After Carlsbad, I headed north to Albuquerque. The culture of New Mexico is a confluence of cowboys, Native American, and Mexican traditions, and in Albuquerque there is also a heavy dose of hippie liberalism, thanks to the University of New Mexico and strong arts scene.

First, I visited the two most famous neighborhoods in Albuquerque, Old Town and Nob Hill. Old Town is located in the original city center of life and much of the architecture remains in the traditional adobe pueblo style. Most of the old buildings have been converted to art galleries and jewelry stores, and the whole area is designed to be a cultural haven. Unfortunately, I visited on a Sunday morning, so there weren't any outdoor activities like music or dancing, and instead of a feeling of culture, it felt more like a tourist trap. In the heart of Old Town is a working Catholic church, although when I went to visit they were performing mass, so I didn't actually go inside. And speaking of Catholicism, I was recently speaking to my friend Matt about an art movement I will dub "Catholic kitsch." I use it to refer to religious items (rosaries, crosses, et cetera) that are done in an art style perhaps not as...tasteful as the Church might like, but in a very distinctive manner. Well, Albuquerque has Catholic kitsch in spades. I'd never seen a cross decorated in bottlecaps before, but I wouldn't doubt the religious sincerity of the owner of such a religious item. Later, as I was touring the Casa San Ysidro, the docent was explaining how the introduction of the railroad in the 19th Century brought about the increased use of tin cans, and that many were refurbished to create decorative items around the home. Given the historical poverty and hardships that surround life for people in this area, it's not unreasonable to assume that this culture of reconditioning everyday items into decoration is a contributing factor for Catholic kitsch.

The second famous neighborhood in Albuquerque, Nob Hill, is a little more modern but still steeped in history. It has more of a retro/modern vibe, with its legacy tracing back to the old Route 66. Today, it's a busy strip of stores and restaurants and located near the Downtown area, right next to the campus of the University of New Mexico. Although it's fun to walk around, besides shopping and eating, there isn't that much to do. Many of the companies retain original or retro-looking neon signs to continue the old look and most (though not all) of the stores are locally and independently owned. Oh yeah, and the district is home to a comic book store with the greatest store name of all time: After all that consumerism, I decided to explore some of the outdoorsy nature in the area and headed to the nearby Petroglyph National Monument.* With several trails of varying difficulty, the old volcanic area is home to thousands of petroglyphs that were carved into the rock by the indigenous populations centuries ago. As I am fairly out of shape, I eschewed the 1.5 mile undeveloped trail in favor of the shorter, more developed trails, but I still saw an impressive number of petroglyphs. Climbing up those rocks and looking out onto the Sandia Mountains, it's impressive to think about how the Native Americans survived and thrived in the desert, especially given that the petroglyphs are carved into ancient volcanic rocks that have a decidedly Mordor-esque quality. Sauron would feel right at home in this place.But here is where my travels take a sharp interruption. Whilst I was traveling to Santa Fe, I was notified that one of my graduate school applications requires an interview. Since the school is along the East Coast, I abruptly turned around and started heading eastward. I'm now home for a few days to collect some interview clothes and résumé, and then drive off again, albeit in a new direction. Although I had originally planned to drive all the way to California, this turn of events now provides the opportunity to visit out nation's capital, a city I have only visited once when I was very young. I'm looking forward to seeing the sites, visiting the Smithsonian, and seeing many of my Peace Corps friends who live in the area. Afterwards, who knows? Perhaps I'll drive around in the Southeast a bit, or hopefully by that time I'll start hearing back from graduate schools (commence panicking!). We'll see where the proverbial road takes me.

*Fun fact: The President can create National Monuments, but it takes an act of Congress to declare an area a protected National Park.

My first two stops in New Mexico were in the Route 66 towns of Tucumcari and Santa Rosa. Both have the classic Route 66 Main Street drag, with vintage neon motel and restaurant signs, and even if you're just driving along I-40, it's easy to take a quick 5 minute detour through each of these cities. I stopped for lunch in Tucumcari at a local place called Del's Restaurant. While they undoubtedly receive tons of tourists in the summer, since it was the off-season, Del's was filled with locals. You know that saying, "If you want good food, go where the locals eat?" This place lives up to that little piece of advice. Since I was the only one not from the tiny town, the locals were really interested in my life story and I had fun taking their advice on what to order. This was one benefit of traveling during the off-season, since I'm not sure I would have been able to converse with people as much had they been tourists like me. I ended up trying a large burrito and- on the advice of the waitress- I also ordered a slice of cherry pie for dessert.

Made with local cherries, it did not disappoint. I wasn't aware that New Mexico had cherry orchards, but since I also tried locally-made cherry cider in Carlsbad, it must be a fairly common produce. After lunch in Tucumcari, I spend the night in Santa Rosa. Since this is the off-season for tourists in this region, many stores are closed or have limited hours. One disappointment for me was that I couldn't stay at the motel I wanted. Although non-descript in its look, The Blue Swallow Motel is famous among Route 66er's, and people swear that it's the last great locally-run motel. Unfortunately, when I arrived it was also closed for the season until April. For me, that meant staying in another, less fun, motel. Ah well, c'est la vie.The next day, it was down to Roswell. First off, if you're passing through Roswell, stop at the Visitor's Center. The lady I spoke with was extremely friendly and helpful. She recommended several, non-UFO related sites, all of which were top-notch....and free! There's nothing I love more than a "suggested donation" admission fee. The Roswell Museum and Art Center is located next door to the Visitor's Center and excellent, especially considering its small size. With historical exhibits chronicling the Native Americans and pioneering rocketeer Robert Goddard, as well as art collections highlighting regional and contemporary styles, the RMAC seamlessly integrated all the different galleries into one great museum. For a museum that really showcased the art scene in Roswell, I then headed over to the Anderson Museum of Contemporary Art. Dedicated to the Artists-in-Resident in Roswell, the quality of the pieces are excellent and many could easily be shown in galleries with greater name recognition. It's unfortunate that the woman at the Visitor's Center told me that she's not allowed to suggest the Anderson to tourists, since in the past some people ("older couples"- her words, not mine) have complained about it. After visiting, I can easily see how contemporary art might not be "understood" by most of the tourists traveling to Roswell, but it's still a shame to see such a great little art gallery get passed over.

But of course you can't visit Roswell without talking about aliens. In case you're wondering, yes, Roswell is alien-crazy. Everyone from real estate agencies to local bars get in on the fun. Even the McDonalds is shaped like a UFO saucer! Mostly out of morbid curiosity and a subconscious desire to spend money on kitschy roadside attractions, I checked out the International UFO Museum and Research Center. Not really sure how's it's either "international" or a "research center," but I'll just go with it. If nothing else, it was nice to see the photos of the debris found back in 1947. My personal opinion? It looks like an f'ing weather balloon. But don't tell the employees that. They are all hardcore searchers of little green men. After buying a bumper sticker at the gift shop, the worker asked me, "are you a believer?" Um....in the words of Fox Mulder, "I want to believe." Finally, it was a stop that I have been waiting for since I started planning this trip- Carlsbad Caverns National Park. It's impossible to adequately describe the beauty and splendor of the caves- it simply is breathtaking. I took the Natural Entrance Route; it's a 1.25 mile trail of switchbacks that allow visitors to enter through the natural opening of the cave. It's eerie to start in the morning sunshine and slowly descend into the cool darkness. That eerieness was punctuated by the silence that surrounded me. The only noises I could hear were my own sneakers, the occasional drip of water, and the echo of one or two other tourists. In the summer, Carlsbad Caverns is chock-full of visitors, but today it was only a handful of people. For example, in addition to the two self-guided tours, I also took one of the ranger-guided tours. In the summer, the park conducts 5 King's Palace tours daily, with a maximum number of 55 people on each tour, and according to our ranger, they always sell out. In contrast, in the winter they only offer it twice a day, and on my particular tour, there were only ten of us. The best part of the caverns was that it kept going and going and going. Just when I thought, oh well, clearly this is the most spectacular thing I've ever seen, I would enter the next room and be completely blown away all over again. I spent the entire day there, and I didn't even do any of the nature trails or more extensive ranger-guided cave explorations. Next time, I'd really love to do one of the cave tours that require some crawling around through tiny tunnels and passageways.

On to Albuquerque!

Originally, Texas wasn't on my planned route. There's nothing more daunting than opening a US map and seeing all that open space looming in the South. But after my high school friend Trina graciously offered her couch, I took a quick detour to Dallas. Since I was only there for the night, I didn't really see that much of the city, especially since the whole city is surrounded by a giant highway loop that suffers from perpetual gridlock. My friend who lives there told me that there is heavy traffic even late at night. The next morning, Trina was off to work, so I headed over for breakfast at a local joint called The All Good Cafe in Deep Ellum, an entertainment district in east Dallas.

