Why Sarah Palin sounds Minnesotan

From a Salon.com article:

"Others have wondered whether her accent hails from Idaho, where her parents are from. But dialect features tend to come from one's peers, not one's parents, and Palin spent her childhood in Alaska's Mat-Su Valley, which is where she got her distinctive manner of speaking. The next town over from Wasilla, Palmer, has a large settlement of Minnesotans—who were moved there by a government relief program in the 1930s—and features of the Minnesotan dialect are thus prominent in the Mat-Su Valley area. Hence the Fargo-like elements in Palin's speech, in particular the sound of her "O" vowel."

What is Minnesota Nice?

I've just settled in by now. I've exited the phase where I tried to act Minnesota Nice (with a grudge) and I've passed into a phase or existence in which I just am. I think less about how I act, and less about how Minnesotans sometimes act, and I just exist. It's better.

I have this friend from school who grew up in the country of Georgia. She's bold, blunt, often crabby. And fabulously, refreshingly honest. She loves honesty in return. I always feel more like myself after I've been around her.

She's doing an assignment about diversity in which she's pushing the envelope of the criteria and choosing to document evidence of the Minnesota Nice phenomenon and how niceness can increase a sense of societal oppression. I know what she means! I love this idea.

I'm curious to know what comes to mind for you? What could she document/photograph? What is Minnesota Nice, specifically, literally? How does it play out?

p.s. I'm back on the blog! I intend to post some notes about pre-emptive measures I'm taking to brace myself for the winter, which the Farmer's Almanac is predicting to be a doozy again. Until then!

disbelief and relief

I've had a few moments lately where I am overwhelmed at the relief that it really is summer. And I therefore realize that I truly speculated - rather subconsciously - that I'd moved to a perpetually-frigid and terrible place. I think that lack of logic (considering I moved here during the summer and experienced the sweat that came with it) might indicate that winter was just a tad traumatic for me.

It happened first last Saturday at the farmer's market. I bussed to downtown St Paul and bought cucumbers, spinach, herbs, and a bouquet of red peonies. The moment I entered the bustling market and saw the green spread on tables everywhere - a site I took for granted every Saturday of every month in Oakland - I almost cried. I said under my breath, "It really happened." It really got warm enough to sprout anything and it stayed warm enough to grow it.

The second time was two days ago when I walked outside in a t-shirt and decided to leave a long-sleeved shirt at home rather than tote it around in case it got cold. I realized, "it really did warm up. It really is summer." I choked up - seriously!

Today it also happened. L. and I joined a CSA and tonight picked up our first share of produce of the season. It now really is summer! Proof exists in my fridge: these beauties of kale, spinach, radishes, strawberries and lettuce were not shipped in from California or Mexico or Chile! They were grown and picked within an hour's drive. Such relief.

I will live this summer unlike I've lived any other summer before.

one year

With little inclination toward remembering (much less celebrating) anniversaries, in about a month it would have occurred to me that I moved to Minnesota somewhere around a year ago. And I wouldn't have cared much.

L's great at remembering the dates, however, and had me primed a few days ago to recognize that this day right now is the day one year ago that I rolled my little sawed-off-shotgun-of-a-car into the western Minnesota plains. When I said, how do you remember these things?, I'm happy to report that her reply was something like, it's the day the love of my life moved to my home, you knucklehead! Oh, sweetie.

I've hardly left since I got here. I'm less nomadic than I used to be and with gasoline prices being what they are, I've spent a whole year minus about two weeks hunkering down in this great state.

Great?, you might be saying. Isn't this the THOSE CRAZY MINNESOTANS blog?

It's really undeniable. I had so much to complain about from November through April, that's true, and I am truly dreading the end of this gorgeous summer weather, but I cannot deny the fact that everything else works out for me here. It's uncanny and it's trippy and I haven't stopped pondering the good things that work out, almost effortlessly, for a year and half. Since before I moved here, many things have happened to make my life more close to how I want it to be, with one catch: I have to be in Minnesota to make it happen.

Maybe tonight I'll have my first beer since last August and I'll toast to this curious and full basket on my handlebars of life. Something's right, I tell 'ya, and I have Minnesota to thank for it. Here's to just completing one of the most satisfying years of my life!

lost momentum... and upcoming vacation!

K, so I got no new ideas for TB stories now that I got myself into the commitment of coming up with a week-and-a-half's worth. Oh well.

I'm going on vacation. That's right. Me and my woman are heading west. This'll be the last financial hurrah before we're both graduate students and living in shitty & CHEAP graduate student housing.

We're driving from LA to Seattle and camping along the coast the whole way. That's right, stimulus check: we're taking you to Cali. If you want some of that great roadtrip mail art we're famous for, just let us know where you live and we'll send off something rad from the road.

It'll be a good way to say a final goodbye to Minnesota winter cuz' by the time we get back, the garden should be greener and the temperature should be quite warm. I am so ready!

6 days

I just took my 7th to last pill today and realized I'd miscounted. I only have 6 days left now. I thought I'd reveal my miscalculation today rather than at the end when it would be anticlimactic.

I'm writing a final paper and applying for a job. It's a Saturday night. So, I'll leave it at that for today.

May you all enjoy your healthy livers and lungs in thoughtful memory of my plagued ones.

8 days

Having latent TB in Minnesota versus having latent TB in California (which is where it was first detected) were distinct experiences. Wouldn't have guessed that, would you have?

I believe four different nurses in California read my skin test results. Three of the four were nurses whose sole job was to work with TB patients. They knew what they were doing and they did it like it was the most important thing in the world.

I imagine them going to happy hour together once in awhile and sitting back to talk about all the TB cases they'd had that week. "Ooh, that blood and septum case, goodness!" One would say, needing catharsis about the most advanced patient of the week. "It's a good thing we can drink 'cuz that guy has enough antibiotics to shut down his liver in a week if given alcohol! We have to call him every day and make sure he's complying with his meds!"

When I did my own research and got scared of the side effects of the prophylactic antibiotics those nurses tried very hard to convince me to start immediately, I stopped talking to that clinic. Then, another county nurse started to call me. About once every two months for a year I got a call from her. She was calling to see if I'd started my meds yet and if not, did I need more information? Was I sure?

The thing about taking the latent TB meds is that it's not required, but due to a worldwide public health campaign to deal with the current TB epidemic, there are all these TB police out there calling people like me. Pimping out their meds. Losing sleep at night over the ones who refuse. Sigh.

In Minnesota: I got a primary doctor, walked in, said, "I have latent TB. I think I want to take the meds." He said, "Oh. I'll get you a prescription after we do another skin test. And, well, since you're not quite 30, we don't have to do any routine blood tests. You'll be fine. Just take it." I had to educate him about the side effects. I speculated that I was the first patient he'd seen with TB exposure. He was scarily laid back about it. Then, I get meds, and nothing more from him or the clinic.

If those nurses in California had ever heard a yes from me they'd probably have thrown a party, in the bar. They'd have had a drink for/over me and reinforced their clout with each other. "See? We just have to believe in this work. It's so important. We can eradicate TB, one person at a time!" I imagine they'd have no fights with their spouses for a good, long week after that.

Instead, I'm in Minnesota. Not California, the land of immigration where "foreign" communicable diseases drift in like pollen pods. Minnesota doesn't have as much TB. So, the doctors and nurses who don't work with many refugee/immigrant populations don't see many TB cases. I know, we have refugees and immigrants here; we have a lot of them. But nothing compares to places like California and New York for immigration, and the nurses there have a whole different job cut out for them.

So, in Minnesota, I get major patient autonomy and I get to take my meds in peace. I get to schedule my own blood work at the end of my treatment when I please. Hell, I think they'd just forget about me if I never mentioned anything about ending. I really liked having ease, privacy and complete control over this decision.

