This is mildly embarrassing because I like to think I have better things to think/write about, but whatever. I like playing dress-up. I like street-wear costumes. It’s fun. I come from deeply humble fashion roots. My parents are hippies for godsake, and I grew up in a mix of dirty hand-me-downs my parents dug up, cheap stuff from Sears, and frilly dresses gifted from my grandma. I preferred the frilly dresses, and my mom had to bribe me to wear pants by telling me that they made me look tall.
This is Offbeat Home's archive of Life posts.
We launched as Offbeat Home in 2011, but it has become clear that the site is about much more. In 2013, we relaunched as Offbeat Home & Life, with an expanded focus on Relationships, Budget & Career, Travel, and Style. This is the category for the non-home/rest of life stuff!
"Everyone hates their jobs! No one has money! Get over it!" Why? We started asking in return. And the resounding answer was "that's what it took to make it in our area," — an area which we didn't care for anyway. The timing was right. Our lease was ending, and so we had to commit: another six to twelve months stuck in place, or a scary leap which could wind us up skulking home to our parents, richer only in life experience.
Remember going on long road trips, and being super bored, until Mom whipped out those auto-bingo cards to shut you up? Well, now there's something kinda like that for adults to play, in case you're getting bored, during the Oscars!
Some people might think this is blasphemy, but I gave up my coffee habit. I work overnights. I wake up when the rest of the world goes to bed. As you can imagine, it's not particularly easy to go to bed at 2pm. Nor is it easy to wake up at 9:30pm. I was intrigued when a radio DJ I follow on twitter — who works about the same hours I do — mentioned that he had given up caffeine for a while, and had never slept better.
I live in the wonderfully offbeat city of Portland, right in the thick of things. I love where I live, like LOVE LOVE where I live. I can walk anywhere I could possibly need or want, and our apartment is adorably vintage. Problem is, I'm about to have to take a major pay-cut. It seems more financially responsible to move, but it's good for our souls to live here. All that to say, when is saving more important than living in a great place?
There's a word in Korean "삐딱이", or "bbiddaki." I've heard it translated as "rebel," but my mom says it is closer to "sarcastic." I think a very literal translation would be "one who stands crookedly." I've been chewing this over for a while, and I think my peeps are onto something…
The thing about archaeology — and a small survey of colleagues and friends confirms this — is that it's not just a job. It defines you. This is reinforced all the time by all those people that tell you it's their dream job. It's my dream job, and it's other people's dream job, and I am so glad I have been able to make a career out if it. But in turning towards academia I find myself feeling like I might be compromising my identity, both as an offbeat individual and as an archaeologist.