Anyone who says winter doesn't exist in California is wrong, wrong, wrong. It might not be exactly what we're all used to in “Christmas in Connecticut”, with snowy fenceposts and bright biting days, but it's definitely cold and nasty here. Dreary, too. Lots of rain. Lots of fog. Some watery pale sunlight now and then. Occasionally a fleeting moment of warmth on the bricks at 3 PM. Mostly just cold.
But I have plenty to keep me occupied now that the semester's underway again. The first few weeks of the month dragged a little (lots of waking up late and mucking about without purpose, which can be surprisingly tiring and uninspiring). Then the semester started again, so there are classes and practices and parties, oh my.
But first, a spot of bad news: I have no dance partner. We went to dinner and he said he didn't want to be my partner anymore. Whether this is because of the screaming matches we started to have during practice, or the height/build disparity, or just lack of that ineffable thing called chemistry, the result is the same. This spelled disaster for the upcoming Winter Frolic until I put out feelers for a new partner and found someone whose partner can't compete that day. So we trained up for a few weeks together, and he's very sweet and fun to hang out with, so that softened the annoyance of not doing very well down in Palo Alto. I have given up on slicking my hair back, because it makes me look bullet-headed, and have instead opted for a slightly larger, more shellacked version of what my hair normally looks like. I wore my green gown this time instead of that awful skirt and top combo, now that we're dancing Silver, and horror of horrors, Novice (which went as well as you'd expect). I also have a much better regulation Latin costume, consisting of a poufy frilly black skirt and the ugliest top that Old Navy ever put out, but it's still better than the tube dress, which, now that I've seen the videos, makes my ass look like a TV screen. At least I have lovely new shoes (Christmas gift from Mom and Dad; along with cowboy boots, this was a shoe-y holiday!) so I don't look quite so frumpy in those big black boats like last semester.
Typical, I suppose, to start the post with all about Ballroom. I do have a scholarly life, too: my classes mostly hold intrigue: the second semester of Japanese at (thankfully) an hour later than last semester, the second Japanese linguistics class, and a wonderful seminar on Basho and other haiku poets. I love the professor; he's soft-spoken and seemingly easy-going but not really. He expects work from us and he's going to get it. I'm really beginning to love classical Japanese. Also, basically all of my Japanese-major friends are in it, including some grads, so it's party time every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon! The other two things I'm taking are stupid and boring: proseminar, AGAIN, and an Edo history class that is a complete waste and I can't bring myself to get excited about. The prof is about a million years old and a crashing bore, just narrates the readings. And I don't like the reader. [Editor's note: I'm not naming names, like I promised, 5but I'm glad for once for the two-year gap in time, because it means I can say things like this.]
And then, there's teaching. Yikes. I've been totally drained after each class. I hope it gets easier. We had a few meetings with Dr. Z to go over basics, and I had to do an all-day seminar on teaching and being a GSI, and I'm taking a seminar in pedagogical methods, which is required for getting the paycheck, but I still don't feel prepared for marching in and seeing those shining little faces every Tuesday and Wednesday. The Tuesday class is the harder one. Those kids are SMART. A good few of them are smarter than I am. And one or two are my age, which is also nerve-wracking. I scared them all but good the frist day thundering on about plagiarism, which I probably overdid. I just didn't know what to say, and I got a little carried away. Whoops. The Wednesday class seems nicer (read: a little more docile and a lot less likely to catch me with a question I can't answer), but also sleepier. I probably prefer that one because I already have my material down from the day before. So far, so good. We're starting with India, and beginning to wade into “The Home and the World”, which contains an embarrassing amount of allegory, so it's easy to work it over pretty thoroughly.
