ferlinghetti

Found this poem thanks to C&L. I think it's called "Pity the Nation." Pretty straightforward stuff, I guess, and at some level I don't even think this is a very good poem, but on the other hand, here I am, posting it on my blog. Wonder what that's about.

Pity the nation whose people are sheep,
and whose shepherds mislead them.
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose sages are silenced,
and whose bigots haunt the airwaves.
Pity the nation that raises not its voice,
except to praise conquerors and acclaim the bully as hero
and aims to rule the world with force and by torture.
Pity the nation that knows no other language but its own
and no other culture but its own.
Pity the nation whose breath is money
and sleeps the sleep of the too well fed.
Pity the nation -- oh, pity the people who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away.
My country, tears of thee, sweet land of liberty.

some new music

I like this song okay (my roommates are going to have me sold on at least some techno by the end of the semester) but what's really cool is the video. Make sure to watch until the lady starts speaking in tongues. It's really cool. The song is "Det snurrar i min skalle" by Familjen.

michigan 38, notre dame 0

That's better.

thank you, jhumpa lahiri

I read this story, "The Third and Final Continent," again just now, in a lull before class, and once again shivered at how true it rings, how beautifully it's written, how closely it strikes me. It feels so intimate to me and I almost get choked up towards the end, all the more so now because I know it so well. Here are the last few sentences:

In my son's eyes I see the ambition that had first hurled me across the world. In a few years he will graduate and pave his own way, alone and unprotected. But I remind myself that he has a father who is still living, a mother who is happy and strong. Whenever he is discouraged, I tell him that if I can survive on three continents, then there is no obstacle he cannot conquer. While the astronauts, heroes forever, spent mere hours on the moon, I have remained in this new world for nearly thirty years. I know that my achievement is quite ordinary. I am not the only man to seek his fortune far from home, and certainly I am not the first. Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have travelled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.

I have no words.

you can't talk to a man with a shotgun in his hand

I'm sitting in Angell Hall having just read a few posts from Orcinus and Unsane and I'm feeling infused with energy. Being back at school is great, my apartment is working out wonderfully so far, classes start tomorrow, I found out about a neat-sounding volunteer organization that works with the Latino community in and around Ann Arbor. Plus I'm feeling full of fire, ready to go freaking FIGHT and bring some people to the light, to help someone. Sara at Orcinus has a really good post reprising her trichotomy of authoritarians in the States and I'm getting waves of goosebumps at the thought of engaging the ones here.

abriré la ventana.
abriré la ventana.

seems i'm getting tired of writing this

I no longer really feel a need to write on this with any kind of regularity, and when I sit down to write about, say, the amazing time we had at the beach last week, other things always seem more important or interesting or worthwhile. However, I'd like to just say that if we go to war with Iran, any shred of doubt left in my mind about George W. Bush's guilt as a war criminal will be gone.

west africa is where it's at

Listening to Tinariwen with Dad the other day, he pointed out the obvious: that even after listening to just part of one song, those musicians listen to lots of blues and blues-rock from the U.S., and how that music in its turn came from the traditional music of West Africa. It's all one big circle, albeit one filled with a lot of pain and suffering in the form of slavery and racism and imperialism. But having just started to discover bluesier artists like Amadou et Mariam, Ali Farka Touré, Boubacar Traoré and Tinariwen, and really just starting to discover Afrobeat and Afrofunk, well, the current stopping point of that circle has produced some kick-ass music over the past 30 or 40 years. Here's a song by Fela Kuti, "Sorrow Tears and Blood." Forgive the still image, even YouTube has limits to its selection. I suggest closing your eyes and paying no attention to your body. If it doesn't start moving of its own accord, you're probably quadriplegic.

puerto rican obituary

Found this poem today by Pedro Petri, written in 1973. I had never heard of it or him before but, well, damn. Here it is:

Puerto Rican Obituary

They worked
They were always on time
They were never late
They never spoke back
when they were insulted
They worked
They never took days off
that were not on the calendar
They never went on strike
without permission
They worked
ten days a week
and were only paid for five
They worked
They worked
They worked
and they died
They died broke
They died owing
They died never knowing
what the front entrance
of the first national city bank looks like

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
All died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow
passing their bill collectors
on to the next of kin
All died
waiting for the garden of eden
to open up again
under a new management
All died
dreaming about america
waking them up in the middle of the night
screaming: Mira Mira
your name is on the winning lottery ticket
for one hundred thousand dollars
All died
hating the grocery stores
that sold them make-believe steak
and bullet-proof rice and beans
All died waiting dreaming and hating

Dead Puerto Ricans
Who never knew they were Puerto Ricans
Who never took a coffee break
from the ten commandments
to KILL KILL KILL
the landlords of their cracked skulls
and communicate with their latino souls

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
From the nervous breakdown streets
where the mice live like millionaires
and the people do not live at all
are dead and were never alive

Juan
died waiting for his number to hit
Miguel
died waiting for the welfare check
to come and go and come again
Milagros
died waiting for her ten children
to grow up and work
so she could quit working
Olga
died waiting for a five dollar raise
Manuel
died waiting for his supervisor to drop dead
so he could get a promotion

Is a long ride
from Spanish Harlem
to long island cemetery
where they were buried
First the train
and then the bus
and the cold cuts for lunch
and the flowers
that will be stolen
when visiting hours are over
Is very expensive
Is very expensive
But they understand
Their parents understood
Is a long non-profit ride
from Spanish Harlem
to long island cemetery

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
All died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow
Dreaming
Dreaming about queens
Clean-cut lily-white neighborhood
Puerto Ricanless scene
Thirty-thousand-dollar home
The first spics on the block
Proud to belong to a community
of gringos who want them lynched
Proud to be a long distance away
from the sacred phrase: Que Pasa

These dreams
These empty dreams
from the make-believe bedrooms
their parents left them
are the after-effects
of television programs
about the ideal
white american family
with black maids
and latino janitors
who are well train
to make everyone
and their bill collectors
laugh at them
and the people they represent

Juan
died dreaming about a new car
Miguel
died dreaming about new anti-poverty programs
Milagros
died dreaming about a trip to Puerto Rico
Olga
died dreaming about real jewelry
Manuel
died dreaming about the irish sweepstakes

They all died
like a hero sandwich dies
in the garment district
at twelve o’clock in the afternoon
social security number to ashes
union dues to dust

They knew
they were born to weep
and keep the morticians employed
as long as they pledge allegiance
to the flag that wants them destroyed
They saw their names listed
in the telephone directory of destruction
They were train to turn
the other cheek by newspapers
that mispelled mispronounced
and misunderstood their names
and celebrated when death came
and stole their final laundry ticket

They were born dead
and they died dead

Is time
to visit sister lopez again
the number one healer
and fortune card dealer
in Spanish Harlem
She can communicate
with your late relatives
for a reasonable fee
Good news is guaranteed

Rise Table Rise Table
death is not dumb and disable
Those who love you want to know
the correct number to play
Let them know this right away
Rise Table Rise Table
death is not dumb and disable
Now that your problems are over
and the world is off your shoulders
help those who you left behind
find financial peace of mind

Rise Table Rise Table
death is not dumb and disable
If the right number we hit
all our problems will split
and we will visit your grave
on every legal holiday

Those who love you want to know
the correct number to play
let them know this right away
We know your spirit is able
Death is not dumb and disable
RISE TABLE RISE TABLE

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
All died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow
Hating fighting and stealing
broken windows from each other
Practicing a religion without a roof
The old testament
The new testament
according to the gospel
of the internal revenue
the judge and jury and executioner
protector and eternal bill collector

Secondhand shit for sale
learn how to say Como Esta Usted
and you will make a fortune
They are dead
They are dead
and will not return from the dead
until they stop neglecting
the art of their dialogue
for broken english lessons
to impress the mister goldsteins
who keep them employed
as lavaplatos porters messenger boys
factory workers maids stock clerks
shipping clerks assistant mailroom
assistant, assistant assistant
to the assistant’s assistant
assistant lavaplatos and automatic
artificial smiling doormen
for the lowest wages of the ages
and rages when you demand a raise
because is against the company policy
to promote SPICS SPICS SPICS

Juan
died hating Miguel because Miguel’s
used car was in better running condition
than his used car
Miguel
died hating Milagros because Milagros
had a color television set
and he could not afford one yet
Milagros
died hating Olga because Olga
made five dollars more on the same job
Olga
died hating Manuel because Manuel
had hit the numbers more times
than she had hit the numbers
Manuel
died hating all of them
Juan
Miguel
Milagros
and Olga
because they all spoke broken english
more fluently than he did

And now they are together
in the main lobby of the void
Addicted to silence
Off limits to the wind
Confine to worm supremacy
in long island cemetery
This is the groovy hereafter
the protestant collection box
was talking so loud and proud about

Here lies Juan
Here lies Miguel
Here lies Milagros
Here lies Olga
Here lies Manuel
who died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow
Always broke
Always owing
Never knowing
that they are beautiful people

Never knowing
the geography of their complexion

PUERTO RICO IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE
PUERTORRIQUENOS ARE A BEAUTIFUL RACE

If only they
had turned off the television
and tune into their own imaginations
If only they
had used the white supremacy bibles
for toilet paper purpose
and make their latino souls
the only religion of their race
If only they
had return to the definition of the sun
after the first mental snowstorm
on the summer of their senses
If only they
had kept their eyes open
at the funeral of their fellow employees
who came to this country to make a fortune
and were buried without underwears