Holy guacamole, was it delicious! I ordered the breakfast tacos, although I've heard that the huevos rancheros also get rave reviews. It was scrambled eggs, avocado, fresh salsa, pico de gallo, pepperjack cheese, and black beans wrapped in corn tortillas. I also had to order a side of their famous bacon. The bacon at The All Good Cafe is so good, it was recently featured in a Cooking Channel special on pork. It's a very thick-cut and covered in pepper. I mean, it's got a serious kick to it. The meal was a great way to start the morning and I would highly recommend the place to anyone visitng Dallas. In addition to doing a great breakfast, the place also has a small stage and apparently hosts local bands at night. Since the Deep Ellum district is known for its nightlife, I wouldn't be surprised if their bar scene is as great as their breakfast.

My first plan after Dallas was to head back up to Oklahoma City and resume traveling west along Route 66. However, an impending snowstorm- coupled with my knowledge about Oklahoma's lack of vigilance concerning snow cleanup- meant that I decided to take a different, albeit more mundane, route heading up the panhandle through Lubbock and Amarillo. Although most of the drive was alternating miles of oil fields and energy windmills, there were two bright spots. The first was the radio station, 89.7 KACU Abilene Public Radio. In the midst of nothing, 89.7 played great eclectic music, from The Clientele to French love songs to k.d. lang. It was some of the best local public radio programming I've heard. Keep up the good work, Abilene.

The second surprise was a public art installation located just west of Amarillo called Cadillac Ranch. Created in the 1970's by a bunch of hippies, the cars are old Cadillacs that have been stuck in the dirt some 200 yards away from I-40. The cars are covered in graffiti, which the artists encourage. Occasionally, the cars are repainted to give graffiti artists a blank slate, but from what I saw, most of the writing never amounted to more than a bunch of names. Nevertheless, the colors were striking against the bright white snow, although with a wind chill of -16 today, my fingers and ears definitely paid for the enjoyment of seeing the installation. The cars have become a piece of Americana and the piece is often referenced in songs, books, etc. It was even featured in the music video for the great song "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked," by Cage the Elephant:

I know I missed a bunch of great sites in Texas, including Austin and Houston, but I just wasn't up for the long drives out that way. Those are future trips for future journeys.

My first stop in Oklahoma was at the old-timey Lincoln Motel for some sleep. Located between Tulsa and Oklahoma City on the old Route 66 in the tiny town of Chandler, the Lincoln Motel is designed like many old historic roadside motels, with small, individual cabins instead of rooms. The Lincoln Motel is now run by an Indian family and although it shows its age in several places, you could do a lot worse in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma. A word of warning for drivers headed through Oklahoma- the roads were abysmal. First, every street except the Interstate had yet to be properly cleared of the week-old snowfalls, and that included even heavy traffic areas. Slush and ice abounded. But even if the weather had been fantastic, that doesn't explain the ridiculous potholes that plagued the streets and highways of Tulsa. My poor car took a beating on those roads.

Oklahoma City wasn't much better. Although there were fewer potholes, the downtown area is undergoing significant construction and it was nearly impossible to manuever through the one-way streets and construction zones. However, I did manage to see a few of the sites.

If you've never been to Oklahoma City, your first stop has to be the memorial dedicated to the victims of the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing. The site is now an open plaza with a reflecting pool and bronze chairs for each of the victims. Aesthetically, the chairs are quite powerful and moving. Next to the plaza is the National Memorial Museum; I visited before several years ago so I didn't stop in this trip, but it's quite good and I highly recommend it.The Midwest isn't really known for its culture scene, and Oklahoma City is no different. However, it is does have a few interesting stops, including the American Banjo Museum and the Oklahoma City Museum of Art, which features a 5-story Dale Chihuly in the lobby atrium.For lunch, I tried a local hole-in-the wall called Johnny's Lunch Box. I was told that it's a favorite lunch joint for the lawyers down at the nearby courthouse; unfortunately for me, the downtown renovations meant that it was overrun with construction workers. The corned beef sandwich was great, but I wish the environment had been a little less awkward.After lunch, I headed down to Dallas. The drive was fairly boring and mundane, with one pleasing exception. Trying to find a decent radio station in the Midwest can be a tedious exercise; most of the airwaves are filled with C & C stations (country and Christian). However, as my radio was scanning through the local fare, I stumbled upon 104.9, FunAsiA, a Desi radio station. I must say, there's something disconcerting about finding a radio station that plays only Bollywood, Hindi, and Punjabi music in the middle of nowhere southern Oklahoma. Disconcerting, but fun:-)

Sometime near the end of my Peace Corps service, I decided that once I returned to America, I would take some time to explore the country and get to know it a little better. Although many people asked me the purpose, I must say that the idea emerged from little more than boredom, extra cash, and lots of time. So- in the spirit of Paul Theroux, Jack Kerouac, John Steinbeck, Bill Bryson, and many others- I have ventured away from home for a while.

My first stop was St. Louis. A dear college friend and former debate colleague Matt is studying for his Master’s degree at St. Louis University. As a Jesuit Scholastic, Matt lives in community and I was fortunate to stay with them for one night. The few other Jesuits I met there were all warm and inviting and it was great to catch up!

Matt took me to some great places in St. Louis, including the London Tea Room for tea and Meskerem, an Ethiopian restaurant for dinner. But the highlight for me was visiting City Museum, a museum that only opened in 1997 but is destined to become at St. Louis institution. The only way I can describe City Museum is that it’s like a funhouse on acid. Built in an old shoe factory, the building now houses several levels of fiberglass and wood tunnels, passageways, slides, and ladders for kids (and adults!) to climb around. In addition, it also has several areas filled with strange paraphernalia and historical artifacts, and to top it off, the whole building is decorated with mosaics, collages, and strange little details at every turn. I would like to say there is a theme connecting it all together, but there isn’t. It’s a giant funhouse of some of the most random things I’ve seen. Popular with kids in the daytime, the Museum also stays open until midnight on weekends and has a bar for college students silly enough to want to get hammered and then ride the 10-story slide. You read that correctly. 10-stories.

After the all-too-quick stop, I said goodbye to my friend and headed southwest to Oklahoma.

Yesterday was Star Wars Day at the library, and the Children's Department hired a bunch of volunteers to come dress up as some of the villians from Star Wars. In addition to the costumeers, it was also the Grand Opening of the newly remodeled Children's Department. The morning was a mad-house of children running around, taking photos with the villians, and enjoying the new kid-sized furniture.

The kids loved shooting blaster guns and running through the stacks to keep away from the stormtroopers and Boba Fett, while I got to be a nerd and take fun photos with Darth Vader checking out books. It also happened to be my last day, and I must say it was a nice note to finish on. Oh yeah, and I wore my own Boba Fett hoodie.

This was so brutally accurate and honest I couldn't stop laughing:

I've been ignoring this blog, mostly because it hardly seems worth the effort to write about the mundane affairs of my life this past month. So, I'll write about what I know- books.

1. Insatiable: Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess by Gael GreeneI really wanted to enjoy Gael Greene's memoir. As the former restaurant critic for New York Magazine, Greene always struck me as a sexier version of her New York Times counterpart, Frank Bruni. Unfortunately, Insatiable is less a peek into a life of sophistication and more an exercise in tacky name-dropping and gossipy anecdotes. Let me try to recreate a typical chapter-opener:

While my colleagues [important New York restaurant critics] could afford to eat at [famous 80's New York restaurant], I was fortunate to spend my summers in [sumptuous French countryside village] with [sexy French chef/critic] eating [indulgent French food #1] and [over-indulgent French food #2] before it was popular.Maybe it's Greene's writing, maybe the initial premise isn't classy; whatever the case, her memoir, which includes recount of a sexual encounter with Elvis Presley, is little more than a bound and published edition of Page 6. It seems that even though Greene built her career on writing about food, she felt it wouldn't be enough to sell a book and the result is food tidbits surrounded by unwanted recollections of her sexual exploits. As Tom Colicchio might say, "there's too much going on on the plate." Next time Gael, stick to the food. Grade: C-

2. How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe by Charles Yu

Even as I write this review, I struggle to adequately describe Charles Yu's debut novel. It's trippy and zany like a classic Douglas Adams work, but simultaneously dense and filled with paragraphs that include highly detailed musings on the mechanics of time travel, à la Neal Stephenson. There are many sections where I could breeze through several pages, thanks to the stream-of-consciousness style of writing, only to spend the next 15 minutes rereading a paragraph on the physics of a time paradox. Consider the following section that almost immediately follows a comedic bit between the protagonist and an AI unit that suffers from low self-esteem:One potential structure that can occur in a closed time-like curve, or CTC [time loop]...is a worldline that is not continuously joined to any earlier regions of space- time, i.e., events that, in a sense, have no causes. In the standard account of causality required by a chronodiegetical determinist, each four-dimensional box has, immediately preceding it, another four-dimensional box that serves as the emotional and physical cause. However, in a CTC, this notion of causality has no explanatory power, due to the fact that an event can be concurrent with its own cause, could be thought of as perhaps even causing itself.

