My brain my brain

So tired.  Einsteined out.  Second of three 12-hour days at work, with thankfully a beach camping weekend to look forward to.  I am excited about the exhibit, though - today I gave a demonstration about the speed of light to a bunch of OMSI board members, corporate sponsors, volunteers and highfalutin media folk.  I gave a brief radio interview about Einstein to a potentially conservative-leaning station (in which I just happened to describe the nature of science as a "constantly evolving animal."  Just slipped out, what can I say) and I gently tried to dissuade a visitor from thinking that his experiences at the Oregon Vortex were relativity-related.  I feel eminently competent.

However.  As mentioned, so very tired.  I keep doing dumb things like saying the name of the person I'm talking to instead of the person I'm talking about; dropping letters (usually vowels, if that counts for anything) from words as I'm typing them; feeling generally sluggish and forgetful.  Last night I had a dream that I was at OMSI, wearing a combination cow costume/purple educator vest.  Other educators could dress up as vet techs or heart surgeons (in scrubs and reddish sweaters).  I was walking next to this teenage girl, and the fact that I was very enthusiastically trying to press upon her was:

"Did you know cows can't text?  Because of their hooves!"

"Sure, whatever."  She was totally disinterested.  And I can't blame her.  Hooves?  Honestly.

Now: seven hours sleeping, twelve hours working, seven hours sleeping, seven hours driving.  Then: sitting on a goddamn sunny beach getting a sunburn drinking a beer.  Oh yes.

Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite

I kind of can’t wait for my next cocktail party—or better yet, reunion.  I’ve read many a rousing adventure story and I understand their structure and tropes.  I can mold the Truth in my hands, cast it in plaster, build it out in spots and spin quite a yarn out of the past 12 months:

“Me?  Well for a while I was teaching children to read.  Then I traveled across the country a few times, was in the desert capturing rattlesnakes and exploring prehistoric structures, spent some time in the medical field, joined the circus, and currently I’m doing research into Relativity.”

Ha!  A shining tale, starring me: The Most Interesting Woman in the World.  But impressively, it’s all mostly true.  Even the circus part.  That’s right, friends!  All those times I’ve said,  
“I want to run away and join the circus!” 
weren’t just idle dreams.  No, that was career planning.

 Things are looking up

 

 What happened was this.  Way back in January when I was funemployed, a facebook friend posted a link to the temp agency in town that was hiring ushers for the Portland run of Cirque du Soleil’s Kooza.  I applied, and thanks to the fact that I look extremely reliable on paper, was called back very quickly.  I waited a couple months for the administrative Cirque team to get to town, then had a “group interview” – a grueling process during which we had to 1. Show up on time and 2. Wear all black (our “uniform”).  I can do both these things, though I did misplace my wallet and thus have no change for parking and therefore almost FAIL criteria #1, but a very kind woman on her smoke break outside her office building gave me meter money.  Thank you, wonderful stranger.  May you always have green lights when you are late.

At any rate, the depth of the interview process should have alerted me to the requirements of the job more so than any job description I was ever given.  Going through a temp company for a pool of workers with no technical requirements (we weren’t handling rigging or anything cool, unfortunately) produced a motley group of semi-employable folk from a variety of backgrounds and work experience.  “You’ll love it,” the Cirque supervisors and returning Cirque workers (called Followers because they travel – at their own expense – to the cities where Cirque is performing in order to do temp jobs) told us.  “You’ll make friends from all over.  You’ll bond.  You’ll party.  It’s like the theatre!”

That should’ve been my second clue.  I did high school theatre, and yes, I made some good friends there.  We became close quickly, in that intense intimacy that only long hours, shared makeup mirrors and teenage hormonal drama can engender.  But to be honest, I was also kind of a bitch then.  As a tiny girl in a position of authority (stage managing yet another motley crew in all black), I thought then I needed to Be Serious in order to Be Taken Seriously.  So there was No Messing Around on my stage.  (Unless it was done by my good friends and I was invited to join in.  Then, mischief aplenty!)

I still like to get actual work done when I’m in charge, but I’ve learned to use my tiny-girlness to my advantage as a supervisor: flirting my way through asking retired volunteers to improve their work ethic, allowing my goofiness and sarcasm to be part of presentations to large groups.  Whatever gets the job done – and I’ve learned that if people like me, they’re more likely to get the job done.  When it’s me on the front  lines, though, and I’m not toiling for a supervisor or organization I despise, I just can’t shake that Scandinavian WASPy work ethic.  I work smarter, and then sometimes harder.  When there is any kind of small-scale manual labor to be done (in Cirque’s case, putting inserts in programs and putting badges on lanyards), the spirit of Henry Ford starts acting through me, making mini-assembly lines and talking about conservation of movement.  Long story short, I’m a damn good worker, for no other reason than it feels better than half-assing it.  And I’ll be a happy cocker spaniel as long as I get an ear scratch or two from my supervisors.

The gritty world behind the scenes - where popcorn 

is ruthlessly segregated from the rest of the trash.