Next month: Travels in New York!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
December 2005
I'm glad the competitions are over for the moment, because all my work is catching up to me. Thhe nostalgia of papers and exams and study sessions is flooding back to me in an sleep-deprived, ink-stained wave. The fixed-scheduled exam system, though, now, THAT'S a kick in the teeth. You mean I can't just waltz in and pick up the exam when *I* feel like it? I have to take it with everyone else? Barbaric. But they seem to have gone okay, and now I'm on blissful respite from all things academic, here in the gloom of a Berkeley winter. It's rainy and cold and bleak, and I spend a lot of time in front of my tiny gas heater, reading the books I've been assigned for my class next semester. For yes, friends, Romans, countrymen, next semester I shall join the hallowed ranks of the pedagogues, those noble bastions of higher learning: I am to become a GSI. Where heaven is high and the professor is far away, graduate student instructors are on the ground, in the academic trenches, with their raw, plucky foot soldier-scholars, and I can't wait to get in there. The call came while I was Christmas shopping (read: overspending) on Fourth Street, a few blocks of high-end little shops and tree-lined sidewalks that I wish the rest of the world looked like (and smelled like: the Italian restaurant halfway down has its own wood-burning oven that pumps out glorious, James-Fenimore-Cooper-worthy gouts of smoky delicious woodsmoke), from Professor Darren Zook in the PEIS department. He's teaching Asian Studies 10B (Modern Asia) next semester, and I interviewed a few days before, obviously favorably! I am excited to test my didactic mettle, to be earning some serious cash (go, union!) and to be learning more about the countries I know very little about. To that end I'm reading Ranbindranath Tagore's The Home and the World, and the other two books are Mo Yan's Big Breasts, Wide Hips (looking forward to that one) and Oe Kenzaburo's A Personal Matter. I know both the other GSIs, so I'm looking forward to it all!
Christmas is upon us! Mom sent an Advent calendar, I put up my wee tree and spent a few bucks on awful decorations at the dollar store. My room is now festooned along the molding with silver bead ropes and hung with plastic balls, toy drums and two truly tacky reindeer. I love it. I'm still a little homesick, though, and it still doesn't feel like Christmas proper.
But the closer it got, the more I bucked up. We went down to Grandma Polly's in Fresno, for the first time since I was a wee babe, although Mom and Dad did it a few years ago on their way to Japan. Mom came over to California first, and spent the night at my apartment. John was very sweet and picked us up from the airport, although I got my very long scarf caught momentarily in his trunk and scared Mom half to death (let the record show that the car wasn't even moving, and he noticed right away and I pulled it out without having to even open the trunk, so relax, for heaven's sake). I was delighted to show her the gallery exhibit at the Berkeley Art Museum, which was Taisho-era transitional paintings, furniture, kimono and tableware. Then we had dinner with Sam at Le Bateau Ivre on Telegraph, and it was perfect: hot, cheesy, savory food and fire and stoneware pitchers all soothing and warming on a wet blustery night. It's not so cold here, but it certainly manages to feel what I imagine England is like in the winter, and it's not hospitable.
Next day we went to Kingpin Donuts for breakfast (I think Mom only pretended to exclaim over the best donuts ever—her loss), and then we headed for the train station. I love going to Fresno by train. The ride is lovely almost all the way down, with a long river view for the first hour, and then fields of every description—best in the spring when the almond trees are blooming, but surprisinly green in winter, which is when they actually get rain here.
Grandma's was calm and sociable for the first few days: we saw Memoirs of a Geisha at a huge sprawl-mall (verdict on the movie: gorgeous production values, crappy rendering of the story, watch it for the sets and props and costumes), ate at Dai Bai Dang, which is surprisingly good for franchised and large, and I saw Vince and we drove down to his little hovel in Merced, and I received an excellent gift from him, a wicked little blade concealed in a pen. A bride's knife! I fervently hope it is never required for defending my honor (I'm certainly not going to use it on myself, like you're supposed to), but it rides in my leather jacket pocket now, and I grin surreptitiously whenever I sign checks with it...
