Hair Art

In the midst of total and complete overload of working, studying, interning and volunteering, I still find time for artistic expression. This is for you Lo Lo.

I make rash decisions.

Surprise, pixie hair cut it is.

Ali's birthday

One of my best friends had her 21st birthday last weekend! Here are some of the photos.

Fluoruro

There is something about speaking Spanish that instantly changes my mood. I had gone two weeks without uttering a complete sentence in the gorgeous language. Today I marched into the doctor's office, coffee in hand, eager to take on a long day of interpreting. Upon arrival, I realized my interpreting would consist of only one scheduled appointment, an oddly slow day of translating. Even so, I remained excited to put my bilingualism to use. An hour passed without any need for an interpreter. I gazed around the office, taking note of all the things that needed translating: a sign in the waiting room, a confidentiality agreement, my name tag... Most do not notice our world is constructed in English. I opened the copy of Unaccustomed Earth I had toted with me as the phone began ringing persistently. I read a few paragraphs of my book before I decided it better to test my Spanish eavesdropping skills. I shut my eyes and concentrated on translating the secretary's professional utterances. "Hola, soy Morgen. Estoy llamando para confirmar su cita a las nueve y media...." "Hello, I'm Morgen and I'm calling to confirm your appointment at 9:30..." Thirty minutes ticked by. The phone continued ringing. The secretary peeked her head out from her desk, "Morgen, LINE ONE. That one is for you." I picked up the ancient receiver (which happened to be the same phone seated on my teacher's desk in the 5th grade), "Como puedo ayudarte?" "How may I help you?" My first Spanish in over two weeks came out as a stutter. I cursed my awful pronunciation of something as simple as "ayudarte." The woman on the other end let out a sigh of relief. She could UNDERSTAND me! What she needed was simple, a rescheduled appointment due to conflicting engagements. I realized the stress embedded in her speech. A language barrier makes even this small task seem daunting. I changed her appointment and she thanked me enthusiastically, as if I had done much more than a few clicks on the computer screen. I smiled as the Spanish rolled off my tongue and at that moment I concluded that I need to use both languages on a daily basis. After the phone call, my one and only patient arrived. It was a young man carrying an adorable two-year-old with such a striking resemblance to himself, I couldn't help but look from father to son and back again. We went from doctor's appointment, to nutritionist and finally to the dentist. The little boy seemed unaware of my presence, gazing between the medical professionals and his dad before becoming distracted by a poster on the wall. The first two appointments went smoothly as his father explained his dislike for meat products (which made my vegetarian side quite pleased), his hatred for toothpaste and love of Nickelodeon cartoons. Then the dentist arrived. I'm not sure if it was her intimidating rubber gloves or the giant green dentist chair looming in corner of the room that made the small boy burst into tears. The dentist smiled and tried to explain the importance of fluoride to the dad over his son's screams. I looked at the dentist and said honestly, "I don't know how to say fluoride in Spanish." I was so disappointed in myself. How could I not learn such a thing after a decade of Spanish instruction?! We moved on to an explanation of gum sensitivity and brushing before bedtime. After the appointment, I ran back to my desk and flipped through my pocket-sized dictionary before finding the dreaded word: Fluoride--Fluoruro.
FLUORURO. Of course. Nearly a perfect cognate. At least now I can be sure I'll never forget.

Sir Bo Theodore Danko III

Hola amigos,
Again it has been awhile since my last update to the cyber world but who's really reading this anyway? Readers or not, it is time to inappropriately inform complete strangers about the newest aspects of my life. Here we go...
--Sir Bo Theodore Danko III--
Much to Kenzie and my surprise, Jiles came home with a present two days ago. It was not a blue-ray DVD player, patio furniture or wall hangings. It was not a spice rack (gosh, I need one desperately) or a vacuum cleaner. No, our house-warming gift was a sleeping, furry black ball to which Kenzie reacted, "WHAT IS THAT?!" THAT was a 10-week old purebred black German Shepard and the newest addition to our family. After the initial shock wore off we fell head-over-heels in love with the pup, affectionately addressed as "Baby" and "Little Guy" until we settled on a name. The naming process was cut-throat, Jiles arguing for Danko, Kenzie calling him Bo, and me relentlessly arguing for Theodore (My arguments were all very valid, since Theodore is the most versatile name as it can be shortened to Theo, Ted, Teddy, Big T... Dore). The king of the castle (Kenzie, duh) won the battle and Bo is now our fourth roommate.

Morgen, tengo miedo!

Yes, I know. It's been ages since the last blog post but I'll make up for it somehow. My excuse for being cyber-absent lies primarily in my inability to say "No" to anyone. For this reason, the summer is shaping up to be one of the busiest. After recovering from the shock of American materialism and consumerism embodied in my trip to the Coral Ridge Mall, my amazing mother decided to throw me a welcome home party. The party went relatively well (no family feuds or awkward moments) and I was very grateful to everyone who attended (especially Cindy, for creating the most wonderful chocolate layered cookie peanut butter cup cake and my grandmother for being the best cook I know).

Almost as soon as the party clean-up ceased, I threw on the apron and headed back to work. Serving after my six month vacation was much like riding a bike again; I picked it up quickly. I have a new found appreciation for customer service after months of grumpy Spanish servers not caring one bit that my water glass needed refilled 15 minutes ago. I love talking to customers and was surprised to realize I actually want them to have a wonderful dining experience at Monica's. That is commitment number one.

