A Second Later

2010-06-01T18:59:00.000-07:00

There's a spider in our apartment that we can't quite seem to get rid of. It usually hangs out behind the wardrobe, but sometimes I can sense that it's on the prowl. 80% of the time my spider sense turns out to be right, and I'll see the little bugger splayed out innocently on the wall either to the left or right. Seeing as how neither Aaron or myself can catch it before it goes back behind the wardrobe, we've decided to name it so that it seems more like a pet and less like a very small monster that will lay its eggs in my ear while I'm sleeping.

Our spider shall henceforth be known as Bobby Briggs.
I don't know what kind of spider Bobby Briggs is. One day, Aaron and I walked a few yards into a bamboo forest. Aaron knocked on a hefty bamboo, and a spider about the size of a Big Man's palm answered. Aaron reckons that Bobby Briggs is that kind of spider, but Bobby Briggs is much smaller because there isn't enough to eat behind the wardrobe.

Completely unrelated: I taught a class of third graders yesterday that was interrupted by a man who looked like a Japanese member of Insane Clown Posse jumping out and yelling at them.

I was shown a few magazine articles on this man. Apparently he goes to schools and frightens children. The pictures in the articles featured crying, anguished little girls and boys. I suppose he then decides if the kids are good or not, and if they're good, he makes balloon animals for them.

Seeing this man in action, I finally realized that Japan is as absurd as they made it seem back home.

2010-05-30T18:04:00.000-07:00

I know I've gotten awful at updating; I suppose I just haven't felt like it lately. I think my blogging lethargy began at almost exactly the same time as my new job. Some of you may be surprised to discover that I'm accepting yen in exchange for teaching children. Merely imagining the range of emotions each individual child may go through in a single hour, face contorting as they shriek with laughter or shout in frustration... well, it exhausts me. And these are Japanese kids. On the whole, well-behaved.

Aaron and I witnessed a local band performing at a coffee shop the other day. I think those of you back in America will be pleased to note that the tradition of bands having older male musicians and a young female singer is a global phenomenon. This typical band setup never fails to annoy me. The old boys in back are all always technically skilled, and the cute young lady sitting in front of them has (70% of the time) obviously never invested any time in training her voice. There is never any doubt that she is only there to be adorable. This was no exception. Between songs the girl singer would do "kawaii" things. Perhaps she was apologizing for being so mediocre.
Ladies. It's okay if you want to be in a band, but don't want to learn an instrument. But please at least treat your voice like an instrument, especially if you are singing in a musically proficient band.
The cute girl left for a few of the songs, and one of the men who sat in the dark behind her came up front to sing. He was at least 50x better than her, which made me even angrier at all of them for putting a girl in their band just to look pretty. She probably stands in front wearing white in photos while all of the men stand behind her wearing black. Ugh.

If it sounds as if I am bitter, I think my mood has been adversely affected by all the reports I've been reading about the BP oil spill. Perhaps my desire to never own a vehicle will seem more sane to other people now. On the other hand, I'm a hypocrite because I don't intend to stay in one place (town, state, country, continent) for too long while I'm still young. Maybe I should reassess my goals and values.

On a completely different note, my birthday is in about a week. I turned 21 in Berlin, 22 in Greensboro, and I'll be turning 23 in Japan. I suppose I'd say that that fact alone means it's a strange time to be alive.

2010-05-05T18:04:00.000-07:00

I like talking to ex-pats who've been in Japan so long that they're turning Japanese (I really think so). The best part about them is that they seem to have forgotten that other people understand English. They've grown used to speaking English slowly and with the very strange pronunciation reserved for morphing English sounds into vaguely Japanese syllables.

I met a man from the States who I thought was German for the majority of our first meeting. I thought that, while his English was quite good, it still wasn't coming to him completely naturally. I'm worried that when I come home I will begin talking to you all as if you were deeply stupid. I will insert long pauses, round my vowels, flash my teeth on consonants, and gesture to visually help you understand the meanings of my over-simplified sentences.

I'm so sorry.

Udon slurps

2010-04-13T22:45:00.001-07:00

A proud day: I rode the train to Takamatsu, found the immigration building, and ordered udon all on my lonesome.

I wish I could record the majestic sounds of the Japanese udon shops and play them for you all instead of having you read this blog. The slurping song of salary men! Their triumphant noodle sucking symphony finds its crescendo in satisfied sighs and grunts. Let no man, woman, or child assume that these suited gentlemen do not enjoy their fat noodle-broth concoctions.

I, silly foreigner that I am, still try to eat my noodles soundlessly. Maybe they think I don't like it. Don't worry, my Japanese friends; it is pretty tasty.

2010-04-08T22:25:00.000-07:00

I did the most Japanese thing ever today. I stood next to a vending machine while I drank my vended drink.

In Japan, vending machines vend everything. Soda, coffee, tea, alcohol, pictures of naked ladies, batteries, even some sort of corn stew. So, you'd think ("you" most likely being a milk-scented American) that you'd see people strolling along the sidewalks sipping Coke products and bottled corn (which are roughly the same thing).

