...and in an interesting turn of events, i noticed that on 7 october 2007, during my first semester of grad school, i wrote this
while taking a break from reading today i notice True Life: I'm a Coney Island Side Show Performer was on. I didn't watch it, but it made me think those dudes that pick up heavy things with chain links pierced through their skin would be an interesting study.
well what do you know? i'm now friends with some people that do that. i've been thinking the next project will be about street art or something, but maybe i should go back to that old idea.
there are years that ask questions, and years that answer. 2012 was a mixed bag. there were good moments and bad moments—many bests and worsts. but just as last year, i learned from the bad and fully reveled in the good. here are those worth mentioning
Best Meal
the megacenter tour with jonathan: appetizers of burritos and nachos in La Cueva, the main course of Factory chicken wings, and we finished off with dessert in the Dubliner. i think i gained 10 pounds that night.
Worst Meal
la paz ceviche for breakfast with nico (note that pictures are of delicious ceviche for lunch with lorenzo in lima)
Best Completed Project
Will Roman mural
Worst Uncompleted Project
reading El Hobit
Best Party
afterprom
Worst Party
carnaval in oruro (being sick, sleeping on a wood floor, no windows, and no running water was not a good combination)
the worst of it
making the best of it
Best Success
finishing a draft of my dissertation before turning 30
i celebrated with these afterwards
Worst Failure
never quite getting the double tijeras llave
Best Student Experience
being greeted with "hey darlin" at aaa
Worst Student Experience
seemingly permanent back pain before my first lucha event
Holiday Celebration
halloween with mau, derren, rylan, kicho, & gus (2nd year running that halloween takes the honors)
Worst Holiday Celebration
st. patrick's day
at least the day started well with a strongbow and chapter 4 at 7am
Best "Illegal" Activity
the week clandestinely spent in the forbidden hostel room
Worst "Illegal" Activity
strapping $50,000 US to my belly and taking a 12 hour bus ride
and worse yet, at the end of the bus ride i was stuck in potosí for 36 hours
Worst Acquisition
several pairs of ill-fitting jeans
Best Encounter with an Animal
horse riding with el profe
Worst Encounter with an Animal
dog bite in obrajes
Best Fight
villa copacabana lady blade contra black spyder
Worst Fight
over hip hop music with jonathan and lorenzo
Best Death Defying Feat
urban rush, face forward
Worst Death Defying Feat
almost careening over a cliff during a car crash between puno, peru and the bolivian border
Best 24 Hours
el centro to la cumbre to mallasa and back
Worst 24 Hours
one of the many stomach dealies, throwing up every 2 hours and running out of potable water.
so there is my year, simplified to superlatives. the good were good and the bad were a learning experiences, thinking moments, or at least sighs of relief for not being as bad as they could have been. i'm lucky in so many ways. i met so many new wonderful people and grew to love so many old friends this year. my life will never be the same, and now i've got a tattoo to remind me of bolivia every day, now matter what hemisphere i'm in.
i wrote last
year: people generally make top 10 lists this time of year to prove to the
cosmos that they were paying attention and didn't let the year pass them by
without notice. for the most part, they reflect on the past year and the new
things that have brightened (or contentedly saddened) their days. and sure,
there's a small part of the process that is aimed more at proving to the reader
that the writer is cool enough to be on top of things and listen to the
"right" stuff, and see the "hip" bands, and by paying
attention to relevant music, is relevant themself.
this list lacks
that second part completely.
i generally
listen to pretty awful music. and its usually old (but not so old that its cool
again). so i offer you this top ten tracks of 2012 list. but most were not
released in 2012. instead this is my list of songs that will forever mentally
transport me to afternoons spent in south american bars, late nights in
makeshift paint studios, and sunrises seen from bedrooms in la paz. these are
the songs that will likely stir strong emotion for decades to come. these are
the songs that made 2012 what it was for me.
extra special mention
i am convinced i
can start a cult following of Surfin’ Wagner, and i like them for reasons
beyond the fact that they are mentioned in my dissertation. not only do they
wear lucha masks and hawaiian shirts while playing surf-punk music, they’re
nice guys with a sense of humor, and their website is just plain hilarious.
10.
it was all the
rage, but i resisted listening until it hit big in bolivia. a week later i
appeared on the same television show with this particular video.
9.
practically
perfect in every way. and even better in italian.
8.
in a transient
place, it describes so many relationships. sometimes comforting. sometimes
heartbreaking.
7.
sometimes you
need to feel like a ninja. sometimes you need to feel like a primadonna.
6.
from beaches of
the caribbean to andean mountaintops it followed me everywhere. by the end i grew to love it.
the perfect
soundtrack for construction, mural painting, and learning vocabulary like
malirpa.
3.
when you leave
and return as much as i do, feeling like you’re back in the groove is
essential.
2.
i have a theory.
after this song is played, nothing can go wrong. in fact, things usually get
much better. especially if you play it 18 times.
1.
he called me and
5am and requested jim beam and this song. i didn’t know where to get booze at
that hour, but he was content with the musical offering alone.
