A Visit to Caernarfon, Wales

Continuing my pattern of writing about my trip backwards -- before London, I came from Caernarfon, a very small (pop. 9611 according to Wikipedia) town in Wales. I took the train from Bangor to London Euston station, a ride that was essentially like watching an all-around movie of countryside, hills, castles, and sheep. I found Caernarfon itself to be sleepy and introverted -- the type of place that lends itself well self-reflection, in that it's completely beautiful, and everything closes around 5 pm.

I stayed at a small hostel that seemed to be run by a family as a hobby. There's something appealing in that -- the idea of having a place for travelers to come through, meeting new people from faraway lands, hearing their stories and listening to their languages. In the reading room I found a book written in the early 1900s on the Welsh language, practicing a few of the sentences in my head just for the mental exercise. Everybody in Wales speaks English, and I've read statistics that only about 15-25% of Welsh citizens even speak Welsh at all. The two languages have equal legal standing, and all official signs are written in both languages. Before coming to Caernarfon, I hadn't heard anyone speak Welsh at all during my few days in Wales. In Caernarfon, however, it was everywhere -- not spoken to me, but spoken among families that I heard walking on the streets. I could sit on a bench in the main square and just listen, and if I closed my eyes, it seemed as though I were among elves.

I find language fascinating, and I like the idea of claiming language as a source of home and nationalistic pride. I felt a similar appreciation listening to people in Bilbao speak Basque. I think being able to speak and understand every language would be a great super power. After all, keeping language alive means keeping stories alive, and I can't think of anything more important than that.

Since my plan was to explore castles in Wales for four days, I think I ended up in the right place.

Caernarfon Castle was one of several castles in Wales built by King Edward I of England. This one was built in 1283 and I have to say, as an American, it's hard for me to fathom anything that old, except maybe my parents (just kidding, Mom & Dad).

Next stop will be Riding-Ponies-in-the-Mountains -- if that were a country, I think I would live there.

Nothing Falls Like London Rain

Sifting through photos often makes me a bit unsure about where to begin. The end of my trip brought me back to London for less than 24 hours before I caught my flight home. This means that there are the fewest amount of pictures -- in other words, the perfect place to start.

I'm not so good at remembering to take pictures when I travel. I enjoy wandering and letting my thoughts wander with me. I like not having an agenda, and seeing what I stumble upon. So imagine my delight when I stumbled a few blocks from my hostel to find this:



My point is, sometimes the pictures take themselves.

I'd seen Parliament & Big Ben before, but there's something wonderful about almost tripping over them. (And I have to say, tripping is something that I'm pretty good at.)




I chose the hostel (The Steam Engine) somewhat arbitrarily and at the last minute, and was bemused to find certain eccentricities about it. First of all, the hostel is not only above a pub, but it is part of it. As in, when you go to check in at reception, you check in with the bartender. I stayed in one of the shared rooms and, even after many years as a camp professional, I was surprised to learn that there were such things as triple-layer bunk beds:



(Bed #3, on the bottom, was my temporary cave. I was worried about the people above me moving around and keeping me awake, but the triple-layer-bunk-bed proved to be surprisingly sturdy and non-avalanche-inducing.)

On Thursday morning, before I had to leave for Heathrow, I decided to take a long, wandering walk.

I thought this sign was really funny:



Stumbled upon a guard -- I told you that good things come from wandering:



If you're worried about this being the only horse photo of the trip, don't lose any sleep. Stay tuned.

How to Not Be a Jerk in a Coffee Shop

Lifehacker just ran a post entitled, "Get Things Done at a Coffee Shop Without Annoying Everyone", quoting tips from a businessman who recommends:

* Learn the names of most of the baristas and also take time to have a conversation with them. It helps build a human connection.
* Make sure you buy coffee or something at least three times a day.


As a [reluctant & circumstantial] barista, I couldn't care any less if you remember my name. In fact, I'd prefer it if you never even read the name tag I am required to wear, if only for the one time a customer called me by my name on the street and it was totally creepy. I don't even care if you don't engage me in conversation (in fact, please don't if it's because you feel like you have to -- I don't need your condescension). My expectations for our interaction are not high. Basically, I would like you to not be a jerk. Since this can be complicated for some people, I am including, as a response to the above article, by own tips on How to Not Be a Jerk in a Coffee Shop.

#1- Clean up after yourself. It is amazing how many people cannot manage to move their dirty napkins and wrappers to the garbage can three feet away. It's even more amazing how many people feel entitled to leave huge stacks of books, plates with tons of leftover food, half-empty coffee cups with lipstick marks, and stuff spilled all over the table.

#2- Don't be creepy. I'd rather you didn't call me by my name, but if you feel the need to, please at least don't hit on me. Don't mistake me doing my job for interest. Realize that you as a customer and me as a barista places a power dynamic on our conversation in that I have to be polite to you, even if you are rude.