That is where you'd be wrong. It's not "polite" to eat or drink while walking. So you either take your treat home with you or stand awkwardly next to the machine while you enjoy it. It's created some strange traffic hazards; one day I had to walk in the road because a flock of girls dressed in sailor uniforms were trying to enjoy their vended ice cream without leaving the safety of the area directly in front of the machine. ARIGATO GOZAIMASU, little school girl sailors.

But as for me? I'm a fat and sassy American! I have no concern for others! My own pleasure is first and foremost and if you hate having to watch me walk and drink tea at the same time, to hell with you! At least, that's how I thought in the Before Time. Now I understand that simultaneously moving my mouth and my feet is a crime beyond measure.

Stuffed People

2010-04-03T01:31:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if this phenomenon is unique to Ikeda, or if Japanese people the country over just love to trick me with fake versions of themselves, but these gentlemen and ladies of the cloth always creep into my view and startle me as I wander around.

Osaka

2010-03-23T02:35:00.000-07:00

I went to Osaka. This is what I saw.

(SHONEN KNIFE!)

This was my nearly constant expression during my four days there:

This is Masa, the best Nihonjin I've yet met:

I was bumbling around Osaka on my lonesome, trying to find the club Shonen Knife was playing at that night so that I could procure last minute tickets. I suppose I looked pretty lost & bewildered, because this hero came up to me and asked if I was looking for the venue. Then he walked me there, helped me figure out how to get tickets, and gave me his number so that I could call him if I got lost again. After the show, he introduced us to Shonen Knife and took photos for us. He is surely the best man in Japan. That is why I have made a sketch of him for you, my beloved blog readers.

Nomikai

2010-03-12T20:34:00.000-08:00

Last night the teachers from one of Aaron's high schools held a welcome party for me. My mom will be delighted to hear that this particular party revolved around food, seeing as she is often concerned when I explain to her that parties I typically attend don't even have snacks set out.

I learned some vocabulary, some Japanese traditions, and that apparently mukade don't like when you sprinkle tea leaves on them. Or possibly hot tea. The teacher who told me wasn't really sure which one bothered bugs more.

The soccer coach took a particular liking to us and wants to take us out to eat pig intestines with him later. Somehow he reckons we're both very funny, although he could not possibly have understood anything I said. He also gave us these gloves as a token of his affection:

The teachers delighted in pointing skyward and exclaiming "tomodachi!" while wearing these gloves. But what they liked best of all was making us do that and guffawing (males) or giggling daintily (females).
They are apparently merchandise from a film that I saw ten minutes of on the plane over. It reminded me of Power Rangers. I've discovered that lots of Japanese things remind me of Power Rangers.

Anyway, the real story is: what is up with these suicide greeting cards we found in Aaron's desk?

In other news, Aaron has a new blog. But I don't think anyone could expect it to match my own in terms of blogging excellence.

Food

2010-03-07T23:18:00.000-08:00

This is the cutest treat I ever did eat. Now I can answer the question both Americans and Japanese kids like to ask me when they find out what I was doing out in the desert:

The grammar is roughly the same, whether they're a native English speaker or not.

On my way home from the grocery, I passed a group of Aaron's students. They nudged each other and motioned at me. They seemed unsure of what to do, and I had walked quite a distance away from them when I heard the garbling of my name that I've gotten so used to:
"Garoreeya!"
I looked back, and one of Aaron's best English students was chasing after me, his friends looking on in wonder.
We had a quick conversation in a combination of broken English and broken Japanese in which we discussed the coldness of the day. I think his friends were impressed.
Prior to coming to Japan, I'd heard the Japanese males are intimidated by the Women of the West. So far I haven't noticed that aside from when old men look away ashamed when I stare back at them after I see them giving me disapproving looks. At least as far as high school age boys go, they seem to go out of their way to yell my adorably mangled name at me, even when I've never met them before.

In other food news, we've made friends with a Japanese family. The father runs a cafe and bakery that I've visited a couple of times, and one of the daughters is a student of Aaron's. The mother is adorable, and I'm sure the things she's saying are wonderful even though I can't understand them.
Anyway, they had us over for okonomiyaki (Japanese vegetable pancakes) and takoyaki (dumpling with a little octopus in the middle) last night, both of which were prepared in front of us on their coffee table.
After dinner, they gave me their phone number so that I can call them if I get lost during my wanderings. I felt like I'd gained a level when I put a non-Aaron number in my Japanese cell phone.

2010-03-05T23:48:00.000-08:00

I had a lot to say. Then I discovered that the Japanese apparently attach tinfoil antennas to their tiny watermelons.

I will mention that I acted as a living English lesson for four of Aaron's classes on Thursday. The students had the opportunity to ask me questions. These kids would make excellent journalists.

"What do you dream?"
"What do you hate about Aaron?"
"What is your weak point?"
"Do you like eat turtle?"
"What do you think of a man who has an affair?" That one threw me a bit, and made me wonder if the young lady who was asking that was interested in her round-eyed gaijin sensei.

Aaron was just reading this blog on his laptop and mentioned that he wished he could keep up his own blog. I said, "You could if you just wanted to." Those are my words of wisdom for today. Use them wisely.

Japan-land

2010-03-01T00:56:00.000-08:00

I've been in Japan for a couple of days now, and so far my general impression can be boiled down to charmed bewilderment.