I would love to tell you that this dedication was immediately recognized by management, where it was  decided I could simultaneously climb the corporate ladder and the Big Top ladder, eventually becoming Cirque’s first Stage Manager/Aerialist.  But no.  I worked the Tapis Rouge, the lounge area where folks who paid over $250 for an adult ticket (uh huh) could get drinks and hors d’oeuvres before the show and tiny (incredibly delicious – the chef let me sneak one) bites of cheesecake on long skewers at intermission.  What did I do for this circus-going royalty?  Oh, pretty much what I’ve become adept at in public service positions: I stood unobtrusively with my hands clasped behind my back, smiling vaguely and staring into the middle distance.  Then I’d point out where the bathrooms were, and explain to the rabble that no, they  couldn’t come in to the fancy-pants tent, but they could purchase an upgrade for next time.  And during the show I sat on inflatable couches (real classy, but that’s a traveling show for you) and tried to read a  pocketbook or make a to-do list. Sometimes I colored.

I only worked a few times for Cirque because by the time they got here, I had a job that I was qualified for, and where I was more than a warm body who knew how to point to things in internationally inoffensive ways (the whole hand is safest – one finger can be considered rude).  So maybe I’m being unfair in judging the whole experience by my few evenings’ work.  I didn’t make lifelong friends; I didn’t party with contortionists; I didn’t pack up my life and carpool to Seattle to do the whole thing over again.  It wasn’t like The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus or Wings of Desire.  But I did learn how to lace up the flaps of a circus tent.  I did get to see the show for free.  I did peek into the practice tent, where I was told to stay quiet because “the Russians are having a meeting.”  I did get to be a part of something that is pretty impressive; that while not running entirely like clockwork, does a good job of bringing a fun time to people all over the country.
 

The circus is cool and all, but you just can't beat the perks at OMSI

And I was inspired to sign up for an adult Beginners Acrobatics and Trapeze class at my local aerialist studio.  My first class was on Wednesday.  I pulled and stretched and tumbled and flew a bit.  I'm still sore.  I can't wait to go back and get chalk dust all over myself again.  So, who knows?  Maybe with a couple years of practice, there’s a future for me in this after all.

Goonies Never Say Die

Sometimes I blog in my head, and then life moves on and I lose the momentum to tell people about it.  This is why it looks like in April I took one loooooooong nap, when really I was doin' some stuff.  Not that I remember what that stuff was, now, but I'm sure it was important at the time.

Last time I went to the dentist (again - April) was a tedious experience.  "Ah, looks like you haven't been flossing right here." "I have..."  "You know, when you brush you should start on your right side." "I do."  "Did you know you have a little imperfection in your enamel right--"  "I know!"

I have, I do, I know! Life has been kind of like that lately.  I'm unsettled and know I have to do things to change that, but I can't quite get the motivation to do so.  This whole My Journey thing got kind of muddled and misdirected.  When did Kirsten Valentine turn into this?  A character in a book I read recently described his maladies this way: "And I won't even mention my head... Solid cast iron!... simultaneously hollow and full of drafts: A great vestibule with poorly shut doors!"  Yup.  I welcome those drafts - the wind and I have always been friends.  And movement is SO preferable over sedentary cast iron!  (Despite its utility in making me iron-rich foods.)

So I’ve made a decision to be more selfish.  What? you say.  Even more selfish!  Is it possible?  Oh yes.  Step one is to shake up my housing situation.

It’s been great to live with Mom and Dad – how can I ever criticize kind people who love me and take care of me without my having to ask? My every need is met and then some; my mail shows up on my bed every afternoon, and sometimes a surprise box of animal crackers under my pillow.  But.  Rent-free and protected, safe and sound isn’t the challenge I need right now.

So I’m looking for shared housing on the East side of Portland. Closer to work, with fewer bridges and big giant hills to bike commute over.  (Bike commute?  Yep, that’s another challenge I’d like to set for myself.)  Houses of varying condition and class.  I have interviewed with: the industrious hippies, the quietly lonely cat lady, the untidy forty-year-old men, the veggie household with the food-stealing dog, the very 420-friendly hipsters, the very much in love lesbian couple, the friendly Alaskans, and the curt aspiring homeowner who didn’t want to repeat any information she had already posted on Craigslist.  All in a week.  It’s been quite a sociological and geographical journey.  And through it all, I’ve felt a lot more grown up than I have in recent memory.  I think it’s a good road I’m
on now, and I feel like I’m recovering from being stalled out.  Engine heart turn over, rumble purr.

Sunday, during a sunny long weekend at the beach, Mom and I climbed the Astoria Column – a very tall  monument at the top of a very tall hill in Astoria, OR.  For many folks there this was probably a casual, easy way to fill an afternoon.  But Mom is very afraid of heights, so she gripped the railing tight and stopped on every available landing, and made people go past her, all the way up 164 steps.  Out on the balcony at the very top, she clung to the too-smooth concrete side of the big pillar as other folks gaily peered down over the railing and launched balsa wood airplanes purchased from the gift shop.  She told me on the way back down, “You know, I thought, ‘If Dad can do chemo, I can do this.’”  Yeah.  And if she can do that, then I can do this new house thing.  I won’t say I’m not hesitant, nervous.  But it’s about time that something good and tough in my life knocked me out of the daily groove I’ve been wearing into the ground.  A good fear, a manageable one.  A kickstart and a shove in the right direction.