I believe the President is a position to set the tone for the American people. Yes, the person makes lots of decisions that affect many American people, but they are to be a face of America, some one presentable and representative of us to the rest of the world. This is why I was excited about Obama coming in to replace Dubyah. I don’t doubt W’s integrity or sense of wanting to do good for the American people. I believe that he felt like he was doing many of the right things for us. I do believe, though, he was an embarrassment for the nation in the global media. This seems to have more to do with his accent and his speech, and the reputations that each carry with them, than his ultimate ethos of looking at the world. He would randomly make up words, slur his speech, say “Amurica” instead of “America,” which all built this image of himself that seemed to be uneducated and unknowledgeable. His charisma was lacking.
That is why I was anxious for some one new to come in, and, despite his “lack of experience,” I am happy Obama is in office. He is someone that many people can identify with and look up to. He’s educated, passionate, and, chiefly in my book, eloquent. A respectable representative to the rest of the world who wants to seek out understanding and peace with other nations and not call them names is a good guy in my book. The President’s most powerful tool has to be her or his speech, tone, and grammar. People will listen to what the President have to say and make their judgments based on that, be it the American public, the state of the nation, or the interactions going on in the world. The role a leader is to be a figurehead for us all to look up to and to represent our country tastefully to the rest of the world.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
# 19 – A Global Economic Crisis
Our day in Detroit was something else. With remnants of all the empty parking lots and shopping centers from our first day in Memphis, Detroit seemed to be the hardest hit area of this global economic crisis. Everyone knows that the town has been dying for twenty years or so now. The sheer volume of boarded up homes and businesses was enough to let me know that something was up with the economy. Meeting with the officials in Rossford and talking with certain people involved in different aspects of the automobile industry demonstrated how widespread this economic hit of the recent bankruptcies actually was. Tons of people are out of jobs, people that have worked for years and years are finding themselves completely empty-handed.
As much as this tragedy represents and downturn in the global economy, we see things like the Heidelberg Project that remind us of beauty coming from rundown places. I’m not advocating a vague, meaningless sense of hope in the future, but I am insisting that there is something to be said about the human spirit in the wake of crisis. Taking old vacuum cleaners, shopping carts, doors, and cars and creating artistic expression out of them tells us that we used to live without all of this crap that we apparently need nowadays. These objects have lost their ability to be used and thus their value in their original terms. Their lack of need gives way for a new need and new creativities. The building structures reminded me of the rundown areas of New Orleans, of certain parts of the Bronx and Brooklyn, of Long Beach… and East Nashville.
As much as this tragedy represents and downturn in the global economy, we see things like the Heidelberg Project that remind us of beauty coming from rundown places. I’m not advocating a vague, meaningless sense of hope in the future, but I am insisting that there is something to be said about the human spirit in the wake of crisis. Taking old vacuum cleaners, shopping carts, doors, and cars and creating artistic expression out of them tells us that we used to live without all of this crap that we apparently need nowadays. These objects have lost their ability to be used and thus their value in their original terms. Their lack of need gives way for a new need and new creativities. The building structures reminded me of the rundown areas of New Orleans, of certain parts of the Bronx and Brooklyn, of Long Beach… and East Nashville.
# 18 – “Promote the General Welfare”
This line of the Preamble sets out one of the goals of the government that is, after all, for the people. I’ve seen this take shape in many forms. The first I can think of is providing economic benefits for those that are out and out in terms of their finances. This can be by providing low-income housing, government support checks, food stamps, and other forms of helping people to gain their necessities and get their feet off the ground.
I think the line goes much deeper than this, though. I see it as the government truly working for what is best for all of its people. This is a pretty tough gig as we have grown so much larger as a country. The more people you have, the more opinions, the more needs, and the tougher to please. Promoting the general welfare involves everyone having a voice in the land of argumentation. We see with stories of the Navajo Nation that the government falls short in many ways. However, the goal really seems to be here for everyone to get a slice of the pie, for everyone to progress together. A government outlined to serve its peoples common interest and not itself is a rather beautiful idea, a rather revolutionary one for the time. I return back to the central part of this welfare being the freedom to speak one’s mind and to persuade others to join their cause towards creating a better future.
I’ve seen it at work in Salt Lake City, San Francisco, and Chicago for the LGBT Movement. I’ve seen it at work, even though it was disturbing, in Portland and Chicago for certain sects of Evangelical Christianity. I saw it in Boston, Charleston, and Williamsburg as people celebrate the past and attempt to keep it alive. The act of free speech being available from the beginning ensures, despite all of the inequalities that exist, that progress towards the general welfare can be made.
I think the line goes much deeper than this, though. I see it as the government truly working for what is best for all of its people. This is a pretty tough gig as we have grown so much larger as a country. The more people you have, the more opinions, the more needs, and the tougher to please. Promoting the general welfare involves everyone having a voice in the land of argumentation. We see with stories of the Navajo Nation that the government falls short in many ways. However, the goal really seems to be here for everyone to get a slice of the pie, for everyone to progress together. A government outlined to serve its peoples common interest and not itself is a rather beautiful idea, a rather revolutionary one for the time. I return back to the central part of this welfare being the freedom to speak one’s mind and to persuade others to join their cause towards creating a better future.
I’ve seen it at work in Salt Lake City, San Francisco, and Chicago for the LGBT Movement. I’ve seen it at work, even though it was disturbing, in Portland and Chicago for certain sects of Evangelical Christianity. I saw it in Boston, Charleston, and Williamsburg as people celebrate the past and attempt to keep it alive. The act of free speech being available from the beginning ensures, despite all of the inequalities that exist, that progress towards the general welfare can be made.
# 17 – Wilderness on this trip
I have seen the wilderness on this trip a few times. Probably the best example I can remember is driving in South Dakota from the Mt. Rushmore area to Crazy Horse and the Lacota Reservation at Pine Ridge. We took a long, winding drive through a large park area and saw a large number of wildlife all around at different times. We ended up being about three or four feet from a huge buffalo, just hanging out eating right next to the road. We also saw a few different groups of deer and wild birds. At the same time, we could see nothing but miles of trees on either side of us. The wilderness resembling this isolation and freedom, like the city in a different form, showed us that there is a lot more going on that we encounter on a daily basis. As we are brushing our teeth in the morning and driving to work, around the bend there can be buffalo walking along feeding with their little ones, little birds hatching from eggs in the tree outside the kitchen window, and ants building a colony just outside the front door. It seems we have been able to pave over the wilderness, to reshape it, to redefine it, but in reality it still exists all around us.
I started out in thinking about this wilderness as some place far, far away from an urban landscape, suburb, or building. This is true, though. The deserts of Arizona and fields of Kansas and the mountains of Colorado do have the sense of wilderness, of animal worlds going on and maintaining themselves outside of much human interaction. But, thinking deeper, I feel like this really happens everywhere, thus mentioning the birds and ants outside (and sometimes inside) our homes. Defining wilderness to me is, like I said, a cycle of animal and plant lives that have the capability of surviving on their own, without human interaction, even though they may encounter us from time to time. That is why I say the wild is all around us. The systems keep going long after we have gone and without a need for us, really.
I started out in thinking about this wilderness as some place far, far away from an urban landscape, suburb, or building. This is true, though. The deserts of Arizona and fields of Kansas and the mountains of Colorado do have the sense of wilderness, of animal worlds going on and maintaining themselves outside of much human interaction. But, thinking deeper, I feel like this really happens everywhere, thus mentioning the birds and ants outside (and sometimes inside) our homes. Defining wilderness to me is, like I said, a cycle of animal and plant lives that have the capability of surviving on their own, without human interaction, even though they may encounter us from time to time. That is why I say the wild is all around us. The systems keep going long after we have gone and without a need for us, really.
# 16 – Dissent in the American Life
One of the most organized times of simultaneous protest and celebration I believe I saw was in Chicago’s Boystown on the eve of Pridefest. A few other students and I ventured over there after having dinner our second evening in Chicago in an attempt to be there and celebrate a bit. The event itself was not an organized protest in the common way you would think of it, though there was a parade going on the next day. Instead, there was really a celebration for everyone around as a form of protest to a country that will not give him or her equal rights. While riding on the L train and walking down a few streets, I picked up random conversations with people as I went, hearing pieces of different biographies, many of whom drove six hours or more to get to Chicago that night.
We all know of the hot topic in America that is the prospect of gay marriage, which has a multitude of different reactions from people, often depending on what area you are in or who you are really talking to. This topic often causes people to pick sides and, thus, causes dissent. I feel like the best thing for communities to do when under fire from mainstream culture is to, well, celebrate with one another. There is work to be done and much is being done to further the cause of LGBT rights. The celebration going on is simultaneously a means for the group to enjoy themselves and a means of protest. It was an incredible experience to go to a few house parties in the Boystown area and to further understand that we all are one in furthering the fight for human rights.
We all know of the hot topic in America that is the prospect of gay marriage, which has a multitude of different reactions from people, often depending on what area you are in or who you are really talking to. This topic often causes people to pick sides and, thus, causes dissent. I feel like the best thing for communities to do when under fire from mainstream culture is to, well, celebrate with one another. There is work to be done and much is being done to further the cause of LGBT rights. The celebration going on is simultaneously a means for the group to enjoy themselves and a means of protest. It was an incredible experience to go to a few house parties in the Boystown area and to further understand that we all are one in furthering the fight for human rights.
# 15 – Art in Chicago
We did not have a chance to see “American Windows” in Chicago, but I did get a chance to take a moment at the Art Institute in front of the famous Gaugin piece on urban isolation in early 20th century France. The painting had a long series of assorted figures in a park overlooking a river, all of the people shown as really nondescript and more as shapes. Many of them all had different variations of the same sort of dress, with the same sort of weak toned colors. All were facing the same direction as well, not necessarily one another. This demonstrated sort of the isolation that characterizes the modern world and the urban landscape in particular. As people encounter more and more other people in the streets, on the Internet, and on the phone, the response, as many urban theorists point out, is to be more reserved, more isolated, a bit more independent. This sometimes comes off as being smug or not caring about others, but really I feel like it’s just necessary and a means of comfort with the self, relieving yourself of the small town expectation of chit chatting with every passerby, often out of only that expectation and not actual caring about that person.
I also hopped downstairs to the photography exhibit and saw a few original documentary pieces from some of my heroes of early documentary work. Many of them visually described the urban landscape of the 1920s, picking up on some of these same themes of western isolation of one’s personal life. They also dealt with the estrangement one finds in the horrors of child labor and immigrant tenements. Altogether, there was this theme weaving about of the world began to change forever. Not necessarily for the worse or the better, but it had definitely changed. The building structures we see have become more important and more involved in our lives. And there are more of them. Media (books, television, etc.) we are interacting with nearly every conscious moment of the day. The human mind has expanded and changed for forever with these introductions, possibly in a sense of impending isolation. That seems to be the point of these artists.
I also hopped downstairs to the photography exhibit and saw a few original documentary pieces from some of my heroes of early documentary work. Many of them visually described the urban landscape of the 1920s, picking up on some of these same themes of western isolation of one’s personal life. They also dealt with the estrangement one finds in the horrors of child labor and immigrant tenements. Altogether, there was this theme weaving about of the world began to change forever. Not necessarily for the worse or the better, but it had definitely changed. The building structures we see have become more important and more involved in our lives. And there are more of them. Media (books, television, etc.) we are interacting with nearly every conscious moment of the day. The human mind has expanded and changed for forever with these introductions, possibly in a sense of impending isolation. That seems to be the point of these artists.