I'd explain it to you, but I'm still trying to parcel it out myself. And yet, the overall feel of the book is entertaining and fun- think Dr. Who, not Primer. The story follows the protagonist Yu, his "nonexistent yet ontologically valid" dog Ed, and his AI unit TAMMY, who is afflicted with low self-esteem, as they travel repairing people's self-induced time travel paradoxes. As a fan of the science fiction genre, I enjoyed Yu's novel, but I would be hard pressed to recommend it to readers who aren't. Grade: B+3. An Object of Beauty by Steve MartinSteve Martin's new novel, An Object of Beauty, is an absolute marvel. Unlike How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe, which will probably only appeal to sci-fi enthusiasts, Martin's book can be enjoyed by art fans and lay-readers alike. In fact, much of the storyline helps to provide insight into the often impenetrable world of art collections -value of works, pricing, auctions, etc- without bogging down the plot. The story follows the ambitious Lacey Yeager as she works her way through the art world. Martin's laid-back writing style is highly distinctive, and it felt like he was reading the book to me. The obvious tone was a strength throughout the majority of the book, although it did serve as a disservice to the largely unnecessary narrator, Daniel Franks. As Lacey's friend and fellow art world colleague, Franks is described in such vague sketches that I simply replaced his character with Steve Martin (which isn't necessarily a bad thing, having Steve Martin as a confidante, but I digress). Included in the novel are 22 color prints of various works that are discussed in the novel; their inclusion serves not only to help the reader understand the descriptions better, but many of the works actually move the plot along. And speaking of plot, much like life, it is almost impossible to accurately chart and predict the breezy story. Although I thought it worked well with Martin's conversational writing style, I'm sure some people will be turned off by the sometimes slow plot. Steve Martin clearly loves and respects the art world, and An Object of Beauty is a lovely testament to his adoration. Grade: A

1. Drop to 100 lbs

2. Read 100 books

3. Visit 15 states

4. Visit 5 National Parks

5. Learn basic Japanese

Keeping it simple this year.

Last night my brother and I decided to take a look at the lunar eclipse. For some inexplicable reason, my brother owns an incredibly expensive and powerful telescope and he knows how to work it properly (apparently, telescopes require a significant amount of alignment and adjustment just to even gaze at something in the night sky as large and bright as the moon. And that's on a clear night.)

Unfortunately, the sky was fairly cloudy and so using the telescope to see any detail once the eclipse reached its totality was quite difficult. However, the color was rich and vibrant to view with the naked eye and around 1:45-2:00 am, the moon turned a bright red, sort of the color of diluted blood.

Truthfully though, I don't really find lunar eclipses to be that cool. I happened to still be awake when it was occurring so I thought I could pull myself away from Season 4 of The Wire for a few minutes. In fact, while local news broadcasts were making a huge deal over the fact that it's the winter solstice and a total lunar eclipse together omfg, Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, director of the Hayden Planetarium and friend of The Colbert Report had this to say about the event:

"Actually it's a little less cool than people are making it out to be. I don't know how many people are going to stay awake in the cold, winter night to watch the thing."

And this is why I love Neil deGrasse Tyson. He's not one of those "all science is cool all the time!" kind-of-guys. No, he's willing to be frank when something is boring as hell.

After a nice little week-long stint in Boston, Providence, and New York, it's back to Kansas. Thankfully, I'm working back at the library which means I'm getting paid to be surrounded by books. Also, a local bakery near my town has started selling....*drumroll* bacon doughnuts. The Midwest is awesome. Incredibly fuzzy cell phone photo below:

So to sum up my December, I've been on my butt reading and eating meat-covered sugar rings. No wonder I'm gaining so much weight.

The yearly face-stuffing orgy known as Thanksgiving has finally passed, and now it's my favorite time of year; it's a time when you are allowed to use words like merriment and jovial to describe the mood and no one gets to make fun of you...because it's Christmas!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Thanksgiving was a small but hearty affair with the standard poultry, but also the addition of a honey-baked ham just for me, since two years of living in a Muslim country did a serious number to my pork intake. A few helpings and two football games later and I felt transported back to Eid Kbeer in Morocco, with my stomach bursting at the seams. Except this time, my belly was full of cranberry sauce, potatoes, and green beans, not brains and liver.

But why do I prefer Christmas over Thanksgiving? Thanksgiving may be about reflection and thanks, but Christmas is about cheer and good tidings. It's a time when I can be optimistic about the world and no one gets to rain on my parade with a dose of irony or sarcasm. It's a time when grown men can openly watch Love, Actually and no one can comment on the status of their masculinity. It's a time when you can simultaneously feel the urge to shower friends with gifts and selfishly desire a Red Ryder BB Gun. It's a time that, despite the ever-growing Christmas creep, continues to fill my heart with love and happiness and satisfaction. Take that, consumerism!

Found on the shelves of my local Wal-Mart:

Verdict? It smells nothing like Morocco. Also, if you're going to pick a city in Morocco to try and emulate in terms of scents, the dirty ports of Casablanca might actually be my last choice. Good call there, Febreze.

One of the most frequent complaints from Peace Corps Morocco volunteers is the amount of sugar Moroccans consume. And there's a certain amount of truth to the whining; there's nothing as nauseating as watching someone drop a baseball-sized block of sugar into a teapot meant for four people. That's a lot of sugar.

But as I was driving my car today, I listened to the local radio stations and realized, Americans have no idea how to be healthy. Immediately after a commercial featuring a radio DJ hawking Jenny Craig, there was an ad for Arby's new breakfast Ham, Egg, and Cheese croissant. My kidneys hurt thinking about all that sodium. For less than $3, I can get a slushie at Sonic that is the size of my head (and it will have 1/4 of my daily calories!). It seemed that the radio commercials consisted solely of fast food ads and get-slim-quick diet programs. One company even urged people to enjoy (read: pig out) themselves during Thanksgiving and Christmas, because the program was "guaranteed to get you back in shape after the holidays!"

Now, I'm not a particularly healthy eater myself. To use a loving term of endearment from a fellow volunteer, I'm a fat kid. I enjoy fast food with the best of them. But as I stood in line at the Wal-Mart, watching a 300lb woman buy Slim-Fast shakes and Jimmy Dean's Blueberry Pancakes and Sausage on a Stick, I couldn't help but think that maybe there's something fundamentally wrong with this picture.

So yes, maybe the Moroccans do add too much sugar to their tea. But they also don't consider Toaster Strudels to be part of a balanced breakfast.

Back in Morocco, most of my free time was spent with girls and women, since- gender relations being what they are in Morocco- unmarried women don't normally hang out with non-related males. While I enjoyed my time with women, one of the most frustrating aspects of my relationship with them was that I was completely useless. Never having made a single loaf of bread in my life, my pitiful attempts at kneading usually incited exasperated gasps from the women watching. They would allow me a few sad punches and then push me aside to go sit in front of the television. I was no more useful with other kitchen work as well. I never learned how to peel a tomato with a paring knife, I would always cut the carrots the wrong shape, and my hands were too delicate to handle the hot, oily, couscous.

Outside of the kitchen was much of the same. When I told women I didn't know how to sew, crochet, or do needlepoint, I would get this skeptical look of How are you ever going to find a husband? So, most of the time I sat there with idle hands, trying to explain to deaf ears how skills like researching and writing papers are more useful in the US than in Morocco.

But coming back to America, I realized that I am fairly useless. Since I have always had good grades, my parents never forced me to get a job and pay for things on my own, so I never learned how to perform basic tasks. In the past three days, I realized that I don't know how to do the following:

-File my taxes

-Apply for car insurance

-Apply for health insurance

-Buy new tags/license plate for my car

-Invest in stocks, mutual funds, or anything more complicated than a C.D. or savings account

I really am useless.

