Below is another piece of found writing that I enjoyed. I found this poem in the Writers Museum in Edinburgh. The sounds that the poem creates reflects many of the sounds of Edinburgh. Enjoy and a' that.
A Man's A Man for A' That
Is there for honest poverty
That hings his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by-
We dare be poor, for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that.
Our toils obscure and a' that.
The rank is but the guinea's stamp.
The man's the gowd, 'for a' that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodder grey and a' that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine-
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that and a' that.
The honest man, tough e'er sae poor,
I king o' men for a' that.
Ye see you birkie, ca'd a lord
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
The man o' independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mark a betted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's a boon his might,
Guid faith he manna fa' that!
For a' that, an a' that,
Their dignities an a' that,
The pith o' sense', an pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may
(As come it will for a' that)
That sense and worth o'er a' the earth
Shall bear the gree and a' that!
For a' that comin' yet for a' that,
That man to man, the worl o'er,
shall brothers be' for a' that.
Robert Burns
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Daily Travel Log August 20- 30
In the feature that I am generically calling the Daily Travel Log, I set for the simple basics of each days travels and happenings. Details and nuances will need to be examined through the filter of my other reflective essays.
August 20th, 2012:
Today I flew in to London Heathrow airport from Chicago. I stayed at the Travel Lodge outside of the airport.
August 21st, 2012:
Today I traveled from the Travel Lodge in London to my hostel in Central London. It doesn't sound like much but it was a venture for this novice.
August 22nd, 2012:
My day began with a writing and reflecting session in Russell Square. I toured the British Museum and the Royal Academy of the Arts.
August 23rd, 2012:
I attempted to put in my time at the National Gallery but was to distracted by the sunny day. I watched passers by in Trafalgar Square, walked past Big Ben, Buckingham Palace and Parliament. Highlights of the day include touring the Supreme Court and the Institute for Contemporary Arts (ICA).
August 24th, 2012:
I walked a ridiculous distance through Hyde Park to the Science Museum and the Natural History Museum. I revisited the National Gallery to see a few things that I missed.
August 25th, 2012:
Today, I traveled from Central London to Oxford. I walked the streets of Oxford and ate lunch in the meadows outside of Christ's Church Cathedral. Chatted up a collection of folks at the hostel.
August 26th, 2012:
I explored the streets of Oxford further with my new friend Yiming. Ate lunch at the first Pub in Oxford, Turf Tavern.
August 27th, 2012:
Traveled from Oxford to Liverpool. Met two Americans on the train (Lauren and Megan). Visited the International Slavery Museum and Maritime Museum. Walked around Albert's Dock in the rain.
August 28th, 2012:
This was my lazy Sunday. I slept in. Walked the streets of Liverpool. Soaked up the free WIFI at the Starbucks. (Yes, I know but free WIFI) Walked way off of the beaten path to try to see the actual Atlantic Ocean but found myself at the Liverpool Waste Water Plant.
August 29th, 2012:
Traveled from Liverpool to Windermere. Hoofed my backpack three miles to the hostel in the prime farm lands of the area. Walked from hostel to Ambleside and back again. Collapsed in exhaustion after making a giant pan of ravioli, meatballs, sauce and red wine.
August 30th, 2012:
Traveled by bus to Penrith by bus. I was unable to find lodging so I traveled by train to Edinburgh. Catching up on writing, posting and doing errands.
August 20th, 2012:
Today I flew in to London Heathrow airport from Chicago. I stayed at the Travel Lodge outside of the airport.
August 21st, 2012:
Today I traveled from the Travel Lodge in London to my hostel in Central London. It doesn't sound like much but it was a venture for this novice.
August 22nd, 2012:
My day began with a writing and reflecting session in Russell Square. I toured the British Museum and the Royal Academy of the Arts.
August 23rd, 2012:
I attempted to put in my time at the National Gallery but was to distracted by the sunny day. I watched passers by in Trafalgar Square, walked past Big Ben, Buckingham Palace and Parliament. Highlights of the day include touring the Supreme Court and the Institute for Contemporary Arts (ICA).
August 24th, 2012:
I walked a ridiculous distance through Hyde Park to the Science Museum and the Natural History Museum. I revisited the National Gallery to see a few things that I missed.
August 25th, 2012:
Today, I traveled from Central London to Oxford. I walked the streets of Oxford and ate lunch in the meadows outside of Christ's Church Cathedral. Chatted up a collection of folks at the hostel.
August 26th, 2012:
I explored the streets of Oxford further with my new friend Yiming. Ate lunch at the first Pub in Oxford, Turf Tavern.
