Respiration Blues

It sucks bad enough to have a cold during on one of the hottest days of the year.  It sucks even worse when you have to be productive!  It turns out that breathing is really essential to studying. 

I have one of those obnoxious summer cold things happening...and it's like too hot to really want to be sitting around  drinking hot tea...and somehow sudafed keeps one-upping my water intake so that I can't get properly hydrated.  I'm sitting here trying to read some material that I really enjoy, but all I can seem to do is focus on my right nostril and its inability to inhale properly.  I keep trying to let it go and focus on reading, but it's nagging me and won't let me concentrate.  It's so annoying!  

Hopefully the rest of this summer won't be so cruel....

Shout Out to Anacostia

Even though I worked and lived in Anacostia for a short time, and even though I worked for the Smithsonian for years, I had never visited the Smithsonian Anacostia Community Museum.  I finally went on a field trip with friends this weekend to visit the museum, the Frederick Douglass home, the Big Chair (the world's largest!), Fort Dupont Park and drive around getting an overview tour of the east of the river communities!  It was fun to be over there again.

The museum exhibit was the highlight.  We all really enjoyed the Gullah exhibit featuring the work of Lorenzo Dow Turner.   The exhibit entitled "connecting communities through language" is a field that I'm really interested in.  One of the coolest things I learned was that Turner's research established a strong linguistic foundation for African American studies today.  I didn't realize that it was Turner who helped to establish as fact the understanding that slaves maintained their own culture and language despite the violence and harsh conditions that slavery imposed.  Previously, some had argued that the oppression of slavery made it impossible for people to retain any part of their language, culture, and traditions.

The intersections with everyday language was well-presented too.  This article/interview highlights some of the interesting connections made in the exhibit and by exhibit viewers: "one person happily sang the jingle for the Goober chocolate-covered peanut ad when she learned that the word “goober” came from Ngúba, which means peanut in KiKongo, a language spoken in the Congo. Isn’t that marvelous? It made my day."  The one that made my day was the word shout, which is a call and response dance instead of a form of yelling that I blurt out at rule-followers.

So, I'm happy to share my visit since I keep thinking about language and community.  It also puts the 1 in 3 people here in the DC community who are illiterate back into the forefront of my mind since language is such a key piece of learning.  The exhibit is there until July 24th, I recommend checking it out.

Cyberstalking

Announcement: LIL HOOP -- stop contacting me and do not contact me in any way in the future.

The need to communicate to someone that he/she is cyberstalking is an uncomfortable and delicate task.  Especially distressing for me since I haven't given a whole lot of thought to cyberstalking.  Most of my online communications take place through email and other closed channels of online communication.  Now that I'm blogging, this issue has come to my attention. 

Most of the issues of cyberstalking that get more attention are those that involve a case that crossed the line from online bullying to physical harm.  I thought it was mostly an issue for students in high school or college...and something I figured I would have to start fearing pretty soon only because my niece is growing up fast.  It isn't something I really had to invest a lot in for myself.

But that isn't the truth.  The stories that have informed my views were the scariest and most egregious offenses.  It turns out that the typical victim of cyberstalking, according to the most recent statistics on www.haltabuse.org, has this profile:

18-30 years old (41% of victims)

Female (73% of victims)

Single (45.5% of victims)

Harasser is male (44.5% of harassers)

Prior relationship with the harasser (47% -- and 55% of this 47% is an ex)

Hmmm, the above sounds an awful lot like me. 

This blog is a great example of how I enjoy technology and appreciate that I can maintain such close relationships with people around the country and across the world that allow us to communicate across physical distance and time zones, etc.  One part of communicating online that has always kept me away from being more involved in blogging, facebook, etc. is the emotional distance that technology creates.  The mediated communication between people creates a more significant barrier than it appears.  The barrier can be easily overlooked since the positive nature of being able to stay in touch and communicate with such ease often overshadows the drawbacks.  

The potential to develop a false sense of intimacy is huge since you are interacting in a much more controlled environment of email, skype, facebook, etc. that involves intentional acts of writing, calling/answering, scheduling a time to skype, etc.  Real world relationships in the presence of someone is far less controlled and your interactions are more spontaneous.  You don't have the chance to mull over your words before hitting send.  At a scheduled video call on skype, you control the environment around you to ensure the least amount of interruptions as possible.  

