Hanoi Lenora Pt. 1

Hello all! Here I am in Hanoi crashing with world traveler and former fellow budget-foodie Mikka.

This trip is a series of firsts for me, first time in Asia, first time on the back of a motorbike, first communist country. The flight was long and slightly surreal. Crossing the International Dateline means that I lost an entire day, last Thursday to be exact so I spent the first 2 days feeling pretty disoriented. Conversely when I go back I will leave at 11:20 pm on Sunday, and arrive in L.A. at 9:20 pm, also on Sunday. I learned about this way back in elementary school, but I still feel that this should violate some kind of law of physics.

When I arrived I was immediately accosted by a group of teenagers who wanted to take a picture with me. Somewhere in this city a bunch of fresh-faced Vietnamese kids are laughing at the panicked sweaty frizzy-haired American clutching at her bags. Mikka informs me that this is pretty common as foreigners still attract a lot of attention. This is also why they stare a lot. Once you get accustomed to it, it's fairly easy to ignore it.

The first thing that struck me about Hanoi was how completely moterbikes outnumber cars as the primary form of transportation. I could probably devote a lot of blog space to motorbike culture here since it's so much a part of getting used to the rhythm of the city. They've even replaced cyclos, which are now mostly a tourist attraction'

The second thing that struck me is how young people are. Walking or riding around it seems that most of the people out and about are between the ages 0f 17 and 25 zipping along on vespas and bikes, managing cafes, out in front of shops, eating bowls of pha. It gives the city a kind of bouncy high energy feel. The guidebook says that this is sort of a commercial renaissance period for Vietnam and also the longest sustained period of peace since the 80's. That may be oversimplifying things a bit, but the atmosphere is definitely upbeat. There's a lot of commercial activity and a lot of construction.

It's pretty hot and humid but no worse than Chicago or New York in the summers. After it rains the air is fresh and cool for several hours which is wonderful after a long day of picking your way through narrow streets looking at silk and silver and baskets of dragonfruit.

We spent Friday and Saturday exploring the Old Quarter before heading out to Halong Bay on Sunday. More about this later when I can post pictures and video.

TBC...

Things About Hanoi that are Going to Take Some Getting Used To*

Staring is not considered rude.

Small children ride with their parents on motorbikes.

People here are tiny.

Chickens walk the streets.

I am probably one of three people of African descent in a 100 mile radius.

TBC...

*Did I mention I was coming to Hanoi? Nope. More about that later.

Miss Me?

(cue "Morning" by Grieg)

Apologies for the lack of activity here but it's no fun writing in a fugue state. It's also impossible to write about life in New York when said life is...well...this:



Granted my lab is a windowless shared office in the basement of the same building that houses my department but you get the general idea. At any rate, I finally have something to write that isn't about stress, inertia, or panic.

Kate, Sonny, and Betty were in town last month. Kate is one of this year's Poetry Society of America's National Chapbook Award winners for her Dream of Water series. You can see the accompanying images as well as some of the poems here.

We also saw the Tisch School production of El Grito Del Bronx . I am truly ashamed of the fact that this was the first time I've seen anything at Tisch, which, given that it's right here and student tickets are insanely cheap, should have been a no brainer. But there it is. Chalk it up to lack of imagination. Oh well.

If this was typical of the quality of work the students are putting out then I will definitely be back. The play itself was very episodic, going backwards and forward in time. The first act felt uneven, but the pacing was better in the second act, although I'm not sure if that was a problem with the play or my own need to adjust to the rhythm.

Winter here wasn't particularly harsh but kinda clingy so since the weather's turned nice Spence and I have been exerting ourselves to be outdoors more. Spence bids farewell to NYC in about two weeks and is trying to cram the things he hasn't seen over the last four years into the space of a couple of weeks. Tales of his recent exploits avec and sans moi are here.

One of my new favorite places to go on a nice day is the South Street Seaport to look at the tall ships. It's a cheesy touristy area but you can't beat the tall ships and the view to Brooklyn.



Appropriate since I've decided to write about ships.


See what I mean about the view?