August 27th, 2012:
Traveled from Oxford to Liverpool. Met two Americans on the train (Lauren and Megan). Visited the International Slavery Museum and Maritime Museum. Walked around Albert's Dock in the rain.
August 28th, 2012:
This was my lazy Sunday. I slept in. Walked the streets of Liverpool. Soaked up the free WIFI at the Starbucks. (Yes, I know but free WIFI) Walked way off of the beaten path to try to see the actual Atlantic Ocean but found myself at the Liverpool Waste Water Plant.
August 29th, 2012:
Traveled from Liverpool to Windermere. Hoofed my backpack three miles to the hostel in the prime farm lands of the area. Walked from hostel to Ambleside and back again. Collapsed in exhaustion after making a giant pan of ravioli, meatballs, sauce and red wine.
August 30th, 2012:
Traveled by bus to Penrith by bus. I was unable to find lodging so I traveled by train to Edinburgh. Catching up on writing, posting and doing errands.
Lust and Lost
In my four days exploring Central London, I fell in and out of love many times. Usually not lasting more than a glance or a moment spent relaxing together in a park, may women fell victim to my lust. I, of course, am left alone to reflect on the power that is lost to the other sex.
A part of me wants to believe that this lust has only become noticeable because of my foreign local and the novelty of the view. In someways this is true. Hearing an accented female generally attracts my attention. With a multitude us uniquely formed words all around me, my head is on a constant swivel and so to my desire. Unique clothes draw a different path for my eyes across the female form. Despite this reasonable diagnosis, I wish add elaboration.
Another factor, that only few will understand, is the presence of Brown Dog. BD, as he is often called, is a fictional character who fills the pages of many Jim Harrison novellas. As a part of my city ventures, I read Westward Ho! This is a novella that tells of BD's quest to reclaim his bear skin from an American Indian movement activist. This activist has left BD 45 miles outside of LA. As BD fails and succeeds in his ever present quest he is always an astute observer of the color of women's undergarments, the swoop of a woman's ass and the attractiveness of a rotund woman. Although I do not have the mindless ability to act on my lust as BD does, I relate to the animalistic pursuit of the unseen but often imagined.
In all honesty, I have noticed some of this lust before. It is a lust similar to any venture of a country boy to the cityscape. When in the natural confines of the country, lust must narrow its focus. Generally, one female in the smoky bar or field party draws the evenings lust. She is usually too young, wearing too much makeup, balancing a cigarette between her lips and is the fixation of the room. For this specimen, you must not converse or the illusion will be broken when she does not understand your Steinbeck reference or shares to undying love for Guns and Roses. I do not mean to imply that country girls lack intelligence. It is simply that the majority of intelligence country girls have from my peering eyes by their pious fathers. Not wanting to lose a female of their own creation, country fathers use their religion and land to insulate their daughters from the local bar. If not hidden, they soon take up the city and its rules.
In the city, land does not exist as a buffer. Universities and science also begin to crack the religious fervor shell. Women quickly adapt and realize that their feminine features are a commodity. The goods are not sold as raw materials to the sex professions but become valued based of the estimations of glances. A speculative glance from a male leads to the fulfillment of a need to be the center of attention. The city wise female quickly learns the power that she holds. Expensive dinners, designer clothes and the attention of the human equivalent to the cock pheasant display her understanding of power. It is often to these things that she is drawn.
What of the humble and lowly passerby? A glare straight forward is the usual reward. I have never been able to understand this stance of complete indifference and lack of observation. Sometimes a female (or male as well) will forget the rules of the city game and match eye contact with this country outsider. Instant terror and a diversionary path usually greet my smile and acknowledgment of the other's existence. I have taught myself the rules of the city to preserve my honest attempt to greet and dismiss the belief that I hold ill intentions.
I do not know the to genesis to my uncontrollable lust. In the time that I needed to compose this reflection, I have left Central London. I have traveled to smaller cities further north. Here the local fashion includes shorts that are cut very high on the bottom and rise high above the hip. Teeth have begun to tangle slightly as they reach their end. The guttural sound of the Celtic accent batters the smooth flow of the southern. With this lack of attraction, my lust subsides. I will willingly accept this respite as I prepare the ultimate test in lust, Paris.
NIC
A part of me wants to believe that this lust has only become noticeable because of my foreign local and the novelty of the view. In someways this is true. Hearing an accented female generally attracts my attention. With a multitude us uniquely formed words all around me, my head is on a constant swivel and so to my desire. Unique clothes draw a different path for my eyes across the female form. Despite this reasonable diagnosis, I wish add elaboration.