Christmas Day, however, was something else entirely. Being an only child with no living relatives within two hours after pubescence, Christmases are spent, are supposed to be spent, in tranquility, a leisurely plow through stockings and under the tree with pauses for coffee, hot chocolate, bacon, stollen (ick), and clementines. Presents are opened one by one, to make it last and to ensure proper attention is given to every gift and giver and receiver. Bathrobes are to be worn until at least 2 PM. Usually whatever movie was given to individual or family unit is put on in the afternoon, and we all read our books all day. Lately, we've been bestirring ourselves to haul over to the neighbors' across the street for Christmas Dinner, and then home to lie heavy in our beds and savor the week ahead.
But at Grandma's, you're up at 8 or earlier, to chop mushrooms and fold napkins and look lively or else. Fifty people show up in waves, most of whom have known Dad since he was in short pants, and the last time they saw me I was just a baby. Mom, in a moment of sympathy, allowed as how she'd rather be in her bathrobe drinking coffee too...but that wasn't how it was going to be this time, so suck it up. Moment over. Fold some more napkins. The highlights were my multitudinous second cousins, all identically dressed, swinging decorously at the pinata (which Dad cruelly hauled out of range EVERY single time!), and encouraging old Cal alumni to come see the next ballroom competition the next time they were in Berkeley.
If I had a less-than-ideal Christmas, however, New Year's Eve more than made up for it. One of the vintage waltz societies held a ball—a real ball!—at International House, so I gleefully donned my old prom dress and made my way up the hill. I felt like I was in a Dickens novel—or at least the set for a movie version of one. There were many repurposed gowns like mine, but quite a few authentic costumes—even a distinguished gentleman in hunting pinks! I learned the Congress of Vienna Waltz, the galop, and just how much fun a polka can be, weaving and dodging and spinning around like mad things. There was sparkling cider at midnight and I kissed one of the girls on the team (no, not like that) and went home delighted. 2006 holds promise, especially after being rung in with such earnest cheer.
Christmas is upon us! Mom sent an Advent calendar, I put up my wee tree and spent a few bucks on awful decorations at the dollar store. My room is now festooned along the molding with silver bead ropes and hung with plastic balls, toy drums and two truly tacky reindeer. I love it. I'm still a little homesick, though, and it still doesn't feel like Christmas proper.
But the closer it got, the more I bucked up. We went down to Grandma Polly's in Fresno, for the first time since I was a wee babe, although Mom and Dad did it a few years ago on their way to Japan. Mom came over to California first, and spent the night at my apartment. John was very sweet and picked us up from the airport, although I got my very long scarf caught momentarily in his trunk and scared Mom half to death (let the record show that the car wasn't even moving, and he noticed right away and I pulled it out without having to even open the trunk, so relax, for heaven's sake). I was delighted to show her the gallery exhibit at the Berkeley Art Museum, which was Taisho-era transitional paintings, furniture, kimono and tableware. Then we had dinner with Sam at Le Bateau Ivre on Telegraph, and it was perfect: hot, cheesy, savory food and fire and stoneware pitchers all soothing and warming on a wet blustery night. It's not so cold here, but it certainly manages to feel what I imagine England is like in the winter, and it's not hospitable.
Next day we went to Kingpin Donuts for breakfast (I think Mom only pretended to exclaim over the best donuts ever—her loss), and then we headed for the train station. I love going to Fresno by train. The ride is lovely almost all the way down, with a long river view for the first hour, and then fields of every description—best in the spring when the almond trees are blooming, but surprisinly green in winter, which is when they actually get rain here.
Grandma's was calm and sociable for the first few days: we saw Memoirs of a Geisha at a huge sprawl-mall (verdict on the movie: gorgeous production values, crappy rendering of the story, watch it for the sets and props and costumes), ate at Dai Bai Dang, which is surprisingly good for franchised and large, and I saw Vince and we drove down to his little hovel in Merced, and I received an excellent gift from him, a wicked little blade concealed in a pen. A bride's knife! I fervently hope it is never required for defending my honor (I'm certainly not going to use it on myself, like you're supposed to), but it rides in my leather jacket pocket now, and I grin surreptitiously whenever I sign checks with it...
