Bleeding Fiction

This past weekend began with a strange sense of whatever the inverse of kismet or serendipity is; that sort of confluence of events where everything comes together and it all goes perfectly wrong. To wit: Dar was playing a show in Jersey, as was Erin. They weren't playing the same show, so I figured I'd have to make the choice between one or the other. Suck, but either way it went it was going to be a great show. Sadly, that same night was also the cocktail party for the Au Pair program, which I couldn't skip.

The whole weekend was, overall, pretty good. I spent a lot of time standing around looking good and schmoozing. I hate schmoozing but I'm frightningly good at it and I think that in large part that's because I ignore the general rules of the game. Standard rules of schmoozing: discuss pointless trivialities and small talk for as long as possible, get distracted by someone else you need to say hello to and wander off to begin the process again. Jason's method: dispense with bullshit and talk philosophy and the gritty details of the person's life and focus the whole of your attention on the person/people you're talking to. It's remarkably successful.

So, given my schmoozing talents I spent the weekend in the company of several nice people. Specifically: cute girl from Austria, cute girl from Germany, cute girl from Czech Republic, cute girl from Latvia, cute girl from Turkey. Notice a pattern? Why is it that whenever I meet a cute girl she lives ridiculously far away from me?

Anyway, the top five reasons I need to learn a foreign language:

5. Far too many of the people I work with can't speak proper English.

4. Nothing gets lost in translation with foreign books, movies or tv.

3. It will impress the parents of whatever girl I'm interested in, since I only seem to date girls that have at least one foreign parent.

2. It will help me avoid being arrested in Russia.

1. So the next time someone says "I need someone to show this hot girl around, but she doesn't speak English," I'll be able to take the job.

A hotel room is no fit place for a person to live. Hotel rooms are like tombs; they're waiting places, where you go after one activity ends and before another begins. They're places where you put your life on hold. But I would like to get back to my life, to the process of progression, down the river or around the wheel. Back to working (InterExchange) and Working (writing), back to laughing and loving and whatever "L" words fit in there. To be done with travelling and get back to moving.

Lena and Natela have asked me, separately and together, to move here for a while. To teach English, maybe, to learn Russian, certainly, to write my fiction here instead of there. And despite the cold that seeps into your skin and the sludge that clings to your feet and the water that'll make you sick to drink it, I'm considering it, if I don't get into graduate school (which I have already fallen through on my decision not to think about). I'm thinking about it partly for Lena and Natela (especially Lena, who I have so obviously had the biggest, stupidest crush on from the first day I met her three years ago - and what is it with me and women who are, literally, beyond my reach, anyway?), and partly because it seems interesting and fun and a challenge and something I've never done before. But mostly because Moscow is most eminently Not Here, and Here is a place that I really just want to move away from right now.

It's nice to consider, a pleasant possibility to while away the waiting hours, but in the end I very much doubt that it will happen. Surprises keep things interesting, but life needs certainties (such as they exist outside of poor, hackneyed Death and Taxes) and in Moscow I would have none. Besides, in under a week I fly back to Here, where life is waiting for me and Ideas are already fighting for time with my fingers and space on the page. And that is a very good feeling indeed.

"Yeah, I hear the flu's being really nasty this year. I'll get a shot when I get back from my trip. I just don't have time before then. Besides, I'm not that likely to get sick travelling, right?" Sometimes, I should just keep my damn mouth shut.

I had a good time in Moscow. Saw an underground art exhibit illustrating the articles of the Russian constitution (where an old woman called us, no joke, a gang of ruffians), ate at a resturaunt called "soup" (which had numbered soup spoons as coat-check tags and gave out CDs of their music mix and is going in a novel of mine in the future for sure) and visited Red Square and St. Basil's Cathedral.

Oh, and I worked a little, too. With the help of Lena and Natela (who are great at doing interviews), I interviewed about 80 kids. About 70 applications made it home with me. I just hope they get visas this year. I interviewed one girl who, from certain angles, looked nothing at all like Ann. It made that half hour of time entirely uncomfortable. Until then, I'd done a relatively good job of not thinking about her on this trip.

