Posted in Everything

Today I… skite about books

Is that a word in Americanish? Do I know? Do I care? No. Advertising follows. Continue at your own risk.

It occurred to me (while cataloging my books to figure out which ones are coming to Te Kauwhata) that I’ve talked quite a lot about poetry on this blog but have not yet ‘put up or shut up’, as the saying goes. I write poems on bus tickets. That’s it. That’s my schtick. Some of them are quite good. Some of them are very good. Some of them are really bad but those ones didn’t make it into books.

I started in 2017 with my first volume, Ticket to Write, post-titled The Purple One, much like how Star Wars was post-titled Star Wars: A New Hope, when I, like George, realized that this thing I had made was not in fact a one-off.

(I have asked that picture to also act as a link. If it doesn’t, try here.)

PLEASE DO NOT BUY THIS BOOK.

You can go search and get it from Amazon if you absolutely require more physical books in your life. Please do not buy it to ‘support me’ or whatever. I make no money from sales of these books. This is deliberate. I do not want to make money from Amazon. Please consider the extra hardship you will be adding to the already hard life of an unknown Amazon warehouse worker if you buy this book, and then please do not buy this book. Please go to the link I provided and download this book for free from the Internet Archive, in any format you want. Or several formats. Or read it on the Internet Archive, no download required. Go nuts. If you are skittish about reading books you haven’t paid for, donate to the Internet Archive whatever you think is fair.

Midway through 2018, I had enough poems stored up in the box on my dresser to print another book, so this had to be The Indigo One.

PLEASE DO NOT BUY THIS BOOK EITHER.

It was better than the one before, because in my opinion (and the opinion of the local friendly English teacher) I’ve been getting better as I go along. Still, please do not buy it. Please download it for free. The next book, at the beginning of 2019, was The Blue One. I recommend this one particularly, because it contains a poem called The Brain’s Gray Matter Looks Like Spaghetti, which is deeper than it sounds.

ARE YOU GETTING THE IDEA YET? PLEASE DO NOT BUY THIS BOOK.

The final instalment (to date), published earlier this year, is Ticket To Write: The Teal One. Unsurprisingly, it contains poems about NASA and America.

THE BOOK? DO NOT BUY IT. IT IS FREE.

I have The Green One underway, but it is proving difficult, because the bus company switched to ticketless travel, and there was a pandemic, and I got a car, and I’ve had a really hard time focusing lately, but I’m hoping the change of scenery coming up in a week or so will help, and then I will have poems about the New Zealand countryside, and about worrying about peaking at twenty-five, and about how the best people carry space around with them.

That’s it, advert over. Normal programming will resume shortly.

Thanks for reading.
MTFBWY.

Posted in Everything

Today I… shall provide Scale for Wol.

I have been most remiss. Wol has been the Scale on all kinds of pictures and most of the people who have never met him (usually at high speed and a cruising altitude of about four feet) don’t really have any way of telling what size Wol is.

Here is a picture.

Top row, L-R: New Zealand 50c coin, New Zealand 20c coin, Wol
Bottom row, L-R: American golden dollar, American quarter, dime, nickel, penny

I never did find a half-dollar. Like, anywhere. I got two dollar coins as change from a vending machine in the basement of the Library of Congress, but didn’t see any others. I wish to point out some salient points in this photo:

  • American coins do not have the denomination on them in numbers. The dime and quarter don’t even have the value on them in words; they literally say ‘one dime’ and ‘quarter dollar’.
  • The Nice American Friends (in Florida) sent my siblings and me American proof sets for Christmas presents, which a) is delightful and b) means I arrived in America with a sporting chance of telling a dime from a penny at a glance.
  • Dimes are very small and light and easy to lose.
  • Nickels are very easy to mistake for quarters if you are in a hurry or you have a lot of coins all mixed together. This was quite handy when I was walking to the Metro to leave DC, because I am like 90% sure I got held up for money, but he was very polite about it, and I said I wasn’t carrying that kind of cash and offered him my change purse. This was an opaque ziploc Kotex packet (like you see in the foreground here) that I had for various reasons been using as a change purse for months, and I walked away into the Metro station very quickly before he had time to figure out that it was almost all pennies and nickels, not quarters and dimes. I lost maybe $2 and for most of the time it was only slightly confusing, because, as mentioned, very polite chap, until he asked for a hug and I’m like no, because I may be from Smalltown Nowhere but I’m not that stupid, and then ten minutes later I discovered on the train that I was hyperventilating, which is always enjoyable.
  • Pennies are completely useless and you can’t actually buy anything with them, but shops keep giving them to you.
  • Quarters should be replaced with 20c coins to bring American into line with, y’know, most of the rest of the decimal-currency-using world, which uses a 1-2-5 system. This is not ideal for solving the optimal currency problem, but everyone uses it anyway because it is pretty good.
  • With the exception of the dollar-to-fifty-cent step (not shown), New Zealand coin diameters progress downward with the coin value. This is very useful and makes coins easier to identify by touch or glance, rather than studying them studiously.