# 14 – Encountering capitalism on our trip
Let me see here. I need to discuss a time on our trip where I have encountered capitalism. I’d have to say that we encountered this beast nearly every single day. It was lessened a bit as we were in the national parks, since we were hanging out more in nature. The exception here is at the Grand Canyon, where we ran into a grocery store to get some food. However, about the half of the store was laden with anything and everything you could imagine having the Grand Canyon logo on it. From caps to shot glasses to DVDs to junior park ranger vests, nearly anything you want to show that you have been there was available for you to buy.
This leads me into how I have encountered capitalism on my travels in America. In an earlier blog on Disneyland and Los Angeles, I mentioned Baudrillard’s talk of hyperreality in light of our “consumer society,” with, well, a gift shop at every corner. The thing is this is true. We started Day 1 in Nashville by looking through the Ryman Auditorium, with its Elvis garb, as well as a slue of print and tourist stores all around Broadway. We saw this in Memphis at Graceland, the Clinton Library in Little Rock, the UFO Museum in Roswell, and the Statue of Liberty in New York. The commoditization of the landmarks in the form of miniatures and shot glasses was enough to show us the face of capitalism. Even in the Washington, D.C. Metro stations, there were advertisements for a nearby water park containing statues of Abraham Lincoln and George Washington with floaties and sunscreen on their noses mingling with happy little white kids pummeling down a waterslide. We experienced capitalism in a multitude of ways, but it was chiefly shown in the gift shops we encountered in nearly every place.
This leads me into how I have encountered capitalism on my travels in America. In an earlier blog on Disneyland and Los Angeles, I mentioned Baudrillard’s talk of hyperreality in light of our “consumer society,” with, well, a gift shop at every corner. The thing is this is true. We started Day 1 in Nashville by looking through the Ryman Auditorium, with its Elvis garb, as well as a slue of print and tourist stores all around Broadway. We saw this in Memphis at Graceland, the Clinton Library in Little Rock, the UFO Museum in Roswell, and the Statue of Liberty in New York. The commoditization of the landmarks in the form of miniatures and shot glasses was enough to show us the face of capitalism. Even in the Washington, D.C. Metro stations, there were advertisements for a nearby water park containing statues of Abraham Lincoln and George Washington with floaties and sunscreen on their noses mingling with happy little white kids pummeling down a waterslide. We experienced capitalism in a multitude of ways, but it was chiefly shown in the gift shops we encountered in nearly every place.
# 13 – The American Frontier
I think what Jackson is saying here in regards to the American frontier is that the land between the Atlantic and the Pacific has been settled for some time now. Transport and communication from coast to coast has become much easier and satisfactory. No longer did we have just horse mail carriers but the coming telegraph and telephone. The westward movement has finally come to a close. Now we must disperse ourselves between the coasts that have been settled many places between. The furthering “out there” of the West can no longer be substantiated. There is nowhere else left to explore. Nothing we haven’t contained, conquered, spanned across.
The thing here is for us, at that point in history, to not lose our sense of purpose and progress. There had long been this fascination with moving westward to make a new life. As I said, the coasts were beginning to grow closer together. Nothing would be or could be the same. By the time of his writing, the Civil War had ended just a few years before and his fears might have been that we were succumbing to fighting each other without a unifying goal of progress to bring us together. We had conquered the frontier, nature in many ways, but we had not actually been able to conquer our fatal human nature of war and false altruism.
The thing here is for us, at that point in history, to not lose our sense of purpose and progress. There had long been this fascination with moving westward to make a new life. As I said, the coasts were beginning to grow closer together. Nothing would be or could be the same. By the time of his writing, the Civil War had ended just a few years before and his fears might have been that we were succumbing to fighting each other without a unifying goal of progress to bring us together. We had conquered the frontier, nature in many ways, but we had not actually been able to conquer our fatal human nature of war and false altruism.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
# 12 – America’s National Parks
After visiting both the
I grew up going to Smoky Mountains National Park, as well as a slue of other state parks, during every spring, summer, and fall as my parents always wanted me to gain an appreciation for the outdoors and not just sit around and watch television (which I often did – perhaps it was their means of intervention!). They have meant different things to me from time to time. They have meant biking around during the summer, the wind flowing by my face as I rode around with new and old friends. They have meant summer recreational baseball games while camping. They have meant romantic getaway hikes with my girlfriend during high school. They have meant time for solitary camping and photography work, complete with journaling and lots of reflection, away from any phone signal or Internet. With this multiplicity of uses, they have certain charms to me in many certain ways. So it is with the American public – different uses for the many different types of people that live within our borders. A great idea indeed.
#11 – California – What’s up with that?
# 10 – A Meal about America
During our last day of the trip, we ate at this purely vegan restaurant for lunch in St. Augustine. Besides being overpriced, the space of the restaurant catered to every Bourgeois Bohemian bone in my body. The outside was decorated in lush greens and blues, almost a watercolor of those purity tones on the walls, complete with quotes of preservation and loving the earth. The table was laden with pure rock salt straight from Tibet. The water jug was brought to our table sitting on top of an “ionizing” pad that was supposed to infuse the drink with all these body-cleansing elements. The menu was covered with artsy descriptions of organic foods from all over the world, from the purifying vinaigrette salad dressing to nine-bean fair trade burgers, which is exactly what I went with.
Many people ordered six-dollar strawberry smoothies with protein and energy boosts. I started off with the water and moved into my salad of lettuce, corn, tomatoes, and carrots and that vinaigrette dressing. I also moved into the nine-bean burger with more lettuce and tomatoes, bringing my tab to over fifteen dollars.
This represents a couple things about our culture. While all this food is great for your body, I noticed that the only people in the restaurant were white, upper-middle class artsy types with REI rain jackets and the works. It was somewhat tasty in my opinion, but I was also hungry again two hours later. What this meal seems to show is that whole bread argument from the film “People Like Us,” where your class positioning affects nearly everything you do, from the food you eat to car you drive to your ethos and perspectives on life. The difficult thing a lot of the time is for the people involved in these more expensive food movements to understand that every one cannot afford the way they are eating, whether or not it is better for your body. Thus, in parts of the Bronx, there are twenty liquor stores to every grocery store, and that grocery store will most likely have none, if any, organic food, or even real wheat bread. In our culture of consumption, we are relegated to our certain spaces because of our income, certain restaurants, certain markets, certain shopping areas, certain parks, etc. What is difficult is for even this food to not become another element of our status and reputation that we present to others, which I feel like it has become in our American society.
# 9 – Paving Paradise and Putting up a Parking Lot
I’d have to say that I will pick the largest section of pavement probably in the country –
Another place that this quote makes me think of is the drive down the
# 8 – Religious Expression
We encountered a lot of signs of religious expression on this trip, from evangelical Soviets in
At first, I was pretty amused, because, well, no one was stopping, obviously. I was reminded, as I often am, of the Rob Bell video “Bullhorn.”
Being a former Christian from the rural Southeast, when I see people throwing the words of hell around at passersby, I get angry in less than a second, being one of the three things that make me lose my cool in no time. I walked up to the guy with the bullhorn, who was in the middle of the phrase, “Hell is what awaits you. You must repent or you will burn in hell for the rest of eternity.” I asked him how this was working out for him, if any one was stopping to listen. He said the had heard a lot of name-calling and profanity but no one was stopping to accept Jesus as their “lord and savior.” He then, as fate would have it, asked me if I was a Christian. I said that I was not, to which he asked why. I replied, “Well, because of people like you. This is not the way you spread a message.”
Just about this time, a heavyset biker-looking guy comes over to me and begins to intercede in our conversation. By this time, Rashina had urged me for the tenth time to walk the hell away, citing that the conversation was useless and these guys are just jokes. I entertained him in conversation for a second and he also asked me the question of am I a Christian. I replied No yet again, and then he proceeded to tell me that my parents were perverts and heretics, and that they are to blame for me not being a Christian, as he thudded his Bible left and right in my face. I told him he was obnoxious, and that again, the reason I am not a Christian is because of people like him. I told him that Jesus was not proud of his behavior and that he, in all actuality, might be the one on a one-way path to hang out with Satan. I told him that the Christian God was about love, to which he told me to pull out any verse in the Bible that ever mentioned God was a loving God. The conversation was getting useless and I was incredibly heated (by that time he was yelling about an inch away from my face), Rashina and I took off, not without a slight jab by me letting him know that I would see him in hell.
The reason I believe this perturbs me so much is because the game is an end-journey that seems to be more about control and a pat-on-your-own-back (the playground mentality). I’ve heard enough from the pulpit about the atrocious sins of the world and how so much of it is on its way to the bad place. I admit that when I was a Christian, this just fed my insecurities in staying within the confines of my comfort zone. Judgment is comfortable, after all.
I want to leave this blog with a story from Donald Miller – At Reed College, rated as the most godless place of higher education in the country, there were a small group of Christian students. Miller and a friend decided to audit some classes and start a group meeting weekly or so with the Christians on campus, to which about four came out. During the annual festival usually containing lots of nudity and drugs, they set up a “confession booth” in the middle. After a couple of hours of no one coming in, finally one guy did, asking, “So am I supposed to confess my sins here?” Miller was there and replied, “No.” What followed was Miller, as a Christian, confessing the sins of the Christian church and asking the guy’s forgiveness for the Crusades, for Televangelism, for being very excluding, for all the hate that has come out of the Church, etc. The rest of the festival there was at least a thirty-person line in waiting for the confession booth and a means of understanding began to be created between the small Christian community and the outside, mainstream community of Reed College. The trick here is humility. Perhaps, the church should follow Miller’s example.
# 7 – The Grand Canyon
There are quite a few people that daily, weekly, monthly, annually seem to flock to the Grand Canyon. Droves and droves of vans and tour buses pay the twenty-dollar entrance fee every day, and many will choose to sleep in the hotels on the property. Somehow, it seems that the area became one of the archetypal stops on the great American road trip. It was originally, and still is, celebrated for its physical and aesthetic beauty, especially in its enormity. I think another reason that it became such a tourist hot spot is its location in the west, where families from the east can do this sort of “westward expansion” pilgrimage of sorts as a seeming ode to the early settlers of the US. After a while of it becoming a national park and many visitors coming, it gained an infamous reputation where you almost have to go for any sort of road trip. I’m sure movies like National Lampoon’s Family Vacation helps and advertisements for the Hover Round, the mechanical chair that takes Vernice and Joy all the way from their nursing homes to the side of the cliffs of the Grand Canyon.
# 6 – What does Lincoln mean to me/America?
With Sarah Vowell’s narrative of the tales and connections surrounding Abraham Lincoln, his life, his actions, and his assassination, I have to say that I have not though too much about what Abraham Lincoln means to me. I have heard two sides to his story of why, in his most important and legendary action, freed the slaves. The first is the most his presidential portrait being painted as saintly figure with strong personal convictions of the immorality of slavery, a view Vowell seems to have of him. Another perspective that I have heard is that he did so out of political reasons in efforts to strengthen ties to certain people and gain a better public image. This way of looking at him as always seemed to taint my view of him, but, all things aside, he did sign the Emancipation Proclamation. Whatever his motivations, the action was good and for the betterment of the country. So, to me, if I was to meet him, I would thank him for what he did and hear his thoughts on what exactly a true life lived really is.
In terms of how the country views him, I believe most people, history books, etc. take the first view I spoke of: Saint Lincoln. It reminds of James Loewen’s Lies Across America, where one historical landmark claims it is where both Lincoln was born and the home that he built with his bare hands, a rather odd and flat out wrong tourist trap. But where there is money to be made there will be Lincoln places to visit and icons to sell.
