Last weekend the town of Keene was apoplectic with hysteria: it was the 19th annual Pumpkin Fest, the annual highlight for this bustling metropolis of just over 20,000 souls. The locals had been talking about this event for weeks, getting themselves in a frenzy for the invasion of thousands upon thousands of pumpkins. Their goal is the same every year: to better the previous record – apparently a Guinness one - of pumpkins that pass through the town gates. And what a success it was! Some 29,068 pumpkins passed through Keene, many of them being smashed and shattered in the Saturday night revelry that followed the day’s events. Before the destruction occurred, Main Street was taken over by food and drink booths, kids in a costume parade, live entertainment and the crowning of Miss Pumpkin 2009. I’d love to say I witnessed all of this, but alas, I couldn’t. After one hour in the morning, and before the crowds had fully descended, I’d had enough and escaped the hustle and bustle for quieter confines. I honestly failed to see what the fuss was about. If this is all the locals have to get excited about…God help them.
Maybe some of the testimonials from the locals will convince you otherwise:
“I just think this exemplifies the New England spirit.”
“It’s a great event. It’s just the hometown spirit. I guess that’s a dying thing these days.”
“I’ve always loved it. I fell in love with the area when we visited for the festival.”
I’m not convinced. But then I’m a cynical old curmudgeon anyway.
Maybe some of the testimonials from the locals will convince you otherwise:
“I just think this exemplifies the New England spirit.”
“It’s a great event. It’s just the hometown spirit. I guess that’s a dying thing these days.”
“I’ve always loved it. I fell in love with the area when we visited for the festival.”
I’m not convinced. But then I’m a cynical old curmudgeon anyway.
Look at those whoppers
Keene before the carnage
It’s not exactly the United Nations here
I saw a black man on campus today. Not such a big deal if you live in, say, an area that is more than 99.5% white. But for Keene? A rarity.
I’ve recently been trying to put my finger on what bothers me about the university and the town. There are oh-so-many things (most of them are merely minor foibles that nevertheless perturb me), but I nailed it recently: the complete lack of ethnic diversity. This is something I’d always taken for granted in the past (western Ukraine was more cosmopolitan than this!), but I’ve honestly never felt such discomfort in a place as I have here. Being surrounded by white guys wearing backwards hats and girls in their pajamas and ugg boots is downright terrifying and unpleasant. I’ve clearly become even more of a grumpy old man than ever before, but I feel trapped inside a bubble. The worst part is, I’m willing to bet no one else cares, let alone thinks about this. I’m sorely tempted to ask students for their opinions, but am scared lest they think I’m some sort of bigot.
Keene in a nutshell
Some of my loyal readers asked for descriptions of Bishkek while I was there and I’m afraid I let you all down. I was lazy and let the photos (both here and on Facebook) speak for themselves. I can hardly describe Keene (let the Pumpkin Fest speak for it), but I now feel vindicated by having recently read Milan Kundera’s The Curtain:
‘Description: compassion for the ephemeral; salvaging the perishable.’
I find this so utterly apt. I’m not planning on being here any longer than I have to be. And I won’t be shedding too many tears when it comes time to say goodbye.
Maybe that’s why I felt so letdown by Pumpkin Fest (I say this tongue firmly planted in cheek). I have so little excitement here, and the everyday fails to excite me:
‘The everyday. It is not merely ennui, pointlessness, repetition, triviality (yes it is); it is beauty as well (where?); for instance, the magical charm of atmospheres (rotten pumpkins?), a thing everyone has felt in his own life: a strain of music heard faintly from the next apartment (all I can hear is thumping classic rock); the wind rattling the windowpane (mine doesn’t move); the monotonous voice of a professor that a lovesick schoolgirl hears without registering (I’m giving a lecture soon, I’ll try and keep it monotonous); these trivial circumstances stamp some personal event with an inimitable singularity that dates it and makes it unforgettable.’
I’m probably just in the wrong place to appreciate such aesthetic beauty.
Oddities and creepiness
1. Every day for the past month or so at 4.20pm there’s been an informal ‘pot protest’. A hundred or so of the town’s hippies and out-of-sorts gather in central square to light up while the police mill about looking disinterested. I’m not sure what the purpose of this ‘protest’ is. We’re so close to Vermont that in effect, smoking dope is more or less de-criminalised here. This occasionally makes the front page of the Keene Sentinel. I wish I were making this up.
