Frogger

boston

so I’ve lived here almost two years now and the place still mystifies me.
what I already knew, and “discovered” further this spring is that there are (at least) two bostons. there’s the not-very-racially-diverse back bay/beacon hill/south end/jamaica plain/west somerville/west Cambridge/west Roxbury/roslindale economic power source tossed salad with a lotta lettuce. And then there’s the Dorchester/Mattapan/Roxbury/east Cambridge/east Somerville/revere/Chelsea/hyde park eastern and southern half moon primarily habitated by people-of-color. Fortunately I had the privilege to work in the latter boston this spring, so I would no longer have to entirely speculate about the boston most of my friends don’t know about/ignore.

of course I’m wrong about all this already. I don’t really know boston; I know some history, and I can see some trends, but much of my perception, despite lived experience, is in guesstimate, speculation, and stereotype. I want to voice some of those here, however, in order to flush them out.

I have a few friends in nyc and dc who have told me how boston is not (that) diverse. I remember reading the last installment of a series focused on race in the boston globe last year that interviewed a black family that moved here—many of their friends asked them, “Why Boston, they have so many problems there” or “It’s so racist there.” The family, after having a hard time living here (in a predominantly white neighborhood) moved to the South, where they feel more at home.

When I walk around the former boston, esp. in the red squares (davis, Harvard, porter)—btw, my Microsoft word just capitalizes when it wants to, and I don’t want to comb it—it seems like the area is diverse. I don’t feel like people of color are the majority, but compared to college campuses at which I’ve worked (Pomona, Williams, and Lesley), the economically richer parts of Cambridge and somerville seem pretty multi-ethnic. in fact, harvard’s campus seems to have a more diverse population than any of those other schools, tho it also seems more tied in with Harvard square life. However, a lot of the folks seem to keep to themselves. We—I’m not gonna disassociate myself although I want to—just roll like we are still undergraduates, de facto keeping to ourselves and occasionally getting frustrated that many people of color are keeping to themselves. when I’ve been to adams morgan or Dupont circle or backstage at the daily show—oh wait I haven’t been there—it was a pretty similar experience. often it’s a suburban phenomenon and maybe it’s not even a phenomenon here, but if it’s not, how and why do many people think boston’s not diverse?

“well, it’s really segregated”

I’ve heard that phrase in a lot of cities from some of my white friends. Albany, NY; DC; even LA and NYC. People live in neighborhoods. Cultures stick together, often necessarily, especially if they don’t speak the language or don’t bask in the privileges of a dominant population. As many of you know, ‘Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria,’ is one of my favorite books.

I remember a poet, radio dj, and director of the Office of Black Student Affairs at the Claremont Colleges warned us, in a group conversation about race, about using the term segregation. Segregation to him meant forced from the outside. Native Americans and American Indians are segregated to reservations, and Blacks and Africans were segregated to slavery, to the back of the bus, to a different bathroom and water fountain. There are many more examples, some more subtle but just as institutional and debilitating.

I wrote most of this a few days ago and have though revising, shaping, or extending it; really pushing my intercultural training to show what I’ve learned, but the semester is over and to humble my Mastery, I figure I’ll remember the key rule of intercultural learning. Communication, best facilitated through asking questions and asking for feedback, is the key. So please, give me your thoughts on this.

i definitely shouldn’t be awake but since it’s summer i’m-a try to should all over myself less.  keep it clean.

frame:  lately, i’ve been conjecturing that maybe the person i’ll end up with, or marry, if that said person exists–i’m, sometimes proudly, not a person of faith–is on my friendster.  i imagine there’s a 47% chance, or something ;), that they are.
            i’ve also been wondering how guarded to be with my blog, because they people i know who’ve read it look at me differently than they did before…but i sort of like that, and dug convinced me this weekend that there is no game to be played.  i’ll just do what fills right, and the gold will collect in my sieve.

