Building a Bridge (and getting over it)

A week with one's mother can do wonders for the heart. A few days in New Orleans can revive a sad soul. Unexpected visits with dear old friends can bring back remembrances of why we a social creatures that need to have fun and be merry with one another. Needless to say, I think I am a different person than I was when I arrived on Wednesday with a broken heart.

I'm getting back to work, hitting the books by day and the bars by night. I saw my old friend last night who happens to be visiting here from Austin with her jet-setting boyfriend. I've rediscovered my center of gravity, regained composure, and rocked a few pool tables since I arrived. I don't know when I will go back to Atlanta, since I brought all my clothes and books I don't have much to worry about. I might just stay here to bring in the New Year, I can't wait for 2010 to be over.

Tonight the New Orleans Saints are playing against the Atlanta Falcons. I'm hitting the local bars and rooting against Atlanta. I guess you could call me a traitor, but Atlanta has never been my favorite place and New Orleans is much cooler. Until then, it's back to academic writing!

Voodoo Haircuts and the Holidays

Today has been the girliest day ever. Mom and I started the day with a trip to the salon. I got an awesome haircut and blow dry. While I usually argue that the nail salon is my personal panacea, the hair salon works just fine. An awesome dude did my hair and offered me voodoo advice for my current breakup. I laughed, but refused to provide an object my ex has given me to conjure voodoo. Only in New Orleans will your gay hair dresser offer you a shoulder to cry on and a voodoo doll!

Following our trip to the salon, we went and had awesome food at a pan-Asian buffet. The sushi chef made me some spicy tuna rolls to order, and I was stuffed by the end of the meal. We finished off the evening by shopping at a local store. Surprisingly, the place was almost empty, maybe people in New Orleans just don't feel the 2 days before Christmas compulsion to shop as folks in other cities do.

Now we're chilling and listening to Buena Vista Social Club, I got my mom hooked!

Driving, Buena Vista Social Club, and Family

I set out on a long journey today to visit my mom for Christmas. Traveling alone, I naturally caught up on phone calls, smoked a pack of camels and listened to music. I borrowed a Buena Vista Social Club CD for the trip and ended up listening to it throughout the entire drive, despite the fact that I had 5 other CDs in the player.

As I drove along, I wished I was dancing on a beach somewhere in Latin America. Buena Vista Social Club brought me to a completely different place where drinks have umbrellas, no one speaks English, and mosquitoes eat you alive. I drove through Alabama for hours pretending that I was in Mexico and continually tried to translate the Spanish lyrics in my head.




Needless to say, my journey was wonderful and I enjoyed the giddy solitude. As soon as I went over the long bridge from Slidell into New Orleans, I knew I was about to be surrounded by love. I got so happy as I drove down the main drag to my mom's house. For the first time ever, I felt like coming to my mom's house in New Orleans was like coming home. A weird feeling in retrospect, considering that I have never lived here.

After hanging with my mom for hours, I headed out for a game of pool to close out the night. A full day indeed!

Awesome New Song

This is the latest release by Dr. Dre Snoop and Akon off a new album that's coming out in February. It's really sweet so I thought I would share it here and dedicate it to my people in L.A. It's called Kush. Last night I heard Snoop talking about it on Atlanta radio and he mentioned that he has "longevity love." Yes you do Snoop and Dre., I've been listening to you guys since I was in the 5th grade and you still both kick ass.

Shopping!

I have recently discovered that I not only love shopping for myself, but I love shopping for others as well. I finished all of my Xmas shopping today and it was a blast. I wish I could reveal what I bought, but then I would ruin it for some of my readers (namely my mother).

There is one person who I bought for that I know for sure doesn't read my blog--my roomie's 4 year old daughter. I had a great time at Target finding her a Barbie doll. It was almost as exciting as buying clothes for myself. What did I buy her? Fashionista Barbie (of course).

I am amped about leaving for the holidays this Wednesday and saying bye-bye to Atlanta for a short period. Until then, it's back to academic writing for me!

Break-ups, Boots, and Indiana Jones

In my bummed out state my mind wanders a lot. For several hours, that scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom where the guy rips out a still beating heart and shows it to his victim kept plaguing my thoughts. This is my filmic representation of the break-up I am currently enduring.


Rather than imagine anthropological parallels to having a broken heart, I did what was best for me: I went shopping, got my nails done and shot some pool. I got an awesome pair of boots from Macy's and some really cute tights with little stars in the stitch. The boots are super cute and go well with the new sweater (mentioned below) and some skinny jeans that I haven't been able to fit into a few years. I guess one good thing about being depressed is that you lose weight--I haven't been able to eat much since this all happened.

Karma

This is a tale of an interesting twist that I cannot resist writing down.

The background: My roommate has been going through a spate of bad luck that doesn't seem to be getting any better.

The setting: the ladies room of a Monday night comedy club.

What happened: My roommate overheard a woman crying on the phone in the bathroom. She was asking someone to come down to the bar and bring cash because her credit card had been declined for her bar tab. My roommate, thinking that she needs to do something about her own bad luck decides to help the woman out. She tells this woman that she'll pay her tab, and writes down her phone number so this woman can call her later and pay her back when she has the chance.

My roommate comes out of the bathroom and tells me about this. She says that she did it because she needs to do something about her karma --this bad luck has to change.

After we got home later, the woman from the bar sent my roommate a text to make arrangements to pay her back tomorrow.

The twist: it turns out the woman from the bar is named Karma. 

Wasted Away Again in Breakup-Ville

Love is by far the most disappointing promise in life. We grow up being told that when we get older we will find the "one" and be happy for the rest of our lives. That is the most unfulfilled promise I can think of. Love changes, people change, they distrust one another and do horrifying things in the name of love.

