Beware - the following post involves me bragging about my internship and how great it is. I promise I will try to remain modest in the future, but please understand that I have to drop my humility for this post in order to correct a huge mistake in the message of the Cornell in Washington program.
Upon application and acceptance to the Cornell in Washington program, all the capital-goers were briefed in a meeting at Cornell about the application process for internships. One of the major points, if not the major point, was that all internship seekers should "beware the marquee" when searching for a job.
In case you're not up to speed/confused about the program I am in: I am currently enrolled in the Cornell in Washington program. We are a group of about 40-50 Cornell students that work 3-4 days a week at an internship and do a research project throughout the duration of the semester that culminates into a mini-thesis in the end.
Anyway, we were all told when thinking about what jobs to apply to that we should "beware the marquee." In short, this was the program's way of saying "You might want to apply to a big name internship, but you should be forewarned that if you work at a place with a fancy name, you won't be doing substantial work - you'll be filing and entering data into the computer."
This is the worse advice that anyone could ever give to anyone doing anything ever. Never beware the marquee.
I did not beware the marquee. I saw the opportunity to apply for a job I thought would be cool no matter what I was doing, and I was right. All I do all day is run around and deliver things, file papers, answer phones, and other clerical tasks.
But today I shook hands with Justice Sotomayor and had a short, but 1 on 1, conversation with her (she is ridiculously nice). On March 10, I am going on a private tour of the White House. On March 23, I will be watching the oral arguments for the case Kiyemba v. Obama, which has to do with the whether or not it is constitutional for the president to move prisoners from Guantanamo Bay to the continental United States. I am surrounded by some of the most important people in the country every single day. I have daily chats about history, comedians, and movies with the 10th most important person in the federal judicial system. AND I got a free brownie today.
So, beware the marquee? I think not. If anything, flock to the marquee. Love the marquee. Bow down to the marquee. Do anything you can to join the marquee. It will pay dividends.
At least it did for me.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
On Being in DC....
So someone (Maureen) complained that my blogs were about my thoughts and not about me being in DC. So, for you Maureen, I dedicate this entry.
I'll write about whatever the hell I want to write about and if you don't like it you just stop reading. I don't even like you anyway.
Just kidding.
My time thus far has been amazing here. I really love my internship at the Court. Today, I had my first Justice sighting. Justice Stevens was walking around the first floor of the court and I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He moved like "a phantom," to quote my roommate Mike. Other than that, we did the National Gallery of Art this past weekend and I commentated on all the paintings as if they all had sexual undertones (most of them did). I saw the only Da Vinci in Western Hemisphere - a portrait of a young woman from when da Vinci was about 22 years old.
The gallery was pretty boring.
On Friday night, the CIW (Cornell in Washington) program attended the National Symphony. That was pretty amazing. Everyone in the program was all dressed up (I was clad in a suit, as usual, but the light up shoes were scoffed out before I got out the door and I was forced to change). We sat behind the stage, so to speak, so that the audience was looking directly at us. We were positioned right above the band with attention on the conductor who waved his hands as if in a trance and really felt the music. Having worked 8 hours that day and not even had time to change, I could not appreciate the beauty of the orchestra as much as I would have wanted. However, it was still a great experience.
Maureen, do you see why it is hard to just recant little stories of my travels here? My writing becomes terrible. Bleh. Now onto something with a little more substance to close this entry.
The National Symphony was at the Kennedy Center, which is on the banks of the Potomac River. Because of the seating arrangement, it felt like the lights were directly focused on our section of seats. Thus, for the duration of the program before intermission I felt as if I was being slowly roasted. By the time the break came around, I had to get some fresh air. Out the doors I went.
When I arrived outside, I was met by a breathtakingly beautiful view. Though still covered in snow (stupidly), the terrace overlooked the entire city nightscape on the banks of the river. It was if an artist had painted it (Full circle from art gallery! +200 points). Across the river, skyscrapers with sporadically lit windows lay beneath a clear sky. Orion was in sight as was a large, white moon. All of these were reflected on the calm, moving waters of the Potomac.
I stood outside alone for a long few minutes before having to return inside for the second half of the show. I felt pretty lonely out there with no one to share that view with. I made it a point to tell everyone inside to make sure to check it out on the way back.
Then the show started again and the lights continued to roast me to a perfect medium rare.
I'll write about whatever the hell I want to write about and if you don't like it you just stop reading. I don't even like you anyway.
Just kidding.