if my future someone is on here, i like the idea of being vulnerable, because my deeper self constitutes the potential for longest love.  i don’t really believe that love and compatibilty can last together, despite the great tree metaphor that artemis told me (two trees standing next to each other each growing at their own pace–i added that maybe their leaves brushed in the wind), but love lasts.  you could see it in my eyes

  for instance, in my nyc hullaballo i made plans with bunches of people to chill today/tonight.  but the plans were still, and i didn’t want to keep calling peeps on the phone with new incantations of this evolution.  but the night, and who did come out, made it sweeet.

it’s a red sky at night.  can the sailers tell if it’ll be gone in three hours?

ooooooo i’m not awake.  i’ve fallen asleep thrice writing this.  it’s 4:03am eastern standard and i rise at 7:47.  get me a ticket for an aeroplane, chaka khan

   a daunting try in limelight.   i often fall asleep with people who are speaking to me if i’m lying down even if it’s over the phone.  but……..the subject of this blog refers to fantasy.  as i graduate and possibilities arise, i live in fantasy.  everyone i could be with i’ve been with.  any job i could do or goal i could set i’ve done.  y’all might not have been there when it happeneD in the future but, my past is yet to be.  it’s glorious

back to the sleep i haven’t started.  short and disconcerting and even.  the rested theater signs seem to cut through any crowd, without leaving a mark.  i know this overture

I always want to write blog entries online, right in that text box, but if safari crashes as it often does…?

lately I’ve been thinking about marriage, breaking up with my osteopath, guitar, kissing, what the coolest 39cent stamp is, how I will deal with three jobs in the fall, if I really want to buy a new computer, how I can stay awake, how not to hate running, confidence, secrets, solitude, and solemnitude. the ‘uge. I am the master of de arts. hmmm. I wonder if that just means debt. kiddingg.

I’m very sleepy and wonder if everyone usually gets this sleepy at work. is it too much, food, not enough sleep, crash from coffee, poor back alignment and adjustment, boredom…I can’t find the power cable for the work digital camera and a trip to radio shack—to buy something I know I’ve bought for this exact reason before—is/seems too daunting.

here’s a good question (back on pointfocus), esp. for the “ladies” although all are welcomed to answer. is it better to just kiss someone or admit your feelings to them? I’ve done both and the first one is a lot harder (involves more courage, ‘uge’ly). but the unspoken is fuel, and the beginning, kindling.

a “colleague” who is actually a master photographer, just said to my boss “what would we all do without brian.” hmmph (that’s a sighing laugh). not much different. if only I had a job that tapped all my creative ade and went easier on my ropey back. then a significance, emblazoned on even me, would erupt, through slow crescendo.

i haven’t written anything in a while because…
….hmmm, it’s hard to pinpoint. i’ve thought about it, and as always been impassioned at some events but not held the passion, that productive anxiety, all the way home and moved it from gut to fingertips
because of beers or needed sleep or fun
en route.
i saw beverly daniel tatum speak and as it has been when i read her writing i felt like she knew me
i saw good night, and good luck and wondered if journalists could still be so brave or self-sacrificing
i taught seven weeks of video production to after-school middle schoolers aching for fun
i laid beside a lake and spoke telepathically with the sky

all the enumerity however doesn’t make for production. enlightened exhaustion perhaps, as compared with the regular type
facing this rectangle involves a sting, like at bingo, before the laws, when there weren’t enough troll luck charms to absorb all the smoke in their hair of flare

i saw bread & roses and realized the context for my inherited/borrowed justice for janitors shirt
i heard paul farmer temper reality with jokes that couldn’t really hide his earned righteousness
i received triggerpoint injections from the fastest osteopath this side of tombstone (no pun intended)
i pitied the new (free) couch, unwittingly ready to be dogged

amidst the bloom of the avenue, hope s_r_ng_ _tern_l. doorways emerged out of _h__ _ir, as if only there to show where we can go. as if clearing arteries in the mind.

in this new, spongier earth, i walk. a month is left of formalized ed, but it isn’t the month that means. because whether i’m writing or not, i believe when i hear i will. whether a swoon is incorrectly anticipated, it’s sequel sibling rocks inevitable. whether days of heaven spark eternal tennis matches made of smirk, passing shots, and cradling, i don’t have to worry. because that which is promised by that which has been worked on and worked on and worked on will dawn. maybe not in a previewed form, but who would want such pre-description. there in the findable rests something to smile about, waking at its own pace, stretching luxuriously, and opening a journal longing for inky love.