9 days

Since you all took the bait, I'll keep on the drinking theme. There's more to the conversation that usually occurs. I'll spell it all out.

someone nice and generous (snag): "Want something to drink? We have wine, beer, tequila?"
sweet me (sm): "No thanks."
snag: "You sure? Just a glass? We've got Oberon!"
sm: "Um, no thanks... I'll have water?"
snag: "You driving?"
sm: "No. Well, yes. And meds. I'm trying to avoid liver toxicity."
snag: "Oh! That's too bad!"
sm: "It's fine. I'll be done in X months/weeks/days."
snag: "And then you can drink!" (raises glass into air) "In time for summer!"

I haven't figured out what to say at this point that accurately communicates my feelings. I usually just say, "Well, I'll wait awhile and let my liver recover from the meds first." That's true. The feeling, though, is about the resistance to drinking just because I can. I can't figure it out. But what I want to say is:

sm: "Multiple family members are/were alcoholics/addicts. So, I'm not a big drinker to begin with. It's the last thing I'm thinking about. The first thing I'm thinking about is how glad I will be to not have to take a freaking antibiotic everyday for a condition that presents no symptoms. And I can also stop worrying about my mood swings being a result of the medications, and I can start believing that it's all in my head instead. Going back to multiple family members being alcoholics - maybe that's why I'm moody. Or maybe everyone's moody and some people just hide it better. What do you think?"

I'm way too nice and inhibited for my own good most of the time. Minnesota nice is doing a real number on me. I'm breaking through, I am, I am.

10 days left

At first glance, what I'm about to tell you has nothing to do with Minnesota or about being crazy. However, I've learned a few things over the last six months and have made some connections that I wasn't expecting.

Four years ago I had to have a TB test because I was working in the Oakland public school system and it was required. It was positive. Multiple subsequent tests were positive as well after a second false negative test. Chest results were negative: I had latent TB, not the active, quarantine kind.

I didn't have health insurance and I'd just returned from three years of one health problem after another (aka Peace Corps) so I was way put out by the whole diagnosis. I heard from multiple public health nurses that I was supposed to take 6-9 months of antibiotics to decrease my chances of developing active TB. The side effects sounded atrocious. I chose not to take the meds.

Six months ago, I decided to start the meds. I don't know why. I just knew that if I was going to do it, I should do it before I got too much older and my liver was less tolerant.

Every day for the last 6 months minus 10 days, I've taken an antibiotic.

Side effects were supposed to be: fatigue, depression, jaundice, weight gain, nausea, gastrointestinal distress, and, possibly - though less likely - delusions. I was counseled that if any of these side effects actually occurred that I was to plow through and continue to take the meds. I dreaded my first winter in Minnesota even more because of this news.

I'll count down the days until I'm done. Today is 10.

The biggest, strangest observation I've made is that people offer me alcohol. I decline. People sometimes persist. I decline more. Then I say, "I am taking a medication that prevents me from drinking." It feels like a weird violation of privacy, but it shuts them up. If I just say, "no, thank you," believe it or not, some people will not let it rest or they look disappointed that I will not be drinking their home brew or joining them in their drinking habits.

What if I was pregnant and didn't want to tell them? Even more, what if I was a recovering alcoholic? This experience has made me have a TON of compassion for recovering alcoholics. Oh God. What they have to go through is just awful. Denial after denial after denial.

Funny thing, too, is that this is a cultural thing. An American thing. Some people who aren't pushers have told me after awhile that they just thought I wasn't a drinker. They noticed I didn't drink but had the thoughtfulness to not be an ass about it, and just assumed I had *reasons.* I just can't say that I've ever really noticed that someone doesn't drink.

I had way more to say about that than I thought I did.

I'll save the rest for the last 9 days.

Cockporn

My 2 and a half year old niece, Naomi, asked for popcorn the other day, except that she said, "cockporn."

I find this intensely hilarious and writhe on the floor in laughter every time I think of it. It's a good, good reminder about why I am here.

I am here because L. is here; L. is here because her sisters are here (really, couldn't you three have chosen a warmer state?) And the popcorn queen is here because of all that, too. And I am just crazy about the four kids L's sisters birthed into this world. Especially when they do/say priceless things.

Cockporn.

It really doesn't get any better than that.

Naomi, you made Minnesota bearable for me this week.

hiatus

I actually defended Minnesota the other day.
I can't think of a thing to complain about.
It's spring.

So, I'm going to pause the blogging for awhile.

I'm grateful for all the catharsis it's allowed me these last few months. And I'm grateful to all of you out there listening and pitching in!

Until next time.

yeah, spring, mm hmm.

We're forecast for "Heart Attack Snow" tonight. WTF, Minnesota?

spring is shuddering and stammering

Yesterday I heard geese overhead and chickadees in trees.

This morning it's snowing.

Somehow I'm not exasperated and suicidal over this.

I just think, soon. Soon, grasshopper.

monumental moment in month 9

I actually got invited to my first party in Minnesota. THIS IS A BIG DEAL!

Remember, Minnesotans generally hang out with their best friends from high school and need 25 weeks of advance planning to make a date.

And it was a spontaneous "we're calling you today for a party tonight" invite.

My ego was spinning!

It was a fabulous party, too, with a manageable number of lively and lovely attendees. The gourmet dinner was thoughtfully planned and expertly executed and we grazed on grilled tomatoes, salmon quiche, beet bacon salad, and mushroom bruschetta for three hours. No one really knew anyone else, which made for a fair playing field for getting to know each other.

Upon leaving, L. said, "that's where all the coolest people are hanging out right now in Minneapolis!" And then she said, pensively, "I think perhaps no one there was actually Minnesotan." She's right. I can't think of a single person there who didn't move here.

OMG! My conclusions about having more success in finding non-Minnesotan friends and her conclusions about Minnesotans not being spontaneous might be right!

Roller Garden ruckus!

We went roller skating yesterday afternoon at Roller Garden! It was intensely exciting and exhilarating. In the back of my mind, I've really wanted to try out for the MN Roller Derby team, but it's been quite awhile since I skated and I wasn't sure how realistic my dreams were.

I learned a few things in relation to this dream.

1. Confidence is key. (It's how I win arm wrestling time and time again. You just convince yourself you can do it, grimace intensely, and then you can.)

So, the first few go-arounds I was a little tentative of wobbling or falling. But then I just gave it my all and went FAST. Around and around and around... and then:

2. Roller skating is a killer on shin muscles! I'd be going around really fast and then my shins would BURN like I'd strapped a tiki torch to them. L. attested to the same sensation, though I think mine was worse. I felt majorly un-tough. So we'd stop and watch the others, then go back for more, and repeat cycle again. And then:

3. I realized that turning the corners really tight is very hard to do. Roller girls really get in there and turn sharply with that left skate. I had to keep balance with the left skate while I steered around the curve with the right skate.

This is obviously a skill that comes with practice, but it seemed to defy all physics laws when I even thought about trying it. Hmm.

All this is to say:

1. I'm even more interested in trying out for roller derby.
2. I'm even more impressed with the athletic abilities of the roller girls. (Turning your head can make you lose your balance, and they skate while looking back all the time. Amazing!)
3. I need real skates with real support if I'm gonna keep trying this. Chuh ching! That's easily $100 for my next hobby!

Much fun was had by all.

p.s. to the locals: the next roller derby bout is this weekend with a Polka band as halftime entertainment. Don't miss it!!!

a giant in my dream

I dreamed that I was trekking around the Minnesota countryside (?) and came across a man in a giant costume who seemed to represent Minnesotan men. I tried hard to take a photo of him with my camera phone. But he wanted to charge me $50 for it.

I wanted the photo for this blog. In the dream.

Sorry, folks. I tried and came up empty handed.

crazy signs of spring

It's only 40-something out there and you'd think we'd gone mad. I know I have - mad with ecstasy. Check out what I've seen lately.

1. A suburban just drove by with a golden retriever hanging out of the front window.
2. Two kids were riding their bikes in tank tops.
3. The gutters are gushing with snow melt, and the sound of it is pure music to my ears.
4. I'm happy. Really.
   
5. The teenagers in the neighborhood are running amok in the night again. I love that about our neighborhood: white, privileged, well-fed, giggling gangs. It would be even more wonderful if they happened to be un-privileged and not white and still well-fed and giggling, but I take what I can get.
   
