Rabble-Rousing & Various Musings

Valentine's Day Special

2012-02-14T04:56:00.001-01:00

With Valentine's Day coming up, I thought I'd share some great music inspired by love. Whether you're in love, not in love, jaded, single, in a relationship it doesn't really matter. So much beautiful art is created by the emotion itself. I have never been a big supporter of Valentine's day, but I'd like to take some time to share some great tunes. As Rilke said, "For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation."

and, to end it :

This song is so beautiful, honest and raw.

Go love!

Hello, Tuesday

2012-02-07T12:11:00.001-01:00

Inside, I hope this is how we all feel.

Drake and Lykke Li

2012-02-06T22:05:00.001-01:00

At first, I was skeptical... but after listening to this, I was taken aback.

Drake's voice adds just the right amount of edge to the cute, indie-chic style of Lykke Li. And, as much as I don't want to admit it, Drake's "Take Care" was really really well done. These two surprisingly mesh very cohesively together.

TWO THINGS.

2012-02-04T00:50:00.000-01:00

1- Sasquatch, 2012. I would cry tears of happiness to see Bon Iver... I live in 'the live music capital of the U.S' and I can say that this puts the lineup for ACL last year to horrible shame.

2- This is my life

A Salute: Throwback '05

2012-02-03T23:27:00.000-01:00

SALUTE!

To one of the my great albums of '05. I don't care if you judge, personal bias will always take precedent of non-existant objectivity.

This followed me up from high school to freshman year of college. I hadn't played it until today, windows down, humidity seeping through my business attire in bumper to bumper traffic with a car that idles, richter scale 1.5. Life's changed, I've changed, but damnit, this song has remained the same, and that is really beautiful; music's ability to transport you to another time in memory and feeling. Nostalgia be damned, the future is bright and full of unexplored uncertainty, so go ahead and live it, this song on blast, windows down.

Washington Proud

2012-02-02T23:15:00.000-01:00

Sometimes I really miss being in Washington. Today was one of those days. I was talking about racism and homophobia (Jasper, Texas, 1999-Racist Killing) in East Texas and I realized how much I deeply miss the laid back, rainy attitude, liberal attitude that I came from. That aside-

I am proud to say that Washington is going to legalize same sex marriage. Being so far away, and in a more conservative area, I feel disconnected, but I've never been more proud to call myself a Washingtonian. Go Washington! I am glad my car is still licensed and my drivers license still has your logo. I will be back to you in about a year!

SeattlePi_WA Senate Approves Bill

And, because this video is so fabulous:

For those of you in Washington, be happy that you are in a state that is so progressive. It isn't like this everywhere.

Chalk and Talk: Creativity in Literacy-The Ability to Choose

2012-02-02T03:48:00.000-01:00

(taken from my weekly class blog: Chalk and Talk [the best blog title I've ever made])

Where do educators draw the line between tradition and new emerging ideas of literacy?

Should we reinvent the idea of liberal arts and literacy?

In this TED speech, (http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/liz_coleman_s_call_to_reinvent_liberal_arts_education.html) Liz Coleman makes the argument that liberal arts education no longer exists in its traditional form and instead, it has become professionalized, losing the True meaning of civic engagement and critical thought. Now, liberal arts education has settled on thought complacency, a sort-of professionalized educational mechanism, with more disparity between disciplines with increased secularism. I argue this new form of education for professionalism and secularism, allows many aspects of enrichment to be lost. Personally, I believe we should not be educated because we need a job, we should be educated because we want to become engaged citizens. A job is a necessity, knowledge is not an privilege and the larger civic questions should not be ignored or disregarded.