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
will right now be doing their own thing
where beautiful people sing
and dance and work together
where the wind is a stranger
to miserable weather conditions
where you do not need a dictionary
to communicate with your people
Aqui Se Habla Espanol all the time
Aqui you salute your flag first
Aqui there are no dial soap commercials
Aqui everybody smells good
Aqui tv dinners do not have a future
Aqui the men and women admire desire
and never get tired of each other
Aqui Que Paso Power is what’s happening
Aqui to be called negrito
means to be called LOVE

holy crap dream

Kellyanne, Robin H, Josh Scannell and I had decided, on our last day of high school, that we were sick of a particular class and instead of having it we'd bring some guns and hold up the teacher so we could just goof off instead. This we did; my gun even had a silencer. It was kind of fun, in the dream, but also strange, the teacher (it may have been my 8th-grade English teacher Mrs. Kajder) was so quiet and clearly confused and scared. Anyhow as I was leaving the room at the end of the period arms reached out and grabbed me from behind: a cop. I no longer had my gun so, perfectly aware of my guilt, I started playing innocent, acting like I didn't know what was going on. The officer didn't say anything, just marched me to an empty hallway, where Robin and Kellyanne already were, in long flowy dresses. Josh had apparently gotten away. I lay down on a bench (Robin and Kellyanne were dancing) and was depressed and kind of disbelief that I had done something so stupid. It was scary, I was sure that I'd go to jail and never get to college or amount to anything.

After a while waiting on that bench, someone came and brought the three of us to an auditorium, where a collection of police officers in plain clothes were getting ready to talk about how to solve our case. Lincoln was also there, and motioned to me to sit next to him. But he was in a three-seat section of the room, and the seat next to him was taken and in front of the other one stood a woman talking to the people in the row ahead. I went and squeezed into that other one and there was some awkwardness about how she was supposed to sit, but she ended up going elsewhere. The lights dimmed and a cartoon was put on, a Looney Toon, that I had seen before, about what to do with bad children, punish or give a second chance? On the way home with Mom and Dad (Lincoln had to stay at school) I was very upset, especially because Mom and Dad were saying that now I'd never get into the School of Advanced International Studies at Johns Hopkins because Aunt Katie had just gotten in and now, with this whole gun thing, I could never measure up to her as an applicant.

I was at home alone with Jack, waiting for news about the investigation. We had a chair, one of our real-life kitchen chairs, fitted with a rocket pack. I decided to try it out and started flying little sorties around our neighborhood and back. I looked longingly at maps with Jack, talking about where would be the best place to go in the chair to get away from all the mess I'd started. Eventually I decided to take a slightly longer trip and began flying away towards DC. The flying, by the way, was really fun. I got pretty far, but realized at some point that I was going to run out of fuel, so I tried to race back home. No such luck, and I touched down, totally empty, next to Farragut West metro (although the setting actually looked more like Gallery Place did ten years ago). Having just flown away from home, I had nothing in my pockets, no way to get the rest of the way home, and no way to call. The streets were pretty empty and I didn't want to ask anyone for change. Finally I decided to suck it up and find some quarters to call home with. When Mom picked up and I explained the situation, she laughed and said of course she'd come pick me up. That's all I remember.

I didn't make a single iota of that up. Holy crap.

ratatouille

I can't believe it was still playing, but Mom and Jack and I went to see it yesterday evening at the Majestic and all three of us LOVED it. Brad Bird, who made "The Incredibles," too, basically proved to me with this one that A) he's a really good director and B) he knows how to make really cool credits. Or maybe the credits thing is just Pixar. I had read in a review a while ago that one of the great things about the movie was that it didn't shy away from the rats' being rats. They don't look like Mickey Mouse, they don't look like the bugs from "A Bug's Life," they look and move like rats. It fit and amplified perfectly the message of the film, which is that anyone can do anything with talent and perseverance, no matter what how daunting the obstacle. It sounds trite like that, but in the context of the movie it's quite wonderful. The food and kitchen themselves are also terrifically depicted and animated. It goes into my second tier of animated movies (below "The Lion King, "Beauty and the Beast" and "My Neighbor Totoro").

h/t dad

Good alternate (and somewhat more levelheaded) argument for why people should stop hating on Barry Bonds at Girls in Short Shorts.

barry bonds

Okay, you fucking sanctimonious shithead airbag idiots. I've had enough of your slamming Barry Bonds. The last straw, and the one that pushed me into shouting, raving mad territory, is today's piece on ESPN.com by Eric Neel comparing Bonds to Mickey Mantle. His basic question is who disappoints us more, Mickey Mantle by being an alcoholic and basically throwing away his 30s in favor of booze, or Barry Bonds, who almost undoubtedly took some form of performance-enhancing drugs starting in 2000 and giving us some of the greatest offensive years in baseball history? Neel says,

"Steroids are creepy, alien, illicit doorways to a frightening cyborg future. We want no part of them. They make us long for purity and certainty. They're a threat not only to baseball records we cherish but to our very sense of self, to our most basic understanding of what we mean by 'human being' and what we understand to be the limits of human accomplishment."

This is asinine. Performance-enhancing drugs may be illicit, but they're hardly "alien." Barry Bonds has been taught since he was very young that all the matters is to be the best he can be at the sport he plays. It became evident to him around 2000 that a good way to do that was to take performance enhancers. They worked. He was already a mortal lock for the Hall of Fame and now he's a mortal lock for any discussion about the GOAT. "Frightening cyborg future"?!?!? What planet is this guy living on? Athletes have taken performance enhancers since ancient Greece (that always seems uncomfortable to me as a starting point because it's so Euro-centric, but that's another story). They often didn't work, and the only reasons steroids and HGH have become so controversial is because their effects are clear and dramatic. But why should drugs be the only form of body-enhancement that's considered cheating? What about the sharkskin bathing suits that Olympic swimmers now wear? What about Tiger Woods' laser eye surgery that allows him to see WAY better than 20/20? Or Mark McGwire's custom-made contacts that had the same effect? Or the fact that cyclists in the Tour de France not only have oxygen-pumping drugs but also superfast custom-tailored bikes and helmets of which cyclists of yore couldn't have dreamed. The way sports are played changes all the time, the ceiling to which they can be practiced raises ever-higher as technology improves. Performance-enhancing drugs are just a technology. Of course Barry Bonds (and Rafael Palmerio, and Sammy Sosa, and Mark McGwire, and Roger Clemens, and Jason Giambi, and who knows how many others) were going to use them. The drugs made them better. Just like not playing against people of color made Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb better.

The only argument I can see against steroids is that they are unsafe, which they seemingly are, but we are moving closer and closer to a time when that is no longer an issue. When the health risk from taking them is gone, they should be legalized and permitted in professional sports. Period. I don't give a shit if Barry Bonds stuck some chemicals in his ass, I only care that the other night, sitting alone in my living room, I was overcome by happiness and wonder at the sight of Bonds, raising his fists, impassive as the ball went out to the right-center bleachers and then finally cracking a smile as he rounded the bases to thunderous adulation in San Francisco. I had goosebumps from my scalp to the soles of my feet when he broke down thanking the sky in place of his father. It wasn't quite 2131 for me, but it was pretty amazing. Sportswriters like Eric Neel need to shut the fuck up and sit down. Let awesome be awesome. Rock on, Barry Bonds.

last night i had a dream

naked dream...frisbee...walking through neighborhoods to get to field...waking up in a bed with everyone looking down at me...why was i naked?

A naked dream. I was walking with some people to a field, through neighborhoods that in retrospect remind me a little of Villanueva de la Cañada, where I lived in Spain for a week in 8th grade. We were on our way to play frisbee and everyone was following me because I knew where the field was. There was a big mix of kids: City at Peace people, Michigan people, Blair people. I got to the field first and there were already a couple of kids throwing a disc around. I threw a couple with them and then the next thing I knew I was racing, buck-ass naked, after a deep huck. But I realized halfway there that I wasn't wearing any clothes and alarm bells started going off. So I turned around, hand over privates, and sprinted back towards my clothes to general laughter and shouts of encouragement for those closest to me to get a look. I tried desperately to pull my shorts back on as discreetly as possible and people started crowding around. I woke up in a bed with those same people looking over me. Other things happened in the dream but they are less clear. It was the first naked dream I can remember having.

Last night I went with Mom to get dinner and go see "Mar Adentro," which I thought was directed by Pedro Almodóvar but was in fact directed by Alejandro Amenábar. It's a movie about assisted suicide, for those not in the know, and it's among the most moving and beautiful movies I've ever seen. As I have mentioned here before, I am not prone to tears during movies, or books for that matter, but this was the second during which I had to wipe away tears. Perhaps I'm becoming more empathetic? Or perhaps I care less what implications my crying carries to the people around me? I'm not sure. In any event, the talk afterwards (this was part of Mom's office's Science in the Cinema series at AFI Silver, which is such a cool thing) was by a pretty high-powered guy in the field of bioethics and particularly as relates to end-of-life issues. But his comments were extremely brief and I thought pretty unsatisfying. The movie is not really about the science of assisted suicide or euthanasia, no doctors are involved. Its real themes, to my view, are relationships and selfishness (or lack thereof). It would have been better, perhaps, to have someone NOT a medical doctor (perhaps someone from the Hemlock Society?) give the talk. To be fair, I think he was thrown a little by the first question, by a man clearly out of touch with the context, who, with some doggedness, asked about stem cell research and aborting fetuses.

