Celery is good for the brain

I just stopped over at Albertson's to pickup some supplies for tomorrow's hike. As the cashier was ringing up my items, the one in the next lane asked her, "What is celery?" while holding up, naturally, a stalk of celery. (Why he was dressed in jeans, white t-shirt, and a lei is beyond me.) Smart-ass me, I wanted to reply, "A vegetable." But I knew what he was after: "the code."

For those of you not in the know on the ways of the supermarket world, produce items (along with a small number of other items) are assigned a four-digit PLU, or price lookup, code. The cashier types in the PLU to determine the item's price. After time, a good cashier will learn to associate most fruits and vegetables with its PLU. If presented with a bag of bananas or apples, a novice can cheat by looking at the sticker. But every nitwit knows that bananas are 4011. Please.

Returning to my tale... My mind quickly shifted gears after stifling my urge to make a comedic (to me) remark. "4070?" I wondered.

"Celery? 4070," my cashier responded.

Hot dog! I still got it after all these years. My last day as a cashier was in the late 90s and I still know celery. I mean, bananas? Come on. But celery is another story.

Help me.

Note to self on TP

The idea of a quadruple-sized toilet paper roll seemed like a good idea while at Freddy's yesterday. I fell under the spell of TP efficiency, or whatever you call the behemoth now sitting on the back of my toilet. The roll barely fit on the holder and was so big that it didn't move when I attempted to grab a few squares. And once I finish this roll, his three brothers await on the shelf.

Poor, poor me

A friend of mine put me in touch with one of his colleagues here in Boise. We had lunch last Friday. When the bill arrived, he picked it up, remarking, "You're a poor grad student. I remember those days." Now, I'm not one to turn down a free meal (especially when it's sub-par almond chicken), but I'm not really poor.

The funny thing is that I was the "poor VISTA" when I lived in South Dakota. Once again, I had money. Granted, I lived solely off of my $850/month living allowance for 19 months. (True, I didn't have a housing payment. But I paid in other ways, trust me.) So, yes, I was technically living in poverty as defined by the government. But I was still able to travel some and pay race registration fees. And if things got bad, my savings were still there. I could have gone on food stamps, but chose not to because I didn't truly need them.

And now? I'm not working, not too worried about it, and enjoying a life of leisure at the moment. (I do have an interview on Wednesday, so light a candle for me. the position is a great fit for me.) Poor people can't do that.

It's not that the negative connotation of the word "poor" bothers me. It's just odd how others stereotypically define poverty. Or is it that I'm a "good" poor person and entitled to a free meal because I joined the national service program, or am now pursuing a graduate degree? Or maybe I'm just completely overthinking this?

I'm thirsty

It's currently 100 degrees in Boise, Idaho. I can't help thinking about the oft-used response of Phoenix residents when those who reside elsewhere remark about the blast-furnace heat of the desert in summer: "But it's a dry heat!" Ha! It's still 100 degrees and I don't care if the relative humidity is 12 percent. Bring me a glass of water. Please.

On the bright side, it's 96 degrees in Mission. I'd be baking either way.

Thoughts on changing from 67 to 1A

My forwarded mail arrived yesterday. Included were the two most recent editions of the Todd County Tribune. It was my first tangible connection to the Rosebud since I arrived in Boise two weeks ago, and it brought back feelings I had toward the end of my time on the reservation.

One of the things I was unaware of before moving to Mission was the extent to which white folks come and go on the reservation. On a related note, I also didn’t realize how much of a destination the Rosebud is in terms of church groups looking to perform mission work. (The vast majority of the groups, visiting Habitat or other organizations, are religiously affiliated. Habitat has a few secular groups.)

AmeriCorps is innately a temporary program. Participants commit to a certain amount of service time, with VISTAs working for one year. I knew even before arriving that there would come a time when I would leave, presumably to attend graduate school. That did not stop me from becoming a part of the community, which I did willingly because I genuinely love the place.