Another factor, that only few will understand, is the presence of Brown Dog. BD, as he is often called, is a fictional character who fills the pages of many Jim Harrison novellas. As a part of my city ventures, I read Westward Ho! This is a novella that tells of BD's quest to reclaim his bear skin from an American Indian movement activist. This activist has left BD 45 miles outside of LA. As BD fails and succeeds in his ever present quest he is always an astute observer of the color of women's undergarments, the swoop of a woman's ass and the attractiveness of a rotund woman. Although I do not have the mindless ability to act on my lust as BD does, I relate to the animalistic pursuit of the unseen but often imagined.
In all honesty, I have noticed some of this lust before. It is a lust similar to any venture of a country boy to the cityscape. When in the natural confines of the country, lust must narrow its focus. Generally, one female in the smoky bar or field party draws the evenings lust. She is usually too young, wearing too much makeup, balancing a cigarette between her lips and is the fixation of the room. For this specimen, you must not converse or the illusion will be broken when she does not understand your Steinbeck reference or shares to undying love for Guns and Roses. I do not mean to imply that country girls lack intelligence. It is simply that the majority of intelligence country girls have from my peering eyes by their pious fathers. Not wanting to lose a female of their own creation, country fathers use their religion and land to insulate their daughters from the local bar. If not hidden, they soon take up the city and its rules.
In the city, land does not exist as a buffer. Universities and science also begin to crack the religious fervor shell. Women quickly adapt and realize that their feminine features are a commodity. The goods are not sold as raw materials to the sex professions but become valued based of the estimations of glances. A speculative glance from a male leads to the fulfillment of a need to be the center of attention. The city wise female quickly learns the power that she holds. Expensive dinners, designer clothes and the attention of the human equivalent to the cock pheasant display her understanding of power. It is often to these things that she is drawn.
What of the humble and lowly passerby? A glare straight forward is the usual reward. I have never been able to understand this stance of complete indifference and lack of observation. Sometimes a female (or male as well) will forget the rules of the city game and match eye contact with this country outsider. Instant terror and a diversionary path usually greet my smile and acknowledgment of the other's existence. I have taught myself the rules of the city to preserve my honest attempt to greet and dismiss the belief that I hold ill intentions.
I do not know the to genesis to my uncontrollable lust. In the time that I needed to compose this reflection, I have left Central London. I have traveled to smaller cities further north. Here the local fashion includes shorts that are cut very high on the bottom and rise high above the hip. Teeth have begun to tangle slightly as they reach their end. The guttural sound of the Celtic accent batters the smooth flow of the southern. With this lack of attraction, my lust subsides. I will willingly accept this respite as I prepare the ultimate test in lust, Paris.
NIC
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Ramblings of a Wanderer
Intention has failed me today. I began the day with the best of intentions. I planned a visit to the National Gallery (a huge FREE art gallery). All started well and I did my best to understand impressionism. Soon though, my intellectual pursuits became lost to idiotic wandering. I had forsaken the contents of the inside world for a London that was uncharacteristically sunny and warm.
Just because I rejected academia, that doesn't mean that I failed to study. I simply focused on the wrong things. I studied the curves of the feminine landscape rather than the cityscape. I mocked the monarch that birthed my fledgling government when I failed to be imitated by changing guards and palaces. Sitting on the steps of great monuments, I averted my eyes from upward reverence of Admiral Nelson for a study of the masses.
I can already here the questions of my return. Did you see Buckingham Palace? I think so. What about Big Ben? I'm pretty sure. These great monuments outlined my path but did not foster my complete attention.
I am certain that I saw many brilliant sights. I just lacked the intellect to appreciate them to the full extent or with their deserved reverence. So it goes with the travel who is wonton of knowledge. In my ignorant bliss, I continue to push forward.
For those of you who do want to know the details of my sight seeing, here is a list of some of the things that I remember.
-Multiple bridges across the river Thames
-Big Ben and Parliament
-The Supreme Court (a highlight of the day)
-Numerous children chasing pigeons
-A falconer trying to chase these pigeons beyond their reach
-China town in the height of rush hour
-A diverse collection of people filling my ears with the unique sounds of their thoughts
NIC
Just because I rejected academia, that doesn't mean that I failed to study. I simply focused on the wrong things. I studied the curves of the feminine landscape rather than the cityscape. I mocked the monarch that birthed my fledgling government when I failed to be imitated by changing guards and palaces. Sitting on the steps of great monuments, I averted my eyes from upward reverence of Admiral Nelson for a study of the masses.
I can already here the questions of my return. Did you see Buckingham Palace? I think so. What about Big Ben? I'm pretty sure. These great monuments outlined my path but did not foster my complete attention.