I began my travels in glorious Nippon with extended stops in the Tokyo and Osaka airports where I enjoyed the blank smiles of the men ushering me through customs and the spectacle of a million young Japanese women wearing high heels, jean mini skirts, black tights, fur-lined coats, and surgical masks. 87% also had red hair. My favorite part about these bespectacled sirens (81% wear thick-rimmed glasses) is that, even when traveling in packs, they choose to ignore the presence of their similarly stylish mates in favor of staring intently at their cell phones (covered in cute charms, usually monsters or bears).
I must admit, this first impression of Japan put me off considerably. I've never had any particular interest in Japan despite being a gigantic nerd. I know that denying Nippon's absolute supremacy is nerd heresy, and I am sincerely sorry.

I met Aaron in Osaka, and he explained that the people in Ikeda (my ultimate destination, and the location from which I am currently typing) are generally much older and far less aesthetically appealing. While he made it seem as if that were a drawback, I was relieved to hear it.

I'm living in a valley, in a small town where the children have to gather around the entrance of the local supermarket in order to have fun on the weekends. So far I am still so amazed by the town that the possibility of it being a boring location to spend the next however many months has yet to take root in my inferior gaijin mind.

Aaron introduced me to various students that we ran into at the grocery. The first two groups responded with delighted cries of "ruv-ruv!" The third group squealed "kawaii, kawaii, kawaii!" and had a tremendous giggle at my attempt at introducing myself in Japanese. I think that the high schoolers are generally amused and intrigued by my presence in their town. The old men, however, do not seem to approve and stare at me with droopy old man frowns. I take great pleasure in staring them in the eye until they look at the ground. Old women are curious of me, but I take the smile and nod approach with them, and I've found that they tend to smile back and bow unlike their sullen menfolk.

Today Aaron left me to my own devices while he was at work. I decided to show myself a good time by going to the grocery and staring at fish guts and the like. That went quite well, I think. However, walking home turned out to be a bit of a problem. It seems that I'd forgotten what my apartment building looked like and where exactly it was in relation to the grocery. I spent three hours walking in circles around the town and discovering how run down the area actually is. Luckily, I found the rust charming rather than intimidating like I might in a similarly disheveled American town. I was actually rather pleased to get a bit lost because it made me realize that I'm already fairly comfortable in Japan. The thought that I might never make my way back home didn't frighten me; I was just sort of annoyed by the ordeal.

I walked past this roughly thirty times on my way home.

Anyway, I found a mailman putting about on his motorcycle and chased him down, shouting "excuse me" in Japanese at him until he stopped. Even though I don't really speak Japanese and he didn't really speak English, he somehow managed to understand what assistance I needed (I'm going to assume that he understood that I probably wanted to go to the building where three Americans live), and proceeded to run ahead of me. He didn't tell me to follow him, but I did anyway. It must have looked absurd; there I was, this gaijin chasing this Japanese mailman through the rain, neither of us saying a word to the other.

And then I was home. And I am still home. A home where I sit on the floor a lot more than I ever did in America. I am sitting on the floor right now. Chairs are for foreign dogs.

2009-11-16T10:13:00.000-08:00

I'm back in NC. I suppose it's time to begin preparing for my next journey with intensive Japanese training! Watashi wa Gloria desu? IT'S COMING ALONG NICELY.

Nevada, we had something good:

2009-10-28T17:12:00.000-07:00

Tarantulas are surprisingly adorable. Although the desert has managed to cure me of my desire to end of all of spider-kind, I never thought I'd consider those little monsters cute. But I almost let one crawl on me. Almost. Then I considered how itch-inducing it looked, and thought it best to leave it alone with the fawning gents I found it with.

Also, I have learned to change a tire, as well as what is under a car and what is under its hood. I do not know that I would do well on an exam featuring questions on the mechanics of a car, but I do not think I would get a 0. And that is something new and exciting.

Cougars.

2009-10-20T23:03:00.000-07:00

I just endured a surreal and terrifying night.

I was dropped off to track three tortoises near the Ft. Irwin military base in California. I tracked said tortoises and proceeded to sit at the rendezvous point. I radioed the gent who was meant to pick me up. Nothing. I waited. For a long time. I began to plan how I would survive in the desert until the rescue team or the army found me. I began to wonder how cold I was going to be, and whether it'd be better to try and stand up all night or to sleep in the sand. The sun set. My normal glasses were in the car that wasn't picking me up. I was wearing sunglasses. Things were creepy.

I received a message telling me the car was stuck, but not to worry. Someone else would be there in 20 minutes to pick me up. In the dim light of my dying flashlight I saw two eyes reflected back at me. Or, at least I think I did. I almost started crying. I had seen mountain lion tracks in the hills I'd just been stomping through. Oh no. I was going to get eaten by a mountain lion. I took out my tracking antenna and held it in the air, ready to kill any and all large predators. I waited.

20 minutes had long passed. I saw a procession of strange lights from the base. I couldn't tell if they were car lights and very far, or headlamps and very close. Throughout the parade a few different lights looked my way and appeared to get closer. I almost yelled for them, but decided against it. How could I be sure they were military and not a religious cult? I stood relatively still watching them pass for around 45 minutes. It was very chilly. I was very hungry.

