I've been meaning to post "A Fire in My Belly," the video that was recently pulled from an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. (Unfortunately the library is blocking YouTube...go figure) I want to post it to show my support for the museum and artists everywhere who battle censorship. I also want to praise the Wexner Center for displaying the "banned" video that has certain stuffy lawmakers threatening the Smithsonian's funding.
It's not my place to explain the video or its relevance. I will say that these lawmakers and religious officials have fallen into one of the booby traps of contemporary art. You should never let yourself be fooled by the first glance, by one moment among many in an entire video loop, and fail to examine the issue that is the artist's true subject. So, Right Wing, you have been duped into a false sense of superiority and righteous indignation, when the indignation is truly and rightfully directed at you and all who ignore the suffering of others. You are the ants crawling around, ignorant of the importance of other issues.
So let the video make you feel revulsion and disgust, and then ask yourself "why do I feel this?" Don't stop watching, don't reply to me with religious damnation. Keep watching and think about the issues. Think about the analogy of Christ suffering amid intolerance and scorn to the suffering of millions of HIV and AIDS patients, also amid intolerance and scorn.
This video is not anti-religion or anti-Christian. It is, however, pro-human. Think about that.
27 December 2010
Keeping an eye on the enemy
I've had an epiphany while lamenting the presence of FoxNews on the television. Yes, Dad has been watching again. Let's see what I can come up with in response to the conservative hypocracy.
Of course I must declare that Ann Coulter has no soul.
I can sort of see how higher taxes and government spending for the unemployed and impoverished could seem unfair to the rich. But I think that Congressman talking about Christmas spirit (or in O'Reilly's opinion, "co-opting Jesus"), made a good point...especially during this season of giving, how can anybody ultimately reject the notion of helping those in need? Naturally the conservatives draw a line between private charity and government services, but really, both help put food on tables and presents in children's hands. Not to mention paying bills and mortgages and keeping people in their homes.
You can quote the Bible and interpret parables all you want (though FoxPeople don't see it as interpretation...), but it really comes down to being human. Can you really stand to see suffering in all its degrees: from skimping on gifts to unemployment to all-out homelessness...while you sit pretty on a mound of cash? Even conservative economists agree that money in the hands of the lower classes and unemployed is better spent than money in the hands of the rich (most likely eventually re-routed to foreign accounts...not creating jobs). Can you believe that Coutler and O'Reilly think money to the poor amounts to the taxpayers "buying" alcohol and drugs and financing illegitimate children? That in itself is a most un-Christian view of the poor.
Now I'm not saying that every unemployed person out there is a saint. But it's insensitive and classist and wrong to assume that everyone in a certain class are irresponsible and misguided. I was further incensed by the suggestion that people who are unemployed like me somehow deserve it. There are those who have given up...but those aren't the ones getting unemployment assistance are they? The poor didn't choose to be poor, Mr. O'Reilly.
I am, however, concerned that government assistance merely perpetuates the presence of extreme poverty among the ill-educated and under-served. As I write this I'm thinking of the film Precious...and its grim look at welfare and how it is used and abused. But really, I'm starting to doubt whether an education can really lift someone out of that kind of hole. Seeing as my education is worthless at this point.
Of course I must declare that Ann Coulter has no soul.
I can sort of see how higher taxes and government spending for the unemployed and impoverished could seem unfair to the rich. But I think that Congressman talking about Christmas spirit (or in O'Reilly's opinion, "co-opting Jesus"), made a good point...especially during this season of giving, how can anybody ultimately reject the notion of helping those in need? Naturally the conservatives draw a line between private charity and government services, but really, both help put food on tables and presents in children's hands. Not to mention paying bills and mortgages and keeping people in their homes.
You can quote the Bible and interpret parables all you want (though FoxPeople don't see it as interpretation...), but it really comes down to being human. Can you really stand to see suffering in all its degrees: from skimping on gifts to unemployment to all-out homelessness...while you sit pretty on a mound of cash? Even conservative economists agree that money in the hands of the lower classes and unemployed is better spent than money in the hands of the rich (most likely eventually re-routed to foreign accounts...not creating jobs). Can you believe that Coutler and O'Reilly think money to the poor amounts to the taxpayers "buying" alcohol and drugs and financing illegitimate children? That in itself is a most un-Christian view of the poor.
Now I'm not saying that every unemployed person out there is a saint. But it's insensitive and classist and wrong to assume that everyone in a certain class are irresponsible and misguided. I was further incensed by the suggestion that people who are unemployed like me somehow deserve it. There are those who have given up...but those aren't the ones getting unemployment assistance are they? The poor didn't choose to be poor, Mr. O'Reilly.
I am, however, concerned that government assistance merely perpetuates the presence of extreme poverty among the ill-educated and under-served. As I write this I'm thinking of the film Precious...and its grim look at welfare and how it is used and abused. But really, I'm starting to doubt whether an education can really lift someone out of that kind of hole. Seeing as my education is worthless at this point.
11 December 2010
bookish
Lately I've been stumbling through Museums in a Troubled World: Renewal, Irrelevance or Collapse? by Robert R. Janes. Of course the topic interests me because it has to do with my future/lack of career, and I've also been asking myself, if museums could be irrelevant, could I also be irrelevant? As a museum worker, that is. Now I haven't finished, because I've been distracted by rereading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, but I just had a thought...
Janes is from a more ethnological background; he's involved in museums of natural and cultural history, so there is no real mention of art museums specifically. But of course that doesn't mean the two types of institution aren't suffering from the same entropy. And I've been questioning my own understanding of contemporary art anyway, after years of reading job descriptions that ask for a "deep understanding of contemporary art." My latest conclusion is that I don't know a damn thing, despite all the education and gallery-hopping. My problem with contemporary art is not just that it always seems so inaccessible to the general public (and it is beyond difficult to coax this same general public into viewing contemporary art as anything but foreign), but that it doesn't have the same historical value (as Riegl would put it) as the objects in an anthropological or archaeological exhibit. Humans have been making art for a while now, yet the oldest of the old once served a purpose other than expression. Caveat: that is what scholars have surmised. If indeed the paintings at Lascaux were pure expression and had nothing to do with hunting prowess or ritual, then it's all good. No argument here. However, the dominant wisdom points to ritual purposes, the precursors of religion, if you will. Up through art history, art has served as a devotional tool, a civic unifier, and a commercial venture. That's why any talk of self-expression seems flat to me. If contemporary art has no ritualistic background, no purpose other than the proverbial "art for art's sake," then I have trouble seeing it (as a whole) as the visual products of a culture. I often wonder if museums in the next few centuries will group our art geographically, chronologically, or otherwise. Would it make sense to them?
And now as I read through, none of this makes sense.
Janes is from a more ethnological background; he's involved in museums of natural and cultural history, so there is no real mention of art museums specifically. But of course that doesn't mean the two types of institution aren't suffering from the same entropy. And I've been questioning my own understanding of contemporary art anyway, after years of reading job descriptions that ask for a "deep understanding of contemporary art." My latest conclusion is that I don't know a damn thing, despite all the education and gallery-hopping. My problem with contemporary art is not just that it always seems so inaccessible to the general public (and it is beyond difficult to coax this same general public into viewing contemporary art as anything but foreign), but that it doesn't have the same historical value (as Riegl would put it) as the objects in an anthropological or archaeological exhibit. Humans have been making art for a while now, yet the oldest of the old once served a purpose other than expression. Caveat: that is what scholars have surmised. If indeed the paintings at Lascaux were pure expression and had nothing to do with hunting prowess or ritual, then it's all good. No argument here. However, the dominant wisdom points to ritual purposes, the precursors of religion, if you will. Up through art history, art has served as a devotional tool, a civic unifier, and a commercial venture. That's why any talk of self-expression seems flat to me. If contemporary art has no ritualistic background, no purpose other than the proverbial "art for art's sake," then I have trouble seeing it (as a whole) as the visual products of a culture. I often wonder if museums in the next few centuries will group our art geographically, chronologically, or otherwise. Would it make sense to them?
And now as I read through, none of this makes sense.
21 November 2010
there's a name for it
Despite past attempts to google "unilateral edema," I only now have the name of a fairly rare syndrome that has been bothering me for a decade: May-Thurner Syndrome. This latest epiphany comes after paying a vascular specialist $35 to take a 2-second look at my leg and call up her colleague on her snazzy iPhone 4.
Now I have thought previously that I had the definitive answers and treatment would commence, but those were false idols, apparently. I guess the tendonosis (yes it's a word despite Google Chrome's protests), and lymphedema are only part of the story.
So to explain it briefly, my left iliac vein (vena cava...vein coming up from my left leg) has been compressed by my naughty little artery that passes over it and slightly to the left. The vein walls narrow, blood flows less freely and swelling ensues. There you have it.
Treatment is up for discussion, considering I have been told that I'm too young for the invasive stuff (with a hint of "with all the old people out there suffering from fatal conditions, why are you complaining?"), and I really don't know the full consequences just yet. What my reading thus far has taught me is that I am just the right age and gender to be afflicted with such a syndrome. It presents predominantly in women in their teens to twenties, and is possibly congenital. So take that, old people, you aren't the only ones with problems!
Now the next step is to decide how vocal I want to be about all this. Do I tell my whole family, considering the risk of clotting? Do I risk them not taking it seriously enough, or worse, freaking out like a bunch of Chicken Littles? Just when do I get to make my sister feel guilty for calling this actual affliction my "fat foot"?
I do feel mismanaged by all the doctors I've ever seen. Except Dr. Daou (so far...). I tried to express this to the specialist, and her response was, "Well, no one ever gave this diagnosis because they aren't specialists." That besides the point. What I want to know is why no doctor has ever sent me to her before. Ten years. Really?! Everything I'm reading now states that at the top of the differential for unilateral (one-sided) swelling is DVT, deep vein thrombosis (clots). And right below that...May-Thurner! So let's break it down: back when the swelling first presented, no one took me to the doctor. First betrayal of a child's trust in her grown-ups. Then when I take matters into my own hands, the doctor scans my ankle but does not check for clots. Not until 2010 is an ultrasound of both legs performed that rules out clotting. But no one took that next step. Blame it on a succession of substitute doctors (Daou was out of town) but either way...they are supposed to do their jobs. Now, finally, I have an actual diagnosis.
So, what's stopping me from believing that doctors don't bother reading new papers and journals to update their differentials and help the people who trust them? Seems to me healthcare "reform" could go a lot further.
But don't forget, no matter how young you are, be your own advocate! I had my parents and doctors etc. yelling and griping and throwing up their hands in frustration, but I've got my diagnosis now. Healthcare is for everyone, not just the older generations who for the most part have been irresponsible with their own bodies (Dad, for one, has never sought treatment for his tinnitus and continues to work with heavy machinery). No young girl should ever feel like I used to feel.
