en el distrito

it was one of those dc days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

por el amor de antropología

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

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

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

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

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

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

desde lima 2006

something i found in a random notebook today

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

soy vegetariana

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

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

mmmm....veggies

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

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.