People often reference the idea that religion has been the justification for more murders and warfare than anything else. I think that love is far worse. It is the justification for more abuse, hurt, anger and the gamut of negative emotions than anything else.

I am pretty sure I am destined to be a spinster. Too bad I don't like cats. But the perennial broken heart is far worse than being alone.

As always, I look to Woody Allen for break-up advice.I guess it's better than listening to REM, U2 or  resorting to the cliche Gloria Gaynor.

Eternal Sunshine

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is by far one of my favorite movies. Although I haven't seen it in a very long time, it still manages to be thought provoking even in its absence. It makes me wonder how far people will go to forget pain and anguish. If you could erase someone from your memory who has hurt you deeply, would you do it?  Are memories the hardest part of walking away? While the upshot of this movie is that the good memories were too strong to erase, it denies a certain recognition of the tipping point where the good no longer outweighs the bad. This musing is definitely based upon hindsight of a film that has influenced me greatly but still remains somewhat of a shadow in my mind. I have added it to my mental queue of films to see again  and I might even muse about it at a later time. For now, I've added a couple of clips...


Here is a music video of this film set to Coldplay:



And of course, the official trailer:

Grappling with WikiLeaks

The immense hype concerning WikiLeaks drew me to the site today to see what this is all about.

Because the site has limited search functions, I was unsure where to begin. Like a moth to the flame I  went to the Mexico page to see if there was any new information I could use for my dissertation. There wasn't a single thing about the narcotics conflict in Juarez that I wasn't already aware of, and I read all of the available information.

However, I did get quite an unexpected laugh from one of the wires. This confidential document described a 2010 conference between Latin American heads of state as " dominated by press accounts of ALBA country theatrics and their usual proclivity towards third world, anti-imperialist rhetoric. Nothing practical was achieved".

It wasn't this part that made me laugh, but a detailed description of an altercation between Hugo Chavez (Venezuela) and Uribe (Columbia):
 
"Chavez reacted emotionally accusing Colombia of having sent assassination squads to kill him and ended a verbal and physical tirade with “You can go to hell; I am leaving (the lunch).” Uribe responded, “Don’t be a coward and leave just to insult me from a distance.” Verbal and body language continued to escalate, until Raul Castro stepped in to urge civilized discussion."

Who would have thought that Fidel's little brother was a peacemaker?

(As a disclaimer, I am still unsure how I feel about this website and if it compromises the U.S or not. I am not promoting or condemning it: I am ambivalent at this point and need to learn more)

What do you think of WikiLeaks? Please leave a comment and help me decide how to feel about this.

Insomnia

It's 5am and I can't seem to wind down for bed. After writing letters and poems that I will never send to the addressee who is plaguing my thoughts, I need something else. Naturally, I reach out of my mind and straight for my blog to put the heavy thoughts away and engage with the world in lighter way.

I am a huge fan of music and have been all of my life. It seems as though I am never at a loss for a song to suit the situation. No matter how I am feeling, a song always seems to come to mind that encapsulates the given moment or emotion. While in the days before internet you had to rely on memory, CDs and radio, now any song that comes to mind can be pulled up with ease.

This morning's tune is Shattered by OAR. The refrain, "turn the car around" keeps running through my mind like there is no tomorrow as it suits my deeper philosophical questions (usually it goes through my head when I am driving, but not today). Can we ever turn the car around when we are not the only ones driving?

New Sweater

Every year my best friend and I buy each other gift cards to Victoria's Secret. I know its not very original or creative to buy the same gift for each other every year (our birthdays are about a month apart), but it makes us both happy and we have done it for years. Last night, in a cold sweat from shopping withdrawals, I went online and spent the whole gift card only minutes before an additional sale on clearance items ended. Here is my favorite (and most appropriate to post online) purchase:

I know you're shocked that I went for the lingonberry (its pretty close to fuchsia!) I really like the sleeves, it looks really soft, and hopefully it won't be too long on me at my grand height of 5'2.

I sometimes wish that Victoria's Secret would get a couple of short and thick models so I could get a sense of how long their clothes would be on me. Their models are so tall that I have to estimate that if the clothes reach their knees, they will probably be down to my shins!

If worst comes to worst, at least I'll have a cute sweater dress to rock with knee high boots and tights.

My First Rock Concert in Years

Last night I had the chance to see Switchfoot and American Bang at the 99x Mistletoe Jam. A few hours before the show a friend gave me the tickets because she couldn't make it and I got to go. It was pretty awesome, these were pit tickets and I stood in front of the stage most of the night.

I hadn't heard of American Bang before, but they put on an excellent show nonetheless. I was totally impressed with their music and performance on stage. Heavy rock, great lead vocals, and really good musicians overall. I think we can expect good things from this Nashville based band.

Switchfoot was off the hook. They are even better live than they are on the radio and really know how to put on a show.

While I really liked the music, I was shocked that there wasn't a mosh pit. Makes me wonder if its my age, or the fact that this was the first rock show I have been to outside of California. Who knows? But either way, I really lucked out with this show last night!

Awesome Song and Video

I think this is my new favorite song.

December

My favorite month of all time and it just keeps getting better as the years go on. Why, you ask?
Well, to begin with my birthday is in December. I love birthdays. I am not one of those people who find them unimportant, depressing, or lame. I don't get embarrassed when people sing happy birthday to me in public, and I don't mind celebrating numerous times over a week-long period.

Then, after my personal little holiday are the birthdays of three of my nieces, one of my nephews, my brother (ok its the last day of November, but close enough), and my best friend since childhood.

