en tiempo

something to keep in mind, i suppose...

especially in these days when i am painfully un-busy. when the next few months look to be endless waiting. and the ones after that will be the well-known, well-aggrivating months of hurrying up and waiting of fieldwork. in a place where concepts of time are different (though i make no claims to be able to assess under which category Paceños or Alteños might fall. Sometimes you just have to breathe deeply and surrender, and remind yourself that time is all relative. Abstract time is a capitalist convention. And the notion of wasting time, is thus, simply a product of commodity fetishism in which time is part of the commodity. To waste time is to waste value (even in a more figurative "value of spending time having fun" sort of meaning). But if I can break myself away from that, learn to enjoy the endless grant applications (talk about commodity fetish...), and savor my last months in dc, maybe i'll snap out of this lousy feeling i've been having.

pintada

i painted tonight. mostly because last night in seminar dvine made us tell everyone one activity we do to keep ourselves sane. i said painting, and realized i hadn't done it in a while. well, given the palimpsestuous nature of my recent work, i can't really do too much at once, but i did a few things, and made something quite simple that i like actually like quite a bit with some leftover reds and oranges.

the new stuff

all in all, i don't think the current stuff is as good as my last painting, which i also rather like. but really, its the strokes that matter. the feeling of moving the brush. the journey so to say.

the last one (muybridge i)

i also listened to some of scamz's stuff on phonography. in particular, beneath the waves, because i'm told that my recorded voice will be included when he does a live reading at MICA in february. i suggested perhaps, since i'll be there (though likely late, thanks to lavender), he should just let me do it live, but he ignored the request. i also listened to the other which always is a little nostalgia-inducing. alas, the night was a good artsy-rounded night. now if only i could get to sleep.

col rizada

on new year's day, mc & i set off to make some traditional(?) black eyed peas. he insisted kale should be involved. and so i bought a bunch of kale at giant. it was indeed giant. now, on january 16th, i still have a few servings left, and i've been eating it regularly. at least 1 meal every other day or so. apparently, this is good, because according to my new favorite blog, valet (which is of course aimed at a GQ-esque male audience), kale is good for workout recover, bone strength, and cancer prevention. and i should be doing well, because i've been eating it along with a lot of tomatoes too.

i've made
1. black eyed pea, tomato, and kale stew
2. pasta with kale, bell peppers, and feta
3. kale filled pastries (sort of like spanokopita)
4. flat bread with kale, onions, and parmesean
5. tomato kale soup

i thought i'd provide a little recipe inspiration here. i'd say the original stew and the tomato kale soup were the best, but the pastries were the most creative i thought. so here you are:

1 tbsp butter
1 onion
3 cloves garlic
salt & pepper to taste
bunch of kale
1 tomato
4 oz feta
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 pkg crescent rolls

tear kale into pieces
melt the butter & add garlic & onion. immediately being adding kale. sautee until sauteed.
dice tomato & feta, mix and add vinegar
unroll crescent roll package. lay out 4 rolls in original triangular form. make a small mound of kale on top. add some feta mixture. put another triangle over the top. attempt to seal on the sides.
bake according to crescent roll directions.

primas son las amigas mejores

i was feeling kind of down tonight. it may have had something to do with the fact that my phone keeps crapping out, and conversations with people dear to me are interrupted midway through with seemingly no way of re-starting them within 20 minutes. i was lying glumly in bed, catching up on my google reader, and thinking of how i should probably enmesh myself in an art project to revive my spirits.

and then the phone rang again. but i put it on speaker phone, and heard a voice that sounds quite like mine. it was my cousin ampbt (which is her initials, but kinda looks like it could be a new energy drink or something). and i can't imagine anyone better to have spoken to. we talked for an hour an a half about weddings, babies, husbands, clothing, weight gaining, aversions to running, old friends, new friends, crazy mothers, self-deprecating sisters, slow talking fathers, and cousins "on the other side" (though surprisingly, the meth cousins did not make an appearance in the conversation).

i often think that she and i (as well as her sister and i) are closer than many people are with some siblings. we essentially grew up together. from the nutcracker (see below) to late night denny's coffee, we experienced all the important stuff together. she tried to find me a date to my junior prom, and i begged her to go to homecoming with my friend, jbl (now jbl, esq.). and probably a lot of it was our proximity in age, similarity of interests, and the inescapablility of genetics. but what it comes down to is: there are very few people who understand me like she does (lou and char being the only other two i can think of-not even the nice or consueloz quite measure up).

all dressed up for the nutcracker (i'd guess 1985?)