My time thus far has been amazing here. I really love my internship at the Court. Today, I had my first Justice sighting. Justice Stevens was walking around the first floor of the court and I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He moved like "a phantom," to quote my roommate Mike. Other than that, we did the National Gallery of Art this past weekend and I commentated on all the paintings as if they all had sexual undertones (most of them did). I saw the only Da Vinci in Western Hemisphere - a portrait of a young woman from when da Vinci was about 22 years old.
The gallery was pretty boring.
On Friday night, the CIW (Cornell in Washington) program attended the National Symphony. That was pretty amazing. Everyone in the program was all dressed up (I was clad in a suit, as usual, but the light up shoes were scoffed out before I got out the door and I was forced to change). We sat behind the stage, so to speak, so that the audience was looking directly at us. We were positioned right above the band with attention on the conductor who waved his hands as if in a trance and really felt the music. Having worked 8 hours that day and not even had time to change, I could not appreciate the beauty of the orchestra as much as I would have wanted. However, it was still a great experience.
Maureen, do you see why it is hard to just recant little stories of my travels here? My writing becomes terrible. Bleh. Now onto something with a little more substance to close this entry.
The National Symphony was at the Kennedy Center, which is on the banks of the Potomac River. Because of the seating arrangement, it felt like the lights were directly focused on our section of seats. Thus, for the duration of the program before intermission I felt as if I was being slowly roasted. By the time the break came around, I had to get some fresh air. Out the doors I went.
When I arrived outside, I was met by a breathtakingly beautiful view. Though still covered in snow (stupidly), the terrace overlooked the entire city nightscape on the banks of the river. It was if an artist had painted it (Full circle from art gallery! +200 points). Across the river, skyscrapers with sporadically lit windows lay beneath a clear sky. Orion was in sight as was a large, white moon. All of these were reflected on the calm, moving waters of the Potomac.
I stood outside alone for a long few minutes before having to return inside for the second half of the show. I felt pretty lonely out there with no one to share that view with. I made it a point to tell everyone inside to make sure to check it out on the way back.
Then the show started again and the lights continued to roast me to a perfect medium rare.
On How to Give the Perfect High Five
Few situations are more awkward than an imperfect high five. There is something about that slightly stinging feeling in your hand after that satisfying, ear-ringing clap that seals the envelope on the event that prompted such celebration. I would equate a correctly done high five to the dessert of a great meal; something sweet to bring a close to something savory.
While I will primarily focus on the physical aspect of the perfect high five, some items need to be cleared up about the moments leading up to the high five. Allow me to break it down:
The high five is an appropriate event that should follow events worthy of acknowledgement but one that does not warrant some sort of gift. The event in question should be something valuable. More often than not, high fives are dealt out without merit, thus watering down the meaning of the act for all worthy actions. The event should be a true accomplishment - a personal best in a race, a new job offer, a good grade on a hard test, or something of that nature. An appropriate metaphor would be when one first caught Articuno in Pokemon - a larger event than your run in the mill capture of a Ratata, but not exactly catching a Mewtwo (if you don't understand the above reference, I'm sorry you were a loser in 4th grade).
The physical motion of the high five should be fluid and natural. The "fist bump" or "pound" is a failure of a celebration for this very reason - people are stopped in mid motion, have to realize what is going on ("I'm not getting punched - this is actually a good thing for some stupid reason"). Raising the hand is part of our culture now - whether we are raising the roof, putting our hands up for Detroit, or just plain waving, a raised hand is synonymous with happiness. Or beating someone. But probably happiness.
The following is the most important physical step in the high five process. It is a simple yet often overlooked step that leaves both parties unsatisfied with a soft, sometimes zero-contact air wave. Both parties look goofy, feel awkward, and leave that great moment that should have been closed with a clap of joy with a feeling of longing for what could have been.
It is essentially a feeling of emotional blue balls. And that's the worst.
Anyway, the most important part of the high five: looking at your partner's elbow.
Now, you might not believe me until you try it (and you probably will after reading this), but if both partners look at the elbow of the arm that is being used in the high five, the resulting contact and slight stinging sensation will leave both parties happily satisfied. Be advised, however, that the rush of adrenaline and endorphins that occur immediately following a high five utilizing this strategy often overshadow the event itself.
