aroundeuro2

Thank you, Lady Liberty

2008-04-27T02:38:00.002+01:00

--Another essay from class. The Art of Persuasion. It's good business, that manipulation. Oh and, if you're in a hurry, ignore the behemoth of a paragraph in the middle. I had to explain a concept. This is my reaction to a powerful corporate exec who came and spoke about his trade of "changing minds." The bullet points highlight tips he gave us.

Every day, I find in my belly a growing righteous anger. I guess that’s what happens when you’re stone sober. The world gets sharper. Your elbows keep nicking its edges. After the fifth bloody scrape, you yelp, “Cut me a break!”

“Jules I don’t get it,” I said. “This guy was incredible. But all that creative energy. Wasted on what? Convincing people to buy and buy and buy. Seems so…”

“Consider,” he said in his usual I’m-a-super-smart-economics-major-and-I’ll-soon-be-at-MIT-to-change-the-world-with-my-masterful-knowledge-of-it, “would this energy exist were it not for the lucrative incentives?”

Ah ha. Isn’t it the truth. We only work if there’s a carrot at the end of the stick, and the rest is distraction. I sighed and said “you’re right” and slept away the afternoon to forget my naivety.

Later, my friend Cici arrived. I had convinced her to see an anarchist writer speak, and while we walked, I told her about our visitor guy. By then, I had digested what he’d said. Felt his CEO principles could be applied beyond marketing.

Sure, I’d heard the shop talk. Learned the differences between a brand promise and a tagline. Found out what advertisers and public relations people do, along with the essential truth, which is not as complicated as its name implies.

But more importantly, I was reminded about the building blocks. Rules so basic they transfer from paid work to art genre to plain old living—like the concept of flooding the pool. I do this all the time. A weekend is approaching and I want to do something. First, I think about someone who’d be interested. (i.e. I’d never ask Jules to go to a dive bar, but he’s the first I call when I want to play tennis.) Then, I contact interested parties, “What are you doing this weekend, want to play mixed doubles?” Some say yes, others say I’m busy, and the rest don’t pick up their phone. I end up with a good game and a fun time with my friends. Same thing went when writing grants, getting people to come to a performance, anything that involves involvement, really.

Point is, people are so distracted (busy, lazy, apathetic and I’m not exempt) that you’ve got to be realistic about your odds. Comfort is, once you stick your foot in the door, it’s a whole lot easier to pry open.

Last night, Susan and I got delicious cheap pho. Really good stuff. Limes and basil and soaked in hoisin. Anyway, over our steamy bowls, we chatted about the business of doing good work and our pesky morals and the possibilities of freedom in this restrictive capitalist system. Susan, who works for a successful non-profit book press, spoke about one of their board members, a wealthy corporate guy.

“And yet,” she said, “he spends his time reading our books and giving his money to our cause—how am I any better? He likes to sell sports equipment and I like to support artists.”

I agreed and we concluded that unless we totally drop out of the system—practically impossible in this era of globalization—we are its willing participants. I like my cozy fleece pants that keep me warm during spring cold snaps. There however might be a distinction between mindless consumerism and necessary clothing items, especially when the landlord refuses to turn up the heat.*

She continued, “maybe it’s just a matter of priorities. Attempting to live a life aligned with your values.”

To this, I slurped more pho, and panicked a little, thinking about my coming plunge out of the institution, which has so comforted me with its seasons and rigid structure and compartment notebooks. I love nothing more than the first and last days of school—they fit like perfect spoons. The tingly excitement of starting fresh, and the breezy whir of a few months freedom. Knowing you’ll be back to see everybody again.

POINTS OF INTEREST
- Start with what you know
- Give intangible gifts
- Anchor, then fly
- Break through the clutter
- Sell emotions
- Don’t trust conventional wisdom

- Reorient yourself into someone else’s shoes
- To get in their mind/footwear, RESEARCH
- Then think as they think, see as they see
- Watch your world grow
- Sell them stupid products like Nike shoes

- Flood the pool
- Only court those with interest
- Distill them to a powerful elixir

- Be careful how you present your product
- They will think what you offer them (i.e. money deep)

- Knowledge based creativity
- IE::: If you want to respond via art, do ten times more research you think is necessary, and then speak your piece. Otherwise you look like a fool.

*Among other ethical matters.

Health care

2008-01-15T19:34:00.000Z

*This is a response to an email my cousin sent my family about the difficulties his immigrant wife had with our red-tape-happy government. Because of this, he believes a national health care system is impossible. I disagree,

Hi family, Kristi here. I just arrived home from Thunder Bay, Ontario, where my friend and I stayed with a local Canadian family-- two pastors and their son. We were connected via an online community called Couch Surfing. This is a great resource for young people looking to be travelers and not tourists, all for free!*

Anyhow, during a conversation about the striking differences between American and Canadian governance, arose the subject of universal health care. Of course the two states are disparate in population and history and geography, resulting in a wholly other ideology. However.

We are more alike than not.** And if it is a representative democracy that America supports, a government of and for the people, than these similarities should not be ignored. Indeed, if change is to happen, cannot be ignored.

Just as we feel justified in encouraging other countries to follow our lead when we've got it right (college system, bill of rights, etc.), we must take our own advice.

It is only wise to listen to our friendly neighbors to the north. For if they, our culturally similar, equally moderate counterparts can manage to supply everyone - not just the lucky ones - with health care, so too can we.