Christmas Day, however, was something else entirely. Being an only child with no living relatives within two hours after pubescence, Christmases are spent, are supposed to be spent, in tranquility, a leisurely plow through stockings and under the tree with pauses for coffee, hot chocolate, bacon, stollen (ick), and clementines. Presents are opened one by one, to make it last and to ensure proper attention is given to every gift and giver and receiver. Bathrobes are to be worn until at least 2 PM. Usually whatever movie was given to individual or family unit is put on in the afternoon, and we all read our books all day. Lately, we've been bestirring ourselves to haul over to the neighbors' across the street for Christmas Dinner, and then home to lie heavy in our beds and savor the week ahead.
But at Grandma's, you're up at 8 or earlier, to chop mushrooms and fold napkins and look lively or else. Fifty people show up in waves, most of whom have known Dad since he was in short pants, and the last time they saw me I was just a baby. Mom, in a moment of sympathy, allowed as how she'd rather be in her bathrobe drinking coffee too...but that wasn't how it was going to be this time, so suck it up. Moment over. Fold some more napkins. The highlights were my multitudinous second cousins, all identically dressed, swinging decorously at the pinata (which Dad cruelly hauled out of range EVERY single time!), and encouraging old Cal alumni to come see the next ballroom competition the next time they were in Berkeley.
If I had a less-than-ideal Christmas, however, New Year's Eve more than made up for it. One of the vintage waltz societies held a ball—a real ball!—at International House, so I gleefully donned my old prom dress and made my way up the hill. I felt like I was in a Dickens novel—or at least the set for a movie version of one. There were many repurposed gowns like mine, but quite a few authentic costumes—even a distinguished gentleman in hunting pinks! I learned the Congress of Vienna Waltz, the galop, and just how much fun a polka can be, weaving and dodging and spinning around like mad things. There was sparkling cider at midnight and I kissed one of the girls on the team (no, not like that) and went home delighted. 2006 holds promise, especially after being rung in with such earnest cheer.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
November 2005
Oh. My. Goodness. Three competitions in three weeks. I'll be lucky if I have any feet left by the time I graduate, instead of just a pair of stumps. After the Berkeley Beginner's competition we went to San Jose State and did very well again, placing third a lot, and the next week back to San Jose (different part of it, though), to compete in the state championships. The floor was huge and cold and there were hundreds of seats all the way around. It wasn't nearly as crowded as I thought it would be, actually. I was amazed to think that all of them would be filled, but only the first few rows in the lower level were even close to being full. The United States Ballroom Dance Association has stricter rules on costumes than most of the college comps, so we couldn't wear anything with sparkly things on it. Boring! R and I danced very, very well, placing first (!) in the Newcomer level for Standard (waltz-quickstep). Okay, Newcomer isn't very exciting, but it's the first time I think I've been first in anything, and if I'm not mistaken, doesn't that make us state champions? I think it does. I think I'm going to continue to think that (and brag about it, where appropriate :-).
This was the first time I'd seen children competing, bar the one tiny couple at the Berkeley Beginner's comp. They're very, very good, but actually kind of disturbing. I can't imagine how much time they spend practicing, and between that and the skimpy costumes and the overly adult routines they perform, I think it might not be very good for them. This might be just sour grapes, though. They're better than I'll ever be simply by virtue of having starting earlier, and I've taken to muttering “therapy. YEARS of therapy. That's what awaits them” whenever I get fed up and envious...
In other news, I've joined a classical Japanese class in addition to my translation, linguistics and language courses. Most of my friends are in this one too, and the professor is just wonderful. He's taking us through Hojoki, or Account of my Ten-Foot Hut, and he manages to be funny and wise and informative and helpful, often all at once and always during every class. After some bureaucratic running around I've managed to get credit for it as a graduate course, if I write a paper on the translation, and also for the linguistics course. My fears about not being able to hack it in graduate school are abating, and I think I might actually do okay!
