The Blurgh

This semester has been going really well so far, so well that I’m actually amazed. At the beginning it seemed like I’d be overwhelmed, and I am busy and basically have no time, but it’s been really fun. One class I haven’t touched on much is my History of Peace class, which has been blowing me away.

Given that I’m a History major and a graduating senior, I’ve taken quite a few history classes, and *thought* that I had a pretty good sense of what’s been going on in the world for the past several thousand years. This class, though, has made me rethink everything, and at this point it feels like I need to start over from scratch.

The accepted view people have of history, and the way that the vast majority of the classes are taught, is by viewing the wars/major conflicts as the pivotal points in time, and the periods between as explanations for them. Look at the table of contents of most History textbooks and you’ll see this illustrated very plainly; there will be twice as many pages dedicated to World War II than there will be to the Great Depression or the 1920’s. And after you go back to anything before the Civil War, good luck finding more than a paragraph describing anything that isn’t a war.

According to this class, and to the professor, Dr. Huang, this paradigm is completely backwards. As people say, if we don’t learn history, we’re doomed to repeat the past, but what does that really mean when the history we’re taught is focused primarily on conflict? Are we learning how to better prevent conflict and prolong prosperity, or are we learning how to prevail in conflict and better fight wars? Dr. Huang’s class is based on the idea that it’s more important to discover the “whys” of peacetime rather than the “whys” of conflict, because ultimately, we as a society should be much more interested in enriching lives and culture rather than how to better kill other people. So far, it’s rocking my world.

Today I’m going to post more writing that I did when I was a college undergrad, seeing as how I had my wisdom teeth removed a few days ago and I’m still feeling rather sore and out-of-it. This piece was written when I was a sophomore and it’s part of a larger essay about my father - namely, the fact that he hasn’t been a part of my life since I was about seven years old.

It’s after the jump.

(more…)

This week, I’ve seen my first major triumph and first major defeat at CRR, and both of them happened within 24 hours of each other. If this is what life-after-school is really like, maybe I should start rethinking grad school…

A few days ago, I was out in Polish Hill with a couple CRR organizers, and we were making the rounds in the neighborhood trying to drum up support for the renovation project. Reaction has been mixed thus far, but we have been successful in getting a couple very enthusiastic supporters, so we were optimistic.

We came up to a door and rang the bell, and when the owner answered, we noticed that there were a dozen or so people in the living room. They were all home-owners who lived on that block, and they were having a meeting about different issues effecting them all like street conditions, snow plowing, etc. This was the perfect opportunity for us to make some good contacts, so went full-speed into talking about the project, and we were soon in the middle of the living room taking questions from a very engaged audience. By the time we left, we had a dozen names and numbers, commitments from several of them to speak with their neighbors, and a tremendously satisfying day. The next day, however, was nowhere near as smooth…

Besides canvassing, CRR does a lot of tabling and literature distribution. I’ve had some tabling experience before, and since everything’s been going so well, I was the lone person at a table setup outside one of the local businesses. We always get permission from the businesses before setting ourselves up, and often times businesses offer the space before we even ask because people tend to stop in the stores that we’re outside of.

Everything was going smoothly until a guy came up and started talking about how things would never change, and that a renovation project would never happen in Polish Hill. This was the first time I ever encountered any serious negativity, so I was a little taken aback. It seemed like this guy’s sole purpose in life was to be cynical and bring everyone else down with him, but I decided the best way to handle it was to counter any argument he came up with. He said it’ll never work, and I told him about neighborhoods where it did happen. He said that renewables will never be good enough, and I told him how solar cells these days are cheap and incredibly efficient, and so on.

This continued for over an hour.

At that point, the store owner came out and asked us both to leave. After the guy left, the owner apologized to me, but said that even though he supports us, he can’t allow incidents to happen outside his business. I packed up, and went back to the office.

Everyone there told me that this kind of stuff happens, and that you just have to get used to it. Although I know I shouldn’t have even tried to engage someone who was so obviously just a naysayer, I couldn’t help it. I really felt sorry for him. I personally feel like the definition of depression should be “the absence of hope,” and this guy made it obvious to everyone around him that he was majorly depressed. What he needed was some help; that kind of cynicism is a danger to himself and others.

I strongly feel that amazing things can happen when there’s hope, and when hope is coupled with ambition and opportunity, the world starts to change for the better. I’m just glad I work with people who feel the same way.

This morning, as I was getting to the yellow line station, I was surprised to see a new face at the entrance.  For the past 10 years, the Post-Gazette has been printing a short Metro edition which was distributed free at most of the train stations around town every morning.  It’s been a big success for the PG, and has helped get the paper a lot more readers and advertisers.

As with all business, though, with success comes competition, and this morning I saw a small booth setup outside the station with a representative from the Pittsburgh City Paper distributing their new metro edition, along with some other freebies.  I grabbed both so I could compare the two, and I have to say that I’m pretty impressed.  The City Paper was a little more edgy and included some more off-the-wall content (for example, Alice Cooper turned 80 today), but the PG had more national and international headlines.