For example: Alcohol sales in Canada are regulated by the state. They have a beer store and a liquor store, and both are heavily taxed. This tax surplus goes towards their national health system.

Yes this is only one example. But it is simple steps such as these that work towards fostering systematic change.

How many of us have a high school diploma? What about access to resources such as the police force, libraries, and even the right to free legal counsel? These are public amenities, ones tax paying Americans take for granted. As they should.

So why is health care not among these inalienable rights?

Facts: http://www.canadian-healthcare.org/ http://www.nchc.org/facts/coverage.shtml

*Our stay really was wonderful. They opened their hearts and home. And fed us a delicious dinner to boot! To me, this kind of cultural exchange is the best way to gain perspective on your own worldviews.

**Especially us in the Midwest! Thunder Bay looked eerily like Minot. Coincidence? I think not. Conspiracy?

_____________________________________________________________

postscript: I know that the task of reforming a behemoth of a system is HUGE, but we've got to. We just do. I also have some hunches about why blue collar Americans are so wary of change, especially when the change is for people like them. As in, poor. Those will come another day, friend. Let me know what you think.

A bio of mine

2007-12-08T19:40:00.000Z

My choice muffin is the bran-carrot-raisin-oats. But it’s got to be moist. If it isn’t almost half baked, the thing is best tossed in the compost heap. And that’s how you can tell I’m a PIRG-er! I joined MPIRG the first week of freshman year, lost in the most populated place I’d lived in, looking to meet active anybody’s. The U was teeming with young people way more radical than I could’ve imagined – shit, they did shit! – and MPIRG helped me be part of it. Mom still tells her friends about her crazy daughter organizing Take Back the Night, “I’m not sure exactly, but I tell ya what, those girls owned those streets.” After graduation is, don’t judge me, the Peace Corps. If I have any advice, it’s this: learn a useful language in college. Cause man, as much as I love sign language, it sure isn’t an international tongue, and I’d really like to see this world of ours. There I will be teaching English. There is still up in the air, but the Feds seem to think I’d make a good Russian. And let’s face it. They are the ones taking the fingerprints. State Board is an entity foreign to me, much like the Feds. Though, I am an alternate to this Board. Why did I run? Because I wanted to see what the fuss was about. Because I love strategic planning. Really! The whole business about visioning fits right in with my Meyers-Briggs type. So in conclusion, you are cordially invited to the Monday meetings of my current taskforce, the Women’s Taskforce. We’re serving ginger punch and sherbet at our next gathering, and you friend, we’d love to see you.

"Be careful who you pretend to be"

2007-11-13T03:13:00.000Z

Those words weren't written by me-- they are from the pen of, none other than, Kurt Vonnegut.

It's good advice isn't it? Let's pretend to be happy interested intelligent people. Because that's who we'll become. Provided our poor abused planet survives for us to be realized. But maybe the damage has already been done.

Hooray! Let's throw up our hands in blissful despair. Ha. I'm trying to be funny. It's not working. I've been sitting too many hours, looking too long at the screen. I apologize. :)

Here is an assignment of mine. It is supposed to be a reading review, but it somehow turned into story. Aren't those the breaks?

- -------- --- - - - ---------------- ------- -- -- -- - - - - - ------ - - - -

Botchi is my friend. He is a short red-haired young man who especially enjoys the stories of Marikumi and penning “well girl, it’s called Solsbury Hill. It’s my anti-musical.”

The two of us get along because we’re neighbors and ride the bus together and enjoy things like hip hop shows and guerilla workshops.

Yesterday, I convince him we’ve got to check out this reading.

“It’s part of the Carol Connelly series,” I tell him. “Geoff from the Lit 6 Project will be reading! Yeah?" He's doing his characteristic shrug-and-nod. It means yes.

"And Heather Mcelhatton is the main event. She’ll be reading from her new book, Pretty Little Mistakes. It’s a choose your adventure, but for adults—how cool is that? ”

“Dang girl, I don’t see why not. Meet you at Coffman Union?” He asks.

“See you at six,” I say.

We get on the bus. Botchi had just come from his Japanese novels class, and I, from a steamy afternoon at the library computer lab.

Immediately we began chatting. Norwegian Wood! Real Karaoke People! We were excited, thinking we were well on our way to a books-filled evening at the Turf Club.

The Club, we thought, was a place where we could throw back a few and listen to authors read and tell us about the ways of the world.

It'd be dingy, dark, smoky.

Non-readers would sit in the back, all supercool and aloof. Heather would start reading. She'd ask the audience to choose their adventure. They'd perk up. They’d realize, right there, the power of the written word. They’d shake off their drunk and declare “That’s it! Hand me the Proust!”

I know, I know. The thing was supposed to be at the University Club. But somehow, our minds had replaced avenue with club.

So when we arrived at the Turf Club on University Ave., we looked inside—there were no signs of the reading we were supposedly five minutes late for. Only a couple drunks.

I tear off my backpack. “Botchi we can make it.” I say. “If we catch a bus, we’ll only miss the first reader.”

“Sure if you think so,” he smiled. “Girl, I like your style. It’s positive.”

We run for the twenty-one, pounding the windows as it pulled out. Meanwhile, I’m frantically calling around

TO BE CONTINUED... (after I listen to this podcast. just today, discovered npr's fleet of ear candy. good god, i'm in heaven! check 'em out.)

Praxis

2007-09-27T20:06:00.000+01:00

I know, I know-- it's been awhile. Things get busy. Life speeds up, and before you have chance for pause, it's autumn. Pretty soon, snow'll be flying.