The weather hasn't been consistently great, yesterday windy and rainy, today, gorgeous. I was prepared to hole up for a second day in a row and catch up with missed TV on my DVR when Spence texted me: "It's gorgeous. Go outside right now." He wasn't wrong. I took the train to Prospect Park and wandered around a bit before finding a place to sit and read for an hour or so. Prospect Park is the other large park in New York designed by Frederick Law Olmstead. I can't say I actually have a preference for Prospect Park over Central Park but, being a Brooklynite, I opt for distance over fame.



Ah, green space.

Once again, I am decamping to Chicago before this wonderful weather turns vile. Next year will see me in a new apartment and, possibly a new neighborhood. I'm crossing my fingers that I find a place not too far from where I am now. Moving will be traumatic enough without the added nuisance of establishing a new routine regarding grocery, laundry, and train.

More soon-ish.

"It's simply beyond words. It's incalculable."

I am coming off a hellish few weeks in which I experienced the multiple joys of paper grading , mid-term grading, and having a professor evaluate one of my sections. I had a whole spiel about how teaching the classics makes me feel a bit like Michael Scott at times, but I fear my Google-savvy freshmen.


"I am an adult. I don’t have to think…or…do anything!"


This blog has suffered greatly for two reasons. One: I spent the summer mentally convalescing in Chicago, which was great for me, but not so great for blogging. I had a ball reading Hawthorne and going to the farmers' market, but that kind of fun doesn't always translate . Two: Since coming back to New York, time that isn't spent reading for exams, prepping for teaching, and teaching is spent actively avoiding anything that involves rigorous thought. Yes, this blog is dinky, and shouldn't require much. But that's how far gone I am. This post took three weeks to write. Previous posts were starting to veer off into that scary place where grad students go which is rife with words like "epistemology" and "othering." Yeah. Gross.

Anyway, visitors offer good excuses to play hooky and be out and about so here goes.

The parents were in town a couple of weeks ago, which is always fun especially when it includes dinner at Lupa and Pastis.

I love my parents but I love them more when they feed me.

At Pastis we ended up getting into this long involved conversation with two sisters about politics because my mom was wearing this:

Apparently these shirts are designed to smoke out Republicans even in French restaurants in the meatpacking district. The details of the conversation are hazy but we did hit several points including the Iraq War, Israel-Palestine, Ayn Rand, abortion, and the decision of one of the sisters' daughter's to become a sex therapist. It ended with them wanting to have dinner with us the next time they're in Chicago. Who says there's no hope for bi-partisan civility?

BFF Mimor* was in town this weekend, and I got to see Harlem up close and personal for the first time.



Fun trip, Indian food, shopping, and one valuable lesson learned: there is no such thing as an unmonitored subway platform.

TBC...

*I kinda hate myself for trotting out the oh-so-mature BFF, but it's late and the 2 of you that have been bugging me about my lack of posting should be grateful I can find the mouse. So, suck on it, and good night.

George Lucas's Worst Idea Ever

This should have warned us of the horrors to come.



That's one of those things that happened, and I just have to live with it.--George Lucas

Brooklyn to Chicago

A reenactment in 1 minute.

Spencer:"Lenora, you must choose a lane."

Spencer: "Wow New York's really pretty when you're leaving it behind.

Me: "Kali's throwing up."

Me. "What's that smell?" (Smell proves to be cat poop in the crate)

Spencer: "What do they mean by blue detour?" (20 minutes later) "Hmmm, I guess it means scenic route that takes you back to where you started."

Spencer: (after being stuck in construction traffic for 30 minutes)"Bored now! I have to pinch you."

Me:"No touching!"

Me:"Are we still in Pennsylvania?"

Spencer: "Your turn to drive."

Me: (after 2 hours night driving on mountain roads) Twitch.

Spencer: Give me the keys.

Cats:(while being smuggled into hotel room)"Yowl!" which is cat for, "Let me out of here so I can pee on something you love."*

Spencer; Wow! Ohio is really boring.

(at this point Spencer falls asleep while I concentrate on not killing us before we get to Chicago)

Me: Chicago!!

Spencer: (observing the madness that is the Chicago Skyway toll) "This is insane!"