This false sense of intimacy that weighs more heavily on the "connecting" part of the interaction and less about the multiple layers of distance makes it easier to keep in touch and harder to develop relationships.  I'm enjoying blogging, but it is only really meaningful to me in the ways that it connects me to people beyond the blog.  I regret the harassment that people engage in through online forums as a way to abuse the open door that being online demands, and I'm committed to being more informed and more aware of yet another issue that plagues more women than men.  It also reveals how deep-seated sexism is so easily adapted into our rapidly changing society.  

I like how Paul Foster Johnson explores this interesting and new dynamic in this poem:


Chat Room
P. entered a third space
from which he could watch time pass
instead of walking to the monastery
in the middle of the night.


His opaque sexuality derived from the absence
of a guarantee that his person would remain intact.


He recognized this in himself
and we stared at the pylons regressing
into the lackluster northeastern woods.


The monastery was a display
before which he claimed sangfroid
a picturesque ruin to which he was conveyed
as though by boreal fluid.


Everyone loved occasional works like this
their allusions to complementary and absent events.


Weaving around proliferating drywall
I despaired over this desire.


P. joined the migrant workforce
and grew more disconsolate and distant
and drunk in our presence.


Our presence was only possible
because of advances in technology
in a dialectical relationship with their debasement:
servers in cold rooms
and a recursive void of woodblock chat sounds.

Riot Grrrl

I just heard Beyonce's song "Run the World (Girls)" today...um, excuse me?  Did you say girls?  Did you mean grrrls?  Or maybe women?  When I started running my own world, it began with calling myself a woman.  Sleater-Kinney's music and truth-telling lyrics got me through my coming of age as a woman like no other -- I hope you enjoy as much as I always have..and still do!  

And just in case you haven't seen this yet...I'll give another nod to this message that needs to be told more often:

Going Down Rabbit Holes...

...is perhaps the thing I try to avoid most in graduate school.  It plagues me to think that in the midst of my hectic and intense schedule I might fall into a rabbit hole of articles through the Library’s search engine or into a deep dark tunnel of a project at work that takes me away from the pressing matters at hand.  I’m near certain that today was the first day of 2011 that I had no obligation on any level to take care of when my work day ended today.  No plans, no papers-in-waiting, no immediate homework, no deadlines, no chores, no errands, no scheduled anything.  It felt so amazing!  Like, I can’t believe that I used to have a life that was made up of many days in the week like this. I jumped into many rabbit holes tonight from my own personal research interests to exploring some new music.

I was just thinking about rabbit holes and how they are a euphemism for a drug trip…and yet, the rabbit holes I avoid are the total opposite of hallucination.  They are more like the intense glaring reality of life blazing through stage lights turned on me from all directions.  Or is it more like being on drugs?  And if I allow myself to think of intense stress as a form of drug use, how might that change how I allow stress to influence my life?  I mean, I don’t enjoy being stressed. Yet, I admit that when asking this question, I realize that there is some form of dignity that I feel by “making it through it all” that allows me to suffer stress and the many consequences it has on my body, my soul, my relationships, and my creativity.  It doesn't bring me shame in the same way that the thought of drug addiction does.  Stress somehow allows me to prove that I’m thick-skinned and tough and gives me some form of credit—capital—that shows how committed I am to pursuing my dreams.   What a shame. That is not how I’m trying to live my life.

But ya know, it’s been way too long since I read Alice in Wonderland.  So, I wonder if Carroll’s rabbit hole leading to a bizarre world is something I should be willing to enter more often or if I should keep trying to avoid it.  Would it be so bad to travel into the land of the unexpected and be willing to discover a different world as I’m working hard on my assignments?  I’m pretty sure that the desire and drive to discover a new world of knowledge and understanding is precisely why I’m willing to take on this endeavor in the first place.

Driving Along in My Automobile

I drove into work today.  I typically commute to work by bike, but today I drove.  Sure doesn't seem blog-worthy.  Until I turned on NPR today after I got home from class and was filled in with the news of the day:  woman in Riyadh drives a car.

Wow.  I definitely knew that driving was a privilege.  I wanted to drive SO badly when I was a teenager.  But that was about age, it was about a right of passage, it most certainly was not about gender.  This story is almost too easy to critique in many ways.  I have to return to my thoughts from the other day about how facts don't tell us the whole story.  Even when all of the facts are presented to us.  I mean, this article is really informative and I learned a lot from it.  However, the emotional distance with which this kind of story is put forth makes it hard to be moved by it.  I am definitely touched, and I am definitely pensive, but I'm actually not sure where to go from there.

