Books

"You mention refusing to feel guilty about buying books. Do you value books over, say, DVDs? Is this because you personally prefer them, or because books are cheaper, or because you feel books are inherently more valuable?"

I'll admit I was being a bit silly when I mentioned the whole "feeling guilty about buying books" but it is something I'm aware of, if whenever I'm in somewhere like Waterstones. There have been times when I've spent hours browsing for a new book, nothing has immediately inspired me so I've walked out happier not having bought anything. I go through periods of being very frivolous about spending and periods of extreme thriftiness. My mother once said, (in response to me saying something along the lines of: "Mam, we've got too many books,"), "You can never have too many books." I must admit I've taken that little saying to heart. In terms of DVDs and CDs I feel a bit more cheap. I love films and I love music, but not as much as I like books.

Without books at camp I'd probably have enjoyed it far less. There's a lot of down time which can get spent in a variety of ways. The American staff have their laptops - I don't have one ergo I need something to keep me going. I brought a small library of books with me, which on several occasions the international and American staff dipped into because there wasn't much of the way of books at camp. I'd anticipated not having access to a decent bookstore so I brought things that I'd intended to read for a while, for example the Ian Fleming tripe bill of From Russia with Love, Doctor No and Goldfinger; or things I knew I wouldn't be able to get with ease. I think I chunked through six or seven novels while I was out there, which is pretty good going really.

Summer Soundtrack

Shameless Summer reminiscences. There may be a quite a few of these as and when I remember them. They seemed a bit pointless to mention at the time but these particular songs have stayed with me (partly because the British music scene gets punctured by American Pop two months later). Effectively these songs have followed me home and I can't help but like them, largely due to their associations with the "socials" that the camp held with other camps. Seeing, what were effectively school discos from an outsider's perspective is weird and cool. Cool insofar as they're instantly nostalgic because they're EXACTLY the same abroad as they are at home. Kids are brilliant.

So, here are the shameless songs:

1) See you again, by Miley Cyrus, (the girls really liked this one).
2) I kissed a girl, by Katy Perry (the boys in particular went a bit bonkers for this one because of the "kissing girls and liking it factor", apart from the youngest ones who didn't get it and the younger ones from Texas in particular who didn't like the homosexual overtones - we tickled that out of them though - seriously, Camp is shamelessly and knowingly "camp" - they haven't actually heard of the phrase "camp" in its cultural Boy George kind of way - there's an irony there somewhere).
3) Pocketful of Sunshine, by Natasha Beddingfield (like I say, stupidly camp. Loved every second).
4) Disturbia, Rihanna.

Where am I again?

Those three words: credit, crunch and recession got me thinking, as I imagine they're getting everybody thinking, about money. Camp doesn't pay that well. I could have earned double what I made at Camp by working at home. Admittedly, I probably would have spent more that half of that on miscellaneous rubbish. "Oooh Look!" Says I, looking at all the pretty things on sale in HMV, "I've got twenty quid burning a hole in my pocket!". Of course, in a practical sense we have to still spend money on these kinds of things because it's what keeps an economy strong: healthy spending. Which is what I told myself when I was in uni, spending casually on shit I didn't really need, frittering away my student loan on lining the pockets of Virgin Megastore and Waterstones. (Small aside: I will never feel guilty about buying books. I refuse to. Come hell or high water I will get my literary fix. So there.).

So, at the moment I'm looking for a job, without a car, with a lot of debt and the job market stubbornly refuses to employ me! The bastards! I got a degree, and a diploma, I've done everything the government, society and my family/peers expected/wanted of me. And now, I'm either "over qualified" or a bit of a liability because I "may not stick around" (as if! Like I know what I want to do with my life in a practical and sensible capacity!), more than that though, half the time you need an additional qualification to do anything even remotely interesting.

So, like the proverbial Crazy Diamond I have "signed on" with the jolly-old Job Centre for the time being. This also got me thinking about living in little bubbles. Throughout the summer I paid little to no attention to the gathering storm that was to become the big three words. In fact, I had to go out of my way to hear anything because it was such a busy, all-encompassing experience. To be honest though, I wanted to shut the world out a little bit. While I was there I spoke to my parents... twice? I did keep a blog and stay in contact via email, but I have to admit to relishing the experience of severing all ties. After the Art Foundation finished everything was a bit hectic (I pulled down the exhibition two days before flying out(?)), because I knew I was going away I found myself not committing myself as much to the world around me. Now that I'm back though I'm absolutely engaged and getting about 75% of what I wanted to get done, done.