Right this instant I must go shower, but I will soon hold forth on Barry Bonds, about whom I've discovered I feel quite strongly. Oh yes, the big news from yesterday was really that I had my check-up with Dr. Kline and my blood pressure is totally, 100% normal. What a relief. I had lunch with Dad at Firehook Bakery afterwards, which was really nice (thanks, Dad!) and where I realized definitively how fired up this whole Bonds thing gets me.

boston legal

Is an incredibly sexist show. But it's hilarious and clever and fun to watch, so at first I didn't really notice. Now I do, all the time; it's not exactly subtle once you start noticing. I suppose this is probably true of most things in our culture; I think it was Last Plantation (although I'm not sure) where I read about the online flight magazines, which I had never noticed are totally dominated by photographs of white people, even on flights that are majority-minority, such as the one I took from San Salvador from DC. Racism and sexism and homophobia are most clear in overt forms, obviously. Matthew Shepherd, Pennsylvania crowds railing against "illegals," the Supreme Court ruling against women in that whole pay raise thing. It's far more difficult to notice, and far more difficult to call others' attention to, things like the sexism on Boston Legal. After all, some of the women appear powerful. They are confident, articulate, demanding and usually win arguments. But sexually they are clearly inferior to the male protagonists. The women are unlucky in love, either because they get the wrong guy, or they can't have the guy they want, or what have you (I won't even get into the episode where the young black female attorney basically uses her body to scam a pervert pastor/lawyer into settling a case). Then men all, by virtue of the same confidence that the women show, get pretty much any woman they want, when they want. Bully for them.

The problem for me, here, is that I like Boston Legal. I feel guilty for enjoying it, and I'm torn over whether my objections to some of the show's undercurrents should be enough to make me stop watching. What really makes me uncomfortable is that the sexist part is fun/funny, too. Sexist and racist jokes make me laugh sometimes and I don't know whether that's wrong or not. I know those topics are not funny and I try hard in my life to fight the inclinations I and those around me have in that regard. But what about humor? I don't know this is coming out all wrong. Maybe it'd be better to come back to it when I've got my thoughts a little more organized. Interesting topic, though.

acantilado

That means "cliff" in Spanish and it's the closest I could think of to "drop-off," even though the connotation "decrease in production" doesn't translate very well except in a complex metaphor. Whatever, I've been experiencing a drop-off in posting and I'm not entirely sure why, but I suppose mostly because I've been busy (couldn't you tell from my last post?) and without the energy needed to blog. Still, I should do it more and perhaps expect myself to write more than I have been. In lieu of writing right now, though, because it's 2 a.m. and I seem to have gotten up to my old trick of reading a really good book in bed, which is a terrible strategy for going to sleep, I'll just post a song, a freaking great cheer-up track that I got by accident from somebody who'd grouped it with "Buena Vista Social Club." Which it is, kind of; it's "Pa Mayte" by Carlos Vives featuring BVSC. Hope you like it.

in spanish

el jueves fui a ver unos amigos de city at peace y volvi mucho mas tarde que
queria...estaba tan volado. el viernes me levante a las 8 (grrr), lleve los perros a la
peluqueria y lincoln a su trabajo. despues pinte, almorze brevemente con mi mama, maneje al optometra (que queda a 45 minutos de mi casa), casi me dormi mientras manejaba, volvi a buscar lincoln en su trabajo y los perritos, llegue a mi casa y dormi 2 horas. me levante y me fui directamente a college park para el cumple 21 de cori! fue divertido pero medio raro. hoy me levante nuevamente a las 8 y fui a mi antiguo campamento, catoctin, porque fue el dia de visitas (las familias de los chicos) y habia prometido visitar a unos amigos que son counselors ahi. esta noche comimos con mi papa y mama (lincoln esta con amigos y jack estaba trabajando) y dimos un paseo a una heladeria buenisima y despues a buscar una pelicula (the parallax view). eso tambien fue genial, pero estoy tan cansado. oy vey. con eso me acuesto. yuck, estoy sucio. pero no tengo la energia de ducharme. oh well.

Busy, busy, busy.

election day

Did I go to New York this weekend to see Halley in a play? Was the play called "Election Day?" Was the other purpose of my visit to see Peaches and the Herschkowitzes? Would that be a good name for a band? Did I like the play? How are Jenny and Julie? Did I go out for drinks after the play with Halley and a bunch of the cast and crew? Was that fun? Did I eat delicious challah french toast on Sunday morning? Did Peaches and I hang out in her new apartment and then walk around the West Village for a while? Was that great, seeing her? Did I also see the Richard Serra exhibit at MOMA? Did I pay more attention to Peaches than the exhibit, but still enjoy the show? What did we talk about then? Where was that drag queen in the furniture shop from? Did I read a short story by Donald Barthelme called "Concerning the Bodyguard"? What did I think of it? Did Mom and I have really nice drives both ways? Did our topics include the Oxford English Corpus, theology, and internet ethics? Was my new cell phone waiting for me when I got home? Did I talk to Vale on Friday night, and again on Sunday? Is it strange and hard to talk to her on the phone? Is it worth it? How is she doing? Did I play frisbee last night with the Blair clique team, and did we lose 15-11? Was it fun? Did Lincoln and I finish the guest bedroom in Erin and Arthur's house? Was Cori there this afternoon and did we get to talk for the first time in weeks? How was her trip in Bolivia? Did it sound like a nightmare? Did I do prep for painting the hall? Was dinner delicious tonight, and did it consist of orange-mint lamb, corn on the cob and pasta? Is that a lot of starch? Did I talk briefly to Nora and am I going to call her in a little bit? Did Vale's postcard get here? What am I going to do tonight?

What was that short story about?

i think blogger is confused

It says my most recent post was on Monday but that's not possible and also doesn't make sense from the context of what I wrote. Anyhow, today is Friday, and it seems that I'll be painting once again. Painting sucks, especially by yourself, and I'm not sure whether I'll actually do any today. I've worked plenty of hours now for the amount Lincoln said he'd pay me to help out. But we'll see.

Yesterday was the most eventful day in a while. I painted most of the ceiling over at the Fulham-Cohens' (the job today would be to finish it). Then Linc, Mom and I went to the Phillips for the ColorField (the only art movement ever to come out of DC) show there. It was cool for the location aspect and some of the pieces were nice but this was not a big or particularly influential movement. The real show is upstairs in the permanent collection, which has some really tight pieces by the heavy hitters of the past 150 years: Cezanne, Picasso, Renoir, Miro, Klee, etc. Plus some excellent less-well-known stuff. Right after that I went and met up with Robin (!) and her friend Boris to go to a one-man show at Busboys and Poets about the Arab-Israeli conflict. It was neat, he used beat-boxing and singing plus a whole host of characters to illustrate some tired but important themes about the similarities between the people on either side of the walls there and about the dehumanization of each side by the other. But it cost a lot of money and Busboys and Poets isn't cheap, either. In the end I spent 20 bucks on it, which would have been unheard of in Chile for the same show. Oh well, guess I've gotta choose more carefully down here. It was great to see Robin, though, she's such a cool girl. And I liked Boris.

A couple of other notes: I've taught Lincoln and Jack carioca, although we haven't played a complete game yet because it required a real time commitment and we're all busy and on totally independent schedules. But Jack and I did play a game of Scrabble, which, to my surprise, I won 403-315. Not bad after a year with not a single game in English! Also I found --bless you, Dad, the only THINGS you obtain are books and music and 90% of the time they're great-- an album in the kitchen by a guy named Boubacar Traoré. Well the album's great, and I did some snooping around on YouTube to try and find something to put up here and, well, I got to clicking and discovered a couple of other awesome musicians: Ali Farka Toure, Salif Keita, Corey Harris. It seems Mali produces a lot of great music: Amadou et Mariam, Tinariwen, Traoré, Keita, Toure. Sheesh. It's really interesting to cruise through YouTube, though, and hear just how much of a continuum there is between the traditional African sounds and American blues. Awesome. So the song I settled on ended up being Taj Mahal and Corey Harris playing "Sittin' on top of the world." Enjoy!

i finished harry potter

Because people who give spoilers are basically on par with violent felons, I'll refrain on saying anything about it, period.

Other than that, things have been going all right here, I suppose. Mom, Dad and Linc are all pretty busy, but I'm still waiting for word from Sparks and Jack is sick still from El Salvador, so he and I have been chilling at home. I emailed our landlord today and applied for a couple of work-study jobs in Ann Arbor for this coming year. However I'm still not sure what to do about spending money; SAT tutoring came to mind today as I searched CraigsList.

Judy and I went out for coffee tonight. It was nice to catch up, and also to drive around a little bit, as cumbersome and useless as the car is at the distances I was traveling (my house-Mayorga-downtown Silver Spring). She seems to be making the most of her summer, working at a nonprofit in DC and biking and although Bethesda is suffocating her, she's getting along fine. Talking about being abroad is nice in general--lord knows I've learned enough things and had enough unusual experiences to fill at least one decent conversation with anyone--despite the fact that it brings my mind to Vale and Rodrigo and Cecilia and the other people I miss and the people I missed the chance to get to know enough to miss. And Vale. But talking to someone who has been abroad recently is so much easier because the shared experience, although we may have gone to such different places, is very powerful.

