11/peru-elections-fujimori-hamala-runoff

talking to God and strangers alike (or, little things i wish to remember)

2011-02-19T11:57:00.005-05:00

There is a woman who sells hair accesories Monday through Saturday from a stand just outside the Metro supermarket on Avenida Jose Larco. I usually pass by during lunch time when she is covered in swarming Limenas looking for hair pins, clips and scrunchies. But today, I caught her as she was setting up her merchandise, so I stopped.

A tiny elderly woman with hair more silver than the thick black night that flows past most of the women's shoulders here, she was talking to her barretts, rejoicing in how beautiful they looked a line up across the top. Or maybe she was talking to God.

After a five-minute conversation about Lima and the two extra minutes it took her to find the plain black headband I requested, she rejoiced once again at me being her first sale of the day. She gave me a discount (50 centavos), and crossed herself. "Que Dios te bendiga," she wished me. May God bless you. I wished her the same, and we sealed it with the customary kiss on the cheek before I walked towards Parque Kennedy.

I just wanted to write that here because those are the kinds of things I love about this place. Sometimes I feel closer to strangers than my own friends. And that's a blessing from God in itself.

this makes me wonder

2011-01-18T00:12:00.006-05:00

Part I

Part II

Listening to this tonight, I start to wonder what he would say about all the things we do today and the habits that we've formed. I wonder if I'm living his dream. And then I start to wish again that he were here to answer those questions. And then that makes me wonder if this is what it's like to miss him.

via Roland Martin

something good from stgo

2011-01-08T14:57:00.005-05:00

Tunacola and Whale - Primavera NOW

This band is featured in Que Pena Tu Vida, a romantic comedy set in Santiago. If you like this song "too much," as my students would say, you can download it (plus another track) at Remezcla.

tsunami dreams (or, by the way...)

2011-01-03T02:31:00.004-05:00

After almost a year, I still have tsunami dreams. The most recent one was three nights ago. But it ended differently.

When I was uncertain about the direction I would take over the next year, my dreams always ended with me looking skyward, paralyzed by the sight of a wall of water rushing toward me. I always knew that it would crush me. I always woke up before it hit, though.

In my last tsunami dream, however, I outran the wave. I found higher ground, and in the end everything was okay. In some odd twist of imagination and lucid dreaming, I said it outloud. I explained the the relation between my inner fears and the progression of the very dream I was dreaming. I was only talking to myself.

Coincidence? I think not.

what a wonderful year it will be (or, the new year's resolution blog post)

2011-01-02T23:36:00.009-05:00

So...here's the thing. I'm going to Lima. To work at a marketing agency. As a copywriter. After all that drama about where I'd end up after leaving Santiago, I'm going to Peru.

Yup, I'm blessed.

I guess this will be the blog post about resolutions, as well. The process of me getting the job in Lima has taught me to be more patient and to stop trying to control everything. Over the past few months, I've tried so hard to make something happen that I almost forgot to enjoy the experience of being in Santiago. I was also so stressed out by a family that was literally 4,000 miles away that I began to take for granted the family that I had in Chile. And as soon as I began to cherish those things and live a life that I became passionate about, everything else started to fall into place. It sounds very cursi, but when I began to put good things into the universe, it became a much more pleasant place to be. So that's my ultimate resolution--to remain optimistic even when things don't go my way. To not sleep in even when it's rainy outside. To smile even when I'm crumbling on the inside. To have more wine time with friends, to take a walk even when I feel like I don't have the time, to call my family more and to think less. To get out of my own skin so that I never become that self-absorbed and unappreciative of life again.

Because even when it's bad, my life is still pretty damn good.

hello, old friend (or, how much i've missed this place)

2010-12-27T22:37:00.009-05:00

I never realized how much I missed my home until I came back to it. I talked a lot of ish in Santiago about how I would never come back. But really what I meant to say all that time was, every where I go, there I am. I just mean that no matter where I am, I always feel like I want to stay there forever. In Chile, I wanted to freeze certain moments in time so that I could remember how a chilly night felt on the rooftop of Kate's apartment building with a glass of piscola, or how a busy Monday morning sounded while I was walking down Monjitas toward Plaza de Armas. But of course there are sensations here that I want to always remember, too. And landing at Hartsfield Jackson last Tuesday night reminded me of just a few:

5. Folk's Southern Kitchen

Fried Okra, Catfish, Sweet Potato Souffle, Collard Greens (with a dab of hot sauce), Cornbread Dressing, and Sweet Tea. If it doesn't sound very healthy, it's because it isn't. But one of the best things about living in the South is tasting it. No mayo-smothered completos for me anymore!

4. Black People

I love everything about us: the thousand different shades we come in, our slow southern twang, cornrows, lace-front wigs, ignorant rap music and all! Plus, it's nice not to be stared at everywhere I go because of the color of my skin.

3. Southern Gentlemen

I'll admit, it took me a while to get used to men opening the door for me again. And I love how guys who are clearly attracted to you can get the point across without being obnoxious or yelling "Huachitaricapreciosalinditacositademasiadoricamireina."

2. V-103 in the mornings (or at any time of day, really)

Three words. Frank and Wanda. Enough said.

1. Spaghetti Junction

(photo by Mark Walter)

Every time I drive south on I-85 and into the heart of the city, I see so many people going places. I still don't know why, but that's exciting for me. Passing over or under the perimeter reminds me that I'm going somewhere, too, not just in Atlanta but in life. People always ask me how I can stand Atlanta traffic, but it rarely irritates me anymore. It's just home.

almost home (or, how i will remember santiago...or, the really mushy and emotional blog post)

2010-12-20T08:14:00.008-05:00

It’s 9:00 p.m. on my last Friday night in Santiago, and I just spent the past few hours drinking wine on the rooftop of my apartment building with Michelle and Tosh. Looking at the Andes, it finally started to sink in that I’m leaving this country. And I have to say, for all of the things that have annoyed me about this city and this culture, I’m going to miss this place. Or, maybe more than the place, I’m going to miss these people. I always remind myself that no matter where you are, you should take advantage of the moment. Because you will never be in this place, with these people, ever again. You can go back days, months, or years later to try to reclaim that moment, but it won’t be waiting for you there. You have to aprovechar la vida while you can.

And at the end of this experience, I feel like we’re all trying to deny the fact that we’re facing just that—the end. We postpone goodbyes, meeting two or three times in a day to savor the feeling of being a part of all of this—the family that we’ve created in the place that we dared to live. And as I remember how, almost exactly 10 months ago I sat at my Aunt J’s kitchen table in disbelief that I would not be returning to it that very night, I now find it difficult to imagine my life without these people. What will I do without Tosh’s wonderful laugh, which reminds me not to let anyone steal my own joy and that even when it’s bad, it’s really not that bad? How am I going to cope without the echo of Laura’s constant giggle or Tim’s charming denial of his blue eyes and McConnaughey-like drawl? I won’t know what to do without being able to have conversations with Kate that make me want to go and write something really great. I will miss more than anything piggy-backing on Connie’s constant and graceful wit and, of course, “getting in the car.”

And my Anna Banana, who always seems to understand exactly what I feel like before I even tell her, but who always finds the kindness and patience to listen to me try to explain it anyway. She says the things that I wish I could say, with all the confidence necessary to convince me that I’m totally normal for thinking said things. We’ve shared too many cups of coffee, crepes filled with Nutella and covered in whip cream, and salmon salads at lunch time for me to believe that I won’t have this with her again. She made me realize that especially at our age, when every decision can seem so intimidating, it’s easier to jump into the rest of our lives if you have a friend to hold your hand on the way down. I remember how she asked me for a hug about 10 seconds after meeting me in our hostel, and it made me feel like even though I had come all the way to Chile, I really wasn’t that far away from home.

And, God, who can forget that earthquake?

Because of that earthquake, I’ve grown to expect everything turned on its head. Like Fourth of July in winter or Thanksgiving in summer or Bravissimo double-scoops in small plastic cups with the cone sticking out of the top. I’ve grown accustomed to imagining how things will be in my head and then crumpling up those expectations altogether—like a letter I’ve just written and then realized that it doesn’t need to be sent. This habit started long before I came here. But being in Santiago helped me perfect the ritual of it.

And in this moment, I think I have discovered something that has changed who I am and the person I will be. Thinking of all of this, I’ve just realized that until I came here, I had spent all of my time preparing for something extraordinary. Everything—good grades, hard-won internships, a year of saving money—had been done in preparation for some rich life that I would have someday. And right now, I feel like I’ve just cashed in everything I’ve got. I live in a gorgeous city. I have beautiful friends. I’m fortunate enough to work in a place where it makes a difference whether I decide to get out of bed in the morning or to just call in sick. And I have all of the choices, all of the opportunities that I used to only daydream of. I get to walk out of my apartment building and stare the Andes right in the face.

I’ll remember this year in Santiago as the time that I discovered how truly wonderful life can be when you look past all the things that suck. And I’ll remember it as the time I learned how to live audaciously. And gratefully.

*****

Two days later, still lost in a whirlwind of wine times, long meals together and even longer goodbyes, I can still feel the sadness tugging at me, like I'm wading into an ocean. But everything continues as it has to, because I'm leaving in less than 48 hours and my to-do list just keeps getting longer. On Sunday afternoon, Kate asks me if I want to come to a small feria outside of her apartment. And I do so, not because I want to buy anything, but because I just want to feel like we're roommates again. I miss that.

The tables are arranged in a large circle, so I find my way to the middle. The first thing I saw was not a cool pair of tennis shoes or very unique earrings. But from a table filled with organic skin care products, I see a sign hanging. It says, Sonríe. La Vida es Hermosa.

And even though I'm struggling in this moment, I decide to do just that.

full of it (or, arriba la vida)

2010-12-10T13:52:00.006-05:00

A year ago, I felt like my life was just too full of Avon.

Now, I feel thankful that my life is just so...

full.

In the best way possible.

guerilla store-fare in santiago, (or, how a shopping diva conquered the city)

2010-12-07T09:59:00.004-05:00

For a woman who possesses wanderlust and an intense impulse to shop, Santiago, Chile can be full of emotional highs and lows. I remember walking into Paris department store on a shopping trip to Parque Arauco, one of the city’s largest commercial shopping centers. This had been the first department store I spotted during my first few weeks here. I breathed a sigh of relief and a hint of ‘new clothes’ smell from the store entrance; it was everything I was used to. Fluorescent lights, over-eager associates fighting for commission and cheesy department store music—this was heaven. Floating from rack to rack, I ran my fingers over the soft cotton and slinky silk blouses, taking a moment to rejoice before getting down to business.

And then I looked at the price tags.

Even the most basic blouses were twice the price I’d expect to pay in the U.S. and half the quality. I spent the entire afternoon trying to find just a basic black t-shirt for a good price. Paris was already a ‘no.’ Fallabella? Nope. Ripley? Nada.

At this point it became clear to me that I would need to restructure my approach to shopping. What began as a light-hearted, fun-filled shopping trip with the girls quickly turned into full-blown, all-out Santiago Guerilla Store-Fare. There would be special tactics, rules not to be broken and most importantly, a keen instinct, which I would use to guide me to the goods.

Rule #1: Stay away from large commercial centers. Ritzy malls like Parque Arauco and Alto Las Condes are all glam and no excitement. If you’re missing the feel of a stroll through the mall on a Saturday afternoon with a creamy cup of fro-yo in hand, these are great places to recapture that spirit. But don’t expect to find much in terms of great sales or unique finds.

Rule #2: Be ready to shop at any time. Most of the awesomely Chilean pieces that I’ve accumulated already have been on-the-go. I may stroll through the European-like Plaza de Armas in the city center and pick up a hand-stitched cotton scarf with silk embellishments for $2,000 chilean pesos (less than $4) or snag a rosary-inspired necklace at the top of Cerro San Cristobal while taking in the view of the entire city from the top of the hill. Impulse buying is the name of the game here, and since street vendors are easier on your pocket than large commercial chains, there’s no need for buyer’s remorse afterward.

•Best On-the-Go Shopping: Street Vendors in and around Plaza de Armas, Santiago Centro

Rule #3: The closer to downtown, the better. For any designated shopping trip, join the hustle and bustle of Santiago Centro for a mix of upscale and hipster. Santa Lucia Market, known by locals as La Feria Artesanía, is filled with dozens of locals selling handmade clothing, jewelry and souvenirs. If you want the Chilean ‘look,’ this is the place to come. Look for a chaleco, a long, knitted women’s sweater with a flattering fit usually accompanied with a wooden cuff front closure. Santa Lucia is also an excellent place to shop for silver jewelry adorned with lapis lazuli, the country’s national stone, coveted for its electric blue hue.