So, of course I keep trying to read more.  Take in more facts.  It's easy to alienate myself from these women when I'm thinking about my own world, my comfortable lifestyle, etc.  It is harder for me to sit back and really listen to what Saudi women want and to learn what they mean by rejecting western feminism, like this woman: "Alduwaisi says she prefers a “Saudi-Islamic” feminist movement, noting that she wants rights that consider religion and a Sharia-based judicial system."  And then, it makes me reflect on my own feminist ideals, and how frustratingly true it is that many people in foreign countries think that American women are easy.  I've encountered this personally in a number of places.  This perversion of feminism into an empowered sex object is not only reductive, but it perpetuates oh so many of the things that feminism seeks to subvert.

This is where I wish I had something profound to say, and I just don't have anything better to say than what many women far smarter than me are already saying...people like Isobel Coleman and Margot Badran.

So, let me take my own advice and not ask what I would do in these womens' shoes...because I have no idea if I could muster near the courage of these women.  Perhaps the best I can do right now is bring into consciousness the number of rights I have and spend some time thinking about what it took in this country to achieve those rights...because frankly, the kind of social conditioning that results from Sharia law is enough to make my head spin.  One thing I can do is pause in gratitude for the things that the women before me in the U.S. have done to secure the rights I enjoy so much today that I take most of them for granted.  My right to own property since 1900, the right to family planning in 1936, right to equal pay since 1963, and still working to adequately protect ourselves in the home and workplace against abuse.  


It also makes me really excited for my fall class entitled "Global Mobilities" because I have to imagine we will be talking about mobility in this context as well as many others...

Credit where credit is due...

I recognize that I'm often dissing DC, and so I also recognize that I should honor those days when I have few things to complain about.  Today was one of those days.  I had a lot of meaningful time with meaningful people in my life this weekend, and it was great being back in town after a little time away.  My amazing community of friends continues to be the best thing about this city -- hands down.

I was also happy to indulge in visiting the new Paul bakery at the Navy Memorial again this week.  It's about time that our city's obsession with chain stores and restaurants actually results in a really awesome, authentic French one!  The servers were really cute too as they are being taught French phrases and asking "comment tallez-vous"...even though they didn't know the response when I said "Je m'appelle Sarah."  This was preceded by a great coffee visit with one of my homegirls at the National Gallery of Art sculpture garden that was so engrossing that we didn't actually make it to the museums.   And ended the night with tacos at Mixtec followed by my beloved fro yo with one of my besties.  It's so nice to sit and share a meal with people rather than eating on the go as a mere pause in my day before heading on to the next thing.  I was even about to have a minor meltdown about the loss of one of my favorite wine stores to a souvenir shop...only to find out from DCist that it actually just moved locations.  DC was good to me today!

I just wanted to give a shout out to DC today because of this fine weather and today's gifts.  What are your favorite spots and/or adventures in the city that make all of the other less savory things we deal with here worth it?  I would really love to know!

Speaking of favorite things...I was reminded of the drum circle today and expect to get a lot of studying done there on Sunday afternoons this summer....

The Rapture

Yet another Rapture scare -- come and gone.  Whew.

Doesn't the relief just make you wanna sing?  Whoo! Alright! Yeah! Uh-huh!  This is the kind of Rapture I'm more into.

Anyone else interested in this word's etymology and how it got hijacked by a bunch of loonies?  Well...I won't hold out, here it is: 1. The state of being transported by a lofty emotion; ecstasy.;  2. An expression of ecstatic feeling. Often used in the plural.; 3. The transporting of a person from one place to another, especially to heaven.  [Obsolete French, abduction, carrying off, from rapt, carried away, from Old French rat, from Latin raptus; see rapt.]  Interesting how we've perverted "abduction" into an expression of ecstatic feeling.  Am I the only one who thinks that is kinda weird?  Of course, when the dictionary tells me to see another word, I DO IT!  So, here is rapt....

Apparently even the writers of the American Heritage Dictionary think this word's history is messed up.  It's a real treat to get an anecdote like this in the dictionary; you don't see them often: "Word History: One might be surprised to learn that rapt, a word used in describing states of deep delight or absorption, has a relative with an entirely different emotive force—rape. Now most often used to mean "to force someone to submit to sexual acts," rape once had a much broader application, as it meant "to seize, carry off." In fact, it was often used in positive and nonviolent contexts. From the Middle English period, we have examples of its being used to mean "to carry off to heaven from earth," as in "the visions of seynt poul wan [when] he was rapt in to paradys." As this quotation shows, rapt started out as the past participle of rape. As time went on, rapt became restricted to mental or emotional states, while rape developed a new past participle, raped, and became limited to criminal or violent acts."

