thoughts du jour

today was a day of firsts for me
1) i was in a tv show
2) i went to a movie by myself

The tv show is "being human," which I had actually heard of before. I had brought my laptop to the park to work on my ISP, saw that they were filming, and picked a spot which I hoped would be close enough to watch. To my delight the crew basically set up around me, and I was told multiple times that I was in the frame and that's fine, as long as I'm cool with my image being very clear on tv. So of course I made myself comfortable as to prevent any continuity gaps. So look for me in the background of an upcoming (possibly second?) episode of being human, season 3. the main guy will be walking in the park with his girlfriend (?) and I'm behind them lying on a blanket with a big bun on top of my head.

For some reason I always thought going to the movies alone was sad, weird, or some combination of both. But after being alone (and bored) for a few hours I decided to venture out and try it myself. Amazingly enough, it is not weird or sad, in fact it's just like going with your friends except you don't have anyone to talk to before or after the credits. No biggie.

Going to a movie alone also meant I had to come home alone. After receiving a message from Dave telling me to "get home safe" I became hyper aware of my actions, and how many of them are conscious attempts to do just that. For example, I sat against a window in the metro and two guys got on together and sat on either side of me. They looked normal and not at all threatening, but my guard immediately went up. When I got to the street again, right away I grabbed my purse and held it against me until I got home. I walked with my shoulders squared, eyes straight ahead. That is, unless I was passing a doorway or alley, in which case I tried to see I there were any figures lurking about as I approached. I listened to footsteps behind me and watched the shadows until I could see who they belonged to. I chose to walk down the main street rather than a side street to stay near people and in good light. Normally I walk quickly but firmly, like I mean business. I would have tonight if it had been any later. Before immigration took it away, I would have had my hand on my pepper-spray in my purse, ready to spray it in a second.

This might sound paranoid, but I really don't think it is. As a short, petite female out alone at night, I know I am vulnerable. I also know that if something were to happen to me, people would ask (in a non-judgmental way of course) 'why was I out alone at night anyway?' Violence and sexual assault happen all the time, and I realize that I am lucky that I have never been a victim. I'd like to keep it that way. I think my sensitivity or awareness is piqued by my research, which has led me to read a lot about sexual violence, sexual predators, and rape culture. I've also been into jezebel recently, which highlights some of the many examples of rape culture that exist around us. This stuff make me mad. It makes me really fucking mad, and for that, I am grateful. Because being mad inspires people to take action. My action is to be aware of myself and of those around me, and to continue stepping in when I see a vulnerable woman alone at night. I also hope to take action through my research and subsequent career, and to continue spreading the message that rape culture is not ok, violence against women is not ok, and sexual violence is not ok.

case in point: http://jezebel.com/5925786/walking-while-female-a-story-of-sexual-assault-in-broad-daylight?comment=50940304?utm_source=jezebel_facebook&utm_medium=socialflow
(added 7/13/2012)

I am patriotic.

Living abroad has made me think a lot about what it means to be American this year. I’ve had many conversations this year with others as the token American and had to listen to all the bad things America is doing/has done, without resisting because you already know that people who only want to talk about this won’t listen anyway. I’ve also been introduced as “this is Madeline, she’s American.” True, but not necessary in an introduction, in my opinion. 

I used to think of being patriotic as a bad thing, as in ’merica – fuck yeah! or macho military men who think questioning anything makes you a traitor. 

It seemed to me that being patriotic was almost a bad thing amongst some of my most ‘liberal’ friends. But now that it’s the 4^th of July and no one cares (not that I expect them to) I’m a little surprised that I’ll “miss it.” I’m hosting a small BBQ in the park tomorrow to celebrate, and making the playlist has made me a little sentimental. I even caught myself singing “You’re a grand old flag” while cutting potatoes for salad. ..I mean whaa? 

But I realized I’ve changed my mind about what I think it means to be patriotic. It is not blind allegiance to the red white and blue, and it is not thinking America is #1 (there’s plenty of proof that we’re not, but that’s besides the point). I believe that America does have the potential to be the best country in the world. We have the resources, the manpower, and an entrepreneuial spirit. What being patriotic means to me is being proud of my country’s successes and mourning its failures, while demanding it do better in the future. I love my country and the opportunities it has afforded me, and I believe in its potential. 