I am certain that I saw many brilliant sights. I just lacked the intellect to appreciate them to the full extent or with their deserved reverence. So it goes with the travel who is wonton of knowledge. In my ignorant bliss, I continue to push forward.
For those of you who do want to know the details of my sight seeing, here is a list of some of the things that I remember.
-Multiple bridges across the river Thames
-Big Ben and Parliament
-The Supreme Court (a highlight of the day)
-Numerous children chasing pigeons
-A falconer trying to chase these pigeons beyond their reach
-China town in the height of rush hour
-A diverse collection of people filling my ears with the unique sounds of their thoughts
NIC
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Writing from the British Museum
Today I came across two pieces of writing that I really enjoyed. In typing and reflecting on them, I realize that they match the mode and tone of the previous blog post that I composed this morning. Just a more upbeat note: I had a great time at the British Museum today!
Both of these writing pieces were conceived by students in London when reflecting on a famous print.
Inspired by The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Isolated from reality and time,
In the light of the stars lay his desire,
His life a lie, a pretense, a mime,
Little did he know his time would expire,
The stars fade as he fulfils his longing,
Is she worth that dream, that green light.
Here never leaving but never belonging,
Admire his will, his motive, his fight,
No-one sees as he takes his last breath,
Life continues normally after his death.
Siama Begum
The second passage aligned somewhat with my night in the hostel last night.
Inspired by The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams
This is a madhouse. There is no space to think,
No space to breathe. No space to be alone save
the palms of my hands. Her hands attack my
body, his groans my ears. I seek the comfort of
my dark, silent palms from their constant
presence and nagging and tugging and invading.
From the isolation that their company brings, I
need fluidity, my personality and my dreams.
We exist and function as one interfused mass of
automatism. This is life.
Katie Barnes-Managhan
Both of these writing pieces were conceived by students in London when reflecting on a famous print.
Inspired by The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Isolated from reality and time,
In the light of the stars lay his desire,
His life a lie, a pretense, a mime,
Little did he know his time would expire,
The stars fade as he fulfils his longing,
Is she worth that dream, that green light.
Here never leaving but never belonging,
Admire his will, his motive, his fight,
No-one sees as he takes his last breath,
Life continues normally after his death.
Siama Begum
The second passage aligned somewhat with my night in the hostel last night.
Inspired by The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams
This is a madhouse. There is no space to think,
No space to breathe. No space to be alone save
the palms of my hands. Her hands attack my
body, his groans my ears. I seek the comfort of
my dark, silent palms from their constant
presence and nagging and tugging and invading.
From the isolation that their company brings, I
need fluidity, my personality and my dreams.
We exist and function as one interfused mass of
automatism. This is life.
Katie Barnes-Managhan
The First of Many Reflections
On the first reflection of this journey, I am bound to share the nervous anxiety that has dominated my every action. For the first 72 hours of my venture, my brain has struggled to build the new synapses that new experiences bring. The following conflicts have provided the tension and will hopefully find resolution in my search.
Doubt. What am I doing? What makes me think I can pull this off? At the center of my anxiety is the doubt that I made a mistake in taking up this venture. My rational mind knows that I have made a great decision but my emotional mind seeks the land of familiarity. I realize that I am bold but also reside in an area not unknown to tourist.
To be tourist or to not be a tourist. I realized quickly that my Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap immediately isolates me as an American tourist. I am certain this is not the only mark that I bear. I have faced the conflict of admitting that I am a foreign tourist. I have all of the stereotypes of an American tourist. I struggle to know if I am marking my naivete with my thick lonely planet guide. If I am, does it matter? I can tell that everyone at the hostel wants to project the weathered traveler but secretly wishes that someone would just tell them what to do and see. I make my loosely veiled attempt show my expertise. Only once was I almost run over for not looking to the right first before crossing the street.
The speed of the pound. I found out quickly that it is easy to buy yourself comfort. I arrived at Heathrow airport at around 10:30 local time. A faster than expected walk through customs left me to find the bus that would take me to my hotel. I checked in with an information desk at the airport. Promptly they told me that it may be too late to catch the bus I needed from a different terminal. I played their game and hired a taxi. I quickly lost 35 pounds or about $56 and was escorted with ease. I can tell that it is easy to travel path that is the most convienent but know that I can not afford this path.
