Touring Orchard House with the Riff Raff

I've always had a strange and powerful connection to the Little Women story, which began when I obsessively wore out my VHS copy of the 1996 movie version due to repeated viewings. Between you and me, I may have spent an afternoon or ten pausing and playing the video as I recorded the script word for word in my trusty notebook. Quotes from the film still rattle freely off my tongue, and no matter what others think, I find this story and its themes constantly relate to my daily life.

So imagine my delight when, after a lifetime of waiting, I arrived at Louisa May Alcott's home in Concord, where she wrote and set Little Women. The tour was delightful in all the ways you'd hope--sweet anecdotes about the Alcott sisters, an emphasis on staunch feminist ideals (Louisa had her own desk! Imagine the freedom--a woman allowed to have and record thoughts!), and original furniture, wallpaper, and even drawings on the wall by May Alcott (who is portrayed as Amy in the books).

But what truly made this a spectacle were the others on the tour. I'll begin with the tour guide, who was an extremely knowledgeable Wellesley College-ish-looking young woman with an arresting sense of humor and an even more peculiar accent. Now, I'm no linguist, but my mind was reeling trying to figure out the rhyme or reason to her pronunciations. I found her assessment of May being the "oddest of the family" rather strange, until I realized she was meaning to saw artist. Although I found her "Conkuhd" and "steeah-case" to be Kennedy-esque and therefore acceptable.

Her personality clashed strongly with one woman on the tour, who walked into Marmie's bedroom, and in a fantastic Boston accent loudly, "WHO DIED HEE-YAH?!" The guide was dismayed and suspected this woman wanted a paranormal tour and stated frankly that this was not her area of expertise. Later, we passed a portrait in the the hallway, and the Ghost Hunter remarked on the names of those pictured. "Phelps... like Michael! Michael Phelps...the Olympics. Oh, and a Helen Hunt! Now she's an actress. How strange, Helen and Michael!" The tour guide visibly withered, but agreed to discuss the portrait a couple of minutes later.

As we all gathered to listen to her description, we were cruelly shooed away by the guide, who had independently decided this portion would be between her and the Ghost Hunter only. Confused, I shuffled through the narrow doorways and out into the garden, but not before wondering, as I often do, "What would Marmie say?"

O beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of graaaiiinnn

Our impending graduation has caused me to think an awful lot about my future lately. I might use the phrases 'existential crisis', 'anxiety attack', or perhaps 'crippling self-doubt' to describe my state of mind on any given day. One of the decisions I've been mulling over is whether to pursue the whole journalism thing, or head more toward the non-profit "save the world" side of things. For a variety of reasons, at this point, I see myself doing more with my policy studies degree than my magazine journalism one. A few days ago, Maureen Dowd's column affirmed my horror at the current state of job opportunities with the media.

You should read it, but I'll summarize for the word-weary or functionally illiterate. Basically, Pasadena Now, a lifestyle and news site in California, outsourced ALL OF ITS REPORTERS TO INDIA. I thought maybe it was a dinky site, and the outsourcing only meant that Indians would be surfing the Web, compiling event listings for the peeps in Pasadena. NOPE. It's a pretty legit site, and now, all of the stories are written by Indians, using Web searches and telephone reporting. Pardon me? I thought the whole point of city/regional sites, papers, and magazines was to give readers an insider's guide to where they live, dispensed by people who live there. But apparently you can provide that perspective from any corner of the globe?

I don't stand a chance.

Think I'm being pessimistic? Maybe. But two weeks ago I read this article, which says children of Indian parents, who moved their families to the States for more opportunities, are now going back to India. Because that's where the jobs are. To give you an idea, a quote from the article: "Exact data on émigrés working in India or spending more time here are scarce. But this is one indicator: India unveiled an Overseas Citizen of India card in 2006, offering foreign citizens of Indian origin visa-free entry for life and making it easier to work in the country. By this July, more than 280,000 émigrés had signed up, according to The Economic Times..."

Okay.

So what does this mean for me? India here I come. Although, maybe now isn't really the best time. Oooh, what about China? It's the future!! No, there's that whole censorship thing. I don't know how kindly they would take to my outspoken diatribes.

Maybe there's another solution. I have always been fond of harkening back to the days of the Depression and riding the rails. There's a lot of country out there to see people, and it's about time we took a look. I might look rather fetching with oil smudges on my face, and rocking a little Newsies outfit. And it really is about time I went farther west than New Orleans. Who's with me?