I had a photo of American bank notes between $50 and $1 laid out in a row to show how they are all very subtle variations of the same color and all pretty much the same size and very impractical for the vision-impaired, and also, munty-looking paper instead of plastic, but my phone had a hissy fit and deleted that photo, along with the photos I took of my room at Ames after my roommate left to go back to Seattle. So I cannot show you these things.

Thanks for reading.
MTFBWY.

Posted in Everything

Today I… have information to share!

Now that I’ve finished my time at Ames, and I’m on a train for three-and-a-half days, with lots of books and Microsoft Word and no internet connection (bliss – not because I don’t like the internet, I do, but sometimes it’s nice to have the kind of break where it’s not just you saying ‘I’mma buzz off the net for a while now folks’ but actually having. no. connection), I’m going to do something I’ve planned to do for pretty much this whole time. Because I benefited (hugely) from other former interns’ advice and comments before I came, I want to pay that forward.

So this post is a funny one, with recommended approaches as follows – if you are

  • one of my regular people, I hope you will find this amusing.
  • a future intern at Ames, I hope you will take this as stuff I would have found helpful to have read back in May, and you may or may not get some use for.
  • someone responsible for some aspect of interns, Ames, or interns at Ames, I hope you will take this as a look at difficult and awesome things I encountered, and as an attempt to give future interns an even better experience than I had (and honey, I had a great time.)
  • none of these things, I’m not sure how you got here, but welcome! you may find other posts more interesting, because this one’s kind of a wrap-up.

And so, without further ado, here I go with my first listicle.