And so my adventure goes on. I try to calm my nerves by finding something that is familiar. A walk around the block builds confidence is seeing something that is the same and has not changed. I lay awake with my eyes closed listening to the buzz of the city and the grunts of my fellow travelers. Even if I can not sleep, eyes closed, laying down is the next best thing. I bring my watch to my ear to hear the tick, tick, tick. It is good to hear the way the time pushes forward. That is the challenge. As I face my fears, I must keep going forward. You have the option to reflect back on experiences but must always push forward into the unknown.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Preparing my Gearlist
Travel Log: On this track of the blog the focus will center around the logistics of a backpacking adventure in Europe. Although I am not the expert, I hope that you can learn from my mistakes.
I am reflecting as I pack. I hope that I have everything that I need and nothing that I don’t. Below is my pack list and photos of my gear.
Montrail tennis shoes
Chaco flip flops
3 pairs SmartWool/ Teko hiking socks
Work gloves
Travel wallet
Passport
WMI Klean Kanteen
Small Nalgene Bottle
Glasses w/ case
Smith sunglasses
Big Agnes sleeping pad
Sierra Designs Sleeping Bag
Marmot 2-person tent
Travel Sheets
2 SmartWool lite sweaters
SmartWool undershirt
3 Pair Under Armor underwear
Patagonia short sleeve collared shirt
Duluth Trading long sleeve collared shirt
Athletic Shorts
Convertible Pants
Blue jeans
Patagonia puff jacket
OR rain pants
Mountain Hardwear rain jacket
Andrew Bird t-shirt
Hayden t-shirt
REI summit pack
MSR water pouch
Headlamp
Small flashlight
AAA batteries
Brewers cap
Dr. Bronner’s all purpose soap
Pack towel
Sunscreen
Floss
Toothpaste
Toothbrush
Qtips
Earplugs
Nail clippers
First-Aid Kit
Swiss Army knife
Watch
Padlocks
Sharpe Marker
Nalgene Bowl
Small pot
Spoon
Belt
Camera w/ charger
Memory cards
Camera upload connector
Ear buds
AA batteries
International plug adapters
Ipad w/ charger
Pelican Case for iPad
Wireless keyboard
Notebook
The Beast God Forgot to Invent by Jim Harrison
The Lonely Planet: Europe on a Shoestring
Jules Ferry and the Renaissance of French Imperialism by Thomas F. Power Jr
Pencils
Beanie
Pack cover
Of course, the real purpose behind this post is self-centered. It gives me a chance to ensure I have all that is needed.
NIC
I am reflecting as I pack. I hope that I have everything that I need and nothing that I don’t. Below is my pack list and photos of my gear.
Montrail tennis shoes
Chaco flip flops
3 pairs SmartWool/ Teko hiking socks
Work gloves
Travel wallet
Passport
WMI Klean Kanteen
Small Nalgene Bottle
Glasses w/ case
Smith sunglasses
Big Agnes sleeping pad
Sierra Designs Sleeping Bag
Marmot 2-person tent
Travel Sheets
2 SmartWool lite sweaters
SmartWool undershirt
3 Pair Under Armor underwear
Patagonia short sleeve collared shirt
Duluth Trading long sleeve collared shirt
Athletic Shorts
Convertible Pants
Blue jeans
Patagonia puff jacket
OR rain pants
Mountain Hardwear rain jacket
Andrew Bird t-shirt
Hayden t-shirt
REI summit pack
MSR water pouch
Headlamp
Small flashlight
AAA batteries
Brewers cap
Dr. Bronner’s all purpose soap
Pack towel
Sunscreen
Floss
Toothpaste
Toothbrush
Qtips
Earplugs
Nail clippers
First-Aid Kit
Swiss Army knife
Watch
Padlocks
Sharpe Marker
Nalgene Bowl
Small pot
Spoon
Belt
Camera w/ charger
Memory cards
Camera upload connector
Ear buds
AA batteries
International plug adapters
Ipad w/ charger
Pelican Case for iPad
Wireless keyboard
Notebook
The Beast God Forgot to Invent by Jim Harrison
The Lonely Planet: Europe on a Shoestring
Jules Ferry and the Renaissance of French Imperialism by Thomas F. Power Jr
Pencils
Beanie
Pack cover
Of course, the real purpose behind this post is self-centered. It gives me a chance to ensure I have all that is needed.
NIC
Thursday, August 9, 2012
To Have and Be Had
My career as a carnival worker began with my reply to a Craigslist ad. It was with innocence and naiveté, I clicked the send button on the email inquiring for more information. In this email, I included my invitation to request my resume. I assumed sending my resume with notation of my Master’s degree would be a bit pretentious for working in the gaming trades.
Four days later a call came asking if I am still interested. To my surprise I was not asked any questions about my qualifications for the position. I was told to meet PJ at the games area at 10 AM the Monday before the fair.