The End (Well for me at any rate. Spencer still had 2 days worth of driving ahead of him which aren't work documenting here as the cats had little to offer in terms of conversation other than "meow!" Which I can only assume means, "Why do you hate us!")

*This turned out to be an empty threat but I still submit that it was a credible one.

Shameless Promotion

Domestic Goddess and fellow feaster Mikka has started her own craft blog. Having conquered the worlds of knitting, jewelry making, photography, and cooking, she's embarking on her next campaign, quilting.

An Epitaph

I'm in the process of trying to wrap up the semester which constitutes hurling the remnants of my energy and enthusiasm into one final paper which will, hopefully, while not be great, not suck hard.

This will of course THE final paper. As of tomorrow, I am officially in that interstitial part of grad school between trainee and professional. When I return in the fall, I will be facing teaching undergrads classics and medieval literature, and preparing for exams, both designed to test my mettle as Ph.D. material.

In a way this is the part that I dread. Instead of merely being responsible for your own education, you're suddenly on the other side of the desk, opening up the week's lectures for 20-odd freshman. And when you're sitting in front of 3 professors being grilled on 9 months worth of reading at least 1/3 is impossible to get through, there's no hiding those chasms and fissures in your knowledge.

At the same time, after three years of course work, I think it's time. I'm ready to feel as though I'm working towards something rather than writing disconnected term papers that may or may not contain the embryos of my dissertation.

I've also purposely arranged things to give myself the rarest of rarities; space and time to think. Ideally I wouldn't be going back to my parent's house where I will to some degree be at the mercy of my family. But solitude is, literally, a luxury I can't afford. So Chicago it is where there is a deck were I can read, sip, coffee and recharge, a lake, a dearth of nightlife, and a lot of books. Despite the daunting length of my exam lists (and I'm tempted to post them to illustrate in detail exactly how crazy one must be to become an academic) I am excited to do something I haven't done since I was a teenager; spend the summer reading. Ah the decadent life of a grad student.

Of course you will hear from me when I awaken to the downside of being trapped in Hyde Park.

Progress Report

Completed:

1 full term paper

2 mini conference papers

2/3 of my exam lists


To do:

2 full term papers

The topics section of my exam lists

storing and cleaning in preparation for my subletters


Acquired:

1 spanking new pair of Chuck Taylors as reward for finishing first paper

Chest pains due to stress-related case of heartburn

Grad school is trying to kill me.

Happy Spring

Ah Spring, when a young woman's thoughts turn to sandals, the Enlightenment and the slave trade, and the impending exodus to Chicago.

If my last post left some of you in doubt as to my happiness with living in New York, never fear. This last month has been packed with fun little escapades. In an attempt to mix business with pleasure, my Moby-Dick class took in "Moby-Dick Rehearsed" the night it closed. We finished out the night, appropriately, at a bar on Water Street, the site of a tour I took last fall of Melville's New York. The play was jarring at first. It resisted the kind absorption that I usually look for in plays, but in way that was the point.

I went to see Patrick Wolf out in Greenpoint at Studio B which was on odd experience. Patrick Wolf is the kind of artist who's music makes one think he is more popular than he is. In my opinion he should be. But the venue was on the small side and the opening band was a three girl pseudo punk band that was so bad I was embarrassed for them. It was one of those moments where you understand certain prejudices about female bands and hate yourself for it. Patrick Wolf more than made up for it. Who knew the viola could be so sexy? He also had a violin and bass accompaniment that were astonishingly good. My unplayed violin has spent the last two weeks mocking me.

That was pretty much the end of my fun until mid-May. This week I will be putting the names of my professors into a hat to decide who's going to get the late paper this time around. And, yes, rather than nail biting my way through another summer here, I'm going to Chicago for two months. My lack of shame at going home to let my parents nurse me through the process of preparing me for exams should embarrass me. But I'm beyond any kind pretense towards absolute independence at this point.

Visual For Today

What grosser than gross?

This.

What's grosser than that?

What I saw today: a pigeon humping a dead pigeon.

Sometimes living here is like that.

