A Snowy Day in Tucson

Last night, as I watched the Pats v. Colts in the AFC championship game at a friend's house, it started SNOWING! I know-- I didn't believe it at first either. When someone shouted it was snowing, I looked out the window and said, "that's just a slushy rain, you whimps" (gotta maintain the New England superiority when it comes to matters of heartiness). But it really did snow. And it stuck! And it was still on the ground this morning when I started biking to class (I turned right around to take these pictures).


My roommate, a Tucson native, tells me this is the first time she's seen snow here in about 8 years, and that it's the first time she's seen it stick in about 18 years (when she was 6 and made a snowman). This is more snow than I saw in New England over my winter break. I might have to study the nonlinear dynamics of climate change.


If it's snowing here, hell must have frozen over. Which is the only possible explanation for the outcome of last night's game.

Dillinger Days

The historic Hotel Congress in downtown Tucson was the site of the capture of the infamous John Dillinger's gang of bank robbers in January of 1934. The gang was laying low in the Old Pueblo after a major robbery, and two of Dillinger's men were staying on the third floor at Hotel Congress under aliases. When a fire broke out in the hotel, the robbers had to be rescued by the Tucson fire department through the window. Apparently they tipped the firemen handsomely to go back into their room and retrieve suitcases, which were full of guns and the money they had just stolen during their latest heist. Later, while leafing through some FBI reports, the firemen recognized the outlaws, and the local Tucson police were able to do what several state police forces and the FBI previously could not-- capture Dillinger and his gang.

The City of Tucson and the Arizona Historical Society sponsor "Dillinger Days" each year, a free and extremely entertaining public re-enactment of the capture of Dillinger and the events that lead up to it, right outside of Hotel Congress. The show is performed by a group called Action Unlimited, and includes great street and gun-fights, dancing flapper girls, impressive gun twirling, 1930's band music, antique cars, and witty dialogue.

This is just one more reason that I love this hotel, which also houses and restaurant, a cool performance venue, and several bars. I was just there listening to some local rock and drinkin' some brews in the wee hours of yesterday morning. Thanks for the great weekend, Hotel Congress!

MLK Day, Arizona, and FOOTBALL

The conservative state of Arizona was one of the very last states to observe Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Congress passed the King Day bill in 1986 with a veto-proof majority, and Reagan (himself an opponent of the holiday) signed the bill into law, thereby creating the federal holiday. However, it took until the year 2000 for all 50 states to recognize the holiday and pay employees for the day off. (At least Arizona came around before South Carolina. Not only was this state dead last, but also previously offered employees the choice between MLK Day or three different holidays honoring Confederate war heroes.)

Lawmakers in Arizona prevented legislature creating a state holiday in honor of Martin Luther King from reaching voters for many years. Even when it did make its way onto a ballot in 1990, the voters rejected it. Meanwhile, the National Football League had awarded Superbowl XXVII to the Sun Devils' stadium on the Arizona State University campus in Tempe. But because of the politics surrounding MLK day and the large number of African-American football players, the NFL decided to boycott Arizona. The Players' Association voted to hold the Superbowl that year in Pasadena, California instead. Arizonans certainly seemed to regret the loss of tourism, and approved the state holiday in 1992. (The following year, Sun Devils Stadium was promised to host Superbowl XXX in 1996.)

A revealing historical tidbit about Arizona politics, I thought.

The Ivy League Club

I was just briefly introduced to a friend of a friend. In the three minutes that the introduction was made, my friend made it a point to announce that I had attended Brown, and this other woman had graduated from Columbia. This comment was meant to somehow give my new acquaintance and I something in common. Instead, it just made me feel weird and uncomfortable. Did my friend expect this woman and I to bust out some secret ivy league handshake or something? I don't know the first thing about Columbia as a school, or have any friends who went there. Nor do I feel that having attended an ivy league university makes me any more sophisticated or smart or interesting than any of the grad students I've met at University of Arizona, for example. And no matter where you go to school, I think your education is largely what you make of it. At first, knowing that this woman had attended Columbia didn't make me feel that she and I had any kind of shared experience.

Of course, ivy leaguers do really have something in common: social advantage. Doors probably often open more easily for those with a brand-name school on their resumes. Also, it is often (though of course not always) the case that those who attended brand-name schools were able to do so because of coming from a background of financial advantage. Finally, ivy league graduates have in common the experience of some people's strange reactions upon learning that the graduate attended such a school. I usually think the people who raise their eyebrows at those with an ivy alma mater are the ones creating a class barrier that doesn't really exist. But maybe I've thought wrong. In any case, having had an ivy league education
certainly didn't make me feel any immediate connection to my new acquaintance. I will have to find something else to talk about with her.

My Newest, Favorite-ist Desert Fact: Creosote

When I stepped outside my friend's house tonight to go home after an evening of merrymaking, I immediately smelled something so characteristic of the desert, it made me exclaim. "What is that desert smell?!" "Creosote." My roommates answered me definitively, without any hesitation. I made them say this name to me several times, and then spell it. I have never heard of it before. We got back out of the car for them to point out the green bush on the side of the road, and to put our noses in its little leaves. Now I know that creosote is that Sonoran desert smell. It is a mild but very distinctive smell, and I like it a lot!

I Give Tucson a Bad Rap

Yesterday evening was my last night of holiday vacation on the east coast, and my boyfriend and I went out to dinner with my godparents. I hadn't seen them in a long time, so they asked me all about graduate school and how I like living in Tucson. I found myself on autopilot, spewing my little rant about the ugly southwestern sprawl and how I dislike having to drive to get anywhere.
Later though, I realized I forgot to say how much I like the alternative artsiness that characterizes this little city, and how it is tinted by vibrant Mexican culture too. (Check out this cool photo I took from the Dia de los Muertos parade- a truly awesome experience.) I wake up to gorgeous mountains drenched in sunshine almost every day, and the people are liberal and earthy and interesting.

As I flew into Providence and drove into Boston over my break, I distinctly felt like I was coming home, and that New England is a deeply rooted part of who I am. But flying in over Tucson just a few hours ago, I experienced a genuine happiness to be back here too. It was exciting to find that I could recognize the geography from above. The wide, bone dry washes winding down the mountain sides and through the residential areas told me which direction I was flying in, so I could recognize which of the four mountain ranges I was looking at (the Catalinas). And when I touched down, all the saguaro cacti and palm trees welcomed me back to my new home. What a pleasant surprise, that I should be so glad to see Tucson!

What, me blog?

I've been mentally whining to myself lately about the lack of creative outlets in my current life. Hence, this blog. I am certainly not a writer (you'll see as you read, for sure). Instead, I've just started graduate school in the ridiculously broad, ambiguously defined field of Applied Mathematics. As a first year student, I'm required to take many rigorous core classes to build up my arsenal of fearsome mathematical weaponry. At this point I could wipe out whole armies of fire ants with epsilons and deltas, and use Fourier transforms to decompose the most formidable enemy into a pile of dust. It's not that science isn't a creative endeavor, even when we take the most reductionist approach to a given phenomenon. But I miss constructing something out of my own guts and sharing it with the world. I fear that if I don't soon, I might wake up one day and realize my guts are empty.