Trendy But Casual

Final Month

I'm back in New Zealand, making the most of my final month in the Sargeson flat. And by that I mean watching the live puppycam.

Slowly I'm getting over the fear of waking up to discover IT WAS ALL A DREAM and Obama isn't really President-Elect. Today he's checking out his new home. I didn't realize he and Michelle were so very tall. they make George and Laura look like oompa-loompas.

I arrived back in time to vote in the NZ general election, something I was not planning to do until a) my father established it was legal; and b) every Labo.ur voter I know told me it was my moral duty, i.e. things were looking grim. Very grim, as it turned out. In New Zealand we have MM.P, so everyone votes twice - once for a candidate (your member of parl.iament), and once for a party. I'm registered in one of the Maori el.ectorates, Te Tai Tokerau (which I keep calling by its old name, Nor.thern Maori, by mistake). Actually, I'm not sure why West Auckland gets stuck in here and isn't part of Tam.aki Mak.arau, which is greater Auckland. Later, when the results were in, I discovered I voted exactly like the majority of voters in my electorate - for the Mao.ri party candidate, but giving the party vote to Lab.our.

My parents, brother and I went to Flanshaw Road Primary School to vote. Afterwards we were given orange stickers that read "Yes I've voted". My brother declined to wear his. He can still barely walk after running the Auckland marathon a week ago, so maybe he thought a sticker would weigh him down. Then, because it was my father's birthday, we went out for brunch in New Lynn. At Denny's. This was my brother's idea: birthday-havers get a free meal at Denny's, so my brother could take us out and only have to pay for three meals. (This is chapter 246 in how my brother is exactly like my grandfather.) But when we ordered, he discovered that Denny's has abandoned this policy, and he had to fork out for all four breakfasts. Then my mother announced that she'd rather have gone to Mecca in the Viaduct. And then we all ordered the most expensive breakfasts possible. The most expensive Denny's breakfast only costs $12, so my brother was in luck.

While I was away, Albert Park abandoned itself to spring, and everything is green and/or blossoming. Also while I was away: Forbidden Cities reached #4 on the NZ fiction chart. So this means once I'm back in the US I can claim to have an "international bestseller".

Back to work.

Great Day

T. Middy said he would blast "Ode to Joy" through the house (and, in fact, the neighborhood) if Obama won the presidency, so that's exactly what he's doing now. I had to go out on the porch to hear the crackle of fireworks and/or gunfire around the city of New Orleans.

It's only just after 10 PM here: we didn't think there'd be an answer so soon. (When does the Marxism start?)

On TV we're flicking between BBC, MSNBC, NBC, and (for fun) Fox. In Chicago, Oprah and Jesse Jackson are weeping. In Phoenix, John McCain is giving his concession speech. There's a jubilant crowd outside the White House, another in Times Square. Bush has called Obama to congratulate him. The polls on the West Coast only closed less than half an hour ago.

This has been the most anxious day. I kept waking up in the night, driving TM crazy by asking IS IT TIME YET? That is, time to get up and vote. We walked to McMain High School a little after eight AM. There were no long lines. People were cheerful, taking photos.  I took photos, but I haven't had time to download them. In our district we were voting on five different races, and numerous amendments. A sign on the curtained voting booths told us we only had three minuted. There was a giant touch screen, with everything clearly laid out; it was easy to use. We were in and out pretty quickly.

Then there was just the waiting ... 

All the neutral grounds were clogged with signs for various candidates, as ever; people holding signs at intersections urged us to honk if we supported their candidate. Many of the run-offs (like the contest for DA and member of the House of Representatives) were between two Democratic candidates. Orleans Parish is staunchly Democrat, unlike the rest of the state. Talk of red and blue states isn't very accurate: cities like New Orleans are always Democrat, in part because of our large black population.

TM finished work early so we could go a-canvassing together. First we had to go to the HQ on Canal Street, near Jeff Davis; then we were sent to a street in the Seventh Ward to meet with the canvassing coordinators. This is a black neighborhood, an old Creole neighborhood. It was not long after four PM: street parties were already going on. In an empty lot, at a temporary Obama camp, organizers were handing out clipboards and information. We discussed places other canvassers had been sent: New Orleans East, Mid City. But when we said we lived Uptown, they sent us there, to Louisiana Avenue near the river. 