Now I have thought previously that I had the definitive answers and treatment would commence, but those were false idols, apparently. I guess the tendonosis (yes it's a word despite Google Chrome's protests), and lymphedema are only part of the story.
So to explain it briefly, my left iliac vein (vena cava...vein coming up from my left leg) has been compressed by my naughty little artery that passes over it and slightly to the left. The vein walls narrow, blood flows less freely and swelling ensues. There you have it.
Treatment is up for discussion, considering I have been told that I'm too young for the invasive stuff (with a hint of "with all the old people out there suffering from fatal conditions, why are you complaining?"), and I really don't know the full consequences just yet. What my reading thus far has taught me is that I am just the right age and gender to be afflicted with such a syndrome. It presents predominantly in women in their teens to twenties, and is possibly congenital. So take that, old people, you aren't the only ones with problems!
Now the next step is to decide how vocal I want to be about all this. Do I tell my whole family, considering the risk of clotting? Do I risk them not taking it seriously enough, or worse, freaking out like a bunch of Chicken Littles? Just when do I get to make my sister feel guilty for calling this actual affliction my "fat foot"?
I do feel mismanaged by all the doctors I've ever seen. Except Dr. Daou (so far...). I tried to express this to the specialist, and her response was, "Well, no one ever gave this diagnosis because they aren't specialists." That besides the point. What I want to know is why no doctor has ever sent me to her before. Ten years. Really?! Everything I'm reading now states that at the top of the differential for unilateral (one-sided) swelling is DVT, deep vein thrombosis (clots). And right below that...May-Thurner! So let's break it down: back when the swelling first presented, no one took me to the doctor. First betrayal of a child's trust in her grown-ups. Then when I take matters into my own hands, the doctor scans my ankle but does not check for clots. Not until 2010 is an ultrasound of both legs performed that rules out clotting. But no one took that next step. Blame it on a succession of substitute doctors (Daou was out of town) but either way...they are supposed to do their jobs. Now, finally, I have an actual diagnosis.
So, what's stopping me from believing that doctors don't bother reading new papers and journals to update their differentials and help the people who trust them? Seems to me healthcare "reform" could go a lot further.
But don't forget, no matter how young you are, be your own advocate! I had my parents and doctors etc. yelling and griping and throwing up their hands in frustration, but I've got my diagnosis now. Healthcare is for everyone, not just the older generations who for the most part have been irresponsible with their own bodies (Dad, for one, has never sought treatment for his tinnitus and continues to work with heavy machinery). No young girl should ever feel like I used to feel.
16 November 2010
regret
I always feel the need to repeat to myself a list of facts that prove I once lived a purposeful life in New York.
1. Yoga with Anastasia (Anna-sta-See-a). Just now a Radiohead song was playing that reminded me of her unorthodox playlists..."Motion Picture Soundtrack" from Kid A. I'll just skip over the part about a classmate blatantly running away from me when I turned to say hi at the end of a session.
2. Rehabilitation for my broken foot. While cleaning up a pile of old papers I found the guidelines for exercises as well as receipts for sessions. Not far from the Mandarin where the Twilight guy said he stayed while in town.
3...I can only think of two right now. But they prove I once had a very different life.
1. Yoga with Anastasia (Anna-sta-See-a). Just now a Radiohead song was playing that reminded me of her unorthodox playlists..."Motion Picture Soundtrack" from Kid A. I'll just skip over the part about a classmate blatantly running away from me when I turned to say hi at the end of a session.
2. Rehabilitation for my broken foot. While cleaning up a pile of old papers I found the guidelines for exercises as well as receipts for sessions. Not far from the Mandarin where the Twilight guy said he stayed while in town.
3...I can only think of two right now. But they prove I once had a very different life.
26 October 2010
bookshelf
Lately I’ve been reading some old books from the old bookshelf. Now, part of me knows this is yet another distraction from the real task at hand…and yes, it is definitely escapism. But it is an escape to a simpler time, when I was ten years old and cared about nothing but spelling tests and art projects.
I wrote about my bookshelf for a scholarship application my senior year. I don’t remember the prompt, but my point was how books, no matter how childish, stick with you. You can scan your bookshelf to remind yourself of who you are, what you do and what you want. Of course, it can also go the other way…you can buy books of a certain style or genre, and, whether you actually read them or not, project a false sense of who you are for friends and acquaintances all for the purpose of esteem. Not many people have seen my bookshelf, so I’d like to think it is more honest than that.
Really, I should say “book shelves,” because my collection has spilled over with additions from architecture, art, and history.
So I’m re-reading The Dark is Rising sequence by Susan Cooper, an old favorite that weaves together Celtic and English mythology into a little twentieth century saga. It gives extra pleasure now, since I can read them much more quickly and get to the good parts. A short cut to that feeling of accomplishment when you reach the end of a book. A feeling I haven’t felt lately, except when clearing the sink of dirty dishes or something else mundane.
education
I have yet to watch the documentary Waiting for Superman—and I might not even watch it—but I’m already filled with dread and disappointment about America’s academic standing. All from the news coverage the movie is getting. Especially that clip that talks about American kids being the most confident, even while they are in the lower percentiles in math and science. Yikes. One thing I haven’t heard from any commentators, however, is any self-reflection. We are all products of this American educational system, aren’t we? Shouldn’t we be asking ourselves, am I as unprepared and under-educated as these children are?
I also have to wonder, am I as overly confident as they are? I’m not sure how to describe the mindset that comes about from years of straight As and academic praise. Confident doesn’t quite describe me back at the turn of the century. And it certainly doesn’t describe me now.
Also reflecting on my experiences as a substitute teacher in public schools, and my observation of nieces, I get the sense that too much attention is paid to teachers. They have to do better. We have to reward the good ones and get rid of the bad ones. And so on, and so forth. Maybe so…but what about the parents? The American confidence comes not only from schools rewarding mediocrity, but also from parents who believe that their children can do no wrong, and raise their children accordingly. If anything is wrong, it must be the other kids, or the teacher, or the other parents.
This all brings up another issue of my irrational fear of teachers, which I should write about later.
I know that Big Bird sang “Everybody makes mistakes,” but he didn’t sing “You’re so good you don’t have to try.” Too much focus is put on raising future professional athletes and American Idols and beauty queens these days. Like parenting is this gamble, where the winning hand is some innate talent that will set your child (and you) up for life. Yes, that’s a generalization, but I’d like to see more fostering of creativity and ingenuity, both things that can help in those fields of math and science that are giving Americans so much trouble.
Where are the Ms. Shearers of this world who taught me to “roll with the punches”? I could use her now, because I’ve been punching myself for an entire year without any rolling. Despite my public schooling, I can do better. I should do better.
18 October 2010
class warfare
I'm sick of rich people complaining. And if that is a prejudicial statement (which it most definitely is...), then I'm not sorry. Every newsanchor and pundit out there screaming about class warfare is doing so merely because they belong to the Haves, not the Have Nots, and want to remain in that category.
Of course these categories are not so easy to define. In terms of having a roof over my head and transportation and food and clothing, I am a Have. In terms of a career and investments and retirement, I am certainly a Have Not. I've been feeling more and more like a Have Not lately in political and social terms.
Family is that network in which Have versus Have Not should not matter. Or so I believed, naïvely. Last summer, a portion of my family went on a beach vacation. Those who did not go had various reasons for sticking around Ohio. A newborn baby, farm work, and lack of funds. Guess what my reason was. While I did not care very much about the first time, I am changing my mind now. Namely because of something my sister said. She announced that it was time to plan the next "family" beach vacation, on some island off the coast of North Carolina, in a house with too many amenities. She estimated $1000 per couple. First...we aren't all couples. Second...who the hell can afford $1000 for a week at the beach?! I told her that I can't really afford that. What could I afford, she asked. Well, honestly...nothing. Everything I earn goes toward health insurance and loan payments. And I'm not earning much these days as a substitute teacher. Here's her response:
"Then you aren't coming."
Wow. Talk about familial love. Not. I've been trying to figure out her inexplicable transition from lower middle class farm girl to uppity bitch for many years now. I've got no explanation.
Here's what I want to know...why did the rest of the family not rebuke her?! #1, we're still in a recession, no matter what economists say. #2, we aren't a rich family, so why are they acting like they deserve to spend a week lying on cushions while slaves feed them grapes? #3, is it still a "family" vacation when one family member is so unceremoniously prohibited from attending? One disclaimer: my dad did say he could pay part of my way. But that doesn't really help. Why? Because I want to be independent. I don't think he realizes that.
I don't think any of them realize how badly I want to be independent. I want my own home, my own car, my own salary. I want all that investment and 401k crap. But I cannot seem to get started in this "job market" or lack thereof. I don't think any of them realize what I gave up when I moved back to the farm. I had Manhattan. I'm starting to think I'd be better off impoverished in the Big Apple than on my family's dole. At least I'd be independent and free from that sister's selfishness.
So now I'm faced with a decision. Do I go on vacation, or not? Now I don't want to create the illusion that I don't pay for anything at all entertaining or self-indulgent. I have plans to go to the rally in DC with my man, I've bought "interview" clothes (...I guess I was overly optimistic that day), and today I bought ice cream and Chipotle. But do I want to be trapped on an island with people who don't really understand me? Who apparently don't even care about me and my situation? You'd think that they'd have some modicum of empathy at least on a very basic, biological level. Nope. As I right and drum up the rage that I felt Saturday night, I'm thinking I already made my decision. If Rachel can boycott Chipotle and McDonald's for ideological reasons, than I can boycott the self-entitled "family" vacation that has brought class warfare into the confines of my familial relationships (that are, I believed, supposed to be safe and comforting, not critical and damning). I cannot in good conscience spend hundreds of dollars to go to the beach with people who drive luxury vehicles and whine about their retirements while there are people starving...starving for work, food, and financial independence.
I may vote for a Republican or two on the local level. That's just how it goes in Ohio. And this is not to say that Democrats are not Haves...they most certainly are...but they seem to care, even with all the economic troubles, about the Have Nots more than Republicans ever could. That's why I get a sick, twisting feeling in my stomach when I hear and read "class warfare," "regular folks," "entrepreneurs," and all the other conservative (and upper class white) spoutings these days.
I am a Have Not, and though I may not always be one, I'll never forget how it feels to search for understanding from the ones who are biologically inclined to provide it, and come up with nothing.