To satisfy your more upscale palate, head to Patronato, a barrio defined by its street borders of Recoleta, Loreto, Bellavista and Dominica. You’ll know when you’ve arrived by the signs boasting its reputation as the “commercial and cosmopolitan neighborhood of Chile.” Here you’ll find boutique storefronts displaying everything from sparkly cocktail dresses to vintage clothing.

•Best Hand-made Women’s Accessories: Local 71, La Feria Artesanía, Avenida Libertador Bernado O’Higgins 510, Santiago, Chile

Rule #4: Carpe diem. Literally. One of the great things about Santiago is that you can actually take advantage of the weather. On a rainy day, you can buy an umbrella outside of any metro station. On a sunny day, look for street vendors selling shades. If it’s cold, you’ll have your pick of scarves and gloves. It’s like having a personal shopper for all of your weather-related fashion needs.

•Best Metro Station Shopping: Manuel Montt, at the intersection of Avenida Providencia and Avenida Manuel Montt

Rule #5: Be vigilant with your wallet, both literally and figuratively. Most vendors are friendly to foreigners, and some may even warn you to make sure your wallet is ‘bien guardado’ (tucked away) after a purchase because of Santiago pick-pocketers. But some enterprising sellers will offer you the higher “gringo price” for their merchandise. If you see something you like, stake it out and see how much it is being sold for before expressing interest. And remember to carry small bills as some vendors won’t be able to give lots of change.

Shopping in Santiago is proof that all that glitters isn’t necessarily retail gold. Most of the best finds here don’t come with a ‘remove before wearing’ tag or even a specific size. Consider shopping in the city like a treasure hunt, and approach it with an open mind—because sometimes you have to dig a little deeper to get to the good stuff.

For more of my favorite buys in South America, go to Destination*20ten.

it won't always go the way it should (or, how to make limelight out of limes)

2010-11-16T09:04:00.007-05:00

I will return to the United States in exactly five weeks. For the past month and a half, I've been finding it hard to keep myself together because I honestly don't want to go home but I don't want to stay here. After a conversation with my mother in early October, I've become convinced that too much time with my family would not be good for me.

One thing Santiago has taught me is that I thrive when I am alone. I still love my friends and my family, but I think that in order for me to grow into the person that God meant for me to be, I have to have time alone. It helps me figure out what's the most important to me, and it makes me a more productive person. It also helps me to turn off those negative voices of which my family is so often the source. When I'm alone, I can tell myself that I can do anything. And I'm actually able to believe it.

So that's how come I'm not really looking forward to going home.

Also, I know that the family that I miss the most is not going to be there. (This part is complicated, and I'd rather not share the messy details here.) So, while driving myself crazy about what I'm going to do in the future, I came up with a plan to go teach abroad again.

In Korea.

For a year.

Testing out this new "plan" on my friends, the reactions have been wide-ranging. I've gotten everything from the snubby "that's ridiculous" to the incredulous "why would you want to go there? In in some ways, those reactions make me think that this is the best possible decision I could have made under the circumstances.

I still miss home. I miss late afternoon walks around the neighborhood in the summer with my Aunt J. I miss Chick-fil-a. I miss not having to wait in line everywhere I go. I miss not being stared at every day. I miss a world where (almost) everything has order and makes sense.

But it will be there for me, I'm convinced, when it's time for me to go back permanently. Until then...

I hate to see you cry
Lying there in that position
There's things you need to hear
so turn off your tears
and listen

the dive and a half (or simply, la piojera ctm!!!)

2010-11-07T11:46:00.009-05:00

There are usually two reactions to La Piojera. The first one is you want to leave right away. You realize you shouldn´t have worn open-toed shoes because the floor is disgusting, every one is drunk and shouting at the person standing right next to him or her and you never know when a fight is going to break out.

The second possible reaction is to have the time of your life. You drink a terremoto (possibly 2), you meet a guy (possible get engaged) and you sing songs that you´ve never heard before (possibly shout them).

Given my love of dive bars, (or as Laura puts it in this case "a dive and a half"), can you guess what my reaction is?

Quick tips: If you do, in fact, decide to brave la piojera, you must get a terremoto. You do not, however, have to finish it all. In fact, I encourage you to drink it slowly. My patent terremoto consumption method is to let the pineapple sorbet melt first, stirring it periodically with your straw.

When ordering at the bar, keep in mind that the bartenders have no systematic approach to taking orders or money. Don´t foolishly ask one of the borrachos next to you where la caja is. Just permiso your butt to the front and shout terremoto (earthquake) as loud as you can. (Don´t worry, La Piojera is one of the few places where this type of behavior will not cause a panic.)

Oh, and when you´re drunk enough to actually eat the food there, stick with the empanadas pino. They´re huge and actually not quite bad.

santiago burning (or, how the city and i slept through what could have been a major news event)

2010-11-03T13:07:00.009-04:00

***Read on for an update to this posting below.***

Apparently, Santiago was on fire last night.

Well, downtown Santiago at least. I woke up this morning to an ominous text message from my friend Kate.

To warn u theres a massive fire near us. Ill call u if its worse.

Thank goodness it didn't get any worse because I slept like a rock last night, and didn't even wake up when her message hit my inbox.

Interestingly enough, I discovered as I probed neighbors on my way to the gym this morning that none of the other residents of my apartment building knew about it, either. A quick google.cl search of Santiago news turns up no results of a fire, niether in English nor in Spanish. Hmmmmm....

So why am I writing this blog post, you ask?

Because my writer friend, the aforementioned Kate, took an excellent video that's both compelling and kind of scary to watch. Her commentary is the perfect accompaniment to the shooting sparks in the already sooty Santiago night sky. It's overcast today, but I can't tell if it's because of the remnants of smoke from the fire or if God actually intended it to be that way. Anywho, click here to see Kate's amazing video.

Video credit goes to Kate Louise Ponte. (Well, I don't actually remember if Louise is her middle name, but I think it sounds nice.) Read her stuff at her blog, Must Love Palta.

***Update***
According to Kate Louise Ponte, this fire appeared to be in the Santiago barrio of Patronato, a neighborhood famous for its higher-end clothing boutiques and lower-end street vendors. This is also the site where I purchased my infamous "flaite" jacket seen in many facebook "party photos." Patronato sits on the banks of the perpetually murky and depression-inducing Mapocho river.

Ponte's video has gotten viewer feedback in the recent hours since her posting. Toshua J. Hudson, another writer friend and fellow resident of Santiago Centro, commented incredulously, "holy sh*t! thats what you msgd me about."

Special thanks again to Ponte for posting this link to a brief story about the fire. Apparently, the flames only consumed one local of the large open-air market known as La Vega. At this moment, there are no known suspects. Also at this moment, most Santiago citizens have no idea about the fire.

More details to come. Maybe.

real-time: number 17 (or, how i saw the miracle at san jose)

2010-10-13T12:59:00.006-04:00

On the realtime newscast of what is being called the Miracle at San Jose Mine, we are given an update of how many miners have been brought to the surface. Number 17 has just been rescued.

Watching the world watch Chile has reminded me of what I love best about this country. In a year of an 8-point-something magnitude earthquake, hundreds of aftershocks, a subsequent tsunami, and now this--33 miners trapped 2,300 feet underground for more than two months--people are still hopeful.

Last night after work, I got off the metro at Plaza de Armas. And just like every night, I began to walk the four blocks home, first down Calle Catedral, then down Morandé. But last night, I was stopped by every store owner and sanitation worker with updates on the rescue. Store fronts that would usually be closed were still lit up, small television sets turned to face the windows, tuned into TVN or Mega or one of the other dozen networks broadcasting live from the mine. And people stopped to talk. They made small talk and expressed their best wishes for the miners and their families. Just like the dozens of wives, mothers, children and siblings camped outside the rescue capsule, every Chilean was anxious for it to begin. First, there were rumors were of a speedy operation; and then there were counter-rumors saying it would take over an hour to rescue each one. No matter what the news was, though, I kept hearing the same thing over and over again. A single word, a conversation-starter between two strangers and a means of parting ways on this particular night.

Ojalá, they would say. God willing.

a walk down 'wall street' (or, money never sleeps, and neither do i)

2010-10-04T12:39:00.008-04:00

The still handsome, white-haired Gordon Gekko is making a public appearance to promote his new book, titled Is Greed Good? An outwardly reformed white-collar, Wall Street ex-con, he begins his speech by offering his take on the current state of financial affairs to the youth of America. "You're all fucked. You've got no income, no job and no assets." Me and my friend Victoria give eachother a high-five and silent spirit fingers as we stifle our laughter in the back of the movie theatre. Yup, that's been us for the past couple of years. Fucked.

Wikipedia calls it the 2008 Financial Crisis. I'm pretty sure Oliver Stone is calling it big bucks with the favorable reception of his sequel to the 1987 film. Wall Street calls it 'moral hazard.' I call it graduating with two degrees that are, seemingly at the time, not worth the paper they are printed on.

Now that I've seen both the original Wall Street and its sequel, I have to say I was more riveted by the sequel. Shia LeBouf's boyish goods looks and adorable curly hair aside, I think this one resonated more with me because I remember the panic and fear of 2008. Hell, I was a part of it.

The brilliantly-timed movie is set 23 years after the original. Beginning with a flashback of Gekko's release from prison in 2001, viewers are treated to the delicious irony of Michael Douglas's character being presented with his personal affects--a money clip 'with no money in it' and a cell phone the size and weight of a brick, among other clothing items. As he basks in the glow of sunshine and freedom, he watches a limousine approach. But it's not for him.

Most of all, I love the Oliver Stone for choosing the perfect time to release this film. In 2010, as in 1987, people want to someone to blame for their financial woes. We want to curse someone for our insolvency. And Wall Street is the perfect target. This decision--the timing--is perhaps the film's strongest character. It makes the audience a part of the plot.

Walking home from the theatre, Vic and I started to rehash our emotional reactions to the movie. I graduated in the spring of 2008 from the University of Georgia with degrees in print journalism and Spanish. She graduated from UC Santa Barbara in the spring of 2009 with a degree in psychology. I completed five internships during college and hustled my ass off to find a job. She was a self-proclaimed 'party child' who spent the better part of her college years trying to increase her tolerance for alcohol. I'm not saying this to put myself on a pedestal. I definitely wish I had had a little more of her free spirit when I was a student. And she's told me that she definitely wishes she had a little of my 'get up and go.' But I had to remind her--and myself--of one critical fact. We both ended up in the same place at the same time. Here in Santiago, teaching English, trying to make lemonade out of the bitter lemons we were given. And sometimes, we literally have the time of our lives. So I guess the recipe works.

However, I get the feeling that my recurring tsunami dreams are hitting on more than just my fear of the ocean. I'm leaving Chile in less than three months, and the economy back home still isn't so great. I've got a few hundred dollars, an archaic laptop and (in my opinion) a kick-ass resume to my name. Is that enough to help me make a living and deem me, in the eyes of Gordon Gekko, 'not so fucked?'

For my sake, I sure as hell hope so.

google celebrates chilean independence day

2010-09-18T15:24:00.000-04:00

cusqueñitos say the darndest things

2010-09-09T11:40:00.002-04:00

The thing I love most about Cusco (besides the ají de gallina, trucha frita, and pisco sours) is the children. Enterprising and bright-eyed, they know enough about the streets to con you out of your money. But they still laugh and skip and give you snaggle-toothed smiles. They tug on your t-shirts and speak to you in high-pitched perfect Spanish. "Como te llamas, amiga?" they always ask. We were approached by them every time we walked up and down the cobblestone streets. My friend Rena because of her golden hair and me because of my dark brown skin. It turns out, they love to talk to people who look different. And the giggles. I miss the giggles.

Rena reaching into her bag for money to pay for a postcard...or something.

They carry with them keychains, baby dolls, finger puppets, and colorful coin purses, all for sale. They love to talk to you to practice their English. Sometimes they ask you to take their pictures so that they can see what they look like in the viewfinder of your camera. But mostly, they just want to sell you stuff.

For example:

Cute Little Girl in Cusco: Muñecas?
Me: Oh, I'm sorry. I don't have any more money.
CLGC: Muñeca for you. *points at me, flashes a smile*
Me: No, I can't. I don't have any more soles.
CLGC: American Dollar? Mastercard? Visa?

Owned.

Or:

Another Cute Little Girl in Cusco: Amiga, please buy a hat.
Me: But I've already got a hat. See? *point to hat on my head*
ACLGC: What about your mamá? Does she have a hat?
Me: Yes. Yes, she does.
ACLGC: What about your sister?
Me: She has one, too.
ACLGC: And your papá?
Me: He doesn't need a hat. It's summer where he is.
ACLGC: But winter will come.