Lincoln seems to stand as a sort of symbol of valor, wisdom, and goodness for many Americans that actually give him a thought. I feel that our loyalties are not really to those in the past anyway, so it is not this deep sense of reverence experienced through the emotions that comes over the body when one thinks of the former President. Plainly, I think we respect him for what he did and then move on smoothly about our lives. I am not saying this in cynicism but in honesty and truth. Lincoln the President, the icon, the legend, the saint, and the commodity all connect with the current American in as many ways as the multiplicity of his forms.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
# 5 – Civil Disobedience
I’ve seen quite a few things that make me want to commit an act of civil disobedience, though honestly, I have to look within myself to make sure I don’t just want the disobedience, but to actually fight for that cause. Since the time and popularity of the hippies, there has been this interesting fad of rebelliousness, individuality. You find it when American Eagle ads tell you to express yourself as an individual (by wearing their clothes), when a journal for sale at Starbucks tells you to express your thoughts to the world for the day in order to make it a better place, or when a band wants you to join them in giving a middle finger and chanting obscenities towards the recently gone Dubyah at a music festival.
The one cause that I feel the most passionate about in terms of participating in civil disobedience is the issue of gay marriage in America. It’s been such a hot button, one where nearly everyone has an opinion. The action of civil disobedience I am not sure what I would do, but I do feel like action is necessary. What I think is speaking with my friends who would oppose it and ask them further about their relationships, attractions, etc., as well as legal rights. The conversation I had in San Francisco with the man at the sushi restaurant was great in that he felt like it was right for straight people to also get involved in this movement to further civil liberties. I feel like this is something I need to speak up about and help the cause while it is still going on. I don’t want to look back and reflect upon a passive voice, but one that challenged ideas.
In the Little Rock Nine Museum, one of the Nine mentioned that it was not the few hundred students who were openly hating them that made matters worse, but it was the few supportive students who kept quiet that really killed their spirits. The call there is for civil disobedience despite the disapproval of authorities, of families, or even friends. The difference here is that I’m not really risking getting beaten up or killed, but I am only risking the misjudgment of some people who I really don’t care about in the first place. The risk is honestly less for me than it was for those white students who voiced their support at Central High School, but I’d like to think I would stick to this cause even further.
On a final note, on my recent flight to Amsterdam, I watched the movie Milk with Sean Penn, and it was the first movie in my entire life that has ever brought me to tears. It was very powerful. And it’s not odd timing that Focus Features released a movie like this at the time they did. They’re best at being social critics through beautiful movies. And this one was definitely a success. Go see it!
The one cause that I feel the most passionate about in terms of participating in civil disobedience is the issue of gay marriage in America. It’s been such a hot button, one where nearly everyone has an opinion. The action of civil disobedience I am not sure what I would do, but I do feel like action is necessary. What I think is speaking with my friends who would oppose it and ask them further about their relationships, attractions, etc., as well as legal rights. The conversation I had in San Francisco with the man at the sushi restaurant was great in that he felt like it was right for straight people to also get involved in this movement to further civil liberties. I feel like this is something I need to speak up about and help the cause while it is still going on. I don’t want to look back and reflect upon a passive voice, but one that challenged ideas.
In the Little Rock Nine Museum, one of the Nine mentioned that it was not the few hundred students who were openly hating them that made matters worse, but it was the few supportive students who kept quiet that really killed their spirits. The call there is for civil disobedience despite the disapproval of authorities, of families, or even friends. The difference here is that I’m not really risking getting beaten up or killed, but I am only risking the misjudgment of some people who I really don’t care about in the first place. The risk is honestly less for me than it was for those white students who voiced their support at Central High School, but I’d like to think I would stick to this cause even further.
On a final note, on my recent flight to Amsterdam, I watched the movie Milk with Sean Penn, and it was the first movie in my entire life that has ever brought me to tears. It was very powerful. And it’s not odd timing that Focus Features released a movie like this at the time they did. They’re best at being social critics through beautiful movies. And this one was definitely a success. Go see it!
# 4 – A Song of the Trip
So, the song of the trip for a few of us has to be the Black Eyed Peas song “Boom Boom Pow.” There’s really nothing to the lyrics that has any sort of meaning about the trip, it’s just that we always seem to dance like crazy when the song comes on. On a couple different occasions, Rashina and Cory have been split up in different cars while driving around one of the cities. I’ve been on both sides of the coin, where we will get a text from Rashina with only a radio station number, to which we switch to it and are exploded with the sounds of the song. Really, we heard it in the car one day while driving, and none of us had danced in a while, and so that became our theme song without us really knowing it. It was fantastic. Really this song kind of demonstrates our incredible wanting for dancing all throughout the trip.
The song itself was only a song for part of the group. Not really everyone joined in, which is the essence of what Whitman is saying in his poem. Not everyone had to. Many other people’s songs were really in speaking about life, about pop culture, about religion, about the trip, about friendships…and this ran the gamut of the class. All of us were pretty different and had different interests, each singing different songs and granting different perspectives. A grand American experiment.
The song itself was only a song for part of the group. Not really everyone joined in, which is the essence of what Whitman is saying in his poem. Not everyone had to. Many other people’s songs were really in speaking about life, about pop culture, about religion, about the trip, about friendships…and this ran the gamut of the class. All of us were pretty different and had different interests, each singing different songs and granting different perspectives. A grand American experiment.
# 3 – Americans’ relationships to celebrities
It seems, at this very second, that many celebrities are celebrated so much more after they die. Take Elvis for instance. At Graceland, you fail to see mention of his drug habits or the tragic story of how he died, but you do hear of Elvis the lover, the musician, the philanthropist, who bought about a dozen Cadillacs for different friends and family members. In the same instance, at the Clinton Library in Little Rock, even though Clinton is still alive, you hear of all the glories of his presidency, the human rights goals attained during his time, and plenty of funny stories of the greatness of his and Hillary’s relationship. You hear nothing of scandal, nothing of Lewinsky, nothing of impeachment. The same is with Michael Jackson… the saint, the pop god, not the one who has been the butt of jokes for years concerning child molestation.
It seems there’s this odd pressure to look back in only joy on certain times in our lives and other’s lives. We can’t express regret really. It’s unfashionable… and undesirable. We feel bad saying anything negative at a funeral, so it doesn’t happen. It’s like what Death Cab for Cutie singer Ben Gibbard says in his song “Styrofoam plates” in reference to a bad father who passed away… “Just because he was a bastard in life don’t mean he wasn’t a bastard in death.”
Getting back to celebrities in America, it seems that we have a multiplicity of opinions, in general, when we judge their actions in the world while they are alive. However, there seems to really be one prevailing opinion when they die – heroification. It’s great to celebrate someone’s contributions to the world but probably another to deify them.
It seems there’s this odd pressure to look back in only joy on certain times in our lives and other’s lives. We can’t express regret really. It’s unfashionable… and undesirable. We feel bad saying anything negative at a funeral, so it doesn’t happen. It’s like what Death Cab for Cutie singer Ben Gibbard says in his song “Styrofoam plates” in reference to a bad father who passed away… “Just because he was a bastard in life don’t mean he wasn’t a bastard in death.”
Getting back to celebrities in America, it seems that we have a multiplicity of opinions, in general, when we judge their actions in the world while they are alive. However, there seems to really be one prevailing opinion when they die – heroification. It’s great to celebrate someone’s contributions to the world but probably another to deify them.
# 2 – Fineman’s Argument of the Role of Faith
In Fineman’s book Thirteen American Arguments, he writes a chapter called the Role of Faith, which details some of the messy situations of faith, politics, and social change in the last hundred or so years. He starts off with our native Tennessee, in light of the Scopes Monkey Trial, Oak Ridge National Laboratories, and the stronghold of the Southern Baptist Convention, and shows how it birthed the political career of Bill Frist, a politician who has had to do a lot of pleasing of many camps on relations and roles of faith in the culture. In the recent years, since Jerry Falwell and other evangelicals started bringing politics into the center stage of their faith practices, and vice versa, even more dichotomies have been created, such as single-issue politics (Democrats=pro-abortion=unchristian) where sides are taken on the basis of one “moral” issue. Somehow the Republican party became joined with the Christian right, G-d him/her/itself apparently became a Republican, and holy war on culture began to be waged.
This makes us think of what role faith has in shaping our culture. I will use two examples from our travels to illustrate this argument going on today. In Salt Lake City, most of the population claim to be Mormons, which has tremendous implications on local and state laws, the arguments and politicians that reside in that area, and the types of communities that are formed. When we went to the LGBT Film Festival in Salt Lake City, many community members claim to have been openly discriminated against when looking or jobs and by police. This is interesting in light of the LDS Church giving somewhere between 11 to 13 million dollars towards the gay marriage vote of Proposition 8 in the state of California, against the legalization of gay marriage.
Another example comes from our experience at a town market in Portland, Oregon, where a group of young Christians were singing worship songs on an elevated walkway area in efforts to share their faith with the rest of the group. Rashina, Cory, and I asked them if we could ask them a few questions, leaning toward what it means to be an American, etc. They told us quickly without us really having to ask. It turns out they were all from the former Soviet Union and had moved to Portland within the last fifteen years after experiencing much religious discrimination in their home country. The youth minister told me repeatedly that the American people had lost their way, that this country was founded by Christians, and that every early American president was a Christian, and that God wanted to take this country back for Christianity. As nice as all this sounds (and as good as it is to argue about this), the reality is that this really is not true. Somewhere along the way, this man was sold a false story of the founding of America, which affects very much how he resides and conducts himself in this country. His plan, his mission, is to take the Bible to the larger picture and to bring God back to the people of this country.
It’s easy for people to get squeamish, as I often do, to this sort of chatter. I know I did in Chicago when I was told by a very, very hairy man that the reason I am not a Christian is because my parents were perverts and that God is not a loving God, as he shoved the Book in my face, asking me to pull out verses and prove to him God meant love to disparate communities and not hellfire and brimstone. Thus, we have the sandbox mentality, the brick wall mentality of keeping people out, of making ourselves feel better. I mean sociologists aren’t free of this either. In a sense, we all, as citizens, and all, as sociologists, are a bit evangelical. We feel we have keen ideas of equality and hope that we wish to spread to all people, to aid the ones in the gutter, and to create success stories. We have conferences just as every other community, create plans of action, and express hope for a progressive future.
Altruism. What unites us. In and out of our arguments. We all, generally, seem to want what is best for ourselves, our community, and our country. This is why we argue and this is why we keep this machine going. It’s rather brilliant actually.
This makes us think of what role faith has in shaping our culture. I will use two examples from our travels to illustrate this argument going on today. In Salt Lake City, most of the population claim to be Mormons, which has tremendous implications on local and state laws, the arguments and politicians that reside in that area, and the types of communities that are formed. When we went to the LGBT Film Festival in Salt Lake City, many community members claim to have been openly discriminated against when looking or jobs and by police. This is interesting in light of the LDS Church giving somewhere between 11 to 13 million dollars towards the gay marriage vote of Proposition 8 in the state of California, against the legalization of gay marriage.
Another example comes from our experience at a town market in Portland, Oregon, where a group of young Christians were singing worship songs on an elevated walkway area in efforts to share their faith with the rest of the group. Rashina, Cory, and I asked them if we could ask them a few questions, leaning toward what it means to be an American, etc. They told us quickly without us really having to ask. It turns out they were all from the former Soviet Union and had moved to Portland within the last fifteen years after experiencing much religious discrimination in their home country. The youth minister told me repeatedly that the American people had lost their way, that this country was founded by Christians, and that every early American president was a Christian, and that God wanted to take this country back for Christianity. As nice as all this sounds (and as good as it is to argue about this), the reality is that this really is not true. Somewhere along the way, this man was sold a false story of the founding of America, which affects very much how he resides and conducts himself in this country. His plan, his mission, is to take the Bible to the larger picture and to bring God back to the people of this country.