Of course these categories are not so easy to define. In terms of having a roof over my head and transportation and food and clothing, I am a Have. In terms of a career and investments and retirement, I am certainly a Have Not. I've been feeling more and more like a Have Not lately in political and social terms.
Family is that network in which Have versus Have Not should not matter. Or so I believed, naïvely. Last summer, a portion of my family went on a beach vacation. Those who did not go had various reasons for sticking around Ohio. A newborn baby, farm work, and lack of funds. Guess what my reason was. While I did not care very much about the first time, I am changing my mind now. Namely because of something my sister said. She announced that it was time to plan the next "family" beach vacation, on some island off the coast of North Carolina, in a house with too many amenities. She estimated $1000 per couple. First...we aren't all couples. Second...who the hell can afford $1000 for a week at the beach?! I told her that I can't really afford that. What could I afford, she asked. Well, honestly...nothing. Everything I earn goes toward health insurance and loan payments. And I'm not earning much these days as a substitute teacher. Here's her response:
"Then you aren't coming."
Wow. Talk about familial love. Not. I've been trying to figure out her inexplicable transition from lower middle class farm girl to uppity bitch for many years now. I've got no explanation.
Here's what I want to know...why did the rest of the family not rebuke her?! #1, we're still in a recession, no matter what economists say. #2, we aren't a rich family, so why are they acting like they deserve to spend a week lying on cushions while slaves feed them grapes? #3, is it still a "family" vacation when one family member is so unceremoniously prohibited from attending? One disclaimer: my dad did say he could pay part of my way. But that doesn't really help. Why? Because I want to be independent. I don't think he realizes that.
I don't think any of them realize how badly I want to be independent. I want my own home, my own car, my own salary. I want all that investment and 401k crap. But I cannot seem to get started in this "job market" or lack thereof. I don't think any of them realize what I gave up when I moved back to the farm. I had Manhattan. I'm starting to think I'd be better off impoverished in the Big Apple than on my family's dole. At least I'd be independent and free from that sister's selfishness.
So now I'm faced with a decision. Do I go on vacation, or not? Now I don't want to create the illusion that I don't pay for anything at all entertaining or self-indulgent. I have plans to go to the rally in DC with my man, I've bought "interview" clothes (...I guess I was overly optimistic that day), and today I bought ice cream and Chipotle. But do I want to be trapped on an island with people who don't really understand me? Who apparently don't even care about me and my situation? You'd think that they'd have some modicum of empathy at least on a very basic, biological level. Nope. As I right and drum up the rage that I felt Saturday night, I'm thinking I already made my decision. If Rachel can boycott Chipotle and McDonald's for ideological reasons, than I can boycott the self-entitled "family" vacation that has brought class warfare into the confines of my familial relationships (that are, I believed, supposed to be safe and comforting, not critical and damning). I cannot in good conscience spend hundreds of dollars to go to the beach with people who drive luxury vehicles and whine about their retirements while there are people starving...starving for work, food, and financial independence.
I may vote for a Republican or two on the local level. That's just how it goes in Ohio. And this is not to say that Democrats are not Haves...they most certainly are...but they seem to care, even with all the economic troubles, about the Have Nots more than Republicans ever could. That's why I get a sick, twisting feeling in my stomach when I hear and read "class warfare," "regular folks," "entrepreneurs," and all the other conservative (and upper class white) spoutings these days.
I am a Have Not, and though I may not always be one, I'll never forget how it feels to search for understanding from the ones who are biologically inclined to provide it, and come up with nothing.
11 October 2010
stirring up dust
While clearing the old book shelves for my latest painting project, I had to stuff a lot of books in a box and gently place glass trinkets aside. I also happened across two journals of mine, my travel journal and my diary. Reading my travel journal reminded me of how optimistic I was, that I would one day fill it with adventures all over the globe. Reading my diary brought up the old debate about what should go on the blog and what should stay private. I think I've drawn a good solid line between the two...
I was thinking the other day about how I might categorize my blog. Now, I have no delusions of grandeur that some day thousands of readers will check my blog for my latest wisdom. But it was an interesting thought nonetheless. I often write about jobs these days, since it weighs so heavily on me. Occasionally some politics, though I think the market for political bloggers (whether liberal or conservative) is rather overcrowded. Maybe I should write more explicitly about art, since I'm supposedly well-educated on the subject. I share other little tidbits that might be little mini-echoes of that Julie & Julia movie, when I chronicle the trials and tribulations of Grandma's pickle recipe or using a sewing machine for the first time in fifteen years.
But really, all the little projects around the house--painting, cleaning, baking--all are distractions from my real work...that stupid thesis that haunts the quiet hours before I fall asleep. I really did bite off more than I could chew. Was a fabulous two years in Manhattan with fabulous people worth this blunder? It always comes back to that.
I was thinking the other day about how I might categorize my blog. Now, I have no delusions of grandeur that some day thousands of readers will check my blog for my latest wisdom. But it was an interesting thought nonetheless. I often write about jobs these days, since it weighs so heavily on me. Occasionally some politics, though I think the market for political bloggers (whether liberal or conservative) is rather overcrowded. Maybe I should write more explicitly about art, since I'm supposedly well-educated on the subject. I share other little tidbits that might be little mini-echoes of that Julie & Julia movie, when I chronicle the trials and tribulations of Grandma's pickle recipe or using a sewing machine for the first time in fifteen years.
But really, all the little projects around the house--painting, cleaning, baking--all are distractions from my real work...that stupid thesis that haunts the quiet hours before I fall asleep. I really did bite off more than I could chew. Was a fabulous two years in Manhattan with fabulous people worth this blunder? It always comes back to that.
05 October 2010
last week or thereabouts
I’m sitting in my 90 year old grandmother’s living room tonight, watching and waiting for any sign she’s having trouble walking or otherwise getting around. It’s not out of the ordinary for someone her age to be achy, or to require a walker, yet we’re all wondering what tomorrow’s tests and scans will reveal. Her pain medication might make her more unsteady than usual; therefore I am having this impromptu sleepover.
Now the young and restless voice in my head is telling me I am too young for these worries and responsibilities, yet who else can do it? In the other house there is a 6 month old, and Dad isn’t much of a nurse. But still, here I am, highly educated and desperately wanting to see the world, and I’m stuck in a living room. Naturally my thoughts drift to my mother, whose expertise would be most welcome in a time such as this. It still grates on me that the loss of my mother requires further loss, in terms of sacrifice. A heightened sense of responsibility toward my family, and thus the surrender (or just postponement, I hope) of global dreams.
The closest we have to a medical expert in the family now is a veterinarian…not that her presence isn’t of any comfort, but Mom’s quiet authority was quite a luxury, looking back on it. Prescriptions and scans and exams were not so incoherent. Prognosis was not so scary. And with just a few words she could put to rest the inevitable negativity and fear that Dad has running through his head right now. While my sister and I are thinking short term: monitor Grandma’s reaction to the pain medication and get her ready for her CT in the morning; Dad is leaping ahead: power of attorney and hospital stays and dampened spirits at the upcoming birthday celebration.
The quiet right now, punctuated by my grandmother’s big clock and the shuffling of pages of her book, is rather disquieting. I’m not exactly sure how worried to be. It’s been a while since I have been this close to the medical goings on of a family member. With Mom, it was brutally sudden, and with Grandpa, it was quiet and expected. Not since Grandma Elliott have I had to play prescription courier or anything like that. That was seven years ago.
I was just thinking the other day, how it feels that I’ve accomplished so little in this decade. With only a few months remaining…will I make up for it?
23 September 2010
history is written by...
After a short History Channel documentary about Juan Ponce de Leon, and learning all the inaccuracies of my 8th Grade Social Studies class, I wonder just how many other facts passed on to students by teachers and textbooks just aren't quite factual. Like dumbing down photosynthesis until it really isn't correctly described, or how we don't really subtract, we add with negative numbers. As a substitute teacher, I ran across several examples where simplification runs that fine line between truth and fallacy. But is there any other way? We can't exactly teach O-Chem to 10-year-olds.
To top it all off, Texas school boards are pushing toward a "conservative" history that makes a euphemism of slavery and what all. Don't even get me started on Creationism. And being so big and numerous, and in proximity to publishers, Texas schools have a big say in what national publishers publish. Scary.
This is what happens when we take history out of the able hands of historians and science away from the scientists.
Deborah Lindsay, at First Community Church, made a superb plea for tolerance and peace that is now all over the internet. And one point she made is valid here: it is not right to exalt one faith above all others at the expense of others. Here I would argue to include "at the expense of education." Support your faith, yes, but make it govern a whole society? Nope. That's theocracy, not democracy. Ben and Tom would hate that. (And here I mean Franklin and Jefferson, two founding fathers).
My latest task is to outline a chart for my dad making explicit the education and background of the founding fathers that Tea Partiers and Conservatives alike so love to invoke. I find it funny that the same FoxNews blondes who mock Cambridge, Massachusetts, for its educational elite worship founding fathers who are...gasp...Harvard educated.
I'm not so radical that I demand "history" henceforth be called "herstory," like some feminists who have no understanding of etymology, but I do yearn for the day that history is written by objective scholars, not the subjective and partisan few.
To top it all off, Texas school boards are pushing toward a "conservative" history that makes a euphemism of slavery and what all. Don't even get me started on Creationism. And being so big and numerous, and in proximity to publishers, Texas schools have a big say in what national publishers publish. Scary.
This is what happens when we take history out of the able hands of historians and science away from the scientists.
Deborah Lindsay, at First Community Church, made a superb plea for tolerance and peace that is now all over the internet. And one point she made is valid here: it is not right to exalt one faith above all others at the expense of others. Here I would argue to include "at the expense of education." Support your faith, yes, but make it govern a whole society? Nope. That's theocracy, not democracy. Ben and Tom would hate that. (And here I mean Franklin and Jefferson, two founding fathers).
My latest task is to outline a chart for my dad making explicit the education and background of the founding fathers that Tea Partiers and Conservatives alike so love to invoke. I find it funny that the same FoxNews blondes who mock Cambridge, Massachusetts, for its educational elite worship founding fathers who are...gasp...Harvard educated.
I'm not so radical that I demand "history" henceforth be called "herstory," like some feminists who have no understanding of etymology, but I do yearn for the day that history is written by objective scholars, not the subjective and partisan few.
16 September 2010
add some spice
I'm in love...with Market District spices from Giant Eagle. Too bad there aren't any Giant Eagles in my area. On top of the bottles being cute, they are relatively inexpensive. I now have to fight the urge to purge my spice collection for the sake of replacing it with MD spices.
