Now with pictures!

Yesterday I went beyond my neighborhood of Mt. Vernon and explored downtown Baltimore and the Inner Harbor-- the touristy area. On a map it looked kind of far, but it took me a whole ten minutes to walk there from my apartment. Before I set off in that direction, I decided to check out my local communist cafe, Red Emma's, and get some iced coffee... 'cause it's damn hot in Baltimore.

Thinking maybe this could be my very own Marxist Central Perk, I was excited to check it out. The coffee was good enough, but the presumptive communist kids working behind the counter enjoyed hearing themselves wax ironic too much for the place to be conducive for studying or even tolerable for more than ten minutes. I felt like I was waiting in line at the UCB Theater... one of my least favorite things to do... where everyone is trying to one-up each other with how damn ironic they could be. Overheard at Red Emma's:

Presumptive Communist Barista #1: "Will you nominate me for a Nobel Prize?"
PCB #2: "Why?"
PCB#1: "Because it would be dope."

Also overheard:
PCB #2: "What should we listen to?"
PCB #1: "How about NPR?"
PCB #2: "Okay, I guess that's in keeping with our belief system."

I don't think I'll be returning to Red Emma's anytime soon.

Back to my exploring. I walked down to the Inner Harbor which I hadn't been to since my 6th grade graduation field trip... which, going to a Jewish day school, I thought must have included a visit to the nearest Holocaust museum, but I couldn't remember. Anyway, the Inner Harbor looked pretty much as I remember it. There were boats.

Big boats... (the USS Constellation)

paddle boats... and of course, dragon boats...

If you visit me in Baltimore, I promise I'll take you dragon boating and I'll steer clear of the docks (see: The Wire Season Two).

And speaking of The Wire. The night before my exploring, I was watching The Wire, Season Three and there was a scene (not a spoiler) where McNulty was hitting on a woman. She asked him where he worked and he responded "Legg Mason... Or I'm a Baltimore cop. I can't remember." (And I can't remember the exact phrasing). But it was something like that. And after I heard it, I thought "Legg Mason. How random." But not so random when I looked up behind me from the Inner Harbor and saw this:

Since it was so hot, I decided to head home, using a different route. It's true what I've been told about Baltimore. That the safety/crime/poverty changes block to block. One second I was at the Inner Harbor, the next I was passing by a Hustler, Lush Gentleman's Club, an adult video store, etc etc, and then next, I was back among office buildings. (I later found out I was on "the block"). As I continued my stroll, I tried to remember if my 6th grade field trip did indeed include a visit to a Holocaust museum, when, lo and behold, I passed by a Holocaust museum. And right outside the museum, sure enough there was a group of Jewish boys and girls on a school trip. Although on second glance, they could have been Mormons. Ahh, the memories.

A little bit beyond the Holocaust museum, I passed by two men asleep on a stoop, their shoes off and gangrene ablazin'. Very Bubs on a bad day (if you're going to follow my blog, you might want to brush up on The Wire). Although it was probably slightly inappropriate (but hey, I'm documenting), I snapped a picture... albeit not close enough to get a good look. But I thought the image captured what, thanks to The Wire, I imagined Baltimore to be like.

And since I'm revisiting my 6th grade field trip memories, the 6th grade sense of humor in me can't help but mention that those two men were asleep on a stoop on Gay Street. Hey, it can't all be high-brow.

And one last pic for good measure. McNulty, is that you?

Paris Hilton of Baltimore

So now that I've gone public with my public health blog it seems I have to, um, maintain this thing. No, this is good. Pressure. Getting me ready for school.