Lately, my sharper edge–double entendre’d–has let me down. Although I have spent the significant portion of my life honing my taste, “intelligence,” and discernance, my analysis finally f e e l s more counterpro than pro(-ductive). Although many good critiques have a late lining of hope, the negativity of criticality is swamping me. And although I notice, admiringly and disapprovingly, the critiques and criticisms of others, my own criticism, spoken and un, woes me the moest.

The other day I was sitting next to a friend at a talk and they were occasionally giving postive, quiet feedback to the speaker, nodding vigorously, whispering in my ear, and (worst of all) smiling, mouth slightly agape. Although I enjoyed the speaker, founding him amusin, and deeply admired his work, I felt two things most pronouncedly–critical of him, and critical of my friend. For the speaker: Why was he making so many bad jokes? Why was he so self-righteous? Why did he have to implicitly undercut the competitors in his field who were working toward the same goal, but who hadn’t achieved the same success? For the friend: Why couldn’t she just sit still and listen? Who was she talking to when she was giving feedback? Him? Me? Did either of us ask to be talked to?
I wish I could say this was me at my worst…but of course, it’s probably not. (Why did I put that ellipsis there? Do I really need it?) The trouble is I appreciate both of these people immensely. They have a positivity and capability for production I dream of having.
Each time I criticize someone or something these days, I end up regretting it. Even though sometimes people want or need “constructive criticism” or feedback, I often don’t know how to give it well. More often, I send out my critical vibes unsolicited and then bounce back to high jack me.
I don’t think I’m espousing gushing, and if I go the uberpositive route for a while I’ll probably boomering toward ultracriticism, but what is it that people need in life? Do we need to improve? Do we need to feel good? (N)either? Can(’t) both happen at once?

so i shouldn’t be writing write now

i should be getting ready to go

cuz i’m gettting picked up from work soon
and i’m not ready

but i’ve been putting off this entry
cuz i have to drink coffee
to get through the day
there was some month or so long stint where/when i drank lots of water with emergen-C instead but it was still hard to stay awake and it was a low pressure time

in december i said i’d stop after my classes ended
but here i am
hectic schedule
needing to drink it to make it through the day
today i made it till 4:30
long,
but the hours, moment, before i drink it are a struggle
and the hours moments after
and it’s only tasty for the first 15 sips
and it only lifts me up for an hour
then i crash
CRASH
lower than i already was
like that coke episode of Fame (TV)
which make s the large r
point
coffee is a drug, and it represents my attraction not to (all) drugs necessarily, as in i am attracted to some “drugs” (apparently i’m too ___________ not to put drugs in quotes)

but too a compulsivenss of addiction. and when i exercise
with other people
or alone
or spend time with other people
who are healthy
and we’re not drinking
or eating poorly
or staying up too late
this compulsiveness of addiction–i wrote “attraction” instead of “addiction” earlier (where’s my id? anyone seen my id?)–mas o menos evaporates
it’s gone
i can see the day
when i get tired i go to sleep
but i don’t need lots of sleep

alcohol, tv, internet, coffee, video games, a packed schedule, being social, staying up late–all these are just some of the examples of things i do that can be “good” in measured quantities, but i don’t take a measured approach
usually
but i’m still having a hard time with stark
i see everything in black and white
not gray
and when i’m at my best,
contrast is relative (gray)
not absolute (black and white)
but it seems that if i’m in black and white most of the time (p)
and i don’t like that about myself (q)
then i don’t like myself most of the time (q then p)
which isn’t really true
but a lot of the time–but, but–i’m too hard on myself (aren’t we all)

and i just have such a hard time picking the “healthy” over the “hedonistic”
they’re probably not directly opposed tho are they?

anyone a Brain surgeon?

