12 agosto 2008

upside downtown

i wrote this about 2 months ago while sitting outside at the coffee house. now, the coffeehouse is being sold to the development agency. its like watching my youth disappear one business at a time. i guess i shouldn't feel so privileged to think that i could escape the effects of gentrification. but enough commentary. on to the writing:


I am sitting at a coffee shop I frequented ten years ago. And all around it, things have changed. This is now uptown, and across the street is a bar whose LED sign advertises 80s night.

Ten years ago I sat just a few feet away, and I read a poem of my own aloud for the first time. In those days, this was downtown, and I recognized the faces of the passersby.

I’m back working in the same office where I spent those summer days, and though little has changed there, my attention to detail now thrives.

I used to spend my nights staying awake, roaming the streets, using the cover or darkness to engage in illicit acts in parks and feeding my thin body only on caffeine and free desserts from all night restaurants. In those days there was always someone to see and somewhere to go next. There was always an adventure just around the corner. And many of those adventures began on the corner I’m staring at. But the pizza place is gone along with the import store, and my favorite roach-infested lunch counter. And half the disappeared places I can’t lament because I don’t recall what occupied these brownstones. There was a thrift store somewhere on this block. The comic book store where I once saw Kevin Smith. The drug paraphernalia store that claimed to be a music store. The music store my one-time crush bought after I moved. The candy store in the old train station. The used book store. This place, in many ways reminded me of an early Linklater movie. Now its just Uptown.

And a skinny blonde girl walks past in short shorts and a thrift store t shirt accompanied by a dreaded guy on a skateboard. And for a minute I pause. First because they make a strange pair. But I see myself in her. Second because they just don’t seem to belong here anymore. At least the way I used to belong here. Or the way I felt I did. But it was downtown then. Now its uptown.

all action is performative. all choices are conscious. go read some mauss.

i just want to make one thing perfectly clear
(even though i have done so before)

spellings are results of specific histories. however, language is alive, and using a descriptive approach to it is often more productive than a prescriptive approach. besides, insistence upon correct spelling just feeds the bourgeois neoliberal heteronormative patriarchal universe of discourse to which i do not subscribe.

thus, comments upon my spelling choices are unproductive and will be rejected.

10 agosto 2008

el amor o la amistad

not that anyone cares, but crisis averted.
its all on the up and up.

let's just say that rather than being coached into stepping up to bat, i suggested a move back down to the minors.

this should make the dinner party tonight less awkward.

09 agosto 2008

he is who i thought he was

just a warning: i will now commence using my boys-esque metaphor.

i waited on the train platform for the r______ ready for a friendly slow pitch softball game. and that's how it started out. the walk to the air & space museum was practically whiffle ball. But then at the national gallery he pulled out the 16" softball. Yes, indeed he had broken up with the girl, and the oh, so casual "so, are you still single?" But it didn't stop there. As we walked through NMAI the balls got smaller and harder, the pitches went from underhand to overhand. I tried to ignore the "I thought when I met you, you would be the type of person I'd like to date." But by the time we were marveling at the Lincoln Memorial, there were 100mph fast balls coming straight at my cheek in the form of a kiss.

So why am i so disappointed? I did kinda like this guy 4 months ago. But something changed this summer. I guess most of it is probably that he was the only straight male i saw regularly for quite some time. And then this summer, I realized there's a whole world of men out there. Not that any of them were interested. But at least a little exposure made me feel like there were other teams that might be worth a trade. So, now i've got a date lined up. my first one in a while. But i'm not giddy and excited. I'm not nervous. I'm not really even looking forward to it. I'm already concocting break up lines in my head.

And worst of all is, he's so nice. Charming even. And he wants to have a picnic. and he says my spanish is very good. Hell, he even pulled out the one compliment that really gets to me (for a clue, see Buchlotz, Mary. 1999. “Why be normal?”: Language and identity practices in a community of nerd girls. Language in Society 28: 203-223. ). And not just out of nowhere, but after a somewhat lengthy discussion of my research topic.

Maybe its the fact that he's already trying to convince me I should be studying pain in amazonian indigenous communities of Peru. Maybe its the fact that he mentioned I should try to catch the bouquet at Gordo's wedding. Maybe its that he's already singing to me en espanol. But its so disappointing to spend all summer hoping for some sort of romance, and then when it finally comes along, its well....disappointing.

Then again, maybe he's the perfect slump-buster.

07 agosto 2008

mis chicos

i watched the My Boys season finale tonight without seeing any of the rest of the season.
suffice to say, i'm still convinced it is a reflection of my life.

and despite the fact that anyone with with unimpaired hearing can tell the show is total crap, i love it.

04 agosto 2008

noches gigantes

I stood there, among the dispersed listeners at the back of the pitchfork crowd, and the Hold Steady opened with “Massive Nights.” I thought to myself how those kinds of nights had been few and far between lately.

The summer began with two epic weekends; one at the beach, one in the city, but quickly simmered into a quiet small town molasses pace. Even once I was back in a city, the drinking and late nights could hardly be described as massive.

But that song seemed to foreshadow the immediate future. As the Hold Steady finished their set, Animal Collective began setting up for their headline set. I noted the frontman’s red hat—it looked just like mine. A few minutes later, two of the Fleet Foxes band members stood directly in front of me, talking to a woman in white cowboy boots, not nearly as cool as my sister’s. To my right were a collection of three mud people, covered in deep black Midwestern soil, liquefied by earlier rains, then hardening like body paint on clothing, shoes, limbs, and faces alike, dancing with flailing arms, and shaking asses. But when the set ended abruptly, it seemed as if it would all be downhill. The hipsters and hippies spilled onto the street, most waiting for buses or trains, but like us, many people joined an eastward migration on foot. It felt like a protest with the only message being an unwillingness to accept that the music was over.

Fortunately the three of us, all coincidentally clothed in white v neck t shirts, had another destination. MC had heard there would be an after party in our friend Jacob’s basement. With only the bikers traveling faster, we arrived in the first wave and made small talk while sitting on the hood of some old white car parked in the back yard. The yard slowly filled with people who looked more ridiculous than an urban outfitters catalog, surpassing even my experiences in East Williamsburg. Every man wore tight pants, a plaid button up or an ironic t shirt and painfully quirky glasses. Hairstyles varied, but ranged between bed head and alfalfa cowlicks. My favorite women’s look involved turquoise ankle boots, a vintage yellow dress that extended approximately ½” below the ass and white gloved hands which clutched an Old Style can. Even Ida’s converse, plaid pants and fanny pack were no match for this apparel.

As Jacob frenzied to get his drum in the basement, a trio of men dressed distinctively less hip than possibly everyone at the party, excepting the three white v necked t shirt wearers, walked around the side of the house. One wore a red hat just like mine.

Shortly after, we filed into the basement and Jacob’s band, Mung played a quick set, then No Age played before an infinitely more densely packed basement. As their set wore on, filling what had earlier seemed like a very spacious basement with vibrations and reverberations, and a number of people dancing under a thin water pipe seemed to be using it for support. The pipe bent like a spring twig in their hands.

Given my three flooding incidents this summer, I felt a fourth was inevitable. The three v necks decided to move to the back of the crowd. The set ended shortly thereafter and the crowd filed to the backyard. The yard was filled at this point, shoulder to shoulder with people infinitely more “hip” than we were. We checked a phone for the time and concurred maybe it was time to end the night, even without a sound from or conversation with Animal Collective. It took about five minutes to squeeze off the porch, around the side of the house, and onto the sidewalk. We got about halfway down the block when the sky opened up and filled the space between clouds and concrete with rain. It was one of those sudden unexpected torrential downpours that instantaneously created pools where curbs once were and made our raincoats, still in tow after that morning’s rains, totally ineffective.

After waiting a time for the bus, we decided the best plan of action would be walking to the nearest thoroughfare and hoping for a taxi. The plan proved effective, and after dropping MC off at the blue line, we continued to the red line Fullerton stop. We arrived on the Northbound platform, to find it empty; never a hopeful sign late at night. But we sat with our backs resting on a pole with a large F sign, and waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly an hour later, the platform having now filled with riders, an announcement was made apologizing for the delay. A train would be arriving shortly.Once on the train, our car was quite a side show. Next to us, two men bantered barbershop style. At the other end of the car, a group of college age men sang Bohemian Rhapsody. At the door near us, a young man gave unsolicited love advice to a middle aged business man who had just bid farewell to a woman he only first met on Thursday. After another 45 minutes and much hubbub about the train switching to express, we arrived at our stop and finally made it home safely.