Touché, another cute little girl in Cusco. Touché.

quechua new year

2010-08-23T00:53:00.010-04:00

Every August 1, the Quechua people of Moray trickle into an agricultural terrace--what looks like an intricately constructed stone colliseum--one line of colorfully dressed people at a time. Rows of sunglow and magenta and orange and green waving their flags come from each direction to meet in the middle and perform a ceremonial dance. Young girls in rose-colored dresses first sweep the Earth, then adorn it with flower petals to create an entrance path for the Inca (Quechua for 'King'), as he makes his way to the center to choose a new partner. If they perform for the Mother Earth, it is said, she will ensure a good harvest for them. But more than insurance, they come to thank her for the blessings of the past year--for taking care of their families, ensuring that all goes well with their harvest and being there to comfort them during difficult times.

They choose this date--August 1--because it's right around the time that the Earth begins to renew herself. Ice from frozen streams and rivers begins to melt, sending a rush of freshwater down the mountains that they inhabit. The flowers bloom. Strong winds tickle the surface of their beautiful land, blowing away anything negative and wiping their slates clean for the year to come. An onlooker explains to me from the top of a hill overlooking the colliseum, "La madre tierra se abre. Se florece," The mother earth opens herself up. She blooms.

Cusco began to open itself up to me on my last day. In a last-minute attempt to buy souvenirs, I was searching for street vendors in and around Plaza San Francisco until a local told me about a huge outdoor market just two blocks away. Crossing the street, I approached a tiny boy, maybe 4 or 5, propped against a stone wall and wailing with an outstretched hand. Making my way to the market, I bought a tiny trinket--a butterfly keychain--to break my 50-sol bill. Running back in the other direction, I crossed the street again at the same intersection, reached into my pocket and filled his hand with 15 soles. It was only about 5 bucks. But it was enough to cease his wailing.

Five minutes later, I found myself back at Plaza San Francisco, watching as a group of school boys all dressed in red windsuits did a rhythmic, choreographed routine. Their legs, arms and vocal chords moved in unison as they repeated the chant. And it reminded me of the dance the Quechua had done in Moray just three days earlier. If they dance, the Earth will deliver a good harvest, I thought. If they can just keep their feet moving in time together, she will open herself up to them, and she will bless their futures.

que sigan bien los 33

2010-08-23T00:01:00.005-04:00

I remember watching news channels swarm the families of these miners last week hoping to get an emotional sound byte. What they got was a handful of strong-willed believers with an unbreakable faith, repeating after every sentence, 'Nuestro Dios es grande.'

Sitting in a restaurant in Valpo today, the waiter came over to tell us the news during lunch. Nuestro Dios es grande. That's the first thing I thought.

As if we need another lesson in never giving up...

siempre la roja! (or, how i learned to enjoy the world cup)

2010-06-29T13:43:00.003-04:00

On the red line of the metro, I'm making my way from Estación Manuel Montt to U. Católica. The subway car to the right of us starts to rock back and forth to the rhythmic shouts and vuvuzuelas. "Chi-chi-chi, Le-le-le, Viva Chile!" Chile's playing España today at 2:30, and it feels like the entire city has been plugged in. The atmosphere is electric.

Exiting the station via O'Higgins ten minutes later, I lose myself in a sea of red and chaos. Emerging from the underground, I take the steps two at a time, rushing to meet friends so that we can head to La Moneda and watch the game on the big screen. I check the time on my Entel. It's 1:37.

***

Walking around Santiago during the World Cup, it hardly looked like the city it was just several months before. The piles of rubble were steadily disappearing, and the aftershocks seemed to come farther apart. But most importantly, what the February 27 earthquake has threatened to take away, La Roja was claiming once again, half a world away.

This month has been one of recuperation for the country, and the Chilean pride is contagious. Take me, a girl from the Southern United States who never watched soccer before coming to Latin America. Down in Georgia, American football is life. But even I was able to jump on the fútbol bandwagon--that's fútbol, spelled with a ú. The entire thing flew by like a whirlwind--Chile beat Honduras easily ("Vamos Chile!") and managed to score against Switzerland for a win ("El Que No Salta..."). But even in the face of defeat at the hands of Spain, the crowd at La Plaza de la Constitución celebrates anyway. It turns out, as I overhear from the excited chatter, that Chile has advanced to the next round. I look up and watch the red and white confetti fall from the sunny sky, struggling to make room for it all in an already-full memory of this marvelous place and time.

***

Chile lost to Brazil yesterday, ending their 2010 World Cup run. As I watch the morning news on TVN, they pepper the show with highlights from Chile's overall performance in South Africa. The headline reads, "Gracias por darnos alegria" (Thank you for giving us happiness). At this very moment, I hear one lone vuvuzela trumpet outside from the street below our balcony, reminding us that we may have lost the game but we have yet to lose the spirit. I smile as I take a sip of instant coffee and turn off the TV.

Thanks for the memories, Chile.

let's go, baby, to the hole in the wall...

2010-06-12T01:29:00.008-04:00

I have officially entered bad-ass, swine-eating, hole-in-the-wall territory. Otherwise known as El Hoyo (The Hole). This is the infamous Santiago spot where Tony Bourdain ate an entire pig and drank himself into a wine-and-pineapple-ice-cream-flavored coma. And, oh, is it a good place to be.

I could write an eloquent blog post about the ambiance and unique presentation of the food, but this is really all you need to know:

Get off the metro at Estacion Central. Walk a few seedy blocks South, and endure the dirty looks that you will indeed encounter if you are a foreigner. Wrap your coat around you extra tight if it happens to be a cold June night. And once you arrive, feel the warmth of roasting pork and welcoming Chilenos who just know you're going to drop a wad of cash there.

Stay away from the churrasco. It will taste like someone else ordered it before you, changed his mind, and then the same plate was saved for the next unsuspecting customer. Due to the three pitchers of terremotos that we consumed, I can't really remember any useful information, like, say, the names of the dishes that are worth trying. Just ask the server for 'cerdo,' and watch a slow but knowing smile spread across his face as he scribbles some illegible 'chileno' code on his order pad. He will subsequently bring you an entire hindquarter of pig that you will enjoy ravishing. No sides needed. Just make sure to wash it down with glass full of terremoto.

View Larger Map

But if you must have all the juicy, savory details, please read this excellent post by my fabulous writer friend and roommate, Kate.

***Update***

I just had to post this song since it inspired the title of this blog post. It's a blast from the past for me (my mom used to play this song from her tape deck all the time when I was little). And in the spirit of holes in the wall, I feel it's appropriate. Please press play.

don't follow your dreams...

2010-06-12T01:28:00.000-04:00

LEAD THEM.

when i was five years old...

2010-06-12T01:24:00.002-04:00

"My mom always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down “happy.” They told me I didn’t understand the assignment and I told them they didn’t understand life."

that is all.

...on falling in love with your job (or, how in the hell did i get here?)

2010-05-30T02:33:00.005-04:00

I have made the unfortunate mistake of falling in love with my job. It was a fluke. I never really thought I could do this for a long time. Until now.

I always saw teaching English as a way to travel. I've always been pretty good at English, and I've studied Spanish for almost nine years, so I know how frustrating it can be to learn another language. I sympathize with English students who can't seem to make their tongues move a certain way or can't understand why we use the word 'do' so much in English if it means absolutely nothing. I've been there.

But it's totally different listening to your students explain something that you've just taught them about English grammar. They come to class and pretend not to care--or maybe they really don't care all that much--but I get to see them progress every time they take a written test or an oral exam. When they don't know the answer to a question, I urge them to make one up. And most times, they do! They come up with the smartest, most memorable answers to the toughest questions. They smile when they see their grades and they all give a collective 'aaaaah' when the light bulb comes on. And it makes me feel so big and so small at the same time.

It's scary realizing that I may have just found the thing that I've been looking for. Since I was 12, I told every one and any one who would listen that I wanted to be a writer and a journalist. It's all about the story, I would say. My goal is to educate and inspire. But really I knew all along that this was only half of the story. Being a journalist is also about recognition. Because no matter how big your story is, it always comes with a little byline that ensures that every one will know who wrote it. I guess in my mind, I had turned being a journalist into my own little rock star fantasy.

I also equated being a writer with being worthwhile. If I wasn't going to be a writer, then who was I? It took me two years to grow out of that insecurity and to realize that being a writer isn't validated with a job title or a cozy spot on a masthead. I am a writer because I just am. I think of things in terms of how they would fit on a page. I want people to be inside my head. That's the reason I started this whole thing in the first place.

To let that go has helped me realize that I wasn't filling my days with a job (or a job title) that was worthwhile. Like I said, half of the reason that I wanted to be a writer was to educate and inspire. What better way to do that than by teaching? I get to watch students transform into a better version of themselves because they struggle and they succeed. I know that they're not going to retain every single piece of information I've thrown at them, but when the semester's over I hope that they'll remember at least something. And that's way better than a stack of magazine clips tucked away in a dusty garage. That's life.

dinner parties and friends of friends (or, what it's like to be black in chile, part II)

2010-05-22T03:10:00.011-04:00

I went to a friend's house tonight for a dinner party and as usual had a great time. I met several friends of friends, which is how an evening usually progresses on nights like these. But among the new friends made was an energetic guy from South Korea whom everyone affectionately called Nunu. He tore through the house like a tornado, explaining that by some odd circumstance of fate, he hadn't been able to talk to his friends for a week. This, it turns out, gave him lots of material for conversation.

As we dug into the spaghetti and garlic bread on our plates, he looked at me from across the table and very frankly said, "Can I ask you something? What's it like to be black in Chile? Because being Asian here fucking sucks." At once we both started to rail, very loudly, mind you, about the stares on the metro and the bold comments that Chileans would make to us in passing. After a few seconds we both caught ourselves. This was not a PC subject to discuss at a dinner party among my white friends, I thought to myself and imagined him doing the same. But it made my heart sing.

Everyday, I face the prospect of getting out of bed and living in a world that does not want me here. It's hard, considering that I have no one to vent to and my fellow teachers react to it as "no big deal." So when I can look into the face of someone who lives out the same consequences for simply being born of another background, it spurs me to keep going. Especially considering this guy, so full of energy and life, made no excuses for his very own presence. He had traveled through Argentina and Chile and was just hours away from boarding a flight to Colombia. He studied in the United States and planned to go back home to Korea someday. He was fluent in three languages and well-versed in both the cruelty and the beauty of world traveling. Nunu, who was probably discriminated against even more than me, did not use this unfortunate reality as a reason to be bitter. And neither should I, I decided after that moment.

So much of my perception of Chile has been, until this moment, about the way people react to me. Not only am I black, but I'm also dark-skinned, which carries with it an entirely new set of consequences, whether at home or abroad. I allowed the racism I've experienced here to make me angry and bitter, sometimes hiding out for entire days in my room so that my friends and colleagues began to wonder where my head--and my heart--was.

Nunu taught me that sometimes you simply can't worry about what other people think of you or how they treat you. That is one battle, as my mother would say, that cannot be won.

I was talking with a friend the other day about falling in love in Chile. She has become absolutely smitten by a Chileno who seems to be such a perfect match for her. In between making up stories about how beautiful their children would be and expressing to her how much it fills my heart to see her in love, I began to wonder. She says that falling in love with a Chilean is in some ways like the highest form of acceptance. It's the ultimate sign that you're alright with the Chileans and they're pretty much alright with you.

Later, while I was alone in my room, thinking about what she had said made me cry. I'll never be accepted, I realized. I'll never have that feeling. I began to think of Martha, the afro-cubana I had met just a couple of months earlier at a restaurant in Bellavista. I remember the sadness she carried in her eyes. And the for the first time since I've been here, I felt that sadness and understood it, too.

It's easy to get wrapped up in the injustices of the human condition. And although it still makes me a little teary-eyed sometimes, I don't have to spend my days here in perpetual self-imprisonment. The Chilenos may or may not be alright with me. But I'm alright with myself. I'm living a life that my parents and grandparents didn't even dare to dream of. And I'm fortunate enough to realize and take advantage of this opportunity. I imagine Nunu doing the same. That, as it turns out, is the key to living the life of a black girl in Chile.

there's no such thing as a wrong answer (or, how to pass a test in English INU311)

2010-05-19T02:40:00.005-04:00

My students skip class. A lot. When they do come, they're usually about 30 minutes late. They send text messages on their cell phones while I talk, and they fall asleep in the middle of grammar exercises. They don't care about good grades. Passing is good enough for them. And most of them hate English.