and yet, we rarely talk. usually on october 27. or briefly on the phone to make plans when i'm in chicago. but only when we are actually in each others' physical presence do we have those late night wine fueled conversations that drift from topic to topic until we can barely keep our eyes open. but tonight was different. she called because she and char were at kap's place and char and kap started fighting. she just needed to talk to someone who could understand how ampbt spilling a bit of lasagna on the floor could start a fight between her mother and sister. and oh, how i understand.

and every time, we say, we shall make a habit of these talks. hopefully we will. i miss her terribly. i suppose the fact that lou is in heytown was part of my melancholy state. and hearing that the three parker-baker-tapia-belsan-s were together perhaps added to it. it makes me want to be in chicago so badly. it makes me regret so badly the bachelorette, and graduation, and birthday parties i've missed. but in time. i will be back. at least briefly. but i will relish it.

barbas de nuevo

awesome Beard Anatomy print from etsy

so back when i was first envisioning The Anthropology of Beards, i had 2 associates (the tall one and the gay one, as LT puts it) with whom to scheme. and scheme we did. that's about all we did. we were very good at making plans. and unless we impulsively flipped a coin to determine whether we immediately leave on a 9 hr road trip, we were not nearly as good on following through on those plans.

however, ee (the gay one), took some initiative and talked up The Anthropology of Beards to other colleagues and acquaintances and got some bites. they started scheming without my input and what i envisioned as an anthropology of the performance, symbolism, cultural significance, and community meaning of facial hair (mostly beards) now has a "main theme ... [of] passing and gender."

this is not to say that my work is not about passing or gender. gender most certainly. because the community i was looking at includes women. but to what extent? by what association? and what exactly is the social meaning of vagerino?

and passing is there to a lesser extent. i think one of the most fascinating things about whiskerino is the focus on artistic vision in addition to facial hair. this is NOT a beard contest. if anything it is a photographic contest with a metatheme of beard. thus, there are plenty of men involved who have very light, thin, or otherwise less than ideal ("immense facial hair density, girth, and coverage") beards. and for the majority of the whiskerino duration, most people's faces look just kind of dirty, itchy, and unkempt.

there's also an element of passing in the symbolism and meaning attributed to the beard in an etic v emic perspective. what does a beard allow one to pass for (musician or artist). and what does it markedly disallow one to pass for (businessperson)?

so its all there. but the ways in which i incorporate gender and passing are decidedly not talking about the intersections of "beards/facial hair and transgressive or pathologised sexual practices and diverse sexualities."

and so, this project, may move forward without me. disappointing, but not hopeless. for, the proliferation of an anthropology of beards puts forward all anthropologies of beards. !viva la barba-lucion!

falda nueva

this time, i'm actually going along with the resolution. yesterday, i made a skirt. from double recycled fabric. you see, back in the jc days when cutsofbeef and i would sit around, drink cheap wine, and watch project runway to our hearts' delight, i bought this big yellow (perhaps, more accurately, goldenrod) bedsheet at the local salvation army. at his encouraging, in scarlott style, i made that sheet into a little sundress. but the fact was, it never fit me that well. the bust was too tight, the hemline was neither kneelength, nor tea-length. in the end, it smashed certain parts of me and was "frumpy"

so, it sat in various closets, boxes, crates, storage spaces, and basements for a few years. and then, yesterday, it emerged into the light. and seam ripped, and cut, and pinned, and ironed, and basted, and sewed, and seam-ripped, and re-sewed. and eventually...i had this

fracaso

remember that whole not buying new clothing, and simplifying, and avoiding consumerism thing...

ahem.

maybe i'll do a better job tomorrow

placas mapas

ok, so it only took me an hour or so to totally go back on all that consumerist, curated resolution stuff. but seriously, these are beyond awesome.

nuevo ano

i've been trying to come up with a resolution, and i think i've got a good one.

but first, the usuals. cut paper out of my life (i've got a decent start on this one). cut out plastic too (quite a bit harder). drive less (so far, i've only driving to drop off at the airport in 2011). walk more. eat simply and tastily. buy 2nd hand or make most of my clothing. and by all means, do what you can to divorce yourself from consumerism.

but i think the real kicker actually combines some of these, with an artistic flair. it is...dum dum dum....

curate your life

sounds all hoity toity and stuff huh. well here's the deal, its simply to do things with intention. buy a shirt because its a very well made shirt and i will wear it for years (not because its $3 at target). acquire books i will actually read and want in my collection (not because they're on the free books bench). organize. simplify. make life both aesthetically and experientially enjoyable.

i feel better just thinking about it.