2. The other day I noticed a group of 20 or so black-clad people standing rigidly and kneeling in what appeared to be a séance or ritual prayer. Upon first glance, they looked like Satan-worshippers or at least some sort of messianic cult. There were low murmurs and humming. I turned to see what they were facing and it was a Planned Parenthood clinic. In their hands were anti-abortion leaflets and a few held placards. I’m not passing judgement on them or anything, but they certainly didn’t look as though they came from any mainstream religion.
Yesterday I walked past Planned Parenthood, where a solitary woman was standing with leaflets. There was no one else in the vicinity, and I thought I’d try a little experiment (I’m that desperate for excitement that I had to resort to this). I walked up to the clinic, feigning interest and staring inquisitively at the entrance, a few feet from this woman. She approached me, handed me a flyer and said, “Abortion kills. Don’t go in there.”
I wish, I wish, I damn well wish I could have thought of some sort of riposte to that. But the best I could come up with was, ‘Don’t worry, I was just looking.’ I want to insert some sort of joke here but hardly know where to start.
What happened to that lovely New England autumn?
It has got quite cold here in a hurry. It’s only October but temperatures have recently been in the OC/32F range with occasional snow flurries. The bedroom in my flat doesn’t get heat and so it’s thus frosty in here already. This reminds me of my epic flat in Lviv, where the winter temperatures in January and February 2006 reached a bitingly cold -38C. I had no heat in the kitchen. One day I poured myself a glass of orange juice and set it on the counter. I then left it to perform my various morning ablutions before returning 20 minutes later. The top centimetre or so had frozen – not solid, mind, but it was icy enough. From that point on, I kept the fridge open to heat the kitchen. I may have to get a small fridge for my room here.
The natives are restless. And paranoid.
There seems to be a general paranoia sweeping the student body. Since early September, people have been panicking about swine flu and if you dare sneeze in public, everyone in the vicinity dives for cover. There are hand sanitizer dispensers every 50 feet and there is often a queue to use them. People avoid touching doors, instead preferring to nudge them open with their shoulders or elbows. The librarians wear rubber gloves (or as my father calls them, asshole gloves) and surgical masks. Okay, I made that last part up, but you get the idea.
But the paranoia goes well beyond mere swine flu. Everyone seems so on edge.
Today in the university library – a wretched place where the cacophony of students nattering to one another, chattering on their mobiles, farting and belching makes studying nearly impossible – serves as a particularly good example. I noticed a girl next to me was reading Cod by Mark Kurlansky, a book I read a few years ago. I was curious as to what she thought.
“Sorry to bother you, but what do you make of that book?”
“Um, I have a boyfriend.” (said valley-girl style, with rising intonation)
And for once in my life, I did actually have a snappy response to hit her back with! I was so proud of myself.
“Congratulations. I take it you don’t like it then.”
It’s not much, but it was the best I could do.
Not long after, a little ways away were two massively-built meatheads being quite disruptive and having a conversation that revolved around how much they could bench press (in the 335-350 pound range), how much protein and carbohydrates were in their energy drinks, how high their pain threshold was for injecting steroids into their backsides and the size of their…pecs. Anyway, just above their heads was a clock. I glanced over from time to time. Sure, they were annoying me, but like I was about to say anything. Finally,
“Hey man, you got a problem?”
“Uh, no. Just checking the time.”
[beefcake #1 looks over his shoulder]
“Oh, all alright then.”
Time for a rethink?
I had my first school observation yesterday. This term I have to spend a few hours a week observing in a high school before I start student teaching in January. It was quite an eye-opening, revelatory experience. One of the classes was a bit of a nightmare, with disruptive students talking back to the teacher, kids throwing things, teasing one another, not listening, sleeping on their desks, being disrespectful...general disobedience and insolence really. Just as I was thinking ‘what have I got myself into?’ one girl, the only seemingly serious student in the class, turned to me and said, ‘If you wanna teach high school, this is what you get. Are you sure you wanna do this?’
Uh, no.