Which brings me to the conclusion that there are real world pressures and personal pressures. In an ideal world I'd be a published author/comic artist and that would be that. In an ideal world I'd be paid to do exactly what I'm good at, but for the time being I have to make do and do inbetweeny things like build up a portfolio. I had this image in my head the other day of me in a teaching capacity, wondering what I'd say about the subject of ambition. Society and acquired knowledge tells us that ambition isn't a good thing. Even JK Rowling puts ambition in the unlikeable Slytherin category, but in reality she needed a fair old whack of bloody-minded ambition to get a book published while she was living on the bread line. To me, ambition has never been a bad thing, there is, after all a difference between an ambitious person and a selfish person. While ambition is a symptom of selfishness, they aren't mutually dependent. I would say that a healthy amount of ambition is a good thing - it means that you will pursue the things that interest you - as far as I'm concerned, settling for second best isn't ideal for anybody. In many cases I'm quite lazy and I can see myself in a year's time applying for a PGCE because it'd be an easy "second best" option. The past summer has proved to me that I love working with kids, so it wouldn't be the end of the world if I became a teacher, but I'd feel like a bit of a hypocrite.

Ultimately the secondary education system lulls us into a false sense of security. Sheep-like I followed the path to university, where I was told I'd increase my chances of getting a good job afterwards and that everything would be greener on the other side. I'm not trying to belittle my degree, academia or anybody's academic ambitions, but I sometimes get the nagging sensation that I may not have gone to university had I not been steered towards it. This may sound contradictory, but I never had any ambitions of getting a degree, really, I just knew that it would probably help facilitate getting published.

Hmm Sweet Hmm

I've kind of needed a bit of space to be able to write this, seeing as having come home things have been a little strange. The programme actually warns you that the re-adjustment is often stranger than the adjustment in America. You aren't expecting to have to re-adjust in coming home. It's a bit of a touchy subject really insofar as I'm not sure of a) how big of a deal I'm making of things, and b) time will tell how well I settle back into the rhythm.

So far I've noticed that the patters of my life at home are totally different to what they were abroad. I write more. I mope more. I watch more TV. And I'm embarrassed how much later I seem to be waking up every day. The fact that I haven't got a job yet is another cause for concern.

Upon returning home, and on my first official UK drive, my car promptly kicked the bucket. I was on my way to re-unite with mates and it died. So, I'm without a car. Which is probably okay for some people but I feel restricted. I don't have wander lust by any stretch of the imagination, I'll go as far as to say that I found the touristy side of visiting America to be tiresome in the extreme. But not having the ability to go wherever I need to be with ease is a real pain in the arse. It was bad enough at camp, trying to negotiate lifts and plan things WELL in advance, but that was understandable - the most exciting thing to do in the middle of nowhere is go to the movies; at home I have friends who live miiiiilllllllleeeeeeeeesssssss away. And now I can't see them as easily and if I do go, I need to pay, which sucks, because I don't have any money.

So. Some news. I'm waiting to hear back from the Camp Director re: an invitiation for next summer (it's an official piece of mumbo jumbo the agency needs), but when that comes through I'll be able to sign up for next summer officially. Oh yes. I have every intention of returning. At the purely mercenary level it's two and a bit months of guaranteed work which doesn't come with the hang up of me spending it all on incidental crap. Also, I want to by a Macbook. But at the moment the lack of income is a serious issue, particularly considering there'll be a flight to pay for in May and rent to pay in the meantime. Things may get better. But three specific words are making me feel a bit five-pence-fifty-pence: Credit. Crunch. Recession.

Long term plans for the blog include filling in the gaps. Several people have mentioned wanting to know more so I'm inviting questions from my small but interested audience. Inquire away.

To sum up...

Things are better now. A point of the shagging was made and for the most part it has stopped. I've taken to exhausting myself during the days to make sure that I sleep. Sounds unhealthy? Well, there are only too more days left. Speaking of two days left, I feel compelled to do a bit of a Jerry Springer and sum things up.

Before I came here I had no real idea of what it was going to be like. America gets a lot of coverage, so I knew some things, but like having a vague idea of what softball is, I didn't know all the rules. I'm bringing a dvd of the camp home with me and I'm going to make a point of showing it to all who'll watch it. It's basically a soundbyte documentary of what happened this summer - every kid, cabin, sport and occasion is featured. I remember watching similar videos before coming and all left me feeling intimidated and a bit freaked out - after all it's a completely different culture - but now having lived it for three months I feel as if in some way it's my culture too.

Cut grass smells exactly the same here as it does anywhere else and by that, in a roundabout kind of way, I mean that it's not as weird or strange as it looks or sounds because things are
the ultimately same. Mint ice cream and strawberry ice cream taste different, but they're still ice cream. Once you get past the funny accents and the occasional baffled look before you repeat yourself, the people are all the same. It's why I want to come back next year, basically. I heard a London accent randomly the other day and it just felt weird.

In the next couple of days we'll be closing up shop and moving on to Chica-Chica-go-go (don't ask - these guys'll chant anything). A family have offered to let me stay and they are the most amazing people. Two of their kids were my campers so it's going to be cool to see them again. This second week of post-camp has been better because several of my campers' families have come up. I'm such a sap - I can't believed I missed them that much. Ah well.