100 years earlier, Friedrich Nietzsche, in his book “On The Future of Educational Institutions” http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28146/28146-h/28146-h.htm, wrote,

“Every so-called classical education has only one healthy and natural starting point,
the artistic, serious, and rigorous habituation in the use of the mother tongue. . . .
Here where gradually the distinguishing feeling for form and for barbarism awakes,
the wing bestirs itself for the first time that carries to the right and sole home of education, to Greek antiquity. Of course we would not come very far with the help of
that wing all alone in the attempt to bring ourselves close to that castle of the
Hellenic, infinitely distant and enclosed within diamond ramparts: rather anew we
need the same leaders, the same teachers, our German classics, in order ourselves to
become swept away under the wingbeat of their ancient endeavors – to the land of
longing, to Greece.”

In this book, Nietzsche argues that education should be put above all else- economics, culture, politics, capitalism (and other such major governing bodies). Much like Coleman, he argues that something needs to be reformed or changed within the system. While it might be 100 years difference between the two bodies of work, both related directly to Boomer’s postmodern idea of literacy. How do we as teachers teach literacy effectively? How do we integrate new practices with old tradition? And, take a step back, What does it mean to educate?

You are probably wondering where this all fits in? I keep returning go the idea of a neo-literacy fusion (hypertext, digital literacy integrated with print text) and reforming the curriculum in the classroom. Students need to be engaged in what they are learning.I can study the different ways behind literacy comprehension, how to build readers and try to facilitate an interpretive reading environment, but, none of this matters if the student’s don’t care about what they’re reading. It all seems obsolete.

My question is, how do we as educators recognize the loss of liberal arts education idea- a way in which we no longer emphasize, how to critically assess and become civically engaged and, simultaneously recognize the need to put education at the top of a cultural priority list, while shifting classroom styles to facilitate new literacy practices?

The little Linguist in me laughed a little too hard.

2012-02-02T02:35:00.001-01:00

This are too funny.

C/O Mr. Lang

see:http://kottke.org/12/01/how-to-pronounce-things-hilariously

Tina Turner and the High School Experience

2012-02-02T01:15:00.002-01:00

In an effort to try and teach students how to understand the layered nature of narrative writing, we focused on a reading about Tina Turner. Watching high school students witness this magnetic performance for the first time literally made my day. Watching students begin to comprehend the ways in which stories can be a reflection of societal issues, life views, and ideas made my week. They went away knowing how to start reading for meaning and they went away with exposure to a timeless song. I feel really good about being a part in knowledge expansion.

Just in case you have never seen this video, or even if you have, it's worth a watch.

Street Utopia

2012-02-01T03:37:00.000-01:00

C/O Street Art Utopia

Light, Reflection, Rain and nostalgia

2012-01-31T04:07:00.003-01:00

Nostalgia: I miss the days where I didn't have to wake up at 6:30am and teach, go to work, and attend class. I miss napping. I miss being able to paint. I miss sleeping 8 hours a night. I miss the feeling of having nothing to do. I miss irresponsibility.

Reality: I've never been happier. I am spending all my time doing things I love and setting the groundwork for a really fruitful future.

Out with nostalgia and in with reality, 2012.

Washington County:The Birthplace of Texas.

2012-01-28T01:06:00.000-01:00

http://www.birthplaceoftexas.com/Events-Past.htm

The Power of Vulnerability

2012-01-25T23:19:00.000-01:00

As I embark officially on my teaching career this week (I am so excited!) I have two things I wish I could show every student to create a type of classroom atmosphere that fits with my style of knowledge sharing:

Always Wear Sunscreen

The Power of Vulnerability-TED talk
The Power of the Human Condition to be vulnerable

Even if you're not in a classroom, learning isn't always about grammar, syntax, language, it's also about creating strong youth to ensure a fruitful future. I am so excited that I get to spend my time (and get paid!) to do this.

I would definitely recommend checking out these two links.

absence.

2012-01-25T00:26:00.000-01:00

If I am absent from here, check here-
I'm over here!

It's a blog, a scholarly exchange of ideas, an experiment for a course, and I will be working on that site as well.

Freewrite!