Example - you got an A on that 12 page paper on the historical significance of something stupid. You stayed up for hours the night before it was due writing on it, used the CTRL+F period trick to lengthen it half a page, and found "sources" on Google 20 minutes before it was due. Upon receiving your grade, you inform your roommate (who you kept up by opening Red Bull cans all night and throwing them on the floor in disgust), who raises his hand. You each raise an arm, gazing at each others' weenises . Your hands race at each other, only to have their forward momentum stalled by each other. The expelled energy, in the form of sounds, shakes the room you're in and probably kills a small animal outside.
Luckily, your hands are both still intact (hopefully). The feeling in your fingers and palms is of a slight pain, but also of a slight numbing sensation. The feeling in your heart, however, is of congratulations or accomplishment and, most importantly, the happiness in the event that brought someone to you or brought you to someone to celebrate.
While I will primarily focus on the physical aspect of the perfect high five, some items need to be cleared up about the moments leading up to the high five. Allow me to break it down:
The high five is an appropriate event that should follow events worthy of acknowledgement but one that does not warrant some sort of gift. The event in question should be something valuable. More often than not, high fives are dealt out without merit, thus watering down the meaning of the act for all worthy actions. The event should be a true accomplishment - a personal best in a race, a new job offer, a good grade on a hard test, or something of that nature. An appropriate metaphor would be when one first caught Articuno in Pokemon - a larger event than your run in the mill capture of a Ratata, but not exactly catching a Mewtwo (if you don't understand the above reference, I'm sorry you were a loser in 4th grade).
The physical motion of the high five should be fluid and natural. The "fist bump" or "pound" is a failure of a celebration for this very reason - people are stopped in mid motion, have to realize what is going on ("I'm not getting punched - this is actually a good thing for some stupid reason"). Raising the hand is part of our culture now - whether we are raising the roof, putting our hands up for Detroit, or just plain waving, a raised hand is synonymous with happiness. Or beating someone. But probably happiness.
The following is the most important physical step in the high five process. It is a simple yet often overlooked step that leaves both parties unsatisfied with a soft, sometimes zero-contact air wave. Both parties look goofy, feel awkward, and leave that great moment that should have been closed with a clap of joy with a feeling of longing for what could have been.
It is essentially a feeling of emotional blue balls. And that's the worst.
Anyway, the most important part of the high five: looking at your partner's elbow.
Now, you might not believe me until you try it (and you probably will after reading this), but if both partners look at the elbow of the arm that is being used in the high five, the resulting contact and slight stinging sensation will leave both parties happily satisfied. Be advised, however, that the rush of adrenaline and endorphins that occur immediately following a high five utilizing this strategy often overshadow the event itself.
Example - you got an A on that 12 page paper on the historical significance of something stupid. You stayed up for hours the night before it was due writing on it, used the CTRL+F period trick to lengthen it half a page, and found "sources" on Google 20 minutes before it was due. Upon receiving your grade, you inform your roommate (who you kept up by opening Red Bull cans all night and throwing them on the floor in disgust), who raises his hand. You each raise an arm, gazing at each others' weenises . Your hands race at each other, only to have their forward momentum stalled by each other. The expelled energy, in the form of sounds, shakes the room you're in and probably kills a small animal outside.
Luckily, your hands are both still intact (hopefully). The feeling in your fingers and palms is of a slight pain, but also of a slight numbing sensation. The feeling in your heart, however, is of congratulations or accomplishment and, most importantly, the happiness in the event that brought someone to you or brought you to someone to celebrate.
Sorry
To those of you I promised a new entry last night, I apologize. I had lots of work that I should have done, but instead just procrastinated. So now I haven't written an entry AND I didn't get any work done.
<3 College.
<3 College.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
My College Essay
So my college essay came up in conversation today. I always thought I did a good job on it and that it set me apart from the multitude of other college students and their applications. Anyway, enjoy:
"I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self." -Aristotle
I know exactly what he means.
I was standing alone in a candy store.
My physics class had taken a field trip to Six Flags as part of a project based on roller coasters. My friends decided to go on a ride that my stomach could not handle, so I took a walk, planning to return in a few minutes. However, what I found on the way changed me forever.
I walked past the Wild West themed part of the amusement park and saw in the corner of my eye an open door leading to the candy store. I entered what I thought to be Heaven but would soon turn to Hell.
I stepped in and noticed that none of the lights were on and there was no one at the register. I asked out loud if anyone was there, but never received an answer. That is when the gravity of my situation hit me. I was alone in an unattended candy store.
I had dreamt of this situation. Who hasn’t? Both as a child and a seventeen year old, I prayed for this moment, knowing my entire life exactly what I would do.