(red hat + old style cans = not quite hipster)


30 julio 2008

el primero primero....

i went for the bangs...

22 julio 2008

pela corta

among other things, i went to Pitchfork this weekend.

for the first time, i saw A Hawk & A Hacksaw, which I rather enjoyed, and I promise it wasn't just for the 'stache (see below). while watching ms. trost hacksaw away on her (stroh) violin, i thought to myself, "gee, those bangs are nice. i wonder if i could pull off bangs like that."



after a few days' contemplation, and consultation with lou, i was about 75% convinced. then i stumbled upon stuff white people like's take on such a haircut, and with their description in mind it seems meant to be. i mean seriously, the "nerdy white girl from high school who moved to a big city" pretty much describes me to a T. i'm willing to admit that "artistic, deep, and has probably dated a guy in a band you like" may be wishful thinking, but i can live with that.

but i'd say i'm still only 90% convinced. so any feedback on this issue would be appreciated.

21 julio 2008

spurlock the bilagaana

As promised, my take on “Spurlock does the rez” or perhaps more appropriately, “The rez does Spurlock”



Within the first minute of the show he used the phrase “rock the rez” and any sense of unbiased watching went completely out the window.

My positive bias was further bolstered when he went to buy a sheep. Unfortunately the sign just said “Sheep” rather than “Fat Sheep 4 Sale.” Later he helped to slaughter it, and was the person to clean out/off the stomach after butchering. Now, fortunately, I was never give that job, but I could related to the faces and comments he made in response to the smell. I remember being seated about 3 feet from a big silver bowl full of sheep intestines at the Squaw Dance, and well, I didn’t have much of an appetite after that. Except for fry bread, of course.


But of course all was not lovely reminiscing with Navajo tacos, Shiprock Fair rodeo, running to the sun, Diné College paraphernalia, and Benallys and Begays and Yazzies. What made the show good (and unlike Going Tribal) was the focus on the less picturesque sides of rez life. Poverty and language loss were key themes, as well as culture loss and the feeling of living between two worlds.

Spurlock did a decent job of demonstrating the rampant poverty. Though there were no scenes of completely downtrodden neighborhoods, he did mention many rez residences’ lack of running water and electricity, himself living in a hogan with neither (and also noted that now hogans are used primarily for ceremonies rather than living). Additionally, unemployment was a major factor in the program. Spurlock himself tried to find a job, interviewed a director at the Navajo job placement program, and spoke with a young man who said, “there are no jobs on the rez, its just hard, you know.” Eventually Morgan got a job at a tire shop, making $25 a day, but this development was tempered with the fact that the son of the family with whom he was staying was resigned to leave the rez to find a job after not earning enough on the rodeo circuit.

Also appreciated was Spurlock’s attempt to learn the language. He mentioned how tough it was and the previously mentioned son said, “I’ve lived here my whole life, and I don’t even know it.” Spurlock replied, “How am I going to learn it in 30 days?” Especially relevant for me was a fluke in editing: One shot is of Morgan trying to pronounce the Navajo word for horse, which Leap has mentioned a number of times that he has problems with. In the end, Morgan learned a phrase to say to Grandma (shiimazi) which was touching.

I’ve seen the show only a few times, so I’m only marginally aware of the format, but it was rather informative, with lots of Michael Moore-esque animations to illustrate facts. And while the animations were stupid, the facts that Spurlock, et. al decided to include I found rather responsible. General history, treaties, language loss, meaning behind ceremonies, and much more were addressed in a factual manner.

He did use the word “Indian” and I know that the most common nomenclature for Indigenous North Americans seems to be Indian, or American Indian, but I choose to use Native American. And this is not an uninformed choice, but is based on what a few select, close Navajo friends told me they preferred. But I digress…..

During the episode Spurlock explained to the family with whom he was living that his reason for coming was his (and presumably popular) lack of knowledge of indigenous North Americans. He explained that school history classes don’t do justice to the subject, so he wanted to learn from them so that he could teach others. And in fact, I even learned a few things from the show:

• sheep’s throats should be cut facing the east because good things come with the sun from the    east.
• An 1868 treaty with the U.S. gave rights to use the San Juan river’s water to the U.S.    Government in exchange for the U.S. accepting responsibility to make sure basic necessities    were provided for the Navajo.
• Running toward the sun is not just something that takes place during kinaaldas (which were    sadly absent—follow your nose!), but many Navajos do it every morning to start each day with  a clear mind.


At the end, he did get a little idealistic (verging on exotic) and pondered of what might be described as “the bilagaana world” and “the Navajo world,” “Why can’t we have both? Why can’t we move forward in this world and still have the values and heritage that make us who we are?” In the end, I came away thinking that his demonstration of both the positive and negative aspects of the rez really gave a good picture of, as the Admiral would say, “Beauty that hurts.”

07 julio 2008

dos en un dia

more navajo...

it seems everyone's favorite (or least favorite) Micky D's eating documentarian is on the loose on the rez. yes, mr. spurlock spent 30 days on the rez in tohachi (beth yazzie's stomping grounds, in fact). it premieres tomorrow night, and i think i will break my 2 month long moraorium on television to see whether it surpasses Discovery's Going Tribal (my thoughts on that show can be seen here, here, here, here, and probably most elloquently here). I have high hopes for ol' Morgan, and I'm especially interested in seeing the sheep slaughter, given my own experience with it.

if i watch (and i'll be home alone in hey-town that night, so likelihood is high), i'll be sure to follow up with a full report. until then...hagoshii'

belleza

you might have noticed a change in the scenery around here. i was a little tired of the dreary dark background. i kept it dark for reasons discussed here, but i thought a little circular excitement was warranted.

now on to the real beauty...i bought a wedding card for little beth yazzie yesterday. a day late. and obviously, it'll reach her far later. probably after they've left on their whirlwind world wide honeymoon. i should probably buy a small, useful gift too...i just don't know what. and then i'll have to figure out where to send it....

...but back to the card. there wasn't a large selection of wedding cards, but i found one that talked about the beauty of love, and despite its sappiness, i thought it was perfect, because it reminded me a little of the beauty way.

All that has harmed me will leave me
leaving my body cool once more.
Within me today
I shall be well.
All fever will come from me
and leave me,leave my brow cool.
I will hear todaya
nd see today
and be my own true self today.
This is the day I shall walk.
This is the day when all that is ill will leave me
and I shall be as I was,as I walk in a cool body.
This day onwards I shall be happy
for nothing will prevent me.I
shall walk and beauty will go before me.
I shall walk and beauty will be behind me.
I shall walk and beauty will be above me.
I shall walk and beauty will be beneath me.
I shall walk and beauty will surround me.
I shall walk and speak of beauty.
For the rest of my days I shall be whole,
for all things are beautiful.

sa'a naghai bik'e hozho

and just one more little piece of navajo beauty....mmmm....gotta make some frybread soon.

02 julio 2008

gimnasta de mantequilla

my sister and i settled in for a nice home cooked meal of bean burritos last night. i made the guac, she smashed the habichuelas. and not being quite, um, mannered, we decided it was best to just sip our lemonade from the carton. minute maid lemonade, official juice sponsor of the olympic games.

on the side of the carton was an olympic athlete profile, that of Shawn Johnson, a gymnast from Des Moines. First of all, we found her name, what with its nice rhyme scheme, rather amusing...and moved on to more ridiculous and insulting conversations about the young, innocent, and surely undeserving gymnast.

well, today karma is not turning a blind eye. it seems that she will be immortalized in a way that really means something to me. not with her face on a coin, or a bronze statue, but like Princess Kay of the Milky Way and Tiger Woods, Ms. Johnson will be preserved, at least for 2 weeks, in butter. It only comforts me that its Sarah Pratt, not the Duff Dog that's handling the task.

01 julio 2008

coca por favor!

are you serious?

you really think you're going to eradicate coca production and consumption?

ok, usually i agree with the UN. Kofi & Co. seem to generally (but by no means always) have a handle on reality. but this is just ridiculous.