It’s easy for people to get squeamish, as I often do, to this sort of chatter. I know I did in Chicago when I was told by a very, very hairy man that the reason I am not a Christian is because my parents were perverts and that God is not a loving God, as he shoved the Book in my face, asking me to pull out verses and prove to him God meant love to disparate communities and not hellfire and brimstone. Thus, we have the sandbox mentality, the brick wall mentality of keeping people out, of making ourselves feel better. I mean sociologists aren’t free of this either. In a sense, we all, as citizens, and all, as sociologists, are a bit evangelical. We feel we have keen ideas of equality and hope that we wish to spread to all people, to aid the ones in the gutter, and to create success stories. We have conferences just as every other community, create plans of action, and express hope for a progressive future.
Altruism. What unites us. In and out of our arguments. We all, generally, seem to want what is best for ourselves, our community, and our country. This is why we argue and this is why we keep this machine going. It’s rather brilliant actually.
#1-Nashville
# 1 – Nashville
I saw quite a few things in Nashville that surprised me. It was rather ridiculous, actually. I had never really noticed the amount of crap in the shops down on Broadway. We passed some flag shops (chiefly rebel flags) and went into some other Nashville tourist shops. Many of the items present to represent the city of Nashville, the state of Tennessee, and the South in general were mainly in reference to country music, overalls, buckteeth, and whiskey. It makes me think of the random tourist who arrives in Nashville (from a hometown of, say, Akron, Ohio, Portland, Oregon, or upstate New York) wearing spurs, a cowboy hat, and a giant belt buckle inscribed with some symbol of Southern pride. If you think this is preposterous, well, haha, it is, but it honestly happens about every other week in town.
One of the main aspects of this class is to look at the image a city (whether by the Chamber of Commerce or elsewhere) presents of itself and sells to consumers (e.g, tourists). What we find in Nashville is what sells to tourists as opposed to what Nashville is in actuality. I remember running into a guy from rural Oregon who bought 3 bairs of snakeskin boots for about $600 and thought he was getting a steal. Emphatically, he was kicking his heels around, proud of his investment, with the overtones of Heineken pouring off his presence.
The reason I am seeing this now is that the space of the locals and the tourists are so clearly defined in Nashville, as with many major cities. There are places in Nashville that tourists simply do not go to, unless they have friends in town, like most of East Nashville, anything in Hillsboro Village other than Pancake Pantry, and Elliston Place (with the exception of Exit-In). With this difference of space, there is a lack of sharing and a lack of knowledge for both parties, creating rifts in the relationships between locals and tourists. Locals can see Nashvillians as either dumb rednecks or perhaps exotic musicians, where we can see tourists as ignorant and as a means to make money. Neither of these assessments of the other are adequate, in my opinion. This, however, seems to be one of the negative effects of mass tourism and commoditization of local culture. Where the locals often benefit financially, they are crippled in culture-sharing and mutual understanding.
I saw quite a few things in Nashville that surprised me. It was rather ridiculous, actually. I had never really noticed the amount of crap in the shops down on Broadway. We passed some flag shops (chiefly rebel flags) and went into some other Nashville tourist shops. Many of the items present to represent the city of Nashville, the state of Tennessee, and the South in general were mainly in reference to country music, overalls, buckteeth, and whiskey. It makes me think of the random tourist who arrives in Nashville (from a hometown of, say, Akron, Ohio, Portland, Oregon, or upstate New York) wearing spurs, a cowboy hat, and a giant belt buckle inscribed with some symbol of Southern pride. If you think this is preposterous, well, haha, it is, but it honestly happens about every other week in town.
One of the main aspects of this class is to look at the image a city (whether by the Chamber of Commerce or elsewhere) presents of itself and sells to consumers (e.g, tourists). What we find in Nashville is what sells to tourists as opposed to what Nashville is in actuality. I remember running into a guy from rural Oregon who bought 3 bairs of snakeskin boots for about $600 and thought he was getting a steal. Emphatically, he was kicking his heels around, proud of his investment, with the overtones of Heineken pouring off his presence.
The reason I am seeing this now is that the space of the locals and the tourists are so clearly defined in Nashville, as with many major cities. There are places in Nashville that tourists simply do not go to, unless they have friends in town, like most of East Nashville, anything in Hillsboro Village other than Pancake Pantry, and Elliston Place (with the exception of Exit-In). With this difference of space, there is a lack of sharing and a lack of knowledge for both parties, creating rifts in the relationships between locals and tourists. Locals can see Nashvillians as either dumb rednecks or perhaps exotic musicians, where we can see tourists as ignorant and as a means to make money. Neither of these assessments of the other are adequate, in my opinion. This, however, seems to be one of the negative effects of mass tourism and commoditization of local culture. Where the locals often benefit financially, they are crippled in culture-sharing and mutual understanding.
Crescent City
A peaceful day in the Redwood Forest, absolutely.
As our cars inched their way amidst the sea of gigantic redwood trees, I could not help but feel a sense of refreshment, some semblance of natural serenity.
The mind I possess can not let me own this moment without some ounce of analysis. Yes, the 19th century poets, the Walt Whitmans, painted a poetic picture of nature as a place to return to the self and to gain insight, peace, and wisdom. Romantic and true in some points.
At the same time, some one years ago decided to mark off this certain area as a national park, build these roads, these trails, through their own forest to let me have access to these trees, and these perceived slices of solitude.
In an organizational manner, the poets and the state have unknowingly worked together to create and facilitate these places – dare I say, opiates – of society.
I’m fighting my cynicism and learning to know that I, growing up a mere thirty-minute drive from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, thoroughly enjoy these natural places to go – for bonding with a friend or a relative, for learning more about myself, or for romantic getaways with a girlfriend. Yes, these experiences are packaged, in different colors and with different bows than Vegas and Disneyland, but my [our] humanity is no less in tact. There’s really no way to escape this consumer society we find ourselves in, even at the places that meant for us to escape it.
So, the question is: do we decide to completely withdraw from this society, or do we decide to tailor this already-forward-moving consumption machine to create some different, more spiritual, transcendent, and emotive spaces? As enticing as the former option seems to me (and to a lot of cults), the most practical, possibly the most meaningful option is the latter: to change a system, one must become a part of that system. The middle ground of postmodern conversation, favored by Habermas, seems to be the best table where we can sit.
The world does not need another hippie living in a tree, yelling at politicians, to promote ecological responsibility. The world does not need another talking head, whether on Fox News or MSNBC, spouting propagandist bullshit about the war in Iraq, Proposition 8, or the Presidency. The only people affected by these speakers seem to be the ones who already agree with them in the first place: the talking head, the politician, the pastor, the hippie, the student.
So, what do we need? My answer is someone to revamp some of the systems. How Jesus exposed the hypocrisy of rabbis in Judaism let the new President shed light not only on the endorsements, awards, and bright records of those in his office, but also their lies, inadequacies, and privileging…. A Christian, like Donald Miller, to apologize for the Crusades, for the holy wars of politics, and for not showing true love to the homosexual community.
As the sun was setting in Crescent City, a burnt orange tinged my eyes and painted my clothes while I bathed in heavy wind. Atop a rock face, with a great friend at my side, I turned into a mountain goat for a number of minutes and hopped around from rock to rock, in ecstasy of the environment, the moment, and the breeze.
Perhaps G-d speaks through the wind, only to say nothing audibly but give you a feeling that life is something to cherish, to embrace, and to contemplate. The wonder in itself is enough for me to be content.
Ecstasy. Thought. Prayer. All from the Wind.
As our cars inched their way amidst the sea of gigantic redwood trees, I could not help but feel a sense of refreshment, some semblance of natural serenity.
The mind I possess can not let me own this moment without some ounce of analysis. Yes, the 19th century poets, the Walt Whitmans, painted a poetic picture of nature as a place to return to the self and to gain insight, peace, and wisdom. Romantic and true in some points.
At the same time, some one years ago decided to mark off this certain area as a national park, build these roads, these trails, through their own forest to let me have access to these trees, and these perceived slices of solitude.
In an organizational manner, the poets and the state have unknowingly worked together to create and facilitate these places – dare I say, opiates – of society.
I’m fighting my cynicism and learning to know that I, growing up a mere thirty-minute drive from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, thoroughly enjoy these natural places to go – for bonding with a friend or a relative, for learning more about myself, or for romantic getaways with a girlfriend. Yes, these experiences are packaged, in different colors and with different bows than Vegas and Disneyland, but my [our] humanity is no less in tact. There’s really no way to escape this consumer society we find ourselves in, even at the places that meant for us to escape it.
So, the question is: do we decide to completely withdraw from this society, or do we decide to tailor this already-forward-moving consumption machine to create some different, more spiritual, transcendent, and emotive spaces? As enticing as the former option seems to me (and to a lot of cults), the most practical, possibly the most meaningful option is the latter: to change a system, one must become a part of that system. The middle ground of postmodern conversation, favored by Habermas, seems to be the best table where we can sit.
The world does not need another hippie living in a tree, yelling at politicians, to promote ecological responsibility. The world does not need another talking head, whether on Fox News or MSNBC, spouting propagandist bullshit about the war in Iraq, Proposition 8, or the Presidency. The only people affected by these speakers seem to be the ones who already agree with them in the first place: the talking head, the politician, the pastor, the hippie, the student.
So, what do we need? My answer is someone to revamp some of the systems. How Jesus exposed the hypocrisy of rabbis in Judaism let the new President shed light not only on the endorsements, awards, and bright records of those in his office, but also their lies, inadequacies, and privileging…. A Christian, like Donald Miller, to apologize for the Crusades, for the holy wars of politics, and for not showing true love to the homosexual community.
As the sun was setting in Crescent City, a burnt orange tinged my eyes and painted my clothes while I bathed in heavy wind. Atop a rock face, with a great friend at my side, I turned into a mountain goat for a number of minutes and hopped around from rock to rock, in ecstasy of the environment, the moment, and the breeze.
Perhaps G-d speaks through the wind, only to say nothing audibly but give you a feeling that life is something to cherish, to embrace, and to contemplate. The wonder in itself is enough for me to be content.
Ecstasy. Thought. Prayer. All from the Wind.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Vegas!
Las Vegas
We started the day off in Las Vegas meeting with a senior member of their tourism board, part of the Las Vegas Convention Center. For about an hour, we discussed how the government goes about selling its city to tourists, the numerous successes of their marketing and branding campaigns, and the effects of the economy on Las Vegas’s tourists and locals. We learned a lot, from their annual cost of advertising to the fact that they are 2nd only to Google in the successes of their branding, especially with “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” After the meeting, our host showed us around many parts of the convention center, where a beauty/cosmetics show was going on. An older guy with about a 2-inch gap of no-hair on his arm tried to sell me some Nair. Tons of people everywhere were getting makeovers, testing out eyeliners, and sifting through mounds and mounds of diet pills, hosiery, and blush.
From here, we ate some lunch and ventured over to old Las Vegas, where many of the original casinos and current local hangouts are around. In the near vicinity to this strip away from The Strip, is your general assortment of things you find in nearly every major city – your liquor stores, quick cash marts, and parking garages. Since this is where not a ton of tourists usually go, the prostitute phone numbers reside in five-box sets, with your own assortment to choose from – petite teens or luscious Latinas – much different from the more personal touch of the [often] immigrant populations wearing shirts that read “GIRLS TO YOU IN 20 MINUTES” who flip cards from hand to hand and try to give them to you, quickly bursting your modern American personal bubble, literally and symbolically. Even if someone was interested, I could apply Goffman’s backstage and front stage illustration or even Cooley’s looking glass self to show that, even if someone was interested, chances are they would not take a card in the middle of a crowded street – rather they would find an alley, a porn store, the Internet, or a strip club.
