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.
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