Okay, this leaves me a little speechless at the moment.  I definitely did not know of this history....and it seems appropriate to leave things for reflection about what it says about the English-speaking psyche that the same word that means rape can also mean transport to heaven.  Yowzer, that's some messed up stuff.

Are you moved?

I just finished reading Toni Morrison's novel, The Bluest Eye, for my summer school class.  It is the first time I've returned to this book in a long time, and it is one of the most meaningful stories in my life because it is possibly THE reason why I've been engaged with storytelling and literature as a future career path throughout my adolescent and adult life.  It was the first story of any kind that forced me, a self-absorbed 15 year-old, to experience a tragedy in the story and linger in the gray area between wrong and right.  Up until then, I saw very few gray areas...and the ones I did see, I quickly contained and boxed it into a category of right or wrong.  This book really impacted me deeply.  It changed the way I had been taught to think by making me pause before assigning values and judgements.

I was taken aback when I returned to the novel this week and read the afterword only to find out that Morrison didn't think that this story worked.  She indicates that "many readers remain touched but not moved."  I've been reflecting on this distinction between being touched as something that makes you feel something versus being moved, which indicates motion or action in response to what it is that moved you.  In thinking in general about what touches me versus what actually provokes me to action, I've been thinking a lot about the stories that are being told about the Morganza spillway, which is only a few hours from my hometown.  

I totally understand the decision to do this, and it definitely seems like the best scenario among a host of bad scenarios.  One thing I keep coming back to, however, is how much of this story is being told through the rationale of this decision rather than telling the story of the people in Butte La Rose and why these communities matter.  It seems that when natural disasters like this happen, we immediately jump to the decision making process and questioning the process.  This is an important part of the story, but it isn't the whole story.  In this story, "success" will be determined by the governer, the army corps of engineers, mayors and other leaders making decisions that best serve their communities and fellow statesmen and women. 

And now, what about the other part of the story, the real reason WHY it matters that opening this spillway could be devastating?  It isn't the flooding itself, it isn't the sheer devastation and the loss of property.  The real story here that doesn't seem to be told widely is the story of those communities.  We keep hearing about the material loss that these people will suffer.  But what about the immaterial losses that will happen?  What about the communities that may be permanently dispersed and spread out like what happened after Katrina to never be fully put back together again?  A lot of Louisiana's culture revolves around storytelling rather than documented fact or preserved artifacts in archives. It's not enough to just tell the facts about a place, you have to know the story, like the lived story, not a documented unchanging one. 

It's part of how we know each other's Louisiana heritage -- by the myths that we know about our area that you only know through living there.  Things that aren't necessarily true, but it isn't not true either and it is a part of the place as much as the bayou and sugar cane fields.  Everybody in my hometown knows that you honk three times when you cross over the Ron Pon Pon bridge to alert the teens having sex underneath the bridge.  We also know that some lady who left her house in South Louisiana for the weekend came home to a whole house infested with snakes.  We don't know exactly where, but we know it is likely enough to be true that we continue to tell the story and are sure to take proper precautions when evacuating for hurricanes and whatnot so that the same thing doesn't happen to us.

So,  I'm back to my question of what touches me about what is happening in Louisiana right now...as I am in a conference in Arizona and will return to my adult home of Washington, DC soon...I couldn't feel further away from what is happening down there.  The news isn't helping me feel connected and talking to people while I'm not there just isn't the same since I'm not experiencing the same things they are.  I know that the media has lots of problems, biases, and profit-related interests that govern their decisions for how the news is presented. So, I'm not even going to go down that road right now.  I'm interested in the idea that as informed citizens, we feel informed through the facts even though the facts don't really tell us anything...especially about this particular situation down there.  And if we want to know more, how do we know what to ask?  What would we have to do differently and how would we have to think differently to enter into that space of a different kind of knowing?  What does it take for each of us to be moved by what is happening down there? 

It isn't simply a matter of co-opting the feelings of the people down there by expressing how you would feel if the same thing were happening in your hometown.  It removes the agency from a people who are already being stripped of a lot.  It doesn't honor the uniqueness of those communities and the list goes on about why that doesn't work out.  So, I'm wondering what it feels like to consider a much deeper transformation in my thinking and my interaction with news, facts, and what we consider knowledge at all.  In this instance, for example, how do I engage with my home state in a meaningful way that doesn't over intellectualize or over personalize a situation that I'm not currently a part of?