6. I didn't wear long underwear today for the first time since November. Really.
7. The thermostat has been set to 60 or below all day and the inside temperature hasn't fallen below 63.
   
8. And best of all, the snow people are emaciated. Click on this image to see details and have a a good laugh at these little teeny super guys:

That makes two

Someone out there on Minneapolis Metblogs has a very similar story to mine.

Sigh.

I am not alone.

I would like to kiss the weatherperson

Current temp and forecast:
I haven't been this genuinely happy in months. 6 months, to be precise.

CHANCE OF RAIN SOON!

47 degrees on Wed with a chance of rain! I couldn't be happier. I need my Wellies and some ice cream.

1:08 pm addendum: I hear that it's terribly naive of me to assume a weather report in Minnesota will actually be close to accurate. Piss on it all.

Pinch me.

On the continuum of how much regular human interaction people need, I'd always veered toward the end of "minimal." Imagine why I didn't much enjoy being a reporter. Newsrooms were nightmares.

I lived in Oakland for four years and commuted into San Francisco nearly every day. It's a wonderful place to live and lots of people think so, and it's much too crowded. I never felt alone, even when I was alone. You get crammed into carpools, buses, trains, sidewalks, tiny apartments, cubicles, restaurants. And after living in excessively overpopulated El Salvador, San Francisco was doable - but still consistently irritable - in the amount of energy drained out of me daily from just being around a whole lotta people.

My universe twin visited in the fall. He lives LA. I think he was a little unnerved by how unpopulated the Twin Cities felt to him. You just get so used to it, even though it really is hard on us introverts. And oddly enough, we get to missing the crowds. It's so weird to miss it.

I've been feeling something I'VE NEVER FELT BEFORE. I want to be around people. Crowds even. Until now, I've been very crowd averse. I want to talk and be chatty for more than 10 minutes. I figured it out today. Minnesota winters are long, grey, frigid, and make people hibernate as much as they humanly can outside of fulfilling their 40 hour a week obligations on the job.

I'm so ready for summer! Because it means green, warm AND because it means Minnesotans will become happy, social and agreeable again!

Reminds me of something I read or watched about New York City residents getting a fuller amount of human touch than other Americans because they bump into each other on the subway and sidewalk. That there's some kind of health benefit from that.

I've never looked forward to anything social and I can't wait to see people outside again. Pinch me.

WILD HARE RUMPUS

Bust me, Bonnie.

Me and the wife are going west and it sure ain't soon enough.

Just booked one way tickets to LA, a one way car rental to Seattle, and more one way tickets outta WA back home in mid-May. 11 days. Ocean all the way. Redwoods. Mountains. Goddamn right, mountains.

Holy mother, I cannot WAIT.

How'd I get so much smarter than all the Minnesotans?

I drove once in a snowstorm. It was the first of this winter season. It took me 2.5 hours to go 15 miles, I almost had a heart attack, I almost peed my pants, I almost crashed my car, and I threatened to leave Minnesota forever. Ever since, if I have to be somewhere during a snow storm, I walk or take the bus. That simple.

Really, it's just not worth driving. REALLY.

I'm not a bad winter driver anymore. I've figured out the physics of tires on ice and snow enough to get by. So it's not that I'm one of those CRAZY CALIFORNIA DRIVERS all you Minnesotans like to talk about. It's not worth it because it just takes for fucking ever.

And you'd think that all you Minnesotans would know that it's just not worth it.

Today I had a 9 am appointment. So, I left at 8:15 and walked there. I passed so much traffic - on foot! So many splattering sliding stalled cars. So many frustrated hurried drivers. It was just ridiculous. The person I met was 20 minutes late to the appointment; I was five minutes early. I calmly read a newspaper while waiting; she frantically rushed in after spending 2 hours in traffic. I'd had my exercise for the day; she - and all you other nuts out there who drove this morning - got your blood pressure skyrocketing.

I forgot my Yaktrax though, and I slipped a little. I didn't fall, luckily. I did see someone flat on their back on the way home, though, who'd slipped and couldn't get up. An ambulance appeared and took him away. It was sad.

Advice from a fair-weathered newbie: Slow down. Stay at home. Walk to work. Go in late. But, God knows, causing excessive and dangerous traffic jams is just plain ignorant. Crazy Minnesotans!

Nordic extreme dodge ball

The photographer caught the university Nordic Ski Club playing a new made-up game last Friday in the realm of dodge ball on cross country skiis.

It was a nice day, around 30 degrees out. By the time I showed up, they were packing up their skiis and doing that "loud voice laughing man sport" behavior. They were very amped up.

Such a funny sight.

Thanks to L. for the photo.

Another polar bear plunge

Here's my chance, folks. I could join 3-400 crazy Minnesotans in this Sunday's Polar Bear Plunge.

"The Minneapolis Police Department and Minneapolis Park and Recreation Board are hosting the event, which will take place at 2:30 p.m. at Thomas Beach at Thomas Avenue South & West Calhoun Parkway. Plungers are taking pledges to benefit the Special Olympics. Last year, 265 plungers raised more than $50,000 for Special Olympics Minnesota."

Who dares me?

acclimation

Yesterday afternoon, I realized that cold and lots of clothes felt normal.

Last night, I walked slowly and patiently over the ice patches on the sidewalk in the dark. I wasn't pissed that somebody hadn't scraped it off or scared of slipping and falling. It felt normal.

Just now, I looked out the window and saw the snow on the ground - the same dirty snow we've all been looking at since November. It seemed normal.

Matter-of-fact.

Nothing else.

Interview update

I update 'cuz I don't want to leave you hanging. So nice of me.

The interview went well! I'd wanted the job mostly to gain access to people in the field I want to pursue once I'm a licensed social worker. It was my strategy for making connections. The job was interesting, I knew I would have enjoyed it, but my main intention was to network.

Success already! I got this really cool email after the interview:

"Thank you again for coming in today. We have decided to hire another applicant, but Dr. Xyzxyz wanted me to convey that we were impressed with your background and to assure you that new positions open up periodically for which we would want to hire someone with your qualifications. In fact, he said that there may soon be a position specifically for a student in Social Work. We will keep your information on file."

This is the best kind of turn-down ever! Couldn't ask for much more.

Minnesota pretty nice and pretty insular

Minnesota Nice and other cultural nuances baffle me, as we all know by now, and though I've never been the popular kid, I have always been invited to more social occasions than I've initiated by virtue of being an introvert and truly enjoying the dynamic of being pursued (who doesn't?). Here, I've been initiating connections more than ever before. I've been pushing my comfort zone. Yet not getting many results. I just don't know what to make of it.

Yesterday I chatted with a seasoned social worker about my success making friends elsewhere in the world compared to making friends in Minnesota. Her accent indicated to me that she's from here or been here a long time. She said, "you know, you're not the first person to say that to me." She seemed a bit perplexed and a bit intrigued, like she had no idea what the experience would be like, but replied with a tone of hmm, isn't that interesting? It must be, what... cultural?

Today, a guest lecturer in my bioethics class was talking about the culture of risk. She's from Philadelphia, lived in San Francisco before she moved here, and said she'd never heard more people talking about risk and perceived threats to personal safety than in the Midwest. She's studied this phenomenon. Someone in the class said, "it's because people from Philadelphia and San Francisco move here!" Implying, of course, that newcomers make everything scary. She said she was just joking, but it seemed more like she was saving her ass.

What she was getting at, regardless of how she really feels, regardless of how much of her joke really isn't a joke, is that there really is something cultural here about sticking just to what you know and who you know. Insular = safe = good = Minnesotan. The guest speaker gracefully turned her comment into a talking point without putting her on the spot - an acquired Minnesota nice tactic, if you ask me - and got all academic about how the coasts have a history of trade and immigration, ports and interdependent industry, etc., which creates an environment where non-native doesn't automatically mean scary. Which hasn't happened in the Midwest.