#3- Don't yell. I understand that for you, our interaction is more about you exerting control over one small portion of your life when the rest of it seems to be hurtling out of control. I will allow you this. But in the event that something about your order does not seem right to your exacting tastebuds, there's a polite way to say it and a rude way to say it (and many other ways, I'm sure). Sneering derisively, "Ew! Why is there cream cheese?! What kind of freak eats toasted bagels with cream cheese?!" is not going to win you any points.

#4- Don't assume that I'm stupid because I'm making your coffee.

#5- Don't throw money down on the counter, especially when it's a bunch of change and I have to pick each coin up off the counter. (If you have strict religious beliefs that would be breached if our hands accidentally touched, I'll give you a break on this one.) Don't hand me bills and then after I already have your change in my hand say, "Oh! I have change!" and then get mad when I won't take it. I'm the one who'll be in trouble if my register's off.

#6- Do teach your children to have good manners. I heard a mom correct her six-year-old-ish son on a throwing-money-on-the-counter habit, and it made my day. More often than not, well-mannered children seem to have well-mannered children -- and the rude, money-throwing, screamy children are imitating their rude, money-throwing, screamy parents.

#7- Do not, under any circumstances, talk on the phone while you are ordering. Unless you are on fire. In which case, you should probably take care of that before you get coffee anyway. Hot tip: if you are telling your friend on the phone, "Yeah, uh huh, I had a turkey sandwich for lunch and now I'm getting coffee! Now I'm ordering!", there is a 99.9% chance that your friend does not care. If your friend is in the remaining .01%, your friend has a 100% chance of being insufferably boring. Find a new friend! There are many places to meet them (though I recommend against dark alleys).

In truth, I don't really care how much stuff you buy in order to feel justified in sitting all day. It doesn't affect me; it's not like I see a penny of that. I just care about treating people like human beings, and being treated like one myself. I understand that it can be a wonderful thing to go and sit somewhere and read and have coffee, or sit down and catch up with a friend, or write, or whatever -- I like these things, too, and I respect your right to be able to do them. But you're still in public (yes, you, on your laptop with your hand in your pants -- there's a time and a place, and let me assure you, it is neither now nor here), so you might as well behave accordingly. I'll let you have your daily dose of caffeine-fueled escapism; just let me go back to doing my job and pondering the everlasting question on my mind: "Don't you people work?"

The wild rumpus continues into year 23.

Every so often, I suppose it's reasonable to provide photographic evidence that my friends are as amazing as I describe. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday or better company to spend it with.

Birthday, Observed (Sunday):

Nomi, Liza, and I made brunch and played Settlers. Cliff joined us & we went into Manhattan to get rainbow-sprinkled birthday cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery and eat them by a fountain.







It was about a million degrees out, so we discreetly lounged in the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, since we deemed its air conditioning adequate for rejuvenation (though its surprisingly-tacky carnation floral arrangements made me think somewhat of going to the dentist).

Cliff & Liza were kind enough to indulge my long-held wish to take a touristy carriage ride through Central Park:



I think I am getting more touristy the longer I live here.

Our pony's name was Alfred. I picked him out because he was really friendly and looked happy & healthy.

His owner let me give him a carrot.



Birthday, Actual (Monday):

After a few hours at my new job, I took the N-train to Coney Island and grabbed a couple of corn dogs for sustenance.



I walked down the beach past the Aquarium toward the Brighton Beach side until I found a spot with almost no other people around. Then Nomi & I placed our figurative flags. (Not pictured, because I forgot to take more pictures: big brother Michael.)





Nomi with our book of communist children's stories, which features an author from Sarah Lawrence (naturally).





Still sticking to my plan to jump in the ocean at least once a week.

So, anyway, I made it to 23. Now I guess I'll try for 24!

Gallery-Hopping in Chelsea / Video Links

The art opening at the Mary Ryan Gallery turned out to have more in the way of free beer than free wine and cheese, but one of the other galleries we found had wine and cheese puffs, so it more than evened out. The theme of the exhibit is Heads or Tails, which basically means that all of the pieces involve heads and/or butts. There were a lot of dressed-up people walking around the block, so we investigated further and found two other art openings, as well as an exhibit of giraffe paintings by an artist named Tommy Tone.



This is the only picture of his that I can find online, but I really liked his paintings and all of the bright colors that he used. He also had an adorable print of a pig that read "I love you like a pig loves corn". I commented that if I were ever an eccentric millionaire (this is one of my career goals), I would designate a room of my house the Giraffe Room and decorate it with giraffe paintings. Liza noted that it would be awesome to be able to tell guests, "Ah, yes! And you can sleep in the Giraffe Room."

One art opening we stumbled upon was a true hipster haven, with both the Stella Artois and the facial hair flowing. The best/worst piece was a giant beige upside-down letter T. We pretentiously hypothesized that it represented how you must turn society on its head to make real art, man.