Wistful Election Roundup

I'll leave it to the pundits and analysts to delve into the numbers and statistics relative to Election 08. None of that is going to stick with me; I can tell you that now. What will are the memories of how it felt. All day yesterday, people were excited. They were smiling at the thought of going to the polls and casting a ballot, finally being allowed to say something, after years of watching the country slowly twist into something none of us wanted. The relief and excitement that swept over everyone when the results came in declaring Obama the winner was overwhelming. I sat on the couch next to my mother who cried from the second it was announced until Obama wrapped up his speech an hour and a half later. People screamed on streets, hugging and yelling, even diving into the occasional urban water feature . For me, this election was about getting back something we never should have lost in the first place: pride in where we're from and confidence that we have a government that is working for the greater good of the country and the world. And this is just the beginning. Obama makes people want to be better citizens. He already ran a pretty flawless campaign and mobilized voters to a point we didn't believe possible, and I can't wait to see what happens next.

In the meantime, I am going to revel in my memories of yesterday.  The electricity in the air when voters breathed a collective sigh of relief, the shared sense that we all have something to hope for, and a real chance at getting it, made me so glad that the first presidential election I could vote in, was one that has meant so much. 

I apologize for what you might be subjected to

After my colleague posted a record six blog posts in one day, undoubtedly a result of her pre-election frenzy, I am feeling inspired. You may remember I set a goal to reach 20 blog posts in 30 days. I am three days from my deadline and have fallen sorely behind. But my competitive spirit almost always gets the best of me, and I'm determined to hit the big 2-0. As a result, I apologize for the quality of what might come out of my mouth (fingers) in the next six posts. But let's be honest, it's not as if you came here for insight or good writing. TISH TOSH. 

Anyway, the esteemed Connie has a sidebar in her blog about the ways she knows election day is approaching. This list essentially serves as a way to  enumerate her various psychotic behaviors that nearly always center on politics, government, and the media's coverage of both. While compared to her, I am positively casual observer of politics, I still consider myself more involved than the average American. When Bush was re-elected in 2004, I was so destroyed and disappointed, I stayed home from school the next day in a vegetative state. An emotional coma, we'll call it. So, I suffer too at the hands of our electorate. So Connie (hat tip), I blatantly plagiarize your idea below, thus reducing my editorial standards to zero. 

Here's my list of Top 10 Election Season Impulsions

10. Hours have past and I am still on Pollster.com. Sometimes, if I'm really in the zone, I'll even make my own Excel graphs. 

9. I find myself longing to live in swing state so my monologues don't fall entirely on deaf ears in America's bluest state. 

8. I refer to newspaper columnists by first name in conversation as if they are my friends, much to the confusion of everyone who wonders whether there are any 20-somethings named Maureen anymore. 

7. I plan my wardrobe around having something blue to wear every day leading up to Election Day, and wear my gap "Vote" t-shirt long after it's developed that unique ripe smell. 

6. I base my faith in the future of journalism and youth political activism solely on the sky-high spirits of the team over at Politico.com

5. I actually raised my voice and pointed a finger at a stranger in a supermarket who said she was voting for Palin because she couldn't have Hillary. 

4. I fantasize about being a part of conversations between Michelle Obama and Jill Biden. 

3. In the break room, people know the channel has to be CNN or MSNBC when I'm around. Similarly, an idle moment spent at my internship is dedicated to reading wistful election-season roundups. 

2. I have stopped reading Gawker, Dooce, and other sites with the fierce regularity I used to in order to sharpen my election acumen. If you know me, you understand the depths of this personal sacrifice. 

1. Despite spending three days a week as an editorial intern at a magazine, my life plan (full disclosure: it changes every 3-4 days) no longer includes publishing of any kind, but rather a life of public service. 

Baristas and Blast-Off

*UPDATE UPDATE*

Okay, so maybe the Hottie McLatte hasn't fallen in love with me yet, but today, we did make conversation and he gave me my hot chocolate for free. Am I that obvious? I had finally broken my coffee-purchasing habits, and now I'm going to have to start up again. Because, our connection? It's electric.

But moving onto more sophisticated journalistic pursuits, I bring you the first post of my new series called, Stuff You Should Know (SYSK). This segment will regale you with information I've come across that I feel compelled to share with my public.

