Fickle Feelings Toward Homeless

It’s no secret that during the winter holidays the general public is more inclined to donate and aid the 7,681 homeless throughout Boston. Whether it be through a monetary donation to help pay for a shelter’s Thanksgiving dinner or giving a homeless child a toy on Christmas, people, for a multitude of reasons, just tend to feel more giving and in the “holiday spirit.”

“Thanksgiving and Christmas have more people focused on the homeless,” according to John McGah, the director of Give US Your Poor, a public education campaign that is designed to dispel myths about homelessness and promote structural solutions. “The general public is exposed to more news [concerning the homeless]. People are more receptive and giving.”

But eventually the cliché stories on the nightly news stop and people go back to their every day lives, which the majority of the time does not involve giving back to the homeless.

In the words of Libby Hayes, executive director of the small advocacy group, Homes for Homeless, “during the holidays people are more likely to give, spring has more people volunteering.”

What is wrong with this equation is the fact that during those harsh winter months following the holidays where people tend to forget the homeless, there are still people sleeping on the streets in freezing temperatures.

According to statistics from the Boston Emergency Commission’s census, in the summer there is a larger amount of homeless sleeping on the streets because of the nicer weather. While in the winter, those on the street tend to be “a population more likely to represent the chronically homeless, those disabled with mental illness or substance abuse issues, or those dually-diagnosed. These street dwellers often report difficulty in dealing with the process of accessing and staying at shelters.”

It’s not that there isn’t an interest in helping the homeless, one Google search using the term “Boston homeless” yields a total of 3,690,000 results that  in a search taking 0.26 seconds. That makes 480 websites for every one single homeless person using the most recent count of 7,681 in the Boston metro area.

So what exactly are the reasons why people stop giving during the harshest time of the year, but seem to flock to help in the spring?

According to Hayes, the spike in volunteering during the warmer months has to do with “people being more out and about during the summer, they’re coming out of hibernation.”

Summer and spring is also a time that Hayes uses to concentrate efforts at Homes for Homeless with the alternative spring-breakers from colleges across Boston looking to volunteer.

“We don’t get as much unsolicited giving during that time like with Christmas, it’s more focused,” Hayes said. “We sponsor marathon runners, get them to run for a cause in races like ‘Walk for Hunger’ and ‘Walk for Homelessness’ that are in May. We just have more activity overall.”

As for McGah and his nonprofit, Give US Your Poor, the warmer months are also a time of heightened activity and volunteering, with their biggest event taking place.

“We have our big concert on April 30^th in New York City,” McGah says. “Classical tenor Mario Frangoulis is going to perform at Lincoln center.”

While McGah understands the general public’s logical reasoning behind giving during the holidays such as the tax break, he also sees a greater power at work.

“I’ve been doing a lot of research on how people get engaged on the topic of homelessness,” McGah said. “People will give a little bit when they feel guilty or bad. But people will give more when they feel there is a solution and hope involved, no matter what season it is.”

Now That Was Awkward…

Although you may not know it, there’s a small Asian-run hair salon down Boylston hidden in a shopping center next to CVS… This is where our story begins.

It all started when my friend, Viviana, and I’s toe nails had grown to an epic claw-sized proportion. My blue nail polish slowly evolved into a disgusting, scraped-up hot mess that needed to be taken care of, ASAP.

Viviana’s suitemate suggested some random nail salon that’s “cheap I promise,” so we finally made our way over one day after class only to see that the “nail salon” was in fact a run-down hair place that just screamed TETANUS.

For some reason, we didn’t leave. In retrospect, the five-year old Us Weekly magazines should’ve been a huge warning sign.

I don’t want to bore you with all the details about their strange foot massages that involved more pounding than rubbing or how they put so much massage oil on my legs that it felt like I had just come out of an orgy that involved lots and lots of lube, but let me just say that there was Palmolive dish soap involved to scrub our feet.

Finally it seemed as if these crazy women, who kept alternating positions when they couldn’t perform a specific duty, were almost done molesting our toes. My toes had been painted an Emerson purple while my friend’s were a prostitute red that’s already chipping, FYI.

Viviana and I were under the impression that, shit, if they didn’t even have a real pedicure chair for us to sit in or actual soap, our pedicures would be relatively cheap, but they turned out to be $30 – a pop.

We left completely broke and lubed up from our “massages” but we somehow managed to slide our way to Piano Row, grateful to have all ten of our toes still attached to our feet.

Off the Orange Line in Jamaica Plain

So as I have previously mentioned on this blog, ever since coming to Boston and starting my education here at Emerson, beside going to class and hanging out with my friends, I haven’t really been up to much.

Now this is a huge stretch from the multitasking, busy-bee me from back home when I was in high school. Anyway, how this all ties together is that I’ve finally found myself something to do and be a part of.

Two summers ago when I was doing a very short two-week stint at Boston University taking some summer course samples I was invited to go on a bike tour of the city with one of the RAs and accepted. What followed was one of the greatest bike rides I’ve ever been on.

The tour  was called MyRide and it was lead by teenagers who were a part of Bikes Not Bomb Earn-a-Bike program.

Anyway, all I remember thinking as I was trying to stuff my hair into a helmet (size large, by the way) was just how much I wanted to get involved in this project – to leave my mark somehow.