But how does all of this look to those who don’t get to leave? I know I did good things for not only Habitat, but for Mission and the Rosebud as well. But I left. Just like the white people who spend a week during the summer teaching vacation bible school. Just like the Teach For America teachers who flee after their two-year commitment, if they make it that long. And just like every other person who “does their time” on the rez before departing for greener pastures.

The high school dropout rate at the high school is atrocious. This is the result of many factors, including, in my opinion, the turnover rate in the teaching corps. The district relies heavily on TFA. I’m sure they’d have trouble recruiting people otherwise. I love the place, but it is isolated and there are many challenges to reservation life.

I extended my service seven months over my original commitment, yet I can’t get over my feeling of abandonment. What makes me different from every other (white) person who has come and gone? The kids I coached won’t see me as any different from any of their former teachers. And should they?

Because I knew my time on the Rosebud would be temporary, I completely threw myself into life in town and the greater reservation soon after arriving in November 2008. My goal was to become a familiar face around town. I achieved and exceeded that goal. People were sad to hear I was leaving. Yeah, they were excited for me about graduate school, but still sad.

There’s nothing I can really do about how I’m feeling. Just like when I moved to Mission (and Juneau before that), Boise needs to be my home now, and it will be. I’ve already met some great people, I’m enjoying the solitude of my apartment, and the first week of grad school has been fun. And the running is fantastic!

It still wasn’t a good feeling to replace my South Dakota “67” plates with Idaho “1A” plates. Nothing against Boise, but it felt like a step backward. The 67 stood for Todd County, home to the Rosebud. 1A is Ada County, so now I’m one of about 384,000 people. Just doesn’t seem as special.

I don’t want to say it wasn’t time to go, because it was. Grad school has been my goal and, like other goals I’ve had, nothing was going to stop me. But 19 months wasn’t long enough. The memory of unpacking the car was still fresh when I finished packing the car back up to leave two weeks ago.

People have asked what I plan to do after grad school. My response has been, “We’ll see what my priorities are two years from now.” If I can figure out a way to mentally make Boise a smaller place than it truly is, maybe it can remain home forever. But if I do end up leaving in 2012 after I graduate, that will be the last move. I’m proud of my background and the interesting places I’ve lived, but this moving stuff is wearing me down.

No matter what, though, I'm keeping my subscription to the Tribune.

Hot mess

I have a farmer's tan. I usually have one this time of year. Okay, maybe not while I was living in Juneau. But I spend a lot of time outdoors, and before I know it, my arms (and legs) reach a point of no return, a color that will never be achieved by the rest of my pasty-white body no matter how much sun it receives for the remainder of the summer.

Since moving to Boise, I've been running in the mornings, hitting the trails no later than 9:00 a.m. in order to beat the heat. Well, I was out late last night (first date, whoop) and couldn't muster the energy required to get my ass in gear so early in the morn. I didn't run yesterday, so I definitely still wanted to get outside, even if it meant in the middle of a hot, sunny, dry afternoon.

Normally, I run with a shirt on, mostly to save the masses from the glare created from the sun reflecting off my pale skin. (I often joke that people need those special eclipse-watching glasses to view my chest in broad daylight.) And, of course, there's the fact that my tan arms/white chest combo would be visible for the entire world to see. You know how people talk.

Today, I didn't care. Due to the heat, however, there was hardly a soul on the trails. Me and my skinny, tropical arms had the place to ourselves. It was a hard, sweaty run, but well worth it (as always). But I woke up from my afternoon nap (not to be confused with my morning nap) with a burning sensation underneath my shirt. Oh yes, a lovely burn on my shoulders and upper back.

But the greatest part is that the rest of my torso is still halibut white. So, I'm now a real looker, what with the tan arms, pink upper body, and white everything else. At least the skin from my popped blister has almost fully fused back onto my heel. Otherwise, my self-image would have taken a real hit.

Blistered

It's possible I've been overdoing things with my trail running over the past week. I returned home from this morning's run with the biggest, gnarliest blister I've not only ever had myself, but ever seen on a human being. It was on my left heel. I wouldn't say it hurt, but it was uncomfortable walking on it throughout the day.