Stuff about being a Kiwi going to America for the first time
  • The chit-chat the border agents do is border screening, on the principle that people telling the truth about where they’ve come from and what they’re doing in America can be relaxed and answer readily, and people lying have a harder time. They’re not trick questions. Getting-on-the-airplane security is intense. (I’m professionally disgusted with the explosives-swabbing gear used at airports, but that’s another story.) Getting-off-the-airplane customs/biosecurity is… not.
  • Bring more American cash than you think you will need. I came over with about USD60 in cash and a couple hundred on my Travelex card, and that lasted about a fortnight before I needed to top up either. ATM fees are vicious, and most stores don’t know what you mean when you say ‘can I have cash out up to $X’, but Target does.
  • They don’t say EFTPOS over here. They call it a bunch of other sensible and less-sensible things.
  • I used Travelex Money Card as a debit card – it behaves like a MasterCard (because it is), it’s been accepted everywhere except Costco (which only takes a kind of card I didn’t have), and that one upscale winery, and it’s a littttttle eccentric about whether it will require a signature, a PIN, ID, or none of the above. It takes about two weeks between ordering the card and getting it, so allow three to save yourself hanging around outside Travelex the day before you fly the country. Not fun. Topping up by ‘credit card’ takes a 1.8% fee. Topping up by ‘bill payment’ (bank transfer) takes no fee but can be up to a week between topping up and funds being available. Plan ahead. Their customer service has a US number, and is generally very helpful and good at explaining things.
  • Everyone talks like a movie. Everyone will be able to hear your accent. Some of them will even be able to tell it apart from an Australian accent. Talking to other Kiwis (or Australians in a pinch) is a tremendous relief after about a week.
  • Americans do not use dysphemism as a figure of speech, and (to us) sound a lot peppier and chirpier and more upbeat than they feel. To translate, this chart gives you a rough idea.
No photo description available.
  • In the Bay Area, people will strike up random conversations with strangers. Do not be alarmed, although it is pretty weird and alarming; they’re just being friendly.
  • Americans drive on the wrong (starboard) side of the road, and have a delightful rule where if the light for ahead is red, and the way is clear, you may make a right turn on a red light. The traffic light phases are very long and I have only seen one roundabout, which was made redundant by also having traffic lights on it. They love their traffic lights and stop signs here. Pedestrian crossings do not all make noise, and the ones that do, do not all make the same noise. Keep your eyes on the light or you will miss it.
  • Safeway is basically New World; ask for a rewards card, it saved me a couple hundred dollars over three months. Target is Kmart. Kmart is not Kmart. Costco is Gilmours. Trader Joe’s is good for weird/organic/hipster food but not for regular groceries.
  • Mailing a postcard or letter home costs USD1.15 and takes three to four weeks. USPS does not typically write the values on the stamps. (The US Mint does not typically write the values on the coins either…’one dime’. Please.)
  • Sales tax is not included and varies depending on what you’re buying, from whom, and where you are. I operated on the rough rule of thumb that the tax on taxable items would be about fifteen percent, and was usually pleasantly surprised. In California, fresh or canned fruits, legumes, and vegetables, milk, ordinary bread, and peanut butter/jelly (which, gross)/apple butter (which, divine) do not attract tax. Sweets, prepared foods, snackfood, and fizzy drink do, even if it’s sugarfree fizzy drink. The less tax shows on your grocery receipt, the better you’re eating.
Stuff about being a Kiwi interning at NASA
  • Imposter syndrome is real, especially after you get to NASA and realize you’re in with a bunch of amazingly awesome people. Remember the multi-stage selection process you just went through, and chill. If you didn’t deserve to be here, you would not be here.
  • Enthusiastically and gratefully accept every offer to ‘introduce you to so-and-so’ you get, and look around to see if there are any research projects going on that you’re interested in. People love to answer questions about their work, and you get three months with an email address that most people will actually respond to. Do not waste this.
  • When you get access to the NASA network, actually read the centerwide emails instead of deleting them – free lectures by visiting speakers? tours of facilities? science-fiction book club? help out on a NASA outreach trip? yes please.
  • Don’t be afraid to ask questions – of the intern coordinator at your center, of your supervisor, of your contact at the New Zealand Space Agency. There is such a thing as a dumb question, but in my experience it’s ‘do photons have rest mass’, and that only applies if you’re asking someone whose entire life work is apparently based on the premise that they don’t.
  • You may or may not have a hard time getting extensions/time off from your uni. The magic word is ‘NASA’, the point you’re trying to make is that giving you three months off yields excellent publicity for the university, and in my experience, going through your school rather than central administration gets better results.
  • MBIE is a government agency, so reimbursements and information and answers to questions can take a while to come through. Be patient, it’ll happen. Last-minute flight bookings and emergency visa appointments are things that private citizens can’t usually do, but government agencies can.
  • Do take the opportunity to explore America a bit if you can afford it – I’m writing this on a train, between Utah and Nevada, on my way to spend a week at the Smithsonian, and publishing it from my hotel room five minutes’ walk from the Capitol – more about that later. A standard J-1 visa gives you thirty days after the end of your internship.
Stuff about living at Ames
  • You’ll probably end up in the NASA Exchange Lodge. To repeat the counsel of That Girl At NASA, you want to be in one of the 583 blocks, and to elaborate on it, you want to be in block B, because the kitchen is better equipped and it’s closer to the laundry and the vending machines.
  • If you can’t personally afford to pay the extra to have your own room, you will have a roommate. I recommend asking for an American, because it gets you out of the international-intern ghetto, so you’re among Americans in America, who have a better shot at understanding how things work.
  • There is one kitchen in each block of 75 rooms, which is more-or-less one kitchen to 100 people when the Lodge is full. Meal-prepping, cooking at funny hours, and owning your own measuring cup and knife is recommended. Clean up after yourself, and if you don’t want to catch something nasty, probably before yourself too.
  • There is one laundry. Full stop. Be prepared to use this at funny hours too. My roommate preferred to do laundry sorta 2130-2330; I preferred either very early evening or very early on weekend mornings. We both usually hit quiet times.
  • Lodge rooms come with various useful things. A fridge – this is residential-sized, so you won’t have to rely too much on shelf-stable foods and you can have vegetables and milk and stuff. A microwave – bring a microwave cookbook or at least know how to use the thing, because you won’t want to try and cook in the kitchen every night. A coffee maker – this is supposed to be for drip coffee, but in the absence of a kettle (which are rare and peculiar here), it will also brew a decent cup of gumboot tea, or get the maximum tea-ness out of a peppermint tea bag (the entire coffee-maker pot out of one tea bag), and you can make ramen noodles in it as well. The Lodge is old Army housing and looks like it – bring pictures and blu-tac – but there’s plenty of storage space (two or in some rooms three massive lockable metal wardrobes – and yes, the top compartment opens too – plus some mixture of chests-of-drawers, desks, and bureaus), and if you and your roommate are both even moderately tidy you’ll be fine.
  • Cleaning staff come through about twice a week and clean the room and change the sheets and bring more coffee sachets and soap and shampoo. One caveat: if you have, say, a rumpty-looking reusable coffee filter, or a Pepsi bottle you’re using as a water bottle, or a reusable Trader Joe’s bag, or basically anything that looks like it might be rubbish but you’d like to keep it, make a note of when cleaning day is and put these things away in a drawer. The staff are very helpful and efficient about cleaning away rubbish.
  • No need to pack soap or shampoo unless you actively loathe the scent of lemongrass – my immune system gets touchy about some scented soaps, so I packed stuff I knew I could use, but if you don’t have that issue, save yourself the luggage weight!
  • The convenience store on site is a litttttttle overpriced for most things, but not for icecream or beer or Mexican coke. It’s not open weekends.
  • Fortuna Market is about a mile down the road, is open weekends, and carries most of the groceries you’ll actually need. Also mazapan, which is Mexican peanut marzipan and is the most divine stuff. Safeway is two miles away.
Stuff about working at Ames
  • Unless you get a six-month trip like the Portuguese government manages to swing, you will leave feeling like you haven’t accomplished very much and if only I had three more weeks. This is fine and normal and the NASA mentors know it. Do as much as you can, and don’t sweat about what you can’t.
  • ‘Be your professional self’ still means ‘be yourself’. For me on the everyday that meant ‘tone down the haircut, leave the t-shirts with niche jokes at home, and would it kill you to wear leather boots instead of sneakers once in a while’. The fact that my everyday gear often includes waistcoats and neckties over t-shirts anyway helped. Basically check out what your supervisor and their postdoc/s wear, and aim for something between the two. My supervisor’s group has an Australian postdoc and was already a little inured to Antipodean humor, which was great for me.
  • If you work in a lab – at all, ever – I hope you packed long pants and closed shoes. NASA isn’t not as uptight about lab coats as Kiwi university chem and bio labs, but they do insist on long pants. Imagine my delight in a California summer.
  • I can’t be super-specific here because your experience working at Ames will depend on what you’re doing, who you’re doing it with, and where you’re working.