I will control myself here, and not launch into a 5 page long rant on the disastrous ideas that are the "war on drugs." let's just suffice to say that when North Atlantic nations start sticking there drug sniffing dogs in places they don't belong, things like La Violencia in Colombia start to happen.

Sure cocaine is bad. Other coca derived drugs are too. But obviously, the U.S.'s policies are not working, as demonstrated by recent WHO findings. Maybe they way to stop its use is to create a world in which people are not faced with such awful realities that they turn to drug use. Ideaslistic? sure. But not any more far-fetched than thinking coca production can be totally eradicated.

comida, politica, y porque no me gusta reagan

for months i've been trying to understand the autonomy referendums in bolivia in a more than superficial way. i've had a hard time finding english language news coverage or other writing about the situation, though, that does more than say, "oh, these people in santa cruz want more autonomy from their government." and despite my efforts, what i've found in spanish i haven't been able to understand beyond that.

but today i found a great write up on New American Media, called The Rise of Food Fascism: Coup in Bolivia, which does a great job of explaining the referendums and what they actually mean, and connecting it to world politics, neoliberal economic policies put in place in the 80s, agrarian reform, and what's happened in the agribusiness world since then.

24 junio 2008

los perdidos

well, it seems the "postcard" effect (something I've totally co-opted from Gill and blown out of proportion) is alive and well.

The Lost Tribe of the Amazon

but at least it was being used for anti-logging (presumably anti exploitation?) purposes.

16 junio 2008

un plan

wise words of wisdom from denny's:

19 year old #1
"I've got a plan-
I'm going to get my shit together,
get myself organized
and get a job."

19 year old #2
"That's a good plan"

11 junio 2008

el mundo es muy pequeno

at least the world of speech & debate



i met the cope last fall. i found out he had been a texas debater back in his day. in fact, he had judged at least one other debate-savy texan i know. probably both, given the circumstances. but the connections continue.

cope recently informed me that a friend of his from MD, a blo/no native, was passing through austin. in tow was his friend, tim. and it seems that this curly blonde headed man remembered me, of course, because we did speech together.

so maybe its not all that strange, or small, but i haven't spoken to tim in 10 years. in fact, its possible that i have never had a conversation with him. of course we've heard each other give speeches, but its entirely possible that i have never said a single word directly to him. though i vaguely remember talking to him before copi's performance in Rumors senior year.

in any case, i felt the need to email him. which i suppose is sort of weird and creepy. hopefully not stalkerish. but, considering my past non-friendship with him, at least i'm not losing anything in the venture. i think this is a sign that i'm truly bored. and what a great feeling it is!

09 junio 2008

los russos

i never thought i'd have much to gain from a slavic studies masters thesis.

on friday i attended a talk on the similarities between Pushkin's and Brodsky's nationalistic ideas. My knowledge of the two writers' works, millieus, and politics is practically nonexistant, so i will forego a thorough discussion of the content of the talk, and move on almost directly to how it relates to anthropology.

basically, whether one thinks it is hypocrisy or ambivalence, both writers felt a need to defend their nation (or nation-state, or country) when outsiders criticized it, but were quite critical of it to a personal or domestic audience. this is all closely connected, of course, to ideas about the "East" and the "West," but i would not be one to reiterate how.

so on to anthropology...I think this intersects quite nicely with discussion about cultural relativism and "native" anthropology. though total relativism is about as plausible as total objectivity, there is still a lingering sense (and I'd argue rightfully so), that it is not the anthropologist's place to waltz into some foreign/unknown place and start judging the actions and ideas of those surroundings. However, when the "object" of "study" is the anthropologist's own "culture" this is perhaps more acceptable. Especially, perhaps, when "studying up." What this means then, without going into explicit details and examples of this phenomenon, is that we too hold this double standard. While Brodsky and Pushkin choose, or are emotionally motivated to chastise or correct foreigners for criticizing Russia, anthropologists, at least those of the contemporary, AAA code of ethics-approved, still abiding by the Boasian tradition sort, self-censor criticisms of the foreign. Of course in some senses there is the implicit idea that it should not be censoring, but that a well-trained anthropologist should not even have those reactions to begin with (but that another issue entirely).

But I think these ideas relate to non-academic life as well. I've mentioned in a number of contexts my strangely differing feelings of place and home depending upon my context. I'll summarize quickly: When I am in a city on the East Coast (and similarly, though not as viamently in the Midwest), i will defend to the end my Midwestern small-town upbringing. Indeed, I identify as a diasporic rural girl, masquerading as some sort of pseudo-academic East Coaster who really couldn't leave my country-music loving, corn planting, karoke singing, state fair-attending true self behind. While at the same time, when spending time in heytown, i feel illigitimate. I complained about the line dancing and country music. I scoffed at the tractors, and even the Shivy 4x4s (that's a phoenetic spelling, thar). I had academic parents, and lived in town. I never even detassled. And I didn't stick around. I've run off and only come back twice a year. And when I talk to my former classmates, our lives are totally detached and unrelatable to each other. I'm a total fraud.


And I think what the Brodsky paper pointed out is not that these two things are incompatible. But that these dualities exist for most people about one thing or another. Our relationships to our homes (however that is defined) are as imagined as our ideas of community. And thus, those relationships are not stable but contextually contingent, and shifting. So I argue its neither hypocracy nor ambivalence. Its simply a matter of adapting to one's environment.

la cuidad y el campo

i left heytown feeling down on home.

the train had some major delays but i made it to the city by 10. while there, i saw droves of old friends and like the weekend by the beach and stroh day weekend. its always good to catch up and reorient. especially when involving things like karaoke, tasty art, russian poetry, vodka, elevator music, awkward parties, and public playgrounds.

i got home yesterday evening feeling renewed, and then spent some time on the porch with the Ps, wine in hand, looking at the night sky, and talking about historical politics. it made me remember again, why i love this place. thick soft grass beneath my head. pure night quiet. a clear sky, with the most visible of stars. and the best company one could hope for.

i realize the sum up of the weekend is pretty lacking here, but i think its better addressed in a picture blog, to come shortly.

03 junio 2008

mas sobre papas

my favorite tuber

in addition to the now contentious discussion between peruanos y chileans about potatoes, it seems spuds are a hot topic for another reason. apparently, 2008 has been declared the international year of the potato. wikihow even offers some advice.

02 junio 2008

mis cosas favoritas

food, booze, imagined communities and the andes

it seems chile & peru are arguing over the origins of the potato & pisco.

but shouldn't we all just be thanking the pacha mama by pouring one out for her?
echamos una papa para la pachamama!

01 junio 2008

lucha libre

home makes me nostalgic

and then something like this comes along. the thing that started me off on the whole wrestling fascination. maybe even my interest in masculinity and pain.



look out for wily coyote and that sewing 17 year old girl who looks exactly like me (except maybe minus a few pounds). god, even the hairdo's the same. that was my very first ethnographic interview. of course, i was the informant/subject/interlocutor/person with whom larry worked, rather than the ethnographer. but still, in many ways, this is where it all started.

i wonder if i can get a grant to pay for my travel to the reunion....


29 mayo 2008

el amor y futbol

futbol returns to la paz!

FIFA suspends the ban on high-altitude matches

and on a related note, i've mentioned evo's notorious quote a number of times (at least to my friends), but didn't have the exact quote or a source. fortunately, i have re-found it in reliable reference form. that is, of course, if you consider fox news a reliable reference...

23 mayo 2008

pura vida

morality is a funny thing.


christy & i were talking today at p&p about "purity balls" where fathers and daughters pledge to do all they can to ensure the daughters' purity until they marry. of course, it wasn't explicitly stated what exactly they mean by "purity," but i doubt many would argue that there is an inherent sexual (or anti-sexual) connotation here. (at this point i will uncharacteristically bypass a diatribe on the problematic gender ideologies at play here, but i will simply submit the pledge as evidence).

which got me thinking. we have such a strange way of defining purity. what makes us pure, unaffected, without baggage.

the r___ wrote recently that what got him hooked on post secret was a card that said "i can't marry you because i'm still in love with a bitch."

and i think that's the kind of purity i wish i could preserve. i wish there was a way to enter a relationship and give oneself openly, freely, fully. no baggage, no expectations, no past. just two people with open minds about one another.

but that's an impossibility. we hurt each other unknowingly or unintentionally. and then we carry that pain into our future relationships. we are insecure, or guarded, or simply unwilling to be in that moment. and i sometimes wonder if maybe things weren't better in a time when people married their high school sweethearts and never looked back. fortunately, i'm too cynical to wonder for too long.