So while I know there’s a lot of work to be done, I’m proud to be an American and I’m no longer ashamed to say that I am patriotic.

My first camping trip, au français

Voyage en Gaspésie du 21 au 28 juin 2012

21 juin
- Départ de Montréal le matin (9h?)
- Arrivée au Parc National du Bic vers 15h 

 - Installation, rando…
- Nuit à Parc National du Bic

22 juin
- Randonnée dans le parc l`après-midi
- Nuit  à Parc National du Bic

23 juin
- Départ du parc National du Bic
- Arrivée au Parc National de la Gaspésie
- Installation, rando…
- Nuit sur place

24 juin
- Journée dans le Parc
- Nuit sur place

25 juin
- Départ du Parc National de la Gaspésie dans la matinée
- Arrivée au Parc National de Forillon
- Installation, rando…
- Nuit sur place

26 juin
- Depart du Parc National de Forillon dans la matinée
- Etape a Percé – Lunch – visite
- Arrivée a Bonaventure en fin d`après midi
- Nuit sur place

27 juin
- Départ de Bonaventure dans la matinée
- Arrivée a Riviere du Loup
- Nuit a Riviere du Loup

28 juin
- Depart de Riviere du Loup dans la matinée
- Arrivée à Montréal en fin d`après midi

remember that show from VH1 best week ever?

-one job interview
-applied for two more job
-reimbursed $6,200 from McGill
-started writing my ISP
-talked to my brother
-tickets to the beach, secured
-camping trip across Quebec, planned
-last minute trip to NYC tomorrow
-visiting Dave Sunday

beat that, Axl Rose.

three exchanges I have with everyone I meet in Montreal

1: person - Where are you from?
     me - Albany.
     person - Oh... your bus station really sucks/is gross/is scary.
     me - Thank you.

2: person - How long have you been with your boyfriend?
     me - Six and a half years.
     person - Wow! Why aren't you married yet?
     me - I'm only 24. (also, none of your business)

3: person - You don't speak French? Not even a little?
     me - Nope. I tried but it didn't stick.
    person - huh...
    me - I'm American.
    person - Oh, OK then.

i'm like a bird

i dont know where my soul is.
i dont know where my home is.

I am entering into a period of transition. I suck at transition. And this time, it will last about a year.

I've finished my coursework towards my M.S.W. and now have a relatively easy summer semester filled with a self-guided project and paper. That means I have lots of free time to enjoy the weather and squeeze in some travel, but also lots of time to worry about what's coming.

I'm moving back to the US at the end of August. I am applying for a fellowship that I'm really stoked about but it doesn't start until January. I can't even apply for full time jobs, because if I get the fellowship I'll have to quit after just a few months which isn't fair to clients or employers. That means I'll have to apply for 1 or more (probably more) part time jobs to fill my time and replenish (hah!) my bank account. Oh yeah and pay back all those student loans. Then I can quit the jobs at the end of December and do the 6 month fellowship.. and then reevaluate my life again and begin applying for those full time salaried jobs I've been told I'm qualified for.

This is not a solid plan. I have to get more than one job that I probably won't like (menial office work, the mall... I thought I was done with you!), coordinate schedules for more than one employer, go without benefits, and cross my fingers that I make enough money to pay all my bills. Yes, I would rather do this than move back home. AND this nonsense is all for the sake of doing the fellowship - which I haven't been accepted into yet. So, of course, this could all be a big waste of time, specifically five months that I could have used to find full time employment that uses my fancy new degree. Let's hope I get into the fellowship, then, eh?

On top of that, I'm struggling with the idea of where I want to be in the first place. I honestly like living in Montréal very much, but I don't belong here. I'm reminded of that every time I get an email from a prof in French (oops!), have to laugh though (another) joke about fat, dumb Americans, or am clueless about what's going on in pop culture because American websites don't effing work in Canada!!!! (this I find especially frustrating).

