Postcards Home: Legislative intern Mark Simon reveals the only thing he can write home about—rain
by Kathleen McCoy |
![Mark Simon is working as a legislative intern in Juneau. (Photo by Philip Hall, UAA)](/news/archive/2014/12/_images/112414MarkSimon01WEB-300x200.jpg)
Mark Simon is working as a legislative intern in Juneau. (Photo by Philip Hall/University of Alaska Anchorage)
I am writing this on Monday, Jan. 26. The first week of session has come and gone, staff orientation is almost over, and it seems that every office is set and ready for the long haul to the end of session, ready to get done all that has to get done. It is from this moment, when everything is running smoothly, that I look back at a time when things where not running smoothly, namely, 7 days ago:
It has been 7 days since I last saw the sun. Moments like this make me consider the wisdom of putting a state capital in a rain forest.
Today is preparation day; tomorrow the legislature will gavel into session. Today will be filled absorbing all the crucial details that we must know in order to do our jobs effectively. This training lasted a full work day, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. The message that was delivered was loud and clear: As an intern, I should never, ever, under any circumstances, be talking to the press about the legislature.
(I would like to pause for a moment and address the fourth wall. While these letters home are all well and good, I do have to have quite a few people look over them in order to ensure I am not accidentally saying something to jeopardize the legislature or the work we are doing. So in the future, if the letters home slow down or stop completely, know that it is not because we have forgotten you all, but rather, that we are up to our necks with things to do, and are only permitted to talk about the weather, which in all likelihood will be rain.)
![The view out the back door of the Alaska Legislative Building inevitably features rain. (Photo by Mark Simon for UAA)](/news/archive/2015/02/_images/Legi-backdoorWEB-533x400.jpg)
The view out the back door of the Alaska Legislative Building inevitably features rain. (Photo by Mark Simon for UAA)
Tuesday rolls around. It is my first day in the office, although not really. I've been running in and out all week, it's just that today is the first day I spend most of that time at my desk.
The hallways are filled with sharply dressed staff who only a week ago sat in their offices in jeans and T-shirts, now replaced with three-piece suits and impeccable hair, mirroring the formality and dignity that is expected from this institution.
Everyone in the hallways is extremely cordial. You might imagine that an institution which is, by its nature adversarial, would plant that seed in all who work within its halls. But the building does not carry the sense of dread and pettiness that one might see in that other legislature over there on the East Coast. Instead, the feeling is more like the first day back to boarding school, all old friends who haven't seen each other in months, back for a 90-day stint before they all go their separate ways again.
It's now 4 p.m. on Tuesday, the first floor session has just ended, and the capitol is alive with the sounds of people mingling and laughing. The third floor is where the party is. All legislators are having their pictures taken with the lieutenant governor in his office on that floor. While most of the building has the standard florescent tube lights that no one on earth looks good under, the governor's floor is lit with really nice orb lights which cast the floor in a soft yellow light. Tonight is the first time I have stepped onto the governor's floor, and I am sure it could be the last, as the chief of staff for my office tells me, he has set foot on that floor maybe 3 or 4 times in his 5 years in the legislature.
A string quartet plays near the stairwell. A quick note about physics: When you have a massive, hallow shaft that runs the entire height of a building, sound tends to carry very well in that stairwell, which means you can hear the soft sound of a string quartet playing throughout the building. Combine the sound of the string quartet with all the people in suits and the architecture of the building and you get the sense that we are one iceberg away from a real party.
![The view from Mark Simon's apartment in Juneau, with the Legislature's building right in the center. (Photo by Mark Simon for UAA)](/news/archive/2015/02/_images/Apt-windowWEB-150x200.jpg)
The view from Mark Simon's apartment in Juneau, with the Legislature's building right in the center. (Photo by Mark Simon for UAA)
The next day the afterglow had faded. Everyone was pulling out of the station and beginning the charge toward the end of session. I am assured that the days will be long and the weeks, short. Session will both be too long, and much too short.
My father tells a story about the time his grandfather tried to teach him to swim. They went out into the Gulf of Mexico, and while my dad was looking over the edge of the boat, my grandfather grabbed him by the waist and tossed him into the Gulf. This is a how I feel working in the legislature. I've been staring over the edge; now it's time to jump in.
Legislative intern Mark Simon wrote this Postcard Home from Juneau, where he is working for Minority Whip Max Gruenberg.
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