viviendo con yo

i caught myself today, thinking "i can't wait until i live alone."

its no secret certain things around here endlessly drive me crazy. maybe i'm just too old. maybe by 30(ish) we're too set in our ways to gracefully live with the rules of those with whom we disagree. different household ideologies*...

and the little things get me so frustrated. i keep telling myself the daily frustrations are a small trade off for living in a nice building in a location i enjoy. but the truth is, i think 1/2 the reason i want this grant is that it will give me an excuse to move out asap.

and i can't help but notice the gendered nature of household ideologies i've observed. the first time i lived with others in an independent household (meaning, not a university dormitory) outside of my parents' home (for an extended period of time) was when i lived with folks on hamlin. we managed to get along pretty well, and divide chores and such, but not without the "chore wheel" created by the other woman living in the apartment. when she left and i lived with 3 men, the chore wheel when down the toilet and things deteriorated to the point that i refused to do dishes because no one else would. i kept 1 set of dishes in my room, which i washed in the bathroom sink after each meal, because the kitchen sink was so full of quickly molding boy-used dishes.

later in life, i lived with cutsofbeef, who defied gender stereotypes in many ways. on friday nights he liked to drink a bottle of wine, do some baking, and clean the apartment with no small amount of method products. which of course was perfectly fine with me. but my point here is not that he defied the construct i'm setting up. my point is that he felt no need to regiment cleaning. it was something done when someone wants to do it or sees a need for it. there was no need for charts, schedules, or lists. cleaning was managed laissez faire. its only been women i've lived with that have needed hard and fast schedules, rules, and routines.

and its this regimentation and surveillance that drives me crazy. i live in a foucaultian cleaning panopticon. i get emails asking when i will be mopping the floor, or askance comments about whether i used the "correct" cleaning product for a certain task. maybe its my own fault for being non-confrontational, but i'm mad as hell and i'm not going to take it any more. except that i probably will.

and then the other side of all this is, i actually will never live alone again. my little house in the country and my garden apartment at the bottom of the hill will be my only forays. however, when i move, i will get to live with someone who i, for the most part, actually share much household ideology. if anything, i'm the clean(er) freak. but there is little nagging or passive agressive insinuations about the frequency or method by which cleaning occurs. sure i probably strongly suggest on occasion that there is way too much dust hiding beneath the couch, and he can't understand why anyone would use any product other than bon ami (or perhaps feigns ignorance that anyone could possibly think anything else might be effective). but on the whole, we agree on cleaning, cooking, energy usage, and clutter levels. and that is one of the most reassuring things i can think of.

* i'm either coining or misusing the term household ideology. either way, what i mean is simply the cooking, cleaning, technology & resource use, and organizational patterns of the home to which people ascribe a level of neutral naturalness and common sensicality. ie. it is obviously totally logical to clean the bathroom once a week, or is obviously totally logical to clean the bathroom bathroom when it seems to be getting "dirty."

recordar Bon Vinai (parte dos)

The Recycled Minds blog (linked in the IHE piece) reproduces the language of the change. After reading it, I think it is simple insecurity on the part of "scientific anthropologists" that is inspiring the hubub. The changes in no way denigrate scientific approaches, they simply don't mention them. To me this does not in any way de-legitimize scientific approaches, it simply provides a more inclusive framework for what anthropology can be.

As I've always said, the beauty of anthropology is you can do anything you want* and call it "anthropology" (*with proper theoretical and contextual backing).

I think the real issue is stemming from the fact that the "scientific" parts of the discipline are already marginalized to an extent. The change is serving to remove one small claim to centrality they had. So, I think its more of a political issue than ideological issue here. But then again...what isn't?

recordar Bon Vinai

There's been all sorts of hubub because the AAA's "future plan" (not its mission statement) has dropped the word "science." And thus, of course, this Inside Higher Ed article is being widely circulated.

Now, I haven't read the full text of the future plan, so I shall reserve official judgement on the change in the future plan (though my initial reaction is that--despite my usual proselytizing against "objectivity" and quantitative data--scientific components are important to anthropology, particularly in linguistic, bio/physical, and archaeological sub-disciplines and to remove the wording is only to further distance these important aspects of anthropology from the hegemonic cultural forms). However, the IHE article is annoying me because its reproducing something that I think is all too common both among academics, and the public at large: a false dichotomy between "science" and "local ways of knowing" or "humanities approaches" (I think 6th grade science teachers may be to blame). It seems to me that the strength of anthropology is the ability to incorporate different ways of knowing. To understand something scientifically while not foreclosing other ways of understanding the issue. So perhaps that means that "science" should remain in the future plan, but I'll reserve judgement until I actually read the thing.