Upon hanging up, I informed my Dad of my new employment. His first reaction was to warm me that I need to prepare myself for my entry into the world of VD. As my Mom entered the conversation- unaware of the subject at hand- I informed her as well. She simply asked if I had enough condoms. Both of their comments clearly established the reputation that my new profession had instilled in them.
Undeterred, I attended my morning orientation with anticipation for the novelty that I was about to witness. I located the under construction games area of the fairgrounds amongst the buzz of preparation. I quickly learned that PJ’s wife would be my direct supervisor and not PJ. Although I would have more contact with her, I didn’t learn her name. She was generally referred to as “she” or “her.” Even though everyone knew who was being referenced, She had been relocated to the general pronoun status.
As she confirmed our names on a list, I began to take in the other individuals who would be my co-workers in the venture. The first thing that I noticed was the cigarettes. Their chain smoking displayed equal amounts of spite and toughness that left everyone nervously sizing up one another. A pan of the crowd found many rebellious T-shirts, unscuffed 80’s retro tennis shoes and a proud collection of the best American ripped and torn blue jeans.Youth marked the faces of all but one. My fellow elder was equipped with a blue tooth ear piece that demonstrated his arrogance despite his current level of employment.
Fully assembled, She inquired if any of us were sexual predators. Verification was assured. If we had fallen to this vice, it was better to confess now rather than postpone the inevitable arrest. We were required to sign a document that confirmed our statement and established our payment agreement. If I work the entire fair, I am entitled to 20% of the money that I bring in. If I am fired and/or quit, I will be entitled to 15%. I was impelled to ask about the completion of a W2 but realized that this may be met with an odd look and ridicule. I signed my agreement. Orientation concluded with Her decision that we held little to no value for the rest of the day.
The next morning, I join the others assembled under a newly transformed landscape. Every source of fun and desire had been contracted over night in this grassy Midwestern field. Any man’s (or woman’s) need to be filled with a fat filled, meat like, deep fried substance could be attained. Digestive assistance could also be arranged in the gravity defiance found in transportable thrill machines.
It was determined that I will be working the basketball attraction with another co-worker. I want to call it a game or an amusement but that may have been an overstatement. A game would suggest a bit of fairness that could clearly not be said for this attraction. The basketballs were standard issue but the rims made a great number of deviations as they traversed their pinched oval shape. I can not see how any amusement can be drawn from this mainstay of the gaming strip, so I am left with the label of attraction.
My co-worker and I settled into our attraction with our coolers. I had been told only one rule to follow. Don’t give away the stock. Even if your girlfriend comes by or a little sweet kid attempted to pry a free prize, this action would lead to dismissal. I had this rule in my working memory but still had not been instructed the rules or rate for the game. We spent our first hour waiting. Feeling responsible for standing in front of our attraction, we would have been better served to huddle in any shade we could find. Finally, She instructed us on the rules of the game. This of course was bookended by her two repeated declarations that we would be fired if we gave away the stock and questioning whether we were sexual predators.
In order to take part in this attraction, participants needed to forfeit $2 for one shot and $5 for three shots. This meant that for every solo shot I collected $0.40 and for every three shot purchase $1. This is of course if I work the entire fair. If I was fired or resigned my profit dropped (one shot = $0.30 and three shots = $0.75). At this rate I needed to have 25 single shooters an hour, at the single shot rate and work the entire fair in order to pull a $10 per hour wage. If I work twelve hours per day for the six days of the fair, I would accumulate 72 hours. At $10 per hour I could make $720 as I watched 1,800 shots arch to potential success or more likely failure. I had no idea the frequency rate of participants but I knew twenty five customers per hour was unrealistic.
After our first hour of waiting, I agreed to take the first break of the day. This left my co-worker to sell the few stragglers who wandered past. Break is an important part of the carnival work life. The majority of the work could be associated with the break at other positions that I have held. I spent my first break walking around, reading and taking in the movement of the fair.
I returned to our attraction hoping to find my co-worker crowded with clientele. He was sitting in the grass with his head down in the typical carnival worker fashion. He had two shooters. The $4 brought in was a slow start but I was not deterred. I tied on my money apron and grabbed the bank ($50 in ones for change).
A key to success in the carnival world is the call in. I had worked on a collection of call in lines over night. I wanted to bring a little intellect to the trade. Come one, come all. Ponder your prize prospects with a perfect shot. But, I relented to the common refrain of make a basket, win a prize. Later in the evening I entered into a verbal competition with our neighbor. Their refrain of a guaranteed prize every time was matched by my call to guarantee a prize for every made basket. Some in the profession use the call in to display their unabashed and generally false enthusiasm for their attraction. I like to listen for the bits of truth that enter the call in when exhaustion leads to verbal slips. Little views on race, ideas of statutory misdeeds and anger over the repression that comes with being a carnival worker break the monotony of the common call in.
