Minnesota, I'm jealous.

No fair.

In Boston, it's frigid today for the first time since I've been out here. I think the windchill is 12 right now. That's all well and good, and it certainly serves to remind those of us stuck in mid-continent temperate zones all last year what a REAL winter is going to feel like, but what good is cold without snow? Snow gives the cold a purpose, it gives those of us with winter outdoor fetishes something to DO other than huddle inside and check weather.com hourly for the snow forecast, and of course there's that "snow is natural and good for the environment" thing. To top it off, I retain head-smacking rights for the next person I come across who moans and whines for a "white Christmas" and then moans and complains at the first scent of snow. "But I'll have to, like, walk in it." Yeah, well, the weather was here long before you were with your sensitive little tootsies.

Besides that, Bostonians have this crazy sense of fashion I've only seen in east-coast transplants at Madison. The minute it gets below 45 degrees, all the women bust out their boots. Ostensibly, they might be wearing boots to keep warm. Right? But...why then do they strip off all other layers but for spandex pants (tucked into the boots, let's not forget) and a North Face jacket adding roughly twelve inches to their diameter? You're a bit uneven there, m'am.

In other news, my downstairs neighbor has fallen into a fugue state, and I've gotten so worried as to call my landlord and talk with him about it. It makes you wonder: do you have to be crazy to be a poet, or does being a poet make you crazy? Poets, care to answer?

There are two weeks left in the semester. Between now and then, I've got four papers and a group facilitation to pull off, and then it's off to drive the Margemobile cross-country (halfway) to nestle in the in the safe, white, upper-middle class, flat, frequently-paved bosom of Woodbury. She'll get more use there - and will stop looking at me with those forlorn eyes every time I pass her by on my bike.

A reading/speech/lecture/gathering with Maya Angelou, Salem, MA, November 5, 2007.

"The power to look through complexion and see community is something we can all do."

"You can be anything every now and then...courageous, honest, true...but to do that day after day, that's the power of the rainbow in the clouds."

"I don't trust people who don't like themselves. It's like, 'I don't like myself, but I love you.' There's a saying in the black community, it goes, 'Don't accept a shirt offered to you by a naked man.'"

Here is an interesting juxtaposition between health admonitions, and support for large, natural people (women).

From the Boston Globe, on how to cut cancer (answer: being as thin as you healthily can):
http://www.boston.com/news/nation/washington/articles/2007/11/01/report_ties_meat_body_fat_to_cancer/

From the New York Times, on Leonard Nimoy's efforts to photograph big, natural women and show their beauty in the context that we are used to seeing malnourished supermodels in. Additionally, there's an interesting blurb at the end about his Jewish roots in Boston:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/13/fashion/13nimoy.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

It's been...two full months in Boston!

And now that we're more than a full month into school, teachers are comfortable assigning papers. Papers. Due weekly. And the readings...I don't know where to begin. One teacher informed us that we should "expect to put in about 10 hours a week." If we were to actually complete all the expected reading, it would take twice that time!

But as a break between writing one paper, writing another paper and preparing the readings and refreshing my Arabic for classes which begin next week, I thought I'd drop a line in here.

In Massachusetts, cars HAVE to stop for pedestrians in the crosswalks! On the day I arrived, I found myself chugging along, noting with only a small portion of my brain that pedestrians seemed to be leaping out of my way and glaring at me an awful lot in Boston. Now I know why - even these pushy east-coast drivers HAVE to stop for them!

I have seen more people here use the symbol "+" to indicate the word "and!" I almost never get it...and when I do, I try to resist the system and always read it as "Culture plus competency..." "Mass Ave plus Somerville Ave..."

Boston's subway, the MBTA (affectionately referred to as the "T") can be your best friend or the biggest pain in your ass. I take it at least a couple times a week, usually to go to work down at the art school that is associated with my school (a reminder: I found out that Blogger.com is open to search engines. Therefore, I will not be posting names of people or institutions in my entries). There have been days that I descend into the warm, still air of the subterranean red line/green line stations and find a train just pulling up to the platform. Then, on days when I'm running late, I rush down to the T station and always, ALWAYS when I'm late, have to wait 15 minutes for a train. And, on those days, inevitably I'll have to wait again when transferring trains! But see, if you PLAN for an extra 30 minutes of waiting time, the trains will all align to your schedule and you'll find yourself at your destination laughably early and without any course readings at hand. Inevitably!