That was pretty much all I can think of to say, but like, if you’re in the same boat I was back in May and there’s something I haven’t covered that you desperately want to know, flick me a message on the contact form.

Thanks for reading.
MTFBWY.

Posted in Everything, Life

Today I… wish to share a PSA about okra.

(Maybe don’t read this post if you’re about to have lunch, mkay?)

I am a moderately adventurous person, I like to think. I had heard about okra in a bunch of books, and when I saw some in the supermarket, I went ‘ooh, okras, let’s go’.

Here is Wol providing scale for $1.20 of okra.

I wish to state for the record, and will if required swear in court, that okra is the actual absolute f**kin’ worst. It is so bad. I mean, I mistreat all kinds of vegetables, because I am one-fifty-seventh part magpie (on the mother’s side), and have whatever the opposite of neophobia is, and go ‘ooh shiny I want one’ at… some really odd things… but so far all the vegetables I’ve tried have risen admirably to the challenge. Even carrot greens, while not lovable, were edible and tasted okay and I’m 98% sure would have been delicious if I’d got younger greens and/or taken a bit more care to get all the stalks out. Sweet potato was fine. Cannelini beans were great. Black beans were amazing. Chayote was fine. Mexican courgettes are fantastic and I love them and Safeway is stupid because it sells them for half the price of boring ones. Jalapenos were an accident but not a mistake and I’ve been buying them by the pound ever since.