On the other hand, I have to wonder where the MD brand came from. It's a store brand, but unlike the value or Giant Eagle products, it is obviously marketed toward the alternative, foody crowd. Should I be concerned that I am taking part in a marketing scheme? The spices aren't technically organic, and being spices, a lot of them cannot be locally grown. So what is the benefit?
Cute bottles.
They also have a variety of white teas. Yay.
On the other hand, I have to wonder where the MD brand came from. It's a store brand, but unlike the value or Giant Eagle products, it is obviously marketed toward the alternative, foody crowd. Should I be concerned that I am taking part in a marketing scheme? The spices aren't technically organic, and being spices, a lot of them cannot be locally grown. So what is the benefit?
Cute bottles.
They also have a variety of white teas. Yay.
01 September 2010
animal welfare
Part of wrapping up my time at the museum is finishing the book I borrowed from my coworker: The Omnivore's Dilemma. After hearing about it, and considering who I borrowed it from, I was worried it would be a vegan manifesto. Hardly. Well, I'm sure some people have interpreted it that way, which is a shame. It's a well-thought, well-written collection of essays, really, with anthropological, ecological and political significance.
The author, Mr. Pollan, really dug in deep to figure out where his food comes from. I don't see how anyone could truely look at that complicated web of resources without some journalistic integrity and objectivity. Sprinkled in, though, there were some subjective moments that bothered me. It's his book, his prerogative. But I don't think, even on large corporate farms, that dairy cattle are "tethered" to machines 24/7. The milking process takes only minutes. Of course, the farm I grew up on is wildly different from the larger farms of today. Maybe there are some who keep the cows tied to the milkers...though I can think of no reason other than corporate ignorance. It bothered me because it's a long-standing misconception that the author only hinted at in a brief phrase. Dairy was not part of the larger discussion, like meat was. Placating me was his assertive conclusion that there are "good farms," mostly family-owned, which I can only hope include my family's. He spent a lot of time with farmers, discussing the market, subsidies, and their work in general. He concludes that consumers need to know their farmers and producers. Righto.
I'm not sure how much time he spent with sheep, though, since he wrote about a ewe's "udders." Another misconception, like the "only bulls have horns" thing. If you have one ewe or one cow, you have one udder. Not plural. What is plural are the teats on the udder. It may seem trivial to some, but it's yet another example of the public's lack of knowledge. And in some cases, their lack of desire to unlearn these silly things and listen to someone who knows.
The "udders" came along in the discussion of animal rights. He was refreshingly honest and rational about it all. Weighing pros and cons, responding step-by-step to a major animal rights writer's arguments. These arguments were read, apparently, while Pollan enjoyed a steak. Nice. He tried vegetarian. Also nice. What I found the most enlightening was his conclusion that those who do not eat meat or animal products are in some ways even more disconnected from nature than the majority of the population that forages in the supermarket. 1. There's biology. The shape of our teeth, the movement of our jaws, and the ability of our digestive systems to process protein found only in meat. 2. There's ecology. The benefit of eating rumenants like cows and sheep that process the main energy sources of certain landscapes (i.e. New England) that do not yield vegetables that we can eat. If we were all vegan, we'd have to abandon a large amount of the planet and live in very specific locations. 3. There's morality. Or rather, the clash of it. Some animal rights thinkers go so far as to assert that a lion eating an antelope is evil. Really? Evil? Those particular thinkers are in fact dislocated from a natural order that has governed this planet for millenia. Sure, the lack of raping and pillaging is a plus. But killing, even when all you eat is vegetables, is inevitable.
I was happy to read that my own position is not in conflict with the author's. There's so much more I could type here, like the humor injected into discussions of farmers and debt and family legacy. He supports agriculture, not agribusiness. So amusing and appreciated. I hope there are more people out there who take this book and its discussions not as a source for buzz words like "monoculture" or "organic." If we do make big changes to our food supply, people will suffer, at least financially, and it will require a major cultural shift. So I'll leave it to the big authors to sort it all out.
The author, Mr. Pollan, really dug in deep to figure out where his food comes from. I don't see how anyone could truely look at that complicated web of resources without some journalistic integrity and objectivity. Sprinkled in, though, there were some subjective moments that bothered me. It's his book, his prerogative. But I don't think, even on large corporate farms, that dairy cattle are "tethered" to machines 24/7. The milking process takes only minutes. Of course, the farm I grew up on is wildly different from the larger farms of today. Maybe there are some who keep the cows tied to the milkers...though I can think of no reason other than corporate ignorance. It bothered me because it's a long-standing misconception that the author only hinted at in a brief phrase. Dairy was not part of the larger discussion, like meat was. Placating me was his assertive conclusion that there are "good farms," mostly family-owned, which I can only hope include my family's. He spent a lot of time with farmers, discussing the market, subsidies, and their work in general. He concludes that consumers need to know their farmers and producers. Righto.
I'm not sure how much time he spent with sheep, though, since he wrote about a ewe's "udders." Another misconception, like the "only bulls have horns" thing. If you have one ewe or one cow, you have one udder. Not plural. What is plural are the teats on the udder. It may seem trivial to some, but it's yet another example of the public's lack of knowledge. And in some cases, their lack of desire to unlearn these silly things and listen to someone who knows.
The "udders" came along in the discussion of animal rights. He was refreshingly honest and rational about it all. Weighing pros and cons, responding step-by-step to a major animal rights writer's arguments. These arguments were read, apparently, while Pollan enjoyed a steak. Nice. He tried vegetarian. Also nice. What I found the most enlightening was his conclusion that those who do not eat meat or animal products are in some ways even more disconnected from nature than the majority of the population that forages in the supermarket. 1. There's biology. The shape of our teeth, the movement of our jaws, and the ability of our digestive systems to process protein found only in meat. 2. There's ecology. The benefit of eating rumenants like cows and sheep that process the main energy sources of certain landscapes (i.e. New England) that do not yield vegetables that we can eat. If we were all vegan, we'd have to abandon a large amount of the planet and live in very specific locations. 3. There's morality. Or rather, the clash of it. Some animal rights thinkers go so far as to assert that a lion eating an antelope is evil. Really? Evil? Those particular thinkers are in fact dislocated from a natural order that has governed this planet for millenia. Sure, the lack of raping and pillaging is a plus. But killing, even when all you eat is vegetables, is inevitable.
I was happy to read that my own position is not in conflict with the author's. There's so much more I could type here, like the humor injected into discussions of farmers and debt and family legacy. He supports agriculture, not agribusiness. So amusing and appreciated. I hope there are more people out there who take this book and its discussions not as a source for buzz words like "monoculture" or "organic." If we do make big changes to our food supply, people will suffer, at least financially, and it will require a major cultural shift. So I'll leave it to the big authors to sort it all out.
loose ends
I knew this would happen...I'm mentally balking at the notion of sending my resume to New York places because I feel that New York is out of my league. That's what a year in Ohio does to you.
I really need to bite the bullet and call the places I've already sent to, so at least I'll know they've dragged and dropped my resume into their computer's recycle bin. It really stings. As it did before. And it's harder now to search for jobs, not because there are no openings, but because I feel I am not qualified for the openings. Because I took that worthless internship my second year. Because I'm on academic leave. Because I'm here in Podunk, Ohio. I cannot bring myself to lie or pad my resume. And quite frankly...does it really need padding? What else can I do but write an honest letter and let my skills speak for themselves? A clever turn of phrase, in moderation, maybe, is all I used to need to impress a potential employer.
Sometimes I think I embody the phrase, "Oh, how the Mighty have fallen." It really brings me down to think of all the potential I had in high school. That I still had at OSU. All that promise that now seems wasted. And I know I've written sentences like that before. At least there is still a little voice inside that insists: I have fallen, but I'm still mighty. I just wish I were more impervious to the things that make me feel less intelligent.
I'm wrapping up a "gig" as educator of a small museum with major financial and organizational issues. Have I helped at all? The idea of talking about what I've done with my boss is rather frightening. I think I've helped in such tiny ways that it will all disappear not long after I'm gone. Absorbed by larger problems. Again and again like a litany of shame I describe to the people I run into around town that I'm applying everywhere I possibly can...waiting...licensed for substitute teaching...waiting.
I really need to bite the bullet and call the places I've already sent to, so at least I'll know they've dragged and dropped my resume into their computer's recycle bin. It really stings. As it did before. And it's harder now to search for jobs, not because there are no openings, but because I feel I am not qualified for the openings. Because I took that worthless internship my second year. Because I'm on academic leave. Because I'm here in Podunk, Ohio. I cannot bring myself to lie or pad my resume. And quite frankly...does it really need padding? What else can I do but write an honest letter and let my skills speak for themselves? A clever turn of phrase, in moderation, maybe, is all I used to need to impress a potential employer.
Sometimes I think I embody the phrase, "Oh, how the Mighty have fallen." It really brings me down to think of all the potential I had in high school. That I still had at OSU. All that promise that now seems wasted. And I know I've written sentences like that before. At least there is still a little voice inside that insists: I have fallen, but I'm still mighty. I just wish I were more impervious to the things that make me feel less intelligent.
I'm wrapping up a "gig" as educator of a small museum with major financial and organizational issues. Have I helped at all? The idea of talking about what I've done with my boss is rather frightening. I think I've helped in such tiny ways that it will all disappear not long after I'm gone. Absorbed by larger problems. Again and again like a litany of shame I describe to the people I run into around town that I'm applying everywhere I possibly can...waiting...licensed for substitute teaching...waiting.
28 August 2010
taking on water
So it's about time I write about something that has been on my mind for the past decade. My unilateral edema. There's some medical mumbo-jumbo for you! Or as my sister so lovingly called it, my "fat foot."
This one time, at Band Camp...I noticed my left ankle was swollen. I thought to myself: did I turn my ankle on the field? No. I would have felt that. I didn't fall on the stairs. Wrench it while climbing into my bunk. None of the usual explanations. I do what any 17 year old would do...I notify the nearest adult who is supposed to take care of us young folk. All they could do was shrug, and suggest I had been stung by something. Well, I got stung by a bee on my toe once, and yeah, I would have remembered being stung on my ankle.
All through football season, I wrapped the ankle, limped, elevated it when possible, and asked occasionally if I could get some medical attention. Never happened. It was just something I would have to live with.
On a side note...no teenager should be told that. Yes, they should learn that life can be unfair, but to give up? To stop looking for a solution? Never.
The wrapping and poor marching continued into college. Despite being on my parents' health insurance, I decided to take matters into my own hands and show my now swollen ankle, foot AND calf to a university doctor. "Wow, that's weird," he said. I got an MRI that gave me the diagnosis: posterior tibiofibular tendonosis. Not tendonitis. The tendon that runs down the back of my calf and into the arch of my foot had been overstretched like an old rubber band. This could cause swelling. Eureka!