21 mayo 2008

cariños

its funny how context affects perception

there are a few people from whom i enjoy hearing terms of endearment. my mom & lou, the nice, aunt kath and her daughters. also, people like cope, the gill, my wife (though its always facetiously), probably others i'm not thinking of at the moment.

and at the shore, i got a good helping of some "baby"s from someone whom i don't mind hearing it. but in a lot of cases, it drives me crazy. much like julia penelope, i find it disrespectful, and belittling.

she writes:
"that evening my phone rang, and when i answered it a woman's voice cheerily asked me if i was 'the lady of the house,' i told her no ladies lived in this house and hung up...In the Patriarchal Universe of Discourse, a lady is said to be a "term of respect." In my universe of discourse, however, it is an insult, because lady, in addition to its upperclass overtones, signals assumptions about how women should act-assumptions i find offensive and presumptuous. "ladies" behave in feminine ways: they sit with their legs crossed at the knees, they wear make-up and high heels, they tease, perm, and curl their hair, and they eat daintily. i live in a different universe of discourse, one with different assumptions, different values, and different ways of talking about the world."

sure, she's a little off her rocker, but i think her point should be taken seriously. words like "baby" "lady" "darling" and "sweetie" are laden with cultural connotation, which in many cases denote a lack of respect and equality. i would argue that in cases of extreme familiarity and mutual endearment term calling, they can connote just the opposite--a high amount of respect and equality--but in cases in which acquaintances or even strangers are called by such words/names, i take quite a bit of pause in respecting someone who denies respect via their naming.

so, the other day i came across this article in the detroit free press , recounting obama's use of the word "sweetie" a number of times. the original name-calling can even be seen in this video:




and what i think this demonstrates is not necessarily obama's lack of respect for women, but rather the extent to which the PUD is ingrained in our language use. Of course, Althusser, Vološinov, and leapfrog would gasp to hear me assert that this language does not betray underlying ideology. This is not my argument, but what I do think is that this language is revealing ideology that is unconsciously reinscribed. Perhaps I'm being lenient because I like to keep my illinois peeps close, but mostly i just wonder if Obama is completely unaware. in any case, somebody needs to clue him in.

19 mayo 2008

scammellot!!!

i had the most perfect weekend

it was spent at scammellot, with plenty of captain pabst, capitán, horseshoes, meat, black beans, fireworks, sand, and love. not to mention an overabundance of r___s. here are some notable moments


both nights i slept in a twin bed next to the r___ in his own twin bed. waking up in the mornings was so nice. we had short little discussions, and then i could fall back asleep. it was like all the joys of morning pillow talk, only without the uncomfortable aspects of sharing a bed with someone you don't sleep well with. though we did get some good vertical spooning in.

i also gave scamz his birthday present and he seemed rather pleased with it. which of course pleases me.

saturday, during my second round of horseshoes, i was having some problems. really all weekend, i was having major issues with my release. most of the time too early. sometimes too late and the shoe would fly up into the air as if i was throwing a softball in order to get some solo deep fielding practice. but the r___ kept telling me he could hear tom petty, and all that implied. i eventually obliged the requests, throwing my tank top to the ground, and immediately landing a ringer. unfortunately, that was only met with requests for me to remove my pants.

after dinner we were sitting around, and someone took the ben & jerry's out of the freezer. i simply passed it to the person to my left, who happened to be the birthday boy. he then exclaimed "the world is so full of love and happiness and then someone hands me heath bar crunch!"

and then, last night, after the strip show to lights & music, after the poker chips and batteries were cashed in, after good's goodies, after the fiend was out of commission, the r____ had headed to his twin bed, and the capitán had only a thin layer of liquid covering the bottom of the bottle, we took some candles to the beach, and cowered against the wind. i tried to lean on scamz to give a little head-to-shoulder nuzzle, but instead gave a soft, loving head-but. in many ways, that describes our relationship to a T.

so, i had a nice uneventful drive home, and a peaceful day all around.

then the republican emailed me. basically chastising me for not responding in a while. which is true, and probably not the nicest thing ever, but its totally killed my post-scammellot glow (well, not literally, the cheeks are still quite pink) and i just want to say look dude. its shit like this that makes me not respond. but i'm too nice and i'll write something apologetic shortly, and hope that no one hates me. but really, what's so bad about being hated? dwt once told me i'm too benign for anyone to hate. which i took as a compliment. mostly because that backhanded sort of compliment is the only way dwt gives them. but now i wish i had a bit more fire in me. a bit more spunk. oh well. i'll deal with it in the morning.

16 mayo 2008

numeros

i guess everyone has lucky numbers.
56 was mine since the 5th grade. not for any particular reason, i just decided on it one day.
but there are other numbers that, like certain songs, get so scratched into my soul.

i was just taking notes on a book, and wrote down "page 111." 111 was our brownie troop number. the other day i caught the clock at 4:09. there are other numbers like 309, 473, 847, and 312 that cause my ears to perk up. even numbers like 302, 912, 221 and the others like them bring pause. and then there's 12, the number that was always on my back. numbers like 51 and 136, and even 74 are deeply embedded as soothing in my mind.

there are many more numbers that have a special association, and i'm sure there will continue to be new ones. i guess its just one more example of the way things are intertextual, even on a very simple level. numbers, names, smells, places, phrases, songs....the tiny pieces that make up "Memory."

15 mayo 2008

musica catolica en bolivia

npr did a story on youth orchestras in bolivia playing baroque music, influenced by chiquitano culture. pretty interesting. though they refer to it as "tropical" and i'm pretty sure that's neither literally accurate nor figuratively. just rainy i suppose. but after reading Turino's Moving Away From Silence recently, this is especially interesting. 


07 mayo 2008

telephonos son malos

so, my first morning of not really having to be up at any particular time was rudely ruined by a weed whacker outside my bedroom window at the lovely time of 7:30 am. i eventually gave up trying to sleep and got some stuff done. i eventually made it to school with the graded exams, and found a nice stack of books in my mailbox, along with a graded paper from the vandy gill. both the books and paper were a pleasant surprise. lots of andean fun. and even a reproductive health book in there too.

later i was supposed to swing by her apartment to pick up some stuff, but her phone was off, so the plan went amiss, and i didn't talk to her until i was already at the dinner party. we made a plan for 8am. dinner was delicioso as was the conversation. after filling our bellies to their brims, the other gill convinced us to come out with him to u street.

it was a good time, but by the end i was feeling old. of course the casanova told me i am young and lovely and beautiful, but that's not what it was about. i feel like i wasted a number of years. i don't necessarily regret them, but then i hear these stories about 20 year olds working for harper collins, and its a bit depressing. i mean, i know enough people in publishing to realize that it is no dream job. its no glamorous life. and hell, i worked for nyrb for a time, but still. what have i done with my life? not much.

hopefully more in the future.

anyway, eventually the artist and i were dropped off at the dupont red line, and his phone rang as we approached the zoo stop. it was mr. casanova calling to say my phone was at his place still. but of course, being on the metro makes real communication difficult so no plan was figured out. and he, of course, has no internet at home. so i'll have to wait until he gets to work tomorrow for any method of phone recovery to be put into action.

which is well and good and fine. except a) i have to be at the gill's apt at 8 am. and now have no alarm clock and b) i have to make calls at 9 and 10am for cic, and after my snafu on tuesday, i feel the need to set things right.

so nell the problem solver has been set into action. i downloaded an alarm program for the computer. i pray it works. i know gill's apt number, so i guess i can go directly to her door and knock. and i can use the phones at school, but i'll have to purchase a calling card to dial off campus. but i still have the cic am ex, so hopefully that will work.

and if all goes well, i'll have my phone back by the time i need to do my 2:30pm interview.

it will be an interesting day, no doubt. but no matter how it works out, at least i get to spend the end of it at an anthro bbq.
woohoo!