For the next hour, I called in all those who passed by. Most gave me a smirk and shrug with their no. Although the principle can not be applied to all, I am convinced that this interaction is part of the appeal. Everyone wants to be acknowledged and desired. Even if you are being beckoned by a sagging cigarette that is being held in place with the less than ideal number of teeth, you are still being beckoned. I felt as if everyone knew the game that I was playing by calling them in. They played their role as well. A child with prize glistened eyes would guilt a parent to forfeiting money for a shot that would not reach within six feet of the basket.
I watched and called throughout the afternoon hours. I had a few willing participants. Most came to the attraction and left questioning the finality that consumed their money. This was the saddest part of my position. What do you say to a little kid who sees all of the prizes, pulls his crumpled money from a tight pocket, takes his best shot and realizes the game takes 30 seconds? Thanks for playing. So close!
Evening brought a few more clients and the ballet of the teenager. A mixture of skin, awkwardness, clearly defined but often tested gender roles and the perpetual state of hanging around. In my observations, I could see myself in the role of the tentative and apprehensive teen. I remember being so confounded by the arrogance that others displayed. I never (and still don’t) understand how one can display such confidence and brevity with disregard for reality. I have never mastered the art of the bluff.
My night ended with two hours of calling in those who did not exist. My co-worker had given up. Standing in the sun all day is exhausting. I regretted his decline of sunscreen at the beginning of the day for him. His face was eluminated with sunburn and lack of rest.
Throughout my day of work, I brought in a total of $102 (even though I think a twenty was lost in there some how) and he brought in $86. I had worked twelve hours and earned $20.40. This averaged a $1.70 an hour. Noting these figures, I made the decision to end my career as a carnival worker. I had lost money for the day.
At 11PM, I offered my resignation. Well it is not for everyone. This was the repeated response to my apologies. Not for everyone was an understatement. The job is not for anyone who wants to make money for their time and effort. I was amazed at how many cigarettes the typical carnival worker consumes throughout the day. This alone is more than the money made from the days activities. I was assured that the profits would increase as the fair went on.
With this consolatory statement, I left the trade. I wanted to have a little extra money for my time to increase the length of my trip but I was left being had. She took sympathy on me and paid me the 20% rate of $20 rather than the $15 that I was owed. In this way, I was left staring into the lights of the fair asking if that was it.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Beginning of A Road Unknown
As I sit in the small Midwestern town of my youth, I reflect on a journey that will soon take place. On August 20, I fly to London to wander Europe. I currently have a one way ticket, guide books and a meager amount of savings to support my adventure. I am attempting to prepare for every possibility without drowning unforeseen diversions. Before I explore the details of my adventure, I wanted to provide a background to the reader.
About the Traveler
My name is Nic Hagemann and I am a teacher. This is the simplest way to summarize my history and the persona that I have attempted to develop. From my earliest memories, I have always sought the opportunity to learn or experience something and convey it to others. Children usually are the most receptive or coerced audience but I also enjoy involving adults in my excitement.
Scouting and summer camps allowed me to begin teaching when I was too young to be a professional. College brought more alternative education programs and my first career in education. I served as the manager of the NAU Challenge Course from January of 2005 until December of 2010. With the beginning of 2012, I made my first attempt to return to the life of a full time student. Two rejection letters, one crashed truck and under the burden of reality, I took a diversion back into the professional world. In August of 2012, I poured myself out to 22 (with a collection of incoming and outgoing students) 3rd graders. (If you are seeking a more in-depth biography of past work experiences, I suggest viewing my resume website, Nicholas Hagemann )
An Idea for Discovery
This personal timeline concludes with my current decision to begin the adventure that will be the focus of this travel log. The reasons for my departure are complicated have not completely revealed themselves to me. The best that I can interpret, I have the following reasons for this adventure.
In my life I have read biographies of great minds and thinkers. A similarity that I often see in their lives is a shared experience of breaking down. At a critical moment, they collapse into a seclusion that allows them to deconstruct their thoughts and purpose. In the rebuilding of their ideas they find the transformation from reflection to action. A path of knowing begins to appear.
If you can forgive my delusions of greatness, I am hoping that this trip will be my deconstruction. I am hoping that travels in a foreign land with an immense history will allow me to reflect on all that I know or hope to know. I will be seeking out some of the common tourist experiences but also examining a themes that I hope to carry into my future studies as a doctoral candidate. Democracy, social justice, secular education and evolution will be discussed often in this blog.
