An embassy event--Moroccan style

Last night was the 12th anniversary of His Majesty King Mohammed VI of Morocco's ascension to the throne. I believe it is also known as National Day in Morocco. Naturally, the Moroccan embassy here threw a huge party and then kindly invited all the Congressmen in Washington. Including their staff. Which meant that T-rav scored an invite. Huzzah!

This was my very first time going to any important event where there are important people (which we are not) and nice clothes (which I do not have) and well-coiffed hair (which definitely does not describe me). And as no one in T-rav's office could/cared to go, we also didn't know a soul there. Intimidating? Yes.

At times (ok, most times) I feel like the soul of awkwardness. In a situation where "networking" is just what you do and small talk is what you say, I am generally mystified. How does one start and carry on a conversation with a perfect stranger? I feel the anxiety creeping over me just thinking about it. But I really wanted to go and see how the Moroccans threw a party, so on went my only black dress and my 4-inch heels, a tidge of eye liner and some subtle lip tint, and once my hair was pulled back in an unsatisfactory manner, we were ready (I've learned that I really really need to learn how to do something besides a ponytail or braid with my hair).

I walked 4 big DC blocks in those 4-inch heels. Very very slowly. And then we were there and there were tons of people dressed about the same--some better, some worse--as I was, and there was Moroccon music and fantastic architecture, and Americans dressed up in traditional Middle Eastern garb, and many-starred generals from almost anywhere, and other foreigners...and even a few young and slightly awkward looking peeps like ourselves. But most importantly, there was food. Spinach, Lentils, couscous, meatballs, seafood-phyllo pie, tomato salad, and bread. Delicious!

We did our best to try to talk to people. We met a very short American man who is moving to Abu Dhabi. And we met Anastasia and Peter--a young Russian girl working on her MA at American University, and Peter, a really really old ex-foreign service officer who, according to Anastasia, has a collection of young foreign girls he takes to various events. Awesome.

All in all, I'm glad we went. I did feel awkward a good portion of the time (what does one do with one's hands in a nice dress?! And is it acceptable to stuff those hands in pockets if the dress happens to have pockets? What's the best way to start a conversation with a perfect stranger who may or may not speak English?). I learned I need to work on my small talk skills and that everyone in DC carries business cards even if they're just a lowly student. And a bit of awkwardness is worth the people-watching and free food.

working for the weekend

I sneak out of the door every day at work terrified that someone is going to stop me and make me stay another 10 minutes. I don't feel safe until I'm out of the elevator and past the little Korean-run convenience store (everything from gift cards to laundry soap and an ATM!). Don't get me wrong- I like my job. It's interesting and new and I work with some fascinating Afghan people. I've learned more about Afghanistan and the languages spoken there in the past 3 weeks than I ever knew before.

But. I'm now working in the "corporate" world. I go in around 8 and I'm expected to stay a full 8 hours, with time taken out for a lunch break of course. But many days I don't really have enough work to fill my time. Sometimes I do. But there are plenty of days that I'm dragging my feet on some assignment just to make sure I'm not done too fast and left with time to twiddle my thumbs. Or delete emails from my work inbox. Or shuffle papers around my desk. Because I don't really want to be one of those people who spend their time at work on facebook or writing blogs. But what am I to do when I'm already 3 weeks ahead of schedule?

So I've decided that I should be allowed to do my work, finish my task, and go home when I'm done. In a perfect world, my salary would be the same, but I would be a whole lot more productive because I wouldn't have to waste time at work trying to look busy. I could go home and do something else, and maybe I wouldn't long for the weekend quite as much as I do now. Ah, what a dream that would be! Don't you think it's a good idea?

English English English

I love the English language. But I haven't always felt this way. There have been times I've felt a tidge of "white guilt" for speaking it. Sometimes I hate English for being a killer language and running nice little tribal languages and regional dialects right out of existence (not that English is alone in this- Russian, Spanish, Chinese, Portuguese, and countless others are guilty of the same). Sometimes it's annoying to teach because there are so many dang exceptions to every rule. But that's what makes it interesting. Because when it really comes down to it, I LOVE English. And of the many many things I love about it (maybe I'll get into more detail about that when I'm feeling particularly nerdy), but I especially love its variety.

I've always been very conscious of the way I speak. Even as an elementary school student, I paid attention to how my words sounded. I aimed for a neutral accent rather than the strong upstate New York dialect of my peers; I even made fun of my poor father for saying "melk" instead of milk or "pellow" for pillow. I loved listening to actors with British accents, and I spent a good deal of time each summer talking to my best friend Jay like a Brit in word choice and accent (or so we thought). When I went off to college, I was suddenly surrounded by a new dialect group, mostly Utah based, which I deemed again undesirable. For myself at least. My eastern dialect was a bit more interesting now, and I gave in, at least to some features like to the strong a in "canal" or "pal."

Maybe because I myself tried to "train" my dialect, it doesn't surprised me when I hear about people studying to get rid of their accent. But it does make me kind of sad, when, for instance, a charming or unique dialect is viewed as less desirable, and it consequently declines in use. This article here talks about people in Boston who take classes to learn Standard American English. But it breaks my heart a little. I don't want people to sound the same! I want them to sound different! Diversity in language is what makes it interesting. Even though I personally don't want to sound like I'm from Utah, I'm quite fond of the dialect. It makes people sound friendly and approachable. English wouldn't be the same without it.

But all of this has a point. I'm just wondering if there are any particular dialects (or accents, if you prefer to think of it that way) that you love or hate. If you could choose to sound like you're from a particular place, where would it be? Or where would you hate to sound like you belong?

New things

I live in a new (and old) city. I have a new job. I'm meeting new people at church, in the neighborhood, and at work. I have a new dress code. There's a new style to my hair: frizz. There's a new Wegman's far from my new house, but not so far I can't make up reasons to go there. I'm giving my blog a new design. So many new things...

And thus far, these new changes have been pretty good. I think I'm going to like my new job (I'm a curriculum developer for a language company that does contract work for clients such as the US military or State Department. Basically, I'm writing textbooks for Dari and Pashto- both spoken in Afghanistan- with the assistance of people who actually speak those languages). My apartment is still kind of ghetto, but we'll only be in this place for another month and a half. Things are looking up for now.

I still miss all of you I left behind. But it's good to be doing something new.