The rest of the evening was spent walking the strip, enjoying the sites and sounds of the area as much as we could, learning that we really did not even need to visit New York any more, after visiting the Strip’s famed hotel. Matter of fact, we no longer need to go to Paris, or even Venice. Thank you Vegas – nay, Walt Disney – for making this dream come true. I say this in sarcasm with a hint of understanding to realize that not everyone will make it to these places. It just makes me doubt a bit about what we’re trying to do as people, giving a bit more weight to Baudrillard’s idea of a permanent Disneyland and a consumer society. Disney had much altruism in wanting to bring the corners of the world to the local, the American people, as a means of education, entertainment, family bonding, and, well, to make a profit (perhaps not in that order of importance, but who knows?).
Applying Baudrillard’s theme of hyperreality, of design and humanity in all the inanimate objects, policies, and means of conducting ourselves that we look to for guidance, stability, control, and meaning, this place is an obvious comparison. That’s the beauty of the juxtaposition of the day’s events – meeting one of the head thinktanks in producing exactly what it is that Las Vegas, well, is, experiencing the heart and matter of his production, beautifully laid out for us to enjoy, romanticize, and deify. I saw an elderly couple cuddling alongside the dancing fountains of the Bellagio, a situation I can look at one of two ways (or really a hybrid, which I prefer): a) the cog in a machine, the deaf, dumb, and blind consumer with a romantic moment produced time and time again by the Hollywood and Hallmark; b) a couple enjoying their time together and sharing a moment through which they can grow closer in their relationship. I’m going to go with a mixture – yes, this fountain cuddle moment produced for their (and our) consumption, but their humanity is still intact…including the ability to love.
We started the day off in Las Vegas meeting with a senior member of their tourism board, part of the Las Vegas Convention Center. For about an hour, we discussed how the government goes about selling its city to tourists, the numerous successes of their marketing and branding campaigns, and the effects of the economy on Las Vegas’s tourists and locals. We learned a lot, from their annual cost of advertising to the fact that they are 2nd only to Google in the successes of their branding, especially with “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” After the meeting, our host showed us around many parts of the convention center, where a beauty/cosmetics show was going on. An older guy with about a 2-inch gap of no-hair on his arm tried to sell me some Nair. Tons of people everywhere were getting makeovers, testing out eyeliners, and sifting through mounds and mounds of diet pills, hosiery, and blush.
From here, we ate some lunch and ventured over to old Las Vegas, where many of the original casinos and current local hangouts are around. In the near vicinity to this strip away from The Strip, is your general assortment of things you find in nearly every major city – your liquor stores, quick cash marts, and parking garages. Since this is where not a ton of tourists usually go, the prostitute phone numbers reside in five-box sets, with your own assortment to choose from – petite teens or luscious Latinas – much different from the more personal touch of the [often] immigrant populations wearing shirts that read “GIRLS TO YOU IN 20 MINUTES” who flip cards from hand to hand and try to give them to you, quickly bursting your modern American personal bubble, literally and symbolically. Even if someone was interested, I could apply Goffman’s backstage and front stage illustration or even Cooley’s looking glass self to show that, even if someone was interested, chances are they would not take a card in the middle of a crowded street – rather they would find an alley, a porn store, the Internet, or a strip club.
The rest of the evening was spent walking the strip, enjoying the sites and sounds of the area as much as we could, learning that we really did not even need to visit New York any more, after visiting the Strip’s famed hotel. Matter of fact, we no longer need to go to Paris, or even Venice. Thank you Vegas – nay, Walt Disney – for making this dream come true. I say this in sarcasm with a hint of understanding to realize that not everyone will make it to these places. It just makes me doubt a bit about what we’re trying to do as people, giving a bit more weight to Baudrillard’s idea of a permanent Disneyland and a consumer society. Disney had much altruism in wanting to bring the corners of the world to the local, the American people, as a means of education, entertainment, family bonding, and, well, to make a profit (perhaps not in that order of importance, but who knows?).
Applying Baudrillard’s theme of hyperreality, of design and humanity in all the inanimate objects, policies, and means of conducting ourselves that we look to for guidance, stability, control, and meaning, this place is an obvious comparison. That’s the beauty of the juxtaposition of the day’s events – meeting one of the head thinktanks in producing exactly what it is that Las Vegas, well, is, experiencing the heart and matter of his production, beautifully laid out for us to enjoy, romanticize, and deify. I saw an elderly couple cuddling alongside the dancing fountains of the Bellagio, a situation I can look at one of two ways (or really a hybrid, which I prefer): a) the cog in a machine, the deaf, dumb, and blind consumer with a romantic moment produced time and time again by the Hollywood and Hallmark; b) a couple enjoying their time together and sharing a moment through which they can grow closer in their relationship. I’m going to go with a mixture – yes, this fountain cuddle moment produced for their (and our) consumption, but their humanity is still intact…including the ability to love.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
San Francisco, Sushi, & Commodified Kerouac
Our day in San Francisco was off to a rather late start from a bus malfunction during the middle of the night, which ended up us driving around 30 mph about 3 hours to get back to East Los Angeles County to get the bus fixed. We spent a bit of time there (while most of us were sleeping of course) to get the bus fixed and then we continued on our drive up the 5, which we arrived in San Francisco around noon or so. We hopped over the airport where we jumped on the BART and headed into town to grab lunch. We hopped out of the station, hustled up the stairs, and were greeted by bright sunshine juxtaposing a rather hard-edge part of town, where the symbols around us were fast food marts, cigarette ads, and a beautiful array of people who either ignored the 12 of us or looked at us as a bunch of aliens (and rightly so). [The sun does shine on all of us, though. Doesn’t it?]
As we passed through the neighborhood, heading up a few blocks towards the famous Castro District, we found what we have been finding in many cities (e.g., the difference along the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, Redondo Beach, and Long Beach): large demographic, setting shifts in close proximities to one another.
We split up for lunch in the Castro District, which beautifully greeted us with rainbow flags and people on the move, electrifying the air with optimism and zest for life (in stark contrast to the pace and emotion of the streets near my home). Rashina and I nestled into the a booth along the side wall about halfway back in a small sushi place across the street from the Castro Theatre. Shortly after deciding to split the Veggie Sushi special, we were greeted with two bowls of soup… and no spoons. After looking at each other for a few seconds, eye-balling the table and the floor for silverware, we glanced at a gentleman sitting next to us, mouthing to one another to ask him about our current utensil predicament. Finally, I looked over, and said, “Excuse me, sir, sorry to bother you, but do we just drink this soup straight out of the bowl?” With a polite, warm laugh, he said yes and asked where we were from.
This is always one of the best moments in a day, when one of the two of us will glance at each other to see who will start the “40 states” spread. Rashina did the honors and we were launched into a half-hour discussion of life, love, gay rights, and America with a gentleman we had just had met (which really, to me, is one of the many gems of traveling to new places and meeting people unlike myself). He was a professor at a university in nearby Oakland, a two-session (four year) Peace Corps alum who had spent most of his life overseas, and nearly all of his time in America working with refugees who are trying to land softly. He said he did not really identify with America all that much, even though he was an American citizen, chiefly because he had spent so much time overseas.
In the midst of the discussion, we ended up sharing our cool experience at LGBT film festival the previous week in Salt Lake City, and how there was a huge population uniting in Utah to support gay rights. As a gay man, he said he was encouraged by our enthusiasm and wanted us to know that we, too, could play an active role in helping to further gay rights wherever we wanted. I know the situations are different, but it made me think about the Civil Rights Movement a bit, and our experience in Little Rock at the “Little Rock 9” museum, where sympathetic whites in the school would quietly voice their support to the African-American students, but never would actually take a public stand (inside or outside the school) to help others gain a more free and healthy perspective on what equality really is. In a sense, this is the call I’m beginning to see that we have as people of our generation. There is a group of Americans that are openly being discriminated against and deprived of rights on personal, governmental, and economic levels. I have been asked when discussing this with friends and family, “Now, doesn’t this community have ‘their’ own voice to speak with?” My answer is yes, absolutely. However, another one never hurt. Being from the Bible Belt and a former Christian, I could use that connection to that community to help certain conservative friends come to see the light about the need for advancement of LGBT rights in this country. Sadly, many of those friends have been bombarded so much with single-issue politics that the beauty of the gay community gets muddled in the false belief of standing up for the family, God’s design of marriage, or whatever other trite “principle” to keep others out of their sandbox. [I harken back to the elementary school playground mentality of some (namely the loudest) Evangelicals, who believe their favor rests in a higher being who supposedly preaches love for all and feel like they have a claim to some sort of truth, when, in reality, they are bastardizing and possibly even making angry that Divinity who they are trying to aid (if She/He/It/They exist in the first place). The end result of the playground mentality is a desire to feel better about oneself through blind allegiance, not to biblical teachings, but to hierarchical language and a keen non-understanding of personhood.] I love my Evangelical friends for their passion, but am saddened by their being misled – trading love and understanding for exclusion and false claims to purity.
Getting back to the day, we parted with our new friend after the enjoyable conversation, with a current issue of a local LGBT newspaper as a parting gift, to rendevous with our group back at the Castro Theatre. We walked through the Financial District to City Lights Bookstore, the famed spot of many writers and figures from the Beat Generation. As I walked up the stairs into the poetry room (which had a number of racks solely devoted to the Beats, with what seemed like a thousand copies of Ginsberg’s Howl, I could not shed away what seemed like four-feet-tall Mickey Mouse ears on top of my head. As a local poet sat writing and reading in the corner by a window bellowing a soft white, a light scoff of the eye came down across mine, the double layer of curiosity and outright annoyance I have experienced countless times when sitting in the middle of two miles of dead-stopped Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana tags, as I have tried to get to work the past five winters on Ski Mountain Road at Ober Gatlinburg – though the difference there is my curiosity stemmed from the hopes of a cute tourist girl that I might be able to “teach” how to ski later on in the day. The space of the Poetry Room was beautiful, though I was not able to stay long – not unless I lived in the area for a number of months or years. I sat down and read a little Whitman and little Ginsberg, half-expecting a euphoric “ah ha!” poetic moment of insight and inspiration, which I quickly stopped as the weight of those ears slipped down over my eyes upon me bowing my head to read Howl.
We made our way to the Beat Museum, greeted by this goofy ass character with an oversized, pointy mustache and a purple zootsuit. I didn’t know whether to laugh in his face or punch him when he asked us (as he unloaded his early 90s model Jeep Cherokee) to come to his show later that night, which was being held in the lobby of the Beat Museum (by this time he was inside, standing behind a microphone and in close proximity to a stand up bass). A more acceptable figure approached us, a staff member of the museum with a sweet Mohawk, and asked us if we wanted to take a look around the museum. We did for a while and then exited – as all great places do, I assume – through the damn gift shop (which encompassed most of the lobby, edging right on up to our goofy man in the purple suit). Sadly, what caught my eyes were not copies of Beat literature (not even sure if they had any), but commodified Beatness, or commercialized rebellion. “Stop bitching and start a revolution!” read a black tee shirt with scratchy writing, with books of hippie lingo, Grateful Dead bears, and witty political statement buttons seeking me out on every shelf. At one instance, I picked up a five-dollar “Fuck Hate” poster. In my consciousness, it gave me the feeling of “sticking it to the man” or defying my parents or whatever you want to call it. The longer I held it though, the less powerful the commodity, the statement, became to me. By the end of about ten minutes, I was sick of looking at the thing. It would have been fun to hang on the wall in my apartment, next to my poster of the members of Sigur Ros naked (from the cover of their most recent album - Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, which I would recommend for anyone…. Here’s me drinking a Pepsi, me smiling, NOW GO BUY ONE) to freak out some of my conservative friends or parents (when they visit town). Buying that poster would have made me no more or less rebellious. It probably would have been worse if I bought the damn thing, because I would believe myself to be more subversive, contemplative, somehow more unique. Thus, the beauty [insert: tragedy] of commodified culture.
