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onwardintolight · 6 years ago

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What did you go to college for and what is your current job/career? Any tips for people starting college? How do you decide what to do with your life?

Hi anon! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to answer your question!

My answer’s going to be complicated, because I have a chronic illness which means that I currently don’t have a career. That being said, I’ll try to answer as best I can!

I got my bachelor’s degree in linguistics. I absolutely LOVED it. I chose it because I loved it; I’ve always been fascinated by languages, and I found linguistics to be equally fascinating, wonderfully challenging, and a whole heck of a lot of fun. I started college declaring a major in letters (a broad degree mostly focused on languages, literature, and classical studies), but as soon as I took Intro to Linguistics fall of my sophomore year, I was hooked for good.

I was never quite sure what I wanted to do with linguistics, but there were many opportunities I could pursue, and I had an idea that maybe I’d eventually go to grad school to farther my options (perhaps studying linguistic anthropology, as I’ve always been really interested in the fight to save endangered languages). But that got put on hold indefinitely because….

Despite my love for linguistics, my main passion was dance, and for years I thought I was destined to be a dance teacher (I tried out teaching a class one year, and it was an incredible experience). You may be wondering, if this was the case, why didn’t I major in dance in college? That was a hard decision, but ultimately, through a lot of prayer and reflection, I felt like continuing to pursue dance with the dance studio I was at at the time was the right place for me to be. I was learning a lot, dancing with a performing troupe, and making some of the best memories, in an environment that was good for my soul.

On the side, during all of this, I was teaching music lessons on the hammered dulcimer, a folk instrument I’ve played since I was eleven, so that was always in the back of my mind as something I could continue to do.

To add another layer to all of this, I got married in college. My husband was studying to be an engineer. Consequently, I didn’t feel a whole lot of pressure to decide on what I was going to do right after college — I would pursue dancing and/or something to do with linguistics, while he would, God-willing, be the main breadwinner.

Naturally, things didn’t go as planned. My husband graduated with his master’s degree right in the middle of the recession, and despite his degree and impressive credentials, he was unable to find employment for a whole year. In the meantime, I picked up a job working in an after-school program, as I’d had experience with kids and teaching. It helped pay the bills, and it was incredibly rewarding, but it wasn’t something I wanted to continue doing as a career. Then my husband got a job in another state, we moved, and I continued my dance training. Eight months later, we moved across the country again after my husband’s job turned out to be a nightmare. I continued dancing in our new home and finally reached a level I was hoping to be at in order to teach again. When we moved back to our home state a year and a half later, I felt ready to jump into teaching dance as a career.

…And then, chronic illness struck. After a long, hard journey, I was eventually diagnosed with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS), an immune disease that causes my body to release inordinate amounts of histamine, giving me random allergic reactions that are miserable and debilitating. One of the many triggers, unfortunately, happens to be exercise, particularly certain types of exercise like dance. I found that I was unable to dance anymore without getting sick, and it was devastating. (My illness has also made it impossible for me to keep a steady job.)

So, I’ve had to let go of my dream of being a dance teacher (I’m more glad than ever now that I didn’t major in dance in college, and focused on getting the experiences I wanted through my studio!). However, in letting go, I’ve found other things my heart is calling me towards. Writing is one of them — I probably never would have found I enjoyed writing fiction if it weren’t for being too sick to dance. I may have also found a way I can jump back into linguistics at home — I’m currently looking into what it would take to learn ancient Akkadian and Sumerian so I can join the effort to translate cuneiform tablets (there are thousands in museums that have never been translated). We’ll see how that goes. And in addition to all of that, I’m hoping to be a mother someday — I’m not sure whether I’ll be a full-time stay-at-home mom yet, but I know that’s a valid choice and I may end up deciding that’s where I want to be.

We’ll see.

So that’s my story so far. Here’s what I’ve learned:

- So much depends on things I don’t know, future possibilities and variables I have no way of seeing right now, and I’m okay with that. I’ve had to learn to just take life as it comes. To take the next step that’s lying there clear before me, trusting that God will make it all go somewhere meaningful and worthwhile.

- My dad has often quoted a commencement speech Steve Jobs gave at Stanford, remarking on what good career advice it had. One of the things he’s relayed to us, over and over, is that life is full of zig-zags. We so often plan our lives in a straight line (this will be my major, this will be my career, this is when I want to get married, etc.), and life rarely works out that way. However, the zig-zags you end up going on can all add up to something incredibly worthwhile. And sometimes it’s only through zig-zagging that you can arrive at a place where you feel like you truly belong or a career that calls you by name. My dad’s a prime example of this — he started out in med school, decided he didn’t want to be a doctor on one of the last days of his exams, walked out, ended up studying geology at a different college, became a high school chemistry teacher, went back to grad school to study history of science, and is now a professor and the curator of an incredible old, rare book collection at a university. His career has zig-zagged all over the place, but each zig and zag have been experiences that have made him who he is and, in the end, led him to where he is now. So don’t be afraid to listen to your heart and try different things. Don’t be afraid to zig-zag.

- Another great quote from my dad: “Don’t be afraid to do badly.” Sometimes failure is the only way we grow and learn and, in the end, succeed. You can’t achieve great things if you aren’t willing to accept the possibility of failure. On a more concrete level, you can’t pass your exam very easily if you’re petrified with anxiety about getting everything perfect. Perfectionism is a curse (one my dad knew his daughters struggled with greatly). Ain’t nobody got time for that!

- Money is overrated. Love and experiences and happiness are not. Don’t ignore the latter in favor of the former. If you have a passion for something, it may be difficult and you may have to work hard, but you can (hopefully) find a way to make it work.