The second is slightly more intellectually stimulating. I was contacted by a health service to act as an interpreter for their Spanish patients. Today was my first day and I spent four hours trying to describe everything from constipation and gingivitis to baby formula and epilepsy. It was not only a test of my Spanish vocabulary (I forgot how to say cavity!) but also a test of my mental strength. It was emotionally exhausting to translate for such needy families. One little boy, age 3, needed to have his teeth cleaned. He looked at me and looked at the giant green examining chair (which he could hardly reach). The dentist smiled (a little too broadly, even I was afraid) and said, "ARE YOU READY FOR THIS ROBERT?" There are a few things wrong with this statement. 1) His name is not Robert. It's Roberto. 2) He doesn't speak English. 3) He is clearly NOT ready. He grabbed my leg and whimpered, "Morgen, tengo miedo!" "Morgen, I'm scared!" I reassured him that although she looked like someone who might extract all of his baby teeth in one swift motion, she only wished to take a peek at his pearly white dientes. He calmed down, looked the dentist straight in the eye and said confidently, "ESTAN LIMPIAS." "THEY ARE CLEAN." I laughed out loud before translating his fierce words. The dentist cleaned his teeth anyway and he left happily only after being offered a new green toothbrush.

After my shift at the health clinic, I went for a quick run (in my new running shoes, VERY EXCITING) and headed to another job. Commitment number three: Atlas. I decided to apply at Atlas on a whim, realizing that two jobs seemed better than one and I wanted another opportunity to pay off my past European adventures. I was hired quickly (apparently four years of serving experience does wonders when applying for another serving job) and had my first shift today. We had menu training and were essentially paid to drink wine and eat delicious food. I'm excited to work in such a positive and popular restaurant in downtown Iowa City.

Although other commitments crowd the pages of my planner (volunteering coordinators can tell I can't say no), I am too exhausted to inform you of them now (and you're probably growing bored with my summer plans). It is only the beginning of the summer and already I am sleep deprived and constantly smelling of restaurant food. Even so, there are a few things I am looking forward to doing in the next week: I will be training at Atlas, running a 10K on Saturday and eating dinner with the magnificent Ali Ordman on Sunday. Those are some of the little things keeping me going this summer (besides adorable Roberto). I hope to update more frequently in the future. For now, I've been munching on chocolate chips (right out of the bag, of course) while blogging and am falling into a chocolate induced coma. Time for bed.
Buenas noches!

Restaurant observation #1

Yes, I know. This blog is a record of my study abroad adventures but I've realized that my day-to-day life has quite a few adventures in itself. In Spain I began turning every negative situation into a comical one. I discovered that finding the funny side of things tends to create a more positive overall experience. That being said, I have followed this mindset while getting back into the groove of American living. Since most of my time is spent in a restaurant, I've tried to transform usually annoying situations into entertainment.

This brings me to my first restaurant observation: Same-side seaters are more fun to serve than previous professors.

First of all, let me explain the "same-side seaters" concept. If you haven't worked in a restaurant, or do not usually people watch while dining, you wouldn't notice this phenomenon. Same-side seaters are couples that choose to sit on the same side of the booth. This is because they cannot bear to spend an hour separated by a 2-foot table impeding their ability to fondle one another and whisper sweet-nothings into each others' ears (If you fall into this category I am not going to apologize for the criticism. You should be ashamed). As a server, same-side seaters are a most unfortunate table assignment. You know what you are getting into before the hostess breaks the news. She usually walks up, shaking her head and says something along the lines of, "Morgen, table 5..." It may seem normal, but the way in which she says this is almost apologetic. Right as she mutters it I know the damage has been done... I have been assigned same-side seaters. Even though I know this to be true, I ask anyway (to confirm the bad news), "Same-side seaters?? SERIOUSLY?" At this point I realize I have an opportunity to make this an entertaining (rather than annoying) experience. I walk up and take their drink order, giving them my usual schpeel, "Blah blah bread blah blah olive oil blah freshly ground pepper blah pepsi products blah something to drink?" They look at each other longingly. The man replies, "Diet..." and the woman completes his thought, "... with lemon." I feel a desire to ask whether or not they want two diets or one diet with two straws but keep the smart-ass comments to myself. I need a good tip, who am I kidding? I smile broadly and assure them I'll be right back with their drinks. By the time I set the lemony diets on the beverage napkins, they are ready to order. Surprise, surprise... they decide to share the crab-stuffed tilapia (and they don't need an extra plate). I stop by a couple more times (to give refills, deliver food, check on the taste of the tilapia) and each time they are not only happy to tell me everything is wonderful, they are PUMPED. "EVERYTHING IS JUST DELICIOUS!" the woman exclaims. "YES, PERFECT!" I am pleased with the response but I have a sneaky suspicion that they would respond similarly if I had served them fish sticks. They not only love each other but they love everything within a 25-foot radius.

Now for the comparison. My next table was a normal couple, eating on opposing sides of the table, responding politely but curtly to my questions. I realized while explaining the magnificence of our honey-cinnamon butter that the man had been a professor of mine freshmen year. Considering he also taught 350 other college freshmen, I wasn't surprised he didn't recognize me (or acted as if he didn't). They ordered an appetizer, alfredo and a steak. Everything was fine; no, they didn't need refills and could I please bring the check? No matter how many cheesy smiles and witty remarks I made, they didn't crack a smile. They left, tipped 18% and I will most definitely see them again next weekend for another boring server-customer relation.

From afar, most servers would without a doubt choose to serve my dull professor and his wife over the middle-aged love birds and for a couple years I was right along with them. Now, however, things have changed. The same-side seaters (even though they made me sick to my stomach) were happy to be eating out and couldn't thank me enough for my service. My professor and his wife couldn't have cared less which restaurant, server or dish they chose that night. It was all the same to them.

Moral of the story? Even the most frustrating situations make me smile. I don't desire to be a same-side seater any time soon but I do hope to spread a little happiness to complete strangers like the same-siders did today.