Flash-forward two years and here I am, an official Bikes Not Bombs volunteer. I just started two weeks ago and am in the beginning stages of just learning how to work the database, which is my role at the office hub. To sum it up, my primary responsibility is to enter transactions from the bike shop down the street into their new database and make sure all of the customers and donaters info is up to date and correct.

Sure, I’ll admit it sounds mundane and probably would be in a regular office. But the minute I get off the Orange line at Stony Brook it’s another planet. Far away from Emerson and it’s holier-than-thou student body where everybody is leaps and bonds more talented, smart and interesting than me (at least according to them).

Reading this months later from now I’ll probably gag at the amount of cheese emanating from this post but WHATEVER, this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.

True Love, According to Zeus

The original human nature was not like the present, but different. The primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite. He could walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over and over at a great pace, turning on his four hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air; this was when he wanted to run fast… [The sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man (made of 2 male parts), woman (made of 2 female parts), and the union of the two (one male and one female part). But the primeval humans] made an attack upon the gods [and Zeus said]: “Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and improve their manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two. [Apollo] gave a turn to the face and pulled the skin from the sides all over that which in our language is called the belly, which he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the navel).

After the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one. Each of us when separated is always looking for his other half..And when one meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and would not be out of the other’s sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together. And the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love.

Columbus Day Weekend

Normally three-day weekends make me sick with pleasure and possibility over just how much fun and sleep can be had within those particular 72 hours of vacation, but this year things are a bit different.

See, I’m alone. Well, not completely – but for the most part, all of my friends have jumped ship and fled home for the weekend.

Coming from Texas where plane rides home cost around the range of 400 dollars one-way, going home for a random weekend is out of the question… So, here I am.

Living on the 14th floor of my building, straight shots down the elevator are rare and are usually more of an annoyance/bother than anything else, but this weekend I’d gladly take a random elevator ride with a stranger than be so alone all the time.

Today I slept in until 5 P.M. only because there was absolutely nothing else to do. I got dressed. Ate by myself at Boloco. Attempted to go to the library only to find it closed.

And now here I am again, back in front of my computer, creeping on the randomest of individuals on Facebook and bathing in my own patheticness until I buy some more episodes of 30Rock or MadMen, only then to pass out from exhaustion at around 4 A.M.

I’m not unsocial. Really. Already only a few paragraphs into this post I’m wondering whether or not to just highlight all I’ve just typed and press delete; worrying about what any readers will judge or surmise about me based on these emo blog post.

But no, I will post this son of a bitch. Why? Because at least I’ll have one blog post come out of this weekend, and that my friends, is how I measure my productivity.

Here’s to hoping this never happens again,

Cassy

Never, Ever Google Images Wisdom Teeth

What can I say about the actual surgery? Nothing bad really, my problems all started later actually. The drugs and oxygen during the procedure were all really great. Sure he couldn’t find my vein at first, but I was already too out of it from the anesthesia so I just wiggled a bit in complaint to which Dr. Perez said, it shouldn’t really hurt… a-huh.

And you know, surprisingly, being awake and remembering everything from the operation wasn’t that bad. Sure the weird noises and feeling the pulling and tugging was no fun – but I mean I pretty much kept my mind focused on the craptastic music playing in his office (Daughtry, if you must know).

Soon enough I was being wheeled out through the back with my little blue goodie bag filled with prescriptions for my five different pain pills and the two extra souvenir teeth that were behind my wisdom teeth. They were actually ridiculously small, leaving me to wonder if they were worth just how much we paid for them to be removed.

I’m not gonna lie, there were tears. Not exactly from pain but, shit, there were a lot of emotions going on. Anyway, the first two days after recovery are pretty much tied for being the longest of my life. No food, an intense amount of drugs, blood & gauze, and let’s not forget neverending nausea.

A few hours after the surgery I began to feel this horrible stomachache coming on and I just got so scared that if I were going to throw up I’d hurt my jaw seeing as how I could barely even open it to begin with. But it came anyway – five times.

It sucked, it sucked and it sucked. Finally I was just able to pass out and the doctor finally decided to return our pages and halt all medication and prescribe something for the nausea. I pretty much cursed the Earth in those 48 hours and death upon the dentist who never called us back.

All I can say now is, Freeze Pops and Jello have become my best friends.

Just for Kicks

Hate It or Love It. The Game & 50 Cent.

On the inside, everyone’s got a little ghetto-fab. Scrolling through my iTouch, I don’t exactly have the biggest collection of R&B and rap music — it’s more along the lines of John Mayer and Coldplay.

But you’d be surprised when I plug in my iPod into some speakers and Tupac or Dre comes blaring through the system.

Under 50 Cent I have a mere three songs, I’m not exactly his number one fan. But all the tracks have that trademark attitude of 50’s: do what it takes to survive.

How could I argue with that? 50 Cent survived being shot nine times, I’m sure he could have made it through senior year at Memorial.

In 50’s collaborative song with The Game: Hate It or Love It, they rap about their successes and attitude toward those in their life that wanted to bring them down.

I don’t exactly have gang members chasing me down with guns for wearing red on the wrong side of town, but I know a little bit about haters.

No matter what zip code you’re living in, you can’t make everybody happy.

50 put it best, “hate it or love it, the underdog’s on top,” “And I’m gonna shine until my heart stops.” Success comes with consequences, but to those that have earned it, it’s a small price to pay.