03 mayo 2008

lola, el segund dia

today at lola, i was forced to actually speak in front of people. in fact, i participated in an improvisational skit. en espanol. and i think i did quite well. not to say that my acting was anything to be excited about, but in terms of my language making sense and actually responding to what the other people were doing, i think it was on par.

at the end of the day, we did a little graduation ceremony where we get t shirts (like i need one more-but i'll take it!) and certificates (which i used to print out on my computer and carefully-ie not so carefully-place to the gold seal sticker wherever it would fit). the cubish was handing them out and said "and this graduate is special. she worked for us and helped organize 3 lola trainings, and now she lives in el districto and is a lola graduate." i almost started to cry...

but i pulled my machismo out and didn't.

02 mayo 2008

inspiracion desde tomas

cuando era en peru (hace2 anos, casi), escribi este poema. a la vez, era para practica, solo. pero ahora, es muy relevante. la inspiracion era Skinny Legs and All:

mi corazon es un combi sudamericano
y tu eres llamando un taxi.


i've also been reading a particular quote from ol' tom a lot lately, but i'm not ready to type it out yet. maybe in the coming week i'll feel the need

in other events, i'm still at only 13 pages on my paper that's due for monday, despite my epiphany on an entirely new section. apparently i'm too concise.

but i did hang with the nlirh crew last night and today, and silvia told me today that she "forgot how well i speak spanish." i almost did a spit take. but she was serious, so i assumed i'd mastered the art of looking and sounding like i can speak without the actual ability.

at that point, i started thinking about cesar for some reason. he always told me how good my spanish was. clearly it was not, especially back in those days. but i think he had ulterior motives. at least i got a good chiles rellenos recipe out of it.

and then the strangest thing happened. cesar called me. and we only talked for about 10 minutes, but it was about 90% in spanish, and he told me how much better i was and how he could tell i had been practicing. i guess all the translating for the discourse paper is paying off or something!



but really, the latina time made me realize how drastically different my comprehension is depending on the speaker. basically, the cubish, the guyenese, and silvia i can understand perfectly well. others that speak quicker, or drop their "s"es, or just have a different accent i have more problems with. plus at the end of the afternoon, when i get lazy and my mind starts to wander, i'm hopeless. but it could be worse!

por telephono

i was waiting for the phone call for about a week. maybe not quite that long. and i was pretty sure i knew what was up. turns out, i was on the right track, but had the name wrong.

in any case, i can't decide if i'm happy or sad or relieved or scared or pissed or content.

but through it all, i have been me and more importantly, i have remained kind and true and supportive.

that's all i can give. and if that's not appreciated then i have to accept that. i am who i am, i am what i am, and situations are what you make of them. and at least in the end, my cynicism remains strong.

30 abril 2008

el estado y la nacion

i finished my paper on the bolivian constitution, imagined communities and the racial state today. it was pretty decent i think, but not anything revolutionary. now i'm just down to the discourse paper, which is the scarriest, but the leap seems to like my analysis. and he basically wrote my conclusion for me. now i just need to figure out how to turn 8 pages into 20-25. sigh.

i've been thinking a lot about how much i learned this semester. i think a lot more than last semester, though the fall did give me a much better handle on gramsci & althusser. but i think contemporary theory was really good this spring, and i feel conversant in things an anthropologist should be conversant in. plus, i feel like i actually know what's going on in bolivia these days (thanks google alerts!). and sunday's the big referendum. it will be interesting to see what happens.

i think i've also learned a lot about myself this semester. what i want, who i am. what i'll put up with and what i won't. basically, this year has been the happiest one since college, at least on a personal level. i have a lot of people i miss, and not many people i see on a regular basis that i really care about. but i guess they always say you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else (or something like that). i guess i'm getting there.

so in a mere 5 days i will be finished, and i can't f'ing wait. i see lots of yoga, painting, and (unfortunately) grading undergrad exams in store for next week. but oh, the freedom looks so good from this side.

on another happy note, b dub wants me to ta for her next semester, which i'm excited about. The Anthropology of American Life. Its funny that i'm the only non-North Americanist (aside from rodo & the partridge family) in my cohort, and i'm the one taing that class, but it sounds like fun. and she said she wouldn't make me do much work (always a good sign). i think this is mostly because we've bonded over our dwight-love. its hard not to. and i think in a way we're both still trying to channel him. i think i always will be. and its a comfort to have him sitting in the back of my mind. wwdd? be savvy.

so, that's a semester wrap up, i guess. perhaps premature, but i'm sticking with it. i'm not sure what the summer has in store. some nj shore, some chicago, maybe some guatemala. we shall see...

26 abril 2008

too bad they don't play tom petty in gay bars

warning: semi-explicit content...

i took my shirt off in public for the first time in almost 2 years last night.

after sushi, cocktails, and chocolate pudding pops at ee's, we went to the green lantern for the "free drinks in your underwear" special. on the walk from adams morgan to logan square we discussed public nudity, and i brought up the spare rib where crazy n & i exchanged clothing on stage. i wasn't totally comfortable with it at the time. i remember having long discussions with scamz about it, and concluding that i was not opposed to nudity in art as long as it was not exploitative or gratuitous.

not long after i ended up in undies with googly eyes in a film scamz made.

then 2 years ago, i ended up at 241 with sparks, paper telephone, anti-fiendism, a bathing rock, and some tom petty. suddenly faith had negotiated a shirtless porch, and i was sucked in briefly. despite the fact that i was with good, comfortable friends, i regretted it later. maybe it was just a charged atmosphere.

and then last night...the green lantern offered free drinks, and we accepted. on the walk there, i wasn't entirely sure i would actually take off my clothes. but we got inside, and ee took off his shirt. j followed. the bartender then mentioned that delf & i could also get free drinks for stripping down to undies. so we took our shirts off, and he said the pants would have to go too. so we obliged, after commenting that the boys had not taken theirs off. so the bartender insisted they did too. so the four of us, minus clothing, plus free drinks walked away to our table. we had a brief conversation about how comfortable and natural it felt to all be standing around a table in nothing but undies and shoes, and then didn't mention it again.

not long after man #1 approached us and told delf & i that we were "pioneers" because he had never seen women in their undies there before. he shook our hands. later, another man, fully clothed, came over and complimented delf & i on being "sexy" and he told us he liked our shoes. of course he had to preface the whole thing with "i'm gay, but you guys are sexy. and i appreciate that." hmmm... maybe he's holding himself to a little too homonormative of a standard? embrace the fluidity man!

15 abril 2008

mi camisa

i woke up this morning and threw on my yellow nlirh t shirt. i walked uphill to school, dodging cars as usual, listening to some mountain goats on the ipod.

i crossed the street, and headed onto the construction-scattered quad. as i passed the library i could see a bunch of small red and blue flags stuck into the ground. i figured it was an artful darfur or iraq war protest. as i walked past, i found it was something entirely different. red and blue flags to represent aborted "babies." the use of the phrase "pro-life."

i unzipped my jacket a bit.

salud. dignidad. justicia.

at least i chose an appropriate shirt today.

14 abril 2008

noticias desde el fin de semana

warning: explicit conversations recounted below

i rolled into the jc around 3pm, and since the sky was gray, i decided to forgo hamilton park, and went to basic instead. i had a hot chocolate and read some of loyal soldiers... rhino called around 5:30 and i met him at 221. we watched some john adams on the dvr, noting that fiend would look especially nice in a thomas jefferson as secretary of state outfit.


at some point, k called rhino, and was on his way to drop off some sort of softball payment at 7s. we went to meet him for a beer. jayne was working and drew was hanging out, but the bar was fairly empty.

scamz called on our way to the bar, and asked if we wanted to meet for some grub before tracking down the fearsome threesome that we'd meet later that night. rhino and i agreed, but K decided not to join us.

so after a blue moon, rhino and i headed in and after losing our direction near washington square park, we met scamz at peculiar pub, for some litres of beer. i had leffe. and here begins the string of totally inappropriate stories. because his stories were not my own, i will forgo the explicit detail of scamz's stories of his work trip to ft. lauderdale, and simply state that after a few imitations of the staples "easy" button and talk of bed jumping, he was then and there dubbed scam-bow. 