But okra. Oh my gosh. Do not.

It is a very green, and slightly fuzzy on the outside, and has a pretty star shape with seeds on the inside when you cut it into slices. So I went with the usual MO for foreign (and familiar) vegetables: wash well, cut up, add salt and oil and sometimes Lawry’s instead of salt, stick ’em in the nuke until they attain an edible texture. For okra I even had it on the undying advice of Dame Alison Holst, patron saint of New Zealand cuisine and usually really sound advisor on how to deal with dodgy vegetables, herself, that this was a good idea. Dame Alison has dementia and it shows, y’all.

Don’t cook okra. Don’t cook okra. Don’t cook okra.

The okra casing slightly stringy and utterly tasteless and the pips insinuate themselves insidiously in the gaps in your teeth. The core is just fibrous enough to notice, but when you go to lick it out of the way, it dissolves, leaving you with a feeling of faint unease. And the sap. Oh my goodness the sap. Alison Holst said the okra releases moisture on cooking (well don’t most things) and ‘cooks in a lightly seasoned sauce of its own juices’. Apart from being a horrifying nightmare-sentence, this is technically true. But. The juice doesn’t taste like anything much. Actually no part of okra tastes like anything much. But it has a squicky slimy resistive texture like the mucus secretions of a very sick person indeed, or laundry soap with extra dissolved rubber. I soldiered valiantly through two bites of this monstrosity, then went to the kitchen and threw it all in the bin and ate a mango instead.

I guess it makes sense that okra is generally characterized as a Southern US dish; they must have had one heckuva famine back in the day to eat collard greens (which are poisonous until you’ve cooked them like three times) and chitlins (which are I-know-not-what-part of pork offal) and okra (which I think I have now said enough about.)

Thanks for reading.
MTFBWY

Posted in Everything, Life, The Universe

Today I… compared honeys

What, honey is my job/life that I’m just on hiatus from at the moment. There are two possible constructions for that dodgily-placed prepositional phrase; they’re both accurate. As I mentioned earlier, I got four different kinds of honey at a farmers’ market a while ago, and only just got around to doing a direct comparison of them. Before you ask, no, I did not have any New Zealand honey with me to check them against.

L-R: Tarweed (in the jar), orange, buckwheat, and wildflower honeys

The tarweed honey is in a squeezy jar shaped like a bear. It’s adorable. When I’m done with the honey – I bought flour to make scones for a gosh-awful International Social evening (it wasn’t actually awful but do you know how hard it is to get just ordinary flour here???), so I’m going to make bread because that gives me an excuse to punch something that isn’t a wall for a change, and use the honey in the yeast because I somehow don’t actually own any sugar right now – I shall wash out the jar very carefully so it is totally honey-free and take it home with me because it is, as mentioned, adorable. And I’m not used to bear-shaped bottles. Anyway.

The reason this post took so long to write is that I put the honey straws away In A Safe Place and promptly forgot where it was and spent weeks having nightmares of getting to Border Security at home and going ‘look, I have about three teaspoons of honey in here somewhere, if you can find it, sweetheart, it’s yours’ and probably annoying the poor little beagles which I do not want to do. But I found them! They were in my pencil case! (The straws, not the beagles.) So the time has come, the walrus said, to go what’s the difference between these American honeys anyway? Because it turns out that even with an MPI-approved PC1 lab to be sending them to, I still need a very expensive import permit to send them (or bring them) back to New Zealand, so that is not a happening thing, sunshine. There was a surprisingly huge amount of honey in the honey straws so I put half of each straw on a piece of American bread (which is not the same as real bread but I can deal with it) so it’s at least in a vaguely familiar environment, and so you can see the color differences, and had half plain which was a very untidy and unladylike procedure of which I do not have photos. (Honey straws are awesomely fun to eat but like most things that are fun to eat, including perfectly ripe mangoes, not spectatorable.)