- Ultimately? I don’t know how I would manage any of the twists and turns my life has sent me so far without a whole crap-ton of prayer, faith, love and community. That’s kept me going and kept me hoping, even when I’ve been tempted to give up.

Finally, some advice on starting college:

- It’s overwhelming at first, and that’s okay and normal. You’ll settle in and find your place eventually.

- Introduce yourself to someone else in every class you’re in. Strike up conversations. Be active in making friends. This will 1) potentially result in some good friendships, 2) make you feel less lonely, as college can (especially at first) feel like a very lonely place, and 3) give you someone you can reach out to in case you miss a class and need to exchange notes. I know this is difficult sometimes — I’m an introvert, I hate small talk — but as college went on and I did this more and more, I found it to be incredibly worthwhile.

- Explore! It’s okay to not have a major at first. Try out different classes. See what grabs you, what makes you wonder, what gives you joy.

- Apply for ALL the scholarships you can every year (before the scholarship deadlines roll around — make sure you know when they are). It’s a lot of work, but it can potentially save you from a heck of a lot more work and free you up to focus more on your studies!

- Show up. Be diligent. Yes, you can skip classes occasionally in college, and sometimes that’s really nice (especially if you’re having a really bad physical or mental health day). But definitely don’t make a habit of it, because if you do you won’t do well. In college you have to work on being self-motivated and self-disciplined, even when it’s hard. (And I say this as someone who struggled with depression, and some chronic illness, throughout most of my college years. It’s HARD. But just keep putting one foot in front of the other, as long as you’re able. And learn your limits; when you need to skip a class one day or reach out to a teacher for help or drop a class entirely. Sometimes that’s okay! Persevere hard, but extend yourself grace and forgiveness when you can’t.)

- Take ALL the notes. Seriously, don’t skimp on this. (If you miss a class, get the notes from someone else.) Then, when it’s time to prep for an exam, you can study your notes and be pretty sure you have it all covered. Some professors will let you take notes on your computer (which I like because I can type faster than I write); some won’t. It might help to ask your professor beforehand.

- If you’re struggling with a class, take advantage of your professor’s office hours (or if it’s not quite that dire, talk to them after class). Most professors love it when students do this because it shows you care and that you’re motivated. They really want to help you succeed.

- And remember, no matter how alone you feel, you are not alone — you have people around you who are struggling too, people around you who care about you, and campus resources if you need them. Reach out.

That’s all I can think of right now! If anyone else has any additional advice, feel free to chime in! I hope this is helpful, anon, even if my “career path” hasn’t exactly been traditional. I wish you all the best in college! 💜

#anon #life advice #college #university #career #thoughts

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inastudies · 3 years ago

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Hello studyblr pals!

I'm Ina and I just finished my bachelor's degree in Geography.

I used to have a studyblr during my final years of high school, but I stopped using it after that and didn't have one during my undergrad.

In October I'm starting my Master's in Earth Observation, which is data science applied to topics in geography and geology. I really want to get back in to the studyblr community and use it to make to do lists, think about my goals and track what I've been doing.

I'll be moving to a different city for my master's and I'm really excited to get to know the people in the city but also slightly scared.

Outside of uni I like to read, some fanfic, some nonfiction, political books, some novels that make me feel good. I got into crocheting during covid, so this is currently my main hobby. I make some clothes, and some stuffed toys. My current project is a pair of shorts and some sunflowers. Once I'm finished I'll post some pictures!

I want to get inspired by you lot to stay motivated in my academia.

I've been struggling with that in the middle of projects like my thesis, and I hope to improve that by staying more busy by finding a small job right away.

@study-van @hannistudies @emmastudies

#introduction

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harpsicalbiobug · 8 years ago

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Science ask! 1, 2, 11, 21, 38 I... tried to narrow down my curiosity as best as I could :D

Aw, thanks for asking!

1. What’s your major/field?

I have a bachelor’s in biology, and I’m getting my PhD in biology as well. I suppose my focus is animal behavior and physiology, but I fit the stereotype of being in an integrative biology department and loving/using a lot different fields and techniques. My current research is on the impact of monoamine disrupting contaminants (like antihistamines, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, illicit drugs, some pesticides) on insect development, behavior and physiology. My research interests include ecotoxicology, neuropharmacology and neuroscience, entomology, environmental policy (esp. wastewater treatment plant systems), animal behavior (esp. monoamine mediated behaviors which is pretty much everything), and the use of insects as bioindicators. I used to work on seminal fluid proteins, courtship, and endocrine disruptors in flies, and I was a tech in a circadian rythms neuroscience lab for a while and a pancreatic cancer lab for a hot second, still fond of both.

Short answer: Biology forever. I give drugs to bugs.

2. What made you choose your major/field?

I just always loved animals. That’s the simple answer. I liked animals and I’ve been fucking lucky to turn that into a career (so far, we’ll see how finding a postdoc position goes).

I was the dinosaur kid, the cat kid. I did well in science classes, and I loved nature, bird watching, cat shows, animal documentaries. I taught myself mendelian genetics in middle school so I could understand the inheritance of cat coat colors. I read about (and edited wikipedia articles about, yikes) extinct cats. I read falconry books. I volunteered at a zoo, a vet clinic, a humane society. I fostered cats with my family. I wrote stories about wolves and cats and birds.