School's going well - everyone in my program seems to have a fascinating, unique and intricate history that I would love to sit down over a beer and hear about in detail. I have three classes a week, 2.5 hours each. On top of that, I TA a class down at that art school one day a week, and beginning next week, have Arabic class once a week for three hours. I've found myself in a great first-year group at school; everyone is passionate and brilliant and full of energy and ideas. My program requires its students to do an internship (domestic OR overseas) before graduating. Last week I attended a workshop at which the details of this internship were bestowed on us; all students in the program have to attend the workshop at least once. In attendance last week were two second-year students, and TEN of my first-year classmates. We've still got a year and a half before we're expected to do that internship...but...doesn't hurt to be ahead of the game. ;)

As for that internship...I've got ideas, but it's still a year and a half away!

Here are some shots of my apartment - it's small but GREAT.


Here are a couple of interesting links to check out:

http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/Content?oid=419032
http://www.cnn.com/2007/TECH/science/10/18/science.race/index.html
http://www.newstarget.com/PhotoTour_Mystery_Meat_1.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/05/world/asia/05afghan.html?_r=2&pagewanted=1&hp&oref=slogin

I’m mighty sick of moving.

There is always a bit of a thrill in relocating to a brand-new place, especially one ten times larger than the largest city you’ve ever lived in, where the few people you do know are scattered throughout its boroughs so thoroughly that there’s not a chance in a million you’ll see them on an average day.

It’s also terrifying if you stop and let yourself think about it.

Then there’s the endless furniture search, further complicated by the city’s sprawl, one-way labyrinths and, in the case of Boston, a law making illegal the sale of used mattresses.

That’s fine. I’m better off anyway, for a laughably narrow third-floor stairway wouldn’t have allowed a mattress through its bends in the end. My futon will work just fine.

While undergoing the rituals involved in moving, I've had the opportunity to start up a local bank account (I’ve told so many people in so many states over the last two weeks that I’m NOT married, my name has been hyphenated since birth), get that “saver” card at whatever no-name neighborhood grocery store is down the block, trek to campus for a student ID (see hyphenated name complaint), meet the recluse poetry PhD student on the second floor with oddly dull eyes and an eerily wide grin, test the sensitivity of my smoke detector, get thoroughly accosted by GreenPeace, MassPIRG, the Catholic Church and the Northeast’s breed of homeless on a daily basis, and misplace my cell phone at one of the many homes I visited to pick up some scraggly Craigslist-won furniture item.

And finally, there’s the never ending Change of Address, and many, many resulting headaches. Like one I received today: a forwarded letter from Wells Fargo, thanking me for my continued banking and confirming my change of address, SEND TO MY OLD ADDRESS. It’s no wonder my replacement ATM card (a further headache and roadblock to the completion of my moving-in) hasn’t arrived yet.

Though in all honesty, this is a lovely little apartment in a quiet, working-class neighborhood, absent of the drunken wails of freshmen in Madison and the low-flying UPS planes of Louisville. I’m a block away from the T (subway) station, two blocks from the hip lesbian coffee house, and a bit over a mile from school. Some days, I can’t believe my luck. Other days, I wonder what in the HELL possessed me to move to the Northeast.

So the Derby Festival officially began with Thunder Over Louisville, and continued for two weeks until the actual race. In the meantime, state fair-like booths and activities took place every afternoon and evening at Louisville’s Waterfront Park, which is right on the Ohio River. Food booths, parades and concerts filled downtown for those two weeks, and two Thursdays ago I got to meet up with an old friend.

Well, I got to see him on stage from about 40 feet away. But man, he’s as good as ever! It was raining a bit during the concert, but there was a good crowd – I took movies with my camera, and finally figured out a way to share them:

Video1

Video 2
(man, that one was so amazing)

Two days later, Derby weekend began.