It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out, but I’m guessing that both will get better as time goes on.  I’m also glad that PAT has so many paper recycling bins around…and that people actually use them!

Early February during my junior year of college – three years ago today, to be exact. The spring semester (if you can even call it that, since the wind chill regularly hovered around the single digits) had just started and I was already overwhelmed by the classes I was taking. Writing the Memoir? The Politics of Women’s Bodies? Practical Applications of Astronomy? Was I really ready to handle all this?

As it turns out, I was, just not on this particular Saturday night. That night, I was going to relax, watch some old movies with my roommate and maybe crack open a bottle of Muscadet. I had just chosen three of our favorite films when Andi burst through the front door of our tiny Oakland apartment.

“Forget the movies, forget the wine, we’re going out,” she announced. I groaned.

“Absolutely not,” I said. “Uh, have you not heard about my week? I have to read five chapters of that women’s bodies book by Monday and I’m supposed to turn in the first draft of my memoir on Wednesday. What am I going to say, ‘small town girl moves to Pittsburgh and fakes her way through a ridiculous writing class that’s supposed to be about telling the truth?’ No. Tonight is for wine and Casablanca and spending time with your best friend.” I looked at Andi pointedly, trying to guilt her into changing into her pajamas.

I had forgotten that Andi is impervious to my guilt trips.

“Gretch, I love you, but seriously, we’re going out. Nothing major, just a small house party that Josh is having tonight.”

“You’re breaking our date so you can flirt with Josh?” I exclaimed. Josh was her co-intern at the ACLU and I had been hearing about him since August.

“I’m not breaking our date, I’m just changing the location. We’ll be together at the party, you know. And there will be other guys there.”

I sighed and realized I wasn’t going to win. After changing back into jeans and a sweater, we wound our way through South Oakland until we arrived at quite possibly the ugliest house I’d ever seen – green aluminum siding, red shutters and crumbling steps.

“Lovely chateau,” I whispered to Andi, but she ignored me and greeted Josh at the door. He nodded politely to me, then they started talking about the case they were working on at the ACLU. Recognizing a brush-off when I saw one, I headed back to the kitchen to inspect the wine choices, figuring I was lucky if I could find a box of Franzia.

There was another guy in the kitchen, already inspecting the bottles of wine lined up on the counter.

“Please, god, tell me there’s something to drink besides Boone’s Farm and Natty Light,” I said. He grinned.

“Actually, these pickings are pretty slim,” he said, “but I’ll share my private stash with you if you promise not to tell anyone else about it.”

“What did you bring?”

He pulled a bottle from a backpack lying on the counter. “Muscadet. Ever have it?”

“No way! I was going to have a quiet, relaxing evening with my roommate drinking Muscadet tonight!”

“Well, you and your roommate have exceedingly good taste,” he said, twisting the cork out of the bottle and pouring two glasses. He lifted his up. “To quiet, relaxing evenings.”

We clinked glasses and then proceeded to talk about everything under the sun. Pittsburgh city politics, the Academy Awards, the Amish, our mutual love for Marvin Gaye, how it was possible to both love and hate being in college all at once, our families, constellations, summer jobs. It was freewheeling and spontaneous and astonishing and sweet. And I didn’t really want it to end.

But around 2 AM, Andi drifted into the kitchen and said she was ready to go home. I turned to my companion and smiled.

“It was nice talking with you,” I said, “but I don’t know your name.”

“Frank,” he said. “Frank Zielinski. And you are?”

“Gretchen Parker. Want my number?”

He laughed. “Yes, I definitely want your number.”

“Good, because I want yours too.”

We exchanged numbers and polite pecks on the cheek. He called the next day. We’ve now been together for three years.

Does he ever have my number.

This internship is turning into a fascinating/mind-blowing/engrossing/eater of all available free time type of experience.  Let me elaborate…

The first few days there, my main duties were the office/go-for types of things that most internships are heavy on.  I did get to see a lot of the different things that CRR is involved with, and I noticed that everyone in the office was very busy and a little nervous about one particular new project in Polish Hill.  Being that I’m what others have termed “a nebshit,” I opened my big mouth and asked what I could do to help.  Ever since, my role at CRR has drastically changed.

If you’ve never been to Polish Hill, I’d highly recommend it–it’s a very interesting place.  It’s nestled between the Hill, Bloomfield, and the Strip in a very weird kind of way that only the hilly Pittsburgh topography can allow. Given its central location in the city, you’d think it’d be a busy area, but in a lot of ways it’s in its own little world.  There are some beautiful buildings and churches and a small strip of businesses, but other than that, it’s pretty much all residential.

In the past 20 years, significant development and revitalization has happened in most of the surrounding neighborhoods, but Polish Hill has mostly remained unchanged.  A group of about a dozen residents approached CRR about a month ago about doing a renovation project in the area, but the situation is a little different than CRR’s past projects.  In those, a well-established community organization has been in place beforehand, and they did a lot of the grassroots legwork necessary to get the renovation projects off the ground.  In this project, however, the 12 original individuals want to use this project to galvanize the community, and by the end not only have the renovations done but also have a community organization to get in on the development that’s going on all around them.

