en el distrito

it was one of those dc days.

the morning started with some reading in the center of union station. then off to library of congress. after attempting some academic-y stuff there, i gave up and checked out their exhibit called "exploring the early americas." aside from cringing at the fact that one might discount everything that happened in the hemisphere prior to 1492 by refering to colón's landing and its aftermath as "early," i enjoyed the exhibit. it was heavily maya focused, with a mere display case each for taíno, inca, and aztec. but there were some pretty fantastic old maps. i would have liked more maps of course, but alas. i suppose my disappointment was that they were very spaced out. 1502, 1516, and then we jump to the 1700s.

i headed out of LoC toward the mall, but as i passed the lower senate park, i saw a bunch of folks standing around in bright orange shirts, with signs and a loudspeaker. as i got closer i could see the iconic round blue NOW "keep abortion legal" signs, so i crossed the street to see what was what. i stood at the back for a moment, leaning on a tree, feeling very much like the new anthropologist trying hard to participate/observe, but feeling mostly like a voyeur. shortly after though, i recognized ilianorama in the crowd and went to stand by her. i heard the last speaker, and then the crowd went off to march in solidarity with planned parenthood, and i continued west toward the mall.

i have been telling myself for two years that when i get the winter blues, i really should just head straight for the national botanical garden and revive my warm weather spirits, but today was the first time i actually took myself up on the suggestion. i found a lovely bench in the middle of the jungle room and actually got through about 100 pages. i ended my garden experience by wandering around the desert room and medicinal plant room, then headed toward the metro stopping by the sculpture garden along the way.

this evening i met mattt and company (jbosch, brot, et al) at my favorite place for revolutionary cuisine. i had some pasta (first meal of the day!) and some drinks. we thought about moving to the raven after dinner, but were worried it'd be too crowded, so mattt & i went on a reconnaissance mission. indeed the bird was over crowded as we peeked in through the new (but nonetheless, held together by duck tape) picture window. greg noticed me from behind the bar and gave a wave, but we didn't brave the crowd. we just returned to papa karl's and left shortly after.

on my way home, i rounded the corner and ran into katieq of the woco days. turns out she's getting a phd at american now too. funny how those things happen.

there was nothing terribly out of the ordinary about today other than that i made a point to really live in this city in which i'm located. i ran into old and new friends, took advantage of the wonderful smithsonian institution, and even got some work done (though never enough!). i wish i had days like this more often, however. it felt full and fun and fulfilling. and i've only got 3 weeks left here. i need to make the most of it.

por el amor de antropología

Last week, on v day, rex at savage minds suggested that anthropologists write love letters to anthropology. i thought it was a nice idea and decided to do it. then things like grant proposals and monday morning 8am lectures got in the way. but i was still inspired by it, so i wrote a little something.

Its not exactly a love letter to anthropology. Its more of a love letter inflected by anthropology. but by way of an introduction, it also very much demonstrates what it is I love about anthropology: the cataloging of seemingly inane details, coupled with theory and criticism, to help us learn something about ourselves (as humans). so here you have it.

They say on average, women speak 8805 words a day. So, i suppose i've spoken about 16,069,125 words in my life. Yet no matter how I do the math, I can't calculate how many times I've said the word "love." I suspect it first escaped my lungs at the age of three after my mother read me The Wind in the Willows and kisssed me goodnight. The next Christmas, I exclaimed that I love my new Cabbage Patch Kid. I love my dad. I loved our cat Tiller. I loved my older cousin Charlotte, but decidedly not my younger cousin Amanda, for a while. When i was 5 1/2 my sister was born, but I didn't love her for another year. I loved spaghetti and strawberry cake. I first sang the word one summer in the backyard to the tune of Not Fade Away. I loved Anne of Green Gables and A Wrinkel in Time. I loved John Waters movies before I really understood them.

At the age of 16, my first boyfriend stood on my parents' porch, kissed me goodnight, and said it to me. It took me a month before I said it back. In the years since, I've said it to three partners with various levels of sincerity. I've said it to five friends, whole-heartedly every time. I've said it about Karl Marx, Wes Anderson, Dwight Conquergood, and Tom Robbins. I've said it about four U.S. cities, the island of Tobago, and the entire nation of Bolivia. I love beets. I love the rain, and the snow, and sledding. I love swimming nude in the Atlantic Ocean and wading through small tributaries of the Mississippi River.

I love so many things in so many ways and the linguist in me asks how so many different feeling could be lumped into one category. The Marxian in me asks what ideology it reflects. The cynic in me silently screams that this thing we call "love" isn't real. The anthropologist in me points out that its socially constructed and and relies on patriarchial and heteronormative notions of citizenship, only serving to reinforce the capitalist reproduction of the means of production. In essence I don't believe that love is anything more than the opiate of the masses.

And yet, I mean something when I say it to you. No matter how I do the math, I can't calculate how many words I've said to you. All I know is everyone of them is true.

desde lima 2006

something i found in a random notebook today

This morning I woke up at 7:45 but I stayed in bed until 9. I didn't fall asleep again, but was just thinking...first about sunrises...sitting on the beach with scammell and pete. In those coldest moments of the morning. And there were times when there was no magic moment. You wait and wait, and then suddenly you realize the sun is already a good two inches above the horizon. But that doesn't ruin it. And then I began wondering if that's the magic I'm missing. And if I'll ever find it again.

soy vegetariana

my roommate sent me this npr article suggesting that bacon is the gateway to meatdom for vegetarians. i wrote her a long comment, and because i'm lazy about this here blog, i'm pretty much just repeating here.

but first, as a disclaimer, I do love the smell of bacon. However, the one time I tasted it in the last 12 years (Thanks, CutsofBeef), it tasted totally disgusting.

mmmm....veggies

But in terms of the article itself, I think it makes some assumptions. Primarily, that one bite of meat immediately nullifies years of vegetarianism. For most veggies, its an ethical commitment to lessening the awful impacts that meat production has on the environment, human rights, and health. And like all other ethical commitments, people slip up. That's why we have things like catholic confession and carbon offsets. So when Donna Maurer says "Opportunities to try new foods, like chocolate-covered bacon, with friends might push some vegetarians over the edge," I think that's totally ridiculous. There's no reason a vegetarian can't try a small bite of chocolate covered bacon (or eat 5 whole pieces) and go back to being "vegetarian" an hour later. Then again, maybe i'm just a crazy relativist, deconstructionist, po-mo anthro.