In the article however, I particularly found the last statement interesting.

"Are we to accept the local explanation that children are dying ... because someone is breaking a taboo and the gods are angry," he said, "or do we look to see how fecal matter is being introduced to the water supply?"

I think the false dichotomy is most evident here. A good anthropologist knows that their own understanding of a situation may be different than the understanding of those around them, but simply jabbering on about microbes to people who haven't had advanced chemistry or biology training isn't going to get very far. Rather understanding danger, but communicating in a way that makes sense in the local lexicon and view are what make anthropology a valuable tool, at least in public health situations.

Anyway, this all reminded me of something written by one of my favorite past professors. Dwight Conquergood worked with Hmong refugees in Thailand, and helped design and direct "a health education campaign based on native beliefs and values and communicated in culturally appropriate forms." --using community theater.

Health Theatre in a Hmong Refugee Camp: Performance, Communication, and Culture

A few excerpts:

"Specifically, we started a refugee performance company that produced skits and scenarios drawing on Hmong folklore and traditional communicative forms, such as proverbs, storytelling, and folksinging, to develop critical awareness about the health problems in Ban Vinai."

"Any communication campaign that ignored the indigenous cultural strengths of performance would be doomed to failure."

"Simplistic health messages imported from Western middle-class notions of cleanliness simply would not work for Ban Vinai. What was needed was a health education and consciousness-raising program that was sensitive to the history and specific environmental problems and constraints of the camp."

Using the character of "Mother Clean" and Drawing on the poj ntxoog evil ogre character from Hmong folklore, they created an ugly Garbage Troll.

"Mother Clean would lovingly amplify the message of proverbs, explaining how a small village on a mountain slope with plenty of space for everyone could absorb organic refuse naturally through the elements of wind and rain. She pointed out that Ban Vinai is very different from the mountaintop villages in which the Hmong used to live. Consequently, customs and habits, particularly regarding garbage, needed to change accordingly. She exhorted a change in behavior without degrading the people whom she was trying to persuade, locating responsibility in the environmental circumstances."

bigotes

toward an anthropology of beards (cont)

from Fake Science

la lucha de los EEUU

just a little shout out to the heathered levis and her awesome quotes on the vida lucha in the huffington post.

el doctor joven

this blog was recently compared to the musings that appeared at the end of Doogie Howser, MD. i took this as extreme compliment. not because I remember 'ol doogie writing anything terribly interesting, but because i loved that damn show. i loved doogie. i loved vinnie. i love that whole "wiz kid aces SATs."

well, it occurred to me that the reflexive journal writing as ending to television episode genre did not end with doogie. indeed, that neoliberal bastian of consumerist womanhood, sex and the city, also used such a convention. needless to say, i was pleased this was not the show chosen for comparison.

that is all. just some meta-reflexivity today.

miedo de nuevo

just a link to another great dc blogger's take on the stewart/colbert rally.

en cordura y el miedo

i went to the stewart/colbert rally to restore sanity and/or fear. mostly i went because it was here, and seemed to be what all the cool kids were doing. But I allowed myself the privilege of claiming my involvement was something of "participant observation" given my research interests in the efficacy of various forms of (performative) social movements.

As per usual, my thoughts on the rally were not without critique. Was this just another vagina monologues/take back the night/national coming out day stunt to promote decidedly neoliberal ideologies and distract us from the real issues all in the guise of progressive politics? Well, pretty much, yes.

But as faux mia pointed out over vegan breakfast, protest in the U.S. doesn't work (anymore?). So we've moved on to something else. Something more corporate. Something less overtly (but still covertly) political. Something that appeals to desires of the masses and does not contradict or question the ideological indoctrination they've experienced since their reagan-era births. perhaps its as lukacs and postone suggest-the commodity fetishism pervades all aspects of life. we can't escape it, even in our efforts to express dissent.

celebrity is the new politics. We have wrestlers and bodybuilders that have become governors, and presidents that have been compared to paris hilton (not that i'm saying it was an astute comparison). corrupt governors get recruited for reality tv shows. politics is celebrity and celebrity is politics. hell, have we already forgotten that colbert actually tried to run in south carolina?

and this phenomenon is perhaps not unlike the cholita luchadora phenomenon. the overt political connections are not clearly defined, but it is a spectacular event that cannot truly be understood without analyzing it as political. it speaks to social relations, but in a way that is digestible to the crowd that gathers for it. it does not push the boundaries too far.