2012-01-23T02:47:00.003-01:00

One of my new years goals was to start writing more. I have accomplished that, somewhat, in-between new school and a new job in the 22 days that have been 2012.

I'm always afraid to share my writing openly, only because people are such harsh critics, but, with a new dose of self confidence and determination- I give you: Attempt 1.
A poem that was written frantically in the lines on my note taking page, in a classroom that was 85 degrees.

It started out as this:

Nostalgia

I am from 4 seasons of lifelong

change, adaptability and fading permanence.

Pinetrees and mountains that gently

brush their fingertips on the skyline.

I am from prophetic working-class

utterances, whispered faintly between conversations,

weaving together hope like the entangled grapevine

that grew slowly and steadily in my old backyard.

And turned into this (a work still in progress)

I am from prophetic working-class

utterances, whispered faintly between conversations,

weaving together hope like the entangled grapevine

that grew slowly and steadily in my old backyard,

between the uneven sidewalk and the sturdy plum trees

(Even so, did you get what you wanted from this life?)

The vines tangled themselves, speaking faintly

of my father’s forgotten dreams as I watched him

pull the lever on the lawnmower, again and again.

I ask myself, “Even so, did you get what you wanted from this life?”

My dreams now, they dance freely between the branches,

growing plums and ripening grapes.

----------
I have three goals this year for my writing:

1. To write a poem that is published
2. To get published on The Thought Catalog.
3. To share what I write more, even if it isn't perfect. (much like the poem I just shared!)

Post-Riot Girl.

2012-01-03T20:46:00.000-01:00

Not Every Girl is a Riot Girl

There is so much to be said here, but, honestly, as cheesy and cliche as it sounds, I am just going to let the music and visual aid speak for itself.

Photos

2011-12-26T05:44:00.003-01:00

Sometimes, I take photos of people and actually capture a rare moment in time:

shucking oysters

So hungry!

I haven't been taking many photos as of late, but that is going to change. There is something beautiful about capturing a moment locked in time- expressions of people, emotions, beauty and forever trapping seconds and making them permanent.

A more visual old, display can be found here: Old, but beautiful

Movement

2011-12-25T06:53:00.004-01:00

These are the strange, wonderful days that happen too far in-between. Life becomes lulled by redundancy, predictability, aided and coddled by routine.

The Las Vegas airport looks as if it were the basis for the first season, some sort of B—grade cable-going pilot episode of a Sopranos spinoff. There are brightly colored neon lights surrounding the top of a faded soft pink wooded ceiling, curvy cursive blue and red neon letters spelling “cocktail lounge” and “Las Vegas Restaurant and Bar.” There are pockets of noisy, gold and white gambling machines with the old pull down levers. There is patterned blue and pink carpeting worn from foot traffic. This is a place of movement; it is the grey area that exists solely to give meaning to the destination. And. It is in the middle of the beautiful Nevada desert’s nothingness and open space.

For some reason, in-between the coming and the going, the goodbyes and hellos, the escapism and reality, I feel good about where I am. There is a lot to be vocalized about America, and for some reason, the glow of the slot machines in the afternoon December Nevada sun, comfort me. I am supposed to be here, and no where else right now, living in the grey, the in between. I am movement.

Ownership

2011-12-25T06:51:00.001-01:00

A while back, I wrote a post about the things we own and what they say about who we are. I'd like to add a little twist and add some photos of the things others own.

This one was taken quickly, so the quality isn't great. I found the idea of a vintage clock from the 40's, paired with a WWII calendar and a bottle opener with japanese writing on it, an odd, eclectic and confusing pairing.

Waste Land

2011-12-21T03:13:00.000-01:00

“Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.”

T.S Elliot

Recently, I watched “Waste Land” a documentary about art, artisticproduction of everyday objects and classism in Brazil. I was more than hesitantto watch this film, but I was intrigued by the idea of creating art througheveryday material. More so, I wasinterested in how art was created out of waste.

