Paul Ryan and the Secret Service

One of the annoying awesome things about living in Ohio is the absolute plethora of opportunities to get involved in the presidential race. Or hear about the presidential race. Or have your youtube videos interrupted by campaign commercials. Or, in my case, to receive no less than 5 campaign emails a day (some days up to 10). Maybe one day I'll write a blog post about the emails I get, because they're pretty entertaining.

But I digress. The fact is, as a voter in Ohio during a presidential election year, I have some unique opportunities--opportunities that I simply would not have had were I still in Utah.

One of these opportunities came a few weeks ago. Keshia, my good friend and fellow graduate student, has a friend who works for the Romney campaign. Apparently he's pretty important in the campaign scheme, and he goes with Romney and the crew on most (?) of the campaign stops. I'm not really sure of the details. All I know is that Keshia found out he was going to be in Columbus a few weeks ago and so called him to see if he wanted to meet up.And since I casually know said friend because he worked at the same internship as me in Washington DC the semester before I was there, Keshia asked me if I would like to go along. And naturally, being interested in all things politics, I said yes.

Well, the short of the story is that we got to meet some members of the Secret Service, drove around downtown Columbus for a while (and with me driving, you can probably guess that we showed John the, um, nicer side of Columbus's railroad tracks and run-down areas of town. But only because I was trying to avoid the drunken traffic of downtown's Short North area, which we also got caught in), and then actually saw Mitt Romney's hotel room door. I say this not to be creepy, but just to demonstrate how big-shot John is...because his hotel room was just across the hall from Mitt Romney's. I know. Big shot.

Anyway, somewhere in the midst of us arguing about discussing feminism and politics and Romney's campaign tactics, John told us there was a rally the next morning and if we went he could get us special VIP seating.

So early the next morning Keshia and I found ourselves standing in line at the Romney rally, trying not to look out of place among all the white middle-aged middle-class people waiting to get in. (I told Keshia, who is from Singapore, that I'm pretty sure she was the only Asian there. But then we found another Asian, so I guess there were two there.) And who happened to be standing right behind us in line but another Mormon! We were chatting with the people around us (mostly griping about the people who were trying to cut in front of us in line) and happened to mention Utah. And that was that. Insta-friends.

Anyway, the rally was fine. We mentioned John's name and one of the workers did get us a little closer to the front (although it was a standing room only rally). But. BUT. The best part came after the rally. We were walking back with Jen (the Mormon from the line) to her house so she could give us a ride to my car (I told you, insta-friends), when John called Keshia. "Hey Keshia, do you guys want to be in a picture with Romney?" He didn't have to ask twice. And though Mitt was caught up in interviews and couldn't make it out to the picture, we did get a picture with Paul Ryan. SO. Basically, if Romney and Ryan win the election, I'll practically be famous. Because I did meet Mitt back in 2007 in Jerusalem, and his niece happened to be my roommate. And now I have a picture with Paul Ryan. Like I said. Practically famous.

But this story gets better, my friends. Because last week John was in town again. And this time he called Keshia and said he was in town and had two free hours. So naturally I tagged along (actually we met up at my house, since it was close to where John needed to be that night). But before we got to my house, we stopped at a fast-food restaurant so John could get some dinner. Ever the efficient type, I suggested that John drive through first (we were in two different cars) so he could order his meal and then Keshia and I would go second, since Keshia just wanted fries and it would be much faster that way.

Well, when we got to the window to pay, the woman opened the window and handed us a card. "The man in front of you paid for your meal and asked me to give you this," she said, giggling slightly with an I'm-dying-to-know-what's-going-on-here look on her face. I looked down at the card and saw that John had given the cashier a business card for a guy from the SECRET SERVICE with a number written on it in pen. Immediately I saw the brilliance of John's plan. He was in a dark vehicle and had pulled over after getting his food, waiting for us. And we were two girls in a car just getting fries and the guy in front of us (he was wearing a suit, too) had just handed a Secret Service business card to the cashier with instructions to pay for our food and give us the card.

So the cashier was either thinking "This guy saw these girls and thinks one of them is cute and so gave them his number and paid for their food" OR "This agent is sending a signal to these girls--that he's on to them and is just waiting for them to get their food before he follows them home" or something like that.

Anyway, Keshia and I were laughing about it for days. It was BRILLIANT. And the best part was when we got to my house, still laughing, and John walked over to the car before we even got out and asked for the card because "it has a really important number on it--Paul Ryan's personal Secret Service agent."