Then we have the holidays, which are cool and we all know about them. Great shopping, exchanging gifts, all the good stuff. I always go home. See a movie and hit up the beach on Christmas and eat some very Jewish Chinese food if I am lucky. I can recall the last 5 years of Christmas' by the movies I have seen on that date. (Sherlock Holmes 2009, Yes Man 2008, Juno 2007, Night at the Museum 2006, Cheaper by the Dozen 2005, Lemony Snickett 2004....)

Enjoying my first snowfall on my 24th birthday in New York

But then, the best part of December is that it goes out with a bang: New Years Eve. The best holiday of the year if you ask me, its kind of like the calendar saved the best for last.

Satchmo

In an attempt to bring a little bit of New Orleans spirit back to Atlanta and to my blog, I'm in a Louis Armstrong mood today. There is something about the sound of his trumpet that makes me smile and want to start the day fresh and happy. Because hey, it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing, right?





Here is another one of my favorites, Black and Blue, a jazzy and awesome commentary on racism in the U.S.

Pop Music Meets Stephen King

Pink's song, Please Don't Leave Me is one of my favorite's right now. Today, I watched the YouTube video and was blown away by the utter creep factor in this video: It's like Pink had Stephen King direct it. Two of the scenes are taken straight from his movies, one from Misery and the other from the Shining. Regardless of the creepy video content, this is a really good artistic representation of Borderline Personality Disorder. A friend of mine who is writing her dissertation on BPD made this observation and I completely agree with it.



Pink's video for Sober is also a bit disturbing, but for other (more perverse) reasons. Sober is my favorite Pink song, its pretty damned amazing. I am posting it here for your viewing pleasure: 

The Journey Home

Thanksgiving weekend was a success. Yesterday I made the long trek back to Atlanta with a stop in Birmingham to pick up my roomie.

Here are a few highlights and observations.
1. Do not go to an outlet mall the weekend of Thanksgiving. The ladies at the coach store seem to grow fangs and extra arms for pushing you out of the way. Plus, since everything at the outlet mall is always on sale anyway, they seem to raise their prices rather than lower them on big shopping weekends. I mean, that's just a theory, but it seemed to be the case.

2. Everyone in Alabama seems to wear camouflage. Its freaky when you are just stopping at the nearest gas station to relieve yourself and all of the other patrons are decked out like they are about to go to war. Who knows, maybe this weekend everyone in Alabama was just getting out of black Friday shopping, it is a bit of a jungle out there. 

3. If you roll through Alabama blasting Lady Gaga and wearing a funky hat, sequin scarf and boots up to your knee, everyone you encounter in Alabama will ask you where you came from as though you just stepped out of an alien spacecraft. Its so funny, that I make an effort to dress extra funky just to see the looks on their faces when I hop out of my truck for coffee breaks.

Why I Love New Orleans

I arrived in New Orleans on Wednesday night to visit my mom for Thanksgiving. Every time I come here, I remember how much I love this place.  Here are a few reasons:

First, its late November and its humid. I know I am here when I smell the salt air and feel the humidity in the car. This Thanksgiving I have been thankful for the nice weather in New Orleans. Considering that I got locked out of my mom's house last night and had to sleep in my truck, I was very thankful that she doesn't live somewhere cold, because sleeping outside would have been miserable otherwise.

Second, people in New Orleans are really friendly. If people in Atlanta were half as cool as they are here, I would probably like my life there a lot better. But they suck. As such, I am always happy to come and visit my mom here. Folks here are very welcoming and happy to meet new people. No one gave me a hard time when I played pool yesterday and I appreciated that. I was immediately invited to join a game of (3 player) cut throat when I put my quarters up, and became engulfed in the jolly shenanigans that usually ensue when you hang with a big group of drunk people. Good times.

New Orleans is a big city with a small town kind of feel. Not the backwards marry your cousin kind of small town feel, but the "its nice to meet you, come to my house for turkey dinner and meet my grandparents" type of vibe.

Tomorrow then plan is to drag my mom to get some beignets, do some shopping, and check out some live music. As for now, I am happy that I am not locked out of the house and can go to sleep in a big comfy bed.

Chick Flicks

Last night I had a mini-chick flick marathon. After a full day of reading masculinist debates concerning Marx, Weber, violence and state formation, some good old fashioned excessive femininity was in order.

Chick Flick#1 Legally Blonde
Elle Woods is awesome. I love the whole concept of the west coast girl feeling completely out of place among east coast university folks. Not that I have ever been at Harvard, but I kind of know how she feels. More importantly, her consistent retreat to the nail salon is right up my alley, I personally think that there are very few problems that can't be alleviated by a trip to the nail salon! Here is my favorite scene, when Elle uses her knowledge of beauty to trip up the witness on the stand.



And this is how I often felt my first two years in an east coast grad school, this poor girl!






Chick Flick#2 Confessions of a Shopaholic

With my latest fashion obsession, I couldn't help myself. The clothes in this movie are fantastic and give me a lot of great ideas. It makes me want to run to H&M like its about to go out of business. This movie is also a lesson in what not to do with my credit cards...

Discovering My Inner Fashionista

Once upon a time, I was a hippie, goth, anti-fashion bohemian--I hated shopping with a passion. Nothing fit right, I didn't want to look like everyone else, and I was radically opposed to the whole Los Angeles, rich-trendy-skinny scene. Things have changed. About 3 years ago I dropped 70 pounds. The clothes that I had left over from my teen years that fit me were no longer my style and I had to learn how to dress all over again. Thanks to the help of my awesome friends in L.A. (forget Georgia, they have the fashion sense of banjo players) I learned and got a whole new wardrobe.

Lately, getting dressed is my favorite part of my day. Shopping is the highlight of my week. I mean, with all of this academic weight on my shoulders, I deserve an outlet right? Granted I feel a little out of place in banjo-ville with all of my sweet clothes and good style, but I am enjoying finding my inner fashionista.