It's kind of rare to find a native San Franciscan. Most everyone living there today has moved there. Seems like half of California speaks Spanish as their first language. Times like this, I miss it. I may, actually, resolve to making friends in Minnesota with people who are not from here. That's strategy one to not set myself up for failure.

Pinch me...

I got an interview for the job I wrote about last week.

when fire meets water meets winter

Look at these photos of the frozen effects of putting out a fire in the winter. I haven't seen it in person, but I really want to! Amazing!!

Roseville Theater

Went to a $2 movie at the Roseville Theater last night. The carpeting reminded me instantly of the roller rink I grew up going to. Everything was old, old, and a sign on the outside said they might close in March. Might? Unless what? The seating was in a bow curve rather than a slope, which I don't understand, but made it seem like the floor had sunk over time. I thought, "we're in the plains with no mountain within hundreds of miles, but we don't have to model our theaters after the landscape, folks."

The ceiling was pock marked with these:

So, the best part was that the clientèle who filed in with and after us were of a very special, specific demographic. I'm not making fun here, I am a social worker after all. Many fit my stereotype of welfare recipients, and additionally there were lots of crumbly old folks. It was just not what you get on a Saturday night in any other $10 per seat theater. Some characters were pure entertainment, for sure.

We tried very earnestly to record the conversation right behind us with a cell phone. The recording didn't turn out well - otherwise I'd post it here. Two men in their 50s-60s sat behind us with one woman the same age, who never said a word. They talked very loudly about guns. I wish I'd kept notes. Here's a sampling from my memory of some words they used: napalm, rifle, machine gun, WWII, Vietnam, ammo, pistol, automatic fill-in-the-blank, aircraft, magazine, cartridge, etc., etc. I said to L., "we should make out right now," and she just about bitch-slapped me for making such a life-threatening joke.

Though we could've been anywhere - New Jersey, 1 hour outside of San Francisco, Houston, Florida, you name it - it sure felt like a Minnesota moment to me.

Old, slow, smelly people, funny accents, gun talk, bad hair, multiple kids diving into one giant popcorn tub, sagging seats. I dunno why, but I thought, "here I am. Minnesota." And so I sank deep into my squeaky, rusted seat for the full experience.

err, um, well... fate?

I don't have a word for it.

Something's definitely been happening in the realm of the supernatural, for over a year now. I could call it fate and have it over with. I'm not too fond of resignation, though. So I'm stuck with the wondering and surprise.

That something that's been happening for over a year has something to do with a magnetic force that's pulling me and my previously wild, un-rooted roots into Minnesota and sucking them under like quicksand. (Previous blog post here alluding to this phenomenon.)

Let me try to help you relate with a benign theoretical construct. Say you're hungry. You go out and look for a place to eat, and not only does it take you a long time to get there because you get lost, you also encounter traffic, have a near-accident, get so hungry you can't think straight, and arrive to learn that your place is closed or the wait time is over a half hour. You know that feeling? Of course you do. You want to give up altogether.

Whatever is opposite to that is happening to me.

Outline:

2006: I endure one of the most agonizing years of my life in CA trying to figure out how to remedy many existential and professional crises. I cry - a lot. (But I'm warm. And go to the beach. And eat lots of fruit.)

Nov 06: I talk to my Chem prof who convinces me that life is not long enough to induce such self-suffering. Essentially she said, "Go. Do what you love, be happy, forget medical school." L. flies into CA, we have second breakfast, where I accidentally cry and proclaim my enduring, undeniable love. L. accepts the proposal. L. returns to MN.

Dec 06: I apply to three graduate schools in MN.

Feb 07: I'm accepted to all three schools.

Mar 07: I apply for one summer job. I get it.

May 07: I move from CA to MN - rather effortlessly, actually. I begin to integrate myself into L.'s family, and it's the most un-challenging and rewarding family experience of my life. (My own family sucks, bad.)

Sept 07: I start school. It's great. Really great. I've found my tribe. I feel smart again. I feel purpose, meaning, direction, hope and excitement every week.

Dec 07: I continue to hone my dreams and remember: For years, I have really, really, really, really wanted to focus on transgender health. I still want that. I brainstorm how in relation to social work. I commit to pursuing my next field placement in this area. I have a friend who then said, "oh, I know someone who's interested in accepting an intern for that work." She's not a mind-reader, either.

Jan 08: I begin a required research methods class. I LOVE it, which is weird. I think, "I want to be a assistant to someone doing trans health research."

Feb, 19, 08: I accidentally stumble across a job posting at the U for an Assistant to the Transgender Health Study. I apply, fervently.

Feb 20, 08. I await a phone call for an interview. And think: What the hell is going on? Minnesota WANTS me.

Minnesota: I surrender to you. I give in. I'm yours.

what goes down might come up

Good thing about mood swings - if I'm down, I probably won't stay down.

Man, last week was hard. I definitely had a hint of the "want to slash my wrists and bleed all over the snow" through Saturday night. But Sunday changed everything.

Sunday: high was 37 degrees! Hardly any wind! Only partly cloudy, which means some sun! Sunday is my designated day off, so I didn't do anything related work or school or tax-filing.

Get this: 37 degrees and nothing to do. We walked 5 miles round trip to the conservatory where we soaked up GREEN VIBRANT LIFE, multiple blooming ORCHIDS, and tropical HUMIDITY. It was an excessively happy rendezvous.

It made me think, "I need to go outside and run. Often. Even when it's very cold. Even when it's snowing." The outdoor exercise alone restored my inherent sense of self, the active me I've optimized since I could ambulate. It was a delicious reminder. For me, the gym hasn't been cutting it. So, I either need to submit to the mindlessness of being a hamster, or buck up and become one of those people who forms icicles on my face from running outside.

On the way home, we walked through the fairgrounds and discovered some tree trunk sculptures. I thought this was one really odd -- it's good, but due to the size limitations of a tree trunk, the sculptor could only complete the first fourth of the horse. It's so wonderful and strange!

Only in Minnesota!

variations of snow

My favorite part of winter is the actual falling of snow. The descent is just so beautiful.

Snow truly does come in many forms. Since it has been snow season, I have noticed an incredible variety in the size, texture, feel, look, and sound of snow. I'll attempt to list from memory some of my observations over the last few months. And I'll use *'s as my bullet points (get it? snowflakes? haha!)

* Tonight we have snow falling that looks like shredded clear plastic confetti. In the air, it looks crinkly and clear and stiff. On the ground, it looks like billions of tiny diamonds.
* The other day we had blowing snow. The wind was, what?, 25 mph? More? I don't remember. But it was blowing. And the snow was forming smooth mounds and crevices and reminded me of sand dunes. Really stunning.
* A week ago, for the first time in my life, I saw tiny individual perfectly formed snow flakes. Just like the cut-out kind we made in third grade. Each one - really! - was unique. Each one - really! - was an intricate, delicate, and unimaginably complex crystal, exact and precise as could be.
* We've had cotton ball snow, when hundreds of those perfect flakes huddle together in clumps and fall down in huge, heavy puffs of goo. They're quite endearing as they plummet to the earth with a helplessness and inevitability. Splat! They hit the ground and go flat.
* Snow storms are terrifying to me. We've only had one or two, I think. But the snow falls so fast and piles up so big, I worry that I'll wake up and the door will be blocked and I'll have to push a shovel in front of me to walk anywhere. That hasn't happened yet. But snow storms are intense. You can't see very far in front of you.
* When it gets really cold - below zero - the snow on the ground squeaks. It makes me cringe a little. Tires and shoes squeak. I always know when it's getting warmer by the lack of sound the snow makes from day to day.
* Pellets of white ice. I hate those fuckers. They sting. They're not big enough to be hail balls (which I grew up with, and I don't want them again) but they slam into you and everything around you with a sharp force that makes you want to hide in bed all day.

What other kinds of snow am I missing here?

how to cope with winter

... I haven't a clue, really. (If you have some tips, I'm all ears.)

This sure does help, though: basil cotyledons.