Dad, Linc and I went to Deb's on Monday night. It was kind of boring and not very fulfilling, which is an unusual experience there. But really there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of tension in the house right now. Stress, to be sure, but we're not taking it out on each other. In other news, I've fallen back into my old practice of reading eight hundred books at the same time; right now they include: Super Fiction, Forty Stories by Donald Barthelme, Cotidianas by Mario Benedetti, Harry Potter (which I obviously just finished, but like 20 minutes ago, so it counts), and Ficciones, plus the usual New Yorker, Outlook, New York Review articles. I've been laying off the blogs, though. It's interesting, when I was in Chile they provided an intellectual link with the day-to-day issues that I care about at home and I drank them in effortlessly and eagerly. But now that I'm here they remind me mostly of sitting next to Vale in her apartment in Santiago de Chile, of how strange it was to be keeping in touch with the goings-on up here through the opinions of other people rather than just by simply being at home.

Anyhow I've got to rise and shine tomorrow, to await word from Sparks and then go to the dentist at 10:15. Hope I've got a car, walking there would suck shit through a wet paper straw, as a certain recent houseguest might say (although he was talking about the Yale University bureaucracy). One last note before I conk out: WHEN IS IT GOING TO FREAKING THUNDERSTORM!?!?!??!!? I feel ripped off.

at home

Jack comes home tonight and we will finally be all five of us together again. Being at home is really wonderful and also really strange and hard. Details and reflections will come about that in time (I know I've written that before but I need to keep telling myself to do it or too much time will pass). Really I just wanted to post about how happy I am that I'll get to see Jack again today after so much time.

leaving so soon

Vale made me promise not to use my computer at all tomorrow, so I figured I'd better post now because my next opportunity will be Friday. First, I've got another book for the list: Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy by Barrington Moore. Okay, now that I've got that out of the way, it's time to write a little about what's going on here.

Yesterday Vale and I went to Rodrigo and Cecilia's for a good-bye dinner, which was lovely despite one last Transantiago nightmare getting there. We laughed a lot, as usual, and stayed so late that we ended up spending the night even though Vale had work this morning. It was strange saying bye, I've gotten pretty close with that family over the past few months and I will miss them a lot. Today Ceci drove us to the metro bright and early and Vale went to work and I fell asleep. On waking up I had my second round of good-byes, in the COPA office, to Isa and Katty. I haven't been as close to either of them this semester and it was a little weird and awkward, but they have also been very important this year for obvious reasons and I'm glad I went. Tonight we'll go one last time to the Pilars', but not for dinner. David and I talked last week about me going over there for lunch one day but he never called back to tell me when I should come over and I didn't call him back, either. I'll also leave without seeing the Diaz family one last time. I regret not having made a greater effort to get over there (it's been months since my last visit). Good-byes are awkward and hard and I've shied away from a lot of them or avoided going out of my way for them, which I'm not exactly proud of. I wish I could have said bye to the frisbee crew, but the game got called off yesterday because of rain. Tomorrow I'll spend with Vale, who of course will be the hardest good-bye of all, and then at about 3 on Thursday morning a van will come pick me and my mountain of stuff up (and hopefully Vale) and take us to the airport and away from Chile for a long time. But not forever, and hopefully not even for that long. I love this country and certainly some of its people and there is still so much for me to learn and see and do here.

Some real reflections on the past year will come along soon but not now.

more music wish list

First, I've decided I really like Vale's card game, carioca, which I wrote about in a rather negative light a few days ago. Family, expect to learn this game. Now, the music:

"Sailin' Shoes" by Little Feat.

"Give it Up" by Bonnie Raitt.

"Supa Dupa Fly" by Missy Elliott. From which comes this freaking awesome single/video:

comments follow on harry potter 4

First of all the theater was jammed, lines out the door for the 7:30 subtitled show and the 8 dubbed show. We got there around 7:10 and first went into the wrong line, so when we finally made it into the theater our seats kind of sucked (pretty close the screen, no raised at all, off to the side) but could have been worse. As far as the movie goes, I liked it for the visual imagination it showed. The effects, particularly in the battle scenes, were beautiful. I wasn't expecting much and that was enough to push me into the positive camp. But as far as a retelling of the book, it missed a lot of points. The whole thing about finding out where the Room of Requirement was, for example, with the cursed contract and Cho's friend betraying them and getting "SNITCH" written across her face, was a great episode in the book. The movie's kind of awkward Harry-kisses-Cho-then-thinks-she-betrayed-him-but-Snape-vindicates-her way of making up for it didn't work at all. Or the kids flying on the dead horse things: In the book, there's a whole scene where the kids who haven't seen death get coaxed up onto the horses and it's all very bizarre and cool. In the movie, the horse things are introduced in the beginning, briefly explained and then abruptly, flown on! later. Then again, that's what you get when you're trying to make a 2-hour movie out of a gigantic book. They need to bring back Cuarón, or some other director with the spine to take the book and make a really good movie out of it, rather than trying to cram a summary onto the screen. Another minor complaint: Helena Bonham Carter should never find work as an actress again, ever. She's so irritating and unbelievable I could barely watch her scenes, and she's way deep into typecast territory now as the "kind of scary/crazy but a little bit hot, maybe?" woman. All the other villains are tight, though, especially Ralf Faiehness.

In other news, briefly, I found out my final grades today. They are as follows: Sistemas Electorales (5,3); Conflicto Armado (5,9); Economía Política de Europa (6,5). In other words, B+, A, A. Judging by the grade for EPdE, I did really well on my final paper. Good news. Now I'm going to start making lunch.

going to start tagging posts

What the title says.

camille paglia

Well I'd never heard of her before today but I clicked on her column on Salon and read it all the way through. I don't agree with a lot of what she says but she's definitely way unorthodox and way unlike a lot of the other people I read on a regular basis (not so much Unsane and Safe, who I like more and more as time goes on). No knock on the liberal bloggers, Add two new books to my wish list and throw them pretty high up there: Sexual Personae and Break Blow Burn. Plus she pisses off lots of people, like John Updike and Betty Friedan--thank you, Wikipedia. Any self-proclaimed liberal who pisses off that many bona fide liberals certainly piques my curiosity. I mean, they really hate her. (The book list will eventually take true list form, along with the music list, in a future post.)

Speaking of which, scratch Andy McKee from the music list, that one song is really impressive to watch but GOD is his music boring. The one video, though...damn. Okay, I'm off to buy HP tickets so we're sure to get a seat tonight. In really shitty news, Cori is stuck in Bolivia and won't be coming into town, after all. Getting back to the States can be a nightmare. Oops better run.

two new sites

A new blog, Science and Politics, and a new website, Public Library of Science. The former is a guy in Chapel Hill, Bora Zivkovic, who writes about puppy dogs and ice cream. I mean, science and politics. He's got a couple of other blogs, too, but that one seemed like the most interesting at the moment. He just interviewed John Edwards, whose office is in Chapel Hill (the whole damn world is against me, I hate Chapel Hill...sorry, Dad), about his positions on various science related topics. The interview is here if anyone wants to read it. The latter is the organization that Zivkovic works for, an open-access science research library, mostly consisting of peer-reviewed journals broken down by discipline (genetics, pathogens, computational biology, etc.). Mom, I'm not sure if you've heard of PloS, but if not it seems like it'd be right up your alley. Pretty cool stuff.

quick note on gladwell

Because it's irking me at the moment, here's one nit-picky complaint I have about Gladwell's writing. I've just come across my umpteenth "brilliant" paper/book. The word "brilliant," like the word "stupid" or the word "intelligent" can be usefully descriptive, but when it's used over and over again in different contexts within a short space it loses most of its meaning. How is it brilliant? Is it very insightful? Particularly well-written? Extraordinarily creative? "Brilliant" doesn't tell me anything worthwhile about it at all.

This was starting to turn into a longer post but I'll wait until I've finished the book first.

summary

This is what has happened since last Thursday:
1) Finished school with final assignment turned in three minutes before the deadline due to extensive editing.
2) Went to Algarrobo with Vale, watched sunset over the Pacific, probably my last for a while. Spent the night at a nice but very cold hostel (no heater in the room), Residencial Vera. Next day went to El Tabo, walked on the beach, ate shockingly overpriced lunch (we saw the menu and thought, wow, cheap! and then it turned out the cheapness was directly related to the quantity and quality of the food...go figure). Really nice time except Saturday night I got very frustrated trying to learn a new card game.
3) Said good bye to Jesse Z and Leslie on Sunday night, to the tune of "Wet Hot American Summer," which I hadn't seen since senior year of high school and which was even more hilarious than I remembered. Great movie. Jesse's planning to visit Ann Arbor in January.
4) Last night Vale and I went out to Zanzibar for dinner, which provoked an avalanche of feelings in me that had nothing to do with leaving or going home, which I'm certain I will feel again in the future and which I will address then. They're important.
5) Talked to Mom Dad and Linc last night before dinner. Jack is in El Salvador. It sounds like things are going smoothly at the moment and that stress is low, which is great news. Hopefully that atmosphere holds until I get home, coming home to simmering clashes wouldn't really help with the whole transition thing, which is going to be hard enough as it is.

I think that pretty much covers the highlights. Cori gets into town from Bolivia tonight and she's here through Thursday morning (I think) before heading back to the states. I've got just over a week left and I'm not even sure where to begin trying to write about that at the moment, so I'll leave it for another day. Before I get back to The Tipping Point, which I'm finding better than Blink but still kind of disappointing, here's a great song by Chile's answer to the Clash, Los Prisioneros. It's title (and chorus) means, "Latin American is a village to the south of the United States." I suspect that most of the people who read this blog (all four of you) don't speak Spanish, but that's okay. Los Prisioneros were really influential in Latin America and their anger and resentment of US hegemony represent a lot of people down here.

new blog: the last plantation

The Last Plantation, commentary about racism in the US right now. Really thoughtful, well-written stuff. Check it out. Also, in case you didn't notice, I alphabetized the links list. Thank you, blogger. And now, I've got about 6.5 pages of my final done and need to start extending that. Here goes.

happy fourth of july

On this day, I will post two things. First, the national anthem in the most beautiful form I've ever heard it, the one I woke up to this morning: Marvin Gaye at the 1983 NBA All-Star Game.