This, as you can imagine, has been a huge adjustment for an idealistic writer who decided to bring world peace through language education. Instead of having show-and-tell so that everyone can introduce their favorite CD or novel, I spend my classes begging students to stop talking, arguing with them to put away cell phones or curling irons and trying to explain that, no, your boyfriend/girlfriend canNOT attend this class if he or she is not registered.

My school discourages the English teachers from giving the students homework because it has been proven, apparently, that "they simply won't do it." Students who fail...well, they don't really fail because someone (and by someone I mean the infamous powers that be) has decided to pass them anyway. Teachers expect students not to work, not to be successful.

The entire time, I'm watching my not-so-apt pupils, thinking, "How can they not have a clue by now?!? They shuffle about the halls, sipping their juice boxes and eating their bags of potato chips, Pink Floyd blasting from the earbud in one ear, cell phone in the other, and they have absolutely no clue where in the hell they're going.Don't they know that the greatest win in life is proving everyone wrong?"

So this, aside from English grammar and vocabulary, is what I try to teach them. It's not easy. I make them read out loud during class even when they don't want to (especially when they don't want to). When they attempt to turn in a test with empty spaces, I make them sit down and think until they can come up with something. I make them do homework. And yes, they do it.

Everybody thinks that the first lesson of life is learning that nothing is perfect, but I disagree. I think this is life's first real lesson. It's not the day that you wake up and realize that you're not going to save the world. It's the day that you get out of bed and realize that even though your lesson plan sucks but it probably won't matter because half of your students won't show up today anyway, half of them will. Those are the ones that linger after class just to have a chance to practice speaking English with you. The ones who want to know where you came from and which paintbrush colored your life before you ended up as their profe. And the ones who will shout out an answer to every question, even if it's the wrong one.

And those are the students who ultimately teach you, there are no wrong answers in life. There is only the fear of failure. And the courage to keep guessing.

romanticism is for the birds (or, the good, the bad and the ugly american)

2010-05-15T14:13:00.012-04:00

Living abroad is romantic. Every morning, I walk out on my romantic balcony to greet the romantic city below. I might then choose to take some delectable crepes at the exquisite corner cafe near my flat. Then I'll board the train where I'll exchange a steamy glance with a handsome and undoubtedly romantic Chilean man as we both get off at the same stop...

Yeah, sometimes stuff like that happens. But most of the time, I'm trying unsuccessfully to balance the overwhelming feeling of culture shock (which has an entirely different meaning for a Black southern girl in South America) and my usual drive to be productive with every second of my day. And most of the time, I don't feel like this life is romantic at all. The showers are cold. The metros are crowded. It rains all day during the winter. The smog is so thick here that it makes your boogers black. And the city smells.

Please don't mistake this as an ungrateful rant by an ugly American. I'm so glad I have the chance to live here. Santiago centro, for all of its flaws, is absolutely gorgeous at night. I love the empanadas. And Chilean pisco sours are the perfect end to a long day. But I read a quote today about a writer's tendency to betray the world, to make it sound like it's greater than it really is. This is something that I've always tried to avoid, thus the 'jaded city-dweller' blog post. You knew it was coming.

Remember those pisco sours? Well I waited in giddy anticipation yesterday until the end of my last class. My roommates and I then shuffled through the sloshy streets to my favorite neighborhood eatery, a sort-of dive called Utopia. It was happy hour.

Within about 30 seconds of being inside, we quickly realized that the place was full of, well, not-full tables. A couple making out at a table for six. A guy sitting alone at a table for four. This is another commonality of Chilean life. You go to a restaurant and seat yourself. After searching desperately upstairs for even a small table that might fit the four of us, we foolishly asked a waiter if there were any available tables in the place. After responding with a curt 'No,' he wiped his hands on his apron and walked into the kitchen. Emotionally bruised but not broken, we hung our heads and left. Five minutes later we found a table at another bar where I indeed enjoyed the pisco sour and empanadas, but first I had to come to terms with the fact that Utopia was just out of my reach.

Yup. Living abroad is really romantic. Except when it's not.

how to make the most of it (or, what i've been up to lately)

2010-05-09T17:54:00.004-04:00

It's been a while since I've posted, but Santiago life hasn't slowed down my constant flow of ideas. Let's see, where to start?

I celebrated my 24th birthday 2 weeks ago with some awesome friends. We had a party at the flat that Saturday night, followed by some Santa Lucia market shopping on Monday (my actual birthday) and a surprise party at Bravissimo that night. Please see my life via the photos below.

"No Pants Party" Saturday, April 17. Everyone was supposed to wear a dress, tights or shorts.

My birthday gift to myself. Found this at a local vendor's shop in the Santa Lucia Market.

Surprise birthday ice cream at Bravissimo. My roommates blindfolded me in the metro and lead me to the gelateria on Av. Providencia where every one else was waiting. They even gave me flowers! *smile*

Birthdays for me have always been a time to reflect and give thanks for everything I've been blessed with so far. Last year, around this time, I was starting a job that threatened to suck the life out of me. I sat in a cubicle for 9, 10, sometimes 11 hours a day, working with people who literally wanted nothing more than to see me fail. It was a hard lesson.

But after enduring months of this job and saving every penny I could, I found myself in Santiago teaching English. I love my job because I get to work with people who are aspiring to better things--better opportunities, higher paying jobs, a chance to provide for their families. My students respect me. They seek not only my advice, but also my friendship. This is what it's like to love your job.

Over the past week, I've proverbally pinched and slapped myself. The pinch was to remind me how blessed I am to be here. The slap was to scold myself for not maximizing this opportunity. As it stands, I am getting paid full-time for working a part-time job. In addition, I know that I want to return to the publishing industry once this experience is over. Doing the math, I decided that the best thing for me to do with all this free time I've got is to get a journalism internship.

I sent out my resume on Monday, got a response on Tuesday, did a Skype interview on Wednesday and sent a proposal on Thursday. By Friday, I was sitting in the office of the Santiago Times, which was until very recently the only English-language newspaper in these parts.

The office, as it turns out to be, is a small room from a seemingly crumbling complex that is located just across the river from my apartment. The lights were off, with only a few streams of sunshine trickling through the windows. Two people worked feverishly at their laptops on the next issue of the ST. Awkward as it was, I just did what I knew how to do. I took out my notepad and started talking.

And talk I did. I was bursting at the seems with ideas for how to improve this Web site. And after 20 minutes of pitching my vision to the editor, he nodded and smiled. "Your resume looks excellent, and you know way more about this stuff than I do. And we could definitely use your energy and fresh ideas. In short, it's your baby now," he said.

Despite computer issues that will prevent me from starting the internship of my dreams tomorrow, I can still see the big picture. I'll get this computer thing worked out, and I then I'll officially be the content editor of a travel and tourism site. O...M...G. Is this really my life?

oh, the joys and pains of living in south america!

2010-04-27T03:46:00.002-04:00

We dream in Spanish and start to forget our own language.

Dear little blog,

I haven't forgotten about you. My computer has been without Internet for more than a month now. But I think about you often. I've been saving wonderful little nuggets of Chilean life to share with you as soon as possible. But until then, I smile in anticipation.

Besos,
~B

how to ride a horse (or, my weekend in mendoza)

2010-04-10T17:30:00.007-04:00

Peering down at the jagged rocks and steep cliffs no more than three feet to my right, I thought, "So this is how I'm going to die." That was the pinnacle of my long weekend in Mendoza. Going horseback riding in the gorgeous, to-die-for mountains was both a blessing and one of the scariest experiences I've ever had. Please keep in mind, this was only my second time riding a horse.

The adventure wasn't really my idea. My wonderful roommate and fellow trouble-getter-into Kate loves horses. She also loves mountains. Go figure.

After a few weak protests, I signed away my life in blue ink at the adventure tourism office in downtown Mendoza on Friday afternoon. The van, despite being almost an hour late, showed up at hour hostel the next morning. The guide met us at the door. "Hi! I'm Brittaney," I greeted her, trying to feign excitement. "Do you have a heavier jacket?" she replied. "It's going to be cold up there."

After an hour ride into the mountains of Argentina, we arrived. I sat through two five-minute crash courses in how to ride a horse (one in Castellano and one in English since the guide was convinced that 'la negra' didn't know a word of Spanish). Never walk behind a horse. Lean forward when we ride up a hill. Lean backward when we come back down. Hold the reigns tightly, but not too tight. Yeah, got it.

Then ensued five hours of terror, where every cliff beckoned for me be thrown over the edge of it. My horse slipped, neighed, stopped to eat every plant we passed and kicked the horse behind it. I almost cried twice. At one point, I looked over to see the equally terrified Chilena who had also be dragged along with a cabalgatas-loving friend. Staring at the steep decline beneath us, she mused, "Que fea caida seria eso." ("What an ugly fall that would be.") Tell me about it.

Nonetheless, the view was beautiful, the mate was sweet and the wind held out long enough for a 5-hour ride. For lunch, we had an asado of chivo (baby goat), fresh bread, grilled potatoes and red wine. I considerably increased my Spanish vocabulary with a handful of Argentine swear words. And I learned way more than I cared to about the sex life of our guide.

Despite my fear of, well, everything that comes along with horseback riding in the moutains, I did it because I wanted to know what it would feel like to be at the top of the world.

And now I do.

moving forward (or, making sure you've packed everything)

2010-03-28T14:45:00.009-04:00

The honeymoon is officially over. My first four or five weeks in Santiago felt more like a vacation than work, but now it's time to call this city home. Having survived my first week of classes (yay!), I am finally ready to begin 'living the life.' I move into my apartment with Kate tomorrow (double yay!), and the process has sent me into unfamiliar emotional space that I can 't quite describe. The tectonic plates are still shifting beneath our feet, and I feel another aftershock coming (in more ways than one).

I'm a little bit sad, very excited and overall extremely anxious. What's my life going to be like now? Will I be able to expand my social circle to include more Chileans? Will I be able to maintain the closeness that I've built with my new American friends as that circle becomes larger?

It's times like these that I can hear my grandma's voice, lulling as she rocks back an forth in her living room recliner, reminding me of the sweetness found in life's unexpected moments. "No matter where you're going, it's always going to be better than where you've been," she says. And it makes me want to keep moving forward.

So as I pack up my belongings to leave the place I've called home for more than a month now, I want to pack these memories, too.

1. Late afternoon (or late night or early morning) trips to Bravissimo for a colore--one massive scoop of any flavor of gelato you choose perched atop a waffle cone and then dumped into a cup.

2. Random moments here at the hostel where we're all lesson planning (which usually consists of staring at your laptop while Skyping, G-chatting, facebooking, etc.) and somebody turns up a good song on her computer. Bliss=Sharing good songs with good friends.

3. Wine nights on the patio. Plus Anna's angelic voice along with her guitar.

4. Walking down Antonio Varas, then turning towards the mountains once you reach Ave 11 de Sept. I'm convinced there's no other place in the world like it.

5. Buying cheap (but delicious) wine from any neighborhood botilleria.

6. Speaking in a fake British accent to annoy Laura H. ("You toast it!")

7. Weekend nights at Mito Urbano on Manuel Montt...because we own VIP!

I'm still pinching myself. I can't believe that this is my life. It's a disbelief that echoed from my inbox this morning as I read a message from our coordinating office, CIEE. It reminds me:

"Remember where you are and how hard you worked to get there...You have the opportunity to teach and live in Chile and that is pretty rare."

Rare, it is. Enjoy the photos.

another grown-up moment (or, how to let it go)

2010-03-17T15:17:00.006-04:00

My dream job has finally become available. I got a message today from an editor with whom I have worked with for 3 years now. She's looking for a full-time staff writer, and she works at one of THE best publishing companies around (at least in my opinion). I went through an agonizing two years post-graduation searching for a job that would measure up to this company; in the end, I found that it's impossible trying to recreate the magic of my first internship. Having a 'grown-up' moment, I decided to count my losses, pick up the pieces and search for something else that made me tick.

The plan has worked thus far; I wake up every morning to the sound of Santiago below my window, and cross myself because it seems unlucky to have this much fortune. However, the message I got today reminded me of the optimistic, wide-eyed writer I used to be, and it kind of made me miss that girl. Taking this job would be a way to bring her back, a way to revive her. Trouble is, the job is back in Atlanta, a city I left three weeks ago to come to Santiago.

I want it both ways. I want a fabulous (and stable) career in Atlanta, and I want the exciting uncertainty of every day in Santiago. I want peach pie and pastel de choclo. I want the timing of everything in my life to be better. I want to cry right now.

In spite of my emotional temper tantrum, I know that whichever decisions I have made have certainly been the best ones. For the past few years, I've felt a little numb about this whole business of growing up, and Santiago is thawing me. I actually feel things now that I had forgotten existed--like joy, curiosity, excitement, fear, anxiety. I have a life.

