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.

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.

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.

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)

el primero primero....

i went for the bangs...

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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"

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!

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.

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.

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!

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....