the whiteness, the blackness

i don't think i realized how segregated the twin cities are, how white describes the landscape i've left behind and the pinkish skinned world in which i lived. i live in cobble hill, a pretty, brownstone-filled, mostly white neighborhood. there are old black women rolling bundled white children down the street in strollers. this afternoon i found myself on the other side of things, heading away from the river through the fulton mall to the social security office. and all of a sudden it was like being in africa again, a sea of faces and the feeling of difference. it was incredible, after what seems like forever, to be in the midst of people who wouldn't know the difference between a last name ending in -sen or -son, who don't have blonde hair and blue eyes and people who don't shy away from public activity and interaction. don't get me wrong, i enjoyed myself in new scandinavia, but there's something powerful about seeing the human potential for variety and difference.

i watched the world baseball classic with ariel, my cuban housemate. he was crushed when cuba lost, but that didn't stop him from screaming loud enough to be heard in havana.

there's a yoga studio near my house that will allow me to trade five volunteer hours a week for unlimited free classes -- not too bad a deal, especially since i'm not working yet.

i want to believe it's spring already, but it's a gray day and i'm cold after walking around all day. spring better be here soon.