Bet Kerouac’s rolling in his grave. At least I hope so.
As we passed through the neighborhood, heading up a few blocks towards the famous Castro District, we found what we have been finding in many cities (e.g., the difference along the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, Redondo Beach, and Long Beach): large demographic, setting shifts in close proximities to one another.
We split up for lunch in the Castro District, which beautifully greeted us with rainbow flags and people on the move, electrifying the air with optimism and zest for life (in stark contrast to the pace and emotion of the streets near my home). Rashina and I nestled into the a booth along the side wall about halfway back in a small sushi place across the street from the Castro Theatre. Shortly after deciding to split the Veggie Sushi special, we were greeted with two bowls of soup… and no spoons. After looking at each other for a few seconds, eye-balling the table and the floor for silverware, we glanced at a gentleman sitting next to us, mouthing to one another to ask him about our current utensil predicament. Finally, I looked over, and said, “Excuse me, sir, sorry to bother you, but do we just drink this soup straight out of the bowl?” With a polite, warm laugh, he said yes and asked where we were from.
This is always one of the best moments in a day, when one of the two of us will glance at each other to see who will start the “40 states” spread. Rashina did the honors and we were launched into a half-hour discussion of life, love, gay rights, and America with a gentleman we had just had met (which really, to me, is one of the many gems of traveling to new places and meeting people unlike myself). He was a professor at a university in nearby Oakland, a two-session (four year) Peace Corps alum who had spent most of his life overseas, and nearly all of his time in America working with refugees who are trying to land softly. He said he did not really identify with America all that much, even though he was an American citizen, chiefly because he had spent so much time overseas.
In the midst of the discussion, we ended up sharing our cool experience at LGBT film festival the previous week in Salt Lake City, and how there was a huge population uniting in Utah to support gay rights. As a gay man, he said he was encouraged by our enthusiasm and wanted us to know that we, too, could play an active role in helping to further gay rights wherever we wanted. I know the situations are different, but it made me think about the Civil Rights Movement a bit, and our experience in Little Rock at the “Little Rock 9” museum, where sympathetic whites in the school would quietly voice their support to the African-American students, but never would actually take a public stand (inside or outside the school) to help others gain a more free and healthy perspective on what equality really is. In a sense, this is the call I’m beginning to see that we have as people of our generation. There is a group of Americans that are openly being discriminated against and deprived of rights on personal, governmental, and economic levels. I have been asked when discussing this with friends and family, “Now, doesn’t this community have ‘their’ own voice to speak with?” My answer is yes, absolutely. However, another one never hurt. Being from the Bible Belt and a former Christian, I could use that connection to that community to help certain conservative friends come to see the light about the need for advancement of LGBT rights in this country. Sadly, many of those friends have been bombarded so much with single-issue politics that the beauty of the gay community gets muddled in the false belief of standing up for the family, God’s design of marriage, or whatever other trite “principle” to keep others out of their sandbox. [I harken back to the elementary school playground mentality of some (namely the loudest) Evangelicals, who believe their favor rests in a higher being who supposedly preaches love for all and feel like they have a claim to some sort of truth, when, in reality, they are bastardizing and possibly even making angry that Divinity who they are trying to aid (if She/He/It/They exist in the first place). The end result of the playground mentality is a desire to feel better about oneself through blind allegiance, not to biblical teachings, but to hierarchical language and a keen non-understanding of personhood.] I love my Evangelical friends for their passion, but am saddened by their being misled – trading love and understanding for exclusion and false claims to purity.
Getting back to the day, we parted with our new friend after the enjoyable conversation, with a current issue of a local LGBT newspaper as a parting gift, to rendevous with our group back at the Castro Theatre. We walked through the Financial District to City Lights Bookstore, the famed spot of many writers and figures from the Beat Generation. As I walked up the stairs into the poetry room (which had a number of racks solely devoted to the Beats, with what seemed like a thousand copies of Ginsberg’s Howl, I could not shed away what seemed like four-feet-tall Mickey Mouse ears on top of my head. As a local poet sat writing and reading in the corner by a window bellowing a soft white, a light scoff of the eye came down across mine, the double layer of curiosity and outright annoyance I have experienced countless times when sitting in the middle of two miles of dead-stopped Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana tags, as I have tried to get to work the past five winters on Ski Mountain Road at Ober Gatlinburg – though the difference there is my curiosity stemmed from the hopes of a cute tourist girl that I might be able to “teach” how to ski later on in the day. The space of the Poetry Room was beautiful, though I was not able to stay long – not unless I lived in the area for a number of months or years. I sat down and read a little Whitman and little Ginsberg, half-expecting a euphoric “ah ha!” poetic moment of insight and inspiration, which I quickly stopped as the weight of those ears slipped down over my eyes upon me bowing my head to read Howl.
We made our way to the Beat Museum, greeted by this goofy ass character with an oversized, pointy mustache and a purple zootsuit. I didn’t know whether to laugh in his face or punch him when he asked us (as he unloaded his early 90s model Jeep Cherokee) to come to his show later that night, which was being held in the lobby of the Beat Museum (by this time he was inside, standing behind a microphone and in close proximity to a stand up bass). A more acceptable figure approached us, a staff member of the museum with a sweet Mohawk, and asked us if we wanted to take a look around the museum. We did for a while and then exited – as all great places do, I assume – through the damn gift shop (which encompassed most of the lobby, edging right on up to our goofy man in the purple suit). Sadly, what caught my eyes were not copies of Beat literature (not even sure if they had any), but commodified Beatness, or commercialized rebellion. “Stop bitching and start a revolution!” read a black tee shirt with scratchy writing, with books of hippie lingo, Grateful Dead bears, and witty political statement buttons seeking me out on every shelf. At one instance, I picked up a five-dollar “Fuck Hate” poster. In my consciousness, it gave me the feeling of “sticking it to the man” or defying my parents or whatever you want to call it. The longer I held it though, the less powerful the commodity, the statement, became to me. By the end of about ten minutes, I was sick of looking at the thing. It would have been fun to hang on the wall in my apartment, next to my poster of the members of Sigur Ros naked (from the cover of their most recent album - Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, which I would recommend for anyone…. Here’s me drinking a Pepsi, me smiling, NOW GO BUY ONE) to freak out some of my conservative friends or parents (when they visit town). Buying that poster would have made me no more or less rebellious. It probably would have been worse if I bought the damn thing, because I would believe myself to be more subversive, contemplative, somehow more unique. Thus, the beauty [insert: tragedy] of commodified culture.
Bet Kerouac’s rolling in his grave. At least I hope so.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Los Angeles, Disneyland, & Hyperreality
We started out our first day in Los Angeles with a tour of CBS Studios in Studio City, CA, where they film shows like Entertainment Tonight and CSI: New York, while in the past other shows like Seinfeld and Gilligan’s Island. Entertainment Tonight’s Canaan Rubin showed us around many of the sets, studios, productions rooms, editing bays, and all the people that come together to make a show go on air.
This experience helped us get insight into the human hands that go into the finished products we see and experience throughout every day of our lives. Before our eyes, we were meeting the people and watching them edit a cultural artifact that would be sent out very shortly thereafter to many corners of the world. I will pick back up on this discussion further down on this blog, as I need to get into the rest of our time in Los Angeles.
From Studio City, we hopped on the 101, took the Malibu Canyon Road exit, and within half an hour, we had reached coast number two on this trip. Weaving around the mountains on the two-lane road, we came around one corner to just barely make out the deep blue in the distance. We barreled through a tunnel and a few seconds later, we were staring at the Pacific Ocean. It was a sight of much relief for all of us. By Day 11, we had reached the West Coast. We stopped of for a few minutes to rest, talk, and meditate (for me, with the accompaniment of Sigur Ros’s “Með Blóðnasir”, a two-minute song that has walked with me through many experiences over the past few years).
We took the Pacific Coast Highway down through Malibu and into Santa Monica, where we stopped to get some lunch and relax for the afternoon on the beach near the Santa Monica pier. After a few hours of some much-needed down time, we took off around 6 for Huntington Beach’s “Surf City Nights,” a weekly festival in one of the main hubs of Orange County . As we drove through Redondo Beach and then into Long Beach, further from LAX and closer to Orange County, we saw the scenes change much, while still staying on the Pacific Coast Highway. From the plush $10 million dollar homes in Malibu, with a few local restaurants and the beach highly visible, we cut inland to find Fast Cash and liquor stores on many corners. As we kept driving, we stumbled upon the underbelly of Los Angeles County, which probably explains the stratified neighborhood surrounding it: the shipping docks…acres and acres of nothing but huge crates, cranes, and barges. This is the image of Los Angeles we never seem to see, yet it is, I’m sure, incredibly important to its economy.
The sun was lying down over the ocean as we were parking in Huntington Beach and we were able to absorb its last rays with the accompanying wind along the soft sand of the beach. We grabbed some fish tacos (tofu for me) from Wahoo’s and walked around for a bit, only to walk upon a pretty interesting group of guys breakdancing on the street, sharing with us themes of cultural understanding, love, and staying away from drugs. The interesting thing was that the group continued to play up racial and ethnic stereotypes in efforts to get money from the crowd, to which nearly everyone was turned off. Not the best strategy to get money by loudly proclaiming “ten dollars from the Asian lady everyone!” Our incredibly tired group ventured on back up to Venice Beach to crash in the bus for a few hours of sleep.
We were up early on Day 2 in our dire need of showers, to which one of the UCLA rec. centers came to the rescue. (We hadn’t showered since Salt Lake – going on day 4 by that point.) We drove up and through Beverly Hills to see the smog-covered city beneath, next to many multi-million dollar homes yet again… After a little time here, we decided to head to Anaheim for Disneyland.
Now, this is where I will pick back up with what I left off earlier when talking about all the human thoughts, hands, and words that go into cultural artifacts that we use – rather, consume – on a daily basis. In the week before we left on the trip, we were asked to read the social theorist Jean Baudrillard’s article on Disneyland and hyperreality. In my perspective, Baudrillard is saying that in Disneyland, we all know that the settings are fake and the plots for all the attractions are simply there to entertain us. We see Goofy and know there is a person inside the suit. When in the queue line for the Haunted Mansion, we realize that all the gravestones, the cobwebs, the wallpaper, and the employees’ uniforms are put there to get us into a mood, to entertain us, if you will. Disneyland presents to us a simulation of the real, the actual, what truly (or imaginatively) exists in reality: The jungle vines, the quest for treasure, and the slue of eastern statues leading up to the Indian Jones ride speak to our Orientalist ideas of the East, laden with danger, adventure, and mysticism. At Space Mountain, we have everything – the chairs, the archways, the trash cans – ending in futuristic, pointed angles… containing purple and silver (and outdated) designs of galaxies everywhere.
