A few random observations after my first three months here:
1) They play a lot of Prince on the radio. (Those of you not from Minnesota should know that Prince is.)
2) "Minnesota Nice" is not just a myth.
- If someone so much as brushes against you when they pass you in a crowded store aisle, you get the kind of profuse apology that, in other places, you only get when someone runs over your puppy. (This probably explains why for the last 14 years in NY, DC, and Paris, it's made me so unreasonably angry when someone bumps into me without even saying "excuse me": here where I grew up, invading someone's personal space is practically a felony.)
- When you're driving, if you turn on a blinker to signal an upcoming lane change, the car in the next lane will often slow down to let you in. The other day, I was discussing this with my best friend from high school, who now lives in New York. We both agreed that at first, this phenomenon is so disconcerting that we didn't even change lanes, assuming that it could only be some kind of Machiavellian ploy on the part of the other driver.
3) There are many people of Scandinavian descent here.
- Long ago at my very Norwegian, very Lutheran college, a classmate shared a very funny anecdote of going to a wedding in New York. Most of the guests were what she described as mafioso types, and she said that a woman came up to her and complimented her hair, asking how she had it done. The classmate shrugged and told the woman it was just a normal bob, nothing special. The woman said, "No, I mean the color." When the classmate replied that the color was natural, the woman looked stunned and then said, "Where are you from?!" We all thought it was hilarious that someone couldn't believe that blond hair could be natural. Now I realize that with the possible exception of Stockholm, there are not this many natural blonds anywhere else in the world. This point was clearly emphasized to me a few weeks ago at my great-niece's volleyball game when I was having trouble finding her on the court. Her team had their backs to the spectators, and I realized that looking for the girl with a blond ponytail was not going to help me. At all.
- Also at the volleyball game, there was one girl that was wearing a different color t-shirt from the rest of the team. Instead of a number, it said "Ingalls" on the back, so I assumed she had lost her uniform and was wearing a souvenir shirt from a "Little House on the Prairie" play or something. Then I saw the front and realized it was just a different uniform, and that "Ingalls" was actually her name.
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Ah, yes. The libero. The girl in the odd-colored shirt, that is. While you were gone, we switched to rally scoring and added a libero (for high school volleyball). We're so Olympian, now.
Wait! Hold on to your bleacher seats! Later this winter, you'll notice that high school basketball switched from quarters to halves!
Lots of things haven't changed in high school sports, however. Really loud, obnoxious parents still sit right behind the scorers' table and embarrass themselves until you have to find an official to kick them out. Kids who don't get much playing time still blame favoritism, instead of acknowledging that the players out on the floor have worked harder or have more talent. And varsity activity advisers (e.g. director of the fall play) still get paid less than a C-squad athletic coach.
PS I will admit that your shirt theory was not so far off. If an athlete needed a jersey and we could find one in the costume room, we'd be nice enough to donate it so the show (match) could go on. We are Minnesotans after all.
One of my favorite moments in grad school in Chicago came when our urban studies professor asked us if our high schools were well integrated and a classmate from Le Sueur deadpanned: "Yeah. They let the Norwegians and the Germans sit next to each other."
I went shopping at Cub Foods in Saint Paul for the first time today (I wanted to stock up on staples like flour and sugar and spices, in the hope that I may someday soon unpack my kitchenware and actually begin cooking), and the "ethnic" food aisle had sections labelled "Mexican", "Pasta", "Asian", "Indian", and . . . "German". Not kidding!
Of course, my Monoprix supermarket in Paris had an American food section in its ethnic food aisle. In case you're wondering, the French consider brownie mix, peanut butter, ranch salad dressing, pancake syrup, barbecue sauce and marshmallow fluff to be typically American. All of which would have been fine by me, if they had had real American brands instead of some vile European fake generic brand called "America's Best". The brownie mix was America's best in exactly the same way that W has been America's best president. Yuck!
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