But I don't belong in Albany, either. I have some friends there, I know the area, I know I can afford to live there, and most importantly my boyfriend is there, but I don't like it. I was excited to leave Albany and I've really loved the excitement and growth that has come through living in NYC and Montreal. I love living in bigger cities, with the vibrant cultures, beautiful buildings, delicious and diverse food... and Albany just doesn't have that. It has suburbs, parking lots, white trash, lots of drunk college kids, and maybe one good food place in a few ethnic categories. It's not a terrible place, but at this point in my life it's just not for me. But alas, I am going back there and starting over again.

Let the next year of soul crushing doubt, insecurity, anger, anxiety, poverty, and hopefully some more personal growth begin!

I'm not turning 30, but I'm still thinking about it...

How To Live Alone: Turning 30 Is Easier If You've Learned To Exist On Your Own

When I was a kid, the only woman I knew who lived alone was my aunt Margie. Although Margie was nice enough in a peppermint-scented, pilly-sweatered kind of way, I figured she lived alone because she had no other choice: She wasn’t pretty enough to get a husband or cool enough to have friends or lucky enough to be a mom. Living alone might be better than being dead, I thought, but just barely.

I had no desire to ever live alone myself, and I didn’t think I’d ever have to. I moved from my parents’ house to a college dorm room, and from my dorm to an apartment with my first husband, and when my teenage marriage broke up, I moved in with a group of friends.

Eventually, though, I found myself too old to keep labeling my cheese but not ready to move in with my adorable but oh-so-tenuous new boyfriend. And so at twenty-three I signed a lease on my first solo apartment. I was thrilled to finally be embarking on a phase that was defined by nothing more than my own moods, schedule, and agenda. But I also dreaded discovering that, alone with my own soul, I’d find nothing very compelling. What if even I didn’t want to be with me?

It was one of the first pedestrian chores of having my own place that ended up banishing my worry: I had to paint the walls, a job that clearly fell to me alone. But at the same time, I realized, no one else had any right to decide what color I painted those walls, or at what hour, or how I configured the rest of the space around them.

I remember so vividly what a thrill it was to transform the room that I can still see the gorgeous color I chose, the palest shell pink, spreading like a blush of excitement across those walls. There was an important revelation in that moment: Living alone meant pleasing nobody, not even for one second, but myself.

Of course, there were lonely moments too, and those filled with terror: As keenly as I remember the pleasure of blasting “Desperado” for five days running after a painful breakup, I remember how desolate I felt lying alone on the floor crying over him. I recall how horrible I felt upon discovering a mouse swimming desperately in my toilet. (If you must know, I shut my eyes and -- yes, shoot me -- I flushed.) How terrifying it was to wake up from a nightmare at 3 a.m. and feel there was no one on earth I had a right to call at that hour to comfort me.

There was also a sense that I was doing this until something better -- i.e., a permanent man -- came along. But while I was waiting, I was also amassing important life skills available only to those who live alone. How to single-handedly haul a dresser up five flights of stairs, say, or how not to eat all the ice cream in your freezer. Where to fortify a door so no one can get in, and when to kick that guy in your bed out.

When it’s only you within those pink walls, on the peaceful sunny days as well as the fretful nights, you get to know yourself in a way you don’t, you just can’t, in any other situation. There’s no one else to blame the mess on, to absorb the anxiety, to break the silence. You’re forced to confront your own weaknesses as well as your strengths, to figure out exactly what you want out of living with a lover or a friend (if you end up wanting that at all), and why being alone may be just perfect.

Due to love or money or some combination of the two, I moved into and out of my own apartments throughout my twenties, finally getting remarried and having my first child in the whirlwind eighteen months before my thirtieth birthday. Except for a week or two when I’ve been traveling, I haven’t lived alone since.

But here’s the important thing: I know that I could. I know that -- undoubtedly like my aunt Margie -- I’d like it. I even know what color I’d paint the walls.



by Pamela Redmond Satran from
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/04/24/how-to-live-alone-turning-30_n_1447304.html?ref=women