Now, to give a bit of background: two fellow VISTAs work at the backside of Churchill Downs at a learning center for the (mainly Latino) workers; they organize ESL classes, professional development opportunities and work their asses off to raise funds to keep the Center operating. Meanwhile, they work amidst the trainers, owners and jockeys of the 4,000 horses housed on the backside, and during Derby time it’s pretty cool, because not just anyone can get onto the backside. You need a pass to get in, and can only get those passes if you’re connected to the owners/trainers/jockeys, or if you’re volunteering like we did.

This Derby season, the Center hosted a gift shop. All the items were donated by the Derby Museum (which is located on the frontside of Churchill Downs), and the Center got to keep all the proceeds. Which was AMAZING, because these gift items were atrociously priced. Nearly every VISTA took turns volunteering at the gift shop, and some, like me, worked both days. Long days.

Some info on the Oaks race:

-It’s the runner-up race to the Derby held on the first Friday of May

-Around here it’s called the “local’s race.” The turnout is big, but not nearly as big as the Derby...because, obviously, not as many people know about the Oaks. Hence the nickname.

-All participating horses are fillies (female horses), and while the Derby is known as the “Run for the Roses,” the Oaks is known as the “Run for the Lilies.”

During Oaks day, it rained almost nonstop. The track was sloppy, but that didn’t stop the races:

A video of a race on Oaks day

Saturday was the Derby. It was much better weather, and I found it fascinating that inside the Derby program where all the horses and their stats are listed, you can even see how many races horses have run and won on a sloppy track. Here are some other notes on the Derby:

-Although all the high-profile celebs (QE2, O.J. Simpson, that guy who sired Anna Nicole’s crack baby) sat on the frontside on “Millionaire’s Row,” the backside had all the behind-the-scenes heroes: the owners/trainers/jockeys and their families. When it came to race time, I found that more people around us were speaking Spanish than any other language.

-People who couldn’t afford to sit on the frontside and didn’t have the connections to get onto the backside but still wanted to have a good time would shell out $50 to go to the “infield.” This is, literally, the inside of the track. It’s fenced off, and has food and booze booths (unlike the backside, where we couldn’t even get a mint julep!). Some people come at the crack of dawn (which is when we volunteers had to be at our posts) to set down lawn chairs on the outskirts of the fence so they can actually see the races. Most of the people go for the party. Imagine State Street on Halloween (or what it used to be like) crammed into an outdoor arena. Everyone from Louisville has been to the infield at least once, and every one of them has a story to tell about it. I learned that there’s actually an underground jail in the infield.

-The Derby, like the Oaks, is just one race of about a dozen that take place on Oaks and Derby days. Throughout the late morning and afternoon there are about 10 races, and the brand-name races don’t happen until around 6:00 both days. We were extremely spoiled on the backside. We could get right up to the fence – we could have spat on the track. Meanwhile the infielders were caged far away from the track, and the frontsiders were stuck in their seats/boxes all day long.

-You may have heard of the tradition of wearing froofy hats to the Derby. It’s true. Some people even make their own, and those were the ones I liked the best. Other people were just there to have a good time.

The gift shop/learning center shared a building with the betting windows, so while we rotated between cashiering and selling water out front, we’d see long lines, or, after a race, people lined up to watch a TV placed out front (because from the backside you could only see about 20 seconds of the actual race!)

The gift shop closed down for the Derby race, so the dozen or so of us scattered to the fence to get the best view. Again, I was impressed that we were actually ON the fence for the race. There’s a lot of pomp and circumstance involved in this race – crowds lined the path that the horses took to walk from the barns to the track, and we caught the arrival of one horse being lead to the track. I got really excited when it was approaching, snapped photos, then got annoyed with myself for getting so excited to see a measly horse. (But if you dare say “It’s just a horse” or “It’s just a race,” you’re likely to start a fistfight.) After the race, I learned that the horse we watched approach was the horse that won. Street Sense was his name.

While hanging on the fence waiting for the Derby, someone passed me binoculars and pointed to Millionaire’s Row across the field. “See that lady in the lime green dress next to the lady in pink? That’s the Queen.”

During the race, we got to see the horses coming around the corner. Again, we only saw them for about 20 seconds from when they rounded the corner to when they were out of sight, but the excitement of the crowd was catching. These people get so freaking pumped for a 2-minute horse race!