What Baudrillard is saying is that we live in a permanent Disneyland, with a gift shop at every corner. Nearly everything we encounter on a daily basis has been laid out by human hands and minds: the houses we live in, the cars we drive, the roads we drive on, the toothbrushes we use, the television we watch. The Disneyland themes of “happily ever after” and “the place where dreams come true” are more covertly laden in advertising media. All of it was designed by some one to sell us something – an item, an idea, a path. When we fail to see all that we encounter as products of engineers, of urban planners, of scriptwriters, we begin to believe that this is reality. As a good friend of mine often does, let us imagine the landscape as just that – the landscape, free of buildings and all our creations – simply as nature. Los Angeles as a desert coast. Aspen as a mountain. Chicago as a lakeside. Disneyland as a simulation of reality then becomes reality itself, because we know this theme park was created for our entertainment, our pleasure, our dollar. What we call reality on a daily basis is a simulation without a map of the original – in essence, the hyperreal. There is no reference point by which we define this human-created reality. This hyperreal we will buy, barter, and consume throughout our lives. This was worded beautifully by an interior designer from Irvine, CA, who I was able to chat with in the line for Space Mountain. “Orange County is a Disneyland. You have your women running around – breast implants, tiny waists, Range Rovers, incredibly tan, holding 9 dollar coffees. It is a system that defines itself as to what is desirable, and none of it is real. Yet it is so easy to get trapped in that system.”
So, how does this lead us into what it is to be an American? What actually unites us on a daily basis? The answer might be simply – consumption.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Updates - Navajo Nation and Salt Lake City
Just woke up after a good night's sleep. Yesterday was full of contrasts...
For the first part of the day, we toured around the Latter Day Saints headquarters and temple. I have many friends who are LDS, and we will usually discuss the meaning of things together until literally both of us hit a brick wall in our pursuit and understanding of truth. The tour we took of the Temple and such was interesting, and I had a few cool conversations with some of the sisters who were on their missions from nearly any country you could imagine. I was a little perturbed by the level of outright devotion I saw towards LDS elders and leaders... that much power and control in any humans hands, especially if claiming Divine authority, is bound to create a cycle of... well, power and control. When I asked how the 12 Apostles were chosen as well as how the current prophet was chosen, I was told, in a seemingly rehearsed manner, that the apostles pray and fast together for a long time until God reveals it to them. Interestingly, the current prophet is one who usually makes the call and then the rest of the Apostles follow suit. And, apparently, every single time, the next Prophet is the oldest Apostle in the crowd. I left their with a feeling similar to leaving the Lotus Temple of the Ba'hai faith in Delhi in January, confused and frustrated, yet an understanding that, we, as people, can create any sort system and follow it, so long as we have others around us who reinforce our thoughts and actions. This is true in religion, in government, in the media, and, if I'm honest enough with myself, sociology. So, where do we turn as people? How about simply one another? Shedding away all the things we simply don't and can't know, while still pursuing them, leads into greater camaraderie and understanding between one another, which is the key to this whole game of life.
In the vein of the theorist Jean Baudrillard, we were asked coming on to this trip to take a more postmodern approach to what we see, hear, and experience on this journey. The key to postmodernism is bringing all of what we have to the table and simply discussing how we know what we know and what that means to us. This, to Jurgen Habermas, was the ideal form of communication that he wanted for us in the future. The beautiful thing is that when this truly happens, where individuals embrace their humanity and understand their claims to divine ties as simply educated guesses, we might as progress as people, rather than fighting over all the differences we are bombarded with here on Earth.
This unity of people was a large and great part of the LGBT Film showing of "Outrage" at the Tower Theatre in rather Bohemian area of Salt Lake City yesterday. We walked, three minutes late, to a fully packed theatre for a Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender film festival, in the heart of the Mormon stronghold, who are notorious for discriminating against these groups. An incredible day. Will tell more later. Hopping off the bus in Vegas.
For the first part of the day, we toured around the Latter Day Saints headquarters and temple. I have many friends who are LDS, and we will usually discuss the meaning of things together until literally both of us hit a brick wall in our pursuit and understanding of truth. The tour we took of the Temple and such was interesting, and I had a few cool conversations with some of the sisters who were on their missions from nearly any country you could imagine. I was a little perturbed by the level of outright devotion I saw towards LDS elders and leaders... that much power and control in any humans hands, especially if claiming Divine authority, is bound to create a cycle of... well, power and control. When I asked how the 12 Apostles were chosen as well as how the current prophet was chosen, I was told, in a seemingly rehearsed manner, that the apostles pray and fast together for a long time until God reveals it to them. Interestingly, the current prophet is one who usually makes the call and then the rest of the Apostles follow suit. And, apparently, every single time, the next Prophet is the oldest Apostle in the crowd. I left their with a feeling similar to leaving the Lotus Temple of the Ba'hai faith in Delhi in January, confused and frustrated, yet an understanding that, we, as people, can create any sort system and follow it, so long as we have others around us who reinforce our thoughts and actions. This is true in religion, in government, in the media, and, if I'm honest enough with myself, sociology. So, where do we turn as people? How about simply one another? Shedding away all the things we simply don't and can't know, while still pursuing them, leads into greater camaraderie and understanding between one another, which is the key to this whole game of life.
In the vein of the theorist Jean Baudrillard, we were asked coming on to this trip to take a more postmodern approach to what we see, hear, and experience on this journey. The key to postmodernism is bringing all of what we have to the table and simply discussing how we know what we know and what that means to us. This, to Jurgen Habermas, was the ideal form of communication that he wanted for us in the future. The beautiful thing is that when this truly happens, where individuals embrace their humanity and understand their claims to divine ties as simply educated guesses, we might as progress as people, rather than fighting over all the differences we are bombarded with here on Earth.
This unity of people was a large and great part of the LGBT Film showing of "Outrage" at the Tower Theatre in rather Bohemian area of Salt Lake City yesterday. We walked, three minutes late, to a fully packed theatre for a Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender film festival, in the heart of the Mormon stronghold, who are notorious for discriminating against these groups. An incredible day. Will tell more later. Hopping off the bus in Vegas.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
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P.S. I enable anyone and everyone to comment now... so freakin do it if you read this thing!!!
You too, Mom! Ha!
You too, Mom! Ha!
Day 6 - Roswell, New Mexico
Today in Roswell was one of great interest and surprise, involving many conversations with people I beautifully disagreed with. The town known for its alien encounters seems to have a surprisingly large conservative population, evidenced by a large stone marker of the Ten Commandments in front of the courthouse.
We started out our day at the UFO Museum, pretty much the most famous (maybe the only?) one in the country. The interesting thing is that the overhead at this place had to be close to nothing. All the walls consisted of the thin, hole-cut walls you see in the aisles of hardware stores, on which hung Wal-Mart clearance bin frames with pages of information in anywhere from 14-48 size Times New Roman font, a stark contrast from the Central High School Museum we saw in Little Rock just a few days prior. Interestingly, this subconsciously took away from the place’s validity in my mind… not that I don’t believe aliens could have landed and the government has kept it under wraps…but I found that presentation is everything. The interactive nature of places like the Holocaust Museum and Central High School, complete with dozens of video slides, audio booths, and walk-through areas where you become the character – Now this is what satisfies by MTV-generation aesthetic and minimal attention span.
We had an hour to kill before meeting with a member of Alien Resistance, a Christian non-profit that helps abductees to recover and move through their rough experiences by advocating “prayer and deliverance through Jesus Christ” who cites that aliens are nothing more than dark spirits or fallen angels of the Devil. Rashina and I walked around the ghost town that is central Roswell to try to find locals to speak with about tourism and America. After a good twenty minutes on the main streets with no avail, we decided to jump into some of the local antique and scrap booking shops, as well as the tourist havens containing dozens of alien screen print shirts, shot glasses, magnets, and the whole gamut of the usual commodities –instead of Elvis or the Alamo, here we have little green men.
More to come soon, but before… let me update you on my new veggie diet I have had on this trip:
Memphis (Day 1) – Lunch: Blues City Café French fries and Baked Beans; Dinner: Indian veggie dinner at Rashina’s!!!
Little Rock (Day 2) – Lunch: peanut butter crackers; Dinner: Meat & Three minus the meat – Mac N’ Cheese, Green beans, and potato wedges at a local “meet n’ three” place.
New Orleans (Day 3) – Lunch: peanut butter crackers; Dinner: Veggie burger w/ fries at ACME.
San Antonio (Day 4) – Lunch: cheese enchiladas w/ Mexican rice and refried beans, Dinner: salad bar from “Souper Salad!”
El Paso (Day 5) – Lunch: French fries, fettuccini alfredo, macaroni salad, banana pudding at Ft. Bliss mess hall; Dinner: Bean and cheese burrito and Mexican rice.
Roswell (Day 6) – Lunch: peanut butter crackers, pickle wedges, M & M’s; Dinner: Bean Burger, broccoli, and tortilla chips.
We started out our day at the UFO Museum, pretty much the most famous (maybe the only?) one in the country. The interesting thing is that the overhead at this place had to be close to nothing. All the walls consisted of the thin, hole-cut walls you see in the aisles of hardware stores, on which hung Wal-Mart clearance bin frames with pages of information in anywhere from 14-48 size Times New Roman font, a stark contrast from the Central High School Museum we saw in Little Rock just a few days prior. Interestingly, this subconsciously took away from the place’s validity in my mind… not that I don’t believe aliens could have landed and the government has kept it under wraps…but I found that presentation is everything. The interactive nature of places like the Holocaust Museum and Central High School, complete with dozens of video slides, audio booths, and walk-through areas where you become the character – Now this is what satisfies by MTV-generation aesthetic and minimal attention span.
We had an hour to kill before meeting with a member of Alien Resistance, a Christian non-profit that helps abductees to recover and move through their rough experiences by advocating “prayer and deliverance through Jesus Christ” who cites that aliens are nothing more than dark spirits or fallen angels of the Devil. Rashina and I walked around the ghost town that is central Roswell to try to find locals to speak with about tourism and America. After a good twenty minutes on the main streets with no avail, we decided to jump into some of the local antique and scrap booking shops, as well as the tourist havens containing dozens of alien screen print shirts, shot glasses, magnets, and the whole gamut of the usual commodities –instead of Elvis or the Alamo, here we have little green men.
More to come soon, but before… let me update you on my new veggie diet I have had on this trip:
Memphis (Day 1) – Lunch: Blues City Café French fries and Baked Beans; Dinner: Indian veggie dinner at Rashina’s!!!
Little Rock (Day 2) – Lunch: peanut butter crackers; Dinner: Meat & Three minus the meat – Mac N’ Cheese, Green beans, and potato wedges at a local “meet n’ three” place.
New Orleans (Day 3) – Lunch: peanut butter crackers; Dinner: Veggie burger w/ fries at ACME.
San Antonio (Day 4) – Lunch: cheese enchiladas w/ Mexican rice and refried beans, Dinner: salad bar from “Souper Salad!”
El Paso (Day 5) – Lunch: French fries, fettuccini alfredo, macaroni salad, banana pudding at Ft. Bliss mess hall; Dinner: Bean and cheese burrito and Mexican rice.
Roswell (Day 6) – Lunch: peanut butter crackers, pickle wedges, M & M’s; Dinner: Bean Burger, broccoli, and tortilla chips.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Day 3 - New Orleans
After a pretty late wakeup from everyone, we rushed over to the St. Bernard Community Center to serve the Ninth Ward community for a little bit. The Ninth Ward was one of the hardest hit, if not the hardest hit, area in New Orleans from Hurricane Katrina. Driving out there from the hotel, we passed a house after broken down house, empty, boarded up KFC’s and convenience stores, and quick cash-n-loan stores, all speaking of the tragedies of the past few years, telling us stories of a place forgotten by its own government, a place where the opportunities are simply not equal for them, yet a place where hope and love still thrive.