Clockwise from top left: orange, wildflower, buckwheat, and tarweed honeys on bread

As you can presumably see, the orange-blossom honey is the lightest in color. It’s also the least viscous and lightest-tasting; definitely orange-y and noticeably acidic. I don’t recall having had a fruit-blossom honey before, so I was very pleased to find out that it does indeed taste like the relevant fruit.

Tarweed honey is lighter ‘in person’ than it looks in the bottle, and is barely acidic at all – somewhat reminiscent of the malt extract I used to have as a kid, actually. I had to go look up tarweeds, because we don’t have them at home – and I still don’t know what they are.

The wildflower honey I’m told is a useful proof against hayfever/pollen allergies, for about a fifty mile radius of the original hive – this is of course because honey has pollen in it, so something something if you eat it on purpose your immune system gets the message to stand down. On the other hand, it tastes pretty much like any normal honey. Less sweet and also less acidic than clover would be, and… I don’t know a good way of putting this… it tastes darker than it looks. This was the most viscous honey.

Finally, buckwheat honey. Buckwheat, it turns out, is not wheat, not related to wheat, and actually closer to rhubarb. I’m telling you this because it had me confused for a really long time, because wheat and friends are grasses, and therefore wind-pollinated, so… no bees. Buckwheat honey, despite this, is super malty and nutty and super caramelly, and is basically the liquid form of the best toasted muesli you ever had. Or, if you’re American, I guess you’ll have to imagine it, because y’all are backward about breakfast cereal.

So! ‘American honey’ is not a monolithic thing, and there are real and interesting differences. And honey straws are awesome!

Thanks for reading.
MTFBWY.

Posted in Everything

Today I… found a poem I wrote five weeks ago, and can you spell ‘ironic much’?

In the car on the way to the airport, actually. Just found it in yet another ‘safe place’ – back cover of a notebook. Title is at the end.

When the storm clouds
well black &
the night
comes at noon over the hills
while the sun
still pours down
behind the wall
in the city;
When the ducks
shake themselves busily
out of their naps
on the muddy bank
& go to work
splashing in the puddles
polishing
their iridescent feathers;
When little rivers
run in the gutters
washing away
the accumulated grime;
When the dry soil
drinks deeply
in little sighing sips
& the heads of the grass
are bowed under
the weight of diamonds:
Then Hamilton is lovely
& then
I will almost miss the rain.

Thanks for reading.
MTFBWY.

Posted in Everything

Today I… discovered that you can fit two poems onto the stub of a Qantas ticket, if one of them is a haiku.

Here is the haiku.

Y’all people may absolutely not see the one that goes on the other side of the stub.

You may not keep stubs,

& yet, here we are, (writer)

(writing)

(written).

Symbolic, perhaps?


(some comments I want to make:
– airline staff typically take the stub off your ticket at the gate. They forgot this one.
– this is a choose-your-own-adventure haiku, with the last word of the middle line deliberately ambiguous.
– the fox is a doodle after a design by this amazing artist.

Thanks for reading.
MTFBWY.

Posted in Everything

Today I… can show you that poem about Stevens Creek!

This was going to be about the museum, but Barbara’s arguing with the wifi so I’m on my phone. Wish us luck. This is the poem I wrote on the back of one of the emergency bus tickets, on the day of the pelicans. Be patient, and ‘scuse formatting.

Thoughts of ‘Home’ on the Stevens Creek Trail

Here I am
walking beside the creek
that runs in a culvert
& there are 
blackberries
holding out
long grasping fingers
with sharp nails
as if to say
‘come, taste’
‘remember
the place you call home’
‘remember
a different place
that felt like home’.
& so at their bidding
I reach out
through the thorns
to the rich dark cluster of
a ripe blackberry among the flowers.
Hold it for a minute
decide.
It has the sweet-purple
metallic taste
of wanting.

Posted in Everything

Today I… found that one poem I wrote on a plane ticket back in May

*please at least attempt to view this post full-screen on a computer, and if you can’t, don’t complain to the management about the formatting.

