Searching for participants, part 2

I continue my search for speakers of Endangered Language Z (which you can probably figure out if you look at the sidebar), wandering through the garment district of downtown Los Angeles, dodging pools of urine and $1 toys made in China. After numerous queries I find one person--or rather, I find her spouse, since she has decided to stay home that day. Which means I must haul my academic ass out on the Metrolink again the following day. I find her piled in shipments from Country X, but happy to dedicate forty-five minutes to talking to this strange white girl who comes on a recommendation from Don Consul (who has turned out to be an enthusiastic proponent of my little research project, despite his lateness during our first meeting). Alas, she is leaving the country next month until January. But, her mother is coming to hold down the fort and I'm welcome to go and talk to her.

Which brings up the question from Dr. Cuy; what is my definition of a resident for my study? This woman has been in the U.S. for only two months. I don't think I can put a time limit on my participants. First of all, because there don't seem to be that many of them. Second, it would be interesting to study (assuming I can find more of these folks) people with varying stays in the country, varying levels of English proficiency, etc.

After my conversation I picked my way through the drunks up to a place where people play music (how vague is that?) and found another person from Country X. When I asked him if he spoke Endangered Language Z he went into this long history about how his grandmother moved from the rural areas to the city because his grandfather was an alocholic and, alas, did not take her language with her. I'm not sure what grandfather's alcoholism had to do with that but it makes for an interesting story. And he gave me the name and number of someone who does speak E.L. Z and told me where I might find him. So the hunt continues and I'm optimistic, although I'm thinking now that 50 might be a very large number for the study. I feel like I have a sieve with big holes in it and just about everyone is falling through. I need the big rocks and I may have a couple, but it's mostly sand for now.

And having beaten that metaphor to death, I must go watch Gray's Anatomy.

HOW TO WRITE A DISSERTATION WITH NO MONEY

Right now I am preoccupied with funding, or rather, my husband Dr. Cuy is, since he does not want to be the Dr. Cuy Foundation for Research in Applied Linguistics, Specifically That Research Done by the Wife of Dr. Cuy. As is commonly the case with me, while I was in the full, churning throes of developing my research plan, I wasn't even thinking about how I was going to pay for it. And all of these trips to L.A., copies of the interview guide, taping, etc. etc. are going to cost money. Not as much money as the latest medical research, but it would be nice to have some. Especially if I'm going to go to Country X for a month or two to do some follow up on my participants.

I'm of the (admittedly pessimistic) assumption that there is no funding out there for domestic research in applied linguistics. Dr. Cuy suggests Homeland Security but I just can't stomach approaching them for money. Plus if I told my potential participants that I'm being funded by the Department for Homeland Security, that would pretty much be the end of my research.

So, my goal for the day: find a way to get a couple thousand bucks to do my thing, preferably from an agency that does not persecute undocumented workers.

THE SEARCH BEGINS.

Yesterday I went to the Consulate of Country X to attempt to find some contacts for my research. This required one and a half hours of negotiating LA-area freeways, overpriced parking, and an unfortunate realization that said consulate was housed in the same quarters as Larry Flynt publications. It was only after I saw a busty chick with a Hustler T-shirt that I realized this--I had been blissfully oblivious to the purple flag imprinted with "LFP" flying over the building.

Despite my having made an appointment with the General Consul of Country X, and reconfirmed this appointment via email (reconfirming being an essential component of any formal meeting to take place among members of Country X and other Latin American countries), the person at the window informed me that, lamentably, Sr. Consul was out of the office on a meeting and would I be so kind as to wait ten minutes?

The ten minutes stretched into an hour and a half, at which point I was ready to give up, go home, and fume over some literature. At this point Sr. Consul entered the building with profuse apologies and explanations about the traffic. After brushing me off for another half hour we finally spoke about my dissertation topic. To my great joy, he was interested in the linguistic behavior of indigenous peoples, having received some of these indigenous people in his office. "They are so--clean, so hardworking," he mused. He determined that he and I were going to go next week and track down some clean and hardworking indigenous people for my research. I inwardly winced at the possibility of bringing the Consul General on my first field research opportunity, but who knows, it may help.

Whatever the case, I intend to reconfirm and re-reconfirm with Sr. Consul. And have a plan B, which will involve tracking down indigenous people on my own, even if they are unkempt and enemies of honest labor. And, perhaps, take the Metrolink into town, since by the time I got back on the freeway it was 3:00 and I was forced to descend into the specific kind of hell known to L.A. residents as Rush Hour, which as far as I can tell lasts three hours in the afternoon and usually involves the shutting down of some major transportation artery due to a crash, or, in the case of yesterday, a gas leak and a man in an RV with explosives.

It's going to be a long couple of years.