The flu started my first night in St. Petersburg, when I just couldn't sleep. The room had bad feng shui is the only thing I can figure, 'cause it was a nice room. No more than four hours of sleep over two nights combined with the general wear of travel and lack of good hydration soon took its toll and by Thursday I felt a bit down. Fever set in Friday and Saturday morning I woke up achey.

Still, the work wouldn't wait and I made it through two days of interviews only with the help of Lena, who took a train over to help me on Saturday. I flirted with her a lot because, well, I like her, but at the end of the night I had to see her off on her train home. I was more obvious than I should've been, I think, since Vadim and Fyodor (our local reps) picked up on it, but I guess there's no harm done other than me feeling silly.

I woke up Sunday sicker than I'd been in years. Under the covers I was sweating rivers, above them my blood was ice. If Lena had stayed the night, if I sitll had Vadim's phone number, if I thought I might've been able to get a seat on a flight out the next day... I'd still be in my hotel. But I climbed out of bed, knowing with every movement that I was in no condition to travel. I puked a bit and wasn't able to keep down solid food until I was on the plane over the Atlantic. I was still achey, but at least I was close to home and Alex was sitting next to me (I met up with her in London for the flight back), so I knew she'd see me somewhere safe if my fever got the best of me.

No work for me today and I'm off to see the doctor in an hour or so. Hopefully it's just a traveller's flu and not Russian Death or something. I'm feeling a lot better already, though, so I'm not very worried.

Came in from San Francisco late last night. I had thought that I hadn't adjusted to the time change while I was over there and I'd be on my normal schedule when I got back. Then I found myself aimlessly awake at two thirty in the morning.

Notes from my trip, in brief:

The Work Stuff: Very boring and a big flop. Necessary, but disappointing.

The Writing Stuff: Didn't happen. Did a lot of reading and took a bunch of notes, instead. I'm cool with that.

The hotel: $460 at a regular rate. Nice place, right in the middle of downtown, totally not worth the price.

The City: Beautiful. Brick sidewalks everywhere. Wide streets and low buildings give a sense of space. Architecture is new but not sterile, old but not decrepit.

The Suburbs: A lot like upstate New York, only green, populated and not run-down. Rolling hills and gorgeous views abound.

The Homeless: A disturbingly large population. More than in New York. Maybe more than Philidelphia. At least they're comparatively sane.

City Hall: Looks nice and governmental. City must have two, as not a single gay couple stood outside this one, despite it being mid-day on Wednesday.

Walgreens and Rite-Aid: Pretty much expect to find snickers and M&Ms as pharmacy candy. Secretly long to find Pocky and Roasted Green Peas. Don't necessarily want to buy these delightful Japanese candies, but want to have the option readily available. In San Francisco, I do.

Chinatown: Gate is nice and good for taking picture in front of. Rest is filled with cheap tchotchkes for anglo tourists who have a thing for Asian culture. Will doubtless one day own a lot of this stuff.

Asian Art Museum: Remarkably hard to find, three stories tall and flat out fantastic. Incredible, detailed and informative exhibits, plus a slew of special programs. Spent almost an entire day there.

BART: Subway and commuter rail in one. Clean and carpeted, a nice change of pace. Could use a more extensive line of service. Also, incredibly disturbing that it runs underground while inside the city. What with the earthquakes and all.

Trolleys: Rails for them everywhere, but not as many actually moving around as expected.

Rice-a-Roni: Didn't see any. Must not be as much of a treat for San Francisco as the commercials would have me believe.

Things I Didn't Get To: Haight-Ashbury, Golden Gate Park, Golden Gate Bridge, Embarkadero Street, Sausalito, the Fillmore, Fisherman's Wharf, UC Berkeley, Wine Country, Sundry Other Places.

Odds I'll Go Back: 100%

I haven't generally mentioned my job here on my blog. It's not like some sort of rule I have, it's just not something I've done. I don't figure talking about the minutia of my day in the office is particularly interesting. More than that, I'm well aware that there's a general air of mystery which surrounds what I actually do, and I sort of like that. For the most part it seems that people just know I travel to foreign countries, speak to foreign people and complain about jet-lag. Who knows what else I do at my job? Could be anything. I might even be a spy!

That said, I do want to talk briefly about my job. Just to grumble a bit. Then I promise I won't bring it up again for a bit. The rules for running our program in a given country (say, Germany) are pretty simple. There's a straight-forward order to follow. At the simplest, I can break it down into three steps:

1) Pay us whatever you owe us from last year.