So maybe the message wasn't meant to send me headlong into frenzy about what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. Some other writer was meant to take that job. And no matter what opportunities present themselves in the exact same spot that I just came from, I need to remember that I left it for a reason. I left because I was feeling trapped. I left because I needed to be here and because there are other things lying in my future that need a little space to work themselves out.

Grown-up moments feel awesome. Thanks for letting me rant a little.

BIG news!

2010-03-14T12:43:00.002-04:00

Last Monday, a new teleserie premiered on Channel 13 here. It's called Feroz, and you should check it out. Not only because it's pretty awesome, but also because I'm renting from Patricia López, one of the stars of the show. Yup, I'm moving into a gorgeous house in Bellas Artes at the end of the month. Imagine my surprise when I went yesterday to sign the lease and she showed up!

double mojitos and the african diaspora (or, what it's like to be black in chile)

2010-03-11T22:53:00.001-05:00

Last Tuesday night, my colleagues and I went for dinner and drinks in Barrio Bellavista, an area of Santiago known for night-life, colorful graffiti and hand-made jewelry displays everywhere. We stopped at a place a few of us had gone to the previous weekend called Mojito Cubano. And I met the most gorgeous people I had ever seen in life.

Four afro-cubanos, all waiting for us it seemed, pushed together two tables to make enough space for our group. And then a lovely lady named Martha sat beside me. She was curious about what it's like to be a black person from the United States.

Chile is not so friendly to black cubans, she said. People treat her like a leper because of her deep brown skin and her hair, braided and tangled from trying to navigate this beautiful but sometimes unfriendly landscape. I could see Cuba in her eyes. Talking to Martha felt like home, even if it didn't happen to be my home. But there was also something else there. It was sadness. Martha carried sadness in those chocolate brown pupils.

I think that I've always tried to convince myself that everyone included in the African diaspora is the same. We came from the same continent, have the same skin, and we have the same desires to paint the world with ourselves, splashing the contents of our souls and our histories on every piece of art, music, poetry, stories, life that we touch. But we all shared very different fates.

I was standing on the corner of Providencia and Eliodoro Yáñez last Saturday evening when a woman and her daughter stopped to talk to me. They were smiling. Most people approach me with curiosity initially, and then awe when I tell them where I'm from. They want to keep me talking so they can try to figure out where I learned Spanish. They want to know why I chose to come here. And more times than not, they want to be my friend.

Martha and I are not the same, as it turns out. We can talk about the best way to straighten our hair, we can compare our experiences as black women and her husband can even show me how to salsa after having double mojitos in a dimly lit restaurant on Ave. Constitucion. But we will never be the same. That doesn't stop her, however, from giving me a great big hug and a beso on the cheek when it's time for us to go our separate ways.

the waking

2010-03-07T21:27:00.003-05:00

We had our first orientation meeting last week for the teaching program that we're working with this year. The founder, though slightly pretentious in thinking that we're all 'privileged,' has excellent taste in literature. He read this poem alound to us, and it kind of struck a chord with me.

The Waking by Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

pixie cuts and earthquakes

2010-03-07T20:46:00.002-05:00

There is a girl here who sleeps in the top bunk directly across from mine. She came on a Tuesday morning, all of her suitcases in tow with a wry smile, and her cheeks were flushed. Kate is the fair-skinned, petite girl with the pixie haircut who doesn't say much at first. This is her way of making you think that she's kind of quiet. But as we were sharing the bathroom mirror the next morning, prepping for a full day of classes and training, I made a comment about how stylish her hair was, and how wonderfully it framed her face.

It turns out, actually, that Kate hates her hair this short. She cut it just two weeks before coming to Santiago. She explained to me that in her family, it is tradition to shave your head when a loved one dies.

Kate sheared her locks to honor her father, who died of cancer. She told me all of this while looking back at herself in the bathroom mirror, and I realized that this girl, who seemed a little quiet, and a little mousy at first, was not timid at all. Her father had passed away, and here she was on another continent, getting ready to take the world by storm. She talks about her father from time to time, but never in a way that makes you feel like you have to apologize for her loss. She tells you how he used to play music in Italian to her when she was a little girl, and that's how she learned to sing in this thunderous opera voice that doesn't seem at all like it should be coming from her tiny body. Kate can sing a love song in a way that will make you weep. She can describe the earthquake in a way that makes you shiver. And she can tell you stories about apartment-hunting that will make you double over with laughter. And even though she doesn't like her hair, she still looks in the mirror each morning and smiles.

worlds collide

2010-02-27T14:40:00.011-05:00

An earthquake happens when the Earth's plates decide that it's time to move. One piece of Earth moves a little to the North, edging its way past the others, making a new space for itself on the surface of the world, releasing a mountain of energy. But the effects can be life-changing.

The past two weeks have kind of been that way for me. When I consider all the things that will happen in my life, boarding a flight to Chile to live for a year is a tiny shift that, if you're not careful, dares to go unnoticed at first. The first few days here were fun, but mostly uneventful. I did all the touristy stuff, tooks lots of photos, ate in some really great restaurants. But at 3:34 a.m. last night, my own plates began to move more rapidly, and walls that I had spent years building seemed to tumble to the ground.

The change has been a welcome one--for me, at least. In a few short days, I managed to fly over the equator (which will forever cast me in a light of awe for family members who don't even dare cross the GA-FL state line), learned how to find my way through this magnificent city, gained 14 new friends and confirmed my reputation as the party girl who loves to take care of every one--such a stark contrast from my Student of the Year rep back home. And let's not forget that I have seen an 8.8-magnitude earthquake and lived to tell the story.

Apparently, all I needed to do to learn a little bit about myself was come to a completely different continent. And what I have discovered is that I love to give hugs to homesick strangers, smile just to keep someone from crying and tell jokes on the patio until 3 a.m. Chardonnay is always a great choice, Pastel de Choclo is a little too sweet for my taste buds, but I can eat flan 3 times a day and never get tired of it. I can describe how to get to Metro Manuel Montt from our hostel 10 different times over the course of an hour and never grow impatient because I remember what it was like when the street signs made no sense to me at all. Sometimes I open the window by my bed because the noise from the street below lulls me to sleep. Allegedly I shower more than normal (according to my roommates) and my Spanish isn't as great as I thought it was (according to the little voice in my head). To chilenos, I fit into this landscape more like a peruana or a brasilena than a gringo. And the times I feel the most at home in this sprawling city is when I'm walking down Av. 11 de Septiembre all by myself.

In spite of all of my lessons about life recently, the actual "teaching" piece of this teach abroad experience will have to wait for one more week. My classes at Duoc will start on March 15 instead of the 8th due to minor structural damage to the school, and we're still getting aftershocks every day. I hope to have some good stories to tell you when I meet my students and actually begin working. But in the meantime, I think I've done a damn good job of staying on my feet on this piece of Earth that never seems to stand still.

3 weeks...

2010-01-28T11:26:00.001-05:00

every end is a new beginning (or, my marvelous Luz)

2010-01-20T22:40:00.005-05:00

I have spent a marvelous two weeks with Luz. She's the kind of woman you want to grow into, and I could tell from the minute she said hello. Luz is going to take over my desk when I'm gone.

I'm leaving my stable-yet-miserable desk job to go live in Santiago, Chile (pause for reaction).

It's funny how people's paths intersect at just the right time. I feel like in the two years that have passed since I graduated from college, I've just been circling the runway, with parts of me stirring and getting agitated at times like passengers on a plane eager to get to their destination. And now, I might finally have the chance to take off.

Luz is landing. She's a professional translator, interpreter and proposal writer who's ready for a stable desk job. But she's got a million stories to tell from living everywhere in the world.

I like Luz. She slips in a smile at the most unexpected moments, just when I'm about to lose my grip over some current campaign reports or meeting space reservations that haven't been finalized. I can always tell when she's nearby from the music that her jewelry makes; every day she wears three hand-made silver bangle bracelets that she bought from a tiny shop in Greece "years ago." She looks like a Puerto Rican sunrise, even when there's a tiny smudge of lipstick on her teeth. When she translates sales meeting materials, she will spend half an hour on one paragraph, rearranging the syntax, plugging in various ways to say "beautiful" until it all sounds like poetry. She has a habit of accidentally hitting the caps lock key when she's typing, and it makes her words come out like the horns of a good salsa canción. In between phone calls and emails, she tells me about waking up in the valley of San Salvador with the view of the city blanketed by a marshmallow-like cloud or shopping trips to Paris where she's picked up at least 200 pairs of shoes. And every Friday, she invites me over to her house for coquito or arroz con gandules.

Luz has spent her entire life working in male-dominated companies, so she doesn't fear anything, not even the drabness of working 9 hours a day in a small cubicle that doesn't give you room to dream. When she was my age, she tells me every day, she wanted to do the same thing. She wanted to live in every corner of the world, but her father told her no.

But she found a way to do it anyway. Luz is like that, you see. She brings light to every situation.

She has tired of traveling, she tells me when I protest to her taking this job. There's so much more waiting for her, and I worry that her engine will stall. I worry that she'll be stuck circling the runway if she stays here for too long.

All she wants is a little peace now, she says. More Friday nights with coquito and a chance to make a homecooked meal. No more airports or conference rooms or five-star hotels. She tells me all of this right before she tells me that it's time for me to take off.

street art from santiago

2010-01-20T17:03:00.002-05:00

thanks to this guy. no wonder i've fallen in love with the idea of Santiago. ;-)

in retrospect

2010-01-20T16:59:00.002-05:00

I posted this on the*chase six months ago. Seems appropriate for how i'm feeling today.

haiti

2010-01-19T22:26:00.003-05:00

I got this lietter from the William J. Clinton Foundation today after donating to their Haiti relief fund:

"Brittaney,

Yesterday I traveled to Haiti to deliver emergency supplies, see the conditions on the ground first-hand, and meet with government officials.

I wish you could have seen what I saw. Haitians were performing surgeries at night, without lights, with no anesthesia, using vodka to sterilize equipment. It's astonishing what they've been able to accomplish in such devastating conditions.

We delivered the first of the supplies made possible by your support -- generators, gas cans, solar flashlights, bottles of water, food, and medicines. You can be assured that your donations are being put to good use. We've already distributed more than $3 million to 12 organizations on the ground..."

The letter goes on, but I just wanted to share that piece because the second paragraph is so critical. Today I woke up feeling guilty. I felt guilty because I woke up in a comfortable bed, with a thick blanket to keep me warm during the night. I felt guilty because I woke up. And there are others who weren't as fortunate.

It's been a week since the earthquake, and I'm so ignited by the concern that every one has shown. I pray that we continue to feel as passionate and giving towards our brothers and sisters in Haiti a month from now. Or a year from now.

I know it sounds cliche, but this just reminds me to be so thankful for the life that I have!

happy birthday, Mrs. Obama

2010-01-17T18:06:00.002-05:00

Today, the entire nation (and the world) can celebrate 46 fabulous years of Michelle Obama. Although the first lady's birthday is today, it looks like she got the party started a bit early when the POTUS surprised her with an intimate dinner with their closest friends at Restaurant Nora in D.C.

It still floors me to look at her and think that she is the first lady of the United States. I am so overjoyed that young black girls (and girls of all races and background)can now look up to someone with such poise, class, beauty and intelligence. Happy birthday, Mrs. O!

And now, to celebrate--some photos that literally take your breath away...

the new blay report

2010-01-16T01:10:00.004-05:00

I feel like an overweight kid in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory right now;-) My fave fashion journalist and styling extraordinaire has re-launch her site. See?

i'm on new horizons

2010-01-15T22:04:00.002-05:00

Words cannot describe how hard I am feeling this song right now. And her black lace gloves are the bee's knees;-)

in 2010....

2010-01-01T19:59:00.005-05:00

Happy New Year!

In 2010, I resolve to work harder, complain less and take advantage of every moment. I brought in the New Year with the of most favorite peeps, drinking vodka cranberries (yum!).

I wanted to see what's popping in the cyber community and came across these pics of Rihanna performing last night in Abu Dhabi, UAE. Sunglow jacket and gold gilded heels...that's the inspiration for 2010!

2009-07-20T21:49:00.006-04:00

Hey folks, we've moved!

Well, really, "I've" moved.

Join me in The Chase.

the new face of the news (according to Chris Hedges)

2009-04-27T17:27:00.005-04:00

"Journalism is about transmitting information that doesn’t care what you think. Reporting challenges, countermands or destabilizes established beliefs. Reporting, which is time-consuming and often expensive, begins from the premise that there are things we need to know and understand, even if these things make us uncomfortable. If we lose this ethic we are left with pandering, packaging and partisanship. We are left awash in a sea of competing propaganda. Bloggers, unlike most established reporters, rarely admit errors. They cannot get fired. Facts, for many bloggers, are interchangeable with opinions. Take a look at The Drudge Report. This may be the new face of what we call news."