After 12+ hours in transit, I am finally home. Of course the first thing I did was have my parents take me out to eat. Oh spicy food, how I have missed you. I'm readjusting fairly quickly; I didn't have any crying moments of joy in the cereal aisle, although I did stand in the produce section for a few minutes just marveling at the size, color, and sheer quantity of vegetables. I'm already back on the driving horse, and it's good to be in car while not squished next to an overweight Amazigh woman, with cha3bi music blaring. Instead, I can roll down my window and cruise slowly through my hometown streets, enjoying the crisp autumn air.

The Peace Corps readjustment allowance is already dwindling quickly, what with auto insurance, health insurance, winter clothing, and the general price of inflation. I went back to visit my old job at the library, and the ladies jokingly said I should come back and work again until I head off to graduate school. While I am dying to drive around the country for awhile, having money is also pretty tempting...

But that's all tasks for tomorrow. Today is nothing more than baking an apple pie, sorting through two years worth of mail, and enjoying two freshly checked-out books from the library.

Tomorrow I leave my site for the last time and head up to Rabat for 72-hour checkout. My apartment has been cleaned, my bags are packed, and my stomach is full from all the cookies and tea I have consumed at good-bye gatherings.

I'm excited for my replacements! There is one taking over my site and one being placed in a douar (neighborhood) on the far end of town, which means the chance to do lots of site-mate work! Both of the girls seem excited and motivated and are ready to work. I think they will have a fun two years ahead of them. As for me, I've been running around trying to buy last-minute gifts and struggling to figure how to wrap glass bottles of argan oil so they don't break in my luggage during the flights home. The solution? Lots and lots of ziploc bags, duct tape, and old shirts that have been destroyed by the Moroccan sun. I've also been thinking about all the things I want to do back in America- eat good food, visit friends, watch movies, drive my car, indulge in Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's only days away.Good bye, Morocco. THalla f raskum.

The title of this post is a Moroccan proverb that roughly translates into "You learn something new everyday." After two years of living in Morocco, I thought I pretty much had this culture down pat, yet every time I start to get comfortable, this country reminds me of the naivite of that belief.

Last week, I spent time in a CBT training site near Fez. Despite the fact that it was 14 hours and a train, a coach bus, and four taxi rides away, I arrived expecting typical Moroccan cultural norms- djellabas, tagines, couscous, milwee, tea, et cetera.

Except that it wasn't. In the six days I spent in site, I didn't eat a single tagine. This may not sound strange to anyone except other Moroccan PCVs, but consider that normally Moroccans eat two tagines per day, six days a week. It's like saying I went to China and never ate rice. And I ate couscous twice, but neither was on Friday and both times were for dinner. The people in this site seemed to consider that normal, but when I told the LCF (Language and Cultural Faciliator) this statement, he looked at me incredulously. Couscous is never eaten for dinner in a Moroccan household, because a) it takes hours to prepare and b) Moroccans don't like going to bed on a full stomach. But here in this random little village near Fez, it seems couscous for dinner is the norm. And after some discussion with the trainees' cook, I found out that tagines are eaten in the village, but aren't really the craze that they seem to be elsewhere in Morocco. It was like being in Bizarro World. At least we still drank massive amounts of sugar-laced mint tea, or else I would have started to suspect some sort of elaborate Punk'd-style ruse was being played on me.

The CBT site was intriguing and I wish I had stayed longer to learn its idiosyncrasies. I learned of an olive oil called al-3onwana that involves roasting unripe olives and comes out a deep forest green color when finished. It is so regional that the LCF from the Errachidia had never heard of it, and neither had a few people from Fez, a city just two hours away. I listened to the strangeness of the accent, where the g sound becomes k, making the words eat and speak homonyms. I retrained myself to use the verb sawb instead of dar for the word to make/do, in order to understand the children around me. But mostly, I didn't eat any tagines.

"There’s much criticism of Obama that’s legitimate. He backs down on things, he waffles, like on the mosque, and you wince. And I consider his decision to appeal the Federal court ruling abolishing DADT to be unethical, tremendously destructive, and potentially politically catastrophic. But is Obama really supposed to say, as the first African-American president, that same-sex marriage is his first priority? Clearly he believes in it; he’s a constitutional scholar. It’s not conceivable to me that he believes that state-sponsored marriage should be unavailable to same-sex couples, even if he has religious scruples. But do I think he should have lost the election for the chance to say he supported same-sex marriage? No. Given that we would have had John McCain and Sarah Palin, I would have said, ‘Say anything you need to.’ So if he’s moving very cautiously, with two wars he’s inherited and a collapsing global economy and the planet coming unglued—Okay!”

-Tony Kushner, to New York Magazine

With less than three weeks to go, I've already started daydreaming about things back in America. In no particular order, the things I'm most looking forward to:

1. Pie. Sure, some volunteers embraced their inner Ina Garten while in Morocco and baked pies from scratch, but the lack of brown sugar, proper measuring equipment, refridgeration, and motivation meant that it's pretty much been a pie-less two years. I hope to rectify this problem with a Thanksgiving/Christmas dessert blitz. My momma makes a mean pumpkin pie. Under pie are any and all sub-categories of fruit-based pastry desserts including cobblers and crumbles.

2. Tron: Legacy in 3-D on the IMAX. Normally, I would find the whole 3-D aspect to be a cheap gimmick designed to jack up the price of a movie ticket by a few dollars. But for Tron? Hell ya.

3. A Life in the Theatre. NYC, how I love thee..4. Black Swan. Last week, I watched part of The Fountain with a trainee's host family. While it still didn't make any sense the second time around, it did give me hope for Aronofsky's new thriller.

5. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. Ever since I heard an interview with the author on NPR's Fresh Air, I have been dying to read this book. I was tempted to buy a copy in the Heathrow Airport, but the library-lover in me told me to be patient and patronize my local library once I returned. It's at the top of my to-read list.

6. Deadwood. Interestingly, the downtime that one experiences as a Peace Corps volunteer has allowed me to catch up on a lot of pop culture I would have otherwise ignored (Big Love, Parks and Recreation, The Wire). But there is still a lot to be covered, and I've got a whole list of movies and television shows that have been recommended to me by people whose opinions I value. Yeah, yeah, eventually I'll get around to Battlestar Galactica, but in the mean time, my interest in Timothy Olyphant's new show Justified has also peaked an interest in checking out HBO's highly-acclaimed Deadwood. Adding to my library list...now.

7. Spicy food. I've probably mentioned this before, but one of the biggest flavors missing from Moroccan food is spiciness. There is some curry powder available and a few small hot peppers, but in general, Moroccans dislike food that is spicy. So, for the past two years I've been craving dishes like Indian vindaloo, Ethiopian wat, Korean kimchi, Japanese wasabi, and all-American chili. My taste buds aren't going to know what hit them.8. Friends. From the waving wheat fields of Kansas to the bustling streets of New York, there are many smiling faces and personalities I can't wait to be around again. They make me laugh, think, question, and strive to be a better person.

"I feel...thin. Sort of stretched, like...butter, scraped over too much bread." -Bilbo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring I'm home after spending some time with the new YD training group up near Fez. Although it was exhilarating seeing a few of the new trainees and possibly my own replacement, it didn't make me yearn to return to my own training days. I stayed with a training group of five volunteers and every day went to darija class in the morning, the dar chebab in the afternoon, and stayed with a host family at night. Like all the trainees, I immediately got sick upon my arrival and my only consolation was that I could actually explain my situation to various host families and people in the village. Immediately I was beset with comments like "Why is your darija so much better than the other Americans?" and "They don't know anything!" which was tedious explaining that I only know Arabic because I've been living here for two years and that the trainees actually do know a lot- and they especially know when someone is talking about them. Returning to a Moroccan schedule of meals was also exhausting; I had forgotten how much work it is just to eat enough food to satiate a host mother, to be completely full and exhausted at 8:00pm only to to realize that another meal is coming in two short hours and that I would have to stuff my already-filled stomach with more carbohydrates and tea. At least I have sort of learned the rhythm and etiquette of refusing food; the trainees were still fumbling their way through the appropriate number of polite refusals, refilling of tea glasses, and praises of cooking. CBT is a integral part of any Peace Corps experience. It's a time when a trainee is thrust into a foreign environment, expected to live and engage with people while still learning a new language from scratch, and be around five other American strangers who you may or may not get along with for 10 hours a day, two straight months. Oh yeah, and produce some activities at the dar chebab. For me, it's akin to being actively alert 24 hours a day/7 days a week. With the host family, you're struggling to follow the schedule, deal with screaming children, and keep from throwing up every five minutes as your body acclimates to the local bacteria. During language class, your brain is hard at work memorizing tenses, phrases, and vocabulary. At the dar chebab, you're physically running around with students, trying to make a little sense from the din of chattering children. Your brain literally doesn't have a chance to turn off during the entire two month training period. No wonder I left training so completely exhausted, and I can actually understand people! So to all the new YD trainees, tbark allah 3likum! And don't worry, it gets easier with time.