And second, the transcript of Keith Olbermann's Special Comment last night, which I didn't get to watch for obvious reasons. But the transcript gave me goosebumps all the same. Keep kicking ass, Keith. (H/t Salon.com)

Finally tonight, as promised, a Special Comment on what is, in everything but name, George Bush's pardon of Scooter Libby.

"I didn't vote for him," an American once said, "But he's my president, and I hope he does a good job." That -- on this eve of the Fourth of July -- is the essence of this democracy, in 17 words. And that is what President Bush threw away yesterday in commuting the sentence of Lewis "Scooter" Libby.

The man who said those 17 words -- improbably enough -- was the actor John Wayne. And Wayne, an ultra-conservative, said them when he learned of the hair's-breadth election of John F. Kennedy instead of his personal favorite, Richard Nixon, in 1960.

"I didn't vote for him but he's my president, and I hope he does a good job." The sentiment was doubtlessly expressed earlier. But there is something especially appropriate about hearing it, now, in Wayne's voice: The crisp matter-of-fact acknowledgment that we have survived, even though for nearly two centuries now, our commander in chief has also served, simultaneously, as the head of one political party and often the scourge of all others.

We as citizens must, at some point, ignore a president's partisanship. Not that we may prosper as a nation, not that we may achieve, not that we may lead the world, but merely that we may function.

But just as essential to the 17 words of John Wayne is an implicit trust, a sacred trust: that the president for whom so many did not vote can in turn suspend his political self long enough, and for matters imperative enough, to conduct himself solely for the benefit of the entire republic.

Our generation's willingness to state "We didn't vote for him, but he's our president, and we hope he does a good job" was tested in the crucible of history, and earlier than most.

And in circumstances more tragic and threatening. And we did that with which history tasked us. We enveloped our president in 2001. And those who did not believe he should have been elected -- indeed those who did not believe he had been elected -- willingly lowered their voices and assented to the sacred oath of nonpartisanship.

And George W. Bush took our assent, and reconfigured it, and honed it, and shaped it to a razor-sharp point and stabbed this nation in the back with it.

Were there any remaining lingering doubt otherwise, or any remaining lingering hope, it ended yesterday when Mr. Bush commuted the prison sentence of one of his own staffers.

Did so even before the appeals process was complete. Did so without as much as a courtesy consultation with the Department of Justice. Did so despite what James Madison -- at the Constitutional Convention -- said about impeaching any president who pardoned or sheltered those who had committed crimes "advised by" that president.

Did so without the slightest concern that even the most detached of citizens must look at the chain of events and wonder: To what degree was Mr. Libby told, "Break the law however you wish -- the president will keep you out of prison"?

In that moment, Mr. Bush, you broke that fundamental compact between yourself and the majority of this nation's citizens, the ones who did not cast votes for you.

In that moment, Mr. Bush, you ceased to be the president of the United States. In that moment, Mr. Bush, you became merely the president of a rabid and irresponsible corner of the Republican Party.

And this is too important a time, Sir, to have a commander in chief who puts party over nation. This has been, of course, the gathering legacy of this administration. Few of its decisions have escaped the stain of politics. The extraordinary Karl Rove has spoken of "a permanent Republican majority," as if such a thing -- or a permanent Democratic majority -- is not antithetical to that upon which rests our country, our history, our revolution, our freedoms.

Yet our democracy has survived shrewder men than Karl Rove. And it has survived the frequent stain of politics upon the fabric of government. But this administration, with ever-increasing insistence and almost theocratic zealotry, has turned that stain into a massive oil spill.

The protection of the environment is turned over to those of one political party who will financially benefit from the rape of the environment.

The protections of the Constitution are turned over to those of one political party who believe those protections unnecessary and extravagant and quaint.

The enforcement of the laws is turned over to those of one political party who will swear beforehand that they will not enforce those laws.

The choice between war and peace is turned over to those of one political party who stand to gain vast wealth by ensuring that there is never peace, but only war.

And now, when just one cooked book gets corrected by an honest auditor, when just one trampling of the inherent and inviolable fairness of government is rejected by an impartial judge, when just one wild-eyed partisan is stopped by the figure of blind justice, this president decides that he, and not the law, must prevail.

I accuse you, Mr. Bush, of lying this country into war. I accuse you of fabricating in the minds of your own people a false implied link between Saddam Hussein and 9/11. I accuse you of firing the generals who told you that the plans for Iraq were disastrously insufficient. I accuse you of causing in Iraq the needless deaths of 3,586 of our brothers and sons, and sisters and daughters, and friends and neighbors. I accuse you of subverting the Constitution, not in some misguided but sincerely motivated struggle to combat terrorists, but to stifle dissent. I accuse you of fomenting fear among your own people, of creating the very terror you claim to have fought. I accuse you of exploiting that unreasoning fear, the natural fear of your own people who just want to live their lives in peace, as a political tool to slander your critics and libel your opponents. I accuse you of handing part of this republic over to a vice president who is without conscience and letting him run roughshod over it.

And I accuse you now, Mr. Bush, of giving, through that vice president, carte blanche to Mr. Libby to help defame Ambassador Joseph Wilson by any means necessary, to lie to grand juries and special counsel and before a court, in order to protect the mechanisms and particulars of that defamation with your guarantee that Libby would never see prison and, in so doing, as Ambassador Wilson himself phrased it here last night, of becoming an accessory to the obstruction of justice.

When President Nixon ordered the firing of the Watergate special prosecutor Archibald Cox during the infamous "Saturday Night Massacre" on October 20th, 1973, Cox initially responded tersely, and ominously.

"Whether ours shall be a government of laws and not of men is now for Congress and, ultimately, the American people."

President Nixon did not understand how he had crystallized the issue of Watergate for the American people. It had been about the obscure meaning behind an attempt to break in to a rival party's headquarters, and the labyrinthine effort to cover up that break-in and the related crimes.

And in one night, Nixon transformed it. Watergate -- instantaneously -- became a simpler issue: a president overruling the inexorable march of the law, insisting -- in a way that resonated viscerally with millions who had not previously understood -- that he was the law.

Not the Constitution. Not the Congress. Not the courts. Just him. Just, Mr. Bush, as you did, yesterday.

The twists and turns of Plamegate, of your precise and intricate lies that sent us into this bottomless pit of Iraq; your lies upon the lies to discredit Joe Wilson; your lies upon the lies upon the lies to throw the sand at the "referee" of prosecutor Fitzgerald's analogy, these are complex and often painful to follow and too much, perhaps, for the average citizen.

But when other citizens render a verdict against your man, Mr. Bush, and then you spit in the faces of those jurors and that judge and the judges who were yet to hear the appeal, the average citizen understands that, Sir.

It's the fixed ballgame and the rigged casino and the prearranged lottery all rolled into one, and it stinks.

And they know it.

Nixon's mistake, the last and most fatal of them, the firing of Archibald Cox, was enough to cost him the presidency. And in the end, even Richard Nixon could say he could not put this nation through an impeachment. It was far too late for it to matter then, but as the decades unfold, that single final gesture of nonpartisanship, of acknowledged responsibility not to self, not to party, not to "base," but to country, echoes loudly into history.

Even Richard Nixon knew it was time to resign. Would that you could say that, Mr. Bush. And that you could say it for Mr. Cheney. You both crossed the Rubicon yesterday. Which one of you chose the route no longer matters. Which is the ventriloquist, and which the dummy, is irrelevant. But that you have twisted the machinery of government into nothing more than a tawdry machine of politics is the only fact that remains relevant.

It is nearly July Fourth, Mr. Bush, the commemoration of the moment we Americans decided that rather than live under a king who made up the laws, or erased them, or ignored them -- or commuted the sentences of those rightly convicted under them -- we would force our independence and regain our sacred freedoms.

We of this time -- and our leaders in Congress, of both parties -- must now live up to those standards which echo through our history. Pressure, negotiate, impeach: get you, Mr. Bush, and Mr. Cheney, two men who are now perilous to our democracy, away from its helm.

And for you, Mr. Bush, and for Mr. Cheney, there is a lesser task. You need merely achieve a very low threshold indeed. Display just that iota of patriotism which Richard Nixon showed on August 9th, 1974.

Resign.

And give us someone -- anyone -- about whom all of us might yet be able to quote John Wayne, and say, "I didn't vote for him, but he's my president, and I hope he does a good job."

holy smokes

It's July 1. Took me until 1:30 p.m. to realize it, but I'm officially going home this month. Weird, I got one of those funny heart things that I think is what people mean when they say your heart "skips a beat." Note to self: Come up with a better way to explain that sensation. Speaking of which, this song comes to mind.

allow me to explain

In my dream last night, I had posted at least three times after my last real-life post. I don't remember much else about the dream except looking at photographs of something. The large number of "fucks" arose out of frustration at the fact that this whole ticket mess appears to have been mostly my fault, and as a result the money that I had been saving up in hopes of one last cool trip before heading back to the states will instead go to getting me home. Which, it kind of goes without saying, fucking blows.