I am always hesitanton the bourgeoisie idea of the poor. The movie ends and I have vague lingerings of exploitation in their lifestyles. Thereare always prevalent underlying themes of how “they” are primitive and lessmodern than “us." All I truly desire is an honest depiction of life. Beautiful art=honesty. In my view, this is subtly disguised as an outsiders (usuallya white Westerner) appreciation of a different way of life. And then we sit. We judge. We make life inour comfortable homes and privileged lifestyles and become a voyeur toanother’s life for a brief hour and half then go about our daily lives.

I went in expecting something to that effect. Instead, I waspleasantly surprised and happy that I spent the time to watch this movie. Infact, the ideas and people actually emotionally reached me in a way I did notexpect.

This documentary is note worthy for a variety of reasons. Inone manner, there is the artistic production and involvement of the people inthe making of the pieces, the subtle introspective nature on Brazil’s povertyand class system, the idea of human’s wasteful nature and strong bond of humanism. The peoplewere not exploited in their poverty, they were part of the process of the art.From the art, they grew, and as a the viewer, we grow too.

And most importantly, there is the idea of art as amechanism for change in a tangible artistic and humanitarian manner. Vik Munizdid something very powerful, for not only the viewer, but for the people andobjects he was capturing. This harmonious relationship can be seen in the artitself, and to me, it is incredibly profound and powerful.

All this was created from this:

It's Time For Change

2011-12-16T04:22:00.000-01:00

Under Construction.

Please bear with me while I take some time to redesign, re-edit and reacquaint myself with the creative direction I want my blog to take.

It will be more focused, more creative and well, hopefully more reflective of what I desire a blog to be, such as artistic expression, daily musings and whatever else feels good.

Here are some things to get us started:

this video's humorous undertone and mute colors make it one of my favorites for 2011.

Rebirth

2011-11-07T02:33:00.000-01:00

Our life dreams the Utopia. Our death achieves the Ideal.
-Victor Hugo

Moment of The Day:

2011-08-03T00:17:00.000Z

Blanket statement:

I take solace in momentary happiness. In fact, to me, it represents some of the most beautiful things in life.

Blanket statment's example/my momentary beauty of the day:

I'm serving a man with a thick french accent some sort of coffee drink I don't understand. I wing making some espresso and put in some foam and pour it over drip coffee. I hand it to him and smile. I'm not sure what he asked for, but I think this is right.

He looks at it and says, "I asked for room for air" and takes the drink and pours some of it out on the floor in front of the espresso bar. Let me repeat this. He puts the cup out in front of him and pours out some coffee on to the floor.

I immediately think of this clip:

And begin laughing.

I can't help it.

He then tells me he likes to smell the aroma of the coffee. Or something along those lines. His English is broken, Frank Sintra is blaring and I can barely understand him. He then says, "The smell gets me high." This is a sentence I understood completely.

He looks around very cautiously, as if what he is about to tell me is extremely secretive. "In fact," he says, "I don't need the coffee to make me high at all" and he starts laughing hysterically. He then slips me a napkin with his phone number on it, winks and walks away.

None of my coworkers saw this happen and I quietly tucked the napkin away in my apron.

-----------
Coming soon:
The role of the photographer in the picture of a subject. Or: First World Dominance in the Representation of the Somalian Famine.

The Things We Own.

2011-07-14T05:42:00.001Z

He must of acquired it second hand, none of it looked new. But all the pieces shared a kind of sympathy, and the fact that they were suffocating under papers and books made them more attractive than less.

-Nicole Krauss "Great House"

What does the furniture you surround yourself by say about who you are?

I ask this because recently I have been missing things I left in my old home. I've tried hard not to become attached to things. I live in a small efficiency apartment and most of my possessions are books and clothes. I don't like feeling attached to things. However, despite this, I'm missing things I left back at home.

These things, all family antique furniture traveled with me through three different houses in college, across the state of Washington twice and were in my room all through middle and high school . They have history, not just my history, but the history of my family and where I came from. Now, these things are sitting in my mom's basement collecting dust.