When I left the back door unlocked and it blew open and froze the kitchen, our prolific basil plant died. This is my attempt at getting all that goodness back. They're deliciously cute at this stage.

those absurd Minnesotan anti-abortion billboards

I clearly remember my first moment of daylight in Minnesota (I'd flown in at night, so I'm referring to the next morning) because I walked outside and saw one of the many anti-abortion billboards littering the skies across the Midwest. I've seen many such ads since that rude encounter on my first day in Minnesota, all thanks to the incessant efforts of "the billboard people," and I would like to say that I'm just slightly less irritated with each one. It helps that they're so asinine.

This one, however, has always made me laugh with a mean, torturous cackle. The word, "what," of course, is not exclamatory, it's a question. Questions end in question marks. Not exclamation points.

Go ahead, try to say it. Say, "what!" Do it. Out loud.

You can't.

I've tried a hundred times, and you can't do it. It always comes out sounding like a question.

If you look at their stupid website, you'll see they have a multitude of billboards in the archives. An uncanny amount.

I'd always worried that they must have a lot of money here in the Midwest to be able to pay for such advertisement. Coming from San Francisco where my previous employer was an abortion provider, I think this fear is justified tenfold. L. keenly likes to point out that the photography and graphics are very rudimentary, so they might not have much of a budget and/or they're really dumb. I hope for both.

A science blog I read regularly yesterday wrote about these folks, and I thought it was kinda interesting. You can read it here. I love this statement about driving in rural Minnesota: "There is one thing I watch for — and this is a measure of how boring the drive is — and that's the anti-abortion signs. These are an institution on Midwestern country roads." One of the comments to the post alludes to the possible and hopeful fact that these folks don't really have that much power. Finally, good news!

I'm sorry, but I see no hints of spring at -10 degrees

This from MNspeak.com:

"Maybe it's just a more relaxed attitude about work lately, but today I left the office with just a trace of sun left in the sky, and noticed that the east Lake Street Dairy Queen is open. The forecasts see no hints of a thaw any time soon, but meteorology be damned, are there any other signs that winter is about to start its inevitable retreat?"

I did not leave the house all day yesterday because the temp ranged from 4 to -10. It is not close to spring yet, not in the least. This is insane, convoluted thinking! That crazy Minnesotan!

Many people assure me that once the mercury hits 50 degrees, people will go outside in flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirts. There will still be snow on the ground and the trees will still be barren. People call that spring here. I'm sorry, I am in the minority, but that's just crazy.

One of my to-do tasks this week is to buy a plane ticket to San Francisco for sometime in the next 3-4 weeks.

It's Sunday and sunny and so we went to San Diego

Since Thursday, I've been incredibly emotionally fragile. As a future mental health practitioner, I see self-awareness of my swings as productive and also terrifying.

L. succinctly summarized what could be going on.

1. I'm taking a medication for six months because I was exposed to TB. One side effect is depression.
2. It's my first February in Minnesota. One side effect is depression.
3. I'm learning how to be a grief/crisis counselor. One side effect - unless you know what the hell you're doing and have vast experience - is depression.

One of the bedrooms gets flooded with sun between 9:30 am and 2:30 pm. If it's sunny out, which it hasn't been in days - until this morning! After breakfast we crawled into the bed in that bedroom, lowered the blinds as much as possible without peep-showing the neighborhood, and raised a yellow blanket up in front of our faces to reflect the sun on us.

It's about -10 degrees outside; wind chill is between -25 and -40. (I still haven't left the house today and don't have a clue as to what that feels like, yet.)

But before we lifted the blanket up, L. said, "you wanna go to San Diego?" I said, "YES!" And then she lifted the blanket up, smiled, closed her eyes and said, "I'm on the beach! In San Diego!"

It was the best part of my morning, hands down.

Ocean

Today I saw a picture of a coast on a book cover - one of those perfect pictures, balanced between soft and sharp, crisp and foggy - and it looked just like the Marin Headlands, and I started to cry. I so desperately want to drive less than an hour and reach barren cliffs and cold ocean. And I want it today, and next week, and next month, and whenever I want it.

I really wonder sometimes if I can live so far from that.

Nun in a Jeep

I swear: I just saw a nun wearing a habit driving a red Jeep Wrangler.

Email between the wife and myself

This morning, I sent L. an email. We use "Dear" and "Sincerely" and such out of humor, not seriously. (Just in case you wondered.)

Here's mine:

Dear L.,
I have a proposal to make. Next winter, we are taking a vacation. When the excitement wears off when we find out how much it will cost, I would like to encourage us to think recklessly as if we are living our last days on earth. As I read news stories about Carnival in Rio, it is snowing outside. I am in my robe with raisin bran stuck in my teeth and my bad haircut is crusty and greasy. I have no intention of going outside today. This is sad. Next winter, even if we have to charge it, even if we have to take out a vacation loan, by God, I'm going away to someplace warm and colorful, and I hope you'll go with me.

Sincerely,
Sanguinetti A!

To which the wifie replied:

Dear Sanguinetti A!,
I agree with you 100%.

Best, L.

Well, I did brush my teeth and go outside, for the record. But it's snowing heavily out there and I only did it because L. slipped on ice this morning and hurt her back and needed me to bring her a hot pack and then take her to the doctor.

WINTERRRAARRRRGH!

Dream in Hawaiian

Right before I woke up, I was wearing a grass skirt and nothing else, the sun was breaking through the clouds and it was hot outside. Something about a mango. Something about not caring about anything.

And then I woke up and L. said, "look at the pretty trees outside." The trees outside our window are really mature and huge and make gorgeous silhouettes in the winter. See?

All I could see, however, was grey, plain sky and black trees (ie winter February death). And I said, "Fucking winter. I want green. I want flowers. I want red tomatoes at the farmer's market. I want sunshine. Rain and not snow. Fucking winter."

Now it's snow/sleeting outside. It used to feel so beautiful, now it feels like prison.

'Minnesota Nice' catharsis

I've been thinking about this post since before I started the blog.

It's easy to write about ice and snow and cold and weather, because it's funny, and because it's a bitch, and because it's easy to take pictures of. But it's not easy for me to articulate my comprehension of cultural nuances, especially because I'm nervous of being offensive... to talk about being nervous of being offensive in... well, just about everything.

I'm not making sense already. Here, let me try again:

Deep down somewhere inside, I'm Texan. Stereotypically, Texan = big everything, beef, bad beer, big beefy beehive-y broads, bragging and bravado, Baptists, and the innate belief that no one else matters. I hate Texas. Texas is where the sperm met the egg that became me, and that reality had a more profound effect on me than I'd like to admit.

Then I migrated west to Nevada, where I came out within a week of crossing the desert, grew out my armpit hair, bought a bike instead of a car, considered anarchy, embraced atheism, learned yoga, and went into the Peace Corps. I became as un-Texan as I could get. When people said, "Where are you from?," I'd always say, "Reno."

Peace Corps in El Salvador deserves volumes, not a paragraph. I'll just mention that I was heavily influenced by late night sinful salsa dancing, a radical socialist alcoholic boyfriend, and white guilt. TONS of white guilt. I planned to live indefinitely in Latin America by way of finding a place where I could make art, and live my life dancing/crying/loving and doing all that delicious life stuff I'd been holding out on previously.

After Peace Corps, I went back west - to San Francisco, and I taught sex ed, counseled rape survivors, got involved in transgender health, thought a lot about outreach to sex workers, and started to pursue medical school to become an abortion provider. In California, this shy girl learned how to talk - about stuff nobody really knows how to talk about - and I hung around really chatty people, people who were way more social than I will ever want to be, people who went out a lot and talked a lot about their fabulous ideas and lives and plans to alter the world. I lived in the Bay Area bubble, the land of liberalism and lewd, lascivious acts of love.

Now, back to my point. I'm here in Minnesota and I just realized the other day that I've just started to not miss mountains and ocean constantly. Which is even sadder than missing them. That's to say, I'm getting used to it here, and I'm liking it for a lot of reasons, and I'm still confused for a lot of reasons about how the hell I ended up here and why the hell is it working out so well when it seems so strange. Huh? Everyday, it seems so freaking strange to me that I'm here.