No one’s sure if it’ll work, but everyone’s excited about the possibility.  And since I opened my mouth, I’m now in the thick of it.  Between classes and my directed study (which I’ve been majorly slacking on!), I’m spending almost every free moment either in the office or out in the neighborhood going door-to-door trying to get support.  It’s cold and tiring, but also very exciting; I’ve never felt motivated like this before.  I just hope we get the project going, because I’d love to see how these things happen firsthand.

The day is winding down and I’m in desperate need of some peanut M&Ms to get me through the last agonizing hours. I check the temperature before heading out - yikes. The wind chill is really 5 degrees? I wrap my scarf around my neck three times and button my jacket all the way just to dash across the street.

I bustle into the tiny corner shop and a bell announces my presence. As always, the old Chinese man is sitting behind the counter, watching kung fu movies on a 5” black and white TV. I don’t know his name, but I would recognize his tall, rail-thin figure and broad smile anywhere. I smile at him and head back to the candy shelves - jackpot. Grabbing a bright yellow package, I make my way back up to the register and place it on the counter.

He rings me up and I hand him a few dollar bills. He counts out some coins and hands them to me.

“Here you are, dahhhhling!” he says, his eyes crinkling as he grins ever more widely.

Normally I bristle when people call me cutesy names, but coming from him it’s endearing. “Thank you,” I say, and pocket the money.

“Have a good evening.”

“You too. Try to stay warm!”

For a moment, the happiness on his face disappears and I’m overtaken by the look of sadness in his eyes. I wonder why my seemingly innocuous words caused such a swift change in his emotions. Some part of me also wonders if I really want to know the answer.

He recovers quickly, though. “It’s too cold!” he exclaims, the joy back in his voice. I nod and stuff my M&Ms in my pocket as I leave the store. Too cold indeed.

During my K-12 years, I was always given lines about how, “if you put your mind to it, you can do anything,” or, “if you do well in school, the doors will be open for you when you go out into the world.”  In the past few years, though, presumably as I’ve entered “the world” somewhat, those sentiments have been growing more and more hollow.

On one hand, I feel like I really should know what I want to do with my life.  Whenever adults (although I guess I’m an adult now, too) ask me about it, I feel like I want to go hide.  The truth is that I have no idea, and I’m not too proud of that.

And what’s with all the pressure, anyway?  I mean, I hear all the time about people totally changing their careers 3 or 4 times in their lives–did it help them to have an idea about what they wanted to do when they were younger, even though they turned out to be wrong?

Lately, whenever people ask me about my future plans, I’ve taken to giving the non-answer that’s cute when you’re younger: get taller.  For some reason, people don’t think it’s that cute now.  It is kind of true, though.  Whatever I end up doing, I want to learn and grow while I’m doing it.

So there!

Between attending the opening of a new Artist’s Marketplace and having my yearly exam, it’s been a pretty full week. So I was glad that last night I attended the chillest author reading I’ve ever been to.

Magda Hausmann is one of the coolest young adult fiction writers out there. Her books are realistic and funny and really deal with the pitfalls of living life as a teenager. When any of the girls at the PWF ask me what they should read for their next book report, I usually come back with a Magda book that’s aimed at the 12-to-14 crowd. Thankfully, there are about a dozen to choose from - she’s pretty prolific.

Anyway, she is super laid-back and last night took questions from the audience as though we were all BFFs who just happened to run into each other at a cozy coffee shop. In response to a question about where she gets her ideas, she smiled broadly and said, “I look around. Everything is right there waiting for me to write about it.” And to another person who asked whether she was worried that her books dealt with themes that were too “adult” for teenagers, she raised her eyebrows. “Teenagers are mini-adults trying to come to terms with this thing we call the real world, right?” she said. “I try to write about as much adult stuff as I can, to help these people prepare and realize they’re not so alone in their struggles. They struggle. They struggle mightily. We should be helping them along the way.”

So super cool. I think my author-crush on her skyrocketed last night. I’m totally in love.

Oh, boy. Yesterday morning I headed down to the Midwife Center for my yearly well-woman exam - a great way to start the week, ladies, am I right?

(Side note: It’s kind of funny to me that just a few months ago when Frank convinced me to co-author this blog with him, I was a little skeptical of revealing anything about myself, and today I have no problem telling the world that I saw my gynecologist yesterday. My, how things change. Anyway…)

I love the women at the Midwife Center. It’s not just for pregnant women, but for women at all stages of life. I was examined by one of the new midwives there, Maria, and she is incredibly warm and funny. She even made me laugh while undergoing a pelvic exam - not exactly the easiest thing in the world.

Since she’d never seen me before, we discussed all the standard issue things. She asked me about birth control. I’ve actually not done so well with hormonal contraception in the past (hello, near-constant headache), but luckily for me, Frank has no problem taking his birth control pill everyday, so I don’t have to worry about it. She made sure I knew how to do a breast self-exam and all that fun stuff.

All in all, a pretty good visit. I left feeling happier than I’d felt when I arrived, which is definitely saying something about the quality of the Center!