Finally I got a message from my rescuer telling me he had no idea where I was. More waiting. Lots of waiting. More lights. Then he arrived, and I aimed my flashlight right in his face and he laughed. Oh, how he laughed. He looked like a demon and, in my paranoid state of mind, I almost closed the passenger door and left. He continued to laugh at me as we drove on, and I was reminded of how much he had looked like a monster when I got in the car. I was uneasy. Then I was sleepy. Then we had a difficult drive. Then we got the other car unstuck. Then we drove to Barstow. Then I stole someone's Ramen for dinner. Now I am here.

2009-10-11T15:54:00.001-07:00

I will never participate in another Bleed Week again. The tortoises will not be wrangled on a monthly basis in order to drain them of their life juices until spring warms their little herp hearts again. How will they survive the monotony of tortoise life without the monthly reminder that they live and die by our whims, that they can never be truly free? Ah, poor torts, what lonely months you must endure.

2AM horrors

2009-10-02T13:55:00.000-07:00

Last night I snuggled down for a good night's rest at around midnight. Part of my brain was preoccupied with worry for the four of my five fellow interns that had yet to return from the field, but I supposed there wasn't anything that I could do to help them anyway if they were in peril. So I slept. Until roughly 2AM.

Two hours after I'd closed my eyes, I was shaken from my dreams by loud thumping and a bit of yelling. In my half-dreaming state, I was under the impression that there was an earthquake ("Do those even happen here?" I sleepily wondered to myself), and when someone yelled what I thought was the word "four" I assumed that it was a magnitude four earthquake that was responsible for my housemates' lateness.

I walked out of the bedroom, only to have my eyes assaulted by the vision of people rapidly undressing, one area of the house being given the moniker "the naked zone" or something of that nature. Nobody was fully naked, but I remember having a very confusing conversation with one housemate who was only in his underwear, with his face and limbs powdered with dirt and sand. And that's when I realized: everybody was undressing because they were covered head to toe in sand.

Apparently two vehicles had gotten stuck out in the field yesterday. Not stuck like I've been stuck, where you can dig yourself out within half an hour. Stuck as in bottomed out and digging for hours to no avail. And my housemates were understandably dirty because they'd been on their bellies in the sand trying to dig their cars out in what eventually became 30-something degree weather (it is finally getting chilly out in the desert). While I'm sure it was no fun at the time, I felt like I'd really missed out on an excellent intern experience. Perhaps one day I too shall be so lucky.

Changing of the guard

2009-09-27T12:14:00.000-07:00

The other night we said goodbye to poor Jackie and Julia, our fallen SCA comrades. They've moved on to the next life, a life where they'll make more than roughly $1/hr if they are lucky enough to find a job.

For their wake, we went to a bar and were treated to a musical feast featuring this band (I honestly can't remember what they sounded like, but I do remember getting the feeling that the guy on the right was a douche while the singer with the big hair was some sort of king):

We have two new interns, and a third coming on Tuesday. Who knows if they will mourn our passing when our time comes seven weeks from now?

Bryce Canyon

2009-09-22T19:31:00.000-07:00

I spent the past weekend camping once again. This time our destination was Bryce Canyon National Park. It looked roughly like this:

Well, it looked like that when the sky wasn't hurling rain and ice at us. The two nights we spent there may have been among the coldest of my life. I had to wear five layers (the last being a coat) just to properly fall asleep.

Aside from the weather troubles, the trip was a delightful break from the desert but not nearly as eventful as the Sequoia trip. Bryce is nice (perfect slogan!), but Sequoia and Kings Canyon ripped my heart out and ate it [with a nice Chianti] in order to prevent me from every loving another locale with such ferocity ever again. I am seriously considering applying for a park ranger or SCA position there sometime in the future. Bryce, well, I'm glad to have seen it. It was lovely. But I think giant trees impress me more than fantastic rock formations.

Here are the fine ladies who accompanied me on the trip (picture taken by our lone male companion):

As per usual, these photos are courtesy of Jackie.

ALSO. I am pondering banjo possibilities. I want you all to understand that the banjo does not represent an ironic hipster-fashionable instrument to me. I sincerely like it.

SpiderTort

2009-09-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

I finally found a tortoise that could defeat Mountain Tortoise in terms of how much tracking to it frightens me. Make that a duo.

I call them SpiderTorts.

How did they manage to get up the side of that mountain/cliff? What is wrong with them? Why can't they stay in a wash like their friends? Why not in some nice open scrub? WHY? I literally had to crawl back to the road on my hands and knees from SpiderTort #1 so that I didn't die. And I still slid down the hill a little. And what's so wrong with sliding down the hill? Oh, I'll tell you. What's so wrong is that the hill ends in a cliff. I scooted my way down as close as I could to where the tortoise sound originated and decided to see if a gently pushed rock would stop before it fell into the giant gaping maw of the abyss below me. No. It just fell right down. And there I was, perched precariously on loose rock and sand. I don't think this job is particularly safe. And I still don't have health insurance. Oh god. At least the SpiderTorts are done for the week.

Here are my two favorite tortoise nicknames that I've learned so far:

1) You Bastard
2) Osama Bin Tort

Both known for being tricky mountain tortoises. It seems that only difficult to reach tortoises get nicknames. Unfortunately, Osama Bin Tort has perished. But I did get the pleasure (?) of tracking You Bastard a couple of weeks ago.