Video1

Video2 - after the race

We ran back to the gift shop to re-open for the last two races (why they bothered to have races after the Derby I don’t understand), though we were thoroughly exhausted by this point. Overall, we were there from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m., and because so many roads were blocked off on the way out, we were siphoned in the direction of a VISTA’s apartment. So we all met up, ate food and drank beer in celebration of…NOT WINNING. (My sure-bet, Dominican, came in 16^th. WTF, Dominican?? My long-shot, Imawildandcrazyguy, came in 4^th. If he had come in 3^rd I would have come away with a wee bit of winnings – something more than nothing, anyway.)

It was a Louisville-licious week, that’s for sure. Now, if any of you want to see more pictures, I've got tons of 'em!

Combine the Minnesota State Fair with the Ohio River, the Air Force and about 800,000 Louisville residents and visitors. Throw in the "largest fireworks display in the nation," and you've got Thunder Over Louisville. It's the opening ceremony for the Kentucky Derby Festival which runs for the next two weeks - up to the Derby, on Cinco de Mayo! (Or, as they're calling it here, "Cinco de Derby.")

(If the phrase "Cinco de Derby" doesn't make sense to you, you're not alone.)

This city goes apeshit for the Derby. Understandably, especially when considering that the other two things this city is known for are its baseball bats and its bourbon. Tickets went on sale a couple weeks ago, starting at $250 for the corner seats. Rumor has it the Queen will be in attendance this year. Some of the VISTAs will be volunteering at a gift shop run by some of our co-workers who work on the backside of Churchill Downs at an ESL center for the Latino workers who do...EVERYTHING behind-the-scenes. We’ve been told that when the gift shop shuts down for the actual race (which lasts 1.5 minutes), we’ll be able to see it from the back side. Our other option would be to pay $50 for “infield” tickets, which would allow us to join the masses on the inside of the track as they spill mint juleps over each other. Though they can’t see the race from in there.

But back to Thunder. I wasn’t planning on going, as I feel that if the airshow that took place during the day happened elsewhere in the world people would have been running from the planes rather than pointing and snapping photos. There are undoubtedly better ways to spend military money and tax dollars than on hours-long flights of F-16s and choppers and stealth bombers over the riverfront, and, while we’re at it, hundreds of thousands of fireworks. But I was surprisingly entertained by it all. Just because I disapproved didn’t mean that I didn’t crane my neck to catch a glimpse of the aircrafts. (See photos.)

Another reason I was prompted to go was that I now have a definite ending point to my Kentucky residence. At the end of July, when my VISTA year finishes up, I’ll be packing up and heading out – to Boston. After deliberating for months, I’ve decided to take advantage of my acceptance to school out there. And it really does color the way I look at my days in Louisville. Now when I walk past my favorite microbrewery, I take care to appreciate the smooth brews and fantastic vegetarian food it offers. I’m more determined to get out on the weekends and explore rural Kentucky – if I don’t see a moonbow by the time August rolls around, I’m not leaving!! (http://parks.ky.gov/resortparks/cf/index.htm)

My decision (made last Friday) also makes me hedonistically proud of this year. This VISTA program has more or less forced me to get out in the community, to connect with people working at similar programs, to speak one-on-one with the “clientele” my agency serves (I hate using that word), and to discover corners of this city I never would have as a student. Granted, Louisville isn’t Madison, but I feel like I know the extent of its services and the history of the city’s development better from the nine months I’ve spent here than I did in Madison after my first four years. Also, for the first time, I’ve put my actions where my words are (that sentence didn’t work as well as “I put my money where my mouth is.”) After saying for so long, “I should really join band again. I miss playing the flute,” I found a community band that takes anyone and everyone, and today played in my second concert. (http://www.rivercitiesconcertband.org/) After thinking wistfully that I should intersperse running on concrete sidewalks with some form of non-impact exercise, I joined the Y and now have access to a pool. These are things I may not have time to continue once back in school, but at least now I know that I CAN go out and do these things when not under constant fire from schoolwork.