It also reminds me of one of my favorite songs by Peter Bjorn & John (and by the way, if anyone knows how to post an actual video to this and not just a link...pray do tell...I've been trying and can't make it happen): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5uOfj7ukjU.  This song seems to get to the heart of the matter...literally...how material things like letters and photos are no replacement for the immaterial emotion of stories and living truths. 

Death by Blister

So, we arrived at the rim of the Grand Canyon at about 7:30 PM on Thursday after travelling all day from DC to Phoenix and then, driving four hours to the canyon.  It was my first time hiking at night – EVER – and here I am, descending 4000 feet.  We took the Kaibab trail down and were guided by my friend’s friend who works at the Phantom Ranch.  I had successfully packed a light backpack.  My shoe choice was less successful…already within the first 15 minutes of the hike, I slipped and flew in the air and landed on my butt.  Uh oh…it was going to be a long night!

So, chacos are not advisable for the less-experienced hiker. I tried to break those shoes in, but nothing but the Grand Canyon could really toughen my feet to the 5.5 hour steep descent on a sand and gravel path.  Really, they could take some notes from China on the hiking path front ‘cause stone would be much better.  Anyway, I put on socks after the first ¼ of the mile and then, created a spiderwoman move in which I crouched and spread out my arms to keep balance going down.  Among some of the things I discovered on this trip, one of them was the complexity of my buttocks.  I felt sore in places that never occurred to me were made up of muscles! 

The worst of it though, was this enormous blister on the bottom of my foot.  Let me make this clear, we all had blisters – big ones.  But the problem with my blister was that it was on the bottom of my foot – right smack in the middle of the bottom of my foot next to where my arch flattens.  So, it was/is impossible to not walk on it.  And it hurts like hell.  So, I became a hobbling cliché down at the ranch as people kept making comments about annoying tourists who think they can get helicoptered out or hijack a mule because of blisters. 

I took it as an opportunity to enjoy the freezing cold water at the banks of the confluence of a creek and the Colorado River to numb my feet…lay in the sun…talk about cultural studies and Barbara Johnson...and drink Tecate, which really never tasted so delicious.  It was so wonderful!  Although, the relaxation of the sun and good company did not prevent me from being terrified of the hike up.  I responded that my stress level was at a 9 out of 10 before I went to bed Saturday night if that gives you any clue.

Luckily my friend’s friend wears the same size shoe as me and was amazingly generous by letting me wear her hiking shoes to hike up the canyon on Sunday.  We hiked up in 4.25 hours.  And it was actually fun!  It was hard, steep, and challenging…but it was FUN!  Luckily my heart is in a  lot better shape than my feet, so the cardio challenge of the ascent didn’t feel nearly as hard as the gripping, sliding, blistering descent. 

I finally uncovered this monster blister last night when I arrived in Flagstaff since I couldn’t understand why it wouldn’t heal after four days…and as I uncovered the skin, I discovered that it had birthed three other blisters inside of it.  Ouchee mama!  NO WONDER IT HURT SO BADLY!!!!  No one could explain it and everyone thought I was being a baby...even I thought that was possbile.  Like seriously, I really am suffering as I walk…even with padding, mole skin and an ace bandage protecting it.  In this moment, I’m really hoping my feet will heal somehow.

I did come up with a song to sing this wound to health, and it seemed to work the night before the hike out of the canyon since that was the best day the blister had.  Ready to sing with me?  Whoever remembers My Buddy & Kid Sister will remember the tune…just replace the words “My blister… My blister…  Wherever I go, he goes!  My blister.  My blister.  My blister and me!”

I know that no one ever died from a blister, but it sure is a morale killer.  I did survive, and I even enjoyed it!  And it wasn't as hard as the marathon I did in 2005...but next to that, it is the hardest physical activity I've ever done.  I'm also so glad to have experienced this truly awesome part of our national landscape and to have done so with an amazing friend who I celebrate 10 years of friendship with this year!

On my way to the Grand Canyon....

I’ve just landed in Phoenix and am waiting for my friend to arrive from Chicago (en route from Pittsburgh).  The plan is to hike down tonight so that we see an amazing – repeat, AMAZING – sunset tonight as we begin our descent.  Thanks to another friend, I have a headlamp for night hiking…something I’ve never done before, and now, in the freaking canyon.   I’m guessing it is like 4 hours down and two hours or so, we’ll have light and the rest will be by moonlight. 