In completely different news, I went to see a second Cirque Du Soleil show last night: Mystere. Very good, but I think I preferred Love.

Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Park

2009-09-10T14:12:00.000-07:00

Friends, I have recently taken part in the Best Camping Trip Ever That Didn't Include My Colleague Aaron Dell (I fixed it, see?). This past labor day, three of my fellow interns and myself traveled to Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Park for a long weekend away from the desert. Driving into the park at nearly midnight made me feel like I was in a David Lynch film. It was surreal at night, beautiful in the day. Here are some pictures (once again stolen from Jackie) to illustrate the aforementioned daytime beauty:

Here is a picture with people shuffling around at the bottom, just to give an idea of how frighteningly tremendous these trees are. And those were not even among the largest. It was an incredible shock after being basically without trees for awhile.

Our first hike took us to a small stream with a pool that Alex jumped in straight away. I figured it must be okay, and proceeded to put my feet in. My feet eventually turned white from the cold, which is what you get when you are messing with water that mostly comes from snow melt. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch by the stream, and I played the "how long can I keep my feet in the water?" game. I realized that I had won when my feet went from numb to slightly warm.

After our hike we went down to the visitor's center. There we met a ranger that Julia remembered from her brief stint as an intern in the park. His name was Frank and he looked like Santa. But he was a Santa who put the skins of roadkill animals on the heads of bright-eyed young children. He told us that he does a guided tour as John Muir and invited us to camp in his backyard so that we didn't have to pay the campground fee. I fell Frank's charms and requested, no, required my fellow campers to follow me into Frank's open arms and live outside of his house for the next two nights. So we sold our campsite to a German couple and moved into Frank's backyard. AMAZING.

Then we went out into a field full of cows and had snacks on a giant Sequoia stump. It was a few feet above my head at the lowest spot, and I needed two people to assist me in getting up. I'm sure it is not a secret that I have no upper body strength. I also feel like I almost dislocated both of my shoulders trying to get down.

Next up, Bird Lady. We sat outside with other park visitors (some of which had dogs, some of which had babies that liked to scream and toddlers that liked to grab) and watched her give a talk on various local birds that included showing off three rescue birds that she works with.

That night we built a fire and sang folk songs around it just like in the movies.

The next morning, we joined Frank on one of his guided walks in which he played the part of John Muir. His Scottish accent left a lot to be desired, but he was so charismatic that it hardly mattered.

Then: the hike that solidified my desire to work in a national park (preferably this one) for at least a year. I want to live in Sequoia forever. I want a cabin in the woods. I know it will be covered in snow, but I don't care. That forest is my new home.

That night, Frank was having an outdoor dinner party with Igor and his wife, as well as a few other kindly older individuals. They served us wine. They let us sample their meal. They let us use their kitchen. They joined us at our campfire and told us stories. The sort of stories you always hope older people will tell you about the exploits of their youth. And they listened to us sing, and they joined in, and Igor taught us Russian songs from his childhood, and some of them ate marshmallows with us, and they asked us to tell our stories even though we didn't feel like ours compared.
I think that I will love these old people forever.

The next morning we had to go to Barstow. I'm still upset about that. But I suppose it was nice to have a shower again.

This is what I do.

2009-09-10T13:51:00.000-07:00

At Ft. Irwin. We ran out of gloves. Bryant made me wear garbage bags on my hands while he sat back in his luxurious Real Gloves. Then he laughed at me and took my picture while I awkwardly grabbed a tortoise without the full use of my fingers.

If I ever get a working camera, I may just start a blog feature called "What's In My Shoes?" because it's a question I have to ask myself almost every single day.

Morning at Barstow House

2009-09-09T16:40:00.000-07:00

Twelve people shuffle through the downstairs maze in various states of weariness. A 4 AM alarm to wake and ready for tortoise wrangling just after dawn. Not for the faint of heart. Eat, get gear, get boots, wait for the bathroom (roughly four people to a toilet), make lunch (hope you won't be out long enough to need to eat all of it), get water (hope you won't need to drink it all), oh crap, we don't have enough gloves (we'll be crafty with garbage bags out in the field).

Barstow Mornings have me droppin' the "g" on my gerunds. I'm too lazy to raise my voice from it's lowest comfortable octave, somehow sounding more southern than I ever did back in North Carolina. Nobody notices as far as I can tell. We're not quite awake yet.

Is this really the meth capitol of the universe? Hard to say, but a general consensus says Barstow is too Barstow-ish to be the capitol of anything.

Drive out at 5AM, get to the site before sunrise. Watch a string of military vehicles race back to Ft. Irwin, probably after those vehicles shuttled the troops to Las Vegas or LA for a night out. Short nap in the car while we wait for illumination. And finally, time to track those tortoises.

[Next blog entry, expect pictures and description of my delightful labor day weekend in Sequoia National Park with three of my fellow interns.]

Wild Burro Day!

2009-08-31T19:15:00.000-07:00

I just had the strangest day out in the desert.