Speaking of school work, the school year is winding to an end, which means…it’s time to get ready for our summer program! *sigh* Our director is leaving, and our board has been pretty slow to begin the search for a new director. I may be left for a couple weeks this summer on my own, which fills me with a mixture of dread and more dread. We’ll have anywhere from four to seven weeks of daily programming – I’m sort of hoping for closer to four, simply so that I have a little breathing time before packing up to leave the near-south. I love our kids. Most of them (there are 60 who come on a regular basis) consider it a regular part of the school day, and don’t, as I would, dread a 9-hour school day. Last Thursday we had a Board meeting at the school during its operation, so they could see the classrooms and newly-opened computer lab in action. (Can you believe that most of our Board had never seen the program in action?? See the photos below – the computer instructor is a former student of the program, back before it even had a building to operate out of.) While the Board was visiting the 2^nd and 3^rd grade classroom, one kid (I swear I didn’t pay him), asked “Why do we have to leave here at six o’clock?”

Hope you're all doing well!

So I did something this year I once thought I’d never do: I applied to grad school.

It was annoying and arduous and complicated and I kept second-guessing my decision, but on January 13 I sent in my last applications and sat back to play the passive-aggressive waiting game.

UW – Seattle will get back to me in March.

University of Denver, after misplacing my application until the last week it was due (in Feb! It’s not like I sent it last-minute!), informed me via e-mail that they have received my application and sent it on to the right department. Oboy! A less-than competent graduate program! Let me sit back and eagerly await YOUR response!

Lesley University got back to me less than two weeks later to offer me an interview.

So this last weekend I headed out to Boston to visit!

So…yeah, it was my first trip to Boston. It’s a BIG city, though no bigger than Chicago or New York. It’s cold, though no colder than Minneapolis or Chicago. I felt anonymous, but no more so than in any of the previously mentioned cities. Good public transportation, excellent bagels, even a freaking “Freedom Trail” that’s a red brick path leading you to the tourist sites.

The interview went well, I think! It lasted almost two hours, and took the form of a conversation mostly. The advisor told me about Boston, its history, its immigrant and refugee populations, and all the meanwhile I snuck in questions about the university and the program. Only when the conversation naturally came to a pause did she look down at her page of questions and ask something interview-like. The verdict: I’ll hear within a couple weeks.

And the interview served to make me even more excited about the program. Lesley (pronounced “Lezz-lee”) is, as far as I can find, the only school that offers an Intercultural Relations program – not International relations, not International Studies, but one that offers a psychological, *human* approach to those latter two fields. This program requires both proficiency in a non-English language by its completion, and an internship, domestic or international. Awesome!

So Boston’s pretty cool, the program is amazing, why am I so hesitant to want to go out there for two years? I think it’s an east-coast thing.

While wandering the streets of Cambridge, past Lesley, Harvard and MIT, I passed hundreds, if not thousands of people. Most of them were my age. Not a single one made eye contact, or smiled, or in any manner went out of their way to acknowledge my or anyone else’s existence. Being on the train was awkward at times – it became hard to sit for so long and NOT make eye contact with anyone. Lots of pretentious people. I got asked if I want “cwoffee” with my “baah-gel.” Perhaps it’s just the striking difference between the largeness of that anonymous city and the smallness of the mid-sized city I currently inhabit, the one in which you’re bound to see someone you recognize at the grocery store and the people at the “cah-fee” shop down the street know your name and your rainbow jacket. Perhaps it was an east-coast thing.

On my way back, my connecting flight from NYC to Louisville was...cancelled! Haha! SURPRISE! No explanation or warning, but thanks to friends and family, it turned into a most excellent night.

But Boston was pretty amazing to be in for the weekend. Got to stay with an old friend I studied abroad with, and met up with a former co-oper who now GOES to Lesley. I walked a bazillion miles through and around the city, relishing a wee bit in the crisp cold and the anonymity, come to think of it. In small towns, you feel almost as though you’ve got to justify your travels, you’ve got to walk down the street as though you’re going somewhere, so that if someone you know passes by, you come off as busy. Whereas in Boston, people were just…going. No one cared where. No one cared who they were. I can see why famous people slip away to big cities, and disappear in the masses. (Wow, did I really just compare myself to famous people? There’s a bit of pretentiousness!)

So now the big question: if they accept me, will I go?