I need it to be sunny (a repetitive poem)

Dear Syracuse and your lack of anything other than cloudiness in freaking late March/early April,

I need it to be sunny
I need it to be sunny so I can greet the day with happiness instead of a groan
I need it to be sunny so I don't feel cold when I go outside
I need it to be sunny so I can finally wear open-toed shoes and put away my heavy coat
I need it to be sunny so I can know that it's spring instead of having to remind myself everyday
I need it to be sunny so I can get some Vitamin B, which is good for complexion and morale

I need it to be sunny so I don't have to look inside myself for joy

I need it to be sunny so I can finally feel hopeful about my future, even when that future is foggy

(This sentiment is seconded, and etc, by all of my friends who live here and cannot wait to get out of here)

(Don't criticize the poem, I am very well aware it's rudimentary and repetitive (I was a lit major, for God's sake!). But sometimes you need to let it out.)

(Now back to your regularly scheduled programming...and rain and snow in April).

Pumpkin and Cookies

When I was about 7 (give or take a year or two), my family carved the first and only pumpkin we would ever carve. I like to think it was because they loved me so much and wanted to give me a proper American Halloween. Though in actuality, it probably had something to do with me begging and begging to have a traditional American Halloween.

So we went out and bought a giant pumpkin and I watched as my dad and my older sister (Thao!), scooped out the pumpkin innards and carved out a traditional looking Jack-O-Lantern. Of course, no one told us the logistics of putting a candle in the pumpkin and lighting it up so we just had a hallowed out pumpkin sitting on the windowsill of the living room. It wasn't quite traditional but it was close enough.

To Be or Not To Be Vietnamese

In the Goldring arts journalism program, there are 15 students including me. Of those 15, two are men, 13 are women. The ethnic breakdown is as followed:

African-American: 1

Indian: 1

Asian: 2

Caucasion: 11

The other Asian in the program is Xueying, who is from China. She is tall, with creamy white skin, and a sweet (and initially shy) demeanor. The perfect example of the ideal Asian girl (except for the height). This is also her first time in the United States.

According to her, said Avantika, my Indian housemate and fellow Goldringer, I am the most "American" out of all of the people in the program.

When I heard this, I was laughing. My best friend, Ali, is part Irish and to her, I'm her little Asian friend. Maybe it's the fact that I make Vietnamese food for supper, or I'm prone to the occasional "troi oi."

The New York State Thruway Post

I don't drive much these days and that makes me very cranky, for many reasons.

1) I have to beg or bribe people to take me places, like the grocery store, 2) taking the bus is a frustrating and ensures that I am always really early somewhere or really late, and 3) no more random solo road-trips (not that I ever did random solo road-trips but you always want the option).

But there is one reason that I am glad that I do not drive: the New York State Thruway.

The Country House Post

Allison is a country girl and I am a city girl. She loves rolling hills of green trees, I find it mysterious and kind of fear it. She is from upstate New York. I am from California. She walks absurdly fast. I walk rather slowly (not surprising because I have very short legs).

I met Allison during my first two weeks in Europe. We were both Americans, far from home (me farther than her of course) and somehow went on the same tour of Coventry together. Then we went to London together. Then Paris. Then Italy. Then the Germanic nations. And etc, etc, etc.

So when I first moved to Syracuse, the first person I told was Allison. The next thing I knew, we were planning a trip together, to her family's cottage on the Finger Lakes.

The Wegmans Post

(in the tune of 'Maria' from Leonard Bernstein's "Westside Story." Mr. Bernstein, I apologize in advance and please do not haunt me for this.)

Oh Wegmans, I've just found a store here called Wegmans

The Idaho v. Maine Post

My fellow student and arts journalist, Amanda, grew up on a dairy farm. When I found out, my mind immediately went straight to the image of a German milkmaid, carrying a pail of milk. Perhaps it is sunset and in the background is a picturesque little white-washed house. In other words, the exact opposite of my experience growing up, nearby the freeway and always being slightly scared of nature.

The "WTH Streetsigns?" Post

So not having internet the past couple of days have resulted in me taking very creative measures to try to find internet. Having parked myself at Starbucks some days past, I have decided today (since it is orientation) to experiment with the computer lab at Syracuse, filled with shiny new Macs

The Inaugural Post

So here we are again, on the apex of another adventure. This time, something a little bit less grand. New York. But not Manhattan. Syracuse University, at the Newhouse School of Journalism. One of the most prestigious journalism programs in the nation. And one that not many of my friends or family have heard of. And for a number who are reading this blog, you will be surprised that I am not going to be living in New York City. I will be closer to Canada than Manhattan. Which I don't mind, having never been to Toronto.

As of now, the suitcases are packed, the clothes to be worn on the 10 hour flight is laid out, and I am sitting here nervous and musing about what to write for my next blog adventure. Whether or not this installment will be as eventful and varied as the European edition remains to be seen.