So, I loved animals. But as a kid, I was exposed to the TV Careers- mostly lawyers, doctors, cops, generic office workers- and apart from “guy who narrates nature documentaries + Steve Irwin” none of those people worked with animals. And the people I met in real life who worked with animals were veterinarians, vet techs, zookeepers. I didn’t know about research careers, or how much behind the scenes stuff happens at museums and zoos, or that animal scientists work at government agencies and in industry. I had the weird experience where lots of my friends parents had doctorates, and one even worked as a bat taxonomist/curator at a museum, but I had no idea what graduate school was until halfway through college.So I went to college and thought I’d be a vet. Maaaaybe a paleontologist (but then I learned that most paleontologists get their undergraduate degrees in geology). And then I sucked freshman year and learned the getting into vet school is harder than getting into med school. I learned about graduate school and research careers from my professors. Literally I wrote a biology paper and the professor asked if I was considering graduate school, because, you know, if you can write like this it might be a good place for you. I did research as an undergraduate, and I loved it. I worked as a tech in a R01 lab and loved it, but wanted to do more research. So, grad school!

11. Who’s your favorite scientist?

Rachel Carson. Silent Spring is a fucking gift that anyone in the sciences should read. She was a brilliant science communicator, and was beloved for her writings on marine life before Silent Spring. She wrote wrote broadly, was published in academic journals and popular magazines, wrote for conservation causes and also wrote lovely descriptions of fisheries and wildlife refuges (like this one about Chincoteague pdf warning) for the government. Oh and she was in love with Dorothy Freeman and there’s a lot of obnoxious hand waving about how it was just a close friendship but y’all they burned a lot of their correspondence, and what we have left is like, guys, Carson was maybe an ace lady and definitely romantically entwined and in love with another lady. She was gay. “Never forget, dear one, how deeply I have loved you all these years.” Fuck off hand waver people. Oh yeah, and she kickstarted the grassroots environmental movement in the United States and was such an important figure that the press were asking Kennedy questions about DDT and he refered to “Miss Carson’s book” because everyone just knew about it. And when the men in government and the chemical industry dismissed her extensive research and her understanding of the impact of pesticides and herbicides on the environment and twisted her message (she never wanted to get rid of all pesticides or human made chemicals, she just wanted any amount of monitoring and regulation and intelligence behind their use) and called her hysterical and a “Priestess of Nature,” well, she testified to before Kennedy’s Science Advisory Committee while dealing with radiation treatments for breast cancer, and the committee basically said “yep, she’s right.” Oh and she’s part of why we even have the Environmental Protection Agency. So yeah, the original ecotox and environmentalism goddess is my favorite.There are others of course. Caroline Herschel the astronomer. Tyrone Hayes is important to me. Jane Goodall of course. Patricia Brennan (duck penises, yes), Corrie Moreau, John Wingfield, Peter and Rosemary Grant, May Britt Moser. Like, pretty much any scientist I meet? Beloved college professors. My current advisor. My friends in my cohort. Science is a group activity, so even admiring Rachel Carson is admiring her mentors, editors, collaborators, sources.

21. If you had infinite funding, what would your research be about?

I mean, if I had infinite funding I’d set up a new funding agency and probably emphasize basic research + science communication + cross discipline research. But I get that that’s not the real question.I want to know what pharmaceuticals and other contaminants are in the bodies of invertebrates in human impacted waterways, and how the changes according to the gradient of landscape usage and also how the life history (diet, lifespan, place in water column, respiration style) affects the accumulation and excretion of those contaminants. We just do not have that data. I mean step one, we don’t even have data for “is there X pesticide or X personal care product found in X insect” so doing a whole battery of assays across a lot sites and species is a whoooole lot to ask. I’d also follow it up with comparing some behaviors and anatomical traits and development and trying to see if there’s any connection between contaminants and those traits. Also do some gene expression measurements, because toxic response pathways/neurotransmitters/all sorts of stuff may be sensitive to exposure to lots of the fun bioactive stuff in the water. Also do lab based experiments with exposure to single compounds and then combinations. Probably throw in some mobile lab stuff too, why not? Oh, and look to see if any contaminants are moving up the food chain and getting into birds, fish, whatever. Also see if emergent insects like mayflies, dragonflies, etc are carrying aquatic contaminants into the terrestrial environment. Oh and see how different wastewater treatment plant types and the geology/hydrology of the water impacts all this stuff. And hire a giant team of people, because I could not do this all on my own, and good science is collaborative, and there are smart people out there who would have great new ideas, aaaaand I think I might be describing my dream lab.

38. Is math a little bit too mathy for you?

Yep. But I kind of love that too? A lot of science is feeling dumb and then figuring something out. So I wish I were better at math, but it’s taken until fucking graduate school for me to both love it and accept that I don’t need to “get” a math thing immediately. So, I’m real slow at math. I’m not sure if I believe that anyone intrinsically has a “math brain” or “is just good/bad at math” because that’s such a dumb yes/no binary but there are definitely people who probably have a low aptitude to start with who are not well served by how math is taught to them and ooooh boy, that was me. I don’t think I ever laid down a solid foundation of math skills; I did not learn either the practical tools for doing math or actual concepts that underpin it. I struggled my ass through upper level classes in middle and high school, but nothing really stuck for me. Even when I learned to perform something, I didn’t get the concepts. I was horrible in college and only took one physics course. And it honestly felt like, why does this matter for biology?Turns out, it matters a lot. Physiology and statistics were what opened me up to caring about math. Learning the equations that can describe exchange of gases, or the flow of blood, or ion exchange made me care. But that was still pretty much plug and chug type math. Graduate level statistics made me care about the math itself. Understanding probability, understanding the concepts behind why this mathematical tool is used in this situation, or that there are different philosophies about the use of statistics (like, woah, Bayesian, hello abuse of p-values)- that was all very delicious. And hard. I love hated that class. Intuitive Biostatistics is a good good book.Loooong post sorry.EDIT: Also seriously thank you for asking. Articulating this stuff is honestly so good for me, even if I get long winded. It reminds me how much I and others care about science.