I just love the library here. It took me a little while to find the main stacks, but they are just awe-inspiring. Floor after floor after floor of books in all languages, and big beautiful study tables and carrels. The stacks themselves are underground but the upper floors are all marble and the great reading room soars over your head like a ship upside down, with coffered ceilings and huge windows. The study tables have beautiful bronze lanps on them. After Haverford's cozy but small library (and those awful chairs on the Boat), this feels like Alexandria. Best of all is the art installation in the atrium. There's a spiral staircase that winds all the way down to the lowest stack level, and an artist has taken books and strung them through wires, and then suspended the wires across and over and down the middle of the spiral. The effect is of books cascading down through the air, some open and fluttering, some closed and tumbling towards the floor. It feels like the scene in Big Fish where time stops and Ewan MacGregor is pushing through the hardened figures to his girl. I love studying there, or at the smaller, Victorian-style Asian Studies library. More marble, more bronze and hardwood, but in an infinitesmally smaller space that looks like a Belle Epoque drawing room.
Thanksgiving was spent in the mountains, at Rock Haven. Baby Kathleen is 4 months old now, big but still sort of compact. She screams when anyone other than Deirdre or Liz holds her for the most part, but there she has her cheerful moments, and she and I spent a quarter-hour gargling at each other by the fire. Mom was there, and patiently sat through my ballroom DVDs and asked me about my friends and dates while washing dishes. I saw Vince the night after Thanksgiving. We ate ribs, went up to Kaiser Pass while listening to Stephen Lynch, and saw a very bizarre cloud formation up there at 8000 feet. Aliens, methinks. It was blistering, bittering cold, so iwas very glad for the fire that was still alive when I got back. I even built it up a little before going to bed.
Now, with exams looming, I'm glad that the competitions are over until after break. I need study time!
This was the first time I'd seen children competing, bar the one tiny couple at the Berkeley Beginner's comp. They're very, very good, but actually kind of disturbing. I can't imagine how much time they spend practicing, and between that and the skimpy costumes and the overly adult routines they perform, I think it might not be very good for them. This might be just sour grapes, though. They're better than I'll ever be simply by virtue of having starting earlier, and I've taken to muttering “therapy. YEARS of therapy. That's what awaits them” whenever I get fed up and envious...
In other news, I've joined a classical Japanese class in addition to my translation, linguistics and language courses. Most of my friends are in this one too, and the professor is just wonderful. He's taking us through Hojoki, or Account of my Ten-Foot Hut, and he manages to be funny and wise and informative and helpful, often all at once and always during every class. After some bureaucratic running around I've managed to get credit for it as a graduate course, if I write a paper on the translation, and also for the linguistics course. My fears about not being able to hack it in graduate school are abating, and I think I might actually do okay!
I just love the library here. It took me a little while to find the main stacks, but they are just awe-inspiring. Floor after floor after floor of books in all languages, and big beautiful study tables and carrels. The stacks themselves are underground but the upper floors are all marble and the great reading room soars over your head like a ship upside down, with coffered ceilings and huge windows. The study tables have beautiful bronze lanps on them. After Haverford's cozy but small library (and those awful chairs on the Boat), this feels like Alexandria. Best of all is the art installation in the atrium. There's a spiral staircase that winds all the way down to the lowest stack level, and an artist has taken books and strung them through wires, and then suspended the wires across and over and down the middle of the spiral. The effect is of books cascading down through the air, some open and fluttering, some closed and tumbling towards the floor. It feels like the scene in Big Fish where time stops and Ewan MacGregor is pushing through the hardened figures to his girl. I love studying there, or at the smaller, Victorian-style Asian Studies library. More marble, more bronze and hardwood, but in an infinitesmally smaller space that looks like a Belle Epoque drawing room.