Good thing the light had turned green before I could call the number--because I was totally going to call it and see who answered!!!

It's always a good time when you're in Ohio in an election year!

Super-Wide Lanes

So I've been at OSU for about a month now, and I've learned a few things about graduate school in the process. So far, the biggest thing I've realized is that my undergraduate experience, at least, was like I'msobusythatIhavenotimetobreatheoreatoreventakebathroombreaks and IonlyhavetimetosleepwhileIwalkbetweenclasses and I'mworkingtwojobsandtakingsevenclassesandvolunteeringandohshootmycarjustbrokedownagain and youwantmetowritehowmanypapersinoneweek? I was really busy. My final year at BYU, I was working 2-3 jobs, volunteering 8 hours a week, taking 20 credits, applying to graduate school and other fellowships, etc...and I was proud of myself because I worked really hard that year to take bathroom breaks at least twice a day and eat two meals a day.

Naturally, I was expecting much the same of grad school. Actually, I was expecting (and hoping) that it would be a little easier (or at least less frantic). Because why would any sane person go to graduate school if it was as crazy as my undergrad was?

But I ran into a slight problem. My first year of graduate school was in Jerusalem. And while I was much, much less busy last year than I ever was during my undergrad years, I was taking classes in two different languages, teaching a third language, working in the Primary (an organization for children in my church) and attending church twice a week in two different languages, attending classes at four different institutions in two different cities, and spending 3-4 hours a day in transportation and checkpoint crossing, in additional to my personal graduate research.

I was expecting this year, my second year of graduate school, to also be very busy. After all, I am trying to complete a two-year graduate degree in one year, looking for a job/career after grad school, trying to find a job for this year, and doing two languages instead of the usual one.

Now, I know that it's only been a month and I'm sure that things will pick up, but this past month has seemed a bit like this Seinfeld episode:

(Full disclosure: I've never seen Seinfeld. I saw this clip on my friend's blog a while ago and I thought it was particularly relevant to my situation.)

It kind of seems like my "narrow lanes" have suddenly been changed into "super-wide lanes" for a real comfort ride! It's rather bizarre, and while everyone tells me to "enjoy it while I can," I'm just not really into that whole relax and recreation kind of thing. Because when I have super-wide lanes, I tend to waste my time during the day because I don't have anything to do, and then get to class and realize that I didn't even do half of the homework or forgot to read one of the articles!

This, my friends, is clearly almost as dangerous of a situation as a metal sewing machine, paint thinner, and a large semi. But don't worry. I've taken up a few hobbies (like kickboxing) and I make dinner at least once a week. AND, I just got some new piano students. So hopefully I will be able to make those lanes a little more manageable for myself...and still have time to take bathroom breaks this year!

Conversations in the Laundry Room

Some of you know that my neighbors are a little, well, interesting. I live in southwest Columbus, and as a white educated female, I am very much a minority.

Anyway, my neighbors, at least the ones I've seen, are a little odd. I'm never quite sure what to expect. So last night when I went to pick up my laundry from the laundry room, I wasn't too surprised when, as I approached the door, I heard someone talking loudly to himself inside. Hoping that I could quickly grab my clothes and go, my heart sank as I opened the door and saw that this man happened to be standing at the dryers right next to the washer my clothes were in. Grabbing my clothes and sneaking out was no longer an option.

I walked over to the washer and started putting my clothes in my laundry bag. (No, I don't dry my clothes. I'm not going to pay $1.25 when they can hang dry for free.) And yep, the guy started talking to me.

"Last week was me and my girlfriend's 4th anniversary," he told me. "And I'm going to take her out tomorrow to a restaurant, once she gets back in town."

"Where ya'll goin to dinner?" I asked, trying out my southern accent so that I would sound more legit.

He named some burger joint in town and I tried to look impressed. "Wow, sounds awesome." I kept putting my clothes in my bag. "Yeah, when I first started dating her my friends said I needed to hold on to her."

"That's great that ya'll are still together," I replied.

"Well, we're back together now. We broke up for a little while, but then the guy that she was going with wanted to take a loan from her for $266."

"$266?" I asked, feigning shock. "Oh yeah. That's a lot!"

"Yeah," he said, looking impressed that his girlfriend even had $266 to lend to anyone. "Yeah, that's why she broke up with him."