#harper talks #science asks #rambling

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motorclit · 8 years ago

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So I have decided that if and when we move north, I will attend a community college up there and get my associate’s in Biology (organismal, not medical). This way, I get a lot of the basic stuff out of the way. When we finally move to Seattle (whenever that may be), I’ll major in Biology for a bachelor’s, and have a minor in Paleobiology (because that’s the best I could find without having to permanently move somewhere else that would cost too much to live there like California or Florida). I’d like to go for a master’s, maybe a Ph.D. if they have that by the time I get there.

I shouldn’t have listened to that bitch math teacher in fifth grade when she said I’m not smart because “smart people never get an overall C in math class.” Otherwise, I would’ve stuck with the “I’m gonna be a paleontologist when I grow up” mindset I used to have. I ended up getting suckered into going to a faulty, fraudulent, for-profit art school because I thought I wasn’t better in anything else except for art. I could’ve attended Pitt University instead and become a paleontologist through their geology and biology programs or something there.

If you’re in high school, listen the fuck to me: DO NOT GO TO COLLEGE RIGHT THE FUCK AWAY, AND FOR SHIT’S SAKE, DO NOT SETTLE ON A CAREER CHOICE BECAUSE SOMEBODY ELSE SAID YOU WOULD BE GOOD AT DOING THAT.

Take your time and find yourself. When you’re out of high school, I’d suggest just attending a community college. Experiment with some subjects, and explore online. Get to know yourself more. I am not the same person that I was when I was in middle school, high school, and the first few years of college. I ended up reverting back to who I was in gradeschool: a chick who loves dinosaurs and thinks that there are spirits in trees and animals and bugs and that the bible’s probably full of shit and other gods (who aren’t fucking abusive) are waiting to be loved. Only thing different is I drink and cuss and effectively talk back to my parents and call them out on their shit.

Yeah, nobody makes a whole lot of money in the scientific fields, but scientists are needed. I’m more focused on a dream rather than money. Fuck money. It shouldn’t exist anymore, we’ve evolved past the need for it. It’s an obsolete thing.

STICK TO YOUR DREAMS! SERIOUSLY!

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theliterateape · 5 years ago

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Hope Idiotic | Part III

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

A MONTH LATER AT WORK, JUST BEFORE LUNCH, CHUCK BURST FROM HIS OFFICE into the area where Lou and I sat. He ran his hands through his short hair, clawing his scalp.

“Fucking Jesus!” he said.

Lou and I swiveled our chairs toward him and leaned back ready for the meltdown.

“Department meeting!” Chuck said. “Now! Cuba Café! Neal, you drive!”

“I can’t. I have to get gas.”

“Good. Get it on the way back.”

In the car, Chuck kept ripping at his head and cursing under his breath.

“You want to tell us what’s going on?” Lou asked.

“I need a beer first.”

Our department was going to be dissolved. “A restructuring,” is what the Palm Gaming executives called it. Although the three of us loathed the corporate humping we had to do to earn a buck, we had a pretty sweet seat up. While our department was independent and served much like a communication agency to the four Strip properties, the restructuring would require each property to manage its own internal communications. We were being split up. Worst of all, our positions would fall under the umbrella of the Human Resources Department.

Beyond the occasional legitimate sexual harassment problems or veiled threats of retaliatory violence from a disgruntled former employee, HR served little necessary purpose. It existed mostly as an employee party planner. Companywide emails from HR regularly looked like they were written in crayon. Lots of big, colorful fonts and clipart and seasonal-appropriate .gifs of Cupid, leprechauns, jack-o-lanterns and Santa Claus. I once brought in a flyer I received from Stephen’s daycare about an upcoming event. The flyer for young parents with babies looked just like an email HR sent to 70,000 adults employed at a casino regarding changes to the Employee Dining Room’s soda fountain. (There would be two Diet Coke dispensers — part of a new health initiative.)

A lot of the information we dispersed was at the behest of HR, but knowing that we weren’t technically HR employees was important to us. The days of freelancing on the Palm dime, joking around and extended drinking lunches were numbered.

“Melvin Wilson is going to be my direct supervisor,” Chuck said. Melvin Wilson was the company’s diversity golden boy: A mid-forties black man with an ex-wife and five children under the age of seven. He was a reformed juvenile delinquent, having served a stint at age 15 for selling crack to an undercover cop. After prison, he found Jesus, and from there, a job in human resources. If HR had a cheerleading team for the company, Melvin would be its captain. “And they’re making me the senior manager of communications at Tigris. So I’ll have a more hands-on boss to micromanage me while I’m managing a smaller department. The upgraded title is bullshit.”

“It comes with more pay, right?” I asked.

“Fifteen hundred a year,” said Chuck. Lou and I laughed.

“So what does this mean for us?”

“Nothing is official yet, but you’ll probably stay with me at Tigris. I’m worried about you, Lou.”

“Are they going to fire me?” Lou asked.

“No. You’ll be sent to one of the other properties. And the whispers are that Lancelot’s Kingdom is gunning for you.”

Lancelot’s was Palm’s unloved, ugly stepchild of a property. Built to look like a medieval castle and themed as such throughout, it had become a glorified motel with rooms-by-the-hour since falling into disarray when Vegas outgrew its family-friendly identity. It was where hospitality careers went to die and where visitors checked in with hopes of hitting the jackpot but checked out emotionally empty and financially broke, having realized how hard exploitive capitalist dreams can crash.