Thanksgiving was spent in the mountains, at Rock Haven. Baby Kathleen is 4 months old now, big but still sort of compact. She screams when anyone other than Deirdre or Liz holds her for the most part, but there she has her cheerful moments, and she and I spent a quarter-hour gargling at each other by the fire. Mom was there, and patiently sat through my ballroom DVDs and asked me about my friends and dates while washing dishes. I saw Vince the night after Thanksgiving. We ate ribs, went up to Kaiser Pass while listening to Stephen Lynch, and saw a very bizarre cloud formation up there at 8000 feet. Aliens, methinks. It was blistering, bittering cold, so iwas very glad for the fire that was still alive when I got back. I even built it up a little before going to bed.
Now, with exams looming, I'm glad that the competitions are over until after break. I need study time!
Monday, April 30, 2007
October
I was utterly remiss in not closing my September post with the birth of my new baby cousin, Kathleen Elizabeth! She was born on September 30, and was a whopping 10 pounds, 4 ounces! Big girl! Everyone is doing fine. I went to see her and Deirdre in the hospital when I had a cold, so all the pictures of me holding her are marred by a big ugly mask, and my hands are raw from washing them so much, but she's just darling—all dark hair and little hands. Deirdre's mom is in town to help, and so is my grandmother, so we had a nice little baby-welcoming party with Whole Food and Celtic music. New cousin! So exciting!
In my world, I have friends now! Several people from my linguistics and translation classes have started inviting me to tea with them after class, and I've even been to parties! This is in addition to my teammates in ballroom, with whom I've spent a fair amount of non-dancing time. We went on a retreat early in October, to Chabot Park, and I'm astonished that such an enormous expanse of open nature is so close to civilization. We only drove about 40 minutes to get there, and there were houses almost all along the way until the very end. There were so many people there I didn't get to talk to or hang out with everyone. But we had a great time taking walks through the gorgeous scenery, playing frisbee and icebreaker games (please, stop asking about and referencing the damn circle game. I hate you all), and in the morning, laughing at Pamela and Marz and Darwin and Lyell, who slept outside and got all condensed on.
The weather continues glorious beautiful. I don't spend nearly enough time outside, but I'm saving a bundle on drying my clothes—I just hang them outside! I've noticed, though, that they don't dry nearly as fast I would expect them to given the temperature and breeze. There's something about the air around here that's moister even though it doesn't feel like it.
I went down to Fresno to see my grandmother and attend the annual banquet for the Lee Institute for Japanese Art which is incongruously in the middle of a walnut grove in the middle of nowhere. I wish I had a kimono for the event, but everything I have is mismatched and too old, and I can't dress myself and don't know anyone who can. So i just wore my red and white flowered dress and lavender pashmina for warmth. Fresno is even warmer than the Bay Area, so I barely needed it. The Lee Institute is huge and shockingly well-manicured for someplace so far out of the way. Their grounds are perfect, better even than some places I've seen in Japan. This time we got to go into the private gardens of the on-site residence, that are usually off-limits. Passed hors d'oeuvres and open bar, no one my age. I munched and sipped for a while and let Grandma introduce me around, trotted out a little rudimentary Japanese, and tried to be modest about my studies at Berkeley. At dinner, I was seated with a Japanese dignitary who turned out to be a ballroom dancer himself! We had a very nice conversation about that, but I didn't get any tips about it. Maybe I'm too much of a beginner to need it.