Videos you should watch STAT if you somehow haven't already:

Hanson's new single, "Thinking 'Bout Something"

Janelle Monae, "Tightrope"

Jersey Shore Cast Reenacts Twilight

So, I started a new part-time job this week, as an assistant literary publicist. I'm keeping my old coffee-making job, too, but the combination of the two should mean that I'm able to start saving some money for the possibility of grad school, which is exciting. It's also nice to have something in an industry I've been wanting to work in, and I think I should be able to learn a lot, plus glean some free books out of the deal. (EDIT: And while I was writing this, my new boss just emailed me to see if I wanted a free lunch tomorrow! I know they say there's no such thing as a free lunch, but...)

Since some of the company's authors have Twitter accounts, I finally caved and made one for myself, just in case I'm ever asked to update them (so I know how it works). Despite earlier commiseration with Nomi over how Twitter represents the demise of the English language, I'm going to give it a chance. My name on there is watermelonshirt.

I've recently realized how easy and convenient it is for me to get to the beach (Coney Island), which is a good sign for summer. I can get there in less than 45 minutes on the subway. My new resolution is to dip my toes in the ocean at least once a week. On Sunday, Liza, Nomi, and I spent the whole day at the beach, and then I went back on Tuesday to go for a run. Glorious.

I'm trying to show myself some compassion, give myself a break when I feel like I need one. With both jobs, I'll be working six days a week, with shifts at both jobs on one day so I can have Sundays off. I have a whole list of things I should get done today (especially since it'll be my last non-Sunday day off for awhile), but I decided it was important to sleep in, revel in the window A/C unit that I inherited from a former roommate, and get some writing in. (I'm worried about the A/C driving up our utility bills, though, so I have a rule for myself that I can only use it when I am in my room and awake with the door closed.) In a bit, I'll have some cookies for breakfast, take a shower, and get on with being an adult. I just needed a few hours off from that.

Tonight we're going to the opening for an art exhibit to which I have indirect social connections. I have no desire to say no to the possibility of wine and cheese.

The Americana Room

I recently took a weekend away from NYC to go to Kansas for Watermelon Brother's grad school graduation. Zach is great!



Clearly, we celebrated by eating delicious burgers and blowing bubbles. (The restaurant in which we ate also featured a dish called the Cowboy Burger, involving a burger so multi-layered and gigantic that anyone who finishes gets a free t-shirt. Zach tells me, however, that the restaurant will not cover any expenses of the subsequent food coma.)



Mostly, though, I wanted to post some photos from the bed & breakfast where we stayed. My parents had to sign a form that we would not bring alcohol, even unopened, anywhere on the premises. That may have been my first clue. But I really knew something was a bit fishy when I spotted a bit of light reading on a table in the game room:



Hmm. Glenn Beck?! What was this strange universe I seemed to have stumbled upon?

Further into the tour, I spotted a sign in one of the guest rooms that read, "Shopping with your husband is like hunting with the game warden."

And then, above the dining room table, this gem:



I guess I'm accustomed to sexist messages being insidious -- perhaps packaged up with pretty ribbon* under the guise of empowerment, for example (see: Cosmo, Sex and the City, and their ilk). Sneaky messages, like the multibillion beauty, fashion, and weight loss industries that use advertising as a means to make women feel like they're not measuring up and not even quite knowing why. It's really shocking and almost refreshing to see offensive messages stated so clearly -- like having the creeper following you around stop and introduce himself. And then we can have a real conversation.

* (Let me be clear here that I'm pro-pretty ribbon in almost every existing scenario.)

My point is, it's no good being told what you can or cannot do, or who you can or cannot be. And it's really no good when it's based on something you can't control, or maybe something that doesn't even exist, depending on your views of gender as a social construct. I really like people in general, and I'm lucky to have lots of good ones in my life, both men and women. In Feminist Theory from Margin to Center, bell hooks writes about the importance of valuing parenting as a whole, rather than necessarily privileging motherhood or fatherhood. She raises the point that when young girls take care of a baby doll, adults say things like, "She's practicing being a good mother." When a young boy does the same, the same adults might discourage it, thinking that he's exhibiting behavior that could be an indicator of homosexuality. Instead, a more appropriate response might be, "He's practicing being a good father."

Science fiction writer Robert A. Heinlein said, "A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."

I really like this. And I like being a weirdo non-insect human being. And I'm tired of reading about how feminism is ruining men, because somehow I have a feeling that men probably don't like being insects, either. And a lot of stuff that's offensive to women is offensive to men, too -- in purely conforming to societal gender expectations, we miss out on the full experience of being human.

Getting back to the bed & breakfast -- the room that we stayed in was called the Americana room. It featured fake Revolutionary War memorabilia, framed nautical knots, and a bust of Abraham Lincoln in the bathroom.

Also, a beautiful dog.



I mean, goodness. A miniature husky? Who'd ever heard of such a glorious thing?



I like this photo for the proof it gives that very small animals are the best at taking up tons of room.



Before we checked out, my parents and I noticed a guestbook on the table in our room. We debated for a few minutes what, if anything, we should write.

"How about: 'My name is Tony, and I'm a man that can make a really excellent breakfast,'" I suggested to my dad.

He crunched a handful of corn-nuts as he contemplated. "But maybe I'll add on, 'However, you may have a point about the husband as the game warden.'"