But you already knew that.

I've realized this blog can be a place for essays. I have another blog where I rant. Mostly about dreams and the love life, and mostly in fragmented "creative" language, whatever that means.

According to my seminar professor, the only way we can transform our private ramblings into some semblance of literature is if we provide context. And I'm not sure I'm ready to ground last night's dream about being made into a sandwich just yet. Must spend another year recording the surreal. And then, maybe, I'll be able to relate it to regular everyday life.

So I like this more controlled space. A place where sentences are ordered; thoughts, regulated to single, one-syllable points. Very tidy. I like tidy. Its parameters give me room to breathe.

On to the topic at hand: THE MEETING.

This semester, I'm working for two ---very--- different organizations. One is Bedlam Theatre, an avant-garde cooperative theater group made of anarchists and system haters. They triumph the new. Later, I will post more about them.

The other is working for "creative services" at University Relations.

Although lately I've been entering data to a computer (A process my computer geek roommate so kindly calls 'digitization'. Sounds professional, doesn't it?), I normally write stories about professors. About anyone connected to the U, really. If you're researching or philosophizing or following the Russian mob who stole your credit card, we'll cover it.

But we're undergoing a systems change.

"What is our voice?" asked Martha, the editor-in-chief, over eggs and coffee. "We need to be clear about what we want to say," she said. "Otherwise, they'll take over."

The U of M - a 2 billion dollar bureaucracy - wants to turn the web homepage - our main domain - over to the marketing department.

This means we won't be writing stories to provoke readers into thinking critically about the U. Thinking hard about, for example, its research. About which private corporations with private interests are funding what affects the public.

Often at their expense.

Corn oil companies funneling money into research supporting destructive high fructose corn syrup. Figure out how to make cheaper. Replace it with sugar. Call it natural. Pour it down the throats of we gluttonous America. Grow our waistlines wide. 'Til one day, we wake up, bloated, lumber to the Target and throw money at the Zone, South Beach, Luna. Pour more money into the industry because of the industry.

Instead, we'll write what Rick calls "Rah! Rah! U!" stories.

Pieces about Regents professors and College Bowl winners that tend to fall flat like soda; fizz-less cans of empty calories. Where we don't talk about lobbyists or why the strikers struck or...

But are we really much different from any other American university?

It is all that suprising that Bobby Brunuinks makes eight, ten, twenty times the janitor? I don't think so. I hate to say it, but I don't.

I. FEEL. DISCOURAGED. (sorry i'll finish it later, just want to post something--anything, to be rid of the 'everyone is a teacher' nonsense. ima cynic, yo. ;))

Everyone is a teacher and a learner

2007-05-06T17:22:00.000+01:00

The last post was in March, and now it's May, time keeps flying away!

Thankfully, besides the take home test I'm putting off, I am done with classes. Till May, where I'll take an intensive Sign Language session to finish my language requirement. And then the summer classes start...

The reason I'm combining warm weather and stuffy-school-must-be-dones is a program called HECUA. HECUA stands for Higher Education Consortium for Urban Affairs. This is just a fancy acronym for an education program designed to address social issues.

And there are all sorts of issues to be addressed: environment, poverty, immigration. You name it, they've got a program for it. Most programs are in the U.S., but HECUA also operates in Scandinavia.

I will be in the Writing for Social Change program. This is exciting because of the small class (only 10 students!), the writer-teacher, meetings with artists and their funders, reading socially conscious texts, workshops and discussions and can you tell I'm excited?

We take classes all day Tuesdays and Thursdays. On the opposite days, we work for a non-profit related to our study. So I will intern at the Loft, prolly with young writers or spoken word.

The idea is that students get to put social justice-ee ideas into practice. See how theory actually works. Everyone is a teacher and a learner. Engage in the world. Learn to think critically. That whole bit.

Whoop whoop! : Should be a really valuable learning experience.

In other news, am on the hunt for a summer room. Roommate wants his girlfriend to move in, so I'm out. Am considering a vegetarian co-op for a change of pace. Might be fun to work for vegetables and live with another five people...

Now that the semester has slowed to a stop, I will be writing more and about more than just me. As always, thanks for reading and lots of love!

Job Searchin'

2007-03-23T15:48:00.001Z

I am on the hunt.

Where can a college girl find paying work these days? Never mind one that's in her field of study. I just want a 9 to 5, ten dollar an hour employment, and please no field canvassing or nannying.

Is that too much to ask?

Goldpass dot com. This is the University website where employers seek young undergrads for work in specific markets. You post your resume, then search for jobs under categories like 'non-profits', 'horticulture', 'marketing'. Sounds easy enough. And it is, but here's the catch:

Most of the jobs are unpaid.

The cold hard cash part is absent. Zilch. Not happening. Black hole there.

"Come work for our company! You will learn super great job skills while working for a diverse company! We encourage you, young employee, to be a mobile global worker. Join our team! "

Category: unpaid internship. Blast.

So far I've applied to (count 'em) nine jobs in various fields, just cause they pay. I might be working for IBM Communications, or maybe I'll be an adviser for the College of Liberal Arts, or if I get really lucky, I'll be working for public radio. Who knows! This girl will take whatever she can get.

I just get the itching feeling that we student workers - who have years of job experience, not to mention schooling - are under appreciated.

Case in point: This morning, I had an interview for the Loft Literary Center. This is a place where writers can take classes, have conferences, bind books (seriously), and do their writer thing. I thought, hey, why not learn from the best?