I already posted about my experience dancing with John, and I'm very grateful to him for helping me with ballroom so early on, because I didn't find a partner until three weeks before the first comeptition. R is just a little shorter than I am in my heels, but we're well-matched, I'm told, and we seem to be doing okay. The first competition was at the very end of October. I had a dark blue skirt, silver velvet shirt, and sparkly gray shrug for Standard, and a tube dress in burnt orange. I did my hair just as the intermediate and advanced girls said we should—gel it, spray it, blow-dry it, repeat. My hair felt like plastic all day. I kept touching it in fascination. We placed third in Waltz and Quickstep, third in Rumba, and not in Cha-cha. I was sort of surprised at how put out I felt that we didn't make the finals, even though we messed up badly enough not to deserve it at all. They say most competitions go well into the night, but this one ended around 4, and I crawled home, showered all the mess out of my hair, and dragged off to a party at the “ballroom house”. About six or seven dancers live together near my apartment, but I learned later that it's not official—they just liked each other and all happened to be looking for housing at the same time last year. I left early though, to go to dinner with Gabe and some of his friends in Milpitas at the best Chinese restaurant ever, according to Gabe. And how did it earn this lofty praise, you might ask?
It serves “fish-fragrant eggplant cakes”.
Don't you love it when you see a phrase in which none of the words actually make sense in reference to any others? Especially on a menu...they're pretty good, though. Got to see Gabe's digs, which are small and basementy but cozy. I like his room. We mucked about in Santa Cruz, got lunch, and then he drove me back home.
I sort of forgot about Halloween so I dove into Hot Topic, bought a pair of big white angel wings, and wore them over a white shirt and my petticoat skirt for a party on Northside with people from my Japanese classes. Yay, I'm an angel. Meh. There's a picture of my arm in said costume on Facebook, if you're interested.
Okay, Facebook. Weird, but also fun. I think I like it, especially because I can reconnect with people from as far back as high school, and I can put a lot of stuff on it that will satisfy my need to enumerate things without boring everyon in sight. I think it's classier than MySpace, which I REFUSE, CATEGORICALLY, to join. LiveJournal was bad enough.
Other things I like about Berkeley:
*The spicy-hempy smell of Telegraph Ave., and all the vendors on weekend afternoons.
*All the food! Yumyumyumyumyum...
*Especially Kingpin doughnuts. Oh my stars, I'm going to have dance more or less constantly to work off all of those maple- and chocolate- and sugar-glazed glories. There's NUTMEG in them. NUTMEG. Krispy Kreme and Dunkin' Donuts, I'm sorry, but it's just not going to work out. I hope we can still be friends, and maybe I'll drop by when I can't get anything better, but Kingpin has my heart. NUTMEG.
*Zooming down Bancroft Ave. on my bicycle, from I-House all the way to Shattuck. So very dangerous, and yet so very, very, deliciously exciting.
*Lovely misty mornings that haze over the hills and make them look like the Austrian, Swiss and German postcards from the 50s and 60's my mother has in the attic. Getting up sucks, but at least it's nice out a lot when I'm awake.
*Free bus rides, all the time. Wheee!
In my world, I have friends now! Several people from my linguistics and translation classes have started inviting me to tea with them after class, and I've even been to parties! This is in addition to my teammates in ballroom, with whom I've spent a fair amount of non-dancing time. We went on a retreat early in October, to Chabot Park, and I'm astonished that such an enormous expanse of open nature is so close to civilization. We only drove about 40 minutes to get there, and there were houses almost all along the way until the very end. There were so many people there I didn't get to talk to or hang out with everyone. But we had a great time taking walks through the gorgeous scenery, playing frisbee and icebreaker games (please, stop asking about and referencing the damn circle game. I hate you all), and in the morning, laughing at Pamela and Marz and Darwin and Lyell, who slept outside and got all condensed on.
The weather continues glorious beautiful. I don't spend nearly enough time outside, but I'm saving a bundle on drying my clothes—I just hang them outside! I've noticed, though, that they don't dry nearly as fast I would expect them to given the temperature and breeze. There's something about the air around here that's moister even though it doesn't feel like it.
