Chicago

Part one of our holiday is nearly over as we leave Chicago tomorrow afternoon and fly to New York. Chicago is an insanely friendly city and much more beautiful than I had expected. We've had a great time here with two of Kyle's co-workers and their spouses. This weekend was a big deal in Chicago because it's St. Patrick's Day weekend. We headed out early on Saturday morning with about 10 000 other people to watch the annual dyeing of the river. It was insane to see how they were able to colour the river lime-green. The streets were filled with people of all ages and ethnicities wearing green clothing with slogans like "Irish drinking team" or "Kiss me, I'm drunk". I just love how people of different backgrounds can get past their differences and unite in a celebration of Irish stereotypes. We joined in the celebration, wearing green beaded necklaces and enjoying some green beer at an Irish Pub.

It's time for a new scene

For those of you who are wondering, my thesis defense went really well... aside the part where I tripped over a power chord and unplugged the projector before starting my presentation. The committee asked me questions for an hour and a half before sending me out and deciding on my mark. As they deliberated, I stood in the hall with a dear friend who sat outside waiting for the full two hours. After about five minutes, they called me in and told me that I had passed. It feels great to be finished.

To celebrate, Kyle and I are heading out on a three-week trip. We're going to Chicago, New York, and then to Egypt. The past few days have been filled with preparations for our trip.

This week we were due to get our second Hepatitis vaccine, which will allow us to eat ice cubes and borrow other people's nail clippers while we're in Egypt. When I went to the university clinic to get my injection, I was told that I would have to wait at least 90 minutes to see a doctor. Not wanting to wait, I took my vaccine home with me. When I got home, Kyle and I made a list of people we knew who could administer the vaccine, which came conveniently packaged in a ready-to-use syringe.

As we made our way down our list of medical professionals who might inject us in exchange for a bottle of wine, we called a friend of Kyle's whose wife is a nurse. Kyle's friend told us that although his wife wouldn't be able to help us, he was going out for wings with a buddy who also happened to be a nurse. On their way to the pub, Kyle's friend and Nurse Buddy popped by to give us our needles. It was a bit awkward to invite a stranger into our home, shake his hand, and then roll up our sleeves for the injection. He did an awesome job and the injection was painless. He was so good I almost wanted to check the floor to make sure he hadn't missed my arm and spilled my $57 vaccine all over the floor.

Problem solved! We were injected and ready to take on the world. However, because Nurse Buddy didn't want to take our used needles with him to the pub, Kyle and I were left with two syringes to dispose of. Not wanting to throw them in the garbage, we wondered how we could get rid of them. In a stroke of genius, we decided to drive downtown and dispose of the needles in the safe boxes intended for drug users on the street. Under the cover or darkness we crossed town, walked through the seediest park we could find, and dropped our needles in the bright yellow safe box. I did feel a bit uncomfortable using services intended for addicts and homeless people. However, I figure that the government resources used to dispose of our Twinrix needles are much less than what would have been required for a more legitimate vaccination experience.

We'll be gone until early April. I'm not sure how often I'll be accessing the internet but I hope to post a few times while we're away.

The best policy?

Friday as I was walking on 17th Ave, a guy held out a baseball cap full of coins and asked, "Spare some change for marijuana?"

I kept my money but I sure did appreciate his honesty.

T minus 46 hours

Things have been quiet on the blog front this week. I will excuse myself because the oral defense of my thesis is on Wednesday afternoon. However, the truth is that I haven't been studying all that much. I'm a smidge nervous but mostly I feel ready and excited. I can't wait to be finished!

Strays

Today I spent a train-ride visiting with a lovely elderly woman. She was very well dressed and wore a sparkly clip in her coiffed hair. As we chatted, I couldn't help but notice the crop of three-inch curly hairs sprouting from her chin. It was as though I was staring into the grey-haired face of my future.

I myself grow pretty mean crop of random face hairs. And they seem to increase every year. I'm a bit self-conscious about these dark, wiry buggers and try to keep them plucked. However, I will occasionally be mortified to find a long straggler on my chin and wonder who has noticed it.

I once tried to make Kyle promise that if I was ever in a coma, he would keep on top of the plucking regime. But even after I threatened to haunt him to avenge my hairy death, he only agreed to do it once. After that first time, I would be on my own. That was when I tried to enlist my sister to the task.

This afternoon, as I spoke with the elderly woman on the train, I found her chin hairs refreshing. There's nothing more liberated than a woman whose face says "Screw it. I'm not modifying my body any more." I really do believe that hairiness is just part of being alive and human. I also believe women should be more comfortable and open with the natural processes of their bodies.

Nevertheless, it's much easier to promote these values when the tufts of liberation are declaring freedom on someone else's face.

Urban Outdoorsmen

Last night I celebrated Valentine's Day by going on a ride-along with two of my friends who are outreach workers for CUPS (Calgary Urban Projects Society). We drove around the inner-city looking for people who might need condoms, food, or clothes. It was a pretty slow night but I enjoyed learning more about what my friends do at CUPS and how they interact with people living on the streets.

A lot of the people have really fun nicknames. For example, there's "Survivor Man" who when asked how he is, always says "I'm surving!" and rants to the workers about how they don't have what it takes to "survive" on the street. Or my favourite, Caveman, who loved to talk about his role as a Caveman extra in a 1980s Darryl Hannah movie.

I was reminded last night of when I worked with homeless people in England. Before I left for England I needed a rain coat. Because I didn't have much money, I bought one of those bright yellow plastic rain-coats. In addition to being cheap, I thought it was cool in an ironic, fisherman kind of way. However, when I got to England, it was more ridiculous than cool and one homeless man called me Paddington. In addition to having a weird coat, I had neglected to bring a hat, mittens, or a scarf. I borrowed these from friends and ended up with a very "eclectic" outfit.

One night, I approached a group of young homeless people and struck up a conversation. My intent was to see if they needed any food or referral to local shelters. But before I could ask, they asked me where I was sleeping that night and welcomed me to stay with them at a nearby parking garage. I was humbled by their honest generosity and their willingness to help a stranger. It was much more generous than my offer of tuna sandwhiches and hot chocolate that I hadn't prepared or paid for. But even so, I was a little taken aback at being mistaken for a homeless person by homeless people.

Anyway, after last night I have lots of thoughts about homelessness, which I'm still mulling over.

Hierarchy of Needs

Yesterday I spent much of my morning at the medical clinic at the UofC, getting some immunizations. I brought along an article with the intent of studying while I waited but ended up people watching the whole time.

At one point, a cute little first-year wandered in. She looked fairly ill with her hair swept up into a really messy pony tail and outfitted in her pajamas and a hoodie. She wasn't wearing shoes but cushy slippers, which led me to believe that she must have walked from rez to the clinic through the underground tunnels. However, what made me smile was when I noticed that despite not being well enough to put on shoes, sickly first-year had taken the time to apply eye make-up.