Day four in Baltimore. I found a supermarket in walking distance. Not as exciting as yesterday, however, when I opened up a bank account at Wachovia. Sadly there are no Washington Mutuals in Baltimore. (There is a Washington Monument though, which I can see from my window right now.) Anyway, the woman at Wachovia who opened my account for me was lovely, as most people I've met here are... but she came with the added bonus of making me feel like a gazillionaire. First of all, she was shocked when she checked my credit and told me that she NEVER has people come in with credit good enough that they don't require further background checks. And this is a Wachovia, not some tiny-ass local bank. But, it's a Wachovia in Baltimore, so there you go. She also took the time to explain the various account options, using the example "let's say you have $20 in your account and you charge something for $21, and then go to Taco Bell and use your debit card again before noticing your account is below zero, you'll get fined twice." Fair enough. Note to self: Stay away from Taco Bell. She also advised me against buying checks because at the steep price of $18 dollars a box it's not worth it. When I finally gave her two checks to deposit, she told me one wouldn't clear for a few days, but by looking at the large amount of the other check, I should be fine... at which point, I was thinking, "All right, lady, let's do without the judgment and just deposit my money."

I'm telling this story not to let you know that I've got mad bank, as the kids say, ('cause I don't). I'm telling it because it's pretty indicative of the way things are in Baltimore. I guess. I've only been here for four days. But, it's all about perspective. In L.A. I was just another TV writer, complaining about spending fourteen bucks to see a movie at the Arclight and five dollars in gas to get there. Here, I'm the richest person around. And if you've read my last post, also the skinniest. I'm Paris Hilton of Baltimore.

Off to do laundry...

Culture Shock

I've been back on the East Coast for a little over a week and have spent the last two nights in beautiful Baltimore. After four days at a health spa with my mom last week, I've got my mind on health... more on my own private health. Not so much on the public's. But, that will all change next Monday when I start school.

Coming from LA to the health spa in the Berkshires to Baltimore is so far quite a shock. After spending six hours a day at the spa exercising along side thin Long Island mothers trying to convince their slightly overweight daughters that exercise is fun (!), I'm now in Baltimore, reminded that yes, there are fat people in this country, and no, they probably don't care about Yamuna foot fitness. I forgot about that. Sure, the news talks about the obesity epidemic, but I couldn't find any sign of it at the spa or in LA. But here in Baltimore, poverty and thus fatties are all around.

Yes, this is one poor city. Noticeably poor. And, in contrast to LA, as far as I can tell at least, the poor people live amongst the not-so-poor. Poverty is out in the open here. It's quite different from any place I've ever lived, including New York, and I must admit, I'm not used to it yet. But, again, I've only been here for two days, so I've got a lot more to see. My Biomedicine for Dummies class (not its actual name, thank you very much) starts next Monday, so I have a week to figure out which cafe has the best coffee, where the closest bank, yoga studio, and bodega are, and how the hell the so-called Hopkins shuttle works.

So, stay tuned for more adventures in Baltimore. I plan on taking my camera with me on my explorations and uploading pictures soon. That is, if I don't get mugged and have my camera stolen first. (insert nervous laugh).

Spelling counts, dammit.

The other day I had the pleasure of wielding what little power I have in the entertainment industry.... and what may in fact be the only power I have in this industry for the next year or so. Although my last job was writing for a home makeover reality show (yes, reality shows have writers. surprise!), it was very desirable to fellow writers and up-and-comers alike. Primarily, because it was a job. Secondarily, because it was a writing job. So, when unemployed friends and friends of friends heard that I was leaving, a few jumped at the chance to get my job. (And no, not anyone can write reality. It takes years and years of training, a brilliant mind, and of course extreme talent. Extreme!). One such friend of a friend got my email address and wrote to inquire about a meeting. His letter began "Hey Jacklyn." For those of you who are aware, my name is spelled Jaclyn and more importantly, hardly anyone calls me by that name. I go by Jackie in these parts, and all other parts. What was even more absurd about the misspelling was that the correct spelling of Jaclyn is part of my email address. All this kid had to do was pay a little attention to detail.

