so, I think about food a lot

I made an unwise decision today and ate some leftovers that had been dubiously stored. By "dubious," I mean I left out a pot of red bean soup for a night. Or two. I refrigerated them eventually, but judging from the minor protestations of the stomach area, perhaps I need to be more prompt. I did throw out some questionable corn, so I'm not entirely clueless. Just susceptible to the enticing delights of ginger and garlic-spiced legumes.

My roommate and I have been pretty good at making big pots of something or other on the weekend so we have something to eat on the run throughout the work week. Sheer brilliance. And not only that, we are excellent cooks. There is no need for modesty here. We have grilled, baked zucchini bread, made enough chicken enchilada soup to feed an army, and have chilled water with cucumber slices on tap.

So much caffeine...

Today was a productive one. It's a bit surreal to gaze out over Coe's campus, and realize that all of my trials and tribulations are completely invisible to the naked eye. No visitor will ever appreciate how much work I did today for the news section of the student newpaper (I'm section editor!), the V-Day campaign, my thesis, starting up an eco-house, or creating an endowment for students to present their research at conferences.

Not to mention homework.

And feeding myself.

It's 11:00 and I've been going non-stop since I woke up. Good thing I don't do what I do so random passersby will appreciate it. I feel ridiculously proud of myself for getting everything done.

I do still need to clean my room though. Perhaps wash some dishes. No one is superman.

Super-person?

So lucky

By that I mean you, readers. It was a very tough decision, and I was bitter for a while, but I stayed in today.

Gasp.

I know, I know, it's New York City, I'm a fool to let a day go by without spending an hour or two pounding pavement, pretending I'm the only one on the street, hoping I'm heading in the direction I think I'm going in (at one point, I meant to go to washington street park, but ended up at the Brooklyn Bridge. Apparently my west is everyone else's east).

I'm trying to make up for not leaving the apartment by watching the City University New York channel while I frantically try and get prepared for college tomorrow.

I don't even have a notebook yet. But I know how to get to Williamsburg from Park Slope!

This has been a great week. For all my grousing (aka justifications for having to stay in to work out college kinks), I don't regret a single day. Seeing the Nica buddies was excellent, although the only pictures I have to remember our reunion are rather blurry...

Anyway, I had a convo with David (who has graciously lent me his couch for the duration of my stay here) about whether or not I could live in New York. He'll probably live here for the rest of his life, but I have reservations. There's nothing to write that doesn't fall into the city/country cliche-o-rama, so you can just imagine how it went without me rolling out all the tiresome "yes, but"s all over again.

And now...Coe. I think it's a good sign that I work on my thesis even without realizing it. Today, I found a free range, grass fed, organic meat farm right in Cedar Rapids! I channeled my mom's shopper energies and bought FRGFO ground beef, bacon, hot dogs, bratwurst, and a chicken.

I will need lessons on how to carve up the chicken. But I have found a meat source I ethically support. And all it took was a few minutes with Google.

I will say this: my hometown has almost nothing nearby except berry picking farms and beekeepers. New York City has considerably larger selection. In fact, I just made a stir fry from veggies I bought at a Farmer's Market down the street!

The rice, ginger, and soy sauce were from a mysterious corporate source. You can't have everything.

Technology?

Back in Grapids

I've got to admit, I like the way home smells. I thought I could still sense pine needles from Christmas, maybe chili powder and ginger (dad's favorite ingredients), definitely the dog's ear medicine, maybe some chlorophyll from mom's plants... who knows what the sum of it is, but it's a good smell.

Other than that, I've perfected the art of the sloth. Not that it's hard to do, that's the whole point. Small, 5 minute tasks manage to go undone for days on end, because I'm more interested in watching an entire season of House in a single day. My Fulbright application is currently no more than a bookmark on my Firefox toolbar, and my letter to grandpa, written a month ago, has yet to be mailed.

But even if it is just House, it's nice to spend hours focused on a single purpose. College tends to consist of me finishing homework assignments from 5 different classes while fitting in my two jobs, various meetings, and the drama that always arises when a few hundred students stew in their own juices for three months at a college that resists most attempts to live off-campus.

Still, if I keep at this for much longer, I'll risk losing all the neuron connections I am going to need to survive next year.

Labradoodle: part labrador, part poodle

Lessons Learned

I had assumed that, since I had mastered bus routes in both England and Nicaragua, I could handle the Twin Cities transit system. Turns out that I had not quite made the distinction between rural routes and the urban ones. For example:

+ Always check to make sure you are going in the right direction (or you end up in the Minneapolis U of M campus rather than the St. Paul capitol building).

+ Turns out that buses from multiple routes can stop at the same bus stops. Therefore, determine that you are not only on the right side of the road, but also boarding the #3, not the #62L which takes you to a strip mall on the south side of Rice St.

+ Asking people for help does not result in a blank stare or the phrase, "oh...I was hoping you could help me..."

Every time I'm on a twin city bus, I imagine what a Nicaraguan might think. The buses aren't old schoolbus models, the air doesn't reek of fresh onions or cheese, and I have yet to spend any amount of time jammed next to the driver because there's not even room to move, let alone available seats.

The price of a ride may be an issue, but you can always ask for transfer tickets. The climate might be worrisome for some, but they all have fully functioning heating systems. There is one downside: no snacks. Every bus driver on the country routes I took had deals with women selling corn on the cob, cornbread, juice, water, candy, cigarettes, you name it. They would get on a stop, walk up and down the bus to sell their goods, then get off at the next one and do it all over again. I got the feeling that it was one big intricate dance, played out day after day, with the exact same characters each time, and if I could stay for just a bit longer, I could figure out the pattern. That's really all I wanted to do during my research project--figure out the patterns. But I highly doubt they would let a frail looking, pale gringa in on their dance.

I won't miss the music. Clear Channel may broadcast worthless music, but at least the drivers preserve our eardrums.