I've mentioned this before elsewhere, but the current revival of David Mamet's A Life in the Theatre stars none other than my personal hero, Patrick Stewart. Mamet. and Stewart. Together. I don't care if it's getting mixed reviews, it's like a wonderful confluence of all things delicious and fantastic. Now to find a way to get student rush tickets without actually being a student...

I've long been a fan of David McCandless's website Information is Beautiful, which specializes in data visualization. I whole-heartedly agree with his assessment that using infographics to assess data allows us to places ideas and abstract numbers into a grounded context and framework, while also providing an easier way to see emerging patterns that would otherwise be missed when information is buried into a statistic on a piece of paper. Here is his 2010 TEDGlobal Talk:

During my vacation to Singapore back in August, I saw and tried a new type of Magnum bar, one that surpassed the Magnum bars of Morocco (if that were even possible). It was a regular Magnum bar, only it had been covered in a white chocolate shell dyed to appear gold, which made it taste all the more delicious. Upon my return to Morocco, I began speaking of this ice cream delight, a dessert so fantastic that even the punctuation on the packaging spoke of its own incredulity. Other volunteers expressed their disbelief and scoffed, but I clung to the memory, knowing that one day I would be vindicated...if only I could find the darned photo I took.

Well lo and behold, a mere two months later I stand triumphant:

That's right. I tasted the sweet nectar of the gods...and it was delectable.

I think the best way to sum up COS Conference is to note that the second I got home I fell on the bed (with my sandals still on), and slept for 22 straight hours. COS Conference was an emotional, psychological, and physical roller coaster and one that I'm still trying to process.

Part of me is ecstatic to begin the next stage of my life and hearing the future goals and ambitions of my fellow staaj-mates only makes me even more excited for everyone. Listening to my friends light up whilst talking about grad school, work, and even uncertainty was incredible and I wish I could have spent more talking with everyone individually. It's fascinating to see how everyone has internalized their Peace Corps experience differently and is incorporating it into their future. At the same time, there is a very real and distinct possibility that I might never see some of these people again- even some I would consider dear friends. The enormity of that observation snuck up on me throughout the conference and really only hit me on the train ride home.

Personally, it was slightly depressing to realize that my service won't end the way I envisioned it, with a nice big goodbye to all my students and people who have cared for me these past two years. I'm home for only a few more days before trudging back up North to Fez to help with PST (Pre-Service Training) for the new YD volunteers. Then, I'm back home for a few days before my site replacement comes for a visit (inchallah!) and then it's a week before I'm headed back to my real home. The one with heating, and Mexican food, and casual drinks. Rather than a large bang and a party, my departure is really more like a series of longer and longer absences from site before finally I never return.

But I'm still here, for another month at least. And there's still more work to be done, more Turkish soap operas to be watched, and more glasses of tea to be drunk....

Last year, my 6+ year old Dell laptop finally caved under the mounting pile of dust and grime of Morocco and stopped working. Although I replaced it with an Acer netbook, my iTunes library was too big to fit on the Acer's tiny little hard drive, so I lost the ability to listen to my music and podcasts. However, I still had my iPod; with 900+ songs, I was content to listen to those on repeat. But tragedy struck in March, when my iPod met the same fate as my Dell. Since then, I've been living a music-less life. Occasionally, I'll download something on YouTube, but the Internet connection is so slow it's hardly worth the wait. And forget about streamable radio and Pandora. The only music I hear nowadays is the chaabi music coming from teenagers' cell phones and taxi drivers' radios.

My life has been so void of music that I'd forgotten how much it can influence your mood. Today, I was riding into Rabat with another volunteer, and she offered her iPod to me. I wasn't in any sort of specific mood, but sitting in the cab whilst listening to some old-school Michael Jackson, I was reminded of how fortunate I truly am. Despite some emotional and psychological hardships, for the past two years I have had a roof over my head, food in my belly, and a job I enjoy, which is more I can say for some people I know.

So I sat in that cab, bopping along to the crooning of Michael Jackson, happy to be alive.

Hamdulilah. الحمد لله

Before I joined Peace Corps Morocco...

1. I had never watched an animal killed, cleaned, cooked, and eaten all in front of my eyes in under an hour.

2. I had never gone so long between showers that I actually couldn't remember the date of my last cleaning.

3. I had never worn so many layers that I actually thought I had lost articles of clothing...only to find out later that I was actually wearing them.

4. I had never thought of open windows in transportation as a luxury.

5. I had never been so hot that I drank my weight in water in a single afternoon.

6. I had never been so violently sick that I lost my weight in water in a single afternoon.

7. I had never planned my meals around the seasonal produce.

8. I had never thought of capris and a t-shirt as scandalous.

9. I had never thought of deep-fried mashed potato balls and sour milk as delicious food products.

10. I had never thought of a 2 hour commute as a "really short ride."

11. I had never shared my seat with a chicken.

12. I had never communicated in four languages...in the same sentence.

13. I had never been so happy to see a box of macaroni and cheese in a care package.

14. I had never considered my gender and race as the defining aspects of myself.

15. I had never been asked about my current religious status on a daily basis.

16. I had never thought that because I was surrounded by religion, my own beliefs would shift from agnostic to atheist.

17. I had never made major decisions based on the difficulty of its explanation in a foreign language.

18. I had never realized just how much I hate tardiness, PowerPoint, and excessively long meetings.

19. I had never considered the ineffectiveness (and counterproductiveness) of the majority of the world's "sustainable development projects."

20. I had never realized how much I love America.

And people wonder why I don't want children:

All Joy and No Fun

This article disturbed me on a number of levels:

Afghan Boys are Prized, So Girls Live the Part

-NYT

This story reminded me of Moroccan author Tahar ben Jelloun's novel The Sand Child. It's the story of a girl raised as a boy after many failed attempts by her mother to give birth to a son. It's a difficult read, like so many works translated from Arabic, but a haunting meditation on gender roles in Moroccan society.

Well, I see Katy Perry's cleavage certainly knows how to get to Sesame Street.

And I know this isn't just two years of Moroccan modesty rubbing off on me.

When my brother and I were little, my mom used to take us whenever she went to the nearest Asian grocery store, about 30 minutes drive away. There she used to pick up massive quantities of rice, seaweed, fish sauce- basically anything that the Wal-Mart didn't stock back in the early to mid '90s. If my brother and I were good, we were sometimes allowed to pick out some junk food. For me, this was almost always the syrupy sweetness of canned lychees and longans, but when I felt a salt kick, I would always reach for keropoks. White quarter-size disks that looked and felt like plastic, they would bloom into subtly prawn flavored chips when fried in hot oil. And my brother and I loved them.

So wouldn't you know, in a Moroccan supermarket, sitting on a dusty shelf, incorrectly labeled in French as a "shrimp doughnut," look what I found:This find is so seredipitous, it makes up for the fact that my phone was stolen on the very same trip.

In the summer of 2006 I worked as a curatorial intern at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion's gallery in downtown New York. Although the collection was mostly contemporary works and jewelry by up-and-coming and prominent Jewish artists, they also housed an impressive collection of artistic Judaica. Although I spent my summer cataloging menorahs, shofars, and cups of Elijah and Miriam, I remember being struck by the beauty of the mezuzah. Although tiny in size, each one in the collection was beautiful and lovingly crafted. From traditional to modern, playful to somber- the few inches of room that each artist had to craft their mezuzah seemed to inspire- not hinder- creativity. Here in Morocco, although the Jewish population is no longer what it once was, I've still seen some exquisite silver mezuzahs, in Essaouria specifically. I'm not a religious person, but I can appreciate a beautiful piece of art. For me, the mezuzah does it.

This whole nostalgic moment was brought about by a story in the NYT about mezuzas in residences throughout New York.

1. If there is one item you should carry on your person at all times, it is toilet paper.

2. Make an effort to learn the subtle pronounciation differences between lightbulb and urine, and air and fuck. It will save you from embarrassing conversations in the future.

3. If somone asks if you want to take a hot water shower, the answer is always, "Absolutely I do." It might be weeks before the next opportunity.

4. When a Moroccan tells you the duration of some event (wedding, party, etc), triple that amount of time, and you'll be more in the ballpark.

5. Never eat until you are full in the first go-around. Your stomach will thank you three courses later.

6. Everyone will always be late for everything. Just learn to accept that now.

7. Taste leben and raib before you accept an entire glass.

8. Forget about your dignity. You will get violently sick, probably at some point during training. But isn't that what brings a CBT (Community-Based Training) group closer together?