When I moved I thought it would be cathartic and symbolic to leave the old and begin fresh by making new. Now I realize that the past shapes the future in a way that you will never escape. See: Nostalgia. idolization of a past that never existed

The things I own show you who I am now.

You find a slew of new-to-me used furniture. Each piece was either given to me or found on the side of the road and refurnished by me. I do not have ties to the furniture. I have no history to the pieces, and in a way, it is symbolic of the life I live. Everything in my life is new.

I miss being surrounded by history, my history. My desk was my grandmother's in the 1940's when she was a substitute in an elementary school and my dresser was my great-grandfathers. Every night before bed, he wrote a list of tomorrow's activities and left it on the top of the desk. I have a large globe that was made just after WWII that sat in my Grand Uncle's living room surrounded by shelves and shelves of books. These things have meaning outside of the life I live now, but they are also connected to who I am and where I came from.

My free-to-me-table, my redone dresser, re-furnished chairs and bookshelves still have some sort of life, or history to live. However, while everything in life still feels new, I suppose it would be comforting to have a reminder of the past, a gentle reminder that who you are now is directly linked to where you came from.

Tuesday's Two great songs of the day:

2011-06-29T05:08:00.001Z

Or Perfection: Narrative Flow in Songwriting

After a long day out in the sun looking at strange plants, getting lost in the Home Depot, (hey, it happens), rummaging through thrift stores and going into rolling hills of Texan nature at sunset, I give you:

Tuesday's Two great songs of the day:

Silver Jews, "Random Rules"

Standout Lyrics
there's no guidance when random rules
and
I know that a lot of what I say has been lifted off of men's room walls.
Maybe I've crossed the wrong rivers and walked down all the wrong halls.

The Mountain Goats, "The Recognition Scene"

Regardless if you personally agree with the sound of these songs, they both represent strong, narrative songwriting. They contain beautiful symbolism with simple sentence structure. I've learned it is easy to make a complex sentence or idea sound beautiful, but constructing a simple, short sentence is much more difficult (1), but also, to me personally, much more beautiful. Ideas do not have to be expressed with complication. Most things we experience, feel and know as humans can be said with rather simplistic tonality.

These two songs are two such examples. They both are simple in their construction, but very beautiful.

Ironic Footnote:
(1) Even in regards to artistic value of beauty, writing about what qualifies and quantifies 'beauty' or 'taste' becomes increasingly difficult in written expression. Just google Kant's Judgment of taste (universality vs. subjectivity) Interested?
See:
Kant's aesthetic-judgment
To symbolically convolute this idea even farther, you have artistic production becoming something allows art to be mass produced, and thus seen, to many artists/consumers at the turn of the industrial revolution, and the rise of the capitalistic market, a means of creation for "less" beauty. There are many of the same; the product lacks originality, and thus, craftsman ship, and thus, beauty.

See:

Walter Benjamin The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction Think print making- or in Benjamin's case, mass production of furniture.

However, while the criticism of art/music remains difficult to define, the expression of the human condition, the camera obscura of life- is not. We all live, we all die, and the moments spent between those two extremes, we all have universal experiences as humans. This in itself is quite simple.

Return of the Rabble Rouser. Part one.

2011-06-22T02:00:00.005Z

I’ve been too busy living life the past 6 months to actually write about it. I know, I know. I’m sorry. For those of you who started reading my blog, clinging to vain hopes that it would be ridiculous, full of sass and most importantly, full of rabble rousing, I apologize. The boring stops here.

I believe there are two ways to experience life. You can simply exist in it or you can live it. I always try to do the latter. And, I hope you do too.

Rabble Rouse away.

Let’s talk about the time I ran away from Austin on my 24^th birthday with my two friends in a yellow 2001 VW Beetle and we made it rain (dollar bills) on Bourbon Street.