And then it hit me. I would not be borrowing without asking or playing “finders-keepers,” I would be stealing. I had never stolen anything before except bases in kickball.
I stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity. I paced back and forth contemplating justification for taking candy. I paid forty dollars to enter the park, they owed me some candy. “It’s their fault they left the door open, they should have been more careful. It’s not like this place doesn’t make a huge profit. What’s a pack of gobstoppers to them anyway?” Thoughts like these ran through my mind constantly as my heart raced and my palms moistened.
I looked around one more time, almost in tears from what I was about to do. I stretched out my trembling fingers. I knew I would regret this decision for the rest of my life. I took a deep breath, grabbed the door handle, and stepped out. I took one last look back at what I had dreamt about for years, and walked back to my friends, empowerment in my veins.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Why I Bought Light Up Shoes
Ever since I grew out of my LA Gear sneakers - the ones that blink whenever you step - I've been searching for shoes that light up in adult sizes. It took very many years before I found them. I was lifeguarding at a private pool party in my town (woo Orange, CT) when a 14 year old boy sat down nearby. The sun had just set but my vision was still illuminated by bright blue light emanating from the sole of the young man's shoes. I inquired as to where he found them, how much they were, the brand name, and other questions of that nature.
I had to have them.
You see, I've been working summers as a lifeguard since I was 15 (this will be the first summer that I will not, thank God). I started with between 20 and 30 hours a week and by the "Summer of the Shoes," I was teaching swim lessons at one pool and lifeguarding at another for around 70 hours a week total. In addition to this, I was teaching private swim lessons and guarding private parties on the weekend. Needless to say, I was busy.
I subscribe to the philosophy - and I may be alone in actually living this way but have met many people that think it is a great idea - that if you work hard, you earn a little something more than money. You earn the right to do at least one thing completely stupid with it.
I'm not saying one should do anything crazy or that one should spend all the money one earns on a flagrant and ridiculous purchase - what I am talking about is something much smaller, but still meaningful - something sacred and individually important, but still downright absurd in nature. It should be a strict want and not a need. It should be something no one would ever need.
And thus, light up shoes were my stupid purchase of the summer. My shoes don't blink when I step - they have a button on the side that turns them on or off as I please and are powered by a 9-volt battery (big clunky square batteries found in smoke detectors) in the tongue.
Since I've bought them, I've been both lauded and harangued from fraternity decks, lambasted and complemented on their appearance, brought police cars to a halt with curious officers wanting to know where they can get a pair, pelted with empty beer cans, taken pictures with many random strangers, heard whispers and shaken off pointing fingers, moved to the front of lines to get into anything, and been called a complete idiot for having spent as much as I did on them (which will remain a secret).
But I've never once regretted buying them and wearing them around. I feel like they represent that part of me that's always wanted to revert to childhood when I was happiest and the most important thing to me was that my shoes lit up. In this crazy state of studentdom which I've entered, I find that between reading, problem sets, thinking about a future career, working at the court, conducting my research, cooking for myself, grocery shopping, and all that kind of stuff, I need a tiny, bright oasis. I need that reminder - that knowledge - that at any time I can turn the shoes on and awaken that little boy inside of me and escape from trying to be a real-life person; I need to know that there once was and still is that feeling of excitement from something so illogical and ridiculous.
So, here is an impromptu toast to my shoes and to that stupid thing everyone has in their lives - that one island away from it all that represents the wants and not the needs:
I raise my glass to you, light up shoes. Despite making me look insane, you keep me sane and remind me of a simpler time. Your heft and clunkiness on my feet reminds me of the extra baggage I now carry as an adult, but when I turn your lights on, I feel lighter than air. Indeed, you not only aid me in my travels on foot, but also through my travels in life. For this, I thank you.
PS - I had cake for breakfast this morning.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
On Wearing a Suit Everyday
There is no feeling in the world that can be equated to the joy I felt when a complete stranger came up to me and said:
"Sir, can you give me directions please?"
I was dressed in a suit, en route to the metro for work. It was approximately 7:50 in the morning and "the event" happened right in Dupont Circle.
Someone called me sir and thought I looked official enough to ask for directions. That is the power of the suit.
I gave the nice, 50-60 year old woman directions even though I had no idea where she was going because, let's face it, I was in a suit, looking spiffy, and should know where everything is. And despite my lack of knowledge of the subject, I felt important enough to pretend.