9. When in doubt, always ask your LCF (Language and Culture Facilitator) for help. They can be your lifeline during CBT.

10. Be willing to try everything at least once. It will make your experience that much richer.

Towards the end of Ramadan I finally became tired with reading and watching endless television all day (although I did finish Joss Whedon's Dollhouse, which I recommend to fans of sci-fi). So, I decided to take on a little arts and crafts project, even though I am probably one of the least artistic people I know.

Fellow SBD PCV Emily has a how-to on paper beads, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. Turns out they are really easy to make and are a good way to keep your hands busy while watching said television that I had previously vowed to stop watching. After a few experiments, I found that really bright magazine pages work best for interesting color patterns, and that thicker paper allows for rounder beads, which I find to be more unique than the simpler, oval shape. In any case, I've now got a jar of beads that maybe I'll string into a necklace or bracelet.

I'm shamelessly stealing this from Rachel, a fellow YD PCV, but it's too good not to repost:

Why Belle, from Beauty and the Beast is actually a Peace Corps Morocco volunteer

1. She reads books, and people think that's odd. It's especially odd because she carries them around with her all the time.

2. People scream "Bonjour!" at her from windowsills and alleyways.

3. She lives in a "little town...a quiet village."

4. Everyday is "like the one before." (also see: "Every morning [is] just the same since the morning that [she] came to this poor provincial town.

5. She sees the baker first thing in the morning with the "same old bread and rolls to sell."

6. Minute 1:00 - She excitedly recounts to someone an important story (in her mind), and is politely dismissed because the story has nothing to do with the number or price of produce that day.

7. Minute 1:07 - People in town start talking about her behind her back. She doesn't notice -- it's almost as if they're speaking another language and she's happily strolling through town, oblivious to their comments...just smiling at them the whole time.

8. Minute 1:20 - She hitches a ride on a horse/donkey cart. This is a common occurrence in Peace Corps (though I can only comfortably speak to my experiences in Morocco). Sometimes there's no other transportation available, and hitch on a donkey cart, you must.

9. Minute 1:24 - People are greeting each other, not only saying hello, but asking about their families. Although their greetings here do not extend into the 30-second long salutation that we experience in the bled, I'm sure it would if the song had been longer if American audiences were judged patient enough to sit through that kind of thing.

10. Minute 1:30 - There is an exasperated woman with multiple babies in her arms.

11. Exasperated woman wants 6 eggs, but that's "too expensive." Six eggs would also be deemed preventively expensive in many places here as well.

12. Minute 1:35 - Belle says, "There must be more than this provincial life!" She's complaining again. She didn't say, "I miss peanut butter and Mexican food," but that's pretty much what she meant. Again, note the complaining. Peace Corps Volunteers are EXPERT complainers.

13. Bookstore owner is a cute little goat-looking man. Those are found in abundance in Morocco.

14. Minute 1:50- Belle climbs the ladder in the bookstore and swings it to the other side of the bookshelf. In a Barnes and Noble, this would prompt screaming store attendants, wary of a possible lawsuit when you fall. In Morocco (and in Belle's world), no problem. If you fall, Allah willed it.

15. Minute 2:00 - Belle goes on and on about how much she loves something, which basically requires the nice goat-man to give it to her. You often see this in Morocco.

16. Minute 2:02 - Men staring at her and trying to get her attention.

17. Minute 2:10 - Belle pats a random child's head. This is considered creepy in America, but in Morocco, PCVs are encourages to pat, hold, and feed random children.

18. Minute 2:21 - Belle sits in the town center next to the fountain, (like Morocco - except their fountain works) surrounded by sheep.

19. ...then Belle starts to talk to the sheep. Many a PCV talk to their pets, because they sometimes understand English better than the townspeople (or so they think).

20. Also, at the same moment, you see a woman washing her clothes in the public water source. Hopefully she's not using Tide and exposing us all to dangerous levels of phosphates.

21. Minute 3:00- Townsfolk say they think she's beautiful because she's fair. Moroccans often say this about light-skinned Americans. Belle, on the other hand, probably fancies a nice tan (and could probably use one, too).

22. Minute 3:20 - Gaston wears tight Euro-trash pants and shirt, and obviously thinks more of himself than he should. Reminds me of a few select 20-something boys in Morocco.

23. Minute 3:35-4:00 - Gaston wants to marry the foreign girl because he thinks she's pretty.

24. Minute 4:45 - Townsfolk joyfully remark how Belle doesn't "quite" fit in (even if she has been there for almost 2 years!).

25. Minute 4:55 - Everyone is staring at her.

And finally, (26) she's singing a Disney song!

As my service slowly ticks down (64 days as of September 9th!), I thought I would share some information that I wish I had learned prior to joining Peace Corps. That's not to say I wouldn't do this experience over if I had the chance, but the reality of living as a volunteer is often radically different from the American perception. Remember that every volunteer's experience is different, and while some of these points might be agreed upon by all PCV's worldwide, others are strong points of contention and might actually be contradictory to another volunteer's experiences. The best thing any applicant can do is speak to as many current and recent PCV's as possible to receive a diverse group of experiences.

Temper Your Expectations:

I really enjoy reading PeaceCorpsJournals.com, and I think it's an excellent resource for any potential volunteer, but one comment that always causes a ping of worry is when an applicant's blog says something along the lines of "Peace Corps is something I have dreamed about doing my entire life! It's the only thing I want to do!" That level of enthusiasm is great and the makings of a great volunteer, but that level of expectation will almost certainly not be met by the reality. Even today, most people have this vision of Peace Corps volunteers out in the bush, away from civilization, living off the land in a mud hut. For almost all volunteers, there is a certain degree of truth to that vision- some bucket bathe, some haul water, some fight off cockroaches and scorpions on a daily basis. But much of that is also anachronistic, as technology becomes cheaper and more affordable in developing countries. It's easier to set up cell phone towers than basic infrastructure like water lines, which is why almost every single volunteer carries a cell phone these days. Many also have running water, electricity, and Internet. Lots of volunteers live in major cities where Western amenities are readily available. I live in a small farming village and I live in an apartment that is nicer than anything I had back in America. So while the vision of Peace Corps is a good way to mentally prepare yourself for physical hardships, be prepared for anything- even a lifestyle that could rival the one you have right now.

Another reason I worry when applicants are so wide-eyed is because that a lot of what we do is boring and mundane. Don't worry, you will have your fair share of life-changing moments of do-goodery, but you might also find yourself frustrated for the next two years. Development is hard. Good development is even harder. Perhaps one of the hardest adjustments to make will be the feeling of uselessness. That's right, almost every Peace Corps volunteer will have a significant portion of their service where they aren't doing anything, although it's not for lack of trying in many cases. This is a common factor in a volunteer's decision to ET (Early Termination). There's nothing worse than showing up to site ready to work, only to be faced with the prospect of two years of nothing for a variety of reasons. Sometimes local officials are corrupt, sometimes people aren't interested in your project proposals. In many cases, Peace Corps did a poor job of site development and picked a site where there just isn't work. A while back, I was talking with some volunteers who had only been in site for a few months and already knew there was a lack of work. They were debating whether to request a site change and I remember the advice I gave them: "There are a lot of volunteers who are content only fulfilling the last two goals of Peace Corps (cross-culture). Are you one of those people?" I think that is something any potential volunteer should ask themselves- will your personal goals be met even with a lack of development work? This may seem like a strange question, but it's one serious enough to cause a fair number of ET's every year, often in people who have a development background or would otherwise be incredible volunteers. The cross-culture aspect of Peace Corps is important, but for some, it's not enough.

It's Still a Government Operation

Again, this is a case of perception versus reality. Back in the 1970's, Peace Corps volunteers might have spent two years alone in the jungle, but nowadays you will be in constant communication with staff, whether you like it or not. For me, a difficult adjustment was the amount of paperwork. For an organization that is perceived by many as laid-back and full of hippies, we do a significant amount of mindless paperwork. There are Annual Volunteer Surveys, Annual Living Allowance Surveys, Feedback on Training Surveys, Feedback on Staff, Close of Service (COS) documentation, and the dreaded quarterly Volunteer Reporting Form (VRF). At any given point during your service, I can almost guarantee there will be some sort of reporting form sitting in your email inbox. If you think you did a lot of paperwork just to join Peace Corps, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

Furthermore, the increased technology means that staff now has the ability to keep better tabs on its volunteers, and they are constantly under pressure from bureaucrats back stateside to know where volunteers are at all times. Interestingly, this is often a serious point of frustration for older volunteers or returned volunteers (RPCV's) doing a second or third tour of duty. Legally, any travel outside of your main site has to be reported and cleared by staff, and infractions can ultimately lead to being sent home early. Older volunteers and RPCV's often find the hand-holding rather childish; it's difficult to spend decades of your life answering to nobody, only to revert back to asking permission to spend the weekend at a friend's house. For one person in my staaj, it was enough of a reason to ET. Ultimately, it's just staff trying to look out for the safety of the volunteers, but sometimes it feels infantile.