Here is my latest buy from H&M, my favorite place to find fashion on my pathetic student budget.

It’s Not You, Its Me

Why changing my dissertation is like going through a break-up…








Today I realized that switching my dissertation project is similar to going through a breakup. Actually, its more like leaving one person for another, younger, more successful, better looking person who is on the news all the time.


I keep conjuring this scene in my head where I look into my former dissertations’ eyes and say, “its not you its me. I still think you are beautiful and smart and interesting. We have been together for a very long time, but I need to grow as a person and you are stunting me. Maybe some day in the future we can try it again, but for now, we need to go our separate ways.”


But really, it is like going through a breakup. I read the news, see movies, hear music, look through old photos, notebooks and papers, and I think of my old project. Sometimes I sit down with my new one and wish I was still with the old one.


I feel like I broke up with my project because my elders didn’t approve of its artsy-ness. They wanted me to be with a more staid, theoretical type. And so it goes. I broke up with my project to please others, and now I miss my old one. Sometimes I just want to tell it that I am sorry for the way I treated it, that maybe if I was more grown up I would have done better for us. But really, I gave it all I could give at this point in my life.


What is even more silly, is that since I dumped my old dissertation for a younger more exciting one, I have been losing weight, rockin a push-up bra, paying extra attention to my make up and buying clothes compulsively. I mean, hell, I just got out of a seven year relationship with this project that in its absence feels like a person is missing from my life. 

Does this qualify as unrequited love?

Fear and Loathing in Feminist-ville

I am too analytical for my own good. I ponder what it means to be a woman, especially in light of the feminist ideals that I openly embrace. But when I consider the realities of my existence in comparison to feminist notions that I espouse as well as teach, I can't reconcile them.

The end result is pure confusion: disheartening self deprecation that makes me want to curl into a ball and die. How is it that the mind leads me in one direction but the heart takes 15 steps backwards towards a space of contradiction? The only mode of communication in the land of feminist tropes is stifled self-expression codified into nonsense jargon of obfuscation. Inhabitants such as myself know nothing in the space of feminist contradiction except for the split object of ambivalence.

I could write endless examples: I am a feminist's worst nightmare who sees the world through a feminist lens. I live for clothes, shoes, purses and makeup. I am on a perpetual diet. I dye my hair to cover the 5 grays on my head. I am in a heterosexual relationship. I have aspirations to make tons of money because being poor doesn't afford me the luxuries of Clinique, Louis Vuitton, Coach, Estee Lauder and Gucci. I would get Lipo if I could afford it. I love rap music (west coast rap, that is). The nail shop is my comfort zone. The contradictions go on and on.

On the contrary, I hate cooking, cleaning, and anything domestic. I have no desire to marry. I don't even know if I want to have kids. I pay someone else to do my laundry, I eat at restaurants most of the time (that is, when I actually decide to eat in spite of my perpetual diet), and absolutely hate the grocery store. I don't even want a pet to care for in lieu of children. Every time I encounter someone of the opposite sex, all I can think of is the unequal power dynamics between men and women and analyze how their operative force influences that given moment.

So the question remains, how can contradictions be reconciled when they characterize every moment of lived experience? Is feminism eating me alive, or are the unbalanced scales of gender in society and interpersonal relationships making me insane?

A Terrible Day in Juarez

As anyone who knows me is already aware, I have been doing research on the border city of Ciudad Juarez for over 7 years. As I sat tonight and worked on writing my prospectus concerning the relationship between femicide and the drug war, I received a Google alert telling me the latest news. Fifteen people were killed last night as gunmen stormed into a boy's 15th birthday party. I have posted the news story below to supply the necessary details of this massacre.

What the news didn't mention is that this is the second time that this has happened this year. I have seen footage of the protests that responded to that massacre of young people who were at a party celebrating a sports victory. A mother whose son had been shot stood on stage and told President Calderon (who was visiting at that time in response), "You are not welcome here." That woman was so brave, as are all of the residents who stay in Juarez despite the violence, kidnappings, uncertainty, and extortion.

In the past couple of years I have had the opportunity to spend a little bit of time at the border. I have not crossed over into Juarez because frankly, I am scared that I won't make it back alive. As many of my friends and colleagues have heard me say before, my dissertation is not worth dying over. No one is going to bronze my bust and place it in the halls of my university. Grad students die all the time in the field. No one remembers them and I don't care to be a statistic.

With all of that said (sorry for the digression), I have been able to spend time in El Paso and have met numerous people who are from Juarez, have family there, work there, have lived there, been educated there, and so forth. Juarez and El Paso are two sides of the same city that was once divided by the Rio Grande and later by political boundaries drawn during the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

Why do I emphasize how many people I know from Juarez, you ask? Well, my heart breaks for these kind people. I first showed up in the borderlands less than a month after my father had suddenly passed away from a heart attack. I was a devastated mess with a research grant that had to be used or else (or else what I don't know). I came to the border with a camera, a tape recorder, a broken heart and tearful eyes. It was there that I have met the kindest, most giving people that I have ever known in my life. Following an interview with an activist nun, she innocently asked me where my parents were. When I broke down crying and let the sheath of my professionalism fly away in the hot El Paso sun, it was okay as she comforted me. I think that I told every person that I interviewed there what I had just experienced, and they expressed so much empathy.

Here I was receiving sympathy from people who have lost friends, family, colleagues and neighbors to senseless and uncontrollable violence. Other people might have scoffed at my one loss in the face of their losses, but not the borderfolk. They were the kindest people I have ever known and yet this continues to happen to them.

Someone please stop this violence.