(Sorry Mom. Sorry Dad. Sorry potential future career as a public figure…)

I hate birthdays, I hate expectation and most of all, I hate time. Time, will always be an all controlling factor that will eventually have its way with me. So, I ran away. I ran away from the idea of time, my new found friends, expectation of another year passing and a new city’s familiarity. We drove 10 hours through East Texas highway and swamp and arrived in New Orleans. We set our belongings down at the hostel and pulled a 20 hour day.

I didn’t know my birthday would coincide with Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I didn’t know this was the Pre-College Mardi Gras; Mardi Gras for those tourist with both change and time to spare, Mardi Gras for a crowd in their mid30’s to late 60’s. A Mardi Gras for party animals that crawled out of America’s woodwork and did a mass Exodus to NOLA.

Fastforward 4 hours later, to public-drinking-sipping cheap beer waiting for a night parade.

My friends and I have an uncanny ability to make friends easily. Along the stretch of hot downtown street, waiting for the parade, we meet a couple from D.C. An unmarried, happy couple. The man is clearly drunk- wasted really, the woman works for the post office and is obviously the stable, rational one in the relationship. They buy us beer, ask us about our lives and in return, we ask about theirs. A simple of exchange of beverages and stories, except it seems like so much more.

Let me tell you something- telling people you teach always ends well. Telling people you work for a nonprofit ends even better. They offer more beer and begin to tell us about both of their bitter divorces. They tell us about how they refuse to marry, and how they come to NOLA during Mardi Gras every year. I sip on my bud light in the street. My friends and I converse about life, love and making a living. The conversation is interrupted by a man who, at first, I mistake for Rick Ross type. Stop. I know you’re sensitive about race, but he had the body type, the face, and the unique haircut.

Rick tells us he is an author. He points to his hot girlfriend named Stacy. He pulls out a wad of Benjamin’s. He tells us how he won all this at the casino down the road, as he points. He tells us how he went to jail. He tells us how he writes about his experiences on the street and how his girlfriend is a poet. He slaps his girlfriend on the ass and asks us how old we think she is. The parade is going on the background, and I’m drunk. (Sorry Mom. Sorry Dad. Sorry potential future career as a public figure…) I’m afraid to answer. Turns out it is her birthday. She’s 40, but looks hardly 32. As my friend would say, “Black don’t crack, sorry you white women are screwed.”

There are more floats, more color, more noise. But, I am fascinated by the unmarried white couple from the east coast, the black couple from New Jersey, the wad of 100 bills and the throwing of shiny beads by people dressed in voodoo costumes. In a way, I feel like a bystander to a crazy mishmash of people, stories, lives and somewhat exploited culture and tradition.

The parade ends, and Rick invites us to go to Bourbon Street with him. So we do. At this point, I realize I am the only white person between 6 people and we are buying drinks at clubs like I’ve never been too. There are women in bras, women in booty shorts and I feel like I’m in a rap video as soon as there is an ass shaking contest on stage. Rick buys more drinks for us.

And we dance. We dance. And we dance. I go to the bathroom where a nice black women sitting by the sink offers me soap and a hand towel in exchange for a tip. I’m in the South. Holy Shit, I am in the South.

I go back out to dance. I look up and out of nowhere I see dollar bills fluttering their way down from the balcony onto the dance floor like oversized, overpriced confetti.

Who is making it rain? Mr. Author-Rick Ross-Baus. He is standing on the balcony pushing the money out of his hand with a swift motion; he watches the wave of green ripple its way down. I stand back and watch the flurry of people bend over to pick up the cash and stuff it into their pockets like animals.

Rabble Rousing.

Blog Plug:

2011-06-22T00:59:00.000Z

http://victualsense.wordpress.com/

My friend started a food blog. She's a creative writing grad from Rhodes and her writing about food definitely contains a little bit of wit. And, she's Southern, but definitely not the Paula Dean type.

But, most importantly, she also cooks me dinner. Living alone causes me to live like a bachelor.