Needless to say I did not forward this guy's info to my former employer or anyone else, for that matter. Instead I took delight in responding to his email. And this is what I wrote:

Hi [Douchebag],
While normally I would be happy to recommend one of [my friend's] friends, you misspelled my first name in your email (even though it's part of my email address), in addition to another spelling mistake. So, to be honest, I don't feel comfortable recommending you if that's the type of attention to detail you put into your emails.
Best of luck,
Jackie

Maybe that was bitchy of me, but chances are that guy is never going to send anyone else an email with a misspelling again. I must say, it gave me great pleasure sending that email. I'd love to have followed it up with something cliche like, "you'll never eat lunch in this town again," but honestly I don't have all that much power, which is lucky for him. And who says that, really?

What fun! Adios, television industry, I'll miss the false sense of power you give to those you employ.

Your Integument System is Showing.

Today I bought my first text book! The cover alone makes me cringe at how academic-looking it is. It brings back flashbacks of my pre-med days 12 years ago. But, what freaked me out more than the book was that today I also received my schedule for my first course: Intro to Biomedical Sciences, or IBS, not to be confused with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, which I will probably get as a result of that course.

Why did the schedule scare me? Well, for one, it's 10 days long, seven hours a day, but I knew that when I signed up for it. The second reason is that I have no idea what the title of first section (meaning 1:15 PM to 4 PM on day one) even means. Apparently, I will be studying the "Integument System". Yes, I had to look up the word integument. For those of you equally as ignorant as me, integument has to do with all things outer-layer related... skin, hair and nails (I know all about those!), sweat glands and whatever else is on the outside. Tattoos? Maybe. The Integument System section will be followed up in the afternoon by an overview on wounds! Wounds! Woohoo! I'm giving up comedy writing for a year for... wounds!

Okay, maybe I should be less cynical about all this. Perhaps cynicism is how I project my fish-out-of-water nervousness. Speaking of which, I believe the Nervous System will be covered on day two. Maybe the more nervous I am, the better I'll do in that part of the course. We shall see. If so, A+ for me!

In other news, my "Hopkins: The Show" viewing has been progressing nicely. I caught up on the last two episodes last night. What amazed me about the last two episodes is what lengths and expense doctors and hospitals go to save one life. On a recent episode, a team of doctors flew to Puerto Rico for a set of lungs. (The comedy writer in me would make an inappropriate joke here about the origin of the lungs, but alas, I'll refrain). Meanwhile, according to "The Wire", my other Baltimore television obsession, there are kids dying daily on the street in random gunfire. I don't know what it all means in the scheme of things, but the juxtaposition of a team of doctors, nurses and pilots flying to Puerto Rico to save one life versus one person using one bullet to take one life away in a split second.... well, I don't know. Something to think about. Another thing to think about: A lot of my information comes from television. Hmm... Maybe I can buy the Public Health degree set on DVD? I should look into that.

Another interesting, or frustrating, tidbit is that on another episode, the pilots who took the doctors to South Carolina to pick up a heart for a patient in Baltimore, could not bring them back to Baltimore because according to FAA rules, pilots are only allowed to fly for a limited number of hours at a time. Why? Because they'll get tired... and that would be bad as they have people's lives in their hands. And the limit on how many hours a doctor can work at a time? No limit. Doctors can operate on someone on zero hours of sleep... and often times they do. A doctor once raised this point to me a long time ago, probably coming off a surgery on no sleep, and last night it was touched upon on "Hopkins", but not explicitly. A doctor was literally holding someone's heart in SC, needing to get it back to Baltimore, while the pilots who flew the doctor there were on their way to bed, to avoid any chance of falling asleep at the wheel (or whatever pilots use these days). Eventually the doctors coerced other pilots to fly them back to Baltimore in time, but come on. Where's the logic, people?

Speaking of logic, now that I no longer have an income, it's time to treat myself to a big expensive meal with a dear friend before I say goodbye in a week. (Yes, this is the second link to a restaurant in two posts. If I had time and a bigger ego, I'd have a food blog, too. But one blog is more than enough.)