“When does all of this take effect?” Lou warily asked.

“Probably by the middle of June.”

“Well then, I wouldn’t worry too much about me.”

“Why?”

Lou took a big bite out of his Cuban sandwich, which had just been delivered to the table. “I’m moving to Chicago at the beginning of June.”

“What the fuck for?” I asked.

“To make something of myself. Become a real writer in a real city,” he said with his mouth full.

“Are you saying I’m not a real writer because I live in Las Vegas?”

“No! Of course not. I was trying to be funny.”

“Because you’d be right.”

“What are you talking about? You’re a real writer. You just published your second book.”

“I write corporate masturbatory dreck and hump editors’ legs for twenty-five cents a word. My book is being outsold 500-to-1 by The Twinkie Cookbook. I’m not a real writer. I’m a hack with a dusty PhD who changes his son’s shitty diapers in his spare time. The only time I see my wife’s tits is when she’s feeding my son. Chuck, you can’t let him do this. He can’t leave us here.”

Chuck was a clawing at his scalp even harder. A few more ounces of pressure and he would have separated it from his skull. But there was nothing he could have done.

Lou’s mind was made up. He was in love and he was going to leave us behind for the big city and the girl. His commitment to the grand gesture surprised even him.

My book is being outsold 500-to-1 by The Twinkie Cookbook. I’m not a real writer.

He had sworn off the idea of love after his last serious relationship four years before. It’s not that he didn’t believe love existed, but that love was a hassle. Back then, he’d just bought his house and had settled in nicely to the bachelor life. Without a girlfriend, he was free of relationship trappings like constant accountability and awareness of someone else’s moods and feelings. Without a girlfriend, he was able to come and go as he pleased, do what he wanted, when he wanted, with whom he wanted. He liked being on his own — alone but never lonely. Girls came and went without much emotional effort from either party, which Lou found idyllic. He never felt anxious or hurt as a result of another person. When he was younger, he wanted to have a wife and kids, but after experiencing the spoils of bachelorhood, he had decided that he would have been perfectly happy never being married or having a family of his own, but rather always be free and available for the excitement of first kisses and the wonderful strangeness of sleeping with strangers. He figured that his friends would have kids, and he could be their cool Uncle Louie.

But then Michelle happened. In only a few months, her affection for him, and his for her, made him feel that real, workable love could exist. They had already been friends for eight years. That meant she knew who he was. She knew his idiosyncrasies, and she didn’t seem to mind them one bit. She may have even loved him more because of them.

And now, as for the move, Michelle was the perfect catalyst. Lou’s return to Chicago had been in his plans since first arriving in Las Vegas ten years earlier. Since he had a job straight out of college, he decided that as soon as his career had outgrown Vegas, he’d make his way home again. The decade was staring him in the face, his career was in the best shape it had ever been in, and Michelle would be at his side. He had what he referred to as trajectory.

“What about your house?” Chuck asked.

“Glad you brought that up. I’d like to sell it and use the money to buy a place in Chicago. Until it sells, how about you live in it and pay me rent? You’re moving out of your place now anyway, so what the hell? You won’t find a better place for the money.”

“And when it sells?”

“I’ll give you thirty days to get out.”

“I’ll talk to Lexi about it.”

“Lexi?” I asked.

“Yeah, we’re moving in together. Moving into your place, Lou, while we look for our own doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“Everything discussed at this lunch sounds like a bad idea,” I said.

We ordered another round of beers before driving back to the office in silence.

✶

AS LOU’S EXODUS APPROACHED, THERE WAS A SHARED ANXIETY BETWEEN THE THREE OF US and especially between Chuck and him. It was more than painfully apparent that their more youthful, troublemaking days were behind them and that their time together was limited. Therefore, every moment together had to be savored. So, on a typically bright spring Sunday morning in Las Vegas, Chuck and Lexi came bursting into Lou’s home while he made breakfast in nothing but white boxer shorts.

“Let’s go!” Chuck yelled.

“Good Christ! What’re you doing?” Lou demanded.

“We’re going to the Grand Canyon today. The three of us. Get dressed.”

“Nice boxers, Lou,” Lexi teased.

“You’re lucky I’m wearing anything at all.”

“I rented a Jeep. It’s goddamn gorgeous out. Come on. We’ll get breakfast in Boulder City.”

It was a day well spent. They walked out onto the new Skywalk and laughed at the magnitude of how disappointing it was. They threw big rocks down and took bets with each other on how many seconds it would be before they heard a thud. They reveled in the idea that they were making changes to the earth through destruction. Lexi took a photograph of Chuck and Lou standing at the edge of a ridge with nothing below it but the absolute bottom. They went off-road through the Joshua-tree forest, and Lou made his case against the band U2 — pompous and riding its own coattails. They stopped at a quiet desert bar for a few beers and a couple games of tabletop shuffleboard. Lexi asked Lou if he thought he’d miss Las Vegas. “I’ll certainly miss being able to have days like this,” he admitted.

✶

A WEEK LATER, CHUCK AND LOU WERE DRIVING THROUGH THE DESERT AGAIN, this time one-hundred-twenty miles north to the small mining town of Beatty, Nevada. This was a routine getaway location for the guys. It was on the edge of Death Valley, so there would usually be a couple of geology students from some university there studying its soil and plant life and temperatures. At night they drank at the Sourdough Saloon, situated on the main road just before the only stoplight in town.

The Sourdough Saloon had a large horseshoe-shaped bar where an Amazonian bartender served cold beers at two-fifty each, whiskey and tequila for four bucks, and generic frozen pizza from the supermarket for five dollars a pie. Old rifles and taxidermied heads of big-horn sheep adorned the walls. The jukebox was loaded with Dion and The Belmonts, and Johnny Cash.