Let me tell you about the most surreal of all moments: after we'd collected the day's data, three of us were sitting in an oddly grassy school yard surrounded by wild burros (12 of them!) who'd wandered down to enjoy the free grass. They were extremely docile, and I imagine that they amble down to the school fairly regularly to partake of the finest of desert meals. Still, I thought petting them would be a Bad Idea. Until Alex pet multiple burros while they all stood patiently. Then I knew that I had to do it. It may have been my only chance in life to pet a "wild" burro. I chose as my victim a baby burro standing in the shade. I let it sniff my hand, watching anxiously for an irate mama burro charging out of the sidelines. Nothing. So, I reached down and pet the baby, and it just stood there swishing its tail. Do not worry mom, I used hand sanitizer after I'd completed my task!

That was probably the highlight of my internship so far. Although I have qualms about messing with wild animals, I set them aside because these particular animals came up to us first and seemed to be very used to human contact. Which would make sense, since people probably provide the majority of their favored food sources.

Prior to that, we came to a desert oasis. With trees. With birds and strange Mojave ground squirrels who circled us as we ate lunch. The oasis. THE TREES. My heart overflowed with the purest joy to be in a true tree-touching situation. I am serious, it did just that. Sometimes I really miss North Carolina just for the trees. The desert environment can be rough on a girl from the south east.

And even earlier still, we began our day by putting up shade for the baby tortoises at the Tortoise Center. The baby tortoises are often about the size of a chocolate turtle, making them appear delicious. I resisted the urge to pocket one for later consumption.

After work, I went to the theatre to see a film (a pleasant experience). Then I walked the three miles back home, and was fairly proud of myself for going it alone. I suppose the route wasn't exactly dangerous, but I'm often struck by paranoid fantasies involving being mugged and murdered as I wander around on my lonesome.

2009-08-25T20:04:00.000-07:00

Something that that perturbs me:

The fact that our neighborhood landscapers have created a picnic-perfect vibrant green lawn with trees rising majestically out of the DESERT EARTH. If you look down the street, there is brown. That is the color of the desert, which is where we are. This is not the south east. We are not in deciduous forest territory. There is no reason for this.
Worse yet, they have positioned the ground hoses (not sprinklers; mini-hoses) so that they always seem to be arching over the grass and watering the concrete. WHO DESIGNED THIS? WHO IS THIS DUMB? Don't these people realize what a precious resource water is in the Mojave? An ugly baby missing all of its fingers could have planned this better. It would have drawn up the plan with its toothless mouth clutching a crayon, and the plan would've been better than what this professional has given us.
I have a brand new camera phone, and I took a picture of the lawn to give you all a look at this insanity. But unfortunately my laptop refuses to recognize it even though it charges the phone. Sweet.

Something that doesn't perturb/disturb/unnerve me is the fact that I didn't start classes for fall semester on Monday. It's a little strange, sure, but it kind of feels right to not have to worry about my schedule and multiple exam weeks.

CIRQUE DU SOLEIL

2009-08-22T23:52:00.000-07:00

Hey there, comrades. Guess what I did last night?

Here is (some of) what I saw In Real Life:

We were very pleased. It is unfortunate that you cannot be as happy as we are.

Then we went here (I stole lots of these napkins. 3 lucky ladies will be receiving them in the mail. Get excited!):

It looked like this:

The tables let you draw on them with your fingers:

We were delighted! I gave Jackie a fancy face because she told me she did not enjoy the look she was givin' in the picture.

So, that was our big night. Then we had a karaoke and taxi fiasco, but that's another story for another (less sleepy) day.

Photos are all courtesy of Jackie. To read an actual description of the night with words, check out her blog.

Of trucks and sand

2009-08-19T20:44:00.000-07:00

Giant trucks have a propensity for: 1) crushing things, 2) devouring an unconscionable amount of gas, and 3) getting stuck on the terrain that I had thought they were intended for.

Commercials show a wide shot: sweeping desert landscape. A pickup truck that is too much of a beast to be held captive by the rule of thirds. How it gloriously motors through the unpaved terrain, claiming nature for God (humanity). Its might, its power, its shininess in the face of its own clouds of dust : all unmatchable.

In reality, those vehicular monsters get trapped in sand remarkably easily. My advice: take a Jeep into the unpaved portions of the desert if you have a choice between the two. That's right Silverado, I am giving you the official THUMBS DOWN. I am giving you an anti-advertisement. Why? BECAUSE YOU GOT STUCK IN THE SAND TWICE SINCE I GOT HERE, THAT'S WHY. Do you think the Jeep would have done that to me? NO, I DON'T THINK SO.

However, I did take some pleasure in digging the back tires out, and the fact that my Pebble Plan (shoveling pebbles onto the soft sand that was giving the truck a tough time) worked made me a little giddy.

Anyway, I am at the California house. This week, instead of a dog, we have a kitten living with us. I wonder what we will have next week!

Gila hunter

2009-08-13T19:27:00.000-07:00

Do ya'll (I like saying "ya'll" whenever I get the chance here) know what can really mess with your head? Going from waking up at 4AM to leave for work one week, to working from 8PM to 3:30AM the next. I don't even know whether it's AM or PM when I wake up anymore. I take a nap, then I sit up in a panic, thinking I've missed work for the next day completely.

I spent Tuesday-Thursday in Gold Butte, Nevada hunting Gila monsters. I kid you not, Gold Butte has the most exquisite geomorphology I've ever seen (possibly a product of the formations not being swallowed up in a heavy coating of trees). A riparian environment in the middle of the Mojave desert! The landscape was magnificent.