So I email the internship director, send her my resume and show lots of enthusiasm. She sets up a meeting for this morning, 10am at the Loft. I come at my interview best and wait...and wait...and wait...

An hour later, she still hasn't shown up, so the receptionist tells me that we'll have to reschedule.

See what I mean?!

Ah well. That's life. And anyway, it's a beautiful day here! So I guess if jobs are my main complaint, I'm sitting very pretty.

Happy weekend!

Virtual reality

2007-03-19T20:19:00.000Z

Well I don't know about you, but I spend an obscene amount of time on the internet.

Checking mail. Emailing coworkers and friends, family. Writing blogs. Reading blogs. Finding recipes. Getting directions. Reading homework. Doing homework. Listening to music.
And more, more, more.

This virtual reality has become our reality.

We rely on it for our livelihoods, for our entertainment, even for our social connections. Good or bad, I cannot honestly say -- I grew up in the computer age. Maybe those a generation back feel an ache for more human communication. I do, but it's a vague want, nothing I've ever touched.

I wish I knew life before dot com, that I relied more on a map than mapquest. But I don't.

So it made sense when, last Saturday, I found myself at a party full of people who had never met in real time. They were connected by an internet humor forum, created by the party's host, Skippy.

Skippy decided that St. Patrick's Day was the perfect time for his virtual pals to convene. As I was not a part of the forum, I felt slightly out of place. It was as if they were all in on some inside joke. A guy explained, "Even though we've never met, we all have this instant bond -- because we're connected by similar senses of humor."

And I got it.

I watched as they chatted, danced, drank green beer. Felt hope for the lost human connection in these nerdy guys laughing about comics. Thought, wow, they sure know how to bridge the technology gap. This is the way to do it.

Last Friday, I too felt an internet connection in real time. Had coffee with a fellow blogger. We share a strange intimacy that comes with telling deeply personal experiences semi-anonymously. The conversation flowed long and strong, which surprised me. I expected it awkward without the computer security blanket.

But it wasn't. We bridged our technology gap with ease.

This is, I think, something we computer heads should be doing more often. Real life. Chatting in a coffee shop and writing paper letters. Sure technology speeds things up, but the human connection is what we really need.

But it's just a potato!

2007-03-04T00:53:00.000Z

"It is, until you add the butter and sour cream. That's where they get you..."

May I have a rant?

I am so sick and tired of the sky high beauty standards set for women. Makes me world weary. Of the must look good all the time or you're an anti-establishment hippie or a tomboy or you throw the insult. And the odd thing is, half the time I apply eyeliner, it is to fit in with the girls; not to impress the guys.

Why must we defeat ourselves?

And dieting! I understand the importance of a balanced diet with exercise to match, but advertisements for a photographed food diary? And exercises upon skin tightening creams upon micro mini skirts?

I am guilty. For years now - I am a size seven - I have tracked what I eat. Written down every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Felt guilt for each spoonful of ice cream, for every second helping.

Is it for the boy coming over tonight?
No. It is for (and I wish I knew the answer).

Today at the library, I sat sneaking peaks at trashy magazines instead of doing homework. The number of emaciated teenagers seducing the page made me want to cry. Because I know that my sister looks at that and sees beauty. Sees a beauty that is not her, will never be her.

Beauty is skinny. And slim legged. With long shiny hair and thigh hugging jeans. Beauty wakes up wearing lip gloss and is satisfied with no bread all day long. Beauty is not me.*

*To be continued: time to get ready.
**In case anyone will be in town April 26th, I am helping to organize Minneapolis's Take Back the Night, which is a march-rally against violence against women.

the Wednesday slouch

2007-02-21T20:35:00.000Z

What a way to start a post...

But hey, I am feeling slightly worse for the wear.

School, work, school work, and you know the rest, have taken a toll on this body. Have no fear, I've found a solution! Last summer, when I had no cold air in my hot brick apartment, I took to the streets.

Hopped on my bike and wheeled to the closest friend livin' lavish in A.C. Stocked the backpack with fruits of the trade. Heineken for him, candy stash for her. I'd sometimes spend the night if the heat refused to cool.

What's the point here?

That I got my body moving. Sweat out the stress of those spoiled suburban kids. Moved my muscles just to spite my every (early) morning commute. And felt better for it. Looked better, too. Probably even smiled wider.

So we've got it. Lesson learned. Let's get our move on.

Only these days, Minneapolis is not the sauna it was in July. Even with our current heat wave, temps barely eek past freezing. What's a girl to do?

Step Challenge.

You read right, step challenge. And they aren't kidding. Check this,

"Step Challenge will push even the most experienced steppers through complex choreography. This high intensity class moves beyond the basic step routines to include 1/2-hop turns, direction changes, around the world, and other challenging moves."

Every Wednesday, I pack yoga pants and gym socks. Show up and assemble step gear alongside blond bronzed size 1/2 co-eds wearing cute shirts that show off their impossibly flat abs.

Somehow these girls intuit the moves. I don't know how they do it, but they do. Our instructor changes steps every breath, and they're hopping like it's their job.

I, on the other hand, am not so suave. Instructor turns left, I'm veering right. They're power squatting and I'm stuck knee kicking. Still, it gets the blood moving and the energy flowing.