Phase one of physical therapy. Exercises are always good. I think my feet got stronger. But the swelling continued. And I paid a lot of money. And wore stockings that only grandparents should wear.
Next, unfortunate attention paid to my medical mystery while in Canada. I just didn't want to be noticed...not for that. I got sick of explaining it en francais.
Fast forward to modern times. Back to the family doctor, who suggests swimming, a good no-impact workout. Ok. A few more years, and grandma thinks there's something wrong with me. Duh? New doctor. New guess. Ultrasound. No clot. New doctor. New guess. MRI? Nope. Insurance doesn't like that idea. I haven't been prescribed enough medication. Though I am wondering if an anti-inflammatory would help...
The MRI would look at my lumbar spine and pelvis, searching for blockage of lymph vessels, veins, what-have-you. Not tendonosis. Methinks that the tendon stretched after the initial swelling limited my range of motion and altered my gait. Doctor agrees. But then what could it be? All sorts of things, according to the internet, including a few auto-immune diseases that I would rather not have. Cue House references?
My arch still hurts occasionally, and I get massage therapy and reflexology occasionally that seem to help in a miniscule way. But shoes still fit differently, and I still get anxious when I wear skirts. Which sucks because I love wearing skirts.
This one time, at Band Camp...I noticed my left ankle was swollen. I thought to myself: did I turn my ankle on the field? No. I would have felt that. I didn't fall on the stairs. Wrench it while climbing into my bunk. None of the usual explanations. I do what any 17 year old would do...I notify the nearest adult who is supposed to take care of us young folk. All they could do was shrug, and suggest I had been stung by something. Well, I got stung by a bee on my toe once, and yeah, I would have remembered being stung on my ankle.
All through football season, I wrapped the ankle, limped, elevated it when possible, and asked occasionally if I could get some medical attention. Never happened. It was just something I would have to live with.
On a side note...no teenager should be told that. Yes, they should learn that life can be unfair, but to give up? To stop looking for a solution? Never.
The wrapping and poor marching continued into college. Despite being on my parents' health insurance, I decided to take matters into my own hands and show my now swollen ankle, foot AND calf to a university doctor. "Wow, that's weird," he said. I got an MRI that gave me the diagnosis: posterior tibiofibular tendonosis. Not tendonitis. The tendon that runs down the back of my calf and into the arch of my foot had been overstretched like an old rubber band. This could cause swelling. Eureka!
Phase one of physical therapy. Exercises are always good. I think my feet got stronger. But the swelling continued. And I paid a lot of money. And wore stockings that only grandparents should wear.
Next, unfortunate attention paid to my medical mystery while in Canada. I just didn't want to be noticed...not for that. I got sick of explaining it en francais.
Fast forward to modern times. Back to the family doctor, who suggests swimming, a good no-impact workout. Ok. A few more years, and grandma thinks there's something wrong with me. Duh? New doctor. New guess. Ultrasound. No clot. New doctor. New guess. MRI? Nope. Insurance doesn't like that idea. I haven't been prescribed enough medication. Though I am wondering if an anti-inflammatory would help...
The MRI would look at my lumbar spine and pelvis, searching for blockage of lymph vessels, veins, what-have-you. Not tendonosis. Methinks that the tendon stretched after the initial swelling limited my range of motion and altered my gait. Doctor agrees. But then what could it be? All sorts of things, according to the internet, including a few auto-immune diseases that I would rather not have. Cue House references?
My arch still hurts occasionally, and I get massage therapy and reflexology occasionally that seem to help in a miniscule way. But shoes still fit differently, and I still get anxious when I wear skirts. Which sucks because I love wearing skirts.
26 August 2010
tornado
I had another tornado dream yesterday...right before I woke up. It happened on the farm, as they always do, and this time my sisters and I were out on the hill when I saw the funnel cloud form. We ran back to the house, where there were a whole lot of strange people, and I had trouble convincing everyone (as usual) to go down to the basement. Funny enough, after the storm, there was still a large uprooted tree floating around in slow motion. The trunk tapped against the front door, just as I peered out of it. Talk about weird.
There are a lot of weird things going on that I feel I have no control over...which is one interpretation of tornadoes in dreams I believe.
The most benign is of course my lack of organization around the house. It sure looks like a tornado hit. More importantly, I'm about to be unemployed again. In a way, though, it will be a relief, because my job has caused me a lot of extra stressing over my own inabilities to affect change. I wanted to do some good for that institution that gave me my first job. Sort of like returning the favor. But it's in this downward spiral that I don't think any one girl, no matter how smart or educated, could unwind. It will take a village, literally, to save the museum. Sadly, half the villagers either don't know or don't care.
I know I need to be more regimented. Especially with editing the thesis. It started out as the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head. Now its more like the ICBM of Damocles. What is stopping me? I don't think I can even answer that now. I was thinking about New York, as I usually do, and it seemed so far away...so unreal. Did I ever really live there?
The application for my teaching license renewal asked "Have you lived in Ohio continuously for the past five years?" Technically, no. But on paper, yes. I never became a permanent resident of New York. With one little flick of my pen, I sort of erased those two years in the Big Apple. Like it never really happened. I want so badly to go back, if only to visit. But it's been a year, and I'm afraid there won't be a place there for me. I have to remember: people are friends in spots. And my spot is gone.
I'll keep sending out emails and resumes and applications. But will it ever get me anywhere? I have no control over that. Sure, I control what I write to potential employers. But I can't control my competitors...all of the millions of them. Some pad their resumes. Some "know" people. I feel unprepared and ill-equipped to make it in this "job market."
Maybe I'm too naive. Too idealist.
And I have no control over my "manfriend" leaving for Cleveland. Maybe it would have been a shorter blog entry to list the things I can control, like the color of my toenails, for example.
There are a lot of weird things going on that I feel I have no control over...which is one interpretation of tornadoes in dreams I believe.
The most benign is of course my lack of organization around the house. It sure looks like a tornado hit. More importantly, I'm about to be unemployed again. In a way, though, it will be a relief, because my job has caused me a lot of extra stressing over my own inabilities to affect change. I wanted to do some good for that institution that gave me my first job. Sort of like returning the favor. But it's in this downward spiral that I don't think any one girl, no matter how smart or educated, could unwind. It will take a village, literally, to save the museum. Sadly, half the villagers either don't know or don't care.
I know I need to be more regimented. Especially with editing the thesis. It started out as the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head. Now its more like the ICBM of Damocles. What is stopping me? I don't think I can even answer that now. I was thinking about New York, as I usually do, and it seemed so far away...so unreal. Did I ever really live there?
The application for my teaching license renewal asked "Have you lived in Ohio continuously for the past five years?" Technically, no. But on paper, yes. I never became a permanent resident of New York. With one little flick of my pen, I sort of erased those two years in the Big Apple. Like it never really happened. I want so badly to go back, if only to visit. But it's been a year, and I'm afraid there won't be a place there for me. I have to remember: people are friends in spots. And my spot is gone.
I'll keep sending out emails and resumes and applications. But will it ever get me anywhere? I have no control over that. Sure, I control what I write to potential employers. But I can't control my competitors...all of the millions of them. Some pad their resumes. Some "know" people. I feel unprepared and ill-equipped to make it in this "job market."
Maybe I'm too naive. Too idealist.
And I have no control over my "manfriend" leaving for Cleveland. Maybe it would have been a shorter blog entry to list the things I can control, like the color of my toenails, for example.
23 August 2010
Epic Pickle Fail
So...a number of contributing factors could be responsible for the failure of my grand pickle experiment. I had the right 2 gallon crock. I had Grandma's instructions. I had a boat load of cucumbers. However, it appears that the brine either evaporated or leeched through the bottom of the crock to such an extent that the top slices were exposed. Hence icky mold and flies all over! Also, my efforts to sanitize the crock and the pickles (I had to separate the good ones from some white fuzzy ones...) might have backfired.
I was decidedly deterred when I discovered the moldy cucumber slices. However, I do have some cucumbers left, clean and fuzz-free, so I am now encouraged to make a second, edited attempt. Instead of the crock, I'll start right away with sealed jars to prevent brine loss. And these jars will be washed and rinsed thoroughly with vinegar to kill anything that might feast on the cucumber. The challenge will be adjusting the spices from Grandma's 2-gallon recipe.
Financially...that's still around a $20 loss. Much worse than the spilled $1 coke in the car. But I'll keep trying to reincarnate this family tradition.
I was decidedly deterred when I discovered the moldy cucumber slices. However, I do have some cucumbers left, clean and fuzz-free, so I am now encouraged to make a second, edited attempt. Instead of the crock, I'll start right away with sealed jars to prevent brine loss. And these jars will be washed and rinsed thoroughly with vinegar to kill anything that might feast on the cucumber. The challenge will be adjusting the spices from Grandma's 2-gallon recipe.
Financially...that's still around a $20 loss. Much worse than the spilled $1 coke in the car. But I'll keep trying to reincarnate this family tradition.
17 August 2010
bird watch
I just have to record a few bird encounters for posterity.
1. Ducks on the neighbor's farm...these little guys waddle all over the place, including the road. One duck in particular blends in with the weeds along the road. Luckily, I didn't hit him, but he sure startled me.
2. A blue heron...always used to stop by our pond for tadpoles and other goodies. This time he was posing just off the pavement as I rounded a bend. No water in site. Maybe he was having a breather before flying to the next pond?
3. A hawk with balls...saw some roadkill up ahead with the typical crowd of vultures. The big guys all scrambled to fly away, but not Mr. Hawk. Or Ms. Hawk, I guess. It stood its ground, clenching some animal parts in its talons, as if to say "Drive around me, bitch, cuz I ain't givin' this up."
All have fared better, I hope, than that poor peregrine on the Columbus skyscraper.
1. Ducks on the neighbor's farm...these little guys waddle all over the place, including the road. One duck in particular blends in with the weeds along the road. Luckily, I didn't hit him, but he sure startled me.
2. A blue heron...always used to stop by our pond for tadpoles and other goodies. This time he was posing just off the pavement as I rounded a bend. No water in site. Maybe he was having a breather before flying to the next pond?
3. A hawk with balls...saw some roadkill up ahead with the typical crowd of vultures. The big guys all scrambled to fly away, but not Mr. Hawk. Or Ms. Hawk, I guess. It stood its ground, clenching some animal parts in its talons, as if to say "Drive around me, bitch, cuz I ain't givin' this up."
All have fared better, I hope, than that poor peregrine on the Columbus skyscraper.