It feels pretty exhilarating right now, I must say.  I’ve been under so much stress  already in 2011 that the 4.5 hour flight here from Baltimore to Phoenix gave me time to sleep and chill and read and listen to my favorite tunes…Spoon, Peter Bjorn & John, Lilly Allen…and I’m feeling pretty ready for this.  I broke in my chacos last weekend and the blisters have healed, so I’m hoping any future blistering is minimal.  My backpack is small and light and fits just enough for what I should need this weekend.

We are staying at the Phantom Ranch – the only place to stay overnight below the rim (that isn’t on-your-own camping, that is).   My friend’s friend manages the ranch, so she is hiking  in with us tonight and is going to be a great guide.  We’ve got some cheesy DC shot glasses and whiskey as our gifts for her and the staff.  I’ve got one of my favorite books ever, The Bluest Eye, for reading material since my summer school class, Toni Morrison’s love stories, totally rocks!  

I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to move tomorrow, but that’s okay because we aren’t leaving the canyon until Sunday.   Wish me luck out there!

Gotta pick on DC for a minute

In the landscape of big American cities, DC is the Steve Urkel.  Nerdy, and not in an ironic way.  Under the impression that one day the cooler big cities will recognize its coolness.  Thinks that by shedding the accessories of the utterly uncool it can transform itself into something it isn't: http://youtu.be/_XtgSewZ6x8

This crazy transformation back into Urkel looks a lot like a personification of the H Street corridor in NE DC.  Am I right?!   I've got my nerve picking on DC since I moved here with such conviction 7 years ago...and have tried to leave at least 3 times, but keep getting sucked back in because it's been too good to me in the form of awesome friends and community and letting me into graduate school when oh so many other places told me no.  I'm really grappling with the haunting notion that DC is my destiny.  I feel like Laura in that moment when she calls bullshit on Stefan Urquelle and wants Urkel to show his true colors...but not because she wants to fall in love with Urkel, only because she sees through Urquelle as a ridiculous ploy to win her love.  Frozen Yogurt was almost my Stefan Urquelle in DC.  But Fro Yo just isn't enough for me!  I need more!  

One of the many things that really gets to me here is illustrated by my Ward 1 councilman AND someone where I work.  Both flaunt bow ties as an acceptable and professional attire in the workplace.  This kind of ridiculousness only happens here in DC.  It wouldn't get under my skin except for the fact that this same person at work implemented a no denim rule, which is part of a longer full-page dress code.  Like, no denim EVER, not even on Fridays and not even in the form of a jacket.  I was born in 1980, how am I supposed to respond to that?!  I just got rid of 4 of my 5 jean skirts when I turned 30, but I still had to keep at least one for leg warmers concerts and cure v. smiths dance-offs!  And the jean jackets, oh no, don't get me started!  I mean, one is thick and one has cropped sleeves, I need them both, and yes, I need to be able to wear them on a weekday.  

Let me be fair -- I'm all for banning acid-washed or even stone-washed jeans in the workplace.  In fact, PLEASE let's make that a rule nation-wide so the fashion industry will stop trying to resurrect them.  But no dark-wash denim or jean jackets?  Newsflash: we aren't NYC or LA or even Chicago folks.  People wear scrunchies on the metro and tube socks with Reebok pumps over their flesh-colored pantyhose and skirt suits. We aren't fooling anybody by not wearing denim to work. The next thing I know, I'll be stripped of my right to wear anything sleeveless because of its unfortunate association with Richard Simmons.  I demand my rights!  I can't get congressional representation, and now this?

I have been doing my own little experiment under the radar.  I've been wearing jeggings with a long tunic top and developing my own little inside joke about how stupid the denim rule is since I'm wearing it frequently to the office and no one knows it.  SUCKERS!  Are they tights or are they jeans?  They seem too tight to be jeans but too thick to be tights...  I'll never tell!!!!!!!!  Yes, it makes me sound crazy.  I totally get that, I really do.  But that's the problem with DC. If you can't get like orgasmically excited about Tangy Sweet in every neighborhood, you can't thrive here...you might be able to survive if you like half smokes well enough, but even that indulgence leaves me with terrible tummy aches.  The bottom line is that this place is crazy, not me!  And I'm not the only one going crazy around here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTcNMWCVylM.  I mean crazy in a good way.  Because the alternative is not going crazy and being a-ok with this place.

So, I realize, this has been a post waiting to happen.  I obviously have a lot of rage built up about DC and its un-endearing idiosyncrasies.  I hesitate to even post this since I know so many of you love it here...or at least like it well enough.  I don't want to infect you with my baditude.  