And for a girl who spends all her days in libraries,
That's not half bad ;)

On why I must marry a scientist

2007-02-14T19:46:00.002Z

This morning I interviewed a geneticist who is doing all sorts of smart work to end world hunger, make food more nutritionally valuable, and produce renewable energy by way of corn. What a man. I spoke with him because he won the Wolf Prize for turning millions of cells into millions of corn seeds. He tells me that genetically modified organisms are harmless safe and somehow,

I believe him.

Today is a day of firsts. This was my first ever phone interview and will be my first ever original story for the job. Later I will have my first ever in-person interview with another scientist where I will produce my first ever first person journalistic piece.

Whew…

This guy is a German-Californian entomologist (bug studier) who lets his grad students pick between writing a thesis or a children’s book. I am much more concerned with the children’s books. I like the concept of turning complicated science matters into something a regular Joe (or Jane, if you prefer) might understand.

And once they’re finished, I’ll post a link for you to read all about it!

…

In other news, I have an admitted sociopath for an Expo Writing teacher. I couldn’t believe it. The man actually claims to enjoy putting other people in pain. And what’s worse, he follows through!

Yesterday he told us he would – Finally, Two Weeks Late – hand back our papers. And he did. To half the class. So there I sit, a nervous wreck cause he’s already failed five people for minor grammar errs, without a paper.

He then proceeds to call on me to argue character details of our assigned readings. I have never been good at – nor enjoyed – speaking in class. Face burning palms sweating heart angry, I try to defend my position, only to be told my ideas are illogical. I walk out of class drained, defeated.

Only tomorrow and its promise of papers will tell if I will prevail with an A.

I heart Minneapolis

2007-02-05T20:45:00.000Z

And maybe no one checks this,
but here goes.

I was reading an un published blog entry I wrote during my first days back in good ole Minneapolis. Feeling fractured from so much change, my frustration filled the lines. Who am I? What am I doing? And why?

You know, those questions you're supposed to ask when you're twenty.

But I've settled into a routine and feel much better now, thanks. Got the job. Got the school schedule situated. Got the bus route in brain. It felt like my life was a balloon someone kept filling with experience-air. They breathed strong, expanding my little life into something bigger, bigger. My mind stretched and grew, fitting into its new size with ease. Coming home to Minneapolis was like someone pricked the balloon, letting all that experience-air fill my room. I had to mend the balloon.

So in other words, I felt a bit deflated upon [my American] arrival.
...

Roommate Piffle tells me that I like to write about myself. And it's true, I do. Was going through a phase where I made a conscious decision to experience. That's it. No more, no less. Don't think, just do. And then write all about it.

This is all well and good, but there comes a point when one must process all of these things. Must think about the past 19 roommates and the travelin' and the college classes. Use the brain Mom and Dad pay twenty grand a year to expand. Write about someone besides me, Kristi Gee. Here marks the start of change. Time to think...

Well okay. I feel I've rambled enough. Except to say: It is Cold here, so my roommates and I decided yesterday to spend the day outside. On a frozen lake. We visited the Art Shanty Projects on Lake MacDonald, which was fun for a few minutes. It was neat. Check it out.

Home

2007-01-10T13:55:00.000Z

Strange being back.

My last few days in Swede land were the kind that feel really long when you're there, but when you look back, seemed to fly by. We went to the North to go skiing for a few days. For various reasons including the rain, I didn't ski. I hiked.

Strapped on my used combat boots bought in Stockholm for only three hundred crowns, pulled on three pairs of pants, turned up the music. And walked. For what seemed like ever. Up what they call a hill, which to this Red River Valley girl, feels like some kind of mountain. And thought. About what has happened and what is to come, those pesky New Year's resolutions.

I know it sounds like questions the MAXSA (Maximizing Study Abroad) class we all hated would ask, but what I've learned from this experience. I guess my lessons have been in culture, history, office situations, what it's like living with girls from Harlem, Boston, and Egypt in one small space, the Swedish Yule, travel. That cab drivers in Athens will assuredly swindle young Americans. That jumping off a cliff into the sea will probably be one of the bigger thrills of my life. That for better or worse, I will be a girl from the midwest at heart.

Classes start Tuesday. The nerd in me is way excited to take classes of her choice:

Self as Healer
Intro to Editing
Sign Language
Social Justice Core
History as Memoir, Memoir as History
Performance as Social Change

Am also in the interview stages for an editorial assistant position at the U of M's alumni magazine. Cross your fingers! Moving to the new apartment with the new improved friendly clean roommates on Sunday. Good change ahead.

Thank you so much for your cyber support. Honestly, whenever I saw a comment or Mom told me about someone reading the page, my heart warmed. It has been such a useful tool for processing the experience and as a way to remember stories. I have enjoyed it so much that I think I will continue, writing about this student life. So thanks -- it was a good trip and I'm happy you were there by way of blog.

Happy New Year!

2007-01-01T11:26:00.000Z

Coming to cold comfy Sweden where the days are short and the laze time long, feels much like stepping off a Tilt-a-Whirl ride at the fair. Spinning round round, watching life whiz by, laughing breathlessly. And just before you know it, the red circle twists to a halt. Take that first shaky step, blink twice to set your world upright. There you stand. In a place with a slower pace but is altogether foreign and stoic and...

not London. Not home. Not anything you have ever experienced.

At the dinner table understanding five words of what was said. Walking everywhere cause gas costs ten crowns a litre. Being 'The American'. This American conundrum has caused a mini upheaval in my belief system. I am all at once patriotic defender and liberal protester. The criticized and the glorified. I hear all sides of the story,

Americans are all fat and use too much oil. Do you drive a car?
You are from America! That is soooo cool! Have you been to L.A.?
I can't understand why your country voted such an evil man into power. Can you explain why?
Where is Minnesota?
What is with all the guns in the US?