Possibly even better: the night sky. The first night there included a healthy dose of me gasping and exclaiming over things that I'd never seen before. The Milky Way, did you know I'd never really seen it, friends? AND. If you looked up for ten seconds, you were almost guaranteed to see a shooting star.
"Holy crap, we're in the middle of space," I kept telling myself. But I only said it outloud once. I don't want people to get the impression that I'm crazy or anything.

Here is a list of things that I saw (but did not touch) at Gold Butte as I rambled and ambled up hills and buttes at 2AM:

A hefty rattle snake that was too tired to even give a proper rattle
A scorpion that looked like a glow-in-the-dark toy
Road runners! They do not, it turns out, look at all like the cartoon version. BUT, every time I saw one, they were actually running on a road. Phenomenal!
A black widow hanging out between some rocks that I might have used to steady myself had I not known it was there.
Petroglyphs! So exciting!
Fine constellations and a possible meteor shower

Here are things that I both saw AND touched:

Banded geckos (so cute, and very easy to catch if you're into that)
Devil's Lettuce, my new arch-nemesis. Apparently it is a code-name for marijuana, but I'm talking about Amsinckia, a horrible plant that looks fairly innocent but will jab you full of itchy things if you brush against it. It is a relentless monster.
A cholla cactus. I touched it by mistake as I was falling down a hill. There were so many needles stuck in my hand.

Here is a thing that I saw and ALMOST touched:

A small barrel cactus. Once again, I slipped on a hill (the rocks are loose and tend to roll away underneath your feet if you don't know the tricks to walking on that terrain). I landed with my knee up like this: /\_ (that's my leg and my foot is the little underscore). Less than an inch below my knee was a baby barrel cactus that I almost landed on.

Here is a thing that I didn't see:

ANY GILA MONSTERS WHATSOEVER.

As it turns out, I'm still out of shape, but I don't think I'm nearly as bad as when I arrived. And big hills/little mountains terrify me much less at night because I can pretend that they only go as far down as my flashlight will show. Which wasn't much, because mine kept getting really dim.

The highlight of the trip was sitting with everyone on top of a hill for a snack break a little before midnight and watching shooting stars, then seeing the moon rise. Moments like that make sliding into cacti worth it.

2009-08-08T16:52:00.000-07:00

Next week I'm spending my nights hunting Gila monsters. During the day I'll be sleeping either outside on a cot, or inside a trailer with more people than said trailer should be able to hold.

Apparently nobody ever finds the Gila monsters. I wonder why we're still looking? Maybe I will find one, and I will be welcomed back to Henderson as a Gila hero.

I drove over a playa the other day.

"You are not likely to see a genuine mirage on the high desert of canyon and mesa country; for that spectacle we must go west or southwest into the basin-and-range provinces of Arizona, Nevada, Southern California and Sonora. There the dry lake beds between the parallel mountain ranges fill with planes of hot air which reflect sky and mountains in mirror fashion, creating the illusory lakes of blue water, the inverted mountains, the strange vision of men and animals walking through or upon water -- Palestinian miracles."
-Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

Yeah, it was pretty much like that.

2009-08-04T20:09:00.000-07:00

In this installment of What I Learned In The Desert...

I learned that I am afraid of heights. Suddenly so many things make sense. My fear of flying, my loathing of roller coasters, the way I still hold a grudge against Aaron for dangling me over the Caf railing when I was a freshman. More on this after the bullet points.
I am out of shape.
Tortoises are one of the few things in the desert that won't hurt you! Even if you dangle your finger next to their gaping maws, they won't even attempt to bite you! That made taking their blood a little sad. Like the blood wasn't earned properly. They should try to fight us, I think. They can't even shut themselves up in their shells properly, the poor devils.

Today I climbed up a series of mini-mountains in search of a tortoise. The rocks slid under my feet, and when I looked down at my progress I was so startled I almost slipped. I've hiked up actual mountains before, but they were always in NC where our bountiful tree harvests cover up the evidence of my climb so that I only see trees until I'm at the top.
This particular tortoise was hidden up near the top of a rocky peak. The hill-mountain (wasn't sure which this one counted as) had a remarkably steep slope on the side the tortoise had worked its way onto. As I held it down to aid in its blood removal, my legs were shaking so hard that I was afraid I would ruin the whole procedure. AND THEN A TARANTULA HAWK WASP CAME. The most feared wasp next to the Giant Asian Hornet. I knew if it stung me I would lose my balance and roll down to my death on the rocks below. Luckily it bypassed me, possibly to lay its eggs in a tarantula somewhere.

2009-08-01T16:32:00.001-07:00

What did my roommate Jackie and I do on our day off? We walked 6+ miles in the desert heat. The last mile we were pushing a cart full of groceries.

I thought I'd make my explanation of the day fairly lengthy and throw around plenty of fancy descriptive language, but as the desert sucks the water out of my body, so does it leach the words from my soul.

2009-07-30T16:29:00.000-07:00

Are you there God? It's me, Gloria.

Today I got my first bee sting. It hurt a little, but now I feel like a real woman.