shortly thereafter, the crowd was rounded out with the fiend, warden, widowmaker, and eventually tits, who insisted on calling me dr. nell. after a rousing conversation involving republicans and strap-ons, with several ploys to get me to purchase one at the nearest open sex shop (and there were sure to be a variety at 9pm in the village), we finished our litres, and wandered off to kgb.

there i got to talking to the warden, well known in the past for but-sex, driving drunk, and pissing neighbors off with lines like "17, i mean 21, i mean 18," and the conversation ended up with shots of the turkey. as usual, that little bastard was ruffling his feathers from behind the bar.

we eventually ended up at big bar with more warden chatting, where i learned he is choosing between columbia and case western medical schools. apparently somewhere between drunken driving and exposing himself to the lovely folks on pratt street, he found time to actually study while in school. later,  brunjeses appeared with nyu friends. we ended up discussing the end of relationships, and he mentioned that no parking is showing at a few more festivals. at some point while all of this was going on, rhino got a warning message about possible encounters, which i should have known was a bad sign. we got back to the jc, and i took the futon without unfolding it, but slept pretty poorly. after the sun rose though, i managed to get some good hours in, and didn't really get up until 11.

saturday was less exciting with some eating, walking, and the tenement museum tour. republicanism baffles me...

sunday, scam-bow and i went to the biennial, and there were a few good things. he ended up touching something he wasn't supposed to and then was forced to endure a 15 minute conversation with a guard who could barely speak english. we saw the hair piece his friend designed and a few other good things. a good short film that basically involved blind people touching an elephant (but that doesn't really do it justice), some small pieces that he said reminded him of the picture blog...my favorite title for an art piece was "divine violence," shockingly. a good time, but really, i think my favorite moment was looking at the pollock. yet another one i'm convinced i could dance to. and it had amazing explosiveness.

from there, we got some soup and a drink, then headed downtown, and for me, across the river. i met rock, rhino & k at 7s, and had some cokes and a veggie burger. there was some interesting discussion about shape-shifters & flows, which devolved into r&r joking around with me and k making rude comments under his breath. though he did apologize later.

after 7s, i headed back down south, and got some good contemplation in. now, back to work. bolivian filicidio & the media luna's ploy for autonomy won't wait forever

02 abril 2008

las estudiantes catholicas

i live in a bubble. if it doesn't pertain to bolivian constitutional reforms, professional wrestling, or gendered violence i'm not paying much attention.

yep, it took me over a week to realize i know one of the "catholic school girls" arrested in Chicago on Easter for their anti-war protest at the Holy Name Cathedral. i guess little bird is making a name for herself. i've been forwarded correspondence, and she seems as well as possible. i don't know whether to be inspired, or scared. in any event, i'm rather taken by her performative way of doing things.

i've grown calm in my old age. i now highly doubt i'll ever live up to my "most likely to be arrested in a protest" fame of high school. i'm not code pink material these days. at least i launched a successful attack on school policies and got 5 lovely people little reimbursement checks they so deserved. maybe that just means i'm more of a policy rather than street activist. on the other hand, it makes me feel a bit better to know that at least i'm still connected enough to the community that i have friends in media-attention-worthy places. i just hope all turns out well for her. she's a pretty amazing woman.

31 marzo 2008

recomendaciones de libros: Colombia

Law in a Lawless Land by Michael Taussig.

It starts off in diary form, and explores the daily life of Colombians caught up in paramilitary territory. Though some background in Colombian history and politics certainly helps, its a good way to get at the daily lives of those caught between guerillas, paras, drug trafficking, and Colombian government officials. 

The second half of the book is where it gets good though. Taussig starts to question what it means to be writing a diary and at times self-consciously delves 
into magical realism inspired writing. Its interesting in both content and form, and I'm always a fan of ethnographic writing that challenges the boundaries of academia.





Loyal Soldiers of the Cocaine Kingdom by Alfredo Molano

Admittedly, I haven't actually finished this one yet, but the first half has been surprisingly refreshing. I expected a somewhat dry account of cocaine trafficking in Colombia, but this is a rich, character driving exploration of the different types of people and motivations caught up in the Colombian traffic. Its told via narratives of different characters (presumably real) who are involved in Cocaine trade, and is woven together nicely so that the stories fit nicely together, and even the most ruthless of people are understandable, if not relatable. 

27 marzo 2008

nuestra marca es crisis

I watched Our Brand is Crisis (associate produced by our own j seel) for the second time last night.

The first time was a mere months before my first trip to Lima. I saw OBIC at the film’s New York premiere at Film Forum. Afterwards, director Rachel Boynton answered questions. The only one I remember was someone asking whether Goni’s electoral success should be considered fortunate. Rachel answered that the film was not meant as an argument one way or another but was intended to present a pwerspective in which the audience could form their own opinions.

At the time, I appreciated this answer. I’ve always felt that in documentary, arguments are best made by lying out the information and (though it is clearly editied and positions) letting the audience reach their own conclusions. Basically, the opposite of Michael Moore’s brand of leading the audience along. I think there’s much to be said for trusting the intelligence of your audience.

I watched the firm for a second time, and with 3 years’ more knowledge of the history, culture, politics, and neoliberal positioning of the Andean nation, my feelings are a little different. I still appreciate Rachel’s answer and position, but I don’t believe the film does enough to provide the audience a solid base from which to judge Goni. His role in the privatization of natural gas in Bolivia is merely alluded to. His earlier presidency is reference, but never explained. And the U.S. role in placing Bolivia in their state of “crisis” goes unexplored.

I realize a feature length doc. Cannot necessarily fully survey a nation’s neoliberal history as well as look intricately at a particular election and candidate, but I can’t help vut feel a little slighted by being given the opportunity to “decide for myself” without the necessary background to do so.

Or maybe I just feel vengeful.

25 marzo 2008

tobago

its been over a week, but i thought it deserving of a recap

day 1
we got off the plane from port of spain 4 hours late to find our local shoeless with our cabbie, piggy. they had been drinking for the 4 hours they had been waiting for us. we hopped in the cab, stopped at the nearest bodega, and all had a beer as we got a tour of the south tip of the island and made our way to the villa.

day 2
no water in the faucets, so we went to the beach, then jumped in the pool to wash off, then finally showered in the horizontal stream created when we turned the tap on the pool water tank.

day 3
the housekeeper showed us how to fix the water. the gill and the spaniard cooked amazing food, while i read about paras in colombia. more beach, more beer, more pool.

day 4
it rained in the morning but in the afternoon, the gill and i went exploring. we found a bird sanctuary and took some nice sunset pictures on the beach. i got some good hammocking time in too.

day 5
dk & caroline arrived and more beers were consumed. more beach. more beer. rum punch. and some excellent food.

day 6
now that we had the beachmobile in our posession we went beach hopping all over the southern caribbean side. the first beach was Back Bay Beach which was very secluded, and felt like a safari as we drove down the path to the entrance. at the surfing beach, we witnessed a domestic fight, got some roti, then went to the grocery store, which is dangerous when you have jorge around.

day 7
3 bodies of water. pool, beach, waterfall. in the morning, gill taught me a racing start jump into the pool. dylan proceeded to jump in the pool from the balcony. then we went hiking to a waterfall and jumped in. then to the beach. then back to the pool. drinking and dancing on the town followed.


18 marzo 2008

las estrellas

i've never been one to read horoscopes incessantly, but a dear friend has been forwarding me a weekly freewill horoscope lately, and this weeks seems particularly apropos:

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): This is one of those rare times when your empathy could undo you unless you adhere to the following guidelines. 1. Squelch any attraction you might have to fascinating ruins, sexy decay, or appalling beauty. 2. If you have been sucked into the sphere of a good-looking monster or seductive tyrant, yank yourself free. 3. Break your gaze the instant you sense you're falling under the sway of a flaming narcissist. 4. Suppress the temptation to think this thought: "I'm bored with my hell; I want to hang out in *your* hell for a change."

I think it means its time to say goodbye to mr. reganomics...