I went down to Fresno to see my grandmother and attend the annual banquet for the Lee Institute for Japanese Art which is incongruously in the middle of a walnut grove in the middle of nowhere. I wish I had a kimono for the event, but everything I have is mismatched and too old, and I can't dress myself and don't know anyone who can. So i just wore my red and white flowered dress and lavender pashmina for warmth. Fresno is even warmer than the Bay Area, so I barely needed it. The Lee Institute is huge and shockingly well-manicured for someplace so far out of the way. Their grounds are perfect, better even than some places I've seen in Japan. This time we got to go into the private gardens of the on-site residence, that are usually off-limits. Passed hors d'oeuvres and open bar, no one my age. I munched and sipped for a while and let Grandma introduce me around, trotted out a little rudimentary Japanese, and tried to be modest about my studies at Berkeley. At dinner, I was seated with a Japanese dignitary who turned out to be a ballroom dancer himself! We had a very nice conversation about that, but I didn't get any tips about it. Maybe I'm too much of a beginner to need it.
I already posted about my experience dancing with John, and I'm very grateful to him for helping me with ballroom so early on, because I didn't find a partner until three weeks before the first comeptition. R is just a little shorter than I am in my heels, but we're well-matched, I'm told, and we seem to be doing okay. The first competition was at the very end of October. I had a dark blue skirt, silver velvet shirt, and sparkly gray shrug for Standard, and a tube dress in burnt orange. I did my hair just as the intermediate and advanced girls said we should—gel it, spray it, blow-dry it, repeat. My hair felt like plastic all day. I kept touching it in fascination. We placed third in Waltz and Quickstep, third in Rumba, and not in Cha-cha. I was sort of surprised at how put out I felt that we didn't make the finals, even though we messed up badly enough not to deserve it at all. They say most competitions go well into the night, but this one ended around 4, and I crawled home, showered all the mess out of my hair, and dragged off to a party at the “ballroom house”. About six or seven dancers live together near my apartment, but I learned later that it's not official—they just liked each other and all happened to be looking for housing at the same time last year. I left early though, to go to dinner with Gabe and some of his friends in Milpitas at the best Chinese restaurant ever, according to Gabe. And how did it earn this lofty praise, you might ask?
It serves “fish-fragrant eggplant cakes”.
Don't you love it when you see a phrase in which none of the words actually make sense in reference to any others? Especially on a menu...they're pretty good, though. Got to see Gabe's digs, which are small and basementy but cozy. I like his room. We mucked about in Santa Cruz, got lunch, and then he drove me back home.
I sort of forgot about Halloween so I dove into Hot Topic, bought a pair of big white angel wings, and wore them over a white shirt and my petticoat skirt for a party on Northside with people from my Japanese classes. Yay, I'm an angel. Meh. There's a picture of my arm in said costume on Facebook, if you're interested.
Okay, Facebook. Weird, but also fun. I think I like it, especially because I can reconnect with people from as far back as high school, and I can put a lot of stuff on it that will satisfy my need to enumerate things without boring everyon in sight. I think it's classier than MySpace, which I REFUSE, CATEGORICALLY, to join. LiveJournal was bad enough.
Other things I like about Berkeley:
*The spicy-hempy smell of Telegraph Ave., and all the vendors on weekend afternoons.
*All the food! Yumyumyumyumyum...
*Especially Kingpin doughnuts. Oh my stars, I'm going to have dance more or less constantly to work off all of those maple- and chocolate- and sugar-glazed glories. There's NUTMEG in them. NUTMEG. Krispy Kreme and Dunkin' Donuts, I'm sorry, but it's just not going to work out. I hope we can still be friends, and maybe I'll drop by when I can't get anything better, but Kingpin has my heart. NUTMEG.
*Zooming down Bancroft Ave. on my bicycle, from I-House all the way to Shattuck. So very dangerous, and yet so very, very, deliciously exciting.
*Lovely misty mornings that haze over the hills and make them look like the Austrian, Swiss and German postcards from the 50s and 60's my mother has in the attic. Getting up sucks, but at least it's nice out a lot when I'm awake.
*Free bus rides, all the time. Wheee!
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