Take a look!

Catch that phrase! Gramma-ah freaa-kay.

2011-06-21T03:20:00.002Z

The following conversation aptly describes my new found unemployment. Luckily, I have friends who speak the same text speak and are currently without a j-o-b. Now, I have a new found appreciation for text communication and lack-of-grammar. Remind me to thank Texas for that one.

Here is a conversation that ensued between him and I, bringing on my new favorite phrase of the summer, "finding them sexies"

-
"Yo yo- what you doin tonight?"

"Beasting through my book. I know, I know- I'm a regular par-tay animal."

"Ok well, we hangin later this week"

"chey-ah. Can we have have foodstamp potlucks? And then dance it off?"

"Yeah, I'd be down. To eat. And dance."

"Legit! You, sir, have a deal."

"And, you know, finding them sexies."

"I'd be down for finding myself one of them sexies...haha"

"Deal. Food. Dance. Finding them sexies."

Aside from the horrible grammar and spelling phonetics, I couldn't help but laugh and secretly hope this phrase catches on.

Sidenote: The last time I went dancing at this place they played footage of the KKK while playing soul music. Sober, and stunned, I had my first cigarette in a year, and discussed weaves and the proper jargon for San Antonio, which, apparently, is Say-town, or San Antone. Weaves, are another story.

Animated Art.

2011-06-19T19:57:00.000Z

The NY Times blogger/author Jeff Scher did a great Op/Ed piece that included animated art about his son Buster. The film is has a contrasting dichotomy of displaying parental POV, but also very childlike in it's quality and aesthetic.

You Might Remember This
I think its a shining example of the digital medium and artistic production, with fractured small fragments composing the whole memory.

"I will remember them all, having now engraved them in memory with crayon, paint and pencil."

I am continuously fascinated by the idea of truth, representation of subjective reality and the evolution of memories over time. I think this follow-up piece is wonderfully composed, a view of a child's life through a father's eyes. Also, Happy Father's Day. Now, maybe, you should call your father...

BOom Boom.

2011-05-23T04:36:00.000Z

Summer Reads
Or It Already Feels like July...

Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex

Thomas Pynchon Gravity's Rainbow

Michel Foucault This is Not a Pipe

My airplane read:

Sara Gruen Water for Elephants

And my "re-reads"

Herman Hesse Steppenwolf

Mark Z. Danielewski House of Leaves

Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet

Maybe possible unemployment and living alone has a bright side...

Restored Working Habits.

2011-05-19T17:11:00.002Z

Having spent the last two years working in the public sector, mainly the public school system (ranging from Elementary to University), is, by far the most challenging thing I have ever done. College was a sweet summer breeze in comparison to the long hours, little pay, the disproportionate number of students:me, demands of a collapsing school system, undocumented students politic, and well, working in a strange melting pot of race where I continually am too hyper-aware of my own race, my own racial baggage as a white female going into a school composed almost entirely of Hispanics and African-Americans.

It is one thing to read about the system, it is another thing entirely to experience it.

However, one of my students gave me a card, and inside, there was a scribbled letter that read,

"I've had an amazing time with you this year. I can't tell you how thankful I am to have met you. I needed the 'realist' point of view you have given me. I really have loved connecting with you these past couple months. I know we will always talk through my college years. I hope to always keep in touch.

"ps. I will never forget you because you have truly made a great impact on my life"

I guess, I would say, working in the public sector sucks, for a lack of a better term. It's not a lucrative career for someone in their mid-twenties trying to get their feet on the ground monetarily, have a life outside of work, try and maintain a social network. And with recent budget cuts, the jobs are slim pickings and incredibly competitive.

Regardless, I love my job, which is something that I know most people my age cannot say. I work hard, and I deal with an incredible firing of stressors. However, at the end of the day, it's all worth it and it feels good.