06 marzo 2008

egg foucault*

so i just finished reading discipline & punish for the second time. and strangely, i think i got more out of it the first time.

but in a class of 9 women and 1 man, the conversation evolved into gendered discipline. and i realized that in many instances women become responsible for the discipline of men. motherhood is perhaps the most prevalent example, but wives, girlfriends, teachers, etc. all play a role. not to say that this dynamic is always gendered, but women are often the parties looked to for maintenance of discipline.

and its something i've certainly internalized. with my former crew of boys, i often took on the role of sheparding home (especially after blondies), making sure no one got in fights. it was i who discouraged honking at women walking down the street (which of course has multiple layers of stuff going on). and i was always the one pushing for civilized things like brunches, and grocery shopping, and limiting the stroh consumed (which i would argue has a direct correlation with lack of discipline).

and so, in a way, i feel the need to apologize for letting all the subconscious gendered disciplining factors invade my personality. but on the other hand, apologizing only serves to reinforce the discipline i've already found myself in. sometimes, the uncomfortable places are the important ones. sometimes, its better to let people find their own way than to lead them. and so, i will not be disappointed in myself, despite my attention to discipline.

instead i will treat myself to a caribbean vacation.
next time i write, it will be with a tan (or sunburn)

*props to Val for the brilliant nickname...or was it Mags?

05 marzo 2008

plagas

my week has been full of plagues, of both semi-literal and figurative senses.


i had a rather emotionally rough sunday night. accompanied by a sudden termite infestation. one moment i was was sitting on my couch, the next i go into the bedroom and there are about 15 bugs swarming around my light fixture. in the bathroom the sink was filled with them, and their moulted wings covered the floor. i spent the evening being resentful, swatting, crying, Raid-ing, and talking for 5+ hours.

i eventually recovered from both. after a few conversations with r___ and r___ (not r____), my mom, and some deep thinking, i've realized i have no reason to be guilty or regretful. and i believe there's no sense in resentment. i was in a much better mental state for about 24 hours.

then last night, i fell asleep reading foucault at 9ish, and woke up at midnight to a kitchen that was totally flooded. the rain poured all day and eventually seeped through the foundation it seems. i put the de-humidifier in the kitchen and hoped it would help a little. this morning, the pooling water and been transformed by that wonderful machine to just sopping wet carpet.

but, as i went to turn on my computer for the conference call with elsa, i had some problems. it just won't turn on. apparently, "no operating system [is] detected." well, i've been meaning to buy a new computer for a while, and really 5 1/2 years for a laptop is a pretty good lifespan. but i'm poor, and well, i want a mac, and macs are expensive, so i'm not sure what my plan is this point. i can probably do without anything for the rest of the week and make a decision after spring break.

so its an unlucky week, but at least i'm headed to a caribbean island soon. though this doesn't bode well. i certainly hope this doesn't compare to the spring break i had in florida with uncle joey. i have no interest in taking a bus (or raft) to tobago, then spending time consoling a divorced, bi-polar, drunk-driving relative.

and on that note, i leave you with my favorite movie quote of all time

man 1 (to man 2): Estupido!

man 2 (to man 3): What's he saying?

24 febrero 2008

hace dos anos

i am sitting on my couch watching the pre-oscar red carpet interviews.

i'm a little sickened by the way we glorify celebrity, and the utter extravagance (and wastefulness) of it all. but that's for another time...

i had a more important realization a few moments ago. two years ago, i went to devo's birthday party on a saturday night. i spent the evening talking to an NU geologist, and listening to devo tell me about when he and teddy had bedbugs. images of the mars star in full sweatsuit, socks, and stocking cap ready for bed were rather amusing.

the next night was the oscars. i watched with pabst and popcorn in hand and settled into a post-award show slumber on my mattress on the floor. in the morning i woke up with two small bites on my hand.

and so began the year of sleeping hell. the smell of that blue-capped raid bottle will forever turn my stomach. "sleep tight" will never quite have the same meaning for me, and I'll never say it to my possible future children. small dark flecks on the wall freak me out. everytime i wake up with an itch i get paranoid.

in the end, i'm just glad its over. though it certainly changed my stance on ddt. i guess my ecological idealism doesn't stand a chance en frente lived experience.

20 febrero 2008

notes on the professor's visit

ponger always uses the wrong pronoun. of course, this, he says, is because they "do not have pronouns in my country." in any case, i am always "sir," and jcmc is always referred to as "she" when not referenced as "nell's boyfriend." usually this is all in good fun, and one of the many lovable aspects of frimdog's ideolect (like "come again?" and "cursory perusal"). but, in the presence of transpeople, i was a little scared. would it put him/us in an uncomfortable situation? would he use the wrong pronoun, and be misinterpreted as delegitimizing gender identity?

but in the end, ponger was his usual, charming, funny, drunk on the captain self. and its a shame our paths cross so infrequently. at least we've now officially authored our first paper together. here's to 299 more!

19 febrero 2008

i have the postal service in my blood. i am the grandchild of two postmasters (for lack of a genderneutral term that denotes a more prominent position than "postal worker"). my best friend's father is a postmaster. its something i grew up with.

then i ended up on the rez, and somewhere between the politics of standardized testing among native americans and watching the Ladies Man one too many times, the term mail man took on particularly important meaning in my life.

but after a few years of dealing with the jc usps, i lost hope. when the r___ and i changed our address it took over a month for the forwarding to kick in (and monmouth to pavonia is really only 3 or 4 blocks). on top of that, they lost 4 (important) packages over the course of 8 months. at some point i decided i was going to start fed exing instead.

but today, due to no particular conscious action by the usps, the mail service was redeemed. really i have two of my favorite people to thank. in my mailbox, when i got home from school, i found chocolate and music (along with some very nice notes with them). and though the contents of the two envelopes were quite exciting, it was the thinking behind them that really made the difference.

for me at least, there will always be something particularly distinctive and touching about real mail. holding something someone else has touched, that was meant for you. though in some ways, it communicates less than a phonecall or email, in other ways it communicates on a deeper level. i won't start quoting the note accompanying the cd, but its nice to find alternative ways to communicate with people that are important to you. blogging is one thing. sending a piece of yourself in whatever form is better...

14 febrero 2008

musica

well, i had a rough night a few saturdays ago. i was rather emotional, but two good friends who are all too far away made me feel better, and i came to an important realization.
as yellow was telling me that stoner bear wanted to give me a hug, i realized some of my favorite people in the whole world still respect their bears: davis, stonerbear, stitchy. and i certainly still respect mine. and i think there's something to be said for (pseudo) adults that aren't afraid to hug a plush animal once in a while.

bears aside though, i took a lot of long walks, and listened to some music, and was feeling better by the end of the week. i had my ipod on shuffle for one of the first times, and i've come to the conclusion that the amalgum of songs on my pod reads like a natural history of my past relationships (and not necessarily relationships). from devil's haircut to rabbit fur coat, my music has intertextuality and continues to be entextualized. neutral milk hotel, bjork, and the shins strike a deep chord. those songs are reminiscent of those remarkable moments in life--road trips to california, lakefill sunrises, and chinle campouts--and continue to take on new meanings as the songs are recycled.

they hit me almost as strongly as smells of herbal essences shampoo, coffee scented lip balm, and the smell of rotting corn on a humid summer/fall day.

on the other hand, i thought tonight would be an appropriate time to finally put together a playlist of the songs i put on the "breakup album" for the r_____ last year. and i realized that not only do these songs have very little meaning for me, i only had three of the ten on my computer already. pitiful. and now as i sit here listening to some "i don't love anyone" i wonder how long it will be until these songs become entextualized and evocative.

03 febrero 2008

futbol americano

it was kind of a shitty weekend. it started with a rainy day. saturday was more pleasant, but in the evening crappy stuff occurred. but at least i had a birthday party to attend which was full of merriment, and people (deb) being excited about my new research direction.

i had quite an assortment of booze and past out on kronner's futon. then i lost a contact. fortunately, har-gill drove me home. i took a long walk and cleared my head. i got some school work done.

then i set out for participant observation. har-gill & i both had to do some, with differing topics, but when combined, we had the perfect site. a gay sports bar. and it was the superbowl! so after a tasty dinner of fajitas at his place, we drove to nellie's and participated in drinking while observing behavior. what was most striking to me was that i was the "expert" on football. i was told that the giants were a baseball team, not a football team on the way to the bar. once we arrived, i had to explain the scoring. i had to tell everyone why the cameras kept showing peyton when the giants scored.

and then, after the game, i got a ride all the way back to tenley. so many mood swings, so many unrequited feelings. but in the end, you can't go wrong being a hag, i guess.