It Gets Better Project

Like many others, I was shocked to hear of the suicides of Tyler Clementi and other young boys who suffered homophobia and abuse by their peers for being gay. I am very pleased at the level of protest and public outcry that is aiming to do something about this wave of suicides. While I am very aware of the critiques of the It Gets Better Project, I think that offering hope to isolated teens throughout the U.S via YouTube and Facebook is a step in the right direction. I have read a number of articles that are critical of Obama and the project overall, but the point is to help kids get through the difficult years of high school alive. Although they may continue to face injustices throughout their lives, at least during adulthood people can find networks and communities that offer stronger support than these kids had. In spite of the fact that I often accuse my generation of political apathy, once in a while, I am surprised and impressed by our ability to mobilize. Perhaps the days of marching in the streets are on the wane, and the internet is our new space of protest and solidarity.

It Gets Better

Retail Therapy—The Fuchsia Obsession Continues

Alright, I know I was planning on being all Zen, attaching myself to nothing, ridding myself of excess, etc. But sometimes a girl (even one who is striving for Enlightenment) needs to go shopping.

The coat pictured here has been on my mind for 3 weeks. I had a schoolgirl crush on the fuchsia satin and couldn’t get it off my mind. It didn’t call, it didn’t text, it didn’t Facebook. It just stayed on the rack looking beautiful for weeks as it continually ran through my mind.

Today, I broke down. It’s now mine to have and to hold and wear whenever I please.

The stats: Michael Kors, Size Small, Originally $200. 

After a run-in with the clerk, calling him a Nazi, starting a revolution with the other patrons, walking out, kissing the coat goodbye, and subsequently getting a call from the store manager asking me to come back, it was mine for only $75.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is how we do it!

A Lesson in Humility

So last night I was all ready to get started on some kind of spiritual diet. But, I learned today, getting on a spiritual diet of a balanced life is not like starting the Atkins Diet.

Here was my plan:
1. Wake up at 8:30
2. Meditate
3. Excercize
4. Start work by 10 am

Here is what actually happened
1. Awoke at 9
2. Meditated
3. Got really cold and decided to finish morning meditation in bed
4. Fell back to sleep
5. Woke up at 12:45
6. Started work at 1pm
7. Started procrastinating at 1:30


Maybe I should have listened when the Dalai Lama stressed humility and selflessness.

Dalai Lama

Today I was blessed enough to see the Dalai Lama speak. He radiates with not only holiness, but happiness. Rather than starting his address with words of wisdom, he laughed and set a tone of joyfulness that was infectious. Even though I only slept a few hours last night, I still feel the happiness that radiated through me this morning that sent me home walking briskly and singing to myself.


There were a few things he said that I wanted to write here to tell others as well as help me  remember in the days to come.

Firstly, I must say that I consider the Dalai Lama to be a feminist. When he was asked what he attributes his enlightenment to, he said his mother and the affection that he was raised with. It made me so happy that I was ready to jump out of my seat.

He stressed to us that nothing is permanent. Not people, not places, or even the sun will last forever. It is at moments like these that I wish I was raised a Buddhist. Not because I think that it is cool, but because of their attitude towards death. Maybe if this was the faith that was instilled in me early on, I would be able to handle death in a healthy way and not fall apart the way I did when my dad passed away. Nothing is permanent, he said, but it is important for us to make a difference in the millisecond that we are here on this earth.

His Holiness went onto say something that I have always thought and that I was taught from the time I can remember. There are many truths, and not only one religion is right. All religions strive for the same thing: service to others, humility, morality. He summed it up in such a fantastic way. He said that whether people are reaching for enlightenment through meditation and karma (Buddhists and Hindus) or through God (Judeo-Christian-Islamic traditions), they are striving for the same goal. He put it so beautifully that it is hard for me to put into words and do it justice.

After the talk, I bought prayer beads from a Tibetan monk. I asked this monk to show me how to use them and he did. It was kind of full circle for me in a few ways (this requires a back story).

When I first got back to Atlanta, I was reading Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. At that time I saw that the Dalai Lama was coming here and I decided to go and see him. Like Gilbert, I was very depressed and was desperately searching for a healthy way to cope. In the intro to her book, she describes prayer beads that are used in meditation and describes how the layout of her book mirrors the design of these beads. I had never heard of them before, so when I saw them, I thought I should buy them to complete the circle. I really owe a lot to her, because I also became inspired to write again and started this blog after reading her amazing book. 

While I do agree with the Dalai Lama’s idea that nothing is permanent, I also think that he would not deny the existence of cycles and transformations. Thanks to him and Elizabeth Gilbert, I am feeling that transformation today.

Here are my beads. 

My memento. 

My treasure. 

And the beginning of a meditation practice that has been waiting to get rolling. 

Passion

A very wise person once told me that work will make me feel like a rat in a wheel unless I have passion for what I do.  Right now I feel more like a rat in a Skinner Box than in a wheel, but I am interested in exploring the concept of passion.

What comes to mind when you think of passion?

When I think of passion, ideas of love, kissing, touching, sex, and intense feelings enter into my mind. Work on the other hand, does not. 

Because I am curious about what passion even means, I decided to consult with the fountain of wisdom, the knower of all  things, the keeper of all facts: Google.

 

According to Google's sexiest consort Wikipedia, passion is derived from the Latin verb patior, which means to suffer or to endure. I didn't make this up, it's true (you can click the link, it won't hurt my feelings if you do).  

 
In imagining myself on Freud's couch playing a game of word association, the terms 'suffering' and 'endurance' evoke sharp reminders of work. So in that sense, the wise person who popped into my mind and precipitated this inquiry was right. Hard work does require suffering, and they make sure of that in school.

But in another sense, this worries me. Does passion (by definition) require suffering? Can we love intensely without having to "endure" another, or making them endure us?