12 August 2010
oh, intolerance
I should have known from the moment I chose to write about Ground Zero, it would follow me to the end of my days. There is always something to report and debate, it seems, involving that hallowed piece of Manhattan real estate. The problem is one that is ever present in a dense urban space like New York City: proximity. To honor the victims, must we purge every little thing that is not sacred from Lower Manhattan? From the whole Island? What exactly is and isn't appropriate to be near the site? Century 21? Burlington Coat Factory? That is what I want to ask people who oppose the development of a Muslim community center on Park Street, two blocks from Ground Zero.
Our national reaction to 9/11 was unifying, yet it was not monolithic. And I use monolithic instead of homogeneous in honor of my preoccupation with monuments. We bombed Afghanistan, yet politicians agreed that to beat the terrorists we would also have to win hearts and minds of moderate Muslims at home and abroad. Two very different methods. And as Fareed Zakaria wrote in Newsweek, the tenuous American relationship with moderate Islam could only be strengthened by the presence of a community center such as the ill-labeled "Ground Zero Mosque." It would be a celebration not of tragedy but of resilience. A manifestation of our constitutional protection of religious freedom and equality.
Here are my problems with the opposition:
1. Stop calling it the "Ground Zero Mosque"! It's not at Ground Zero. There is a specific, bounded section of Lower Manhattan that retains the sanctity and dignity of the Memorial, and then there is the rest of the city. It is not at the "epicenter" of 9/11. For in my thesis, I argue that 9/11 had no epicenter, since it involves the Pentagon and Pennsylvania countryside. Yes, plane debris and quite possibly human remains fell on the site at 45 Park, just like it fell on the entire area surrounding the World Trade Center. This hasn't stopped the development of other buildings for fear of insensitivity.
2. It's not just a mosque. It's a place for the American Muslims who are already in the city to congregate, along with anyone else who isn't a bigot. They own the building. They can do what they will with the building. The worship space is an improvement on the existent, cramped mosque not too far away from Ground Zero. Maybe those who are offended by its proximity should reflect on their own prejudice against an entire religion, while they have no problem with WTC souvenirs and tourism and corporations covering the area like ants at a picnic.
3. I searched for evidence that mosques are built as signs of victory. And I found no scholarly sources. Just conservative and alarmist blogs and articles. Listening to Rush Limbaugh is not research, people. One article even erroneously suggests that the al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem was built to celebrate the destruction of the Temple. Oops. Romans destroyed the second Temple in 70 CE (That's AD for any non-academics). The mosque and the Dome of the Rock (built in the 7th Century CE) which now stand atop this sacred mount are not signs of victory over Judaism or Christianity, but examples of our commonalities. The place is sacred to us all. That's why they built on top of it during a period of Muslim conversion and rule. BTW, before the Crusades, Jerusalem was a city where Muslims, Jews and Christians lived in relative harmony.
4. We all want to tread lightly when it comes to the feelings of 9/11 victims' families. This is one reason why the rebuilding at Ground Zero has been so slow (apart from contracts and litigation). Yet these people should not be paraded (literally and figuratively) by opponents and politicians to shame anyone who supports the center. In fact, there are families who support it themselves. They want peace and closure. Understanding. They want to rise above the hate that drove the terrorists to kill their loved ones. How dare anyone try to make me or other supporters feel guilty? It's a desperate, personal attack that smacks of malicious zeal.
5. Seeing articles and blogs and facebook polls plastered with the face of Osama bin Laden just make me sick to my stomach. And I'm not even Muslim. Like I commented on a cousin's post, it's just plain slander. Not all Muslims are bin Ladens. How much do you want to bet that Osama would oppose the mosque due to its interfaith, inclusive nature? I'd bet my life savings. We should do the homework and make sure the funding has no ties to al-Qaeda. Yet the pictures go too far.
6. Remember our American values? Equality? Freedom? You're treating Muslims like criminals and second-class citizens. Regardless of your religious affiliation, you should respect the rights of others to deal with the tragedy of 9/11 and the rebirth of Lower Manhattan in their own way. The mosque is not illegal, as much as you hope it is. Our constitution does not support prejudice, though we have failed in the past. We have persecuted Jews, Catholics, Communists, Irish, Germans in the 18th century and in the 20th. When will we ever learn? (I have deliberately omitted slavery, here, for that is an issue all its own)
Anyone who reads this and feels like repeating the Fox News talking points, stop and think, please. Do some real research. There is no more a Muslim agenda than there is a gay agenda. Our culture can take it. We can all be friends two blocks away from one of the most sacred spots in America. Turn off Limbaugh and read some history. Shake hands with a Muslim neighbor (if you can find one...they might be scared of you) and learn a little about cultural exhange. Prove that you are wise enough to distinguish a radical terrorist from the family down the street.
The National September 11th Memorial and Museum are dedicated to the memory of those who died and the end of the cycle of hate. Don't help Sarah Palin, Limbaugh & Co. perpetuate the hate. Please.
Our national reaction to 9/11 was unifying, yet it was not monolithic. And I use monolithic instead of homogeneous in honor of my preoccupation with monuments. We bombed Afghanistan, yet politicians agreed that to beat the terrorists we would also have to win hearts and minds of moderate Muslims at home and abroad. Two very different methods. And as Fareed Zakaria wrote in Newsweek, the tenuous American relationship with moderate Islam could only be strengthened by the presence of a community center such as the ill-labeled "Ground Zero Mosque." It would be a celebration not of tragedy but of resilience. A manifestation of our constitutional protection of religious freedom and equality.
Here are my problems with the opposition:
1. Stop calling it the "Ground Zero Mosque"! It's not at Ground Zero. There is a specific, bounded section of Lower Manhattan that retains the sanctity and dignity of the Memorial, and then there is the rest of the city. It is not at the "epicenter" of 9/11. For in my thesis, I argue that 9/11 had no epicenter, since it involves the Pentagon and Pennsylvania countryside. Yes, plane debris and quite possibly human remains fell on the site at 45 Park, just like it fell on the entire area surrounding the World Trade Center. This hasn't stopped the development of other buildings for fear of insensitivity.
2. It's not just a mosque. It's a place for the American Muslims who are already in the city to congregate, along with anyone else who isn't a bigot. They own the building. They can do what they will with the building. The worship space is an improvement on the existent, cramped mosque not too far away from Ground Zero. Maybe those who are offended by its proximity should reflect on their own prejudice against an entire religion, while they have no problem with WTC souvenirs and tourism and corporations covering the area like ants at a picnic.
3. I searched for evidence that mosques are built as signs of victory. And I found no scholarly sources. Just conservative and alarmist blogs and articles. Listening to Rush Limbaugh is not research, people. One article even erroneously suggests that the al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem was built to celebrate the destruction of the Temple. Oops. Romans destroyed the second Temple in 70 CE (That's AD for any non-academics). The mosque and the Dome of the Rock (built in the 7th Century CE) which now stand atop this sacred mount are not signs of victory over Judaism or Christianity, but examples of our commonalities. The place is sacred to us all. That's why they built on top of it during a period of Muslim conversion and rule. BTW, before the Crusades, Jerusalem was a city where Muslims, Jews and Christians lived in relative harmony.
4. We all want to tread lightly when it comes to the feelings of 9/11 victims' families. This is one reason why the rebuilding at Ground Zero has been so slow (apart from contracts and litigation). Yet these people should not be paraded (literally and figuratively) by opponents and politicians to shame anyone who supports the center. In fact, there are families who support it themselves. They want peace and closure. Understanding. They want to rise above the hate that drove the terrorists to kill their loved ones. How dare anyone try to make me or other supporters feel guilty? It's a desperate, personal attack that smacks of malicious zeal.
5. Seeing articles and blogs and facebook polls plastered with the face of Osama bin Laden just make me sick to my stomach. And I'm not even Muslim. Like I commented on a cousin's post, it's just plain slander. Not all Muslims are bin Ladens. How much do you want to bet that Osama would oppose the mosque due to its interfaith, inclusive nature? I'd bet my life savings. We should do the homework and make sure the funding has no ties to al-Qaeda. Yet the pictures go too far.
6. Remember our American values? Equality? Freedom? You're treating Muslims like criminals and second-class citizens. Regardless of your religious affiliation, you should respect the rights of others to deal with the tragedy of 9/11 and the rebirth of Lower Manhattan in their own way. The mosque is not illegal, as much as you hope it is. Our constitution does not support prejudice, though we have failed in the past. We have persecuted Jews, Catholics, Communists, Irish, Germans in the 18th century and in the 20th. When will we ever learn? (I have deliberately omitted slavery, here, for that is an issue all its own)
Anyone who reads this and feels like repeating the Fox News talking points, stop and think, please. Do some real research. There is no more a Muslim agenda than there is a gay agenda. Our culture can take it. We can all be friends two blocks away from one of the most sacred spots in America. Turn off Limbaugh and read some history. Shake hands with a Muslim neighbor (if you can find one...they might be scared of you) and learn a little about cultural exhange. Prove that you are wise enough to distinguish a radical terrorist from the family down the street.
The National September 11th Memorial and Museum are dedicated to the memory of those who died and the end of the cycle of hate. Don't help Sarah Palin, Limbaugh & Co. perpetuate the hate. Please.
09 August 2010
shoot! I forgot what I wanted to write...
So as an art educator/museum person am I really doing my job when the only people who come to my open-ended informal Q&A talks are family members? That's been bothering me all weekend.
Just how do I go about reaching the people who need to be reached? Step 1: work at a better institution. I've got a dozen applications floating around in the ether (at least that's how it feels when everything is electronic), and I'm unsure whether I should make follow-up calls. Rats.
Y-Bridge Festival was all right. I guess when you've got a funny-shaped bridge that you can partially close off without completely disrupting traffic, you have to stage an arts festival there. I bought a really cool collage that reminds me of the architecture days. And now all I want to do is snip up old maps and magazines and make collages of my own. I did my best impression of a salesman at the booth...just trying to whip up some community support. And the band did play my favorite karaoke song: I Want You to Want Me.
I'm slowly digging out of my lack of organization. The room is almost liveable again. Now if I could only stop being so uncomfortable about the clothes in my closet (and on my floor), I might actually wake up in a good mood. I'm just not liking what I've got.
I have to see the movie Eat Pray Love. HSN would like to think that buying stuff over the telephone is equivalent to traversing the world, but I know they're wrong. Every time I see the trailer on television I want to get the heck out of Dodge and see something. Anything. I really have to wonder at this point...will I ever see the world? Or did I miss my opportunity, now that my twenties are drawing to a close? The sisters say they're happy right where they are. Good for them, but not for me. Right now I don't even like my closet.