So, this evening, I drained it. It's a good thing I had tissues handy because there were copious amounts of warm blister juice waiting to gush into the slit I had cut. I'm all bandaged up now. I still plan to run tomorrow. The joy of being a toe runner...

I was going to take and post photos; however, I think my words provide enough of a visual.

Boise's Bob Vila

Today's project had me putting together a dresser. The box weighed close to a million pounds. I had a hell of a time just getting it into my car (and out of the car, and up the short stoop).

Not including breaks for lunch and a phone call, it took three hours to put this bad boy together:

Looks good, right? Luckily, you can't see the small blemish I created when I mistakenly slid a piece in the wrong slot. Well, you won't see it unless you go looking through my underwear drawer.

First dispatches from Boise

• I've gone on three runs thus far: one on the paved Greenbelt along the river, two on trails in the foothills. (Can I tell you how much I missed trail running?) All were great experiences. And there were people everywhere! Boise is a very active town. Keep in mind that two of my runs took place mid-morning on weekdays. Don't these people work?
• I live in a small apartment complex, just 10 units around a small yard. On a scale of 1 to 10, my apartment is a 9. I can live without an on-site laundry facility; however, the lack of air conditioning could be a problem. I have gigantic west-facing windows. And guess in which direction the sun sets around here. My place turns into a little heat box after 5:00 p.m. But it's no worse than the bedroom I had in the northwest corner of the building in Mission. Hot in summer and freezing in the winter.
• Campus is a five-minute walk away. My neighborhood is great and pretty quiet. Folks in golf carts drive around throughout the day, serving as the eyes and ears of the place. Being so close to campus, however, makes me wonder how the serenity is going to change once the fall semester begins. Then again, Boise State is a commuter school.
• Speaking of close, downtown is another 15-minute walk from campus. Like Juneau's First Friday art walk, Boise has what's called First Thursday. So, I checked that out two nights ago. I visited the Idaho State Historical Museum (for free), bought a new overpriced water bottle to take along on my runs, and bought a Cowboy Junkies CD for $4. The CD compensated for the water bottle.
• I'm not one to run with people, but I'm going to check out the group run next Saturday morning. It was my intention to meet the group at 7:00 a.m. this morning, but I was up past my bedtime last night after a late movie. I figure the running group might be a good way to meet people. If I don't like them, I can veer off on a different direction, never to return.
• There's a great independent movie theater, which I visited last night. Imagine the Nickelodeon in Juneau just with more screens. Like the Nickelodeon, I sat against the wall last night. Ah, the security of the wall. The only trouble was picking which film to see. I went with "Please Give." Not bad.
• I got my BSU ID card Thursday. Hello student discounts!
• I signed up for my first race, a trail run in August. I need the month to acclimate because...
• It is so freaking dry here! Good grief I'm thirsty. I don't know how I'm the only runner out there carrying a water bottle. I started running with Gatorade in Mission because of my fear of dehydration while running the lonely dirt roads. But here? I have to be even more judicious with my fluid intake.
• I like my part of town. But there's a point within Boise the farther west you go where it turns into your traditional grid of streets found throughout the western U.S. and its accompanying big box stores, fast-food joints, and traffic. It's fairly easy to get around town, even with lower speed limits than you'd expect, construction, and un-timed stop lights. But I'm glad I chose to live "in town" close to campus instead of in suburbia.
• I'm not working yet, but not freaking out about the money situation. I'll find a job eventually. I do have a good nibble on one position and applied for another yesterday morning which would be a perfect fit. Let's see if they feel the same. In the meantime, I'm enjoying my time off. Class doesn't start until the 12th.
• Overall, I like Boise so far. It'll be easy to call this place home for at least two years. I'm not too concerned with the traffic situation because I really won't have to deal with it much once I get more settled. Boise has more people than what I'm used to and comfortable with. But I've lived among the masses before.