Dream Beneath A Desert Sky

It's really all about the simple pleasures when you get right down to it. Good friends, direct sunlight, drinking eighty cent vodka cocktails while dancing to Depeche Mode, wine and cheese after shopping and salon time, the bad politics of John Hughes movies, Cubs versus White Sox at Spring training, homemade salsa, a St. Patrick's DAY U2 marathon, a good pool game, a bad movie, and maybe a few doctors to flirt with.

Yep, I'd say it was a damn good Spring Break all the way around

I Heart _______

I've been wondering lately if I'll ever come to love New York in that intense defiant way that seems to characterize die hard New Yorkers. This is a city that simultaneously shocks and awes you with its amazingness and alienates you with its open wounds. It's not exactly easy to love a place that resists intimacy.

Right now, I'm sitting with my bags packed waiting for my cab to take me to the airport so I can run away to the desert for a week. If I don't leave now, I may turn into a puddle of nerves. Yet, I always miss New York more than I expect to when I leave. I miss weird things like the subway and the Greek Coffee cups and the confidence of always having really good sushi within reach. I walk too fast for other cities now. My luck is such that today the weather finally shaped up so being outside is no longer painful. And now I'm leaving. Oh well.

Mikka's Challenge

see: question 27

Challenge is this: Answer each question with exactly 3 words! YOU MUST USE 3 WORDS EXACTLY. (no more no less)
Not as easy as you might think...

1. Where is your cell phone?
on my desk

2. Boyfriend/girlfriend?
boys are stupid

3. Hair?
needs a trim

4. Your mother?
short and loud

5. Your father?
batman of academia

6. One of your favorite teams?
the ORIGINAL Bulls

7. Your dream last night?
likely something odd

8. Your favorite drink?
dirty vodka martini

9. Your dream girl/guy?
Jon Stewart baby!

10. The room you are in?
my tiny room

12. Your fear..?
ending up mediocre

13. What do you want to be in 10 years?
tenure track somewhere

14. Who did you hang out with last night?
my roomie Spence

15. What are you not?
short and squat

16. Are you in love?
not right now

17. One of your wish list items?
new summer clothes

18. what time is it?
seven to one

19. The last thing you did?
brushed my teeth

20. What are you wearing?
pajamas and slippers

22. What book you are reading?
Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver

23. The last thing you ate?
pasta and spinach

24. Your life?
is slightly uneven

25. Your mood?
grumpy and sleepy

26. Have a best friend?
yes I do

27. What are you thinking about right now?
hack cough wheeze

28.Your car?
all paid off!

29. What are you doing at this moment?
surfing the net

30. Your summer?
reading for lists

31. Your relationship status?
perpetually between boyfriends

32. What is on your TV screen?
some dumb rerun

33. When is the last time you laughed?
today I think

34. Last time you cried?
earlier this month

35. School?
here now always

SAD in the City

It's not so much the cold. Chicago's got New York beat there. It's the gray; buildings, pavement, the water, even the people. I look into the mirror and I can see the gray creeping along the edges of my jaw line. I don't exercise for muscles, but to see color in my face.

Is it unique to New York? Probably not. When I lived in the midwest I wasn't immune to the gray. Perhaps, it was because it was easier to stay indoors; more space, regulated heat, and the city didn't seem to mock one for wanting to stay at home.

Everyday is a calculation. How to layer so to avoid getting overheated once in doors; how to map out errands the day before, and then scratch them because it snows or rains and you can't take the shopping cart out. Despite the urban setting, the lack of a car, gives everything this odd man against the elements quality. One carries, hauls, pulls, and trudges to get things done. An hour of multiple errands is equivalent to a cardio workout.

And yet...there's something comforting in knowing that this is the downtime, the reading, cooking, knitting, thinking time of year. The smug cheerful types that never leave California or Florida don't really get it.

Which of course isn't going to stop me from escaping to warmer climes come March.

Quote for Today

"What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say."--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Happy Holidays

Common Cold, Flu, Syphillis, Madcow, and Mono all wishing you a healthy holiday.Toys are from ThinkGeek.

Writing at Bobst

Why don't people shower during finals?

