Thinking about the MFA in Ohio recently. ("A perfect cretic.") Very peculiar time. For some reason, they spent three years trying very forcefully to drive me out of a closet that I most definitely wasn't in, while the closeted folks around me went on cavorting in the usual manner.
But three years in an art form can teach you much, even in a place a bit bent. I found a few true souls and learned.
About halfway through, I got a big break, an offer to do a reading in LA. The head of the program was against it, but allowed it. Presumably to keep me from getting too cocky, they had me stage manage an undergraduate production of Three Sisters when I returned to Cleveland in January. In theatre, that's called whiplash, and it can put you out of commission for awhile. In the last year, I grew a long beard, read philosophy (beginner stuff: Foucault, the Greeks), and played supernumerary roles at the theatre (and Malvolio at the university, which now makes sense to me in light of the above).
There's a fair amount of anti-Slav sentiment to be found in the Midwest. I remember some comments and events rather clearly.
And then to the city. But I think some of the events in the subsequent years can be traced to the goings-on in Ohio.