All in all it's been a long and tiring summer and I've had an incredible time. It's been an interesting experience trying to carry on doing what I normally do but taking into consideration the spartan nature of living out of a rucksack. I've decided that I could live without most things, but I couldn't live without paper. My next post will likely be from a different computer.

I am seriously looking forward to coming home.

Flipside

I find it increasingly baffling how a summer that has been so amazing can change to the complete opposite almost over night. It has been seven days since the kids left and I find myself now counting down the remaining seven days to the day that I leave this place for Chicago. In principle not much has changed. The kids and American staff have gone, certainly, and a bunch of ex-camper families have come up for what's called Post-Camp. The soured heart of the problem is twofold, firstly I am now forced to occupy my spare and night time with people who's behaviour I find increasingly reprehensible. Secondly, the emphasis at Post-Camp is on working for tips, which can be fairly large so I'm told - the effect this has had on the staff is to turn those prone to brown nosing into overdrive.

With regards to the first point, problems have been simmering all summer. While the campers were here I had the Cabin as a retreat, but now I'm forced to live in the midst of the problem. To begin with things were quite affable, we got on well and there were no problems. Slowly, as these things happen, egos started to emerge and things began to unravel. On the one hand you have people like myself, quiet, unassuming, committed to doing the job and putting the campers first. On the other hand you have the staff who don't see this as a job but a vacation. Not only this, but for the most part they share some awful personal characteristics - they're all obnoxious, loud, vindictive, wholly selfish and completely un-interesting. This wouldn't be a problem if I could escape their poisonous company, but I can't because I'm forced to sleep in the same cabin as them. Oh, and another thing, they don't like sleeping, they like getting pissed every single night because they're boring and have no other way of sustaining their entertainment. Oh and another thing, they insist on invading everyone else's privacy by having sex - loudly, frequently and in the same room as the rest of us - until the early hours of the morning. By which I mean 5 AfriggingM. Not only that though, these aren't the same partners every night, these are different women (and I use that term loosely). Imagine my rage, my abhorrence, my absolute hatred of these people. Then imagine me having to listen to the pithy way in which they brush aside my concerns - "Ah well, anything can happen when twelve lads get together in a room!"

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK YYYYYYYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And breathe.

The second point. The brown-nosing. After a long summer of being an authority figure, a mentor, a friend etc. (basically all the psychologically rewarding bits), I'm finding it hard to adjust to the job I came to America to escape - i.e. waitoring (or, picking up other people's shit because they're rich). Luckily, I'm being paid a healthy rate for these extra days and I don't have to "depend" on whatever these people are prepared to give me based on how much I suck up. If you don't like the service I provide, then you can go swivel. I'm not a bad waitor, I'd go as far as to say I'm a pretty good waitor, so the implication that there's something I'm not doing, I find slightly offensive. On top of all this I have far more free time than I had before, and far from making me happier, these periods are dragging the days out, swelling my least favourite of all human conditions: boredom. All this equals an extremely frustrated Jom.

Ultimately I have two choices, suffer in silence or snitch, and seeing as I have to spend most of my time in the company of these people even though they're making my life a misery, I'm not really inclined to do the latter. Suffice it to say the Director will be hearing my views on the subject and it will be affecting whatever contract he decides to draw up for next year. Fortunately there are three others who share my misery so I'm not suffering in silence. Eight weeks of blissful work and satisfaction far outweighs the irritating mire I find myself in, so my intention to return next year still stands. But by God, there are going to be conditions.

Are we tight?

So. Camp is kind of winding up and winding down. The massive all-week competition is rattling along steadily and my duties have been drastically reduced, which has basically left me in a small lurch. The free-time is nice but I find myself getting really stir-crazy - all I want to do is spend more time with the kids but they're always off doing competitiony stuff. I do get to see them at archery, which is cool but a little bit hectic.

So, mixed feelings. It's hard to get excited when you aren't on a team and everyone else is. It is an interesting lesson in American male psychology though. The little kids' moods have been reduced to overjoyed or uber-bummed out. I went on a little sojourn to the other cabins last night and hung out with a bunch of kids I normally only see in the day. They'd started a club called the Moobies - mostly composed of all the arty kids with wacky personalities - based on a conversation we'd had the previous day concerning Man Boobs, M-oobs or Moobies. I hope you find this as funny as we do. Anyway, it hadn't occurred to me that I could actually hang out with these kids in a non-responsible adult kind of way. One of the kids asked me "Are we tight?", as in to say "Are we cool/mates?" etc. He didn't really need to ask. Genuinely one of the most uplifting moments of the summer. It's gutting that this frighteningly obvious conclusion came to me five days before camp ends. Ah well, c'est la vie, there's always next summer.