Even after San Francisco, I'm still really shy. My heart beats in my throat when I talk in front of groups. As a social work student, I have to talk in front of groups all the time about incredibly passion-full and emotionally painful subjects - for me, right now, that means talking about death, and bearing witness to it - about oppression and disparity and injustice and phobias - about my own feelings that come up about hopelessness and despair when a client expresses those feelings - etc, etc, etc.

Doing this emotional stuff around Minnesotans is so different than doing that around Texans, Nevadans, Salvadorans, and Californians. I emote. I describe. I cry. I ponder. I ask 500 questions a day, half of which are bold and blunt. I fluctuate. I hide. I get brave and emote again. I don't acknowledge a God, and the only thing that keeps me getting out of bed every day, I figure, is the hope for more authenticity and growth than the day before.

Minnesotans, by and large, do not emote easily. What I've heard is that the mix of Scandinavian and German ancestry created the cultural notion that it's preferable to have a stoic and unblemished, pleasant and even facade. Something like that? Is that right? Minnesota Nice confuses me.

This is what I've been wanting to blog about forever. I find it so hard to articulate. I don't want to complain, but I feel incredibly tentative and uncertain of how to unleash my wild and wacky internal self. I'm terrified of offending the Minnesotan sensibility. I'm afraid of being the weird kid. And I'm frustrated at myself for being afraid.

There. I said it.

I smell a pilgrimage

Having heard before I moved here about the "famous" giant stucco snowman, I've been wondering when I'd stumble across him. Today I came across a pdf file about exploring art in the suburbs that outlines a history of this snowman sculpture. I think now is a good point in my acculturation to Minnesota to finally go find him.

Just for your viewing pleasure, here's a photo stolen from his wikipedia entry:

Walking up hills with ice

I'm not the only one who blogs about how Minnesota winter is enough to drive you a little crazy. This is a good cab story, and I knew I had to link you all to it when I read this:

"Whenever there's a blizzard, I usually end up stowing my car in a ramp about a mile away and walking home. In the ice, however? I seriously did not want to walk up the hill when it was covered with a quarter-inch sheet of ice."

Duluth is beautiful, but I think I'd rather spend summers there, quite honestly.

When it was too hot, or it rained too hard, everything came to a halt in El Salvador and nothing got done until it was more bearable. Is that what happens here when the streets freeze over?

Texas looks goooooooood.

Growing up in Texas was a nightmare, and I like to believe it hated me as much as I hated it. Once I graduated at 17, I moved away and never set foot on Texan soil again. I changed planes in the DFW airport once and felt creepy until the plane took off.

Take a look at these actual current temperatures. Today it's 84 in southern Texas! Yeehaw! Andale! Vamanos ya! Texas sure is lookin' good, ya'll.

I have no reason to go to Minnesota...

I'm able bodied, young, fit, stubborn and spry. Additionally, to help with the unfortunate physics of being inexperienced with all things winter, I have Yaktrax to help out with what I have not yet mastered. I will not sugar-coat my disdain of Minnesota winter weather, but if it weren't already clear by the tone of my previous posts, let it be known officially that I wrestle daily with the question, "Why the hell am I in Minnesota?"

Today it's gray and dreary outside. Actual temperature right now is -4.4 degrees, wind chill is -20 degrees and we've had forecasts of snow since last night. (I know: it's colder outstate. I know: all you locals have lived through -80 degrees. I know: some of you pay $500 heating bills every month. I know, I know, I don't care.)

Okay, here's what I'm trying to get to. Why in the world would you live here if you are elderly? Permanently in use of a wheelchair? Chronically ill? I'm doing just fine in the scope of health and agility, and I slip all the time on ice, tromp awkwardly through snow, whine into the wind, and bitterly bitch about sub-zero temperatures. I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for anyone who's just not feeling so great.

I just walked home and crossed paths with a very old man who was so hunched over he could not comfortably look up to see where he was going. He carried a very large, heavy bag and wore tennis shoes. I'm so saddened that he has to get somewhere, and it's so uncomfortable and super slippery outside.

Long before I moved here and toward the end of the phase L. and I can only refer to simply and fondly as "friendship," I actually said to her, "I have no reason to go ever to Minnesota. Except to see you, I guess."

And now I live here. Indefinitely.

It sure is amazing what we put up with. The trade-off is unquestionably worth it - success, happiness, family, love, clarity, direction, purpose. I'm just not sure if the putting-up-with gets more arduous or more tolerable with time. By the time I'm old and frail and dependent on devices for mobility, I really wonder if I'll have grown to ignore or (gasp!) even enjoy November through March.

Angry punching squirrel carved out of snow

There are squirrels everywhere in the world, but I sure have noticed that there are a disproportionate amount living in the Twin Cities. (I've seen all black ones and all white ones here, which I've never seen anywhere else before). They roam the neighborhoods in packs, attacked our Halloween pumpkins like vultures on a carcass, and for all I know probably have their own political party in the state of Minnesota.

Today L. insisted we go to the snow carving area in the fairgrounds to see snow sculptures. All of a sudden today the temperature shot up to 40 degrees, so some of the sculptures were self destructing by noon. However, this angry punching squirrel hadn't melted a tad.

It seemed so freaking funny that someone would put so much time and energy into carving a squirrel out of a block of packed snow. The squirrel is angry, but the acorns surrounding its feet are smiling. It's such a confusing scene.

Now, back to that temperature rise. It was so wonderful! I wore a spring fleece and a scarf, no hat, and no gloves. Tomorrow we're forecast for snow and 12 degrees, but today I pretended I was in California again on the coldest week of the year.

It's so warm outside I can't believe it!

School started and my mind is on beginning so many new tasks and readings that I haven't felt in the mind frame for blogging. I will let you know, however, that it's so warm outside that I've been walking around outside with no hat! Yesterday I went for a run outside, rather than in a gym, and didn't wear gloves either!

It's been hovering around 25 degrees the last two days.

Perspective is truly EVERYTHING.

Saw this guy today and asked him for a photo

Haha! Just joking! Did you think I was telling the truth?

I did collect some ice in my own hair today from respiration condensation, but not nearly that much. Just to make myself feel better about why the hell I live in Minnesota, I read this: The Coldest Places on Earth.

International Falls, MN, is profiled first, just soo ya know. More evidence that my paranoia and dramatic flair are justified!!

Read. Enjoy!

One of those backwards days

This morning around 7:30, it was 5 degrees. By 8:30, it was -1. Now at 10:40 it's -4.4. The sun is rising, it's bright and blue out there, the snow is glistening and crunchy. There's some sort of weather phenomenon I don't understand - that it gets colder on sunny days. This is a sweeping generalization, right? But I heard it as a warning when I moved here and today it's obviously true.

Anyone get it?

How to talk Minnesotan

I'm studying up on how to talk Minnesotan and I'm not so sure about all this.

Get a load of these two! I can't help but think they look like L.'s parents. Did I say that? Yes, I think I did! In all fairness, L.'s parents are Wisconsinites.

Mango salsa in January

In an attempt to momentarily cure our winter weather weariness, L. initiated the making of a mango salsa for dinner last night. It included: fresh mangos, jalapeño pepper, cilantro, avocado, and lime juice. It was so freaking good that we ate the whole bowlful, first scooping properly with chips, then devouring it with spoons, and then licking the bowl (just kidding).

The ingredients seriously mocked our memories of 10-inch avocados and over-abundance of mangos we grew tired of eating in El Salvador. Not to mention that for four years on any Saturday of the year, I could walk to the farmer's market in Oakland and hand pick the cheapest, freshest, tastiest, most organic produce in the region from the people who'd grown, picked and delivered it.

In January in Minnesota, you settle for the produce at the co-op that has been picked green thousands of miles away and rattled to some version ripe-ness in a semi-truck, passing various inspections along the way. And you banish away your memories of the way life used to be. You pay a fortune for these hard specimens of tropical fruits, cart them home with visions of culinary dreaminess, and devour them in one sitting while snow falls outside.