The selfishness of freedom is another reason for my departure. Education is a service profession. As a teacher, I seek to serve the learner and my co-workers. This trip is a service project for myself. I hope that I can serve my needs to think, explore and learn in a unique land. It is hard for me to accept and acknowledge this need to be selfish. When my friends and family have questioned my decision to travel without a set timeline to a foreign land, I understand their concern and feelings of rejection that they feel in my leaving. I cherish the relationships that I have built but need an opportunity to build a greater sense of self. All of my actions have and will be influenced by the relationships of my past and will serve as the basis for interpretation. (I hope this blog will help to provide incite that can preserve and reconnect the relationships of my past with my current experience.)
My final reflection of meaning on this trip is centered on the history and culture of Europe. It can not be denied that Europe has been the center for the arts for the majority of written history. I will seeking to discover if I have the ability to be an artist. I will not be taking up painting, sculpture or architecture in the traditional sense. Instead, I will be trying to interpret the history and knowledge of the past into an understandable narrative that conveys a purpose for existence, necessity of equality and a path for action.
Will You Join Me?
It is because of the logic puzzle above that I offer you a call to reflection. I want you to join me as I stumble, bumble and stride through the unknown of a foreign land. I am calling you to be an active member or a passive member to this project of mine. If you feel the desire to reflect with me through comments and text, I will do my best to respectfully respond with my experience. If reflection leaves you as a silent reader, I will cherish that contribution as well. Either way, welcome!
About the Traveler
My name is Nic Hagemann and I am a teacher. This is the simplest way to summarize my history and the persona that I have attempted to develop. From my earliest memories, I have always sought the opportunity to learn or experience something and convey it to others. Children usually are the most receptive or coerced audience but I also enjoy involving adults in my excitement.
Scouting and summer camps allowed me to begin teaching when I was too young to be a professional. College brought more alternative education programs and my first career in education. I served as the manager of the NAU Challenge Course from January of 2005 until December of 2010. With the beginning of 2012, I made my first attempt to return to the life of a full time student. Two rejection letters, one crashed truck and under the burden of reality, I took a diversion back into the professional world. In August of 2012, I poured myself out to 22 (with a collection of incoming and outgoing students) 3rd graders. (If you are seeking a more in-depth biography of past work experiences, I suggest viewing my resume website, Nicholas Hagemann )
An Idea for Discovery
This personal timeline concludes with my current decision to begin the adventure that will be the focus of this travel log. The reasons for my departure are complicated have not completely revealed themselves to me. The best that I can interpret, I have the following reasons for this adventure.
In my life I have read biographies of great minds and thinkers. A similarity that I often see in their lives is a shared experience of breaking down. At a critical moment, they collapse into a seclusion that allows them to deconstruct their thoughts and purpose. In the rebuilding of their ideas they find the transformation from reflection to action. A path of knowing begins to appear.
If you can forgive my delusions of greatness, I am hoping that this trip will be my deconstruction. I am hoping that travels in a foreign land with an immense history will allow me to reflect on all that I know or hope to know. I will be seeking out some of the common tourist experiences but also examining a themes that I hope to carry into my future studies as a doctoral candidate. Democracy, social justice, secular education and evolution will be discussed often in this blog.
The selfishness of freedom is another reason for my departure. Education is a service profession. As a teacher, I seek to serve the learner and my co-workers. This trip is a service project for myself. I hope that I can serve my needs to think, explore and learn in a unique land. It is hard for me to accept and acknowledge this need to be selfish. When my friends and family have questioned my decision to travel without a set timeline to a foreign land, I understand their concern and feelings of rejection that they feel in my leaving. I cherish the relationships that I have built but need an opportunity to build a greater sense of self. All of my actions have and will be influenced by the relationships of my past and will serve as the basis for interpretation. (I hope this blog will help to provide incite that can preserve and reconnect the relationships of my past with my current experience.)
My final reflection of meaning on this trip is centered on the history and culture of Europe. It can not be denied that Europe has been the center for the arts for the majority of written history. I will seeking to discover if I have the ability to be an artist. I will not be taking up painting, sculpture or architecture in the traditional sense. Instead, I will be trying to interpret the history and knowledge of the past into an understandable narrative that conveys a purpose for existence, necessity of equality and a path for action.
Will You Join Me?
It is because of the logic puzzle above that I offer you a call to reflection. I want you to join me as I stumble, bumble and stride through the unknown of a foreign land. I am calling you to be an active member or a passive member to this project of mine. If you feel the desire to reflect with me through comments and text, I will do my best to respectfully respond with my experience. If reflection leaves you as a silent reader, I will cherish that contribution as well. Either way, welcome!
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