I don’t really understand why but
Mateo started calling me Mary Poppins one day when I was wearing my glasses.
This has prompted a slew of singing Supercalifragiliciousexpialidocious (sometimes in Italian),
pulling things like peanut butter or scarves out of my shoulder bag, and fits
of laughter while walking through pigeon-populated plazas. It also prompted me
to re-watch the movie.
I had fallen asleep on the couch
while attempting to watch Game of Thrones with my Irish roommate. Around 10 pm
I decided to move to my slightly more comfortable bed. But since this new house
I’m living in has no internet, but a large collection of pirated Bolivian DVDs,
I decided to find one to soothe me back to sleep. And when I came across Mary
Fuckin Poppins (as was labeled on the actual dvd in sharpie), I couldn’t
resist.
I took it to my room, popped it
in the computer, and slowly but surely, I realized that this childhood favorite
of mine had much deeper social commentary than I had ever realized.
The first thing that struck me
was Mrs. Banks’s involvement in the Women’s Suffrage Movement. This I recall
from, and probably admired in my childhood. But as someone who now knows
something of “third wave” feminism, womanism, and is class-conscious if not
marxian in nature, I couldn’t stop laughing when Mrs. Banks, when recounting
the events of a protest, touches
the nanny on the shouoder and says “Oh, you should have been there,” failing to
acknowledge that her own attendance depended entirely on the fact that her
children were being taken care of by the nanny. She then grabs the domestic
servants of her home and has them sing with her
Cast off the shackles of yesterday!
Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!
Our daughters' daughters will adore us
And they'll sing in grateful chorus
"Well done, Sister Suffragette!"
They continue
Political equality and equal rights with men!
Then later
No more the meek and mild subservients we!
Though no mention is made of
equal rights for working women. Indeed analyses of Bolivian feminist movements
in the 1920s and 1930s note that while women from the upper classes organized
around rights to education, work, and suffrage, these demands lacked salience
for working-class women who had never been confined to the domestic sphere, and
were already part of the labor force. For them, labor organizing was a much
more crucial component of “liberation” than the opportunity to vote for
candidates who did not represent their interests.
Throughout the film we then see Mrs. Banks submitting to her husband’s whims.
Often silenced by him, and other times responding to his requests with a
repetitive “Yes, dear.” Indeed, she directly contradicts the assertion in the
song
Though we adore men individually
We agree that as a group they're
rather stupid!
In essence, Marry Poppins
represents a truer form of women’s liberation. Though her position is that of
the working-class, her magical properties elevate her (figuratively and
literally) to a position, possibly outside of the class structure. Indeed, it
is she that tells Mr. Banks that she will give him a trial period. But at the
same time, she hangs out with the working-class. Burt, primarily, but she
eventually steps in time with the chimney sweeps, too. And whether it is her
working-class position, or her magical qualities that allow her this form of
equality with (or even superiority over) her male employer, she is the one
example of someone defying a traditional hierarchy.
Of course she’s not a perfect
feminist icon. She still prefers to see her whole face at once, is dressed
impeccably, and powders her nose, indicating she feels no compulsion to stray
outside of a certain ideological standard of beauty. But then again, it’s the movies,
so I’ll give her a pass on that one.
Mary also represents the
antithesis of capitalism, in some ways. Her solutions are always creative,
never rely on consumer goods. Fun is had by jumping into paintings, laughing on
the ceiling, and making games of otherwise tedious tasks. And when Mr. Banks
scolds her, she turns his words on their head, suggesting he take the children
to the bank where he works (knowing this will only cement the children’s aversion
to their father’s line of work). It is she that puts it into Michael’s head
that he should give his toppins to the Bird Lady, which eventually causes the
terrible chaos at the bank.
Indeed, the film tells us that
capitalism is about scary old men forcing us to give them their money, but
staying outside of the system induces laughter, song, dancing. When Mr. Banks
is fired he erupts in a fit of laughter and dances out of the bank. The next
day he goes kite flying with his family, singing all the while. And in the end
he gets his job back, but the damage is done. We’ve learned the bank is the
antithesis of fun. Or that fun is the antithesis of the bank. And gobs of money
just make us want to run away.
So the film isn’t perfect. But
its far more subversive than I would have expected from Disney in 1964. And in
the end, I’m quite proud to be associated with Mary Poppins and all her cheery
subversiveness. But I still don’t really get what’s going on with the Admiral
next door.
:
AFTERNOTE (12 July 2013): xoJane does an excellent job of enumerating the subversive themes of Dirty Dancing here.
I'm doing some writing on my own "history" of wrestling, while cooped up with all sorts of ailments, and remembered this, which I wrote in 2008 for some "project" Dre was working on. I never saw the finished project, but upon rereading my words I thought I'd give them some light of day (or light of computer monitor). When completed, I'll put the history piece here too. But for now...
My memories are blurry. They are not in chronological order. Sometimes there is no date attached. They are as jumbled as the collection of music posters, cardboard cutouts, tapestries, and the giant Uma likeness that filled the rooms of the house on college avenue. My memories are snippets of Christmas-eve Jerry Springer episodes, pumpkin carving, HHH weddings, and summer evenings in the back yard.