so then, the real question is: what is the effect? will we being to understand political rallies as forms of entertainment (which is basically why i went, as well as the middle-aged african-american guy next to me on the bus "well, its saturday, and its something to do."), complete with celebrity music performances and professional athletes video-conferenced in? will they become just another outlet for coca-cola or comedy central to sell their wares? and if so, does this necessarily forclose the possibility that they can contribute to progressive political action?

i suppose in both cases, only time will tell. but if performance truly is a space in which social relations become more clear and possibilities of change are envisioned, then we might be on to something here.

bebiendo

i've recently realized i have a bar to call my own. and it happened on accident i suppose.

back in the days when the bar formerly known as El Camino was known as its former and current name (which shall not be named...) i stopped by with the boys on thursday nights to claim my status as "lady" and thus, free appetizers. on friday's i'd go with B for our free 9-10pm well drinks, competing to see who could drink more (until she went to rehab). in the beginning, i hated the place, and would have much rather gone to Guillo's. but alas, by the time the place shed its pseudo-mexican interior, i was joining softball teams, friends with the barbacks, and showing up solo.

and somewhere along the way, i've realized that this is how you know a bar is "yours": you have no hesitation to go it alone.

and now i find myself happily, unexpectedly, wandering into the bird on friday afternoons. and people shout my name as i walk in (i mean, really, who hasn't always wanted to be "Norm!"). Greg asks if i want a yuengling--amusing because it was just a fluke that i ordered it the first time, but i'll go with it. i help people with crossword puzzles, and get updates on the pool to see if Ralph really will get married (he did). but that's the afternoon. its easy to shout names and remember beers when the lighting is good and there are 3 people in attendance.

but saturday night, i wandered in around 10:30, and heard the same "Nell!" as i sauntered in with a birthday crowd. now something magical happens to the bird around 8pm most days. the disgruntled government workers have their fill of schlitz and wander home, while skinny jean donning 24 year olds with unkempt hair filter in. the bartender starts carding. and they stop keeping tabs. and with this transformation, i never expect special treatment. but alas. John (who i had not seen or talked to since the spring) called my name from behind the bar, took my order, and told me my drink was on the house. and i breathed a sigh of relief.

in a way, i had come home. not just to the bar, but to the neighborhood. to the community. to the city. and maybe its silly to say that community exists in a neighborhood bar. or maybe it just makes me an alcoholic. but i would argue that its a public sphere in a habermasian way. i've had conversations (or arguments) ranging from immigration law, to charter schools, to heroin addiction. i've critiqued the capitalist economy, and then gone to the atm to pay my tab. and i've cursed myself many a time for ending up at the raven, because i always drink one too many drinks and can't sleep, but the reason i go back and stay too long is not the schlitz. its the people. good conversation and feeling like i belong. and isn't that what everybody's really looking for? and you can't entirely control where you find it, i suppose.

Appadurai en bigotes

thanks to professor ponger

‎"Even an unkempt beard must be maintained"

A. Appadurai

la isla playa larga

leaving scammellot (too) is always a bit painful. but truthfully, this time i went in not knowing what to expect. all of my previous scammellots have been parties. 10 kids filling the house. el capitán flowing liberally. people i've known for what feels like forever. half-nude, manual strobe-light dance parties, firecrackers aimed squarely as human flesh, bonfires ignited with rustoleum, bloody marys in the morning, beer in the afternoon, and tequila in the evening. and someone always wakes up where they're not supposed to.

but this was not that. just my best friend, JC, and i (not even el capitán made it this time). tits was busy, fiend visiting the lady, JC recently single, and the r___ living the [practically] married life. and so it was calm. sure we began the day with beer. we ran to the beach, jumped in the water, removed garments, and let the waves lap us around. we dug our feet into the sand and talked about blush-worthy topics. i extolled the virtues of the ring, and discussed the intricacies of NAMBLA. and it was just as magical as any other scammellot.

and so, as i dropped them in the municipal parking lot on route 9 and turned back south, i had a tear in my eye. not because i'd miss them, or because i'll have to wait at least 6 months before i can dig my feet in the sand again, but because i always fear i'll never find people like them again.

every year the distance between LBI and dc seems further. every year i plan more and take fewer trips to the city. every year it gets harder. and coming back always makes dc feel foreign and uninviting.

but then this evening i ran into my favorite st.louis/chicago/dc resident, and planned for catching up. i gossiped with raf at the conference. i had brief conversations with the jag about fieldwork. and though its no replacement, the people here are truly great. they'll just never live up to dancing in a thunderstorm to blind mellon.