02 febrero 2008

dos meses

my life has too much synchronicity right now. i watch a movie, and somehow find myself in the same situation. i make up a stupid metaphor, and it comes true. maybe i just notice it because i'm sad, and don't have much of an outlet, except for the booze i'll consume at the party tonight.

i miss the simple days when things were clear. when people were close. when there was no moral value or deeper underlying meaning to what i wanted. when i didn't have to stop and ask if i was compromsing myself. when i didn't question who exactly i was. when i knew what settling was, and what it wasn't. i said in a phone call today, we all just really want that card that's guarenteed to be redeemable in 5 years for a really great relationship. but they don't exist.

and there's part of me that says, maybe i should change. maybe if i do this, or or give up that, or promise something entirely impossible things could work out. but the truth is, even if we were both committed to the goal, there are too many obstacles.

and i maintain, its better to eat the whole block of cheese than let it get moldy.

30 enero 2008

necessito dormir

there's some movie that includes the line "when you have insomnia you're never really awake and never really alseep" or something to that effect. i want to say its fight club. doesn't really matter though...

what matters is i've slept for less than 5 hours the last 4 nights. And I keep thinking at some point my body will need more. But it just doesn't. I went to bed around 12:30 tonight. fell asleep fairly quickly. at 1:15 I woke up. I lied in bed waiting to fall asleep again. at 2:30 I gave up and thought I'd try to get some work done.

The problem is, i feel overly caffeinated (despite the fact that when tired this afternoon I went for the non-caffeinated peppermint tea over the weird smelly caffeinated stuff e.e. recommended). I can't concentrate on the book. I get half-thoughts, and all the "NGOs" on the page blur together. So what the hell am I supposed to do? I already feel behind. and I'm going to be at school all day tomorrow, and most likely get very little reading done because of various meetings and other obligations.

My mother would suggest that its all because I'm preoccupied. Or perhaps just not getting any exercise. But I have been getting physical activity. and I'm feeling pretty content at the moment. Other than the fact that this lack of sleep is causing me to be less productive. anyway, there's really no point to me writing this. all i'm doing is wasting more time being unproductive. time for some sleepytime tea.

27 enero 2008

clink

I've been trying to come up with something to write here since wednesday. and perhaps a blog is not the most highly regarded ways of memorializing a person, but its what i've got, and i don't think she'd mind.

Connie was a profound influence on my life. i first remember encountering her in 1992. I played a munchikin in the high school's production of The Wiz. I remember a random sampling of moments from the play. I remember Betsy braiding her hair (13 years later my sister would play the same role, braids and all). I remember Brian Harmon putting his vest on upside down. I remember Steven Hartke (the tin man) holding up his axe as a signal to whoever was running the light board. i remember one of the Miller sisters trying to put makeup on me, and it being all blotchy. i remember the NCHS speech team sending the cast flowers with a note that said "Good Luck, Don't Suck." At that age, it was shocking...I didn't use that kind of language.

4 years later it became a central part of my lexicon. "Good luck, don't suck. I'm going to feed the ducks." It was Connie's most sincere way of encouraging. I learned a lot of things from Connie, the least being what "feeding the ducks" really meant. I learned my middle name was Ann. I learned how to hug her. I learned not to take Suter's criticisms too seriously (just seriously enough). I learned not to "use glue as deodorant." I learned not to let her interfere with my love life. I learned to walk in heels (a skill I've since lost). I learned not to skip finals. I learned lollypops are an awful fundraiser. I learned to play euchre. I learned others were jealous of the hey hi family. I learned how to "fly." I learned where she kept her cleaning products. I learned I should consult her before chopping off my hair. I learned that one need not be able to sing to have a part in a musical. I learned that Lauren Bacall went a long way with a scratchy voice. I learned who to lean on. I learned that something was amiss at the circle K. I learned there was humor in live chickens. I learned how to do a sugar shot. In essence, I learned that "I already had the potatoes, I just needed the gravy."

And now, i take stock of my life and see traces of her everywhere. She is present in the material posessions I have in my apartment. She is present in the way I construct and argument. Every time I give a presentation I silently thank her for not being nervous. I watch other speakers rock back and forth or with arms glued to their sides and smirk. I was told recently that I have very distinctive gestures. I owe them (for better or for worse) to her.

Connie was a teacher, a coach, a director, a mentor, a class advisor, an employer, and a friend. I contemplate what she did for me, and then think of the hundreds of other students she touched and wonder where I fall along the continuum. The funny thing is, I don't think any of us were just another kid. Even the ones she got frustrated with (I now have a vision of Gordo with a football shaved in his head) were truly loved deep down.

I last saw Connie two years ago and her retirement celebration. I somehow ended up at the table with her and it was wonderful to catch up. In some ways I feel guilty for not visiting her last time I was home, knowing full well it was probably my last chance. But in some ways I'm glad my last memory of her is still as the spunky, outspoken, but caring individual I looked up to so much. And as I looked around the room at that event, I saw all the other people who had been affected so deeply. And reconnecting with them was really amazing and valuable. It was because of her that we all loved each other so much. And maybe I'm overly romanticizing the relationships I had with the speechies and the kids from the park, but they are the people I still keep in touch with. They're the ones that make me proud of my roots and I hope that legacy continues. Without Connie it will be hard, but I think she's an amazing enough influence that she will continue to be felt, long after her physical presence has been lost.

I'm going to try to go home next weekend, and if/when I do, I will most certainly "Go to Ash."

her obituary

21 enero 2008

i saw three good movies this weekend.
friday, i saw pan's labrynth with biij & lebanon. very depressing, but beautiful and captivating. in a way, its that beauty that hurts.

saturday, i watched the science of sleep, which did not impress me as much as eternal sunshine, but was still very much worth seeing. and that's not just because of g.g.b.

last night, after getting hopped up on a lot of jasmine tea, i saw 10 items or less. which was fantastic! undoubtedly my favorite of the three.


and so, in light of my inspiration, here are 10 things i loathe:

people who walk too slow
asking directions
my nemesis
distance between people
unnecessary plastic bags
midtown rush hour path train
pennsylvania
the princess bride
coffee
kissing someone who smokes

and the 10 things i'd keep

merrell boots
purple scarf
maryanne
skinny legs and all
funshine
the painting in my room at the ps' house
the rez picture from chaco
camera
the slippers juana made
the midwest

08 enero 2008

mis propositos

well, its that time of year, and i've made a few resolutions. i'm going to try to be a wiser consumer. buying more second hand. buying more local food. that sort of thing. i also want to pay more attention to what i'm putting in my body, and get back in the yoga habit. finally, i've been realizing i never really listen to music any more. so i resolve to listen to music rather than watch tv, at least some times.

i'm back in dc and feeling very different than i was at home. i feel less needy. more just here. not necessarily in a good or bad way, but the things i was so preoccupied with in heytown are less affecctive here. though in some ways things still pull at me, but i think i'm learning to live with the questions. or maybe i'm just in a funk today.

i've read some stuff for next semester, and am quite pleased that the other things i'm supposed to have read i read last semester. i'll look at them again before monday, but for now i feel sort of caught up. though i think i'll try to make more of a dent in my butler book or the maya healing. and i still need to do more research on dv in bolivia. but its only 6pm, and i don't really have a plan for the evening. other than that there is crap all over my place that needs to be put away. sigh.....

04 enero 2008

deuce

i went to the circle last night for karoke. the second time on this trip home. of course, the first attempted resulted in a surprise encounter with a man-stripper, and total lack of karoke.

last night, however, did not disappoint. there was plenty of dixie chicks, johnny cash, and kid rock/sheryl crow to go around. i ran into twilla, and she was sweet as ever. i also saw the tear-inducing turner, and we had a nice brief chat. he said he's been working in construction, and perhaps it was just the booze talking, but he said a few times that he should have paid more attention in school, but he was trying to be a rebel. i responded that he seemed happy, and to be doing well, so really, he shouldn't be too regretful.

i think in our own little way we were coming to terms with each other. he was saying, "sorry i thought you were a dork in high school, now i realize you knew what was up." and i was saying "sorry i thought you were a deadbeat in high school. now i realize you knew what was up." i hope it was our own little artis/miller moment. thankfully, this one didn't take a funeral.