In better news, Emily and Vale and I went to Valpo yesterday and had a really good time, despite the cloudy/foggy weather and Vale feeling vomity. It's such an interesting city, I took some more photos, including some duplicates and triplicates of photos I'd taken before because it's just that cool. Emily had bought a ticket straight to Pucón from Valpo so at the end of the day, around 7:30, we went our separate ways--Vale and me back to Stgo and Emily on to Volcán Villarrica. Lucky. Today is a day for work; I meant to get up at 9 but when I did instead of resetting my alarm for 9:30 I somehow turned it off and was only awakened by some guy named Hector calling a wrong number. Twice. But now, with a cup of good coffee (on Friday Vale's mom came to town for a funeral and we went to Granos y Hojas afterwards, which was really fun because watching them interact is hilarious; anyhow the upshot is we split a bag of really nice expensive coffee there) I will start this blankety-blank 12 page final that is all that stands between me and the end of the school year. Hoo doggies.

fuck

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

visibility was 50 feet

Before anything else, I found a new really kickass blog that won the Koufax Award last year for basically "blog that should get more love." It's called Echidne of the Snakes. It's written by a self-styled "recovering economist" named J. Goodrich; formally a feminist-only blog, now merely feminism-focused but also full of links and interesting commentary about all kinds of modern social and political issues (she recently wrote a piece for The American Prospect. Also I'm finally adding Salon's "Broadsheet" after having read it for about a month now without comment here. It's kind of a feminist review; lots of summaries/commentaries about feminist issues as they come along, but it's full of links to more detailed blogs and it's a good way to keep aware of the countless and continuously evolving ways we still put women down as a society. Also the writers are good. I slipped a link to The American Prospect in there in case you didn't notice. That's going with the links, too.

Today's video is "Natty Dread" by Bob Marley and the Wailers, which has long been one of my favorite Marley songs.


To switch gears completely: Cori left for Bolivia last night, but spent the night before at Vale's and then today, after taking it verrry easy in the morning/early afternoon we took a walk ISO some presents for various people. Cori bought some stuff in Bellavista and then we got hungry and each ate an entire pizza at Amadeus (she had cheese, I had cheese with roquefort and salame). Then we headed up to El Mundo del Vino, where she bought cardboard boxes with wine in them for the various families she'll be staying with in Bolivia. It was great to pass the day with her, we had a good and very relaxing time. She got stressed about buying presents but not too much and the rest of the time was just beautiful day, nice walk, good pizza. Also I had a beer with lunch called Erdinger that I really liked. And it came with cacho de cabra, which is a kind of spicy dried pepper flakes! Strange but, well, mmmmmmm...

We said goodbye at around 6 so last night Vale and I were left to our own devices. Vale wanted to take a walk, so out we went. A short walk turned into a medium-long walk as we wound through streets over by Bellas Artes and Parque Forestal, past buildings I'd never seen or noticed before. It was a pretty night, if a little chilly. We ended up at a little bar called Navetierra, where we got a couple of really good pisco sours and some camembert with crackers and soaked in the ambience (very artsy/political with a slightly overwhelming dash of second-hand smoke). The conversations about me leaving are getting harder; we both know it's inevitable but neither of us wants to separate. And as the time draws closer we both get a little sadder. But we can't really do anything but try not to be sad and to enjoy the time we have left together.

Emily B gets in tomorrow from Sao Paolo around 1, which will be fun. But it means that I've gotta finish this blankety-blank Armed Conflict final today, pretty much. So off I go to do that. Citizens as targets in internal conflicts and the friction between the principle of imparciality/neutrality and needing to do the utmost to protect victims. Cheerful stuff.

i will never again bowl at mall plaza vespucio

WARNING: This post has a lot of cuss words. Apologies in advance.

After the closing academic stuff with COPA yesterday in (snow-covered!) Cajon de Maipo, which were actually not that bad, Vale and I decided to go bowling. The idea had come up after the form-filling ended, but no one was interested, so we went by ourselves. It was really fun, after an execrable start by me (0-1-1 for a three-frame total of 2). Vale rolled a 105(!) in the first game and I rolled an 88. Bowling is nice because, well, when I'm not with Lincoln and Jack, I don't care about losing. At all. We were both having a blast and in the second game I really got on a roll, no pun intended, with four strikes in a row! The best bowling game of my entire life! In the 9th frame I rolled a 9, giving me a 121 in the 7th frame. And then the motherfucking lane turned off. We'd paid for only a half hour, and once that half hour was up the piece of shit just shut down. No matter that we were THREE FRAMES TOTAL FROM FINISHING. And that I was on the cusp of bowling the best game of my life, feeling so happy. I didn't get it at first, but the girl at the counter said there was nothing she could do because they were closing soon. It was out of her power to turn the lane back on for three minutes. I was so mad I couldn't speak. Had I been in the States I would have argued, whined, pleaded, whatever, but in my furious state I couldn't even begin to get the words out in Spanish. The dumbest fucking shit ever is the phrase that kept repeating in my head. Vale was still in "we're just having fun" mode, not "oh my God this is something special to me because I have never even come close to doing this well" mode, so she didn't get why I was so furious. Still, she got that I was, so we left in relative silence.

She told me when we got back that she had been a little scared, not so much by me being angry (she's seen me mad before, mostly about the stupefying IFSA bureaucracy) but by how fast I went from incredibly happy to flat and speechless. It was a little weird, to be sure. But I recovered by the time we got back.

Today will be a day for working on my Armed Conflict final, which I want to turn in on Tuesday, and then at five heading over to give the Fulham Cohens some things to take back for me. Cori is going to spend the night here tonight while her family flies back to the States; she leaves tomorrow for Bolivia to spend some time with her (Maryland) roommate's family. Also the return ticket situation remains frustrating. I haven't heard back again from Bonnie of Advantage Travel, but the latest word was that I'm on my own to book a one-way. Fuck that noise.

v.s. naipaul knows sensuality

I'm about two thirds done with A Bend in the River. This afternoon I came across a passage that was, well, see the title of this post. The narrator has been taken to a party by an old friend and becomes enamored of the hostess of the party.

"Indar was embraced by Yvette as we left. And I was embraced, as the friend. It was delicious to me, as the climax to that evening, to press that body close, soft at this late hour, and to feel the silk of the blouse and the flesh below the silk.

"There was a moon now - there had been none earlier. It was small and high. The sky was full of heavy clouds, and the moonlight came and went. it was very quiet. We could hear the rapids; they were about a mile way. The rapids in moonlight! I said to Indar, 'Let's go to the river'. And he was willing."

Hoo boy.

yesterday i was really sick

The worst possible timing: I had a paper due yesterday and I have an exam tomorrow, but starting Monday evening, well, let's just say it was comin' out both ends. Plus I had a fever, plus the kind of energy-destroying pain in all my joints that fits in the category "flu-like symptoms," so much so that I didn't even have enough energy to watch TV. Oh and sharp pain right below my belly button. Aaaand I basically didn't sleep on Monday night cause I was getting up every half hour to go to the bathroom.

So I emailed my prof basically saying, "Sorry, I couldn't finish, please don't penalize me, I'll turn it in tomorrow," and my hunch is that he'll be okay with it. He's a super nice guy. Vale took really good care of me yesterday, brought me juice and ginger ale and made some chicken soup and white rice and even (holy crap!) home-made apple sauce that she just kind of whipped up in the kitchen. And today I'm feeling all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and I'm about to get cracking and finish up that final. Worse comes to worse I get a few points knocked off, which is okay because all I have to do is pass and I'm not in danger of failing. The paper isn't great by any means but it doesn't completely suck. In other news, I found another great video, again thanks to Crooks and Liars, this time of a guy named Andy McKee who apparently has spent a lot of time practicing on his guitar. Sweet.



Add that album ("Dreamcatcher") to my wish list.

Also, for anyone who pays attention to this kind of thing, I always knew Digby was a woman. Everyone always called her "he" (even me once or twice, I think), but that always felt wrong to me. Seriously. Speaking of which, congratulations, progressive blogosphere, winners of the Paul Wellstone Citizen Leadership Award. Suck it, Lindsey.

And now, breakfast.

fulham cohens!

Last night (after working all afternoon at Starlight Cafe) I went with Vale to the F-C's apart-hotel! We chatted for a while in the apartment and then walked over (all of two blocks) to Giratorio, the 16th-floor rotating restaurant at Los Leones. I had never eaten while spinning in a circle before. It was pretty strange. But the food was good and it was great to see all of them. Afterwards we went back to the apartment and had tea and cake. Somehow (not hard to guess how with a family that loves HP so much) the conversation swung to the final Harry Potter book. Amongst much laughter and argument we created a betting pool (me and the Fulham-Cohens, Vale abstained; I think she was a little intimidated by how into it everyone got) for who's going to die in this book. We made a list of 21 names and everyone voted whether each character was going to die or not. Winner gets 20 bucks from Arthur, unless he wins, in which case everyone gives him 20 bucks. It was really fun, but finally Vale and I had to duck out because I'd told Dad I'd call around 10:30 to say happy father's day.