Maybe it's just a 7 year itch, but I've had it for most of these 7 years...

Cinco de Mayo

Lots of people use Cinco de Mayo as a great excuse to meet up with friends for margaritas and Mexican food.  I've got nothing wrong with that.  But it does kinda seem like the fact that Cinco de Mayo is really an American tradition more than a Mexican tradition, we might take the opportunity to reflect on our interesting history and connection with Mexico as a borderland and the deeper inherent meaning of that relationship.  Gloria Anzaldua explains that "Borderlands are physically present wherever two or more cultures edge each other, where people of different races occupy the same territory, where under, lower, middle and upper classes touch, where the space between two individuals shrinks with intimacy."

As she points out, the borderland relationship is complex and demands a certain intimacy with one another purely because of location regardless of desire.  DC is an easy place to explore this relationship...especially through the arts since we actually have a pretty rich resource of Mexican culture and arts to be explored through the Mexican Culture Institute, Art Museum of the Americas, and other collections, like the National Museum of Women in the Arts' collection, which has Frida Kahlo's "Self-Portrait Dedicated to Leon Trotsky."  There are likely many others that I'm not aware of.

The Beyond the Labyrinth exhibit at the Mexican Culture Institute (located right near the intersection of Columbia Rd & 16th Street) looks like one of the coolest things happening around town in general right now.  It's too bad the institute's website is down, but I know from other sources that the exhibit features works by many well-known Mexican artists: Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, Jose Clemente Orozco, and Rufino Tamayo.  If you want to go, let me know.  I'll be planning to go before it closes on June 18th.  

The exhibit is named after Octavio Paz's book, The Labyrinth of Solitude.  Octavio Paz is someone you absolutely must read if you haven't already.  I'm happy to share one of his poems and would love to hear your reflections:

Entre irse y quedarse
by Octavio Paz 

Entre irse y quedarse dude el día,

enamorado de su transparencia.

 La tarde circular es ya bahía:
en su quieto vaivén se mece el mundo.
Todo es visible y todo es elusivo,
todo está cerca y todo es intocable.
Los papeles, el libro, el vaso, el lápiz
reposan a la sombra de sus nombres.
Latir del tiempo que en mi sien repite
la misma terca sílaba de sangre.
La luz hace del muro indiferente
un espectral teatro de reflejos.
En el centro de un ojo me descubro;
no me mira, me miro en su mirada.
Se disipa el instante. Sin moverme,
yo me quedo y me voy: soy una pausa.

Between Going and Staying

(translated by Eliot Weinberger)

Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can’t be touched.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause

Lost...and found

I know that many of you were major Lost fans, like me.  So you will understand what I mean.  When I woke up this morning, I felt a lot like Jack after the plane crash when he was laying flat on his back and the camera zoomed out from his eye to slowly show the magnitude of destruction and chaos. 

It hit me right away that it was pretty much a miracle that I was awake and coherent at all.  My head was pounding, my mouth was really dry, and I felt it difficult to roll over and check the time.  I hurriedly got dressed and was ready to patch over all of my ills and pull it together for work.  And that’s when I started to realize the magnitude of destruction that this semester has left in its wake.  

As I gathered my things to head out of the door, I couldn’t find my phone…anywhere.   Then, I remembered that I had to walk to Wonderland to pick up my car, and I got slightly lost.  Yes, in my own neighborhood.  I walked to 11^th and Park (which is where I kept telling people last night was Wonderland’s address), and was confused that the Wonderland wasn’t there, nor was my car.  I meandered down 11^th street chuckling to myself that I had made the same mistake that I made fun of other people for making last night.  Oh karma.  Luckily, I took notice of a car that looked just like mine on a street that was not the one I had left my car on.  I got closer and realized all of this paperwork on my windshield.  Apparently, my car was towed one block from its original location and an order for it to be towed and impounded had been placed on it.  I got in the car and drove far away from there to work since today was not fit weather-wise or otherwise for biking.

The kind of morning I had was honestly one of those that I thought I had left behind in my 20’s.  But alas, 30 apparently really is the new 20 in many ways.  Moderation has never been my strong suit, and I suppose six months on the dark side of youth is not enough for real transformation.