This trip, like all the others, was a raucous spectacle. Lou drove them to Beatty in record time. When they walked into the bar, the bartender was in a shouting match with an equally large, though slightly less masculine, patron. From what the boys could tell, things were about to get out of hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” Chuck asked Lou.

Lou noticed a short, older man at the other side of the bar watching them. He must have sensed their confusion, because when he and Lou made eye contact, the man nodded slightly and began to walk around to them. He didn’t look like the average local. Instead of worn work jeans and a tattered undershirt with a trucker hat, this man wore khaki chinos, a blue button-down and a faded blue baseball cap. When he reached them, the bartender had a handful of the enemy patron’s hair and was shaking his skull the way a dog shakes a dead rat in its mouth. Lou whispered to Chuck, “I think this guy is going to fill us in.”

The old man smiled with one corner of his mouth as he reached into his pocket, then brought his hand to his neck and spoke in a slow, humming robotic voice. “iT’S oK. THeY’Re BroTHeR aND SiSTeR.”

Lou at first didn’t see the stoma in the man’s neck because he was too far away. And by the time he was close enough, Lou’s focus was on the battle at the bar. The man had to speak through a mechanized voice box. Chuck laughed. Lou thanked the man and offered him the barstool next to them. “Buy you a beer?” Lou offered.

“BuDWeiSeR. ThaNK YoU,” the man buzzed.

The fight ended shortly after that. Chuck and Lou drank heavily. When the old man was drunk enough and had left the bar, nerdy geology students replaced him. Chuck told the bartender he wanted her to show him her tits. She threatened to kick his ass. Lou offered to kick her ass instead. Then he apologized, bought her a shot and she backed down. They dropped twenty-eight bucks in the jukebox and played Dion’s “Runaround Sue” on repeat for an hour. With the little cash either of them had left — a couple of ones and a five — they scribbled messages on them and stapled them to the ceiling amidst other paper currency. They read:

Help! I’m lost. If found, please call Chuck Keller at 702-353-8068; This dollar bill was once touched by a real live Jew; Figure it out. – CK and LB, May 2007.

At one point, Lou escaped to the bathroom to vomit. When he returned, Chuck was gone. “Did you see my friend?” Lou slurred at the bartender.

“The little bastard was asking to see my tits again. I threw him out. Next time I’ll kill him.” Lou laughed. “Fuck you!” she yelled. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Chuck didn’t make it far after being tossed out on his ear. He ended up passed out in a heap in the street, using the sidewalk curb as a pillow. “Let’s go, asshole,” Lou said, as he kicked him. “We have to get off the street.”

They had enough sense to secure a hotel room before going to the bar, and once they found Lou’s car, which was in the Sourdough’s rear parking lot, Lou drove them to the hotel. He tried to anyway. All the booze rendered his short-term memory and global cognitive ability completely useless. He knew what the hotel looked like — a series of white, aluminum-sided trailers. He knew it was only two blocks from the Sourdough. But instead of driving there, Lou blew through the stoplight and drove away from town, north on U.S. 95 with Chuck comatose in the passenger seat. Where the fuck am I? he wondered.

After an hour of weaving the lane and the shoulder, he saw a small red light ahead and thought, Great, a whorehouse. I’ll pull in, and we’ll just sleep there. He and Chuck had been to brothels before. Not as customers, but as curious journalism students on a road trip to Lake Tahoe. He knew these places had what were called trucker rooms, which could be rented by the hour — much like the girl — for the long-haul truckers in need of sleep who passed by on America’s loneliest road.

But no one answered the door of the small house when Lou knocked. So he went back to the car and drove toward what he hoped was back to Beatty. An hour later, he was in town but still couldn’t find the hotel. He thought, Fuck it, I’m parking it right here and going to sleep.

He woke up to Chuck slapping him in the face. The late-spring desert sun was pouring through the car windows, cooking them both.

“Hey! Wake up, you fucking asshole. Why are we sleeping in the car? And in a gravel parking lot?”

“Because I couldn’t find the damn hotel last night. Drove more than an hour on the highway. Was just going to rent a trucker room for us at a whorehouse, but no one answered.”

“What do you mean, you couldn’t find the hotel?”

“I mean I have no idea where it is.”

Chuck pointed straight ahead through the windshield and laughed. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Lou had given up looking for their hotel in the hotel’s parking lot. The white, aluminum-sided trailers were about ten yards away from the car. It was morning, and they had to head home, but, since they spent the money, they figured they should get some use out of the room. They stormed the place like savages, ripping the bedding apart to get between the sheets catch some proper sleep for a few hours before showering and heading back to Las Vegas.

Dehydrated and hung over, the drive back felt much longer than the ride there the night before. Plus, they had reached the end of what was going to be their last adventure together for a while. Lou was leaving in a week.

“When did you know you loved her?” asked Chuck.

“Maybe when she first kissed me.”

✶

IT WAS THE DAY BEFORE NEW YEAR’S EVE 2006 — her birthday. Like always, Michelle was back in Vegas to celebrate the holidays and her birthday with her parents. After a birthday dinner at a steakhouse inside the high-end neighborhood casino resort with her parents, she invited Lou to join them at one of the casino bars. Her parents were both smashed and giving away twenty dollar bill after twenty dollar bill to the bartop poker machines. Michelle was drunk, too, but sober enough to refuse to get into the car and go home with her mom and dad in the sloppy shape they were in. Lou offered to give her a lift. On the way home, they made a stop at her favorite taqueria.