The Seatbelt Sign is Illuminated
oday (most days) I am
he impecunious speed-demon
getting high on
the wind in my hair
the acceleration
shoving me jealously
but ineffectually
back in my seat.
No needle tracks for this drug.
No brakes, either.
The ultimate of course is
take-off in a small aeroplane –
going faster & faster until
the earth itself cannot hold me.
Next challenge: restraining the urge
to laugh as high-maniacally as I feel
when the wheels leave the ground.

My usual people know that I have for a few years now written poems on the back of the ticket of every bus trip I take. A scheduled airline, I figure, is just a more glittery bus company. The Air New Zealand commuter plane to Wellington back in May provided the main ticket, and a stub, both of which they let me keep.
Thanks for reading.
MTFBWY.

Posted in Everything

Today I… started a new blog!

Greetings. Salutations. All that jazz.

Hi, I’m Rose. Also known as Rosalie, coruscantbookshelf, Sci, Vampire Person, and Look Out She’s Alive. This is not my usual blog. My usual blog is one I’ve had since I was like fifteen and it shows, so for the Very Important Life-Changing Stuff that I super want to talk about, but also super don’t want mixed in with a bunch of really bad Star Wars fanfic (and, to be fair, some really excellent Star Wars fanfic) and random enthusiasm about NMR machines, I have here… a new blog!

Today I…

am (finally) allowed to tell the world what’s going on. I’ve known about this since December and it has been sofrickinpainful. not saying anything, like worse than when I was doing that TV show and couldn’t tell anyone how it ended until it aired. But AJF the friendly physicist, and The Other Sarah, and two nice ladies both called Hannah, and my mum and dad, have all sort of helped to keep me sane so that was nice.

See, the New Zealand Space Agency (NZSA – a department of our Ministry of Business, Innovation, and Employment) recently struck a deal with NASA (yes that NASA) for New Zealand students to be included in the I² (International Internship) program. This is the first year this has been a thing, so everyone was very unsure about exactly how or whether it was all going to work, especially since NASA itself shut down entirely for a month back in December, and it’s been basically extremely nerve-wracking and very secret-squirrely since like October.

However. I have been picked as one of four New Zealand university students for a three-month internship at NASA Ames Research Center, between Mountain View and Sunnyvale. I have it on highly unofficial authority that the NZSA (who were coordinating things at this end) expected about two hundred applications… got about two hundred and fifty… interviewed fifty… and forwarded four finalists for NASA to choose from. So, bear with me while I do the math: that means I’m currently in the top 1% of crazy rocket scientist uni students in the country. Which is kinda cool.

So right now I am all like this on the inside

and all like this on the outside

and I get to go to America which I’ve always wanted to do (I have plans. Boy howdy do I have plans – if any of y’all have recommendations to add to those plans, you know where the comment box is) and I get to work with some of the greatest scientists in the world, on stuff that should by all rights be impossible but it is not, and I totally have a shortlist of people to find and pepper with questions, and like, ditto, always wanted to do those things too. And also I am minding my language so much because of what happened last time but

ohmigosh they wanted me.

Just as a note, I am hugely thankful to That Girl at NASA and Lauren McKeown and a couple of other former Ames interns for giving me a better idea of what to expect; to AJF and Prof. H. for providing references saying that I am not insane and can probably do this; to Prof. M-H. for being a chill supervisor and helping sort out All The Things so far as the university is concerned; to AJF again for being panicked at on a semi-regular basis and reminding me that lying to government departments has never been on his list of Things To Do; to Rya for saying numerous rosaries for the success of ‘the NASA thing’; and to Hannah and Michael and Ilija at the NZ Space Agency for organizing many, many, many, many things and fielding lots of weird questions. And of course to the NZ Space Agency (and the Minister for Some Things who is kind of technically in charge of it) for ohmigosh this is actually a thing that I am actually able to do.

Stay tuned. I have my visa (which was a mission), I have a bunch of important forms with their code numbers printed in really tiny font right at the bottom where nobody can read it, and I have a plane ticket. Also a vintage climbing pack that I’m borrowing from my dad on the grounds that it will be really easy to spot on the baggage claim because it is bright red with a massive New Zealand flag on it, and if anyone else has one a) I will be hugely surprised and b) I will want to talk to them anyway. I think that’s everything I need… isn’t it?

T -19 days.