You name it, the under 20's of Avesta have asked about it. I am okay with the asking, but am made uncomfortable with hate America accusations above and beyond me. To these I want to say,

Hey! Take a step back assumption maker and mind your karma and hold your thoughts. Let's talk. Realize that not one person or event or government makes an entire culture. I did not ask to be born into the USofA, the giant violent powerhouse you hate. Still, we have have given good to the world and still, not everyone is a Bush loving cowboy and still, there are those who realize that change is possible. So lay off. And have a nice day.

These people have taught me to hold judgement when thinking of culture, people, events, anything really. To wait for all sides of the story. To take a step back, to see things from another one's reality. But okay. I hope you had a good new year night.

Here's to a happy and healthy 2007!

in Sveden!

2006-12-19T21:59:00.000Z

The title pretty much says it all.

I have yet to actually see Sweden in day light. As it happend, I flew in at 3pm, which marks the start of dark time. So Stockholm to me is a city of many many white sparkly Christmas lights. And delicious fresh sushi.

Got in and got sushi, then went to Carin's sister's place. (need a tutorial (or two) in apostrophes) Visited and because Olsa is moving to Hawaii for a semester, moved things around and out. Chatted with Christina the other sister. I was very cold throughout.* Saw what Swedish student housing is like: Long tile corridors with pop art on the walls, single dorm rooms, large community kitchen, IKEA everywhere. Ride to Carin's town Avesta took two hours and scenery was Wisconsin-esque with forests and warnings of kamakazi elk.

Yesterday I accompanied Carin to high school. Classes seem difficult; I should know as I took the English test and was surprised at my needed concentration as a native speaker. But the overall vibe of the school was laidback with students roaming the halls and relaxing in lounges. Lunch was what Carin called 'typical Swedish Christmas food', meatballs, boiled potatoes, herbed salmon, pickled herring, flatbread, and pickles. Very tasty for school lunch.

Interesting,
Swedish schools are set up such that from tenth grade, you pick an education track. This track might be construction, it might be dance, or it might be Carin's track of choice, most difficult. Most difficult means five years of science and maths, and a minimum of two languages plus Swedish. I like this system because I am sure college is not for everyone. This method empowers students to be proud of their chosen study, rather than ashamed at their lackofknowledge in chem2.

Today I visited Eva's (Carin's mother) class. She teaches ages 10-12 and I went around chatting with the little guys. Much fun was had. Discovered that young Swedish boys have a strange affinity for rapper 50-Cent and become interested in American geography when it involves rapper turf fights between east and west coasts. Felt very tricky in my underhand teaching methods. English speaking and geography seamlessly woven by way of pop culture thread. Yes!

*I commend the Swedes for their concern about the environment. Less cars, more recycling. This is all very good. Even the toilet paper is recycled. However. Because of these concerns, they use less heat. Less heat equals less used energy, this I well understand. But I am cold. Quite cold. A pre requisite pair of sweaters is necessary when indoors.

My plea to Sweden: Turn up the heat!

It is done

2006-12-15T19:54:00.000Z

but it feels like it has just begun.

I kept repeating that phrase on my Tube ride home. Left the office in a rush of picture clicks, sung carols, well wishers. Jim handing me a package. Last glimpse of Swire House. Jumped past a black cab and then, it is done.

Ta rah!

Despite my some time ill likings of city life, I will miss so much:

the Thames River at dark
good good theater
convenience of the Tube
cobblestone alleys of Kensington
Camden
corner pubs
Brick Lane
cafes everywhere
how coffee is actually espresso
making tea every other hour
the accent!

and I'm getting sappy... There is much more, but am going out now for one last night with pals Guy and Emily and who knows else. Have a happy weekend!

A Pause in Posts

2006-12-13T11:59:00.000Z

Well, maybe this pause has been more like a (nine months) pregnant pause...

This past week has been a blur of Christmas parties, going away get-togethers, final tests, final papers, last time seeing Hyde Park, last time seeing my Texan friends. Last times of everything, it feels like. This is all very sad as it has felt altogether too fast. Funny how time works.

Countdown three days left in London. I would like to say I cannot believe it, but I can. I can feel the strain of the two to one exchange, of the weekend travels, of the living four women in one room. Walk down a Kensington hallway and you too will hear it in the long-distance phone calls, those quieted frustrated conversations.

Between two people.

Am I ready? They ask. I reply no. Because I am not. I like Europe. I like both the mindset and the average lifestyle. London, I can take or leave. The loads of culture are nice. The crowds of people are not.

I am writing in a rush because I must leave for work soon. My exit interview is this afternoon. This is where Jim Sells will tell me all about my failures as an office worker. Is there a reason I cannot seem to figure out a spreadsheet? How can I spot a grammar error with my eyes shut, but have not the first clue when it comes to the budget of a non profit? Or invoices, finances, and a laundry list of other office tasks. But hey, they tell me that learning abroad is mostly about learning about yourself. Here is what I have learned:

Kristi Gee is not an office worker. Try as she might - and does she ever - she will never be happy at a desk doing finances. Well she might be happy, but man will she make a mess of it.

So there you have it folks: Three month of unpaid work that I am virtually incapable of doing!

That's an overstatement. I think I'm just nervous for this final appraisal. Must go drink something warm and soothing like green tea. Will finish this later. Also, London photog journey is in the works. Happy day!