2) Sign your contract for this year.

3) Send us completed applications by February 27th.

When people perform these three steps in order, things work out very well indeed. When someone from a given country (say, Germany) skips steps 1 and 2 and only really does half of step 3, well, then you know there's going to be trouble. Because when it takes us until mid-March to browbeat people in a given country (say, Germany) into completing steps 1 and 2, they end up blaming us for the fact that they didn't complete step 3 in time. And when we give then until a certain day (say, today) to complete step 3 and they still haven't done it and so we reject all of their applications, they get snippy. Yeesh.

Sometimes, in my office, we wonder if maybe it's not we who are actually the crazy ones after all. But since we all tend to talk to our food and write pretend letters to the printer and copy machine, I guess we probably are.

At least my Russians are getting visas this year. That's a very, very good thing. And Lena. Lena has her visa too. When's she showing up again?

Five people have just been announced as leaving my company in the next few months:

One woman, our web tools and marketing development manager, is leaving for a better job elsewhere in the city. If I didn't have other plans of my own, I'd consider going after her job. I'm sort of qualified for it. Plus I'd get a neat new computer with a really big screen.

One of the program managers is leaving because her husband got a better job in D.C. I use the term "better job" subjectively here, since he's apparently going to be some sort of pentagon public affairs liason, which really can't be the easiest job given what's been happening lately. I know I wouldn't want the job; I'm not entirely sure I want anyone else to have it, either. I figure the pentagon should look pretty bad right now.

The mail guy is leaving for a summer internship in Disney's art and animation department. It's cool because he gets to draw and be creative in one of the biggest animation houses in the States. It's not cool because it's Disney. I suppose it balances out.

Two others, program coordinator types, are leaving to do Master's programs in International Studies. One's headed to England, the other's headed to Syracuse. Yes, Syracuse. It's funny to think of her kicking around my old haunts, taking classes in the Maxwell building, &c.

So, that's five. Plus me, who hasn't announced yet. Six people, out of just under 40. Something like one sixth of our work force. These things really come in waves, don't they?

Blog: Slightly wonked due to a hacker. Bastard. Host is cool, providing on-site visits and discussions of poetry. Also, she fixed the blog. Mostly. Last update along these lines lost to the digital ether. Good riddance, I say.

Vitaly: Got married recently. Yay! Nice wedding, very traditional, right down to the break-dancing-Brad-Pitt-look-alike rabbi.

Kiki: Now engaged. About damn time. She and Raphael have only been dating for eight and a half years.

Erin McKeown: Free show at South Street Seaport past Thursday. Excellent music, as always. Open air = poor acoustics but great breeze. Too much sitting, not enough dancing.

Visitations: Something Positive went pro; creator-dude Randy got mad donations and quit his job to do the comic. That's cool. Also, Bekah started a livejournal. Its bilingualness astounds me. Go be astounded too.

Lena: What I said I'd write: Everything she says about why she and I should not be together makes perfect sense. But my life bleeds fiction and makes no sense, so there. Plus, I love fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

Mother: In hospital for non-serious, non-diabetes problems. Yeesh.

Borges: My current reading. Witty and self-deprecating. Major images are mirrors, labyrinths and knife-fights. Very cool.

Saved: A movie. Pokes fun at very religious types. Funny as hell. Go see it. I want to see it again. And own it on DVD.

Work: Increasingly less busy. Or decreasingly busy. Whichever. Yay.

School: Registration papers to arrive... soon?

Writing: It's June. Leave me the fuck alone.

Back to a regular schedule presently.

I call bullshit on the United States Department of State. I call absolute and total bullshit because every year they give out fifty five thousand (read: 55,000) green cards to foreigners (and those foreigners' spouses and unmarried children under the age of twenty one) through a sort of lottery. That's above and beyond the foreigners the State Department already gives green cards to through the regular, old fashioned way, by the by. Enter the lottery and, through totally random chance a computer in Kentucky could select you, too, for permanent residency in the United States.