In October, I was seriously tempted with the idea of eating only locally-grown foods forevermore, so help me Buddha. Last summer, L.'s sister loaned me the local food diet book written by Barbara Kingsolver, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and I was inspired to adhere to my ideals. I always try to choose local over not local. But recently I went grocery shopping, and L. opened the fridge and said, "where's the food?" I'd managed to get hydroponic lettuce and beets, local cheese and bread, and not much else.

Buying locally is really hard to do in Minnesota in the winter. I could, potentially, spend all my free time driving all over the place and maximizing my "local" purchases. But, then I use a lot of gas instead of walking three blocks to the nearest store - and that doesn't make any sense. Once in a while, though, far-away grown mangos and cilantro and avocados in winter are great stimulants for SANITY and HAPPINESS.

Dead bunnies

If you have a hard time reading about and looking at dead bunnies, you might not want to read any further.

Two dead bunnies have appeared near the house recently. It's the strangest thing. The first one was completely torn to bits and left as a pile of fur and one leg. We weren't even sure for awhile what it was.

I was just walking down the sidewalk and approaching the back of our house when I came across this decapitated bunny.

I said, "Oh my god!" to no one but myself and the bunny, and quickly retrieved my camera phone. The head is nowhere to be found.

What in the world???

Further findings

Coincidentally, mnspeak.com profiled a story done by the Star Tribune about how hard it is for Minnesotans to brag about and brand themselves.

Links: Why don't we ever brag about Minnesota? and the original Star Tribune article.

I say coincidentally because it mentioned that it's difficult for non-natives to break into social circles in MN and I just wrote a blog post about my experience with such phenomena.

Otherwise, it's been above zero degrees and lightly snowing all day, so all is well and it's gorgeous outside.

Live piano player at Menards!

We wandered around Menards (a Midwestern mega-super-gigantic hardware-n-everything store) today looking for some items we didn't find at the re-use store, Ax-Man.

Menards has a live piano player! So amazing and funny and great! He even said "good afternoon" to me in such an enchanted manner that I felt like I was entering Charlie's chocolate factory.

I eventually coaxed The Photographer into maybe sneaking a photo of the piano player, but many blue-vested Menards staff were hovering around us at the moment we'd mustered up courage to steal a shot. And we chickened out. So you'll just have to take our word for it.

Making friends

Making friends is no small feat for me. I'm introverted around everyone except exceptionally good friends I've known for years, and I'm super anxious in crowds of more than four people. So I don't collect new friends very easily. Sometimes the anxiety doesn't even show because I'm that good, but I'm kind-of a mess on the inside in social situations.

Therefore, it's been equally comforting and nerve racking to instantly acquire new people through L. upon moving here. L. is as social as I am socially phobic, has lived here for a decade, and actually likes most of her family. So I got to know a lot of people really quickly upon moving here.

I've heard more than a few times that Minnesotans are hard to get to know. I'm not exactly sure why, really. I'm in a graduate program with a lot of friendly, social, kind, and open people, and I work in a place with 300 employees. So I get to meet a lot of people, many of whom are Minnesota lifelong residents.

But the only person I've met here that I can actually begin to call my friend - not L.'s friend who befriended me (which has happened a lot, many of whom are you all reading this blog, and I'm super grateful for the connections, by the way) is actually not from here.

She's from Reno. I lived in Reno. And that's the main reason we started talking in the first place.

How strange that the single potential friend found on my own in my new home is not even from here.

So answer me this: What's behind the myth that Minnesotans are hard to get to know?

To illustrate my point

Here is my car. There is a layer of ice inside the windows from respiration condensation. The jagged lines you see in the ice were my frantic attempt at using a broken ice scraper while still sitting in the driver's seat so I wouldn't hit anyone while backing up.

The white stuff behind the car is, of course, a hill of snow.

Poor California car.

Never before have I felt cold like this.

As you read this, remember: I moved to Minnesota LAST June.

At noon today it was -3 degrees. This is a first for me. Here's a list of amazingness just from this morning.

1. My hair froze within 2 seconds of going outside.

2. My nose hairs froze within 2 seconds.

3. L. said, "don't go to a car wash on a day like today." I said, "why not?" L. said, "because your locks and doors will freeze shut." I freaked out, of course.

4. When I said, "I've never felt this kind of cold before!" L. said, "I've been in -70 degrees." I said, shocked beyond belief, "WHERE!?" I was of course thinking she'd taken a trip to Antarctica I'd never heard about. "Here, in 1997," she said. To top it off, she was on crutches that day. So much for me whining about frozen hair.

5. I hear that if you boil water, and then throw it up in the air, that it will freeze before it hits the ground. If we actually do it, I'll post a video.

6. You can't clean your windshield until it's warm. Windshield wiper blades move the fluid around and then it freezes in a thin sheet. Then you are driving, and you can't see, and you crash. And the ambulance arrives and they ask you what happened and all you can say is, "California, California."

Making out.

Believe it or not, I interviewed a "local" today about making out in a car in the winter. I'm gathering data about "local" common knowledge of condensation accumulation in a non-running car, and the feasibility of actual condom usage in a car in the winter. (If you're joining this blog at this post, you'll just be confused unless you read the linked previous posts. So, go on now, read them.)

The interview went like this:

Me: So, you ever made out in a car in the winter?
Local: Yes.
Me: What was it like?
Local: Cold.

At this point the interview was over because I could not stop laughing.

I've basically concluded that I'm learning about condensation accumulation turning to ice in a car in the winter at age almost 30 when most locals likely learned about it as a teenager while making out in a car.

Sigh. Better late than never.

Maddening!

I realized on the way to the haircut appointment (study up on part 1 and part 2) that I'm the nutty one living in this environment. It all seems nutty to me, but really, I'm the one who just doesn't quite get it.

Case in point:

I was on my way today somewhere in the car. It was 3 degrees outside. I was early to my destination and needed to return a phone call, which I did in the car while waiting for the time to tick. (Irony: I was calling California.) I knew 15 minutes in a warm-ish car would be ok and that I wouldn't freeze. What happened, though, is that my respiration collected inside the car as condensation. And froze. All of my car windows are covered on the inside with a layer of ice. It's a real bitch. I now have to scrape the ice out from inside my car.

(If you don't live in a cold place: CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? Eesh.)

I mean, it's got to be common sense for the locals. It never occurred to me to not breathe in my car in the winter while the heat isn't running. Just like it didn't occur to me that accidentally not locking the back door might cause pipes to burst.

While the title of this blog is "Those crazy Minnesotans!" I am quickly coming to admit that half or more of what I need to talk about here has to do with my total lack of intuition for all things northern.

It's so maddening! In social work talk, it's a paradigm shift.

Haircut, part two.

Ashlee should be a lawyer. She talked me into it. I told her, "I don't know what I want but I know what I don't want" and explained the whole mom and boss situation. She convinced me to let her cut my hair the way I wanted it cut because a) I have a personal life and I shouldn't let my boss' haircut affect that! b) It's just too sad to not get what you want! and c) It didn't have to be *exactly* like my boss'! Ashlee sometimes talks in exclamation points, another reason I adore her.

You know what though? I seriously de-emphasized the mom part. It's fascinating to me what I/people choose not to talk about. I can't tell you why I did that.

During the cut and after she cut it, she kept raving about how cute it was. It is cute. I do like it. It is what I wanted. And I can't stop rehearsing my explanation to my boss. It occurred to me in the car that men get their hair cut alike all the time. This should be no big deal, right? It feels like a big boundary no no deal. Ug.

Should I get it cut like Prince?

The best haircut I've ever had was in Minneapolis a year ago. I've been a faithful customer to Ashlee at Maude Salon ever since. Who would've guessed Minneapolis? I know San Francisco has an overwhelming number of highly capable hair folk, I just could never afford them. The Midwest is nice for that - more bang for your buck, on most things. (Except for persimmons in winter.)