So long for now, TV

I have two more days left at my current job, which in the TV freelance world isn't usually a big deal, as jobs come and go so frequently. Going away parties are rare as everyone goes away at the same time. But this time, it's different and it didn't just hit me until today. In two days, I'll be done with my work life, done with freelancing, done with TV writing, and done with paychecks, at least for the next year. I actually love working, so leaving my current job and the working world is proving to be more bitter than sweet. Plus, right now I have the greatest job I've ever had. There is absolutely no stress, my phone never rings, I get to write and be creative, there is plenty of time for Scrabulous, and I'm making a nice chunk of change. It's actually absurd and pretty unheard of in the TV world. And I'm leaving it.

How many people can say they actually love their job? Not many. I'm one of those fortunate people and I'm giving it up to go to school and study things like epidemiology and biostatistics. Yes, my co-workers think I'm insane. I think I'm insane. But then I remember my reasons for leaving. One, that freelancing has always been and will always be uncertain. For the last eight years, I've gone from gig to gig, always knowing that an end date was imminent. Even my current job wouldn't have lasted much longer. Two, is that it's ridiculously easy. The other day when I told my dad how easy my job is and that I was sad to be leaving it, he gave me a good piece of wisdom, that no job is worth doing unless it's a challenge. It's true, I have indeed been unchallenged lately in my current job. I'm always much more satisfied when I've worked hard at something, than when I'm complacent. But, the primary reason I'm leaving, however is I'm no longer fulfilled by the shows I've found myself writing for lately. What I actually write and produce gets seen by very few and helps even fewer, if any. I can't in good conscience make writing reality television a career. So, I'm setting off to do something that will hopefully prove to be meaningful. Meaningful with a solid paycheck, ideally.

There are several other reasons why I'm leaving, but they're hard to keep in mind when I'm in the final days at a job that I love. And so, despite my co-workers' raised eyebrows and comments like, "Public health. That's random," "Hopkins? What's that?," "You'll be back here in a year" and "Have fun making no money in the non-profit world!," I'm actually leaving.

And for the record, no, not every public health student works for a non-profit. Especially not this one, if I can help it. I'm all for saving the world, but a girl's gotta eat.

Hopkins: The Show!

Welcome to my second post ever. I had put my blog aside for awhile because a) I hadn't told anyone about it yet so no one was expecting anything, b) I'm still creeped out by blogs in general c) I got distracted by life and d) I question whether I'm the only one who will find this interesting. No matter. I'm back. Hoping to continue chronicling my journey to Baltimore and public health school. Another reason I haven't written in awhile is that I'm in denial about leaving LA and the wonderful life I have here. By blogging about going back to school, I actually have to face the fact that I'm indeed going back to school. And frankly, I'm not quite ready.

But, last Thursday, I experienced a renewed excitement about returning to school, especially to Hopkins, thanks to the six-part documentary on ABC, "Hopkins." A show about my new school. Perfect timing, ABC. Thank you. Okay, so "Hopkins" isn't at all about the public health school, but it's pretty close. Close enough to make me look forward to moving to Baltimore, rather than freaking me out, like this show.

"Hopkins" follows a handful of doctors and their patients both at Johns Hopkins Medical Center and at home. The cameras have access to the operating rooms, so at times it's bloody, but it's also really freaking cool. Having sat in on a few operations in my pre-med days, it was refreshing to be back in the OR, even through the magic of television. Aside for the cheesy pop soundtrack, the most disturbing part was watching people in abject pain. "Grey's Anatomy" and other lame medical dramas do an okay job at well, their job-- creating drama. But never have I seen a scripted show depict actual pain. Real people crying and moaning, ugly and unflattering, in pain. You really don't see that very often, unless you're a doctor, and I was glad for the reminder that at all times of day, somewhere very nearby, people are in very real pain. As I sit on my couch and write, there are people in pain. It's an unsettling thought, but necessary every once in awhile at least for the perspective.

The point is, see the show. If anything, there are some really nice beauty shots of my new city, not to mention, proof, that yes, there are also some damn good looking doctors in Baltimore. Hooray for that.