This seems to be one of the key themes I am learning about our country – that is, our capacity for our personal altruism and hope. Whether this altruism is real or false is irrelevant, because, you can really only look at a person’s actions and not into their minds or hearts. That is why I say perceived personal altruism – simply working a 9 to 5 to keep your head above water and food on the table for friends and family is more than enough; for others, it’s traveling to Thailand to stop human trafficking. These choices are much more an evidence of our class background and not dedication to humanity, a distinction that is beginning to give me clearer eyes as I navigate my path and look at other people.
I feel very fortunate to have met a new friend, Thomas, at the St. Bernard Community Center in the Ninth Ward. After handing me a Vitamin Water after a couple hours of work, he mumbled a mere, “Cheers, mate,” with a thick Scottish accent under that breath. I immediately wondered about the path he took to wind up at a makeshift building that calls itself a community center in one of the poorest areas of the country. “Love. Pure love,” he answered when I asked him what was one of the most uniting things about America. “I’m not religious or anything, but I tell you what, I sure know what love is. And I know that I love my own life more than nearly all of my friends.” This passion for wandering was cultivated at a young age as he spent his first sixteen years in a Scottish orphanage, the last 5 of those studying philosophy with local university professors. Since then, he has spent years traveling across Europe and the Americas. He is a full time chef at some local New Orleans restaurants and loves to talk about the adventures he has taken part in. After letting us know he appreciated our help and got exceptionally good vibes from our volunteer group, it was time to head to lunch at a local place he recommended in the French Quarter.
Once we made our way to the place, we found it was only 21+ and obviously did not fit the demographics of our group. We ran over to Café Du Monde for some beignets, then to a local joint for Po Boys and such (interesting for a guy who just went vegetarian a week ago). I’ve had some good company in this endeavor, my friend and fellow researcher, Rashina (a lifelong veggie)… We’re the only two on the trip and throughout our travels so far, we pretty much have had to cut out 95% of the menu from every restaurant we go to. Not difficult really, though. The company helps. And I feel great.
Drove over to Tulane University to shower in the student center (with permission of course)… I’m pretty sure that was the first shower any of us had since Friday evening… that’s a solid three days of sweat, grease, and body odor. Yum. Afterwards, we ventured back over the French Quarter and wandered for a bit, cancelled a Haunted History tour because we were all so beat. Came back and crashed early.
One of the most interesting things about the day was that it was similar to Memphis in that a mere three blocks from Bourbon Street were vacant lots and boarded up homes, complete with X’s marked on them leftover from Katrina. How many of these places exist in the world? I heard about a beach in Costa Rica, surrounded by miles of 8-foot-high fencing. At this beach, cruise ships drop off tourists for a day of fun, with gates on the fences locked up. As the cruise ships pull out from the bay each evening, the gates are unlocked and the locals comb the beach to eat the scraps of what the tourists leave over. How often do we miss all of the larger stories in the areas we visit? The possible consequences of how we travel? The people and spaces that exist outside of what the Chamber of Commerce wants us to see? There is where we find a hint of what it means to live in that area, embrace relationships with local people, and deepen our connection to that the place, its citizens, and eventually… ourselves.
This seems to be one of the key themes I am learning about our country – that is, our capacity for our personal altruism and hope. Whether this altruism is real or false is irrelevant, because, you can really only look at a person’s actions and not into their minds or hearts. That is why I say perceived personal altruism – simply working a 9 to 5 to keep your head above water and food on the table for friends and family is more than enough; for others, it’s traveling to Thailand to stop human trafficking. These choices are much more an evidence of our class background and not dedication to humanity, a distinction that is beginning to give me clearer eyes as I navigate my path and look at other people.
I feel very fortunate to have met a new friend, Thomas, at the St. Bernard Community Center in the Ninth Ward. After handing me a Vitamin Water after a couple hours of work, he mumbled a mere, “Cheers, mate,” with a thick Scottish accent under that breath. I immediately wondered about the path he took to wind up at a makeshift building that calls itself a community center in one of the poorest areas of the country. “Love. Pure love,” he answered when I asked him what was one of the most uniting things about America. “I’m not religious or anything, but I tell you what, I sure know what love is. And I know that I love my own life more than nearly all of my friends.” This passion for wandering was cultivated at a young age as he spent his first sixteen years in a Scottish orphanage, the last 5 of those studying philosophy with local university professors. Since then, he has spent years traveling across Europe and the Americas. He is a full time chef at some local New Orleans restaurants and loves to talk about the adventures he has taken part in. After letting us know he appreciated our help and got exceptionally good vibes from our volunteer group, it was time to head to lunch at a local place he recommended in the French Quarter.
Once we made our way to the place, we found it was only 21+ and obviously did not fit the demographics of our group. We ran over to Café Du Monde for some beignets, then to a local joint for Po Boys and such (interesting for a guy who just went vegetarian a week ago). I’ve had some good company in this endeavor, my friend and fellow researcher, Rashina (a lifelong veggie)… We’re the only two on the trip and throughout our travels so far, we pretty much have had to cut out 95% of the menu from every restaurant we go to. Not difficult really, though. The company helps. And I feel great.
Drove over to Tulane University to shower in the student center (with permission of course)… I’m pretty sure that was the first shower any of us had since Friday evening… that’s a solid three days of sweat, grease, and body odor. Yum. Afterwards, we ventured back over the French Quarter and wandered for a bit, cancelled a Haunted History tour because we were all so beat. Came back and crashed early.
One of the most interesting things about the day was that it was similar to Memphis in that a mere three blocks from Bourbon Street were vacant lots and boarded up homes, complete with X’s marked on them leftover from Katrina. How many of these places exist in the world? I heard about a beach in Costa Rica, surrounded by miles of 8-foot-high fencing. At this beach, cruise ships drop off tourists for a day of fun, with gates on the fences locked up. As the cruise ships pull out from the bay each evening, the gates are unlocked and the locals comb the beach to eat the scraps of what the tourists leave over. How often do we miss all of the larger stories in the areas we visit? The possible consequences of how we travel? The people and spaces that exist outside of what the Chamber of Commerce wants us to see? There is where we find a hint of what it means to live in that area, embrace relationships with local people, and deepen our connection to that the place, its citizens, and eventually… ourselves.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Day 1 - Memphis
Enjoy some visual storytelling of our day in Memphis, filled with all the commodified culture you could ask for. We had a great time, with eye-opening cattle herding and fantastic conversations with strangers about the American dream.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/chrisspeedphotography/sets/72157619283179157/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/chrisspeedphotography/sets/72157619283179157/
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Day 1 - Memphis
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After an excellent evening hanging out for my good friend JT’s 21st birthday, as well as heading to a hip hop / dance show at The End, I arrived home around 3 AM, as my cheesy bean and rice burrito from Taco Bell was settling in my stomach. A quick shower and last-minute packing - - - I was out the door at 4 AM to head to campus to jump on the bus. We loaded up quickly and were on the road just a few minutes after 5 AM, which queued everyone to crash for a while, since a good portion of us had not slept at all the preceding evening.
Memphis brought to mind a lot of contradictions in my mind. As we walked into the Peabody Hotel, I was overwhelmed at the hundreds of people in the lobby waiting to see five ducks walk on a red carpet for ten seconds. I had visited this place once before, the preceding fall for a Southern Culture class. I distinctly remember seeing a couple there last time, with a much more vacant lobby - - the two were in denim from head to toe, sipping on two glasses of wine, staring blankly into space with rather unhappy looks on their faces - - I couldn’t help but immediately be depressed and wonder about the situation.
What I feel happened to them is that they were sold a means to experience Memphis, to experience the Peabody Hotel. Apparently, it was to sit by the duck fountain and sip wine. Trite, unfulfilling madness. However, we see this everywhere in the mass tourism loop. This system must be praised for its expediency in helping vast amounts of people to “experience” certain places or things. The question has to be asked, “Isn’t there so much more to (insert location) than this, than what the Chamber of Commerce recommends?” Trust me. There is love in the attitude I push forth. I just don’t think most tourists are really satisfied with their experiences either. There is a growing consciousness of the poison from the rationalized, efficient, cattle-herding beast that is mass tourism.
After lunch at the rather vacant Blues City Café, I thumbed around in some of the stores and chatted with a couple people on Beale Street, to try to get a better hold of what Memphis might be saying about itself and its people, as well as why people had come from, say, Germany to visit this place. What I found in observing the artifacts in the shops was, like in most places, a need to take a trademark of Memphis (or the US, or the South) back home with you, a sense of letting others know that you had been there, and that, perhaps, you were more cultured – hence, acceptable – because of this experience.
Dr. Stepnick started a conversation with a few guys on Beale Street, to which I, and a few other students, chimed in. We told them what we were doing, about how we were traveling through 40 states in 40 days and trying to get some part of a hold on what we cherish as Americans, what unites us and what divides us. So, we asked, “What is America to you?” Before getting to the answer of this question, I want to describe the group of guys to you – five guys, two African American men and three white men, all from Florida. They had come to Memphis for fun to come gamble at some of the nearby casinos and enjoy Beale street nightlife.
One of the guys answered the question, to which they all agreed, was freedom. “Freedom to make a buck,” one said as he pointed to a young African American boy dancing on the street for cash about half a block away. Then, another guy starting speaking about how, only in America, you can choose to be any religion you like, whether Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Atheist, etc. One of the African American guys spoke up and said, “Yeah, it’s not really that free,” following with details about how he has been mistreated as an African American, like him and his fiancé going to a restaurant the previous week and being served only after two white couples came in later than they did. His fiancé, who he called a radical, said something to the staff at the restaurant and the couple was dismissed. The group of guys began to laugh about voting for different people in the previous election, and that, regardless, they all had the same president. One of the most intriguing things in this conversation was when the African American man telling the story of him and his fiancé said, pointing to his friend, “Well, we’re together… you know… well, haha, we’re not together, but we’re together,” obviously referencing that their friendship was strictly platonic. This is interesting in that there was obvious ideals that there was something wrong with being gay in America, which sheds light into the debates over gay marriage in the current day. For some reason in this country, it is not okay to joke crudely about women or minorities, but, for some reason – I think this is due to the lack of legislation for gay marriage in this country, and, the time for equality for this group to settle into the American consciousness – it is still okay in America to make jokes and “otherize” the gay population. My hope is that it will only be a matter of time until this changes.
The rest of the afternoon was spent at Graceland, where we were cattle herded through queue lines, tourist buses, and through Elvis’s home. Everywhere we went and at every corner, there were more ropes marking where we could not go, signs noting what we could not touch, and staff directing the herds to keep moving. The impersonal nature to the whole thing made my skin crawl, as it did many others. Also, the veneration for Elvis, almost to the point of divinity, was something I could not get into, though many around me, many of which spoke different languages, were immersed.
After a quick gasp of air and discussion at the bus around 5 PM, we headed out on a driving tour of stratified Memphis, where we saw multi-million dollar homes, as well as downbeat trailers, all within extremely close proximity to each other. We ended our drive in Germantown, where we went to Rashina’s parents’ home for authentic Indian cuisine. After hanging out with their dog Pinto, enjoying great conversation, and multiple platefuls of potatoes, curry, rice, and samosas, we heard stories from the Bhulas of growing up in South Africa and close relatives who enjoyed the company and companionship of Ghandi in the fight for equal rights, one uncle of whom received a haircut by the human rights hero while serving a 2-month stint in jail for standing up to the British. We ended the dinner with some chai tea, ghulab jamin, and hugs goodbye.
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