So, what are the details? What do you need to apply? What do you need to get selected? Here we go: you have to be from certain countries (more on this later) and you have to have at least a high school education OR "two years of work experience within the past five years in an occupation requiring at least two years of training or experience to perform." Not particularly stringent, huh? To apply, you fill out a simple electronic application with a few scanned or digital photos. Whoopie.

Now, obviously, I'm not opposed to foreigners coming to the United States. You could, in a round about way, say that getting them here is my job. I'm also not opposed to foreigners moving to the United States on a permanent basis. Several of my best friends were, in fact, born in a foreign country to foreign parents. There are people in particular that I'd like to move here on a permanent basis right now. It's the specific process here that I'm opposed to. See, after you're selected at random, you still have to meet all other requirements for getting a green card, which includes an application and interview and may include you having a job in the States waiting for you. In other words, winning the lottery doesn't guarantee you a damn thing except someone's brief attention.

So what, then, is the point? Well, remember those certain countries I mentioned above? The list of countries is quite specifically "countries with low rates of immigration to the United States," defined as countries which sent no "more than 50,000 immigrants to the U.S. in the past five years." This does not, by the way, mean strictly underpriveledged countries; it also includes countries the citizens of which have no real interest in moving over. So, Tajikistan is on the list, but so too is Switzerland. The idea here is not to help the underpriveledged make it to the States but rather to encourage diversity in the United States' immigrant population.

Now, again, I'm all for diversity, but I can't see this program as anything more than a smoke screen or empty suit. Think: whatever the normal requirements for getting a green card are, you still have to meet them if you win the lottery. Anyone is entitled to apply for a green card. So, if you're qualified, you should be able to get a green card without the lottery. If you're not qualified you won't be able to get one even with the lottery. All I see the lottery doing is adding a cruel sense of chance and false hope and a way for the Department of State to pat itself on the back (and defend itself to the United Nations) for encouraging diversity.

So, read the link at top, check out the sources that page links to. Come back and tell me: am I missing something?

This past Wednesday was my last day at work. It was hard for me to go, I won't pretend it wasn't. I worked an interesting job with excellent people that let me go to distant places and feel as if I was making the world a slightly better place. If I ever have another job as emotionally, experientially and spiritually rich as my job at InterExchange, I'll count myself a lucky man. But still, it was time to move on. My GRE scores were about to expire.

I've been silent here because I've spent every day from last Wednesday to now engaged in a decadent display of sybaritic crapulence. I was feted with wine and rare hallucinagenic slugs, I cavorted with pleasure queens from a dozen countries. It was a show of debauchery worthy of certain members of the French and Italian nobility. Or at least it might have been, if tales of those nobles' exploits had been wild exaggerations brought on by fever.

My now-former co-workers gave me a quiet sushi dinner with the closest of them, a nice card to remember them by and a few email addresses to keep in touch. Lena gave me the gift of her company over the past few days and the flu. When I said I wanted to spend my time in bed, I didn't mean crippled by fever. When I said I wanted to play doctor, I didn't mean I wanted Lena to bring me advil and tea.

Again, I exaggerate. Lena did give me a little cold and fever, an illness dredged up from the slimy deeps of Sleazeside, and it's slowed me down a little, but that's about all. The worst was that I missed hanging out with Aaron and crew on Saturday night, something I'll try to make up before I leave. Lena and I did the regular run of things, shopping and movie-watching and shooting pool and eating and such, and on Sunday evening I took her off to the airport for her flight home. When she left, she didn't take the flu with her.

I've got a few days of quietude left to me, days in which to pack my life into tiny boxes in preperation for transport to a far away place. In terms of steps, this is probably the biggest I've ever taken. I'm abandoning every element of security I've got in order to try something new and do something different. It's daunting, but exciting. Let's get packing.

I had an interview today for a year-long internship at the Seattle Asian Art Museum. This would hit the sweet spot for me vis a vis my post-study professionalism. The work experience, the contacts... What I would gain from this internship would be incomparable.

I spent four years at a job where one of my chief responsibilities was interviewing people. At this point, I'm very good at knowing when an interview is going well and when an interview is going poorly. This interview went poorly. The woman interviewing me asked some questions that I just didn't have the knowledge to answer or even knowledge enough to bluff my way through. I was honest about it, told her that I looked for the internship to be a real learning experience (which I do), but I could tell: I'm not getting the internship. Not at all. Even remotely. I have no chance whatsoever. None. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that I could do to get this internship.