On Wednesday night I left Schenectady for Boston circa 8pm. This was the last leg of a last minute trip to west central Pennsylvania, for my great aunt Jeanne’s funeral.

When I heard about it my instinct was not to go. I can’t remember the last time I saw Aunt Jeanne but I remember her well. She was the youngest of five Walsh kids, my Nana was the eldest. I don’t remember ever meeting Aunt Jeanne’s kids–there are four, four of my mom’s 44 first cousins.

Nobody knew exactly what to do with their sorrow, and I wasn’t sure what to offer, except hugs, if they felt okay with them (rather than no touch, or handshake). I traveled there with my mom (#3 of 6 kids, eldest daughter) and my uncle (#1 of 6). It was nice to (over)hear their conversations and occassionally pipe up. I returned to rereading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix which I had stopped rereading in late November. Something to make me feel good. On the way home, Mom turned on the dome light at dusk. “You sure?” I said.
Nodding, “It gives me great pleasure to see you reading for pleasure, Bri.”

Uncle Jerry, Aunt Jeanne’s husband, “held it together” for the most part. She’s had a pulmonary disease for a long time, apparently. Oxygen tanks. My mom’s cousin Tim (short for Tom, Jr.) is a friar and gave a great homily. It was the first I’ve been in church in about three years even though every time I see my mom she asks me to go. Lately I’ve been looking for that kind of ritual, supportive community, just not religious. Those church songs test my voice.

So many things people did, or were described, or accents, or lexicon all reminded me of my mom and her fam. Jerry talked about her criticizing him a lot and also about her being sweet as pie. “She never complained.” “She always waited to tell me something until I left the room.”

The alcohol was out but it seemed people were too aggrieved to drink their troubles away. Conversations would quickly switch from high school and military yearbooks (early 60s) to “I gotta tell you about Jeanne” or “She suffered terribly.”

I definitely felt middle america, listening to John Gorka’s “Houses in the Fields.” We passed housing development after development and began referring to them as “the beige.”

It was so good to see my extended family. Sure I got bored sometimes, didn’t know what to do because I wanted my mom and uncle to have alone time with their cousins, and wasn’t sure why I went because besides two of Jeanne’s grandchildren I was the only one of our generation there until the actual funeral. However, now that she’s died, of my grandparents and their siblings, of which they both had 4 (so 10 total), only 5 are left. Aunt Rosemary (#4) was there and played piano by memory…the last time I saw her and most of these cousins, was at her husband Jack’s funeral. Rosemary and Jack & Jeanne and Jerry had a double wedding. My mom was the flower girl at age two. Two of that wedding party remain. Five of the 10 of the siblings. Jeanne’s two older brothers couldn’t attend because of sickness, despite being only a handful of hours away.

What does all this mean? Where does grief go?