I have to admit, I enjoy putting a suit on every morning. Scratch that - physically putting the suit on is a terrible experience, but once it is on, oh man, what a feeling. My attachment to suits probably started when I was around 12 years old. My mom took me shopping for a suit to wear to all my friends' bar mitzvahs. I would try one on and then, hands clasped together in front of me with index fingers extended, I would wander around the store pretending to be James Bond, humming the theme music and jumping around corners.
This behavior has since continued to plague my mother and the good, patient folks at Macy's for the past 8 years. She decided, when choosing my wardrobe for work in DC, to "surprise me and have me try things on at home" instead of in the store (Yes, my mom still does my shopping - No, I don't know my sizes. Yes, it is pathetic, but if you had a Greek mother, you would understand - I promise). This course of action was probably the best for all parties involved except yours truly, who only had a younger sister to impress with sick secret agents moves.
So now every morning, I head out to work looking great enough to be called "sir" and asked for directions and feeling great enough to give directions without knowing the way.
Life is good.
Snow Rant
One of the things that has happened to the city, and not me, since I've been here is what has come to be called "The Snowpacalypse," "Snowmaggedon," or "The Snowtorious B.I.G." In short, over the course of one week, about 30 inches of snow accumulated in Washington, DC and the surrounding areas. Being a northeast native (go Connecticut), I took a step back at the projections for large amounts of snow and thought "That's a lot of snow, but it shouldn't be that hard to clean up." Oh, how I was wrong.
After the first snowfall of 20 inches, the city was a wreck. Streets, sidewalks, everything remained unplowed, unshoveled, and completely snowed in. The one plow that DC has at its disposal got stuck outside the Cornell Center and had to be towed out. Sidewalks are a mess as no one wants to/knows how to shovel and put salt down. The entire city was handicapped for a week.
Staggering fact: Every day the US government is closed, there is $100 million ca$h dollarz in lost productivity. Because of the storm, the entire Federal Government was closed for 5 days. Do that math.
So now that roads have been pseudo-plowed, there are massive piles of snow and ice all over the city. On the sidewalks, in the middle of the road, everywhere. They literally have no idea what to do. Cars are blocked in by 7 foot high ice-hills and inept drivers (I'll get to them soon) attempt to shovel themselves out half-assedly.
Oh, and I live in a dog neighborhood, so every 3 feet there's a patch of yellow snow spitefully looking back at me reinforcing my hatred of the handling of the frozen water.
But it does make everything look stunningly beautiful.... not the yellow snow, just the snow in general.
You can't help but stop for a couple seconds and gaze at this city' amazing views covered in white fluff and reflect on the beauty that the snow has brought along with the destruction. On Friday, when I walked up to the Supreme Court to enter the then-snowy gates of Justice, I looked across the street at the Capital. I knew I made the right choice to spend a semester here.
Recap and laying groundwork for future posts
Why I'm in DC - there seems to be some confusion, so allow me to guide you out of the george-jungle: I am participating in Cornell's "Cornell in Washington" program, which is an internship-research program. This involves working 3-4 days a week (4 for me) and a large research project (mini-thesis) on a public policy. I am interning at the Supreme Court, Office of the Clerk and am researching the recent Car Allowance Rebate System (Cash for Clunkers) policy and whether it can stimulate long-term growth in the automotive sector or if it was just an attempt to jumpstart an engine that is destined to die (get the imagery there? Cars? Jumpstart? Engine?).
I live in the Cornell Center, which is a building housing only Cornell students near Dupont Circle. It is on O Street in the northwest quadrant (DC is set up in quadrants or something? I have yet to figure that one out). There are around 50 people in total living in the center and everyone is doing something different for research and for work.
I have two roommates - Mike and Terry - in my apartment. Despite it being a triple, we have plenty of space.
I'm trying to get all the boring stuff out now so that later posts will make more sense.
Museum of Natural History, Newseum, stood outside the White House, Jefferson Monument (daytime), Lincoln Monument (daytime), Protested for a cause I didn't quite understand with a hippie that didn't really understand either (Connie), went to an overpriced nightclub and got charged extra for not being a girl, received complements on my light up shoes (yes!), met the Clerk of the Supreme Court William Suter, been in 2000 person snowball fight, eaten decent sushi, got a great and manly burger...... not sure what else there is right now.
Anyway, expect future posts to focus on a couple things (or one) rather than a summary of what's going on. And probably funnier than this one.
First Entry
I created this blog to document my time in Washington, DC. I am here for a semester through Cornell University's "Cornell in Washington" program. I plan to talk about all the cool things I've been doing and want to do while I'm here.
Enjoy?
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