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?
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
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.
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:
This is the best kind of turn-down ever! Couldn't ask for much more.
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.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, February 25, 2008
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!!
Sunday, February 24, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, February 18, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
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?
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
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!
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.
"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.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, February 8, 2008
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.
I really wonder sometimes if I can live so far from that.
Monday, February 4, 2008
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!
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.
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.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
'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.
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.
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