Somehow this week

2006-11-29T09:03:00.000Z

has slipped from beneath my feet. Already Wednesday; how time flies.

As I was saying, we went to a modern art museum called Flaming Something, which featured much conceptual un understandables and a fascinating interactive piece which looked like a ghost woman trying to get back to the living. A cold glass pane separated us and her, you could touch the pane and meet her hand. Description is futile. Modern art! I guess you just had to be there...

We wandered outside full of these artsy ideas and noticed crowds of people walking towards a glowing opera house. What could this be?
Classical music, of course! Just to see, we walked in. The hall was stunning and filled with Rich People wearing Rich People clothes and having Rich People conversations.
I say this because we stood out in our everyday dress. Just to see, we went to the ticket office. Tickets were reduced to only ten euro. We'll take two! Spent the rest of the evening enjoying a Beethoven piano concerto.

The next day was go day. As it happened, we ended up stuck in Slovakia for ten hours. But that is another (long) story for another day.

In a few hours, I'll be off to work at the National Literacy Trust. Last month, I tried to describe my duties, but the blog refused me. This topic deserves another go,

The Trust is a privately funded charity that seeks to increase literacy standards in England for all ages. It runs several initiatives that focus on at-risk subsets of society. Refugee mothers, prisoners and young boys, to name a few. I work with an initiative called "Reading The Game" under a man named Jim.

This project uses the motivational power of football(soccer) to encourage and inspire young boys to read. We set up literacy events, make connections between teams-schools-libraries, send reading promotion materials, arrange free books for disadvantaged kids, manage a website, all sorts of football-literacy things.

For an intern, my duties are actually sort of substantial. Some of my peers spend their days photocopying and making tea. Though I do make a mean cup of tea, I also write invoices, edit and update the website, phone people, do research for Jim and the others, compile spreadsheets, organize files and press clippings, and whatever else I am asked. Although I do not particularly enjoy staring at a database, I am proud to tout my new skills. They will be invaluable for future employments.

After all, how many former arts and crafts teachers can say they worked a block from Buckingham Palace?

City of Music

2006-11-22T21:45:00.000Z

Last weekend, Hayley and I discovered Vienna!
And it was beautiful!
Markets and music and palaces!

Okay okay, enough with the exclamations.

We left London early at four on Friday morn. Took a black cab, found the bus, arrived at Stanstead in plenty of time. By nine we had arrived and were greeted by two smiling strangers and a sign in bubble letters, "Kristi Goldade!!!" Our worries were erased; we knew we would be welcomed.

We planned to stay with a friend of my family's former exchange student, Carolina. Her parents picked us up, drove us to Vienna (we had arrived in Slovakia), chatted us up. And then, to our surprise, the mother declared that she would show us her city.

Did she ever. We walked up down all around. Saw the palaces, cathedrals, stunning architecture. The city is built such that baroque buildings neighbor renaissance styles, art nouveau next to classical. Even the cafes feature high painted ceilings, gold decorations, and marble floors. We toured the imperial palace, discovering the myths surrounding the tragic life of Sisi. We crept down wine cellars, strolled the Christmas market, laughed at a sugar sculpture of Bill Clinton. She told us of the history of each place, describing how and why what came to be.

Then we went home to a typical Austrian meal of cabbage with sauce, meat and potato casserole, oranges and wine. Wine is Austrian’s largest and most profitable crop. They are very proud of this fact, and have many stories tall shops with wine on every shelf.

The next morning, Carolina and her twenty-something brother took us around. Went to the street markets with every kind of food and spice from every where, and then the flea markets. Saw a big castle called Schonbrunn. And then we salsa danced the night away.

Sunday was just me and Hayley, so we did what we do best: modern art museums and classical music.

will conclude this later, must work on my resume, Happy Thanksgiving!

When in Wales

2006-11-12T17:09:00.000Z

Last last weekend, just when I felt like I couldn't travel another step, I took another trip.

Destination? Wales

Wales is a country just west of England, and a hefty handful of us ventured there for a weekend of exciting outdoor adventure. My program sponsor CAPA planned the trip in conjunction with a company called Presili Venture.. Here's what they have to say for themselves,

"Preseli Venture is the perfect place to come and stay to satisfy your need for Fun, Adventure and good spiritual chemistry.

Surfing, Coasteering, Partying
Team building, Cliff Jumping, Kayaking.
You can Explore, Refresh, Detox, Invigorate, and Relax...

Your perfect outdoor adventure playground on the western edge of Europe, the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park."

Friend Allison and I took the train out together. We had by mistake arrived five minutes late to Paddington and were thus five hours late to Presili. But it was okay! When we dragged our weary bodes in, we were greeted by a welcoming man - and chattering friends - who took our bags, sat us down, fed us lasagna and cake. Very nice indeed.

The cabins were beautiful. Spacious rooms for sleep, warm ones with fireplaces and comfy chairs for socializing, a many windowed dining room.

On Saturday I did sea kayaking in the morning and costal hiking in the afternoon. Kayaking in the sea requires a different set of expectations/gear/precautions than in say a lake. Wetsuit, gloves, stretchy cloth to cover the top. And you're in the sea and it's swirling, crashing, swelling. We explored caves, learned about sea ecology, paddled on our own.

The afternoon hike was not what I would call leisurely. Invigorating in the best way, maybe. Up the rocky coast we went, past sheep, through forests. We ran into an obstacle when a herd of cows decided to block our path. We couldn’t go around them – sea on our left, herd on our right – couldn’t go through them – they were huge! – I guess we’ll just moo at them. And so we did. Making much noise till they understood and charged down our skinny path as we looked away, holding our breath.