Which sucks. But will at least give me the time next year to take some neat classes I wouldn't've otherwise had time for. Silver lining, right?

I did a funny thing today. I applied for a job. At Cornell.

Cornell, as you likely know, is in New York State, which puts it a little over 2,200 miles from my current location in Seattle. As you also might have realized I haven't finished my Master's degree yet. So I guess the obvious question is, "Have you gone fucking insane?"

Eh, maybe. The way I see it, it looks like this: The job seems fun and pretty much up my alley (the position involves lot of event coordination, liasing between different campus groups and representing/promoting the program on a national and international level), it's got a good title (Administrative Director) and it's got a minimum starting salary that I couldn't complain about (especially living in Ithaca).

"But what about your Masters?" you might ask. Well, here's the thing: Cornell's a University. They offer their employees an education benefit. Give me two years at this job and I'd have my Master's anyway.

Honestly, I'm not likely to get the job. I'm sort of barely, minimally qualified for it. There'll be a ton of other, stronger applicants. But at the same time, it seemed like a pretty good opportunity and I had nothing to lose by sending my resume. So, most likely I'll be in Seattle for at least another year and I'll finish out my Master's here. But there's a non-zero chance that I'll be moving back to Upstate New York soon. How weird.

I can't snap with my right hand. At all. I really wish I could, but I've been trying for as long as I can remember, and I've never come close.

In other news, all but one of my old archaeology textbooks are in boxes up in my parents' attic. This isn't a surprise - I put them up there myself, after all - but I wish I had them with me right now. There's useful things in those books. On the upside, the one book I do have with me is probably the most useful; it's the one that most directly talks about method and process, in other words the book that most directly explains how to do archaeology. Still wish I had the rest, though.

Should probably say something else about what's going on here, but not a whole lot to report. New quarter's started; taking four classes, grading for a fifth. I'm pretty much in class Tuesday-Thursday and doing homework the rest of the time. Not as fun as it sounds, but overall pretty tolerable. I got an internship this summer, for which I'm overqualified. But I need an internship to graduate, so an internship I have. The place seems pretty cool, so I'm looking forward to it.

More as it occurs to me.

I won't say that a lot has changed for me in the past few months, since last I was regularly posting. But two weeks ago I joined the ranks of the semi-employed. Somewhere along the way, someone said they were giving me an internship. But my title is "Graduate Student Assistant" and they pay me a somewhat respectable wage (which, sadly, does not include tuition). So let's just call it a part time job and leave it at that. I work, by the way, in the International Students & Scholars section of the University of Washington's Office of International Exchange.

What a fucking mouthful.

It's pretty awesome job, all the way around, at least from my geeky perspective. I'm learning half an alphabet's worth of visa regulations, I'm helping to create sustained systems for the office's operations and I'm going to do some low-key student/scholar advising soon. It's being "in the trenches," as it were, for one of my possible jobs post-graduation, and I'm loving it. Add onto that fun the fact that I'm largely free to set my own schedule and that the folk I work with are just friendly as hell, and it's a very rosy picture indeed.

The school year is starting up soon, which means that most of the some 2,000 international students and scholars the University of Washington takes in each year have shown up in the past two weeks. It's been my job to play ring-master for these folks when they wander into my office; I collect and copy their immigration documents and generally herd them to where they need to be to attend their initial orientation (part one of seven). I've got some experience at this sort of thing, but it's still keeping me hopping.

Some perspective: I'm contracted for 20 hours of work a week. I've worked about 35 in each of the past two weeks, and only kept the hours that few by completely ignoring all of the other projects I have going on and the general office work I have to do. Friday night, I dreamed that I was still at work. (I also dreamed that The Ogre™ and I were back in New Jersey, trying to dig a roving bio-van out of the snow. Then Nick showed up to help us along with his dad, who was actually James Hetfield. But that's neither here nor there.)

So, 35 hours a week. Less than full time, but every hour was on my feet, on the move and projecting my voice to the far reaches of the hallway. I didn't exactly have quiet evenings after that, either, as I was either out with friends or co-workers until late. I was going full-tilt, and by Friday afternoon it had caught up with me. I had a fever. Like a car, I overheated.