We got back to Vale's around 10:45 and I connected with Lincoln right away. We all (Mom Dad Linc me) talked for about half an hour, which was nice. Jack had fallen asleep, but we made plans to talk again on Tuesday. They all sounded really good; there was a lot of talk about SilverDocs and I'm sorry to be missing it this year. I'm edging closer to a July 18 return date, I think it's the last day I can come home without paying huge fees or getting a new ticket. One crazy thing I found out yesterday, before I get back to work on these finals (yippee!): A one-way ticket from Miami to National costs $79 in economy class, and $549 in first class. Who on earth would pay five hundred and fifty bucks for a 2.5-hour flight? That just seems stupid and excessive, but then again probably shouldn't surprise me. Okay, back to work. Here's to getting through Thursday!

starbucks failed me

After prolonged attempts to get online at two different Starbucks, I gave up and came back to Vale's apartment with her (she had been running some errands and getting her hair cut). She's been feeling lightheaded/dizzy/nauseous all day and I just took her pressure and it's scarily low (99/52, and with a pulse of 118!). So now she's calling Rodrigo and hopefully he will have some advice.

My electoral systems final is coming along despite the incredibly annoying Starbucks interlude; it's going to end up being pretty dry but not entirely devoid of purpose, which is about all I could have hoped for at this point. At the very least, I'm learning a lot about Portugal, Ireland and Greece that I never knew.

Also, the sunset was really beautiful today, a half-cloudy orange sky in the west throwing pink light off of the snowy mountains. I wanted to take a picture but of course my camera pooped out at exactly the wrong time. It's okay, there will be other opportunities for nice shots like that before I leave. Speaking of which, that date is rapidly approaching and I need to email the damn travel agent again because they never got back to me the first time about my return ticket. So I'm going to go do that and then keep pounding out histories of political parties. Because, you know, I just love political parties.

some brief friday notes

My two desert-island albums, I have realized conclusively (by "conclusively" I mean "because they have remained an unchanged pair for several years") are London Calling by the Clash and, of course, as anyone who knows me knows, the greatest album of all time, Graceland, by Paul Simon. The one a furious, musically and lyrically brilliant assault against the establishment and the other the product of a songwriter grappling beautifully with the onset of middle age and a painful divorce. The first, of course, is Graceland, the second, London Calling. Just kidding.

The rain in Santiago is paradoxical and cruel, I think whatever god reigns over Santiago weather has Bush's Iraq planners advising on winter weather patterns. A cap of cold air traps smog in Santiago (our presence in Iraq, which provokes massive violence there), rain comes in every once in a while to briefly clean things up ("surges"), but that same rain makes the air colder, meaning more air gets trapped (surges repress violence for a couple of days and then people just get more pissed and more violent). Then again, if it didn't rain, the smog would keep getting worse with no relief. And here I see the problem in my metaphor: The surges don't actually provide any relief at all except to the demented, divorced-from-reality people in charge. The rain does. Also the rain dramatically improves the view: The Andes are gorgeous again. So, an imperfect metaphor. Still, the vicious-cycle parallels are interesting.

One thing that comes up a lot when meeting and talking to Chileans, especially those of the university variety, is about the domestic problems of the US. Here the greatest social problems are income equality and, more specifically but just as embarrassingly, centuries of abuse, repression and neglect of Chile's substantial Mapuche minority. The correlating deep, embarrassing and infuriating social problem in the US, I would (and do, frequently) argue, is racism. Recently I've started reading more about the immigration debate going on at home, and it's obvious to pretty much anyone with an ounce of sense that the underlying conflict is fear and hatred of "brown people." The xenophobia of everyone from Lou Dobbs to the "Minutemen" of Texas and Arizona to some of the residents of Hazletown, PA (h/t Orcinus, post "Hatin' on Immigrants") makes me shake with anger. I want to get on a roll here, but because I really should be working on my Electoral Systems final, I'm going to come full circle and end with the Clash's take on anger in "The Clampdown":

Let fury have the hour, anger can be power
Do you know that you can use it?

Amen.

P.S. A new blog is going up in the links: ImmigrationProf Blog, which is written by a trio of law professors at UC Davis. Represent.

P.P.S. ¡NINGÚN SER HUMANO ES ILEGAL!

the downside of rain in stgo

Is that it seems Chilean urban planners and engineers aren't very good at drainage. This makes sense, on one hand, because Stgo is generally a dry city, but it does rain EVERY WINTER and there are HUGE UNAVOIDABLE SHOE-SOAKING LAKES all over the place. Also, half an hour ago, while trying to jump over one of said lakes, I landed on slippery tiles and fell on my ass and now my left leg is wet and cold. But I kept my shoes comparatively dry, so it was worth it, still, I think. That's what I'm telling myself, anyway.

it's rainin' water

I'm back in the Isidora Goyenechea Starbucks for the first time in along time. There's no way I'd be back here on my own except that at 8 COPA is taking me, four other kids and a bunch of gringo study abroad advisors out to dinner at a really nice restaurant, Isla Negra, on El Bosque. Seeing as that's three blocks from here, and seeing as I needed a change of scenery in order to buckle down a little, I'm here now.

The buckling down is mostly in the form of working on my two final essays. I'm still kind of in the dark about what each will deal with specifically. That's okay for the European Political Economy one, because all that's due next week is a presentation outlining what I'm going to talk about. So I need some idea of a thesis and structure, but nothing really research-based or overly specific. Electoral Systems, however, is a bigger issue. It's due on Tuesday and I'm still not entirely sure what's going on with it. I've been snooping around on JSTOR (long live JSTOR!), but now I will expound for a couple of minutes in hopes of clearing this business up.

In new democracies, social cleavages tend to get defined early on and have deep historical roots. According to one school of thought, these early cleavages remain fundamentally unchanged throughout the evolution of the democracy. For example, in France the most fundamental cleavage is thought to be the rural-urban divide, and that divide still rules the day in French politics. It takes different forms and is seen across various levels of society: industrial labor verus agriculture, churchgoing country dwellers versus non-churchgoing urbanites, etc. This fundamental divide is the basis for the party breakdown in modern France, as such fundamental cleavages form the foundation for party breakdowns in most democracies. However, rapidly growing integration has led to huge immigrant and minority populations that are changing the scene: Witness the victory of Sarkozy, a Reagan-esque nationalist (thanks to Juan Cole for that particular comparison) whose campaign made use of white French people's reactionary fears of Muslim immigrant unrest. The same kinds of divides are coming to the fore in England, Spain, Germany, the United States (obviously) and even in the traditionally homogeneous Scandinavian countries like Sweden and Denmark. These are all highly developed, very stable Western democracies. But what of the less developed, newer European democracies who are participating in the same breakneck economic integration as those countries mentioned above, but without the accompanying influx of immigrants; i.e. what's up with countries whose populations are still remarkably homogeneous--religiously, ethnically, linguistically--like Ireland, Portugal, Poland and Greece? How do party politics break down in those countries, and how are they changing? Perhaps I should hypothesize that divides in those countries (I have to pick three, but that can be later) have to do traditionally with religious versus non-religious groups (i.e. commies), but increasingly have to do with protectionist/traditionalists versus integrationalist/progressives. That's a thought. Then again might be a bit ambitious for a ten-page paper with no time for original research. Still, good start. Good job, freewriting Luke.

BUT, the really big news of today is that it's raining and raining. This morning and early afternoon saw veritable torrents (relatively speaking, of course), and after a mid-afternoon break it's raining lightly but steadily now. Apparently this will continue for a couple of days, which means two very, very wonderful things: First, the mountains will look spectacular as soon as the clouds go away; and second, the air is clean as hell. It's so strange it is to grow accustomed to things a quarter of a mile away being hazy and indistinct in the middle of the day and then all of a sudden being able to see individual trees on a hill miles distant; like walking around all day wondering why things don't look quite right, then realizing that one of your glasses lenses has a substantial smudge on it, then cleaning it off and remembering what things are supposed to look like.

I posted a video the last time this happened, but today's rain-induced happiness can't quite measure up to the giddy ecstasy of that other day, because the wait hadn't been as long. So no video today. Still, frisbee is going to be 85 billion times better on Sunday because the air will be pristine. Oh baby! And now, it's time to get back to work. Profe Altman sent me an article by Alberto Alesina about fractionalization, complete with table of measurements of the ethnic, linguistic and religious fractionalization of almost 200 countries. Hott with two t's.

P.S. That link to Cole above is worth checking out; I know nothing about French politics so for all I know he's totally wrong, and his interests are certainly biased in favor of the Muslim world, but it's still a very interesting brief analysis.

P.P.S. The bathroom of this Starbucks smells fantastic.

weekend in brief

First, everyone should check out this really cool video that Dad sent me by email. I highly suggest watching the whole thing:

500 YEARS OF WOMEN IN ART


Anyhow, highlights of the weekend include me driving for the first time in almost 11 months, yesterday. I made crab cakes for Vale and her aunt and uncle (the kids got tuna with mustard, which is apparently a house favorite), and Vale and I had to go to the grocery store to pick up some key ingredients, like crab meat. So I drove Rodrigo's car to Alto Las Condes and back. It was kind of nerve-wracking getting in, just because it had been so long, but as soon as we started going it was fun and easy. Helped that it was Sunday morning and the road's weren't exactly crowded. And then, on the way back, instead of going straight to Rodrigo and Cecilia's house, I drove past it a little ways and pulled into a little mini parking lot/lookout type place, and passed the keys to Vale. She's 28 years old and had never driven a car, not even in a parking lot. So she had her first driving experience; she wasn't bad for a first-timer although the whole staying-in-your-lane thing would have been a problem had there been any other cars around. Pays to live waaayyyy out there.