Dad was watching Huckabee last night. One of the guests was talking about how God saved him from the "demon of murder," after he brutally murdered a woman in the 70s. Now he's free and preaching. Only one thing comes to mind when I see Huckabee. Theocracy. Why is it that the various Protestant sects that emerged out of the Reformation are just as tyrannical and corrupt as the Church they rejected?
Topic for next time, I think.
Just how do I go about reaching the people who need to be reached? Step 1: work at a better institution. I've got a dozen applications floating around in the ether (at least that's how it feels when everything is electronic), and I'm unsure whether I should make follow-up calls. Rats.
Y-Bridge Festival was all right. I guess when you've got a funny-shaped bridge that you can partially close off without completely disrupting traffic, you have to stage an arts festival there. I bought a really cool collage that reminds me of the architecture days. And now all I want to do is snip up old maps and magazines and make collages of my own. I did my best impression of a salesman at the booth...just trying to whip up some community support. And the band did play my favorite karaoke song: I Want You to Want Me.
I'm slowly digging out of my lack of organization. The room is almost liveable again. Now if I could only stop being so uncomfortable about the clothes in my closet (and on my floor), I might actually wake up in a good mood. I'm just not liking what I've got.
I have to see the movie Eat Pray Love. HSN would like to think that buying stuff over the telephone is equivalent to traversing the world, but I know they're wrong. Every time I see the trailer on television I want to get the heck out of Dodge and see something. Anything. I really have to wonder at this point...will I ever see the world? Or did I miss my opportunity, now that my twenties are drawing to a close? The sisters say they're happy right where they are. Good for them, but not for me. Right now I don't even like my closet.
Dad was watching Huckabee last night. One of the guests was talking about how God saved him from the "demon of murder," after he brutally murdered a woman in the 70s. Now he's free and preaching. Only one thing comes to mind when I see Huckabee. Theocracy. Why is it that the various Protestant sects that emerged out of the Reformation are just as tyrannical and corrupt as the Church they rejected?
Topic for next time, I think.
03 August 2010
happy birthday martha
Lately I've been trying some new ways to connect with the women that have had the greatest impact on my life.
Well, more than lately. I have to admit that getting involved with the sanctuary committee at church was about more than flexing my architectural historical muscles...it was also about feeling out the shoes left by my mother's absence. And of course I cannot fill them. No matter how many times I'm compared to her. But I did my little part despite the toxic political atmosphere.
My latest endeavor was sewing cloth school bags for a charity. Naturally, the sewing machine I found in the basement was less than useful, so I used my grandmother's machine. Which is a bonus because she tweaked the design and the directions a little bit to make it simpler. The stitches are rather crooked, with the occasional "whoa what happened" curves and snags, but the bags should hold. I realized a little too late that I made them Florida colors. But I don't think the bags are going to a part of the world where that will matter. It's a way to connect to Grandma without having to force anything. She knows all there is to know about needles and thread, and I don't. And because the project sends school bags and supplies to children who might not otherwise go to school, including young girls who just need an education to show them there's more to life than what poverty or class or race has given them, I think I am fulfilling that Phi Beta Kappa goal of spreading the importance of education.
The next project won't be charity, but it might be the most difficult. I'd like to try my other grandmother's pickle recipe. Finding cucumbers won't be a problem (though my window of opportunity will close soon), since there are so many farmers markets around here. The problem is pickling salt. Walmart has pre-seasoned pickling and canning mixes (Dill, Bread & Butter, etc.) that don't help me much. No surprise that Walmart is not helping. But I can't even find any at the grocery store. I'm stumped. And I'm not even sure I have enough jars.
In my spare time I've been daydreaming of my own place to call home. The stash of furniture and kitchen utensils and home décor I have in my father's basement has been taunting me...if only I had somewhere to put it and see it every day and live my life. Most of what I bought from Target last week was to decorate my hypothetical dream apartment. Those pillows will look so nice on my striped loveseat!
I do manage to stop myself from buying expensive pots and pans and knives. So far. I just can't wait. So there's my Martha Stewart ode for the day.
Well, more than lately. I have to admit that getting involved with the sanctuary committee at church was about more than flexing my architectural historical muscles...it was also about feeling out the shoes left by my mother's absence. And of course I cannot fill them. No matter how many times I'm compared to her. But I did my little part despite the toxic political atmosphere.
My latest endeavor was sewing cloth school bags for a charity. Naturally, the sewing machine I found in the basement was less than useful, so I used my grandmother's machine. Which is a bonus because she tweaked the design and the directions a little bit to make it simpler. The stitches are rather crooked, with the occasional "whoa what happened" curves and snags, but the bags should hold. I realized a little too late that I made them Florida colors. But I don't think the bags are going to a part of the world where that will matter. It's a way to connect to Grandma without having to force anything. She knows all there is to know about needles and thread, and I don't. And because the project sends school bags and supplies to children who might not otherwise go to school, including young girls who just need an education to show them there's more to life than what poverty or class or race has given them, I think I am fulfilling that Phi Beta Kappa goal of spreading the importance of education.
The next project won't be charity, but it might be the most difficult. I'd like to try my other grandmother's pickle recipe. Finding cucumbers won't be a problem (though my window of opportunity will close soon), since there are so many farmers markets around here. The problem is pickling salt. Walmart has pre-seasoned pickling and canning mixes (Dill, Bread & Butter, etc.) that don't help me much. No surprise that Walmart is not helping. But I can't even find any at the grocery store. I'm stumped. And I'm not even sure I have enough jars.
In my spare time I've been daydreaming of my own place to call home. The stash of furniture and kitchen utensils and home décor I have in my father's basement has been taunting me...if only I had somewhere to put it and see it every day and live my life. Most of what I bought from Target last week was to decorate my hypothetical dream apartment. Those pillows will look so nice on my striped loveseat!
I do manage to stop myself from buying expensive pots and pans and knives. So far. I just can't wait. So there's my Martha Stewart ode for the day.
02 August 2010
am i speaking swahili or are you just not listening?
Of course, it might be fun to speak Swahili. I just don't know anyone who understands it.
Every now and then I find an op-ed or an article that echoes what has been going through my mind: the hypocrisy of conservatives, the misguided morality of both conservatives and liberals, etc. But closer to home, it feels like I'm just some crazy Cassandra. My refuge is the New York Times, which is admittedly a liberal paper, but I still see myself as a centrist. Like Dan says, he's conservative in his heart but liberal in his head. And I find that telling...for sometimes it seems like to be conservative is to ignore the logical thoughts in your own brain.
I occasionally get my father's ear, and I remind him that the "us versus them" mentality gets nobody nowhere. And he nods. But then he continues to spout venom when it comes to animal rights activists and Muslims. It's a vicious cycle...hate breeds hate, fiscal irresponsibility breeds more irresponsibility. The latter is a reference to an article called the "Non-Profit Starvation Cycle" posted by a friend. It's a pdf, or else I'd link to it somehow. I'm just not feeling that html inclined today. Anyway. I think I'm feeling the words in that article all too well. This job I have is afterall about to expire due to a lack of compassion and fiscal know-how. What a sad situation we're in, us non-profit idealist art people, when our boards of trustees and executive directors cannot weather the recessional storm in a way that doesn't amputate all that is pure and good from the institution. I've never understood how it could be deemed smart to fire good people in order to keep a museum open. Those people are the museum!
But even as I type these words, I know they'll be misconstrued. I know that no one will read every little paragraph and get exactly what I'm thinking and feeling. That's the limit of language.
It's like commenting on someone's post without reading the article they have cited. That happens all the time...wall-posts are hijacked to get into some debate about what sort of non-profit (global or grassroots) better deserves support...something that is only indirectly related to the Starvation Cycle. Ugh. I got all mad about it and it wasn't even my wall!
I know there are just some people out there who will not see eye to eye with me. It scares me, though, that a good portion of those people are in charge and capable of rendering me and my generation unemployable.
Every now and then I find an op-ed or an article that echoes what has been going through my mind: the hypocrisy of conservatives, the misguided morality of both conservatives and liberals, etc. But closer to home, it feels like I'm just some crazy Cassandra. My refuge is the New York Times, which is admittedly a liberal paper, but I still see myself as a centrist. Like Dan says, he's conservative in his heart but liberal in his head. And I find that telling...for sometimes it seems like to be conservative is to ignore the logical thoughts in your own brain.
I occasionally get my father's ear, and I remind him that the "us versus them" mentality gets nobody nowhere. And he nods. But then he continues to spout venom when it comes to animal rights activists and Muslims. It's a vicious cycle...hate breeds hate, fiscal irresponsibility breeds more irresponsibility. The latter is a reference to an article called the "Non-Profit Starvation Cycle" posted by a friend. It's a pdf, or else I'd link to it somehow. I'm just not feeling that html inclined today. Anyway. I think I'm feeling the words in that article all too well. This job I have is afterall about to expire due to a lack of compassion and fiscal know-how. What a sad situation we're in, us non-profit idealist art people, when our boards of trustees and executive directors cannot weather the recessional storm in a way that doesn't amputate all that is pure and good from the institution. I've never understood how it could be deemed smart to fire good people in order to keep a museum open. Those people are the museum!
But even as I type these words, I know they'll be misconstrued. I know that no one will read every little paragraph and get exactly what I'm thinking and feeling. That's the limit of language.
It's like commenting on someone's post without reading the article they have cited. That happens all the time...wall-posts are hijacked to get into some debate about what sort of non-profit (global or grassroots) better deserves support...something that is only indirectly related to the Starvation Cycle. Ugh. I got all mad about it and it wasn't even my wall!
I know there are just some people out there who will not see eye to eye with me. It scares me, though, that a good portion of those people are in charge and capable of rendering me and my generation unemployable.
28 July 2010
stuck in the mud
Feeling very sluggish today, although there is loads to do. Or there are loads to do. Not sure about the grammar on that one. I'm hosting the second round of ArTalks at the museum, hoping that we can get some of the missing generations talking about art. And it would be nice if they ate the snacks I prepare for them. Plus I've got a clay class going on all this week that I need to keep an eye on. Can't forget my meager attempts at sewing schoolbags for a church charity either. Add on top of that cleaning the house because a cousin is coming in for the family reunion and there isn't much time to focus on what really matters: the thesis and job applications.
Of course, the kitchen can't clean itself, cousin or no cousin.
And my room is a mess. A very uncharacteristic mess. Have I lost my powers of organization? Because I've been touting them to potential employers, and it would be prudent to make sure I can walk the talk I'm talking.
Things I'd like to highlight...hmm...I've been doing my part lately to help the economy. I got my hair done at the Aveda Institute, getting all pretty and supporting my generation. I always feel like a goofball there, but then the staff are always nice, and they gush over my hair...I end up feeling pretty. And it smells good. The one issue was I estimated an hour and a half to two hours...I was there almost four hours. Ooops. That cut into special man time.