I’m still in the chair that I sat down in this morning at a place called work. So of course my neck and back hurt and ache. This morning I went to occupational therapy where I brought my temper-pedic pillow. I was prescribed to ice my neck when it hurts, in the past I was supposed to heat it. I’m taking a break from acupuncture cuz I probably “can’t” afford it. Day after tomorrow right after OT, with special tape on my neck and back I’ll go to the physiatrist who referred me to PT for eight weeks and now OT. Next stop could be an osteopathicist. I used to get massages. My PCP referred me to the physiatrist. The neurosurgeon said the erosion in my C3-C6 vertebrae weren’t symptomatic.
Right now my right neck hurts but usually it’s the left. A “tingling” “travels” down from the middle of my neck to my upper back, creating an intense muscular knot (or two, or ten) and if I do any exercise, attacks my left shoulder and upper left arm. All these pains and aggravations make me feel weak and stupid. My life runs me. My brain doesn’t listen. I think in stark.
Luckily I learned in OT that few patients regularly do their exercises at home. Before that I felt like an imbecile who didn’t deserve to be healthy because I rarely completed my homework exercises in any sort of remotely thorough way, if I did them at all. Along with my pillow, which doesn’t seem to be working thus far, I also bought a hard form roller that I’m supposed to lie on to straighten out my vertebrae and complete exercises upon.
My computer workstations are nightmarish. At work the table that I’m typing on now is too high, so I put my feet on a phone book. I’ve also been prescribed at different moments that chair arms are supportive and terrible.
Once, my chiropractor told me to set up my keyboard near my lap, my monitor straight ahead, and wait until my legs “kicked in” to decide the height of my chair. He even did a site visit and decided I had a good set up. This was at a previous job. You know how much the good set up decreased my tightness and pain. Not a’tall.
At home I have a laptop and a hard wooden chair. I think I am standing slightly taller these days (my back pain extends back to nearby a car accident when I was 11), but that’s a negative when I’m sitting in my chair at home because now I have to look even further down at usual and the pain comes quick. How did I make it through grad school like this? Y’know the cheapest chairs that back specialists recommend are $450 a piece and they don’t work very well on me either?
My grandmother had an extremely curved back at the end of her life. She went from 2 inches taller than my mother (her daughter-in-law) to 2 inches shorter than her. My dad had back surgery the month before I was born.
Along with acupuncture, another “treatment” that my poor school insurance does not pay for (at all—it barely pays for many of my other office visits) is yoga. Somehow yoga has control over my mind and the minds of most people around me. I don’t mean that disparagingly; it seems yoga has convinced more people I know of its importance that any other back treatment activity. So I pre-pay for a semester with a person who seems like a great teacher and I try to calm my mind for 1.5 hours almost every week. I don’t feel especially great afterward (as with EVERY other treatment I receive—I always figure out how best to lie to my medical professionals on the spot when they ask if I felt at all better after the last appointment), but somehow I know it’s good to do.
Also, I rarely exercise aerobically, I don’t eat “right,” and I spend too little time outside. That’s just the theme song of Somerville Vice.
But don’t worry, I’ll be back.

Here are (some of?) my new years re-solutions:

Play more guitar, learn music theory, write songs that make you cry and giggle

Keep room cleanish

start drinking again, rarely and with composure

have fun

don’t worry if i’m not having fun

workout

swim

play piano

make the dog video

upload and stream the spriggy/jeff buckley collaboration

watch more movies, esp. at HFA

do something artsy and nearby solace during the summer

stop shoulding all over myself

stop worrying so much about hurting other people’s feelings

Help mend someone else’s broken heart

So tonight I crossed traffic not at the crosswalk to go to dunkin donuts (ugh) to get a "hot beverage" cuz i have a "sinus infection" maybe.  but i had coffee earlier today and mixed either with my advil cold & sinus or later with flonaise, made me verrrry anxiousjumpy.  it was kinda fun but in a masochistic way. 

at dunkin donuts i was spacy and hungry and gave me order sparingly the "young man" behind the counter, who’s dark, thick, curly hair stuck out from under his hat.  he asked if i wanted milk or skim milk.  he asked about the size of my cappucino (which i nev er get).  the total was $3.03 and i fished and fished but it’s funny–sort of?–cuz i just put a penny that was loose in my pocket in the "every little bit makes a difference" metalican in front of the register and then i could only find two pennies in my wallet.

So I just wrote a few paragraphs that were deleted cuz I hit Back Space.  what the Eph!  luckily I had copied everything above.  blech.  fate?

When I fished for coins in my wallet, the "kid" noticed that I had a guitar pick.  Turns out he plays too or he did "in my country.  I came here a month ago."

"Where’s that?"

"Nepal."

"Oh yeah? Where, Katmandu?"

i think his eyes lit up a little.

"Yeah, Katmandu.  Right downtown."

"Well, you should play here!  In a band or something."

He shook his head no, smiling.  My insisting did no good.

"Well if there’s some time you’re not working you should come"–ok this is all paraphrasing and not verbatim (both!) so it shouldn’t be in quotes

i told him about how Toad was free.  maybe i’ll go back in sometime and we can start a band?

——————————————

why do i think i can stay up this late and get over a cold?  why do i not more immediately fold my laundry?  will i ever see matters of race or bright leaves (which i’ve now gotten out of the library twice)??