Those are remarks from journalist and author Chris Hedges in a speech celebrating Journalism Week at the University of Mississippi. I found his speech interesting for two reasons. 1) Whenever I am forced to think about this large paradigm shift taking place in media, it scares the $#!* out of me. Although I write for several Web sites, I'm one of the few gals left who still thrives off of seeing my name in print--as in, printed on paper, not on a computer screen. and, 2) I like a good challenge. How can I remain relevant as a journalist among the Drudge Reports and Huffington Posts? I'm game for figuring it all out. In the meantime, I'm guessing that he wouldn't really think of incorporating Twitter updates into a newscast as credible journalism either. There goes my daily Rick Sanchez fix. Eesh!

To read Hedges' complete speech online, go mrmagazine.com.

the death of a blog

2009-04-19T21:24:00.003-04:00

This has been going downhill for a while...Jossip's 'on pause.' Which is industry-speak for, "It's been a good ride, folks."

good news, bad news: the employment edition

2009-03-28T20:29:00.004-04:00

So, you're probably wondering what I've been up to lately. First of, a celebration is in order because...I GOT LAID OFF THIS WEEK! I know this sounds like unfortunate news, but that depends on how one sees this situation. Being unemployed is indeed painful, but I hated the job. Sales is not for me, survival job or not. So, my wine glass is definitely half full right now....figuratively and literally. Hey, it's the weekend;-)

In other news, I'm still searching for a niche for my writing. The fact that I spent the better part of my internships and freelance time taking every and any story that came my way has been both a benefit and a detriment. It allowed me to learn about a lot of topics, but I'm lacking an area of expertise. But! I'm currently on a mission to empower women, and I've got a couple of projects in the works. One of them is a series of women's health articles for EmpowHer. Please show you care by reading them here. BT-dubs, I love comments (*hint, hint*). As always, you can thank me later.

why, jossip, WHY?!?

2009-03-24T20:57:00.004-04:00

this makes me sad...

I hate to break my blog silence with a negative note, but what's going on with the new Jossip design? As if the conspicuous 'for sale' sign Hauslaib posted at the top of the roll a few weeks ago didn't cause readers to raise an eyebrow, the site had undergone this cooky redesign. The front end of the site now consists of the blog's trademark punchy headlines with no story until you click on on the links. Um, I'm sorry...did we completely forget the purpose and appeal of blogs? It was bad enough that they threw out the linear format back at the end of last year, but now I gotta click to another page just to get a tidbit about each and every story?!? Someone stop the madness!

free money!

2009-03-03T23:35:00.002-05:00

...Well, sort of. It's actually a grant for female journalists with fresh ideas for online media projects. Find out more at the Aspiring Media Mavens blog.

guess who jack cafferty's got a thing for?

2009-03-03T14:07:00.006-05:00

In keeping with this week's poetry theme, I found a disturbing yet well-written column today on cnn.com. Apparently, Jack Cafferty is really feeling our first lady (figuratively speaking, of course). So much that he wrote his own little ode to her, disguised as an editorial piece...

Mrs. Obama has blown away the stale air in a White House musty from eight years of the Bushes. It's like the sun came out and a fresh spring breeze began wafting through the open windows.

Well put, Mr. Cafferty. Now please don't ever do it again.

Ode to My Fellow Office Worker

2009-03-02T10:15:00.005-05:00

Sometimes life imitates art...and I feel like I'm trapped in that movie "Office Space." Except I'm working in sales instead of technology. But this morning, after a good weekend with my family, I returned to work greeted by the comforting background noise of the man who works in the office next to me. He talks on the phone--a LOT--and he's always excited about his work, apparently. Oddly enough, his crescendos of emotion and telephone exclamations don't annoy me. I only wish I knew what he is talking about over there. Nonetheless, I felt like writing a Monday morning haiku for him. This one's for you, guy in office 71.

Middle Eastern friend
With your telephonic songs
What are you selling?

what's in a name?

2009-02-16T22:12:00.001-05:00

Atlanta artists are the best.

I was looking for Atlanta small businesses online today when I found this phenomenal interior decorator and artist. Her name is Knikkolette Church, and her life story is just as colorful as her work. Part Korean, part United Statesman (the term 'American' is so vague), she has grown to incorporate her varied history into her work. Plus, I like the way she spells her name, (See her site for the story on how she got her name.) Her blog is one to be seen, not just read, so feast your eyes on her artwork at knikkolette.wordpress.com.

how to juggle multiple job prospects

2009-02-02T11:38:00.004-05:00

Pins and needle, pins and needles!

Last week, I planned a major assault on the job market, filling out at dozens of applications. I actually got three interviews, and I'm now stuck in the middle between a job that I really want but haven't been offered (yet, hopefully) and the job that I have already been offered but is less suited to my talents. What to do, what to do? I don't want to seem desperate for a job, but...recession...recent grad...months of unemployment...the math does itself. So I googled my dilemma to see what I could come up with. Grad Money Matters had some good advice:

Honesty is always the best policy. Tell the HR of the company that has made the offer that you are expecting to hear from another company and would like to know all your options before making a decision...Also, equally important, let the second company know that you have another offer on hand and press them to speed up their decision process...There is no harm in requesting them to hasten the process. (This could also be a good chance to evaluate how much/little bureaucracy the company has!)

It looks like I got it at least half right. I asked the interviewing manager for a couple of days to review the offer before I made a decision. Did I mention however, that he wanted me to come in TODAY?!?

Grad Money Matters also mentioned that you must take into account the job situation of the moment, which is crucial. With companies laying off staff left and right these days, was it foolish of me to request a couple of days to review the offer?

what's up with the economic stimulus?

2009-01-29T23:51:00.005-05:00

Find out for yourself.

This is old news, but important just the same. Wondering how the version of the stimulus package passed by the House yesterday could benefit you? Read it for yourself at the House Ways and Means Committee site.

As always, you can thank me later.

good news, bad news: the economy edition

2009-01-29T13:08:00.004-05:00

Let's play a game...

I just got an interview from a media spokesman for the House Ways and Means committee. Education tax credit and the 'Making Work Pay' credit in the stimulus measure passed by the House yesterday=hope for Generation Y. Now let's hope the Senate gets on board. Either way, you'll be able to read about it soon in Young Money thanks to yours truly.

In other news...
I'm excited for the fair pay act Pres. Obama just signed this morning, but I also just found out on CNN that I'm likely to make 44% less than my white male counterparts because I'm a black woman. What would I do if first there hadn't been Lilly Ledbetter?

facebook, cnn and President Obama

2009-01-19T18:18:00.003-05:00

Get excited!

From the comfort of my own couch. I'm there. Are you?
cnn.com/live
Or if you're more of a tweeter on twitter, current.com.

jst: be all that you can be...

2009-01-16T12:52:00.005-05:00

No, I'm not telling you to join the army...unless you want to.

This week's theme will be the Patriotic job search. With the coming changes in government and Senators Clinton, Burris and the gang making career changes, I figure there's boundless opportunities for young Americans to work for the government...and I was right. Go to the United States Office of Personnel Management site and search by location and pay grade. What's even greater, they have a section just for us labeled 'Entry-level Jobs.' If you want to put your talents and education to use for a greater cause, this job search may be for you. As always, good luck!

2008: the year in magazine sales

2009-01-12T15:18:00.005-05:00

...And not even Oprah's safe from the recession.

Just in case you forgot that people aren't buying magazines like they used to, the Audit Bureau of Circulations wants to give you a friendly reminder. I just read an item on WWD Media about preliminary magazine circulation numbers from the latter half of 2008 (excluding December). According the the ABC Rapid Report, a few publishers are weighing in with their numbers--and some big titles are posting double-digit drops in single-copy sales compared to 2007 buys.

O The Oprah Magazine: 26%
Teen Vogue: 23%
Glamour: 16 %
W: 14%
Marie Claire: 11%
Elle: 7%
Vogue: 5%
Lucky: 4%

But! The report was not all doom and gloom. Both Vanity Fair and InStyle showed a slight increase in circulation for the second half of 2008.

To be fair, this report is only a peek of what could be ahead. The ABC is still tallying numbers, and a full report should be available next month.

who's guarding our tomorrow?

2009-01-11T16:49:00.016-05:00

A crash course in federal debt

I just finished watching CNN's second airing of IOUSA, a disturbingly honest look at the U.S.'s debt crisis...wow.

The documentary, which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in 2008, explains how our financial habits-both individual and national-have encouraged us to dig ourselves into a 10-trillion-dollar hole thanks to our trade deficit (importing more than we're exporting), defense spending, and entitlement programs in need of massive reform. Basically, our country has a serious addiction to consumption, and we need to cut up the credit cards. David Walker, President & CEO of the Peter G. Peterson Foundation and Former US Comptroller General, commented after CNN's airing of the movie, "The truth is that America's future is being increasingly mortgaged."

After watching the film, I went to the the documentary iousathemovie.com, to read more about it and found a report published by the Peter G. Peterson Foundation, an organization established to raise awareness and push reform of the country's finances. It's called A Citizen's Guide to the Financial Condition of the United States Government. A few pages into the document, I found this quote:

"We cannot afford to wait for a crisis. By then, some options will be foreclosed, the cost of adjustment will be more severe, and the ensuing hardship on Americans much greater than if we act now." (Citizen's Guide, 3)

Keep in mind this report was published in July of 2008, just a couple of months before the federal takeover of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, the collapse of Lehman Brothers and its domino effect on Wall Street and the overall housing mortgage meltdown. Scary, isn't it?

A couple of months ago, I was having a conversation with my family after Thanksgiving dinner about saving and spending. One family member, a cousin who is three years older than me, looked me in the eye and told me she didn't believe in saving because she might not be around to spend it later. Her philosophy? Enjoy the money now; tomorrow will take care of itself.

Apparently, our government has been operating under the same credo. But watching IOUSA made me wonder: If the policy-makers of today refuse to be the guardians of our future well being--our proverbial "tomorrow"--where does that leave our generation?

Resources:
Peter G. Peterson Foundation
IOUSA: Byte-Sized (a half-hour version of the documentary)
A Citizen's Guide to the Financial Condition of the United States Government

new look and feel!

2009-01-10T18:13:00.003-05:00

You like?!?

The time has come to make over this little blog of mine. I just switched a couple of visual elements and broadened the scope of interests that I will be bringing to you, so...hope you like it!

making sure your freelance paycheck ends up in your pocket

2009-01-09T20:48:00.005-05:00

How not to get got by your editor

I was having a conversation with a fellow freelancer recently about having to track down my paychecks once I turned in my assignments, and she said to me, "When you're a freelance writer, you have to be a bill collector, too." How true that is. I've been battling with a magazine I used to write for (notice my use of past tense) about two checks that I should have received months ago. One came in the mail this past week. The other one is still MIA.

Maybe it is a proverbial sign of the times, but it's getting harder to make sure publishers aren't taking advantage of the hired help these days. I was actually glad when I found this post on The Golden Pencil because: a) it means that I'm not alone, and b) there are tips for how to handle this type of situation. Jenny Cromie gives a neatly numbered list of red flags to look for when you're awaiting your hard-earned paycheck such as a publisher's/editor's failure to respond to your messages, a litany of excuses as to why you can't be paid on time and/or just being blatantly disrespectful. Check out the whole list here to make sure you won't get got.

free stuff for the financially savvy yp

2009-01-09T13:02:00.006-05:00

Suze to the rescue

I actually caught this link from a friend's blog, but I feel obliged to pass it on. Financial guru Suze Orman is making her new book Suze Orman's 2009 Action Plan available for download on Oprah's site after appearing on the talk queen's show yesterday. Yup, all 227 pages for free.

In her Action Plan, Orman stresses the importance of being proactive. Indeed the government will have to do its part to bring our economy back from the edge, she says, but we will all have to take responsibility for our own financial destinies. And she does that in no uncertain terms:

There is to be no curling up in a fetal position on the couch in 2009 hoping that when you emerge the crisis will have passed. No assuming that there is a government bailout or Wall Street rally right around the corner that will fix everything for you without any effort on your part. You will have to get off the couch and take control of your financial life in 2009. (Orman, 5)

For more tough love from Suze, download her book for free until January 15.

new artwork for the politically conscious journalist

2009-01-08T11:14:00.004-05:00

The time (to order yours) is now!