If passion is supposed to be the shelter from the storm, how can we reconcile the fact that the storm lives inside of us   and is awoken from its dormant state in the very moment that we begin to love intensely?    

Fear

Fear is frightening: That is what we call a tautology.


To even begin to write and discuss fear is daunting.


I resort to rankings and simple checklists like:


1. Flying: no fear
2. Public Speaking: no fear
3. Heights: scared but only sometimes
4. Clumsily falling in front of a crowd of academics: scared to death
5. Losing someone I love: terrifying


But these kinds of easy checklists do not lend themselves to depth, clarity or enlightenment. They smack of the muddled interior feeling that tries to understand fear at a moment when I am unafraid, when my adrenalin is not kicked into high gear, and I am so peaceful it is kind of scary (I can hear you asking me now if I am feeling okay, don't worry, I'm just not high strung at the current moment).


Writing is a tool for understanding fear, but it evokes apprehension at the thought of what might skitter out from the deep recesses of truth that writing provides a medium for expressing.  A young writer friend of mine told me that it is dangerous for young men like himself to write fiction. At that time, I was unclear on what he meant and mainly wrote it off as inebriated nonsense. But now I have returned to writing, and I understand his logic. 

Although I have never officially put down the pen, I suppressed my own voice behind the mask of overly-educated jargon that no one understands except for the ten other people on the planet who care about the same narrow slice of the academic pie.


Thus, this brings me back to fear (I know you were thinking that I am digressing with my metaphoric discussion of baked goods, don't worry, it's all part of my plan).
I think I have internalized academic conventions to the point that writing my own voice is frightening. The little Jiminy Cricket inside of my head wonders what I will say, what people will think about what I said, and fears that people will not accept what I have to say. But then, I realize that this anticipation is part of the academic game, and not the I-write-what-I-want-on-MY-blog genre of writing.


Because I seriously lack conclusions here, I will just add music: Fearless by Pink Floyd

Heartbreak Warfare

John Mayer has never been high on my list of favorites, but he seems to have redeemed himself with this release. It sticks in my head like glue and doesn't seem to fade away. Maybe I just like it for the political undertones, since it seems as though Americans like to pretend that there haven't been two wars raging for most of the last decade.  However, what is interesting to me is that a song that protests the war has to masquerade as a love song to get radio play, because our country can't be bothered with protesting a war that has a "voluntary" armed service. Voluntary or not, these wars need to end. (let's not mention either that a majority of soldiers in our "voluntary" armed service are poor and/or of color)

I'm comparison to the Vietnam generation that has been put on a historical-counterculture-pedestal for the immense amount of protests--political, artistic, musically and otherwise--it seems as though protests against these latest wars are pushed to the margins.  My generation likes to look back in praise of the cool hippies at Woodstock that protested the war (hence major New York Exhibitions celebrating the 40 year anniversaries of both 1968 and 1969), but we don't have much to say collectively about the current conflicts.

Although Outkast, System of a Down, Rage Against the Machine and others have produced music over the years that protests the current wars, I don't hear these songs on mainstream or alternative radio stations. Go John Mayer for wrapping your war protest in the silky kimono of a love song.

Empire State of Mind

Being from California, I have never been a big fan of the seasons. But on days like today I miss the fall in New York City. The sounds, smells, even sounds of the city as it enjoys those last days of good weather before the winter sets in. Its beautiful in Atlanta right now as it usually is, but for whatever reason, I long for a walk in Central Park to hear the leaves crunch under foot and see the changing leaves that shift with the pulse of the city. Although I felt somewhat lost for the years I lived in NYC, I always took solace in the aesthetic of the city. Long walks from Greenwich Village where I went to school to the Financial District where I lived always gave me perspective on life. I miss living in a city that only has to exist to give you perspective on your deepest feelings and desires. I never thought I would miss that place, but now I seem to be preoccupied with it. New York I love you.

My Song Today

I have decided that Three Little Birds is my theme song today, because "every little thing is gonna be alright." Bob Marley has always been one of my favorites, but now I love him even more because he reminds me of my little niece Dara. She is not quite 3 years old yet, but she already has excellent taste in music. Bob Marley has been her favorite since before she could walk.

(I think Dara was smaller than this when she started jammin to Bob Marley)

You Learn Something New Everyday

In my usual senseless habitual wikipedia surfing, I came across a funny tidbit of information about none other than Cheech Marin: he grew up in my hometown of Granada Hills, CA. In considering the hippie counterculture obsessions that characterized my youth, I am amazed that I never heard about this until now...

Here's to you Cheech! Not only for being a hippie, but for being a recurring guest on my two favorite shows, Lost and Celebrity Jeopardy!

Cheech on Lost
Up In Smoke
Cheech Smokes Anderson Cooper on Jeopardy

Today is Going to Be the Day

Waking up today I am determined to overcome writers block. I awoke with the lyrics to Wonderwall by Oasis in my head, because today is going to be the day! I thought I would share this song because it is amazing and is serving as a node of inspiration for my frustrated life.

So here it is: Wonderwall

Who wants to be my Wonderwall? I am accepting volunteers!

Art, the Border, and Questioning Why My Dissertation Should Even Be Written

Ni Una Mas

They told me that I haven't answered the "so what" question. I call this the Passover Question, as I previously mentioned before.

Unveiling

 

Today my brothers and their families are having a ceremony at my Dad’s gravesite that commemorates his passing and reveals his gravestone for the first time. I am very sad that I can’t be in attendance. I wrote something for my brother to read at the ceremony. Here is it:

Dad, over a year has passed since you left us, and everyday we miss you a little more. you were the best father anyone could ask for. You provided patience, understanding, and guidance throughout our lives. As each day passes, i find myself asking how you would answer the difficult questions that life confronts me with, what you would do in situations, and how you would tell me to face trying challenges. I miss the sound of your voice and hope that I will always be able to conjure it in my mind in the times that I need you the most. I love you dad.