“You know, you really missed your window with me,” she said.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your window to be with me. All of those times we were each other’s stand-in dates to things, you never once tried to kiss me. And now it’s too late. You missed your window.”

“I didn’t know there was an open window.”

“That’s exactly your problem, Mr. Bergman. You. Don’t. Know.” She flipped her blond hair as she turned her head to look away from him out her window. This was how she flirted — by giving him a hard time.

When Lou pulled into the drive-thru, Michelle unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him, her back against the passenger door. “When you finish ordering, I’m going to kiss you,” she said.

Lou looked at her and laughed.

“Welcome to Los Tacos. Order when you’re ready,” the voice crackled from the intercom.

“I’ll have three regular tacos, two chicken soft tacos and…” he turned to Michelle who was still perched against the door. “What do you want again?”

“Two tacos and an order of nachos. And a Diet Coke.”

He turned back to the intercom. “Two tacos and an order of nachos.”

“And a Diet Coke!” Michelle said.

“I know. Relax. And a Diet Coke. Please.”

“That’ll be seven-fifteen. Second window.”

Before Lou could even depress the clutch, Michelle pounced. She swung her right leg around so that she was straddling him. It was a tight squeeze, and their faces were close.

“You’re kidding me,” he said.

She looked deeply into his eyes for a moment, then leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and slow and hard. It was deep and shallow. It was passionate. It was incredible. And when it was over, it left Lou dazed.

Michelle looked at him and said, “Okay. Now that that’s done, we can go back to being friends.” She swung her leg back around, plopped down in the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt. The car in line behind them honked. Lou looked at her.

“You can do that again if you want.”

“Nope. That’s it. Just showing you what you’ve been missing out on.”

He pulled up to the window, paid and drove her home. As they divided the tacos in her parents’ driveway, Lou asked her, “You’re still going to be my date for my New Year’s party tomorrow, right?”

“Of course. We’re friends. And friends don’t stand each other up. Besides, my parents are going, too. I’m not going to stay home alone.”

“All right. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Then I guess you will. Goodnight, Mr. Bergman. Thanks for the birthday tacos.”

“Thanks for the birthday kiss.”

She smiled at him and headed into the house.

By the morning, he was over the kiss. It was no big deal. He kissed girls all the time. But when she showed up at the party wearing a perfectly fitting little black dress, he felt butterflies in his gut. And at midnight, they kissed again. And when the party was over, they drank the last of the champagne on his bed. And she spent the night with him. And as they lay together, Michelle Kaminski took Lou Bergman’s head in her hands and said, “This face… I’ll never look at it the same again. What have we started?”

✶

“WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE?” Chuck asked. “To fall in love?”

“Just like you remember. Except better.”

They drove a few silent miles. Then Chuck said, “I met a girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her name is Gina Acerbi. She’s that pretty Italian girl who works up in sales and catering. Tiny little thing; great tits. She was in my diversity training class. I don’t know what to do.”

“What is there to do? Nothing wrong with knowing a cute girl.”

“There is if I’m fucking her.”

“Jesus Christ, Chuck. You and Lexi are moving in together in a week.”

“I didn’t plan on it. Jesus, man. Like Michelle, she just came out of nowhere.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I want to feel what you feel. I want to know what it’s like to love someone so much — and know that they love you just the same — that you’re willing to throw away your entire life just to be a part of theirs. I want that. I want that passion of making out in a fast-food drive-thru. I want those goddamn butterflies. You know what I get now? I get to move in with a girl — who I care about, and yeah, I love her — but a girl who reads the Bible in bed. You can imagine what my sex life has been like with her.”

Chuck had a point. He’d always been a sexual animal, often a crazed beast with an enduring tumescence. And whenever he and Lexi had a mini-breakup, he made sure to do as much migratory humping as possible.

“The Bible is sexy. In parts. Violent, too. That ought to turn you on,” Lou said.

“The Bible doesn’t give me butterflies.”

“And Gina does?”

“And Gina does.”

Part I Part II

#Novel #Novel Excerpt #Fiction #Chicago Fiction #Las Vegas #Las Vegas Fiction #David Himmel Author #David Himmel Fiction #Hope Idiotic

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rhnuzlocke · 7 years ago

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Episode 22

Scene 11:

[Ren and Steven are sitting at his coffee table with a whole pile of food in front of them and their pokemon around them when there is a knock at the door. Ren goes to get it while Steven stays where he is. Ren opens the door to find Zinnia standing there and her face floods with relief.]

Ren: You really did come. I was starting to worry.

Zinnia: Sorry about that. I had to say some goodbyes.

Ren: No problem.

[Aster pokes her head around Zinnia’s legs, ears cocked and listening.]

Zinnia: Are you sure you want me here?

Ren: Absolutely. Come inside. Dinner’s ready.

Zinnia: [stepping inside and taking off her shoes] What about Stone?

[Aster follows suit by wiping her paws on the mat.]

Ren: Uh, he’s not thrilled that I invited you, but he’ll deal.

Zinnia: Oh boy.

Ren: Please just give him a chance. He’s a real sweetheart, I swear.

Zinnia: Anything for you, spitfire.

[Ren smiles and leads Zinnia into the living room. Steven looks up at them from his seat on the floor as they come in, but says nothing. An awkward silence hangs in the air for a moment as Steven and Zinnia stare each other down. Ren opens her mouth to break it, but Zinnia beats her to it.]

Zinnia: Thanks for having me over.

Steven: Just try not to destroy anything while you're here.

Zinnia: You know, I think your rock collection might be a threat to another dimension. Are you sure I can’t clear it out?