We were to do a four-by-four block circuit, knocking on doors, handing out information, reminding voters the polls were open until eight PM, and providing phone numbers if people needed to know where to vote or how to report a problem. This took a lot longer than we thought it would. It gets dark early here now, so I was glad to be on this particular mission with TM. A lot of the people we spoke to reminded us to "be safe". Almost everyone who answered the door to us had already voted. Only two people told us they'd voted for McCain; one couple told us they'd voted for Nader, and they were suitably apologetic. Three different households were holding Obama parties tonight, and we got invitations to all of them. One guy even waved us in, so TM was standing in his hallway, shouting "We're from the Obama campaign!" down his hallway. Kids told us their parents had voted. One old white lady waited until we were on the next porch to tell us "I don't like your candidate."

One man came to the door in an Obama "Progress" shirt, and he told us he'd worn it illicitly to the polls today, concealing it under a sweatshirt. A younger guy had a green O'Bama t-shirt on; he said his mother was working on the phone banks. Some people weren't home yet, and when we rang their doorbells, their home-alone dogs went completely mental. On one porch, three crazy kittens ran circles around me. We got a good look inside a number of houses, peering through doors and windows, looking over the shoulders of home-owners. I now envy a number of high ceilings and wrought-iron gates.

It's a mixed neighborhood, rich and not rich at all, black, white, Hispanic. Most of the houses were built in the nineteenth century. Two households were Spanish speakers who could only speak enough English to tell us they couldn't speak English; they looked at our Obama t-shirts, smiled, and shook their heads. In one house, the woman who answered the door told us they were non-citizens. "But we want Obama to win," she said. A European socialist, no doubt.

After two hours, we drove back to the temporary HQ on Annette Street, but it was dark and gated; I called our organizer, Daniella, on her cell phone and she told me we should just keep the clipboards and left-over leaflets.  So we drove to Felipe's to buy margaritas, where I saw one of my former students, and then returned home, dusty and tired. It's a very humid evening. I thought it would be a long night, but I was wrong.

Barack Obama is on stage now in Chicago, about to give his victory speech. Thank god.

Free (At Last)

Tonight when we were watching the evening news on NBC, a strange feeling came over me. An item about over-fishing in the world’s oceans was screening, and slowly I realized … I’m not really interested in the world anymore. What’s going on in Minnesota? How about Delaware? Didn’t a crane collapse somewhere in the US today?

And that’s when it hit me: I’m an American! Yes, today I made my last-ever – I hope – visit to Immigration Services out in Metairie. I took the Oa.th, which included renouncing all for.eign prin.ces (sorry, Prince Albert of Monaco, possible future love interest); recited the Ple.dge, led by a Colombian candidate; listened to “The Star-Span.gled Banner” played on a boom-box; received a welcome pack (including a small flag, a letter from the Pres.ident, and info on how to register to vote and get a passport); watched a Civi.cs video (which showed more patrio.tic candidates at another swe.aring-in ceremony waving said flags, and asked us, at the end, how we planned to Use Our Freedom); watched a video message from the Pr.esident (he likes us!); and then sat through a video montage of nice places in the US and happy-looking people sitting on beaches, standing on summits, etc, to a soundtrack of one of my least favorite songs – Lee Gre.enwood’s “God Bl.ess the US.A”  - while someone overly enthusiastic in the row behind me sang along. (The lines “I’m proud to be an Am.er.ican/where at least I know I’m fr.ee” are off in so many ways: what is that “at least” doing in there? Is there nothing else good about this place? Is nobody free anywhere else?)

Anyway, there were 55 of us sworn in today, from 22 countries. The countries were listed in the little program handed out, and when your country was read out, you had to stand up. I was the only New Zealander. The woman to my left was from Iran; the one on my right was from Honduras. Vietnam, Honduras, and Guatemala were the most heavily represented – not really surprising for Louisiana. (There’s a large Vietnamese community here, for those who haven’t read Robert Olen Butler’s collection A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain.) A lot of people had family members present, but non-candidates had to sit at the back of the room during the Oa.th-and-video bits; they were invited to stand up front when we were handed our certificates, so they could take photos. TM didn’t come with me, which he is now regretting, and the woman on my right asked me, with pity in her voice: “You have nobody here to take your picture?”

We were told on the form to wear “appropriate dress,” so I shelved plans for my red, white, and blue bikini. A woman from Serbia was wearing a Sta.rs-and-Stri.pes scarf, for which she received several compliments in the elevator afterwards. “I wanted to look American,” she said. “You ARE American,” one of the other women told her. We new citizens bonded big-time.

The ceremony was conducted by the Fie.ld Off.ice Director and the Sup.ervisory Off.icer, both of whom were very pleasant, though the FD.O told us in his speech that we live in “trying and perplexing times.” When my name was called (“Paula Morris from New Zealand!), he handed me my certificate and wished me luck. The SO urged us all to register to vote, and to agree to jur.y duty when called up.