Amid all the sobering talk of the economy and Obama's speech to sell his stimulus plan to the public, the folks over at the Obama Inaugural Committee released a limited edition inauguration poster today. The historic artwork plays off of several motiffs that sum up his campaign--a patriotic color palette, crowds of people to symbolize his grass-roots base and the succint yet powerful manifesto, "Be The Change." Yes, yes, Jan. 20 will be a day 'for the history books,' as they say. Get this poster at the Inaugural Store online.

the freelance journalist: just fine in '09!

2009-01-06T11:22:00.008-05:00

The new year's here...now what?

Now that every one has officially transitioned into '09 (post-New Year's hangovers and first-day on the job/back at school jitters altogether), I wanted to share an interesting article I found today.

In between waiting for a source to call me back for an interview and obsessively checking my inbox, I began to google around and found Andy Dickinson's 2009 predictions for media. This j-school prof at the University of Central Lancashire (UK) says the this will be the 'Year of the Journalist,' alluding to a bright future for independent media pros. Considering the fact of a lot of big-name media companies are limping back into the caverns to lick their figurative wounds, makes sense.

There's only one problem: what about those of us who don't want the perverse pleasure of staying awake at night staring at ceiling and wondering how we'll ever make ends meet? I don't want journalistic autonomy, dammit! I want a place of my own and a benefits package!

I digress. If Dickinson turns out to be right, and freelance pros get an even bigger chunk of the market, that means we'll all be able to find at least one paycheck this year. Reminds me of something a j-school prof told me once: as long as you know how to write, you'll never go hungry. Let's hope they're right.

...and a happy new year!

2008-12-23T10:51:00.006-05:00

(Or at least we hope so.)

Seems like everyone is more than ready to put 2008 behind us, including the folks at Folio . They've come up with their annual list offering insight into the coming year, 117 Magazine and Media Predictions for 2009. It's a compilation of opinions from media pros. Some are dim, others are bright. Keep ahead of the curve by looking into their crystal ball.

Is grad school the answer?

2008-12-19T10:15:00.009-05:00

To school or not to school?

Graduate school, that is. At first glance of the allegorical "real world" that adults have been warning us about for years, it may seem a lot easier to go back to school, accrue more student loans and hibernate until this 'economic crisis' is over. But is that really a good idea for aspiring journalists, or is it more like trying to crawl back into the womb after the doc cuts the umbilical cord? Jossip does the math by comparing the top 3 j-schools in the nation. And they even packaged it with a somber antidote to get you in the mood for questioning your $60K investment thus far in a j-school education.

Educate yourself on education. Click here.

Words of wisdom from ATL publishing pros

2008-12-17T23:45:00.009-05:00

Don't fill out that Denny's application just yet.

I just got back a little while ago from an Ed2010 mixer where I got to hear some good news from Paste EIC Josh Jackson and CitySearch Atlanta EIC Jonathan Baker. Paste just made the news for maximizing the efficiency of their email marketing platform, and CitySearch Atlanta is one of the longest-running sites dedicated to Atlanta culture and the local scene. They shared their views on the seemingly crumbling print media track and offered some suggestions on how to survive the times.

Journalism junkies, the print industry is not dead. I repeat, not dead. At least according to Jackson, who thinks that print numbers are destined to decline even further (nothing new). However, he believes that there will always be a place for ink in the industry. Baker backed him up by explaining that even though he spends most of his time working on the CitySearch Web site, he still reads the AJC every day-yeah, the print edition. According to him, print media is like vinyl records-it's bound to make a comeback for all the artsy kids who appreciate the look and feel of paper and ink.

Having said all of that, both stressed the importance of adapting to new media, aka the Web. Jackson also stressed that it's imperative to carve out a niche for yourself as a writer (err, something I have yet to do). If you just become an expertise in media-namely print media-"somebody else is going to come along and eat your lunch." I don't know about you, but I'm a hungry person, so this is something I need to do ASAP. Actually, it's something I should have done a long time ago.

You see? I know this is mostly stuff we've all heard before, but it doesn't hurt to hear it again. There are little glimmers of hope all around us. Kind of like Christmas lights. Happy holidays and happy writing!

the Friday funnies

2008-12-12T11:00:00.005-05:00

Well, it's funny as long as you're not still holding on to that one bare thread of hope that you might actually get a job in newspapers. Word on the street today is that they are officially 'litter.' Save a tree and check out this blog post from Passive Agressive Notes.

Just thought I'd share. Happy Friday!

For all the starving artists (and writers)

2008-12-10T01:56:00.003-05:00

If you thought being a journalist was hard, get some chuckles out of this Beau Sia clip (or at least know that you're not alone). Yup, it's 2 a.m. and I'm YouTube-ing old Def Poetry Jam clips. Cause what else would an unemployed, media-obsessed insomniac be doing right now?!? Happy watching.

The free gift that keeps on giving

2008-12-07T19:45:00.003-05:00

Because I like music and free stuff. And 808 Blake is a fellow greek and UGA Alum (read the CL blog to find out who he is).

Check out SMKA Productions: The 808 Experiment Vol. 1.

Download it here. Then read about it in Creative Loafing as you listen.

As always, you can thank me later.

Beware of Employee Luncheons

2008-12-04T15:58:00.004-05:00

There's trouble in the Big Peach.

The big news today is that Atlanta Peach just folded. Ocean Drive Media Group launched the mag two years ago to using the glossy template of its Miami counterpart to show the posher side of the ATL. According to the mag's media kit, it had reached a circulation of 50,000 although more current sources cite numbers of nearly 60,000. Talk of the town is that the employees were gathered at a corporate lunch where it was revealed that the magazine would be no longer. I've even heard that the staff watched their Blackberry contacts disappear from their devices before their very eyes. Ouch!

In other Atlanta-based media news, CNN has announced that it will cut its science and technology department--and along with it, Miles O'Brien, one of the networks better reporters. I still reminisce about the days when I could turn on my TV and indulge in his witty banter with Soledad on 'American Morning.'

To top it all off, it's a rainy day in North Ga. How very appropriate.

This Week On: Alternative Weekly Smackdown...

2008-12-01T22:15:00.004-05:00

Who says the publishing industry is dead?

Well, it kind of is. BUT! After my extended online absence (I've eschewed facebook, myspace, batanga, blogger and all other online communities for nearly two weeks now) a fellow media dork brought me back to the virtual world by sending me this Sunday Paper story today.

It turns out a former Creative Loafer is ready to air some dirty laundry and opted to use to CL Atlanta's biggest competitor--the Sunday Paper--to do it. The twist? Former Senior Editor John Sugg wrote the column to appear in the Loaf. Well, until an editor at the paper actually read it. Sugg left CL earlier this year and gives a colorfully written history of the alt weekly chain, mowing down line after line of its in management and publishing along the way.

In good taste? Hardly.
Entertaining? Absolutely!

For the other side of the coin, go and read CL's equally entertaining response. And we all thought newspapers were good for nothing. *chuckle*

Let's Talk Trade Mags

2008-11-16T11:41:00.004-05:00

A new week calls for a new job search theme, this time inspired by a recent job interview I had. With anything labeled 'consumer' doomed to fail in this anti-consumer economy, I've decided to broaden my publishing horizons. No more will consumer mags dominate my (our) ambitions! Brace yourself, journalism junkies, it's time to get down to business with the Trade Magazines job search.

I wasn't able to find a lot of info on trade mags on the Web, but I think it might be the one sweet spot we have left in the periodical world. Since these publications have audiences of industry insiders rather than consumers, they are less susceptible to the ebb and flow of the economy. Also, writing for a trade magazine is a great chance to show off your knowledge in a certain area of expertise. As a writer, you could try Publisher's Weekly or Writer's Digest, for example. As always, good luck with the search!

For Real, New York Times?!?

2008-11-14T15:39:00.011-05:00

Growing up in the South, I have always been intrigued by the politics--both spoken and unspoken--that engulf the region. Born a black female in a small town that you can't find on any map, it's safe to say that my perception of reality will never line up with that of the Good Ole' Boys Club nor the Grand Ole Party. But what I saw on nytimes.com today is just wrong.

For South, a Waning Hold on National Politics

Photo Cap: Bill Pennington at his shop in Vernon, Ala. John McCain won 76 percent of the county’s vote. note: This was the only artwork that accompanied the story online.

Excerpt (near the end of the article):Customers of Bill Pennington, a barber whose downtown shop is decorated with hunting and fishing trophies, were “scared because they heard he had a Muslim background,” Mr. Pennington said over the country music on the radio. “Over and over again I heard that.”

Ignorant comments aside, couldn't you have gone easy on the Southern stereotypes? While I didn't vote for McCain, I know plenty of people who did. I'm in no way applauding their presidential pick, but I can assure you that not all of them have a deer's head hanging on the wall. And they don't all blast Big & Rich from their CD players. Put simply, stereotypes such as the one you so readily painted here have no place in the news.

While the writer did take care to bury another point of view in the story, the photo and caption of Pennington slaps the reader in the face before he/she is ever able to get to a counter perspective. It would have been much better for NYT to depict other types of Southerners who voted for McCain in addition to Mr. Pennington. And I thought that was something we all learned in J-school.

New York Times, please do better.

What do you think? Read the full story here.

No Shelter for Shelter Mags

2008-11-07T12:34:00.005-05:00

After a two-day election high, alas the publishing industry has brought us all back down to the real world again. Word is, O at Home (O magazine's spin-off) is the latest casualty of this dark age of publications. This is disturbing for reasons:

1. Shelter magazines were supposed to be the teflon tough of the bunch, resisting staff cuts and folding altogether.
2. It's Oprah's magazine, for goodness sake! Oprah, as in the most powerful woman in the world (at least in my eyes).

I usually try not to dwell on the fact that the magazine world--my one true publishing passion--is crashing down on our heads, but this is foolishness has gone too far.

I shall mourn for the rest of the day...well, after I get my work done.

Too much for words, but we'll try anyway.

2008-11-05T01:06:00.005-05:00

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer."

To read the rest of President-elect Barack Obama's speech, click here.

Election Excitement

2008-11-04T01:13:00.005-05:00

Happy Election Day, Vote Rockers!

It's 1 a.m., and I'm wide awake. I'm not on a caffeine rush; it's just that election day to me has always felt like a festive holiday. It's not because I'm crazy about our democratic process but because election days always bring a tide of news frenzy and excitement that makes me feel like I'm actually a part of my community. And to inaugurate that tide, here's what I just watched on CNN.

The tiny town of Dixville Notch, NH was among the first communities to vote today. With approximately 75 residents, 21 of them gathered in a small room to cast their ballots simultaneously. The whole process took five minutes.

The results? The Mac-6, That One-15. Cheer or jeer, you gotta love the instant gratification.

Join me in my excitement and tune in to your favorite news network or blog for more election news.

More Free Stuff--Election Edition

2008-11-03T14:41:00.004-05:00

Free stuff. Coffee. Civic action.

Because I love all of these things, I really thought my head would explode when I saw this today on starbucks.com. (Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating just a little.)

The java giant seems like it's actually trying to grow a conscience these days via it's 'Shared Planet' campaign (case-in-point: a 2015 goal to purchase %100 responsibly traded coffee), which means I don't have to feel so bad when I order a tall cup of medium roast with room for cream. Go get yours free tomorrow after rocking the vote.

I know, I'm just filled with catchy marketing phrases today, aren't I? I'm lovin' it.

This Week's Job Search Theme: Get Going!

2008-11-02T16:11:00.007-05:00

Happy post-Halloween, journalism junkies!

Now that you've had ample time to recover from your sugar highs and (possible) hangovers, it's time for another job search theme. I've been feeling quite adventurous lately, so this week's theme will be Wanderlust. Let me explain...

We'll be searching for travel writing jobs! Ironically, I've written about every destination from Beijing to Chattanooga, Tenn. But most of my editors don't even have the budget to take me to lunch, much less send me to China. One of my favorite ways to ward off office cubicle blues is to get online and start exploring different places and cultures. And since you're going to be reading about them, why not write about them as well? Most publications are looking for good writers who can make the audience feel like they have been to these fabulous places, even if they haven't. Here are a couple of my favorite Web sites for travel info:

AOL City Guide
10Best

There are a thousand ways to bring culture into your readers' lives, so get going!

Indifference Loves Company

2008-10-30T12:27:00.005-04:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. The air in ATL is getting cooler by the day, which means it's time for my allergies to wreak havoc on my body. But enough of this sick talk. I'll try to pull myself out of this mood just long enough to blog today.