My Latest Obsession

 

Don’t ask me why, but I have suddenly become obsessed with fuchsia. I bought this dress for the Lady Gaga show in August, and now every time I go shopping, I am scouring the racks for fuchsia. Funny enough, I think its out of season by now. I spent an entire day at the crappy Georgia mall trying to find something in this color, but to no avail. Alas, I must only fantasize about having somewhere to wear this dress to again. When I get depressed, the color of this fuchsia dress that is now hanging in my closet until further notice brings me the strangest happiness. 

If anyone finds anything in this color, please send it to me!!! Until I find another article of clothing in this color, shopping will never satisfy me, I am insatiable.

Galveston Beach, TX

When I was 17, I was discussing Texas with a friend of mine. I said, “screw Texas, it doesn’t have a beach.” He aptly defended Texas and told me about Galveston Beach. Fast forward 11 years, I decided to stop there on my trip across country.
I must say, Galveston Island is like a little slice of Mexico in southern Texas. Its beautiful, inexpensive, and felt like I was on a serious vacation. Luckily, a bad rainstorm caused us to stay an extra day or two and we found the side of the beach that wasn’t destroyed by hurricane Ike: Tiki bars, beach front hotels, and Mexican restaurants line the part of the beach that’s called the Seawall. A lovely vacation in the middle of our adventure! 
 

Homesick

Home is not simply a house. It is an idea that is tethered to place. My recollection of home is not only the structure where I dwelled with my family, it is a much bigger place: Los Angeles.
Home is filled not only with fond memories, but with tastes, smells, sounds, sights, and more.
I miss the smell of the beach air that creeps into the car before you can see the ocean. I miss the taco stands that line the streets of the shabby San Fernando Valley. While others, including my brother, may claim that the Valley is ghetto, its my ghetto and I miss it terribly. I would give anything for the taste of authentic carne asada right now. 

http://venicepaparazzi.smugmug.com/NEW-YEARS-EVE-PARTIES-IN/123109-NEW-YEARS-EVE/10826331_HmQVH#755175112_kJ3jf-A-LB 

The Passover Question

 

As the youngest of four children, I was often charged with the task of asking the Four Questions at our family’s Passover Seder. Years later, when there is little chance that I will be the youngest in attendance again, one of the Four Questions remains in my mind: Why is this night different from all other nights?

As a graduate student who is attempting to stake my claim in the scholarly world with great difficulty, I find myself asking: Why is my dissertation different from all other dissertations?

To be honest, I haven’t the slightest clue. My proposal is due on Friday and I am stuck. I lack motivation, inspiration, and other things that end in “-ation”. Although I have plenty of preparation, I consistently proceed with trepidation as the days continue to pass me by.

I feel like a Jew in the desert waiting for intellectual mana to fall from the sky. For now, all I have is virtual matzo and an unwritten prospectus draft.

Purgatorial Pool

As my current purgatorial state ensues until further notice (as to be determined by the powers that be), my desire to relax as possible before the storm clouds of stress come pouring through increases. This is what led me to a pool hall alone, setting out to shoot an amazing game to ease my stress. Mind you, my car is on vacation in sunny California until further notice, so its just me and my rusty old chevrolegs. Ok, I lie. It was only me and my taxi legs by the time I walked 2 blocks away and saw a really scary looking white van that was paying me no notice at all but completely freaked me out. 
I shot some mean games of pool, told someone off for insinuating that I can’t play when I first arrived, and overall felt good about my game. The only problem is that I showed off too much. I took too many left-handed shots behind my back (it looks really cool and I can do it), and woke up today with a thrown out back. Lucky for me, the confluence of Atlanta foggy-rainy-hot-humidity and my current state of purgatory have led me to believe that I am not missing a thing by stretching out on the couch.

Ellijay GA—The Misadventures

I love to travel. It makes my soul fly, enhances my consciousness, and allows me to bask in my Sagittarian nature. When I decided that I loved to travel, I was a little kid who often traveled with my mom on long road trips in California. It has taken me until adulthood and my relocation to the southern U.S. to realize that not all travels were created equal. Case in point: Ellijay, GA.


Rather than explaining my stupid reasons for going there and why it was the worst decision that I have made in years, I must note a little something about the journey.

I agree that the journey is as important or more important than the destination. However, when the journey involves seeing a real live chain gang, dressed in black and white striped uniforms like something out of Oh Brother Where Art Thou, I begin to question this dictum
. (Yes this still exists, only 20 minutes away from a posh outlet mall  where I bought a Coach purse).

Just to give you a bit of background. Ellijay is located in Northern GA, in the Appalachian Mountains (click here for sound effects). It is well know for its serene beauty, rambling river, a fertile lands. A perfect place to rent a cabin, or so I thought. 

Upon arriving in Ellijay. My phone reception gives out. I do the good ol’ fashioned stop at the nearest gas station and ask for directions routine. Upon speaking to the person behind the counter and trying to match her directions to my GPS, she explains “GPS don’t work in Elllllijaaay.” My God, what have I gotten my self into?

The cabin I rented was beautiful. Except for one thing. I am a city person. I like wildlife just like the next guy, but mainly when it is surrounded by city: central park, Piedmont Park, Santa Monica beaches, that’s my speed. So what does my dumb ass do? Decide to check out the town.
Here it is: The Piggly Wiggly and Waffle House. Strangely enough, they have a Mexican Restaurant as well. But as I learned the hard way, they don’t sell margaritas on Sundays =(

Everyone in town had just discovered Facebook. This is odd considering that it has been around for years. I guess it just hit in Appalachia. Everywhere I went I heard people talking about faaceboooook (said like I spelled it).