Did I say better communication?

While Peace Corps staff expects constant communication in terms of your location and whereabouts, they paradoxically are often impossible to reach for work support. You will be given the goals of your sector during training, but once you reach your site, who knows what you might end up doing. Even if you are working, don't expect feedback with any regularity. In my particular country, staff in every sector are overworked, worst of all in my sector. While the VRF is supposed to be a chance for your Programming Manager (PM) to evaluate the work you are doing, it's often little more than a sentence or two. Learn how to self-evaluate your own work and don't expect Peace Corps to outline every single potential project for you, because they simply don't have the time. Being a self-starter and someone who can work under esoteric guidelines are good skills for a volunteer.

This isn't meant to scare applicants away, but these are all significant aspects of the Peace Corps experience. All of these have been reasons volunteers decided to ET, and as a result I think that they ought to be part of the discussion when applicants make the ultimate decision to become a Peace Corps volunteer.

Good luck with your application and Peace Corps service!

Ok Faye, keep it together. Only two more months before all of this is within your grasp:

New York Magazine's Cheap Eats 2010

Transferring a play to film is a tricky thing. Cinematographers can become lazy or uninspired and the result is often a static camera angle with no cuts that might as well have been just recording a live performance (e.g. The Producers). It's like directors see the play and forget how to reblock their characters for cinema. Or sometimes, the writers refuse to edit the play for the sake of the big screen and the end product is stilted, forced, unnatural dialogue (e.g. HBO's Angels in America). It's often so obvious that I've had instances where I was watching a movie and correctly guessed that it was based on a play with no previous knowledge of its literary origins (e.g. Closer). But occasionally with the correct mix of director, cinematographer, and actors, the transference of a play to film can be pulled off successfully. Such is the case with Pulitzer and Tony award-winning plays, Doubt and Proof, two excellent movie adaptations that touch on similar themes of unease and suspicion.

Doubt tells the story of Sister James, a young nun sent to work in a Bronx school in the mid-1960's. As a teacher, she works with the head nun, the authoritative Sister Aloysius, and a new and popular priest, Father Flynn. As the story progresses, Sister James begins to have suspicions about Father Flynn's relationship with a young student. While Flynn rebuffs these accusations, the doubts linger as Sister Aloysius begins to vocalize her own opinions and concerns.

The cast could not have been more perfectly selected. Amy Adams wonderfully embodies the fragility of a young nun- afraid to question her superiors, but concerned about the potential damage such unfounded accusations could have on the young priest's life. And the scenes featuring Meryl Streep as Sister Aloysius and Philip Seymour Hoffman as Father Flynn are absolutely electrifying. You can feel the tension crackling off the screen. Finally, Viola Davis plays the mother of the student in question and although she only has two scenes, you can not take your eyes off her. It's no wonder that all four of the primary actors were nominated for Oscars.

The subject of Doubt is a controversial one, but in the end the potency of the story comes not from the siutation in which the characters find themselves, but rather the way in which they struggle with their personal nagging thoughts and suspicions. It's to Streep's credit that you can even sympathize with the terrifying Sister Aloysius by the end of the movie, thanks to her moving confessional monologue. Doubt concludes without answers- but would you have it any other way? In the end, the audience is left like Sister James and Sister Aloysius, with nothing but our own thoughts to gnaw away at us.

While Doubt touches on the innocence or guilt of a priest, Proof looks at the relationship between Catherine, a young mathematician, and her father Robert, a recently deceased giant of the mathematics world. Much like Doubt, Proof also has a small cast that performs admirably, although Jake Gyllenhaal seems a bit miscast as Harold, a mathematics doctoral student. I can't stand Gwyneth Paltrow, but she did an excellent job portraying Catherine's instabilities and doubts about her sanity in the wake of her late father's struggle with schizophrenia. If only Gwyneth would spend less time on pretentious nonsense like GOOP.com and more time on projects like this, I think more people would feel that her Oscar for Shakespeare in Love wasn't a fluke.

The central mystery lies around the authorship of a groundbreaking mathematical proof, but in the course of the investigation, Catherine begins to question her own sanity, as well as the nature of her relationship with Harold. I've never seen the play, but I am now really curious to see how it is blocked and performed. The movie uses flashbacks to unravel the relationship between Catherine and her father, and it's quite effective in the overall storytelling.In the end, what hooked me in both movies was their ability to capture that dramatic tension that feels so palpable when watching a live performance. Think of a great play you've seen in your life- Streetcar Named Desire, 12 Angry Men, maybe even just a dramatic scene, like one from Fiddler on the Roof or Les Miserables. For me, it is Macbeth with Patrick Stewart in title role. Do you remember how it felt to be surrounded in darkness, the air thick with tension and drama, only to have the silence shattered by the forcefulness of the characters on stage? Rarely do filmmakers successfully achieve this feeling, but Proof and Doubt manage to pull it off effortlessly.

Hanut economics has always baffled me. Not only is everything priced such that there is no possible way anyone could make a profit margin, but nearly every single hanut is designed so that you can't actually touch any of the products. Instead, there is usually a large counter in the front and you have to point and ask the owner for every single item. I understand that in the Moroccan culture more value is placed on the conversation with the owner than the exchange of goods itself, but it also means I'm less prone to impulse shopping- it's hard to spot something on the shelf and try it if I can't actually see the shelves. In addition, this system becomes incredibly annoying when the hanut has more than two customers (or me and a pushy woman) because the owner has to juggle both of our requests. It's during these times that I end up with products that only vaguely resemble food, because I'm too nice of a person to have to send my hanut owner back into the depths of his store to find exactly what I want, not some vague approximation. It's how I first came to accidentally buy lkashr, a meat food product that has the texture and smell of Play-Doh and is lovingly known as atomic sausage* by my CBT-mates. It's how I was introduced to the synthetic chocolate that passes for Nutella. And yesterday, during a flurry of women rushing into the hanut at the same time, it's how I accidentally bought Magimax Fruit Cocktail powder instead of Tang. Some advice to future Moroccan PCV's- always splurge on the Tang instead of C'Bon or some knock-off. The extra 20 centime ($0.00000000000000000000000000002. Not exactly, but you get the point) is the difference between pure sugar water and drinkable juice. Unfortunately for me, I was in such a rush yesterday that I didn't notice my hanut owner had given me Magimax instead of Tang. However, I was thirsty, so I thought I'd give it a try. The packet called for 1.5 litres of water, but I went ahead and used 2 litres. The color of the juice was somewhere between grapefruit and Barbie hot pink. As soon as I started pouring it, I could already tell it needed to be diluted still, because my glass had the aroma of Pixie Sticks. I took a small sip and almost dropped the glass. It was like drinking liquid bubble gum- in a blind taste test, people could seriously mistake this flavour for "Bubble Yum," not "Fruit Cocktail." 4 litres of water later, I had finally diluted the packet down to something that wouldn't send me straight into Type 2-Diabetes. But Faye, you ask, why would you keep drinking it if it's not palatable? Because: a) Peace Corps has turned me into a tightwad, and darned if I'm going to waste 2 dirhams! b) I'm drinking several litres of water per day just to maintain proper hydration levels. Something's gotta break up the monotony of water, even if it is liquid Big League Chew.

And now if you'll excuse me, I need to lie down in preparation for my sugar coma.

*Why the nickname atomic sausage? Because it will do a serious blitzkrieg on your GI tract.

Many of you are aware that I ride buses a lot, but I've never really discussed the derelict state of most of them. My ride into the nearest big town is on a bus that would spectacularly fail every single EPA standard for carbon and noise pollution. There is no heat or air conditioning and there is usually at least one window pane that either won't close or has just been substituted with cardboard. This means that the buses are freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer. There are holes cut into the dashboard so that when the weather is hot- like now- the driver can stop occasionally to pour buckets of water straight into the radiator (or maybe on the engine?) to keep the whole thing from overheating. The entire contraption rattles enough to make ones teeth shake. The bus I was on today had a CD in place of a speedometer/odometer. Since the driver can't hear anything over the din of the engine and clanging metal, the two ways to signal you want to get off are to a)bang on the metal bars with a coin, or b) bang on the back door with your fist. Needless to say, these aren't your local metro buses in the US, but such is life in Morocco.