At this point I had finished putting my clothes in my bag. "Well, ya'll have fun tomorrow," I said, and headed out the door, tripping on his clothes hamper on the way. "It wasn't me!" he shouted after me as I walked out the door.

But as I got into my car, still chuckling about the $266, I realized that I don't even have $266 to lend. So now who's the pathetic one, eh?

Flashback Friday: A Poem

I realize that this might not be the best post to begin my Flashback Friday series, but you take what you get, right? It's not actually a story, but rather a poem that I wrote while I was living in the West Bank. It expressed some of the frustrations that I felt at the time. And I think it's, well, good enough to publish on my blog, at least.

The right to dream; a basic right

A thing for which we all will fight

But what of those who are not free

Who wait for hope indefinitely

When daily life has lost its light?

I look away; it seems their plight

Has brought me to the blackest night

Will their oppressors never see

Their right to dream?

In darkness, they live without light

A bird, alone, lost in flight

A life less precious than a tree

We cannot hear their simple plea:

"Our right to dream."

Musings of a Grad Student in...Ohio

So I recently moved to Ohio. Some of you might not be aware of that fact, especially since my blog's title is still "Musings of a Grad Student in Jerusalem." But "Musings of a Grad Student in Ohio" just doesn't have the same ring, you know? Any suggestions for a better blog title?

Anyway, before I get in the full swing of blogging about my life in Ohio, I thought ya'll would be interested in hearing about the journey out here.

I left Salt Lake early Monday morning and got to Columbus late Tuesday night. Apparently I'm better at driving than at doing math, though, because I emailed my friend to let her know when I would get to her house in Columbus and said, "Well, I'm leaving Monday morning and it will take me two days, so that means I'll get there late Wednesday night." Because Monday + 2 days = Wednesday, right? Good thing I called her before I got there on Tuesday to let her know that I was a couple of hours away!

Everyone wants to know how I made the 29 hour drive alone in just two days. Well, I had two secrets: fruit snacks and a book on tape. I ate about 15 packages of fruit snacks (and went WAY over the Vitamin C limit each day) and listened to Fire of the Covenant for most of those hours. It was a little surreal to hear about the Martin and Willie handcart companies' journey to Utah as I was driving the opposite way. I think we met in Nebraska, as I was driving east and they were walking west. Also, as I drove into Missouri I felt like I was entering enemy territory! It wasn't the best book on tape I've ever heard, but it did keep me entertained for two days filled with empty wheat and corn fields.

Several things have surprised me about Columbus, not least of all the demographics. I have since realized that I live in the "lower west side," and as a white educated female I am very much a minority. I'm not the only caucasian, but the others are mostly, to be politically correct, lower-class lesser-educated Kentucky transplants. They've all got southern accents and Kentucky grammar. The day I moved into my apartment, the neighbor girl was outside and asked me, "How come you don't got no furnurture or nothin in there?" It definitely changed my "Ohio and the midwest are filled with middle-class caucasians and cornfields" mindset. The first few days, when I'd walk into stores, everyone would look up and stare. And I KNOW they were thinking, "Who's that whyt gurl from da suburbs? And what she doin in the hood?" I definitely change my accent (usually I just throw in the word "ya'll" at the end of every sentence, like "I have no idea where that is, ya'll"), mess up my hair a little, and put on my "don't mess with me" face when I walk into stores in my neighborhood so I don't look so out of place! (Hopefully the southern accent won't stick...)

When I tell people where I live, most of them cock their heads and ask, "Now just why did you choose to live there?" First of all, I want to say, I just spent the last year living in the West Bank, and I'm not quite ready to go back to normal yet (just kidding)! But the real reason is because it's cheap. I wanted to find housing pronto, and this apartment was the first place I looked at. But I decided that I didn't need a two-bedroom townhouse, even thought it was pretty cheap, because I thought I could get something a little smaller and cheaper. And then I looked at the rest of my options. By the end of the day I realized that I would rather pay less for a two-bedroom townhouse than more for a small, dirty, one-bedroom apartment. It was a hard decision.

Basically what this means is that I have an extra bedroom and lots of extra space, so if any of you are planning on coming out to Columbus, let me know and you can stay in my extra bedroom! Just bring your own air mattress, because I don't have a couch or even a bed for myself. I'm still sleeping on a mattress on the floor...