I remember the first time I really got some insight into my learning style, my memory style. It was in undergrad when I realized that, when I try to remember something, I call it to mind visually.
Glub, glub, glub … (sink or swim)
The very first time I worked alone in the homeless shelter, I felt completely overwhelmed, and I didn’t know how I’d make it through the night.
I was a shelter supervisor on Saturday and Sunday night from 4:00 pm to midnight. I had to work the desk phones, oversee dinner, make sure the chores were done, do any intakes that came in, hand out 9:00 pm medication for folks who had them, breathalyze the residents before they went to bed and enforce lights out, and keep notes of everything that happens for legal and case management purposes. In a shelter with, at first, 30ish, and eventually 40 residents. 40.
Personal history statement – with wine!
I’m in the midst of doing my PhD applications right now, writing my essays, hence the radio silence and lack of progress on my NaNoWriMo project. I have four apps due on Sunday and three of them are good ones in California, (where the future would be good for me and Cohiba). So I really wanna do well on them.
One of the schools to which I’m applying is Berkley, and part of their application includes a personal history statement, and it’s clear they’re looking for things about diversity. But I’m pretty WASPy. I grew up in West County (and if you know St. Louis, that’ll mean something to you.) How can I talk about diversity?
Where’d you go to high school?
Ah, being lost in translation. I have lived most of my life in the same city, St. Louis, and so, as a Midwesterner, don’t find myself blessed with the cute regional accents of Boston or Savannah, or even Dallas. There are a few little unique things to STL, though, in a way that toasted ravioli and gooey butter cake is unique to us. Probably the most unique question and the one that newcomers notice first is: “Where’d you go to high school?” (For those of you familiar with this, I went to Parkway South.) This question is almost automatic to any STL native. It’s compulsive.
I have a friend, Ed, who moved here to go to school from Seattle, and he was working a job as a tour guide in the museum under the Arch (which, by the way, is free and really cool). He walking talking about Samual Clements, I think, or someone like that, and someone asked jokingly: “Where’d he go to high school?” Ed was like, “Does it matter?”
Perhaps needless to say, the crowd cooled to him after that. This reflects the small town nature of this city, and it also stems from something else important to understanding the city: City v. County.
There is St. Louis city and St. Louis county. And the county is actually made up of dozens of small cities, like Affton, Sunset Hills, and Hazelwood. So those little cities have their own high schools, and their own “flavor,” if you will. Part of the reason we ask about your high school is that we, frankly, stereotype people based on that. If you told me you went to Ladue, Rockwood, or MICDS, I “know” something about you. (I don’t really, but we stereotype.) Also, I can see if I knew someone who went to Ladue, Rockwood or MICDS during that time, and we forge a connection.
If someone is from south city and especially south county, they may pronounce words with an “or” like it’s “aa.” For example, Corn:Caarn. Four:Faar. This is not completely confined to the south side, but it tends to be like that. Also, the more “aa” your “a’s” are, the more hoosier you are. Which brings us to the next point:
In St. Louis, hoosier, or hoozsh for short, doesn’t mean what it does in Indiana. Here, a hoosier is sort of like a hick, but more educated. Sort of like just white trash, but a little less mean, if you will.
Inside Sahara’s Studio
This prompt is good – questions. It may be flagrant self-obsession, but I think it’s interesting and I’ll try to make it enjoyable for readers.
- What is your favorite word?
I love words and I love to play with them, so I don’t really have any particular favorite. Perhaps the word “Yes” to certain questions such as “Am I going to Spain?” Yes. “Will I be in Jamaica for two weeks?” Yes. “May I have a Bloody Mary?” Yes. “Will you publish my research?” Yes. “A raise?” Yes. “Go kayaking or stand up paddleboarding?” Yes.
“As I See It” – NaNoWriMoS start
This is the beginning to my NaNoWriMoS project, and I would love to get your thoughts on it!
“Good morning, ma’am,” a girl’s young voice awoke Blanche. Blanche opened her eyes, confused, as this was a voice she didn’t recognize. “Who is that?” she asked. “Jolen, ma’am, I’m new to the house.” Blanche became frustrated, “Why didn’t anyone tell me I was getting a new girl?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I only answered the notice a few days ago. I don’t know how long it was out.” Annoyed by this new upset, Blanche flung her sheets back off her body and put her feet on the floor.
Cigar Bar Update
In the cigar bar, time takes on it’s own dimension. In a cloud of smoke, I sit in my favorite chair: plush and comfy, within easy view of the bar, the front window, and the football game. A large glass table in front of me on which to prop my feet and set my computer. Cohiba and I spend many a happy evening in this bar, and we had engagement pictures taken here. It is not unusual for us to make friends over this table, meeting a varied assortment of people.
Remember the time… we learned about sex?
“One year, (at school), I didn’t know. The next year, I just knew. You go from not knowing to knowing. Or if you don’t, you act like you do.” This was the way one of my girlfriend’s learned about sex, and this is totally how I remember it, too. I had been told by my mother about where babies come from when I was young, so young that I don’t remember. But that was just the mechanics, and I was grossed out and that was that. Then, things changed.
Searching searching
Google search, where would I be without you? This week, as I am undertaking my first NaNoWriMo, as well as ticking down the days before my first PhD application is due, I am a faithful visitor to Google.
Song as a Memory Finder
This week, there is a prompt about a song that really affects us, and while I don’t have the obsession over music that some people have, I do have one song that… I don’t know. I have a visceral reaction to it. The first 20 seconds of Pearl Jam’s “Nothingman,” affects me like I didn’t know a song could. Even as I listen right now, as I sit here and write this… My heart clutches and it’s hard to breathe. I close my eyes and shudder a bit. I feel like a balloon with the air suddenly sucked out.
No matter where I am or what I’m doing, when I hear this song, I’m immediately back in a darkened house in the dark wee hours of the morning. I was a different person that night and at that point in my life. Though I didn’t know it then, it was the lowest I would ever be – the night before the accident. The accident that nearly killed me. The accident I would give anything to have not had.
I Didn't Just Wake Up This Morning With A Craving 