I just did one of the strangest interviews of my varied (albeit brief) journalism career. I'm writing a story about relocating to ATL and how to buy a home. (I swear, it seems like I've done this exact same story before for the same magazine, but most of my clips are buried in a box of magazines at home in South Ga.) These stories aren't what I would call fun, but, hey, it's a check. So after putting it off for three whole days, I decided to dig in and do some research. My first call was to the president of an ATL home builder to ask for advice. Here's how our conversation took off:

Me: How are you, Mr. So-and-so?
Mr. So-and-so: I'm lovely.
Me: Great, well let's get started.
Mr. So-and-so: Have you ever heard a home builder call anything lovely?
Me: *nervous chuckle, not knowing the appropriate response to this question*
Mr. So-and-so: I'm ready to give you some BS for your article. Do you have your questions written?

The convo ended on very much the same note, with him entreating me to call him back should I need any more BS to fill out my story...huh?

After I hung up the phone, I thought on Mr. So-and-so's direct approach and concluded that maybe today just wasn't a day for pretending. We talked for half an hour, and he wasn't rude...he wasn't much of anything. And I thought about I how feel the same way. Not in the mood to work. Not in the mood to look for work. I can bearly see or hear due to watery eyes and a stuffy head. So I think, maybe, like me, Mr. So-and-so woke up today and said to himself, "I'm just not in the mood." But it's funny to hear people actually say what they're thinking and feeling. The honesty was refreshing, but I have to admit, I just wasn't ready this time...

I'm going to go make some tea, curl up on the couch and watch "What Not to Wear." Yeah, it's one of those days.

One Night In Athens

2008-10-23T16:40:00.020-04:00

Remember that dream I had last week? Well, my friend Katy I went to the Matt Wertz concert at the 40 Watt last night, and it turns out that it wasn't too far from the truth. After coming out on stage, he asked if anyone had seen him walking around North Campus yesterday afternoon. Of course he didn't bring out his guitar and play a full set on the steps to the UGA library, but I thought it was really ironic that he had been crooning in front of the entrance to Reed Hall in my dreams just a few days ago.

During the show, Wertz carried on his usual witty dialogue with the audience, forgot the words to 'Summer Sun,' and tossed his empty Smart Water bottle into the audience for a ring of obsessed fans to scrap over. It was great. His opening act was Andy Davis, another genre-resistant singer/songwriter (is that a genre?) out of Nashville. I could kick myself for not replacing the batteries in my old-school Kodak C330. Fortunately, I got some okay photos with camera phone. I'm crafty like that.

Before the show, I indulged in another one of those UGA student traditions that I just didn't have enough time for while I was actually a student. Katy and I had dinner at the Grit, a vegetarian spot on Prince Ave.

The whole experience was, well, gritty. But in a good way. The servers always smile like they mean it, and the musical stylings are a hard-to-pinpoint mix of 60s R&B, pop/rock from today and a couple of other things thrown in. I had the stir-fry with tofu and carrot cake for dessert, which was quite possibly the best I've had--and I've had a LOT of carrot cake. The only downside to the Grit? It's wildly popular with the college kiddies, so sometimes it can get a little loud.

All in all, it was a good night, and a great way to return to Athens. If you're ever in the area, I'd highly recommend exploring downtown on an autumn afternoon. You never know what you might find.

Oh, and because I love you, I'm telling you to check out Matt Wertz and Andy Davis if you haven't already. You can thank me later.

Happy Blog Day!

2008-10-22T11:21:00.002-04:00

Word on the street is that it's blog day. You should go to the (Aspiring) Media Mavens blog for a special video treat ;-)

More Free Stuff for the Hungry Journalist

2008-10-21T22:42:00.008-04:00

...well, sort of. I was watching "Karlifornia" on MTV Tr3s this afternoon (LOVE that show!) and trying to think of more ways to brand myself. You know, make my name more recognizable. Well, it occurred to me that everyone (and I do mean everyone) has a Web site these days. Seeing as how I can't really afford a domain name (I can't even afford health insurance right now), I did a quick google search to see if there was a way I could build a site for free...and indeed there is.

My friends, I present to you: Weebly. It's an easy, FREE way to publish your own Web site. The interface is very navigable, and it only took me a couple of hours to do it. Now, as with everything, there is a downside. For all of its simplicity, the Weebly layouts are, well, very simple. So it's a basic site. But at least I have one now. Oh, and note: I had a lot of problems with my Safari browser, but after switching to Internet Explorer it functioned just fine.

Check out my new site, and let me know what you think. Remember to BRAND YOURSELF (and please leave a comment if you have any more ideas on how to do so). Until next time, my friends...

Out of Place

2008-10-15T23:14:00.009-04:00

Often, unemployed persons go to the online job boards to find, well, a job. But if you're unemployed and bored, the boards can also function as a source of entertainment. I always search for 'editorial' jobs, but the offerings are always varied. Maybe I've been at this for too long, but I sure got a chuckle out of these job board postings.

*Furniture Manufacturer Hiring Upholsterer* (South Florida)
"Will make, repair, or replace upholstery for furniture
Responsibilities:
Lay out, fabricates and assembles furniture upholstery according to specifications.
Stacks aligns and smooths materials on cutting table [...] Convictions will be reviewed on case-by-case basis;convictions will not necessarily bar a candidates employment."

Wow.

*Editor/Reporter* (south of Ft. Worth, Texas)
Company: The Star Group
Position: Economy is great here, need editor and writer

'Nuff said.

*Re: Content Editor* (Nashville, TN)

"Before you waste your time writing a cover letter for this phony job, I will warn you, when you send it, you will get a solicitation from a resume-posting site. These scumbags should be banned from Craigslist. Anyone who wants to join with me in a class action suit, please respond."

You see? Job boards can bring the bitter and unemployed together in more than one way!

Till next time, folks...

It's Time for Another Theme! ...Bringing You Job Search Joy

2008-10-14T13:15:00.006-04:00

It's been a while since I talked up my job search, so let's check back in, shall we?

Today's job search theme is the Book Publishing Extravaganza. While I've heard on the street that this industry is a little tougher to break into than magazines, I still think it's worth a shot. Especially if you're a literature buff on the side like me-kind of. Besides, if you have any experience in publishing and/or you're open to learning new things, you have a nice chance. At least, that's what bookjobs.com told me. Check this out:

"Publishing is an apprenticeship industry, meaning that much of what a publishing professional needs to know will be learned on the job. Often, industry knowledge learned in one department is useful throughout the publishing house—allowing the opportunity to move between departments."

You think? I've sent out quite a few copies of my resume already. Let's see if we get a bite. Good luck, fellow writers!

What May Come of Dreams

2008-10-14T12:49:00.011-04:00

Last night I had a dream that Matt Wertz was playing on Reed Quad (my old dorm) at the University of Georgia.

Waking up this morning, I actually remembered my dream--something I very rarely do. The first thing I thought was, "This has got to be a sign."

I just checked his Web site, and he is indeed going to be playing at the 40 Watt next week in Athens, Ga. I always regretted the fact that I didn't know about his music when he performed in ATH last year. Coincidence? Or divine intervention? Either way, I'm going to purchase my ticket online right now.

Will I see you there? mattwertz.com

A Taste of Home

2008-10-11T10:25:00.017-04:00

I'm back, friends. No, I didn't fall off the face of the earth...I've just been job searching. And it's looking grimer than ever. Earlier this week, NY Times announced they were cutting the metro section of the paper, and I just heard that CosmoGirl may be folding. Alas, more proof that print journalism is dead. But enough of that nonsense! On to happier things!

Yesterday, my Aunt J and I decided to pack up the car and drive four hours south to my hometown: Valdosta, Ga. Now, I'm usually not very excited about going home (I've had enough small-town experiences to last me for a lifetime), but last night my mother suggested that we have dinner at a new restaurant in downtown Valdosta. It's called Flavor of New Orleans, and let me tell you, I REALLY wasn't ready...

The food justifies the name--it really is the flavor of New Orleans. I had a spicy Shrimp and Crawfish Pasta tossed in a rich garlic and butter sauce. I also tried the Catfish Bites and the hot wings, and everything was awesome. Not to mention the margaritas...

After we devoured dinner, Rhythm & Groove--a local band--took the stage. I have to say I was impressed with their repertoire. They played smooth jazz, vocal standards and old-school R&B. We ended up leaving early because my mom still had to cook dinner (long story), but it was definitely a good time.

If you're ever in the big V, check it out. Until then, click here to read a recent story about Flavor in the Valdosta Daily Times, and enjoy these pics that I snapped last night.

It has a nice ambience!

Saturday Combo

2008-10-04T13:57:00.004-04:00

Today I'm writing a magazine article about 'holiday' entertainment in ATL. My soundtrack? GCH.

Gym Class Heroes Feat Busta Rhymes - Peace Sign/Index Down
by PeteRock

Is that sacriligious?

Sugar in Sarasota: Why I Read Creative Loafing

2008-10-03T16:57:00.009-04:00

I like cake. I like poetry. I like it even better when you can get a little of each from the same place. Meet my new pusher, Brian Ries, food critic for Creative Loafing Sarasota (FL). He turned a seemingly mundane piece about the pleasure of cupcakes into a riveting read. My hero.

"There is a sort of perfection to a single, beautifully decorated cupcake. One cupcake is never, ever too much of a good thing, but it is usually -- almost always -- enough. Because icing figures so prominently in its appeal, it is usually piled deeper and swirled higher than what you'll find on a piece of cake. And the sensation of release as the paper wrapping peels from the clutching grasp of the cupcake's flesh, revealing the moist, spongy cake beneath, is priceless."

Simply delicious.

Read the rest here.

For All You Fellow Media Dorks

2008-10-02T22:37:00.009-04:00

I've been busy again, working to bring you fellow journalism junkies something absolutely delicious. Go visit the Lives of (Aspiring) Media Mavens blog to witness what we've cooked up this time. It's a new series, Meet the Mavens, that brings you profiles of other Media Mavens and their very own words of wisdom and advice. Here's a sneak peak of Maven #1:

Meet: Sammy Davis, Hearst Digital Media
As far as Media Mavens go, this is the girl you want to be. She’s worked at Life & Style, Self and Glamour. She writes feature stories for Esquire, and she’s worked New York Fashion Week. She graduated from Temple University in May, and for the past few months she’s been learning the ropes at her current job—Assistant Editor of digital media at Hearst. And that’s not even half her resume.

Her name is Samantha Davis—Sammy, everyone calls her—award-winning editor and writer. Thursday evening, I dialed her up for a chat about work, life and…work. She graciously dished about what it takes to be successful in media...

For more, go to http://www.aspiringmediamaven.blogspot.com/.

The Art, err, Sport, of the Job Search

2008-10-02T11:31:00.004-04:00

+ YOU =?

After a rather depressing evening of scouring the job boards once again last night, I woke up in a sour mood this morning. However, the publishing industry has never been for the weak at heart or the easily-broken-spirited, so I decided to put a little twist on my unemployment woes. Instead of just looking for a job--any old job--today is the beginning of the Themed Work Search! Get excited, it's like a magazine, only better. You see, with so many categories and sub-categories in the publishing industry, I could really go in any direction I choose. Today is a day to celebrate the wealth of career options.

I know what you're asking: 'Why, BeeCee, which theme have you chosen for today's job search?' Today is the Blogger Blast. Check out the job boards; have you realized how many people are looking for online writers?!? Join me in my quest for a job, and more importantly, in the spirit of being 'Available to Industry.' Which jobs have you applied for today?

Brush up on your job blog applications with advice from ProBlogger. Then, strut your stuff over at bloggerjobs.biz.

The Inbox Surprises of a Freelance Journalist

2008-10-01T13:10:00.005-04:00

Occasionally, checking my email inbox is like waking up on Christmas morning. This is what I found today...

My newest assignment? Profile Florida Chiropractor and photographer Brad Levine. One of the most interesting mags that I write for is--ironically--Today's Chiropractic Lifestyle. It's ironic because I'm not a chiro student, nor have I ever actually been adjusted by a chiropractor. But as a species, they truly are the most passionate people. And not just about chiropractic. During the past year, I have interviewed a humanitarian who has adjusted people on the Great Wall of China and adopted a little girl to save her from the country's faulty (and that's putting it lightly) medical system, a man who creates stained glass art, jewelry, paintings and everything in between, and a D.C. who actually biked to/from work each day in order to log enough miles to cover the world. Yeah, chiropractors are pretty cool...

Free Stuff Alert

2008-09-30T15:30:00.006-04:00

They're here! They're here! If you've been a good blogger friend, you know that I recently posted on the Aspiring Media Mavens blog about free business cards from VistaPrint. Seeing as how they're an absolute must-have for any writer/editor on a quest for work, I ordered a set, and they've finally arrived. Lookie!

The site lets you chose from 42 designs. Your options are pretty limited when it comes to placement of the text, but it's still not bad for the $FREE.99. All you have to do is pay shipping & handling, which comes out to a little more than $5. Get your own at vistaprint.com.