Idiot that I am, I went out Friday night and got together with friends all day Saturday. Fever was gone by Saturday night, but so was my voice. So today's a recovery day; tea and chicken soup and not saying a damn word. All this so that I can be fit to go to work tomorrow.

The craziest part of this? I'm looking forward to getting back to work. I really love my job.

Foreign students at The Wash have tons of opportunities to get to know each other, the school and Seattle before classes start. Yesterday's came in the form of a boat cruise. I tagged along because the cruise (like most of these activities) was run by my friends at FIUTS (Foundation for International Understanding Through Students), who I got to know through my awesome job (which I keep meaning to talk more about).

The cruise itself was nothing special; a three-hour jaunt around Elliott Bay and out into Puget Sound, dinner included. But it made me feel like a kid again. I used to ride the Circle Line around Manhattan, out to the Statue of Liberty and back, with my summer camp or my folks. I loved that trip: the view of the city skyline, looking up at the Statue as you got close, the motion of the boat and the watery breeze, without that discomfitting sense of being too far from land. That all came back to me yesterday, and I spent the cruise chatting about it and a bunch of other things with friends from FIUTS and international students I met.

This afternoon, a friend of mine from work, Bill, came up to me and said "Can I ask you a personal question?" I agreed, and Bill said "how long have you been dating Alicia?"

I blinked. I said "Buh?" I explained to Bill that the first time I'd met Alicia was yesterday, on the cruise. Then I turned an interesting shade of pink. Here's the story: Bill is friends with one of the FIUTS people, who saw me and Alicia (also a FIUTS person) talking yesterday, jumped to a conclusion and related the whole thing to Bill. No clue where the idea came from; it's not like we were spooning on the foredeck or anything.

Don't get me wrong, Alicia's cool; fun, smart, very cute and with superb (though not quite perfect) taste in music. I wouldn't right now, as I expressed to Bill, mind dating Alicia. I also expressed that I didn't do much towards any sort of dating; I didn't get the girl's number, for example. It simply didn't occur to me to do so. Bill, for his part, expressed that Alicia may or may not be dating someone right now. Helpful, that.

Hello, internet. Been a while, huh? Miss me? Sorry about the absence - I was focusing on school and work and friends and gaming and reading and writing and I just didn't have much time to get in touch.

Don't think I haven't had anything to say. It's been seven months, and I've been busy. I've been seeing someone, for example. Did you know that? She's really quite wonderful. I'm living on the East Coast, too. In Syracuse. Surprised? Me too. Wasn't expecting that one at all. But there I was, in need of a job, and there Syracuse University was, with an offer. So what else could I do?

I've been here since Memorial Day. I know, I should've said something sooner, but today was the first day I had the chance - I didn't have cable or phone before now. Life since the move has been touch and go, up and down. My place, for example, is really nice. It's a townhouse - two bedrooms, bath and a half, living room, dining room, new carpets and appliances, even a dishwasher! On the other hand, I don't know that there's a right angle in the building; I'm not sure that any of the lines in my walls are straight. It's disconcerting - a little Lovecraftian. But I manage.

My stuff showed up, which is great. CDs, books, DVDs, my bed - everything. Except my XBox. That got stolen by some mover, somewhere. And my stereo's broken now, too. Damaged in the move, I guess. And my couch wouldn't fit through the entryway. It's in storage until I figure out what to do with it. I don't feel right getting rid of it - it's the Most Comfortable Couch in the World! - but it's $22 a month to keep it in storage...

I have a Master's Degree now, only I sort of don't. The Graduate School and the Evans School over at The Wash are arguing over it, apparently. It'll get sorted out soon, I'm sure, so I'm not too worried.

Tere's the big picture. I'll be back in a day or so, with more details and more to keep you entertained. So until then, internet, please take a second to check in and let me know you're still listening!

As part of our staff wellness program, my division sponsored a Red Cross CPR course that we staff could elect to attend. I'll jump at any chance to get out of the office for two hours, so away I went. Plus, I figured it's generally a good thing to know how to perform CPR.

A fair amount has changed since the last time I was certified, which was back when I was in the Boy Scouts. Detail stuff, like how to find the point on the chest you compress and the number of compressions per breath.