That night we were welcomed by a home cooked curry meal, a bonfire, board games.

Next morning my activity was coasteering,
"Coasteering is a unique adventure sport where you experience the exhilaration of sea level traversing, rock climbing, cliff jumping and swimming into sea caves. It's a coastal exploration along the wild and beautiful Pembrokeshire coast.”
Incredible. I need not say more.

All in all, one of the best weekends yet.

…

Yesterday, we had a mandatory Minnesota student meeting. We assumed it would be some drawn out lecture on being a student overseas, how are you coping, do you miss your Mom and the USofA. Instead it was a lecture on Muslim women and the veil. This is a huge issue in Britain but especially in London, microcosm of the world.

I had no idea the politics of this cloth. The often choice women have [to wear or not]. Should a teacher teach wearing a head scarf? Is it oppression? What do the different ways of wearing it mean? What do the non extremists say?

Living with Alia, who has one family in Egypt and another in Minnesota has shown me a whole side of being Muslim. Of being a normal not oppressed in fact feminist person who happens to be born into Muslim background. So often the news flashes will only say, Muslim = men = bombs. Which is unfortunate for the many.

End rant. Sorry it was on my mind. Hope all is well and happy with you!

Santorini

2006-11-06T09:07:00.000Z

We took a five hour fast ferry to Santorini, the largest and most traveller accessible of the Greek isles. Upon stepping off the plank we were welcome-accosted by a swarm of hotel owning, middle aged Greek ladies who saw our backpacks and thought, "Student!"

Their strategy [to entice you to their hotel] is as such,
See young people
Show young people large and brightly coloured photogs of the hotel
Let other owners haggle and display and entice
Unveil your best deals like cheap breakfast
Watch young people frantically compare and argue and decide Repeat steps 3 through 5

We decided on a woman named Toottie who gave us breakfast for five euro, drove us to the ports, set up tours, and let us stay in the above locale for only 15 euro each.

The next and very best day we took a small ferry tour. It boated us to a couple smaller islands off the coast of Santorini. At first stop, we climbed an active volcano, marveling at the view and the steam and how lucky we were. Then we stopped to swim in bubbling sulfur hot springs. Next was a smaller island with a lunch spot where we devoured the few dishes the menu offered: calamari, feta, olives, tomatoes, some strange sticky white rice, and much bread with even more olive oil. The afternoon ended with a hike up to the largest port city to watch the sun set over an old temple.

Night came and two friends were tired, went back, but we loved this port city. Whitewash and cobblestone small streets, vendors and the smell of the sea. Alia and I walked talked explored for what seemed like ever. Finally met with the boys, bought market wine, found cheap eats with a roof and sea view. Stayed till late. Then a cab driver named Nico took us home, tucked us in after a very, very good day.

*I hope this new site and these pictures will work! Happy Monday!

2006-11-03T11:19:00.000Z

"Next Ferry Out" (why am I not able to create a title?)

Athens is a city much like St. Paul's Midway neighborhood, only much worse by several turns.

Walking down an average street will greet you with stark stories tall concrete apartments next to barred up shops with orange tags on every item next to trash rubble next to stray cat after stray cat. Children vending roses and plastic light up things. Men yelling after you, good deals on this food. Make no mistake, walking Athenian streets is not a pleasant experience.

In the words of a friend, “It’s just so eerie and quiet that you’re sure something shady is going on in the next alley!”

The group – Grant Alia me Daniel Christine – combined our [decision making] powers and decided that we had arrived in Athens a couple thousand years late. After seeing the Acropolis, we booked the next ferry out to the islands.

…

The first island on the list was Santorini as it was the furthest away, by a five hour fast ferry. As well, because we were traveling in the tail end of tourist season, it was one of the only operating islands. Santorini looked precisely how I imagined…

2006-11-02T15:59:00.000Z

I have little idea of where to begin, so I suppose I’ll start at the very beginning (a very good place to start!),

We arrived in Athens late into the evening.

Cheap tickets work this way. You fly early early or Late, but never a time where regular people or buses or trains might run.

But now, finally, “We’re in Greece!” It’s dark and we’ve passed customs, our four-strong group abuzz with excitement. To the streets we march, stuffed backpackers backpacks in tow. The signs are all in Greek and totally incomprehensible and wow, I think, this is nothing short of surreal.

Step onto the bus. Punch the tickets. Look out the window.

Used car dealerships every other business. Ads of Greek singers posing in groups. Billboards written in English-Greek . McDonalds next to feta gyros. Tall grey building upon tall grey building.

Find the metro. Decipher the signs. Try to find the hotel. Try to find the hotel.

After an hour of wandering dark streets with vendors on every corner, bars across every shop window, we find the hotel. Are greeted with, "Welcome to Greece! Do whatever you like! Do you want to push beds all in one room? Okay! Fine! Let me show you where are the clubs..." This is typical Greek hospitality; they take the phrase 'the customer is always right' to a serious extreme.

That same night, we walked to a cafe for our first taste of Grecian food. Gyros, feta, and, could we please share a bottle of wine? It's not on the menu, says accomodating owner, but just you wait, I'll get it for you! No no don't bother, we say, we'll only take water. No please, insists the owner, Hey boy! Go next door and buy some wine for these people!

Needless to say and despite protest, we got the wine...