[Steven bristles and Ren throws both of them a reproachful look. Zinnia forces her face back to neutral and sits down opposite Steven between Kata and the sandslashes. Aster climbs into her lap and Zinnia starts serving herself. Everyone eats in silence for a while and Kata seems to be the only one truly enjoying herself. Ren watches as Zinnia cuts things into smaller chunks for her whismur who then shovels the food off of Zinnia’s plate and into her mouth with her ears. It is all too reminiscent of a parent eating with their child and Ren’s stomach knots up. Zinnia does not use the utensils much for herself, preferring to stuff smaller items in whole a rip meat from the bone with her teeth. This only worsens after the first few minutes until she is tearing through the food in front of her. Steven grimaces at the lack of table manners and Ren looks rather concerned at the level of hunger on display. Zinnia does not look up, but can probably feel the other two watching her.]

Zinnia: [to Steven between mouthfuls] Did you make all this?

Steven: Yes, though you can also thank my carbink.

Zinnia: It’s really good. I didn’t expect a wealthy guy like you to cook.

[Steven’s eyes narrow and Ren jumps in before he can make some equally snide remark.]

Ren: It surprised me too. He’s a lot better than I am.

[The rest of the meal proceeds in much the same fashion with Ren trying to head off fights between the other two. She is grateful when they are finally finished and Zinnia displays that she wasn’t brought up in a barn by helping to clear everything away. Afterwards, most of the pokemon go outside and Ren plops down in the middle of the couch. Zinnia sits down so that she can slouch on the arm of the couch and Aster hops up and climbs back into Zinnia’s lap. The whismur settles down for a nap as Steven comes back in and Steven goes straight for his liquor cabinet.]

Steven: [forced politeness] Can I get you anything to drink?

Ren: Can we have the liquid sunshine again?

Zinnia: The what now?

Ren: It’s a mixed drink he makes.

Steven: Regrettably I’m out of champagne.

Zinnia: Got any prosecco? That might work.

Steven: They are both sparkling white wines, but I wouldn’t say they’re interchangeable.

Zinnia: Well I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess the other ingredient for this drink is a liquor, in which case pairing it with something a little less sweet might work better.

Steven: Very well, I’ll give it a go. Would you like one too?

Zinnia: You like it? [Ren nods] Sure, Stone, I’ll try some. I’ve always got some of the late Mr. Kagari's fine imported bourbon if that doesn’t work out.

[Steven rolls his eyes as he opens a bottle of wine behind them. He comes back with three glasses and hands them off. Ren takes a sip as Steven sits down by the other arm of the couch, as far away from Zinnia as possible.]

Ren: Holy shit this might be even better.

[Steven grunts.]

Zinnia: I usually go for prosecco anyway. It’s often better than champagne in my opinion.

Ren: Really? But champagne always costs so much more.

Zinnia: Sometimes, things that are more expensive, are worse.

[Steven pulls a face and Zinnia almost smirks in saticfaction. She and Ren talk for a bit, but Steven remains quiet over on his end of the couch. Eventually Zinnia grows tired suffering his silent ire.]

Zinnia: Alright Stony, enough with the polite brooding. If you have something on your mind, just let it out.

Steven: Why did you do it?

Zinnia: I already told you.

Steven: Not all portals lead to the Distortion World. There is documentation in Alola of another type of—

Zinnia: Which have not been “substantiated by science” as you put it. And even supposing they were, why is your assumption that they lead to some empty dimension? Who’s to say there isn’t yet another world on the other side?

Steven: Most of the universe is empty space! There’s no reason to—

Zinnia: Actually, if we’re basing our evidence for these portals on native accounts of them, there is plenty of reason to believe there is a populated world on the other side. And how about you don’t lecture me on portals, Mr. Bachelor’s-in-Geology? I’m a physicist and I did my dissertation on travel between our world and the Distortion World. I’m well aware of the current work on spacetime anomalies.

Steven: None of which proves the portal generated by the dimensional shifter would have led to the Distortion World.

Zinnia: To suggest that a slightly altered method based entirely on work that had previously only led to portals between our world and the Distortion World might suddenly lead to an entirely different location in space is ridiculous. And I could spend the whole night explaining to you the myriad reasons why that’s true, but won’t because I’m not here to convince you and I’m sure as shit not here to absolve you of whatever kernel of guilt has your undies in a twist. I’m here because Ren asked me to be. You can go right ahead and think I’m some kind of crackpot psychopath if that makes you feel better. I don’t care.

Steven: Good. Because I think I’m entitled to be just a little angry that you think you have the right to make decisions for the entire planet!

Ren: ENOUGH! [Both of them are cowed into silence.] We are not doing this right now! This could be our last night alive and I’m not spending it listening to you two bicker about shit that doesn’t even matter anymore!

[Steven and Zinnia look down as Ren glares at each in turn. A moment later, Ren’s nav rings and she looks down at it.]

Ren: I have to take this. [She gets up but turns to face them, looking stern.] But you two better be friends by the time I get back. You have plenty in common. Get to know each other a little!

[Ren stomps out of the room followed by the last few pokemon except for Aster who stays behind. Steven and Zinnia glance at each other.]

Zinnia: So…

Steven: So…

[Steven sighs and Zinnia scratches absently at her whismur’s ear.]

Zinnia: We’re not gonna disappoint her, are we?

Steven: Hell no.

Zinnia: So we do agree on something.

Steven: Yes, we do.

Zinnia: Right… So how’d you get into training?

#pokemon #nuzlocke #oras #running hot nuzlocke #story #episode 22 #Ren #Zinnia #Steven

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