Other things: In the reflection of the TV screen I saw that the majority of candidates were hand-on-heart during the S-SB. The old Cuban man in front of me, who walked with a cane, got over-enthusiastic during the Oa.th recitation, and instead of waiting to repeat the words after the F.DO had read them, read each phrase along with him. During the Civi.cs video, which briefly explained the Revolutionary War, history of the Const.itution, evolution of the Re.public, etc, they totally glossed over certain things, not least the Civil War. After explaining the rights protected by the Con.stitution, the voiceover explained: “In time, these rights were extended to more people.” Cue: picture of Native American, followed by picture of black person!

We had to get there today by 1:30 and I was back at the car by 2:50, wondering how to start using my freedom. I decided to be as American as possible, so I immediately made a call on my cell phone, then drove across town to Smoothie King. (Though you don’t have to be free to shop there; they serve anyone.) I got my passport photos taken, and then – because it’s a free country – drove the length of Terpsichore Street, to see if I could find the little cat’s new house. It’s hard driving the length of this street, because it’s one-way in parts, and interrupted for a few blocks by a small park. My mission was not accomplished, i.e. I didn’t see the cat or its owners’ car. All the time in the car I was listening to Brazilian music, which is American in the broader sense, at least.

Today was inevitable, I suppose: I’ve grown to like grits and iced tea. I know how to say “banana” and “tomato” when placing food orders. But I felt an odd pang handing over my Gr.een Card today. (It’s seized when you become a cit.izen.) The picture on it was taken in 1996, though I didn’t get the GC itself until almost two years later. I was a different person then, I think, in many ways, and not just because I didn’t need to dye my hair. I didn’t even know TM when that picture was taken, when that application was filed. I hadn’t started writing again.

Since my first work visa here in 94, it’s taken 14 years, thousands of dollars, and one letter from a Senator (Al D’Amato, Hillary Clinton’s predecessor) to reach this point. Freedom isn’t free, people!

And now I must go use my freedom to watch The Daily Show. Thank you to my local friend Becky, by the way, for the lovely red, white and blue flowers delivered yesterday.

 

Yankee Doodle Dandy

This week, in the moments of leisure I've had between mourning the removal of Skittles the cat, spraying li.docaine onto my sunburnt stomach, thinking good things about Bar.ack Oba.ma, and working on a ghostwriting project that needed to be finished last week, I've been studying for my naturali.zation test. T. Middy, that well-known girly swot, printed out the flashcards from the Citiz.enship and Immigr.ation Serv.ices web site, and tested me on all hundred questions.

Today I had my appointment with destiny, or the Immigr.ation officer, and I made sure not to arrive too early or too late - major crimes in Immi.gration Land - and to leave my camera at home, and turn off my cell phone. I only had to wait about 45 minutes, sitting between a group of Spanish speakers and a group of Vietnamese speakers, all of whom seemed to be sending in multiple applicants. Some of them returned smiling; others returned clasping forms telling them they needed to try again. These forms were the subject of much discussion in the waiting area. I think the main problem was failure to pass one of the tests - either the Civics questions, or the written/spoken English.

My interroga.tor was quite personable. I was worried I'd get the guy with the handlebar moustache, who came to the door several times to shout for/at a translator. In her office, with its view of I-10 and a billboard for Del.gado Community College, I had to stand, raise my right hand, and swear to tell the truth before I was allowed to sit down.

I'd taken every possible document in order to foil the usual scheme - i.e. wrong-footing applicants by demanding additional documentation not specified in the letter or on the web site. Once, when I was in Vancouver on business, the Immigr.ation officer threatened to send me back to New Zealand rather than re-admit me to the US. My Green C.ard had been approved but the physical card itself was not yet in my possession, and although the required "change-of-status pending" stamp in my passport was present and correct, I didn't have any other supporting documentation on me. After various discussions with other officers, during which I said lame things like "the letter is in my apartment in Brooklyn," they decided to let me back into the country.

Of course, today I was foiled again, despite my folder of possibly useful documents (passport, Gre.en Card, bank statement, marriage ce,rtificate, etc). All she wanted to see was my driver's license, passport and GC, because I was applying based on five years of continuous residence rather than three years (which requires proof of marri.age to a US citi.zen). But then she asked to look at old passports. Old passports!  

It was no biggie, luckily. We went through my applic.ation, so she could double-check all the info. I confirmed that I had never been in a gang or terro.rist group. I agreed, in principle, to take up arms on behalf of the US if required. I confessed to my one sort-of crime, a speeding ticket in Maryland (July 97; I was late getting to a July 4 concert extravaganza thing in DC). They specify speeding tickets when they ask you about brushes with the law, by the way; I wasn't over-sharing by admitting to it. This led to a brief discussion about how people don't get speeding tickets here; they just get parking tickets during Mardi Gras.