So, what are the lessons learned from this semester?  Well, for starters, I won’t be starting a new job and a new semester at the same time again.  I also won’t be taking a class with someone who thinks that using words like paradox is "proliferating terms instead of claims" (which is so ridiculous because paradox is a real word that means something and thus, I can use it and trust that it holds meaning rather than having to explain the definition because that's the whole beauty of words!). I am finding ways to stop letting my identity be defined through my work – both at school and at my job - since that only leads to sadness.  Finally, number one thing that I’ve learned this semester is that I need a team.  Without my amazing friends, family, colleagues, classmates, and professors, the destruction would have been far more severe...and I never would have found my phone.

Chef Geoff's at 8 p.m. tonight!

Tonight is the grand finale of the semester for me and most of my classmates.  So, how do we celebrate the end of the semester?  CHEF GEOFF'S!  Options are limited near AU, but they offer an all day happy hour on Tuesday nights that includes $3 pints and $8 supermugs of beer.  It would be great to see people, so consider coming out and enjoying a nice evening :)  Summer school starts on Monday, so take advantage of this limited-time offer for a stress-free night.

Come celebrate!

Five classes down...seven to go until I complete this Master's degree :)

That patriotic feeling

I don't often find myself feeling very patriotic. I would say that the times I feel it most are when I'm in consumer-mode...when I really feel the need for a venti coffee with an extra shot of espresso, and I'm tired and in a hurry, so I want to be able to get it at a drive through window...or when I appreciate the convenience of Target in my neighborhood where I can buy my toiletries and electronics and sometimes even food and clothes in the same place. I definitely do not feel patriotic when it comes to war and tax cuts for big businesses and the rich.

So, last night was an interesting moment in my patriotic life since I found myself flying into Reagan National airport at midnight...right as people were gathering at the White House cheering the killing of Osama Bin Laden. My friend who picked me up and I couldn't believe the news and wanted to check out the celebration near the White House. So, we headed down there and got to be part of something....

Now, the mix of emotions all around has got me thinking about my own reaction and conflicting and uncertain feelings...but it also, as does most things these days, makes me think about the emotions and how we come to value and understand them. I skimmed this presentation to get a feel for what is happening on the psychological level of how we are trying to combat and deal with terrorism: https://www.ihssnc.org/portals/0/Documents/VIMSDocuments/IHSS_Research%20Brief_Singer.pdf. I am acutely aware of the deep connection between an increase in emotional study in the aftermath of terrorism. Thus, the fact that this article is written and published by a Homeland Security contractor makes me put up my defenses because they obviously will want to prove something to win a contract. What interests me is how Homeland Security is thinking about this stuff...and I mean thinking about it in a way that will likely never make it into a more detailed article in the papers. Another thing that interests me is how much we don't know about the emotions...and how in matters of state and valuing human life, we turn only to science to understand the emotions when science simply continues to prove that it isn't capable of making consistent claims about the emotions. And here is where I would usually say that the humanities are a key part of understanding our world because it can provide the insights that science can't!

But I'm not on that particular soap box today. What I am on my soap box about is how our culture seems intent on keeping us in a non-reflective space through commercials that tell us simple things like what to eat and buy...and inadvertently tell us to avoid diet and exercise and decide we need a prescription drug for acid reflux (as one example) that can equally be combatted with improved health. The health of Americans causes far more deaths than terrorism.  Why are we more anxious about terrorism than we are about our health? And if we are going to be more anxious about the potential to die through terrorist activity than through our own poor health choices, then, why do we not take our critique of the government more seriously by resisting the temptation to indulge in partisan politics, which allows us to avoid the real issues?  Even the better newspapers seem to have an agenda and when they delve deep into issues they seem to stop right at the moment when they have a chance to bring you deeper into thought and reflection about what you are reading and instead, conclude the article with a thought that allows you to feel like you've learned something, not necessarily like you've learned something and feel a call to action to know more.

I mean, this article ends with the statement that more research in IET and TMT is needed...let's forget about us needing to know even what IET and TMT is for the moment. What is important to us as citizens is being aware of how these studies have an impact on us...basically, the report ends with a statement about how more research is needed to show what it is that will make retribution for terrorism a more acceptable and palatable response.  It concerns me to think of where this kind of study leads because it isn't a completely open dialogue with the public.  The public dialogue is hijacked by sensationalized media that devolves into partisan discussions and perpetuates ideologies rather than deeper thinking.

It brings me to the question of why so many of us Americans are anxious to question our government -- and I'm not talking about ridiculous bipartisan politics here, not at all that kind of questioning. I'm talking about the kind of deeper questioning that asks questions rooted in who we are as a nation beyond our politics....   I don't feel like i'm saying anything that many of you aren't already thinking about or even talking about, and so, I figured I would bring it to the forefront and put my thoughts out there.