Except that in the past month, all of the local buses in the city of Agadir have been replaced with brand new buses. They have seats with cushions, (theoretical) heating and cooling, an actual ticket machine, and the correct ratio of sheets of glass to window frames. The buses even have the nice red buttons on the handlebars that you can push to signal when you want to get off. These are a wonderful perk to the new buses...except that no one uses them. Maybe it's because all the buttons say "Stop" instead of "Arrêt" or "وقف" so no one knows their purpose or maybe it's because people simply don't care, but whatever the reason, everyone still bangs on the door as hard as possible whenever they want to get off. Because banging on a brand new hydraulic door is the best way to keep it maintained properly. Sigh. I give these new buses less than a year before they disintegrate to the current state of everything else.

The New York Times has an interesting article about language and the formation of thought:

Does Your Language Shape How You Think?

It's a question I've pondered a lot here in Morocco, as I often find myself in situations where I'm making perfect sense in terms of vocabulary and grammar, but the person with whom I'm speaking is utterly confused and lost in the conversation. One anecdote that really struck me in the article was the way in which we perceive colors. I remember in one conversation with a friend, I was pointing out my preference for a royal purple over a lighter, more violet hue. My friend seemed confused that I would have a preference, and responded, "but they're the same color?" When I asked what the words in darija would be for both colors, she responded that it was the same- they were both just bnefsiji (purple). I know that Small Business Development volunteers struggle with this problem quite often. For some reason, Moroccans are attracted to colors that tend to be very...neon. While those colors might sell well in a domestic market, most goods are purchased by foreigners and since it's no longer 1980, we've thankfully moved beyond neon. But how do you explain that a cherry red is preferable to a neon red when there isn't the vocabulary to explain that? I know one volunteer who actually brought the material to her association as a visual guide, only to receive the same response I did with my purple preference- What are you talking about, you crazy foreigner? It's the same color! Now I'm not suggesting Moroccans can't tell the difference between shades of a single color; in fact, many female djellabas are tastefully fashioned with various shades of the same hue. But the way in which Moroccan women interpret and understand colors is definitely different from my own understanding of colors, even if that exact difference is still lost on me.

There's another example that I love, because I think it can potentially have radical implications for the way in which we perceive Life, the Universe, and Everything*. When I speak to Moroccan people, I-like everyone else in this country- use a lot of hand gestures. When I use the phrase lbarح (yesterday), it's usually complimented with a wave over my shoulder, while gda(tomorrow) is followed with a wave of the hand in front of me. But, if I were speaking to the Aymara people of South America, these hand gestures would be completely confusing. For the Aymara, the past must be in front of you, because- like those things in front of you- you have seen the past and can speak definitively about those events. But the future is like those things behind you- unseen and therefore unknown. Like the Matses of Peru discussed in the article, the Aymara have made such a strong distinction between hearsay versus witnessed events that it has defined the way in which they perceive time. And who's to say that this perception of time is any more or less factual than our own linear understanding of time? How has our language guided us to the point where the "past is behind us" and the "future lies ahead"? And should we also begin questioning how our perception of logic and space are affected by our language?

*Apologies to Douglas Adams

Think of the meal you were planning on preparing for tonight.

Oh! But your butagaz tank is empty, which means you can't use the stove. And you only have this much countertop space, so you can't have a lot of prepwork. *See below for explanation of the bottles wrapped in wet pillowcases And you don't have a fridge, so you can't cool anything. And it's 115 degrees outside, so you can't use the oven. And it's a 2 kilometre walk to buy groceries in said heat, so you can't make anything that involves a lot of vegetables you've got to haul back to your house for a sauce, reduction, etc. And since it's so hot, all of the vegetables are either mealy, wilted, or simply past the point of edibility. You can buy onions, turnips, bell peppers, potatoes, cucumbers, and tomatoes. Everything else is not available. And since it's Ramadan, tomatoes cost three times their normal price, so no more than two kilos. Alright, how's your meal looking now? And that, my friends, is how ended up eating El Gordo cheese puffs** and raw bell pepper and turnip slices for dinner.*The bottles wrapped in soaking wet pillow cases are a trick I learned from a former PCV on how to cool liquids without a fridge.**It's still unclear if El Gordo's are actually cheese puffs or just orange-colored Styrofoam packing peanuts

Here in Morocco, your standard toilet is a rarity. In all but the most Western of houses and buildings, you will probably find the squat Turkish toilet, or "the Turk" as it is affectionally called by volunteers. Some volunteers despise it, going so far as to demand a Western toilet while apartment searching. Others are ambivalent, noting the reduced water consumption but increased strain on the legs. Personally, I quite like it- I must have fantastic hamstring muscles.

And now, Slate.com has an article on the benefits of a squat vs. Western toilet.

It's an article only a Peace Corps volunteer could love.

This year, the Top Chef finale is in....Singapore!

Two loves, together in a perfect, harmonious union.

I want to see Tom Colicchio eat a durian.

I've mentioned this in conversation with a number of PCV's, but one of the reasons I'm ready to return home is that I feel like here in Morocco I'm not progressing intellectually. Conversations with local people usually revolve around the weather, the latest Turkish soap opera, or upcoming social plans and since I'm not constantly discussing current events, arts, politics, et cetera, I have no incentive to keep up on those things in my free time. Basically, I've become a Philistine. Here are just a handful of items that I would have probably enjoyed in America, but which bored me to tears in Morocco:

The Hurt Locker

Dubliners by James Joyce

Atonement, the book

Atonement, the movie

Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

This American Life on NPR

Science Fridays on NPR

The Cove

Worst of all, I've started graduate school applications and found that my writing style has regressed back to a high school level. It seems I can no longer write coherently in an academic style. As I skim through my old research papers from college, I keep thinking to myself, no way I wrote this! But I did. At one point in my life, I was capable of eloquence. Unfortunately, not anymore. I can haz brains, pleez?

As we enter the middle stretch of Ramadan, it can be a trying time for volunteers. Breaking fast (iftar) every night with dates and harira has started to lose its initial appeal, days blend into each other, and Einstein's theories on time and relativity kick in, as our minutes and hours seem to move infinitely slower than the rest of the world. Here are a few entertainment suggestions to keep you busy. I would highly recommend all of these choices anytime, not just as Ramadan-filler.

Watch: In the Loop- A scathing satire of the British and American involvement in the buildup to an invasion in the the Middle East, this 2009 British film by Armando Iannucci is laugh-out loud hilarious. With some UK heavyweights like Gina McKee, Tom Hollander, and Steve Coogan, this movie won me over with non-stop zingers and witty back-handed compliments like only the Brits can deliver. Everyone is stunning in their roles, but it's Peter Capaldi who steals the show as the foul-mouthed, short-tempered spin doctor Malcolm Tucker. Based on the BBC television series The Thick of It, In the Loop is one of the funniest movies I've seen in a long time. You can stream it (illegally) online at the link embedded in the name.

Community- I'm not sure why it took me so long to start watching this show. In the same comedic vein as The Office and 30 Rock- and starring the always delightful Joel McHale- this show should have been in my weekly rotation from the beginning. Although McHale is spot-on as self-centered egotist Jeff, and the supporting cast has some comedic legends like John Oliver and Chevy Chase, the person who keeps me coming back every week is Danny Pudi's portrayal of Indian-American Abed Nadir. Abed's eidetic memory of useless pop culture combined with Pudi's line delivery makes Abed an instant sitcom classic. I can only hope that the writers don't write him into a caricature of himself, ala Dwight Schrute.

Read:

Over the Edge of the World: Magellan's Terrifying Circumnavigation of the Globe by Laurence Bergreen- Ok, I tend to have a love for all things historical and nautical (Master and Commander, Horatio Hornblower, etc). But Bergreen's historical account of Ferdinand Magellan's circumnavigation of the world will appeal to anyone. Drawing heavily from the few firsthand accounts that remain, Bergreen does a wonderful job of bringing to life the day-to-day hardships aboard a 16th Century shipping vessel. I quite enjoyed the exploration of European politics throughout the book; particularly Magellan's attempts to secure financing from two economic rivals and the implications that would have for him during the voyage, as well as his family back in Europe. If you're looking for a mix of knowledge and swashbuckling, this is the book for you.

Listen:

Kate Nash- I first heard her song "Merry Happy' in the end credits of an episode of Community and it instantly put me in a good mood. Her style is fun pop with just enough injection of acerbic wit to keep the whole thing from being too frothy. A few people have compared her to Lily Allen, although I would argue Nash's music is better, mostly because Lily Allen seems to be known more for being constantly inebriated and belligerent and less for her contributions to music. Next time you're in a funk, put on a Kate Nash song and just try not to sing along.