The instructor was a fairly funny guy but, like most paramedics I've met, had a somewhat macabre sense of humor and a tendency to give out a bit Too Much Information. A lot of what he said, though, was meant to be pretty reassuring; like how we should expect to hear a loud pop when doing CPR on a person - that's the cartilage that holds the breastbone and the ribs together snapping loose. "After that gives," he said, "it's really easy to get good, steady compressions."

The Gates Foundation is advertising a job as a Senior Program Officer, External Relations, Europe, in their Global Health Program. Private industry-level salary, NGO-quality benefits/vacation package, Seattle-based and up to 60%-time travel internationally. Plus, you know, the part where I get to do a great deal of good in the world.

Holy shit do I want this job. It's pretty much ideal. I mean, I'd effectively get to live in Seattle and all of Europe at the same time, I could time vacations with business trips and thereby never have to pay for my own flights, I'd have gobs of time off and a salary to use while I'm taking it.

Unfortunately I'm about 5 years of work and one graduate certificate shy of being qualified. So meanwhile I'll have to content myself with applying for the less lucrative lower-level positions that only do 25% travel (but do it the world over). You know, the jobs that I actually qualify for.

Gotta start somewhere, right?

I found out Tuesday morning that the son of one of my students died. He was seven years old. I'd been working with the student for a few months to bring her son to the US. The boy was sick and couldn't get the medical care he needed at home; more to the point, my student had already lost one son (back in June) while she was here studying, and if she was going to lose another she wanted to be sure she was close to him when it happened.

What a horrible thing to happen to a seven year old. We fought so hard to bring him here. And he was only here for three weeks before something in the cold winter air of Syracuse got into his lungs and the pneumonia set in. He went into the hospital before the weekend and died on Monday.

On Thursday, I went to his funeral. It seemed like the least I could do. I was warned that it would be open casket, and I expected to just lose it. I cried, a little bit, when I saw the body, when I saw the letters his first-grade friends had written to him and the pictures they'd drawn. But walking into the church was like walking into the school in Saved. There was a children's group singing up-beat songs about Jesus, there were people in the pews waving their hands and (seemingly randomly) shouting "amen" or "hallelujah", there was a hip young pastor... It was actually all I could do not to laugh.

And that seemed true of the grieving parents, too. The strength they took from the community they're part of, the enduring faith they have in their savior... It was holding them up and they were happy and at peace with losing their son - this, despite having lost another son six months earlier and having their third son in the hospital right then. Their love for God was just profound to witness.

And, this being an evangelical church, the father made a plea for anyone to come up and get saved and devote themselves to Jesus. Looking at him, I really could believe that that's what he wanted more than anything right then. He was so earnest that I actually felt a little bad about not being able to go on up.

I'm just not the sort to have a personal savior, I guess; it's the particulars that kill me, even if I do dig on the big picture of what Jesus was putting down. But either way, the faith this man had was just a beautiful and empowering thing to see.

I don't think of myself as a superstitious person. This, despite Erik once keeping a list of my Geasa. I play games, mostly; hold taboos for kicks and whimsy and then talk about them as if they're real. I pick up my feet going over railroad tracks to keep bad luck away, touch the roof of a car three times going through a yellow light to add three seconds of great sex to my life, never choose my own fortune cookie just in case. These are games, and I don't believe in magic.

But I know all about it. I know about contagion, taking on an object's properties by taking it into yourself. Eat your enemy's heart to gain his strength, drink mercury to live forever. I know about sympathy, suggesting the change you want to make in the world by mirroring it in ritual. Stab the doll, which looks like a person, to cause that person pain.

I don't believe in magic but, sometimes, a little bit of home sorcery is the easiest thing in the world. Especially when you abandon the traditional trappings. A strand of hair? A drop of blood? A pinch of soil? Old-fashioned, out-dated nonsense. But an alumni t-shirt? A cup of Starbucks coffee?

That's sympathy and contagion for the post-modern age.

Countdown: 51 days

Many ebullient congratulations to Sarah (Who Is Awesome) on successfully acquiring a swank job over in New Hampshire, her wonderful natal state.

The center of the triangle made by Boston, Concord and Portland is not a bad place to be.

Congrats again, Sarah. As always, you're Awesome.

Countdown: 31 days