I also stumbled across some online sales from Target and Athleta. Maybe I'll stop feeling frumpy with some new options. Seeing as I love layering, though, I'll be frumpy till autumn comes.
There's just so much negativity at work, and it takes a lot of energy to summon smiles for visitors and students. I wish I could be at a museum with a real connection to the community, one that is really making a difference.
Of course, the kitchen can't clean itself, cousin or no cousin.
And my room is a mess. A very uncharacteristic mess. Have I lost my powers of organization? Because I've been touting them to potential employers, and it would be prudent to make sure I can walk the talk I'm talking.
Things I'd like to highlight...hmm...I've been doing my part lately to help the economy. I got my hair done at the Aveda Institute, getting all pretty and supporting my generation. I always feel like a goofball there, but then the staff are always nice, and they gush over my hair...I end up feeling pretty. And it smells good. The one issue was I estimated an hour and a half to two hours...I was there almost four hours. Ooops. That cut into special man time.
I also stumbled across some online sales from Target and Athleta. Maybe I'll stop feeling frumpy with some new options. Seeing as I love layering, though, I'll be frumpy till autumn comes.
There's just so much negativity at work, and it takes a lot of energy to summon smiles for visitors and students. I wish I could be at a museum with a real connection to the community, one that is really making a difference.
19 July 2010
art outside the museum
After a mediocre attempt to generate some excitement in the community about art (I failed to reel in any new fish, just the usual suspects), I was massively entertained by the art historical references in some unusual places. Namely Futurama and The Simpsons. Now, of course the Futurama episode in which the gang goes to "Future Roma" (haha), is a spoof of The Da Vinci Code, so it's indirectly art historical, but still. In fact, the more I think about that show, which has wormed its way into my brain via a certain man's obsessive zeal, it's an incredible example of cartoon culture analyzing our own cultural identity. Flipping the story of Leonardo Da Vinci on its head is only one instance in which those crazy writers and animators nerd out and inject history into the comedy.
And really, if we could just blame all the art thefts and general badness on Mr. Burns, wouldn't life be swell?
Aside from playing "Twister" on a bunch of animated oil paintings--"Left hand Rembrandt!"--The Simpsons has always thrown a wrench in the typical lower class identity of Homer and Co. by revealing tiny moments of cultural awareness on the part of their characters. I for one wouldn't mind having one of those characters come to an ArTalk. But there are some real life people who just can't open their minds far enough.
Funny how you can find art on television. Maybe that's why all the big museums now have LCD screens, and there are so many video installations. That seems to be this century's current medium of choice. And bridging the gap between oils and animation are a bunch of occasionally vulgar, fictional characters. But how to use this for the benefit of this particular community, I have no idea...
And really, if we could just blame all the art thefts and general badness on Mr. Burns, wouldn't life be swell?
Aside from playing "Twister" on a bunch of animated oil paintings--"Left hand Rembrandt!"--The Simpsons has always thrown a wrench in the typical lower class identity of Homer and Co. by revealing tiny moments of cultural awareness on the part of their characters. I for one wouldn't mind having one of those characters come to an ArTalk. But there are some real life people who just can't open their minds far enough.
Funny how you can find art on television. Maybe that's why all the big museums now have LCD screens, and there are so many video installations. That seems to be this century's current medium of choice. And bridging the gap between oils and animation are a bunch of occasionally vulgar, fictional characters. But how to use this for the benefit of this particular community, I have no idea...
16 July 2010
compassion
It's not the be-all end-all...or end-all be-all...but something this country (as a whole society) lacks is compassion. Today there was a lady in line behind me who ordered a sub. No big deal there. Except that when it came down to picking veggies, she explained it wasn't for her...it was for the guy outside holding a sign that said "hungry." Now I've tried to give food instead of money before, and it didn't work. For some it's a health issue--food given by a stranger made them sick at some point--and for others, well, they'd rather have cigarettes or alcohol instead of food, unfortunately. If every single American was like the sub lady, we might be in a better situation than we are now.
I know it isn't so simple. Some people are too proud to ask for help. Others abuse the help that is given. All the Christmas food baskets my mother ever delivered couldn't solve the world's problems. But they helped those families have a merrier holiday.
A lot of Americans are afraid of becoming a "welfare state." These same Americans bemoan the dreary future for Medicare and Social Security (which is welfare...shhh! don't tell them!) And while Europe is slowly digging itself out of a rather deep financial hole, these Americans point eastward as if we need to learn a lesson. Well, we can learn a lesson right here on our own soil. The lack of compassion for others, those who are losing jobs and houses and livelihoods, is exactly what is sending this country down the drain. Like dirty bathwater. We cannot be the great nation of decades past when we have our own tired and poor yearning to be free (of debt) right here and now.
I've made no attempt to hide my bias toward my generation. I consider myself a bit of an advocate for the graduates and the interns and the assistants out there, being one myself. Yes, we need to create jobs for those who have lost them, which is what, in the millions now? But my focus is on the people who have not yet gotten a job. And I'm talking a real job with benefits and retirement and your very own desk and email account. I gave one of those up to go back to school, and although I most likely would have been "redirected" from the museum in the course of their renovation/lay-off-good-people campaign, I sometimes kick myself. There are "kids" out there, fellow generation Y-ers, who like me have moved back in with parents. Some send out 70 resumés a day and others have given up. Yes. There are recent graduates who have given up already. So much for commencing.
What is Congress telling my generation, when the interests of unions and industry make them focus on jobs for the older generations? When they filibuster an extension of unemployment benefits? Why can't we have the American Dream? Because we voted for Obama? Is this revenge?
I am about to commence the job search once again. And while the prospect of change has me a little giddy, I am deflated somewhat by the lack of compassion in my own backyard. When a sibling who has been working for over a decade complains about her retirement fund dwindling in such a way that (and I'm pretty sure this wasn't unintended) demonizes the very thing that has thrown me a lifeline--federal stimulus--I infer that older generations don't care what happens to us. As long as they can retire comfortably and drive their luxury vehicles, life is great. Meanwhile, remember those graduates I mentioned? Like me? Screw 'em. It's our fault for being born in the eighties. I should have known better...
Guess what. We'll be in charge some day. We are the future leaders. And then the next generation and then the generation after that. I've heard several conservatives preach about leaving debt for their grandchildren to pay...but no one is crying about hanging future generations out to dry. Let us get our start. Let us roll over our IRAs some day. It's not all about you and your retirement fund. Your wealth would be worthless, quite literally, if the next generations can't get their wealth started. So there's my socialist rant. With a capitalist twist...I want money. Let me earn it!
But I pledge this now: I will never drive a luxury vehicle.
I know it isn't so simple. Some people are too proud to ask for help. Others abuse the help that is given. All the Christmas food baskets my mother ever delivered couldn't solve the world's problems. But they helped those families have a merrier holiday.
A lot of Americans are afraid of becoming a "welfare state." These same Americans bemoan the dreary future for Medicare and Social Security (which is welfare...shhh! don't tell them!) And while Europe is slowly digging itself out of a rather deep financial hole, these Americans point eastward as if we need to learn a lesson. Well, we can learn a lesson right here on our own soil. The lack of compassion for others, those who are losing jobs and houses and livelihoods, is exactly what is sending this country down the drain. Like dirty bathwater. We cannot be the great nation of decades past when we have our own tired and poor yearning to be free (of debt) right here and now.
I've made no attempt to hide my bias toward my generation. I consider myself a bit of an advocate for the graduates and the interns and the assistants out there, being one myself. Yes, we need to create jobs for those who have lost them, which is what, in the millions now? But my focus is on the people who have not yet gotten a job. And I'm talking a real job with benefits and retirement and your very own desk and email account. I gave one of those up to go back to school, and although I most likely would have been "redirected" from the museum in the course of their renovation/lay-off-good-people campaign, I sometimes kick myself. There are "kids" out there, fellow generation Y-ers, who like me have moved back in with parents. Some send out 70 resumés a day and others have given up. Yes. There are recent graduates who have given up already. So much for commencing.
What is Congress telling my generation, when the interests of unions and industry make them focus on jobs for the older generations? When they filibuster an extension of unemployment benefits? Why can't we have the American Dream? Because we voted for Obama? Is this revenge?
I am about to commence the job search once again. And while the prospect of change has me a little giddy, I am deflated somewhat by the lack of compassion in my own backyard. When a sibling who has been working for over a decade complains about her retirement fund dwindling in such a way that (and I'm pretty sure this wasn't unintended) demonizes the very thing that has thrown me a lifeline--federal stimulus--I infer that older generations don't care what happens to us. As long as they can retire comfortably and drive their luxury vehicles, life is great. Meanwhile, remember those graduates I mentioned? Like me? Screw 'em. It's our fault for being born in the eighties. I should have known better...
Guess what. We'll be in charge some day. We are the future leaders. And then the next generation and then the generation after that. I've heard several conservatives preach about leaving debt for their grandchildren to pay...but no one is crying about hanging future generations out to dry. Let us get our start. Let us roll over our IRAs some day. It's not all about you and your retirement fund. Your wealth would be worthless, quite literally, if the next generations can't get their wealth started. So there's my socialist rant. With a capitalist twist...I want money. Let me earn it!
But I pledge this now: I will never drive a luxury vehicle.
conservation is communism
Just a mini-entry. I have faced adversity (and jokes of violence) in regard to my efforts to help the planet in any way I can only from one group of people. No, not the RNC. I don't even exist to them. I'm talking about my very own family. I am baffled that the idea of recycling paper plates incites such ire. Confused that rinsing plastic jugs results in angry glares. And disappointed that crushing cardboard boxes causes so much hate. Most of all I am hurt that my opinions and advice, so willingly given in the face of these reactions, cannot sway them to reduce, reuse and recycle. I am not surprised that government advertizements and cartoon spokesanimals fail to do it. But I thought they'd listen to me.
Our family has farmed the land for generations. Farmers should have the loudest environmentalist voices out there.
Our family has farmed the land for generations. Farmers should have the loudest environmentalist voices out there.
commencement
Ah, the move to gmail was like a breath of fresh air. We'll see...in another ten years, I might be just as sick of Google. But then some new company will have emerged, I hope. Another plus for being a googler is an easy transition here to blogger.
A little ode to my favorite evil corporation: Google, Pollock style.
I can't help but write a little introduction post. I'll be pasting some entries from the old site that have not yet been viewed. This is my first actual blog, that is, one that isn't attached to a networking site or an adolescent online diary. I shudder to think I used to write like that. So here we go.
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