Also we watched "Goodbye Lenin," a very sweet German movie about a kid from East Germany growing up and coming of age during the fall of the USSR. I liked it a lot, and so did Vale, although she fell asleep for about the last 20 or 30 minutes. We watched with Spanish subtitles and I got everything except for a couple of words here and there (like maybe 8 total the whole movie), which was a good feeling.

Yesterday also was my first time back at frisbee after a two-week absence, and despite having eaten a crab cake sandwich and fries before playing, which caused a few issues towards the beginning, I played really well and had a great time. Afterwards of course included a trip to Tortilla Factory. Blackberry, raspberry, banana, apple and blueberry smoothie and a cup of coffee plus the house corn chips and salsa...perrrrfect. Vale wanted to go buy some tea after that at a hoity-toity tea store in Alto Las Condes, so we walked across the street. I also hadn't just kind of mosied and people-watched and window-shopped in a mall for a long time. Malls, love them or hate them, are interesting places. We went into a couple of book stores trying to find a copy of Intérprete de Emociones (Interpreter of Maladies) but the translated edition is apparently out of print and sold out everywhere. Vale also dragged me into various clothing stores and made me try on coats. If I had money to burn I'd like to buy a nice pea-coat-type thing, the ones I tried on were really comfortable and I like the way they look. But the cheapest one was like 150 bucks (which, I suppose, isn't that much in the long run, but it's too much for me right now), so my very nice parka and various sweatshirts and fleeces will suffice just fine for the time being.

We're reading right now, in European Political Economy, about the adjustments that OECD (Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development--basically Europe, North America, some Latin America, and E/SE Asia) countries have had to make over the last 30 years to their trade and monetary policy and also to their welfare states. I think the latter is what I'm going to write my final paper about for the class. How countries like Sweden and Denmark, which have powerful social-democratic welfare states that, to me, seem overwhelmingly fairer and more appealing than the residual welfare states (bascially, no help until you're screwed, and then not very much) of the Anglo countries or the corporatist, conservative welfare states of Germany and Austria (extremely compartmentalized and unevenly distributed help based on job category). The de-commodification of labor in the Norwegian countries is wonderful but they are the most vulnerable to collapse under current structural (globalization, general aging of the population) and institutional (the EU, weakening of labor organizations) changes. It sucks for them, and I think how they respond to those changes has been and is going to be really interesting and instructive. Can they make it without compromising their whole systems, and what are they doing to try?

Speaking of which, I should eat breakfast and then get reading. We've got class today for the first time in months because we missed a couple of Wednesdays and need to make them up. Hope you enjoyed the video.

tinariwen

Some big things in the past couple of days:

Bought "Aman Iman: Water is Life" by Tinariwen, a group of Touaregs who started playing together as separatist rebels in Mali in the 80s. Their music is absolutely amazing. I realize at moments like this the disadvantages of my tendency to use lots and lots of superlatives without much regard for degree. This album blows me away every time I listen to it, it deserves superlatives that are beyond my vocabulary. A video follows of them playing with Santana at Montreux.

Finished "Four Quartets," by T.S. Eliot, which Dad mailed to me last week. It is stunning. I found that reading it reminds me a little of reading Spanish, in the sense that I really had to pay attention to every word, and to how every word related to every other word, in order to really understand what he was trying to say. This in contrast with, say, A Bend in the River, which I'm also reading, and can much more easily read without devoting my full attention to it. Dad: Thank you.

Jack was home last weekend and part of this week, and I got to talk to him on Monday night, which was great. He sounded tired (he'd gotten a vaccine earlier that day for El Salvador) but so good and it was really nice to hear his voice, hear how he's doing, what his plans are shaping up to be for the summer, and everything. I got to talk to Lincoln for a long time, too, which was also really nice. He's done with his first year and back home for the summer and I hadn't caught up with him for real in a while. Monday night was a good night. On a related note, Skype is a treacherous friend. On a note related to the last one (things that drove me completely off the wall this week), the IFSA-Butler/Michigan/DOE bureaucracy finally broke me. I can't write any more about that right now because my heart rate will start going up again and I'd rather maintain my current, calm state of mind.

One of my final projects (Political Economy) got pushed back and now is not due in preliminary form until the week after next. This removes a huge amount of pressure and will allow me to focus in my Electoral Systems final, which is due the 19. Speaking of David Altman (my Elec Sys professor), today he asked me to edit a paper he'd written in English comparing Uruguay and Switzerland. It's very interesting, not just because of the subject matter (I know little about Switzerland and less about Uruguay), but because it's strange to read the writing of someone who is clearly academically knowledgeable and accomplished but who is at the same time obviously not writing in his first language. So it's a mix of really obvious grammatical mistakes and interesting direct translations (you can say "como una moneda de esos sentimientos" in Spanish, but "as a coin of those feelings" doesn't really make sense in English; what he meant was "exemplifying those feelings") and elevated and technical language. I'm enjoying it a lot, plus it appears that I'll be compensated financially for my efforts.

Other important things have happened and this was originally going to be a long post, but I got distracted first yesterday and then today, so that's all you're gonna get at the moment. Oh, I saw Zodiac. Good movie.

Okay, so here's Tinariwen featuring Santana. Music starts a minute in.

apparently blair 07 graduates today

Thank you, Julia S-M's away message. Congratulations, friends' younger siblings.

Today is a day of homicidal feelings against Skype, an astounding technology that betrayed me last night and today. Because it's just software, I feel no loyalty to it, and now I want to kill it, or at the very least, for it to acknowledge my attempts to add money to my account so I can call home. Jack is there and I haven't talked to him in a bajillion years and it was so wonderful to hear his voice last night even for two minutes. I told him I'd call today but Skype is still telling me to go fuck myself, so I'm kind of stuck. Hopefully someone at home will finally get Skype today and we can talk for free, Skype credit be damned.

Okay, I need to go do some (a lot of) work now. Deep breaths all around, I can't wait for yoga tonight.

john cole

I will be adding Balloon Juice to my links after I finish this post. You will understand why after reading this Greenwald post about the new right-wing whine that "al-Qaeda tortures, too, why did the liberal media hammer home Abu Ghraib but not this?" Greenwald has lots of detailed analysis, but Cole's post, which he links to, sums it up very succinctly. In its entirety:

"It isn’t news because they are terrorists, you fucking simpletons. Yesterday, my cat scratched himself then shit in a box. The media didn’t report that, either."

Would be funny if it wasn't so infuriating.

rain rain beautiful rain!

Last night, while Santiago slept, the rain that we have been waiting for since February--and REALLY waiting for since about a month ago--came to us. It rained and rained and now the mountains are gorgeous, covered in snow, and I can see clear to Puente Alto. This also means that I will run tonight, after class. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead! WHEEE!!!!

I wanted to get "Rain Rain Beautiful Rain" by Ladysmith Black Mambazo but couldn't find it on YouTube or Google Video, so here's a little classic Gene Kelly instead.

another reason pbs is amazing

I thought this site was incredibly cool. I guess I'm a little behind on the times in the PBS department, it's kind of old, but so great all the same.

immigration hypocrisy

I think I spelled "hypocrisy" right. Whatever. Anyhow, there's an interesting piece up right now on Upside-Down World comparing the case of a legal Kurdish immigrant who was deported back to Turkey--a very dangerous and oppressive place for Kurds--despite complying completely with immigration laws and regulations, and Luis Posada Carriles, a proudly convicted terrorist who admitted to entering the US illegally but has been allowed to live in the country as long as he likes, with no legal worries at all. The article is here. I realize that such comparisons are not really worth much in any kind of fair or scientific sense, and Upside-Down World is certainly not one to shy away from ignoring aspects of a story in order to make a point (see their impassioned and misguided defense of Chavez shutting down RCTV--the repeated argument that it was okay because RCTV made Fox News "look like a kitten" doesn't really fly). But the point gets made all the same, and well. Our immigration policy is very, very fucked up in a lot of ways, and the recent bill hasn't improved it at all. Para Justicia y Libertad had a good post on this a week ago.

My host sister, Pili, has had a nightmare of a time trying to get a tourist visa to come to the U.S. in July (she'll be leaving right around when I do). Her process appears to be finally ending because Katty got back from her travels and, well, Katty knows everyone and their mother and will get this all ironed out right quick. That's how Katty rolls. But if Pili had been trying to do it on her own? Man, I'm not even sure she would have gotten it, and she's got freckles and is in grad school right now, she's not even a scary illiterate brown person. Ugh. Meantime, Michaela Sachs is in town and we've been texting the past few days trying to figure out a time to meet up. I'm going to give her a call today as soon as I get showered and dressed. Perhaps we'll get lunch? Speaking of showers, I'd better hop in, I'm pretty gross at the moment. Before I do, I feel the need to report that my back has been killing me the past couple of days, kind of constant discomfort punctuated by occasional "Ow shit!" moments. I'm sure it has something to do with yoga, and I'm going to ask Felipe tonight what I'm doing wrong that's causing the pain. Also why my hip flexors hurt when I'm doing inside-of-the-leg positions. Yoga is great, I'm so glad I have it because running is so far out of the question. I see people running every once in a while and think to myself, "Oh dear, that person has lost their mind. Poor lungs." Yes and Cori came over to Vale's last night again with Bessie and Chris and we had a very fun Spanglish time, plus a good salad made by Cori and Chris the expert chefs. Also Cori has no recollection of any Michaela, which kind of confused me. Would either of my parents care to clear up how this is possible? Joshy was in my dream last night, holy crap...

Wow, I'm in full on free-association ramble mode. Cool.