Can I have some red hot sauce? Hee hee hee!

Ah, Yale. Beautiful green quadrangles, towering stone gothic edifices, bells ringing, students and professors walking around the campus. A sense of prestige and high tradition fills the air. But walk just a little ways away from campus (or sometimes even within campus) and you're in New Haven, Connecticut, which, let us just say, is not quite the successful, wealthy, modern city one might enjoy wandering alone at night in.

Yesterday we had to go to a security meeting in which the Yale police told us about the dangers of New Haven along with some help from students who performed funny skits. The premise of one of the skits was of some naive Yale freshman who was eager to meet everyone in the city.

"Oh, I just need five dollars," said a person on the street.

"Oh, really? Nice to meet you. Let me see...no I have to go to the ATM...just wait...here...Oh, you need money to get to London?...Yep, one thousand dollars right here. Have fun!"

The lesson was not to give money to random people on the street. The policeman emphasized that there are ways to help the disadvantaged of New Haven through charities, but this was not a good way to do it.

This morning, since the dining halls don't start regular service until September, I walked a short ways out of campus to go to a little breakfast restaurant. Mind you, I did not wander off far. I could see the walls of Vanderbilt Hall on Old Campus just across the street. And then a woman came up to me and said, "Can you spare anything for some poetry?"

"What?"

"The Yale students call me the Poetry Lady. It's all I have to offer; I'm homeless, please give me a chance."

"No thank you," I said quickly, trying to get away.

"Could you give me some money?"

"No." Now I was walking at a fast pace, which, if you know me, you know is quite fast.

"You're so mean!"

So then I got to the restaurant, sat at the counter, and ordered my food. While I was sitting there, I heard maniacal-sounding laughter at the door.

"Hee hee hee. Can I have some red hot sauce? Hee hee hee!"

I looked over and saw that it was the Poetry Lady. Starting to feel uncomfortable sitting right near by, I was glad to see that she left almost as quickly as she had come in, with hot sauce in hand, I suppose.

Well, this is New Haven, my new home.

-Philip

I like your shoes. Do you do Lindy Hop?

Last night Sachi and I had the marvelous idea to try going to a West Coast Swing dancing event. Sachi is about to go to camp now, so I have been delegated to write this. It was certainly fun, but as you probably can anticipate, it was not free of awkwardness. Oh, why do we attract awkwardness so? Anyway, it was an interesting experience.

To start with, the location of the dance was changed unexpectedly from Arlington to Wayland, so it was good that we noticed this before we found ourselves waiting in Arlington for other people to show up and wondering what was wrong. The dance was supposed to be benefiting some well-known dance teacher who was undergoing chemotherapy, people brought food, made donations--it seemed like a nice thing to take part in.

West Coast Swing was the first type of swing dancing that we learned; we had been taking Lindy Hop lessons more recently (Lindy Hop is the original, standard type of swing dancing from the 1930s). Sachi had just bought some three-inch high-heeled 1930s-style dancing shoes that she was using for the first time. In addition to faltering sometimes while spinning (though for the most part I was impressed with her ability to dance well in them) Sachi attracted the occasional comment, "I like your shoes. Do you do Lindy Hop?" We decided that those must have been Lindy Hop shoes.

We were hoping to find our original dance teachers, who have been referred to in this blog as Matt and Susie. At first we couldn't find them (we did later), but then I did see one person that I recognized--it was a weird man that we had nick-named Purple Shirt at our old dance practice sessions because we didn't know his name and he was creepy. Sachi had several times told me that if he ever came close to asking her to dance, I should swoop by and take her before it was too late. Anyway, not only did I see him, but he had a camera around his neck and was taking pictures this way and that.

"Do you think he's the official photographer?" I asked Sachi.

"Marginally," she said. "I hope he's not just taking his own pictures because that would be...strange."

We tried to avoid his notice throughout the dance. I think we succeeded, although we probably show up in a few pictures.

The other thing about this dance was that most of the people there were really advanced, to the point that it was scary. Entertaining to watch, certainly, but...to imagine dancing with one of them? And then there was a weird thing where for certain songs, everyone would just start dance-walking in a big circle around the room. So we ended up dancing mostly with each other. Although at one point a man asked Sachi to dance, and she had an exhilarating experience of it, and I danced with my former dance teacher, Susie.

At the end, I went out in the hall to use my cell phone. When I got back, I couldn't find Sachi anywhere. She must be dancing with someone, I thought. And then I found her. So when the song seemed to be over, I went over to her, thinking I would have one more dance with her before we went home. At first the man dancing with her didn't seem to intend to let Sachi go, and then said, "Oh, you can take over now," and left. The music started up again, we started dancing, and then in was over. Oh, we just realized. That was still the end of the last song. I had just stolen that poor man's dance partner before the song was over! We were so embarrassed that we left just then. Oh, how awkward!

-Philip