Edited to add: People, put on your fucking shoes! This isn't your mom's house.

Break From Paper Writing

Yes it's that time of year again, and despite the fact that I have about 4 days to throw down a lot of writing, the simple fact that I don't have applications to fill out, and an uncertain future to contemplate, has me in a completely different head space.

I've been making sounds of distress to friends and family about my quickly approaching twenty-eighth birthday, but the truth is I don't have much to complain about. My problems are mostly manageable, and aging a bit is less distressing because I don't that gut-wrenching sense of going nowhere.

The odd thing is that I find myself entering into long conversations with people applying to Ph.d programs. I tell myself that I have to spread what advice I can far and wide because it's part of what one does when gets lucky. But I also feel like I'm actively seeking moments to relive the agony of those weeks, in order to avoid lapsing into smugness.

I used to watch the Ph.D students with this knot in my stomach that was two parts envy and one part resentment. And what all of them seemed to share, despite occasional existential crisis, was at the least the knowledge that they were accepted and had a professional home for the next few years. It was such a contrast to what I and some of my MA compatriots felt that I couldn't conceive of ever having that peace of mind.

The strange thing is, having pierced the veil, I find that the peace of mind is both true and not true. There is no endpoint yet. We're only over the first hurdle. But that first hurdle even after one has cleared it is so very high. And as much as I enjoy having done just that, I feel vaguely guilty, not for having cleared it, but for so happily leaving behind that feeling of uncertainty.

So I talk and I offer advice, and cringe at my own eagerness, because I know, and at the same time I wish I could forget.

NYC is Like Middle School

This is the time of year where to counteract the double-stress of papers and holiday shopping, yours truly turns to odd and varied coping mechanisms. This year, I've taken to holding impromptu dinner parties with friends, drowning my sorrows in butter, fresh herbs, organic veggies, and cheap wine.

Last night we fried up some latkes and roasted a chicken* for an early Hanukkah party and settled in to watch the season finale of the reality train wreck known as America's Top Model. I won't defend this. It is indefensible. Whatever. Caridee rocks and (S)Melrose can suck on it.

After, we picked the carcass of the chicken while watching Sex and the City reruns. Watching Sex and the City when living in New York is an interesting experience. On the one hand there is the obvious separation of fantasy and reality. You also realize that the New York experience transmitted by the show is highly specific in terms of class and race. On the other hand...well...take the episode on Modelizers. On a typical day in Manhanattan, it's not unusual to see a troupe of these





waltzing down Broadway or flitting around Barnes & Nobel. My first year here I had the unfortunate experience of sharing a bathroom mirror with two such creatures. (Shudder).

Living here has raised the "look at me" stakes in a way that hasn't been the case for me since I was thirteen. I've been resistant to it but it's wearing me down. For one thing this town eats shoes every six months so one must have a lot of them. For another, if I am to be faced with models in the mirror, I better have a good shade of lipstick on.

It's silly that this picks at my self esteem but that's not the only part of it. The other part is the single thing. Just typing it makes me squirm, so let me make this as clear as possible. In addition to frequent model sightings, it is also not rare to see one of these



Hanging on to the arm of someone who looks like this.






Yeah. It's enough to make you want to move to Pittsburgh.

*The chicken turned out really great. So great in fact that I simply must share.

ingredients:

1 3-5 pound whole chicken
1/2 cup plus one tablespoon unsalted butter
1-2 tablespoons chopped fresh herbs (the Poultry assortment works fine)
5 springs fresh parsley
1 lemon
3 cloves or garlic, crushed
Salt and pepper
white wine

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Melt half the butter and whisk in herbs, salt and pepper. Cut the lemon in half. Melt the rest of the butter in a roasting pan. Wash chicken, pat dry, and rub salt on outside and in cavity. Rub some of the butter and herb mixture underneath the skin and inside the cavity. Reserve the rest for basting. Put parsley inside the cavity and half the lemon at the opening. Remove roasting pan from oven and add garlic and a splash of white wine. Add chicken and roast for 20 minutes. Baste, lower heat to 350 degrees and baste every 7 minutes until an hour has past. The chicken should be golden brown and juicy.