While on the job I've learned to cherish food, water, shade, and sleep. I'm a little too exhausted to write adequately about my last two days at the California site. That's probably because I may be currently suffering from heat exhaustion. Let me tell you, friends, that when heat exhaustion hits you in the desert, and the guy with the car/experience is out of range of your walkie talkie, well. Things get a little scary. But aside from that, California was Just Fine. And there was even a dog at the house!

2009-07-28T15:42:00.000-07:00

First day of field work: very eventful!

I learned how not to die of heat stroke
I learned that, if I don't treat the desert as an expansive litter box, I'm doing hydration wrong.
I learned radio telemetry!
I learned that every plant in the desert hurts, even the ones that don't look like they do at first glance.
I saw tortoises (one of which had a mouth contorted in elderly disapproval at the intrusion)

I was surprised at how quickly we were thrown into things. Orientation yesterday didn't teach us anything about what we'd be doing in the desert; it only showed us the ins and outs of the office. When we drove out into the middle of the desert this morning we had a very brief intro into how the many gadgets in our backpacks work, and then we were sent out to find tortoises. I was alone in the desert. I couldn't see anyone else, and I couldn't see the car. If I couldn't use my equipment correctly, all would have been lost. I suppose that sounds more dramatic than it was, because the car was parked next to a power line, which I could see off in the distance and walk back to if I got lost.
We all met up at the first tortoise. We'd been split up so that we could learn to use the equipment on our own. After that we didn't share tortoises, and I assume we all ended up at least a mile away from each other. The final tortoise was the only one that I could see clearly. When it saw me it waited a moment, and then grumpily ambled out of its hole, only to turn around, throw some dirt in my general direction, and grump its way back inside.

I came back to the apartment at 3PM a few shades darker. One of the shades was a layer of dirt.

2009-07-27T12:56:00.000-07:00

Today I had my work orientation, pretty uneventful. Tomorrow I have my first day of field work. Wednesday I'm going to California. This weekend we might end up in Las Vegas.
Next week is Bleed Week.
I'll tell you what it is after I've experienced it. For now, I'll leave it up to your imagination. I hope you have nightmares.
The week after that, I'm apparently spending four days camping out without the rest of my fellow interns, with only the desert and actual scientists to keep me company.

A lesson I've learned from the desert: do not attempt to carry two heavy bags of groceries for over a mile in the middle of the day. While that is certainly doable back in my lush&verdant homeland, I wouldn't advise it on a summer day outside of Vegas. Especially if you're not properly hydrated. Because (fun fact!) while a desert tortoise can go for two years sans water, a young lady like myself cannot go an hour here without it.

Also. I have reason to believe that I will finally find out whether I'm allergic to bee stings the hard way. And whether I can deal with sleeping next to tarantulas.

And here's perhaps the most exciting news of all: I've been given official permission to pick up any snakes I find, as long as they're not rattle snakes! :D

Arrival

2009-07-26T09:33:00.000-07:00

Flying to Nevada provided me with the following insights:

Women on planes have a much higher chance of smelling like sea creatures than women who are not on planes.
Old men love the good old days. The saddest thing of all is when one old man mentions something about the Good Old Days to another old man, and the second old man whispers, "I don't remember..."
That's about it.

I arrived in Nevada last night (night according to my weary east-coast body) and have met the first of my five eventual roommates. Contrary to my paranoid fantasies, I have not been made to sit in a corner dressed like a Gitmo prisoner for not coming in with full knowledge of desert ecology. So, that's good news.

Did you know that the mountains in a desert are not actually covered in trees and bears? Though it is shocking, at least you may find some solace in the idea that they may be covered in a variety of spiders.
The landscape here is quite lovely, though. In a way, landing in Las Vegas was much more disorienting than landing in Berlin. Although I couldn't speak the language there, at least it looked like I was on the same planet. What I'm experiencing here isn't culture shock, but environment shock. I really hoped that term could be mine, but I looked it up and it seems that people write papers about it. Disappointment abounds.

The day before

2009-07-24T20:59:00.000-07:00

Blogger is certainly a different beast than LiveJournal, the site I spent my angst-ridden early teen years on, whining about my own social ineptitude and shaking my fists at the heavens because the Hot Topic hair dye turned my bangs green instead of dark blue.

This blog will (hopefully) have a different tone than the one I began right out of middle school. This time I've just graduated from college. Many of my friends and peers are looking into grad schools while others try to make ends meet in the few jobs currently open to those without extensive work experience.
Ignoring my looming student loan repayments, I've decided to make the fun yet economically idiotic choice: to intern in Nevada for minimal pay, then shove off to Japan alongside my favorite companion where I'll hopefully find some sort of work for people who can't really speak the language.

If I can't work and my loans be lost, ain't nobody's fault but mine.

I've spent the day stuffing things that I'd just put into moving boxes into luggage. Yesterday I left Greensboro, the place where I spent my last four years wondering how I'd ended up there in the first place and drinking plenty of coffee on Tate St. Tomorrow I'm heading to Nevada on a mysterious journey with a decidedly desert and tortoise flavor. I've never been farther west than Oklahoma and I've certainly never seen a desert. I expect that my dream of drinking from a hole I've poked into a Saguaro cactus will be soundly dashed upon my arrival.

Nevada, as the Japanese are wont to say, please take care of me.