Then we got to the Civics test, in which I was asked ten questions from the hundred I had to learn. I think they were:

1. Where is the White House located?

2. What is the le.gislative  branch of our Government?

3. Name the two Senators from your state.

4. Who is Chief Ju.stice of the Su.preme Court?

5. What did the Em.ancipation Proc.lamation do?

6. What are some of the basic beliefs of the De.claration of Ind.ependence?

7. Who wrote The Star-Spangled Banner?

8. In what month is the new President inaugurated?

9. What are the two major political parties in the US?

10. What is the sup.reme law of the United States?

Of course I got all of these: I'd been hoping for a chance to show off - by naming the thirteen original states IN NORTH TO SOUTH ORDER, or listing the four constitutional Amendments that relate to voting rights. These are both actual questions, though the geographic order of the states was not required. All the numbers I'd remembered (435, 1776, 1787, 100, 27, 2, 4, 6, 10) were not required. I was not asked to account for the number of stars on the flag, or deal with one of the semi-trick questions, like who elects the President. To my disappointment, I was not asked to name "some countr.ies that were our enemies" in WWII, or to recite the bene.fits of being a citizen. (One possible answer: "to obt.ain Fede.ral government jobs.")

Then came the tricky part: the English test. I had to read question six aloud, and then write a sentence at the bottom of the page. It was something like "I would like to become an Ameri.can citiz.en." I can't remember it exactly because I was too busy obsessing over my messy handwriting, and the way the M in "American" looked like no known letter.

But I passed the test anyway, and got the good news that the final hurdle - the oath cer.emony - takes place tomorrow at 1:30 PM. So by 3 PM tomorrow afternoon I will be a US citi.zen.

The semi-bad news is that not only will I hand over my GC tomorrow (it's expired, anyway); my free-to-travel stamp will be canceled in my New Zealand passport. I'm flying to the UK next Wednesday, so I only have a few days to get a US pas.sport. Once you're a citi.zen, you cannot leave or return to the US without using your US passp.ort. I've made an appointment at the regional passp.ort office downtown for Friday morning, and hope it can all be turned around by Wednesday. The immi.gration offic.er seemed to think it could be done in three business days.

Of course, I will still use my New Zealand passport for all other travel. I'll have dual nationality (NOT prohibited by US law, whatever people may tell you, as long as you don't go around seeking additional nationalities after becoming a US citizen). This means I'll have allegiance to both the Queen and the Flag, and that's fine with me. An excess of symbolism, perhaps, but I don't mind excesses, apart from excesses of cigarette butts left on the beaches of Florida (see below).

We're going out to dinner tomorrow night to celebrate, assuming I don't mess up my oath. Of course I'm dreading the ceremony: I don't like group activities. This is, no doubt, un-American of me.

Action from the DHS

By DHS, I do not mean the DHSS, the Department of Health and Social Security in the UK, which probably doesn't exist anymore, despite being memorialized as a back-up singer refrain in the Wham! song "Wham! Rap" - sample lyrics: " Wham, bam, I am a man/Job or no job, you can’t tell me that I'm not".

DHS these days means the Departm.ent of Ho.meland Secur.ity. Tagline: "Preserving Our Free.doms, Prote.cting America." (I'm not making this up - look at their web site.) And the DHS must determine if I can become a U.S. citizen or not. The first step is letting me know it's received the application, and the check for $400, that I mailed on July 17th.

I was getting worried this week: I'd heard nothing, my Green Card expires next April; if my application was lost and I had to start again, I'd probably have to apply for a new Green Card first and then try again for citizenship, paying the new higher fees for everything, etc. So I rang the 800-number and toured its extensive array of recorded messages. And that's how I learned the following.

Normally, it takes four weeks for the Departme.nt of Hom.eland Sec.urity to send a receipt of application notice - ie four weeks for them to bank your check and tell you you're in the system of neverendingness, to be scrutinized and assessed and fingerprinted and interviewed and tested. But for people who mailed in their application after June 1st, the average waiting time is fifteen weeks. Or, in normal language, three and a half months. This is just to get a receipt - not for any action on the application to take place.

I checked my bank account yesterday, and the check has just been deposited - nearly four months after I sent my application. At least I'm in the system, as Josef K probably said before he was led away ...

If only the IRS was this slow at banking checks. (I think it deposited the check for owed taxes of nearly $5000 two days after we mailed it.) I guess the IRS has more funding and more staff.

None of this is intended as a criticism IN ANY WAY of the DHS. Though just to be safe I'll insert some paranoid periods into its name, to avoid investigation-by-Google.

I better start studying for the test.