Today I'm going for a haircut. What's funny about it this time is that I have no idea yet what I'll come out with. Three days ago I'd decided on something different than what I've had for a year. The next day, I went into the hospital (where I'm doing my internship) and my supervisor had just cut her hair in that same style. Then I realized my own mother had that haircut right now.

Imagine going around looking like your mom and your boss. What a Freudian field day! My mom and boss are incidentally two of the most naturally fashionable people I've ever known.

I have no idea what I'll come out with.

I wonder which haircut would make me look least likely to be from here? I'll take that one. Because Prince is from here and you'd never guess it.

The photographer and the ice crystals

The photographer, aka L., met me on foot after work today. When I approached our meeting spot, she was hunched toward the ground taking photographs. This is a common occurrence if you hang out much with L. and her trusty camera. However, what she captured was perfectly uncommon. These ice crystals have formed inside of the holes of a grate on the ground in a thin, flat circle, with a hole of air still left in the middle. Reminded me of mushrooms that grow directly out from tree trunks. Quite gorgeous. We conjecture that ice formations like this only happen under specific temperature and humidity conditions. That's our unscientific hypothesis; It's quite cold and humid today.

The photographer has quite a lovely blog and you can visit it by clicking on the image.

The winter is rather unbearable in many ways, and quite gorgeous in many ways, too.

I wasn't being dramatic, after all

I commented to a comment in a previous post using the dramatic term "arctic" to describe our weather. I say that often out loud. "It's not the arctic!" L. often replies, with an accompanying eye roll or a deep sigh.

And this morning I read this headline: Arctic blast to send the temperatures tumbling, Cold snap could last for 10 days, the Weather Service said.

Here is the whole story.

We've cancelled weekend plans twice for various reasons and I have to say I'm glad I don't have a single reason to leave the house.

Minnesota is not the arctic, but we get arctic blasts. Hmm. I think I'm entitled to my drama.

Any day now, I expect to see these guys wandering down from the north.

Smells like a social worker, sounds like a social worker

On a more positive and less sarcastic note, I would like to mention that life here is on the up and up for me in a professional way. Social work school really did turn out to be a perfect fit. My internship this year has really turned out to be an ever-constant stimulant for nitty gritty learning and super-capable supervision. However weird much of this state does seem to me, it seems to be telling me in many other obvious ways that I fit.

It's like there was a Sanguinetti A! shaped hole in the universe and I was magnetically pulled toward it and *shlooooop!* in I fell.

I fit here. First, professionally I fit. Equally importantly, my needs for family and love and community are met like never before, too. Things are really quite great.

I'm writing this tonight because today I had my first real deal 90-minute therapy session all by myself with a client. It went quite well. I've done countless client interventions all semester, and I have learned a ton. This, however, feels like a big deal and a big step.

I'm on my way.

This time, it's that crazy Californevadatexan!

This time, I was the crazy one in crazy Minnesota.

Short story to save myself from too much embarrassment: I didn't lock the back door. It blew open in the night. The kitchen froze. The basil plant and an orchid died from ice in its roots.

Poor basil.


The green thumb runs in my family and I usually can't kill a plant if I try. So, this is a major household loss, ya'll.

The pipes didn't freeze (which, I didn't even think about as a possibility, believe it or not) luckily.

I was thinking afterwards - after I'd re-heated the house by noon and partially gotten over my shame for being absentminded - about my porch in Oakland. The door was old and didn't shut well. Oftentimes it would blow open in the night. Even on the coldest of nights when it would get into the low 40s, it just didn't really matter. Because it was a balcony porch I didn't worry too much about being broken into.

Silly me, still thinking like a Californian.

It was bound to happen eventually

Me talking about sex was bound to happen eventually on this blog. And here it is for the first time.

On Monday the temp was about 5 degrees during the middle of the day. It was slightly breezy and the windchill felt like -5 to me. Probably wasn't though. I decided to be strong and tough and bad and walk to my destination, about 2-3 miles away, and finally get a little exercise and sunshine. I got a little lost on my way to one of L.'s sister's house and called L.'s other sister to get directions out of Como Park. Soon enough, I was on my way again.

It was really cold yet I was fine until I got lost. When I got lost, I had to slow momentum and look around and communicate the cross-streets to my navigation guide on my cellphone (meaning my hands were no longer in my pockets, heart rate was decreasing, and my sweat was cooling rapidly). The walk was a great idea but I realized I'm much more laid back about getting lost on foot when it's agreeable outside. I still think in Californian sometimes. (More on that in an upcoming post about leaving the back door open.)

We've all seen used condoms on the ground. Goodness, aren't they curious? I always wonder how they got there. Don't you? Did they actually fall out of garbage bags? Unlikely, really. More likely they never got thrown away. Because I'm more fascinated with gross than grossed out by gross, I really tend to wonder what each rogue condom's story is.

After I figured out where I was going, I started booking it. (Thanks again to those Yaktrax!) Right after I hung up the phone, I almost walked on a used condom. Used condom caught in new Yaktrax - not something you want to deal with when you're cold and lost.

Okay. This is no big deal anywhere else. But this is a big deal here!

1. It was not covered in snow, ice or dirt. Sure, it was frozen (a first sight for me). But it had not endured snow/icefall anytime recently.
2. It was on the sidewalk in a neighborhood. Not an industrial zone or a dark alley, where you'd be more likely to put two and two together.
3. If someone actually really truly used it outside... well, wait, that is not even possible!
4. If someone used it inside of a car, then threw it out - I suppose that's the most likely option. Do you keep your car running for that? Wouldn't the whole encounter reek of exhaust in that case?

So, I wonder out loud, to the universe, to the latex angels, to anyone who might turn a trick in a cold town, to anyone anywhere using condoms in the winter anywhere close to a door where it might fall into the outside world: how? Really, how?

(It's notable that all of my posts thus far have the "ice" label.)

Polar bear plunge

I got the idea of my blog title from this post I read recently.

Link: via neatorama.

Oh god! If anything is worse than ice fishing this is.

L. and I went to the boundary waters recently (and we stayed in a cabin, not a tent, for the record) and the neighbor cabin folk had chainsawed a hole like this one in the ice in on the lake, presumably to do this very thing.

Oh, the horror! I am tough and bad and fun but, oh, goodness no.

Will this be something I eventually do and looking back on my reaction now and laugh at my unwillingness to be adventurous?

Yaktrax are wonderful!

One day, I said to L. (who is the reason I moved here, so keep that in mind as this story unfolds): "I wish I had something to put on the bottoms of my shoes so that I wouldn't slip on the ice that forms on sidewalks when those rude bitches don't shovel the snow right away."

L. said, "they do make something!" End of conversation as I remember it. I probably conjectured they were uncomfortable and expensive, cheap and pessimistic as I tend to be.

Then just the other day we saw a "missing Yaktrax" sign on a billboard in our neighborhood and the actual returned/found Yaktrax posted next to it.

I was astounded! It looks like an implement of torture folded up in its fetal position. Look!:

Sweet as pie she is, L. bought me some after I oohed and ahhed over the potential grippage I could obtain from such devices. Mine do not have the strap, but the rest is the same. Super cool. Rubber and wire brilliance, mmm.

Even though there happens to be more bare sidewalk out there than icy patches at this moment in the season, you better believe I wore them right away. They are so wonderful. I can walk very fast on slippery ice. I can be careless and hurried on my way somewhere. They are lovely devices. I do hope they last.

Minnesota is a crazy, cold place right now! And these are making my life more wonderful.

Who wants to go ice fishing?

I thought I'd hear this at least once a month during the winter (and maybe during the spring?) when I decided to move here.

Ha! I've actually only heard it once so far. As a joke. Good sign.

So, anyone out there want to go ice fishing with me?

This is gonna be a blog about all the funny things (to me) I see and experience here in Minnesota.

It's sure a funny place. Of course, every place is. But this kind of funny I'm getting used to very slowly. Maybe it's cause I'm getting old. Maybe it's my white guilt mixing with the Swedish ancestry that oozes out with every "o" and "a" and "yah" people say.

Lots of stuff is funny and here I go to blog it all.