Let's get started. I know that I've been insensitive about NASA in the past, but a recent podcast about the Columbia disaster and a man who tried to prevent it gave me the chills. Reports like this one surfaced shortly after the shuttle and its members were lost, but I'd forgotten some of the story behind it. If you have six minutes, I'd reccommend a listen. But if you don't, here's all the relevant info:

(and James, this science blog is for you)

When chief structural engineer Rodney Rocha saw the video of a piece of foam from the shuttle's external fuel tank fly off and hit Columbia's wing at 500mph, he knew something was wrong. The Shuttle launched on a Friday, and he saw the video a day later. He sent emails voicing his concerns, but it was Martin Luther King weekend, and they went unanswered until Tuesday (How can NASA take three-day weekends when there are people in a rocket ship in "space"?). He put in a special request for high resolution photos, so experts could assess the damage.

His requests were flatly denied. He drafted an e-mail to senior managers, saying the decision was dangerous and irresponsible. Afraid to breach NASA protocol, he never sent the note. A committee came to its own conclusion nine days later the damage was not significant enough to merit serious concern. Rocha says making a decision like this without photographs is like telling how bad a car accident is if you only hear it from inside your house. But at the time, standard operating procedure was that the shuttle was assumed OK unless proven otherwise. "Today that seems crazy," Rocha says.

On February 1st, Rocha watched as the shuttle broke apart after superheated gas flew into the wing upon re-entry. The shuttle shattered and the seven people in it died.

I like to think there's a moral to every story, or, erm, massive tragedy. So what does this lesson teach us, children? Trust yourselves. Rocha says he wishes he'd tried harder to get through to senior officials. "One of my regrets is that I didn't break the door down." So, my precious snow peas, don't be afraid to break those doors down!

This has been Stuff You Should Know.

Something I don't remember from AP history

I just finished reading The Heretic's Daughter, a first effort by Kathleen Kent. It turned out to be, by far, the best historical novel I've read since Sarah Plain and Tall. And I hold that book in HIGH ESTEEM, people. Kent's book takes place during The Salem Witch Trials, a subject many of us are familiar with, and one which has the potential to grow stale quickly when revisited in fiction. But Kent makes the trails an entirely personal affair, telling the story through the imagined words of Sarah Carrier, daughter of Martha Carrier, who was hanged for being a witch. It's a searingly intimate portrayal of one of the most incredibly times in U.S. history.

But this is not a book review. Instead! I have to pass onto you a piece of information I gleaned during a tour of the Witch History Museum in Salem this weekend, which was only enriched by reading Kent's book and having all of that witchy scandal still saturating my brain.

Cotton Mather, famed Puritan minister, was partly responsible for starting and perpetuating the mass hysteria and utter craziness that culminated in the deaths of nineteen innocent people. He was, by all accounts, a full-time, first-class freak show. In fact, he routinely dug up the bodies of dead, deformed babies, convinced they were the work of Satan, and displayed them in his lab as proof of such. (If you think I'm being unfair, you can read some of Mather's side, here).

Anyway, interestingly enough, Cotton Mather's pappy, Increase Mather (Increase? Not a typo!), was the first American-born President of Harvard University! His tenure was somewhat marred by controversy, but Cotton enrolled without issue when he was 12, and graduated with an M.A. at 18. He eventually become a fellow at Harvard, and according to tour guides at the Witch History Museum, despite his greatest wishes, was never considered for President because of his loathsome reputation once the Trials were deemed ridiculous and unfair.

Bitter and scorned, Mather's next actions bring a whole new aspect of delight to the greatest Ivy League rivalry in the U.S.

Mather saw potential in a school in Connecticut, one which he hoped, unlike the increasingly liberal lost cause Harvard (*cough*theydidn'twantyou*cough*), could become a haven for the Puritan religion. He contacted wealthy businessman Elihu Yale, and convinced him to make a substantial donation, and to change an existing college's name to Yale University (it had previously been known as the College at Saybrook and various other names, until it moved to New Haven).

So. There you have it. Harvard wouldn't take crazy Cotton Mather, so he went and essentially founded Yale as we know it today. Next time you get stuck in a conversation about The Ivy League, and don't want to bring up grade inflation again, whip out these tidbits. You are welcome.

This would have been a great story for Wishbone.