The Piggly Wiggly was like the Twilight Zone meets Deliverance. I was afraid that if I stayed there too long, I would leave with an accent that would make me sound like Boomhower from King Of The Hill.

Ultimately, I went to the most hopping place in town--Waffle House. I overheard women exchanging stories about being romanced by men with banjos (not kidding, its true), and another celebrating her first night out on the town since the birth of her child. She was very dressed up in a pair of pink pajamas.

Road Trips

There are very few things that I love more than the open road ahead of me. I have driven across the United States 4 times, each time a very different experience. The open road is an ocean, an inspiration, and a friend. 

All optimism aside, the road also seems to present you with the strangest things you never wanted to see. Most of these occur at the most mundane of places: drive through restaurants, those gas station/mini mart/fast food joints out in the middle of nowhere. You get the picture.

I drove across America in June. From Atlanta to Tampa Bay, to Washington DC, to NYC, back to Atlanta, and then California. Long freaking drive. Especially Texas, which deserves to be listed twice just due to sheer size. Texas (There, I did it)

While I might reserve the average, “let-me-brag-about-my-cool-experiences-online” run-of-the-mill travel experiences for a later blog, my current goal is to call attention to the crazy shit that lurks in the long desolate stretches between cities in the US. For the sake of brevity, I’ll list the top three travel misadventures (author’s note, these are collective stories from the trip, I wasn’t stupid enough to drive that far alone): 

1. Valdosta, GA—I made a pit stop in the city’s main attraction: The Mall. I tried on a dress, and upon looking in the mirror, I noticed an enormous jizz stain on the black dress I had just put on. Needless to say, I didn’t buy it, and then ran screaming out of the store (not quite screaming, but you can picture my reaction, right?)


2. Blythe, CA-The back of the Chevron Gas station has signs posted for a massage room. Upon closer investigation, it turns out that Blythe CA hosts a gas station-mini mart-BROTHEL combination. (Also, my reaction entailed screaming and running for the car)

3. On 95 somewhere in Virginia near North Carolina: my travel partner witnesses a man bathing in a barrel behind a motel. This time he is the one screaming and running while I drive the getaway car.
 

Pool Shark

Billiards is humankind’s greatest invention after the wheel. Screw airplanes, Iphones, immunizations, forks and knives. Pool trumps them all.

You see, billiards is the perfect expression of my feminism. I love to play with the boys, just mess with me and I’ll hand you your ass. And then, when you feel ashamed that you just lost to a girl and begin to address me as “young lady” or try to teach me how to play after I just beat you senseless, I will bite your head off and hand you that too, just to match your ass.

Additionally, pool allows me to be a cosmopolitan. While it may be associated with the laboring classes and barflies, it is played by these classes almost universally. I have played pool in almost every country I have visited, played with people with whom I did not share a language, and fully attempted to map every pool table between L.A and Edinburgh. The one pictured here is in Old Mesilla, New Mexico.

Five Things You Should Know About Me (and my blog)

1. Grammar and Style. I know how to write. I know all the rules. Don’t end a sentence in a predicate, I before E except after C, use a strong thesis statement, etc. I know these things and I teach them to my students. However, my purpose in writing this blog is to defy all of the rules and use run-ons like they are sweet waterfalls that run life into this new genre of writing that I am beginning to explore.

2. I address this blog to the general public (usually encapsulated in my form of address as “folks”). But I know that my only follower is my mom. But I remain hopeful that some others might read this and get a laugh.

3. I am a disgruntled academic. I have touched on this a few times, but I thought I should just put it out there in case folks haven’t gathered this yet.

4. I don’t plan on linking this to my facebook. I have been on that site for over 4 years and it feels more alienating than anything. So many of my worlds are mixed in my 600 friends that I don’t want to post anything on there anymore for fear that the wrong person will get the wrong idea of me.

5. I love photographs more than life itself. Plan to see them with every post. If I stop posting photos, you may want to see if I am running a fever (you might think this only applies to my mom, but I am not opposed to care from perfect strangers as well. And I love chicken soup in case that day comes and I get sick and don’t post photos and you want to help me in my time of need. The chunky variety is the best)

Atlanta…

I hate to break it to you folks. But Atlanta is no Atlantis, a lost paradise. Not even close. However, Atlanta does have a few benefits that hide behind the overly congested freeways packed with people who can’t drive, the racism, no alcohol on Sundays, bad shopping, cold weather, mosquitoes, cockroaches on steroids, SNOW, and terrible customer service. (Did I mention that the malls are horrendous?)
Those things are as follows: Piedmont Park and Waffle House

Piedmont park is the most gorgeous place in the south on those first days of spring when everything blooms at once and all of the people in the city come and share this lovely communal space in such a peaceful way that you could never imagine that segregation in this city implicated Piedmont Park as a “color line.” Its beautiful, interesting, and surprisingly easy to find parking. For an afternoon all can pretend that Atlanta is a real city with a cosmopolitan feel. Although that veneer dissipates as soon as you get back in your car to go home, Piedmont park feels like New York’s Central Park on those fine days early in the spring.

For the rest of the year when the weather isn’t anywhere near nice enough to walk in the park like a teenager in love, Waffle House is the spot. Open 24 hours, having locations all over Atlanta, and the cheapest menu possible, Waffle house is that perfect thing anytime of day or night when you want some good greasy breakfast that will allow you to eat away your troubles (even if they are, like mine, related to dieting). Don’t forget to tip though, the waiters don’t even make half of the state’s minimum wage. 

Screw Virginia. Piedmont park is for lovers.