Though it’s not what immediately comes to mind when thinking about the house on college, my first memory of being there was the summer of 1999. I don’t know why or how the night ended up the way it did, but I will speculate that it began at Denny’s. At some point it was decided that a dance party should follow and off to the house on college we went. With some Save Ferris, and Ben Folds Five we danced the night away. Later that summer, we listened to Hide Your Love Away, always twice in a row, as Glen mourned an impending loss.
And while there are certain songs that I associate with the house on college, most of my memories are not so innocent. Years before a former roommate and I established Naked Drunken Thursdays, I remember the roommates talking about naked hour. I never knew whether it was a joke or not, but in retrospect, I wonder if it was the first seed in my head of what eventually became NDT.
Strangely, I don’t remember any underage drinking (though that’s probably merely the result of faulty recollection), but illicit substances of other kinds do speckle my memories of the house on college. I remember being home for spring break, and sitting on the floor of that living room. A small crowd had formed and we watched Glen’s new Yellow Submarine dvd. A certain close friend of mine sat on the floor in front of me, and like many others was doing whippits that night. For each person, the dvd would be set to a particularly “trippy” sequence, and after his experience, my friend had an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Still, when I hear him cackle that way, I’m reminded of that night.
I, perhaps despite appearances, was not quite an innocent bystander. I was no stranger to pot smoking, but it never really seemed to affect me. Maybe I didn’t smoke enough. Maybe I didn’t really know how to inhale. But one fall night I took my first hit of a bong in the house on college. I was instructed by a number of people on proper form, and after much choking cleared the chamber. I walked away feeling victorious. A short while later I was standing on the back steps of the house, leaning against the wobbly railing, and realized I had absolutely no balance. Once that awareness was reached, suddenly everything spun into a fog. But I was surrounded by comforting people in a familiar place and it felt as if nothing could go wrong.
And it was that sort of comforting feeling that always emanated from the house on college for me. Maybe the most important memories are the times that made me feel like I was a part of something. I remember the secret toilet paper stash when certain roommates wouldn’t chip in, and I remember a long conversation in the kitchen one afternoon, that put everything into perspective. I knew I didn’t ever want to be the best thing that happened to someone.
Something still feels wrong when I drive past the apartment complex that replaced the house. Maybe it’s just that its time was over. And maybe its better that I’m able to remember things the way I want to without the imposition of reality settling in. I wouldn’t want to see the next generation of early 20-somethings that took over the house. I wouldn’t want to know that some other group of people is having dance parties, playing video games, and having what turn out to be life-altering conversations in there.
A friend of mine wrote many years ago, “You always imagine that the significant moments in your life you can play back like a video…but instead we remember the significant the same way we recall the useless—through fragmented images, half-developed snapshots.” But I think this begs the question, what is significant? If I can recall so well how I felt about the world on a random winter night watching Noggin and eating a La Bamba burrito as well as those more “pivotal” moments in my life, who is to say its useless. We are merely accumulations of our experiences and memories. We are who we are because of what we’ve done and where we’ve been. And the house on college, decades after its demolition, will continue to be a part of who we are.
i write from thousands of miles away, both physically and mentally. but i am thinking about my friends in washington, dc tonight.
i remember one bright day in early october, i wandered to mcpherson square, expecting a large crowd. or structures. or something. i arrived and didn't even see a sizable crowd mingling. was i in the wrong place? i walked toward freedom square, met some friends and walked back. we commenced a GA with about 20 people. and though there were some scuffles about whether the "people" from "new york" should be mediating, things went smoothly.
one main topic of discussion was sleeping. everyone was aware of the national park service regulations banning camping. instead, people suggested, sidewalks were fair game. eventually over the course of 2 weeks. people began sleeping on the ground in the park. using cardboard. using sleeping bags. eventually, a few tents went up. i was out of town for the weekend at the end of october, and when i returned, it was like a different place. dominated by tent structures. a true home to sleeping quarters. and even when the occubarn was pulled down, mcpherson kept its atmosphere of collegiality and homeyness.
then, one night, awake with a cough, i watched the livestreaming of zuccotti park being evicted. and i thought to myself, "i'm not sure how dc got lucky, but we have such a respectful relationship with our enforcers." i chuckled lightly at the the general assembly in mid-october when the fire department came to remove the generator that was being used for meals and technology. after our amazing attorney JL intervened, the fireperson walked away with an arm raised shrugging "power to the people."
as other life concerns began to take hold, and as the direction of occupy dc moved away from my specific tactical preferences, my face became more scarce at mcpherson square. but i've maintained a vested interest. i truly care about what happens there. i have friends, acquaintances, and colleagues at mcpherson. i know of at least two occupregnancies. i am invested. not only in the people, but in the project.
and so, from thousands of miles away, i awaited news today, of what would become of mcpherson, as the national park police began, for the first time in four months, to enforce the camping ban. and it seems the spirits are still good. the hopes are still high. this is not the end. and i won't be surprised in two weeks, when the attention is gone, and sleeping bags start slowly creeping in again.