As I leave this industry, I have no idea how to operate in a regular job that doesn't serve the public or work on youth advocacy. I don't know how I am going to sit in a cubicle, make copies, merge excel spreadsheets, answer phones...or just have a job that pays me, just because it pays me. It all just seems so selfish and hollow. I wish everyone post-graduate could of had a two years of rewarding and internally fulfilling job. And, I know this sounds, but the experience in itself alters the way you view wage labor, worker's rights, public funding, large governmental systems and becomes a shining example of all that 'crazy' social theory you spent four years learning.

I love Texas

2011-05-18T05:33:00.001Z

but Texas will never be home.

As the weather already starts to reach the upper 90's and I prepare myself for four straight months of hot, humid sticky days, I can't help but start to miss Washington.

For the following reason:

Lake Roosevelt

I spent every summer on this lake up until this point and this will be the first summer since I was 10 that I won't go boating here. As it heats up, I can already tell I will be yearning for mid-80's pleasant temperatures, pristine blue water to ski on.

The Art of Things

2011-05-17T04:27:00.000Z

I moved across the country with my car full of nothing but the essentials. No trailer, no truck, just a a gray Ford Taurus with the trunk full to the brim, backseat packed and a bike rack. 2,300 miles of open road and nothing but the belongings in my car.

I'm moving again, (my fourth move in three years) and this time, I don't want a lot of stuff. Suffice to say, I have not had the opportunity to gain a lot of material things. My job only allows for me to live on the bare essentials, but it's been a positive life change.

But, as I'm packing going through all my old belongings, I am throwing them away.

Elizabeth Bishop, in her very famous poem, wrote about the ease of losing important things. As I'm losing important material possessions, I like to think I'm gaining new experience through some sort of minimalist living.

I don't need a lot, I desire excess, but I suppose that is the American mindset. Still, I will only have 10 boxes of things, and for that, I am really happy.

Brief moment in Time

2011-04-29T05:38:00.002Z

Beirut.

2005 was a solid year for music. It was my graduating year of high school and I like that it was such a strong year for independent music. The Shins, The Flaming Lips, Le Tigre, Sleater Kinney’s last years, The Decembrists, Neko Case, Beck, Queens of the Stone Age, Nada Surf, Rogue Wave, The Tragically Hip (sometimes), Band of Horses… Yeah, I’m looking directly at you Sasquatch music festival ’06…

Let’s take a brief moment for nostalgia:

However worn Converse aside--

I’ve realized one album that continuously becomes overlooked and shadowed by hipsters and music critics alike is Beirut’s Gulag Orkestrar. And I admit, usually in my blogs I try and let the music critics and hipsters create posts about music. It is, after all, their one area of confidence and safe haven. They do it better.

Creating arguments for “good” art is a slippery slope, from Kant to Ruskin, to some modernist popular artist commercialized mixed media… art is not something that is tangible, logical and easy to prove. Creating an argument? Sure. Platonic critiques on binary organization on art’s worth to society? Kant’s judgment on the aesthetic? Not so much. And, in fact, this very subjective interpretation is what makes art beautiful.
Beauty is any particular thing to any particular person.

However, with all this, I can say, Gulag Orkestrar is just too great to be lost in the times of dusty record shelves and old mixtapes. The entire album goes beyond just being music. This music is based of a genre that attempts to bring fractured people together.

I was introduced to this album by someone who had a strong attachment to gypsy music and Balkan Brass. Much of the point of this type of music isn’t to be “good”, but rather, to bridge social, economic and cultural gaps.

Case in point:

This is what solidified Gulag Orkestrar as a means of successful artistic expression. Not only does the entire album sustain itself in versatility and musical talent, but so much of Condon’s live performances are about making the audience feel something similar and universal.

The Rise of the Overeducated Underclass

2011-04-27T23:53:00.000Z

My dad recently visited town and he added a subtle reminder that I will be 25 in six months. For some reason, this struck a hard chord. It made me uncomfortable. With age, come societal expectations set up by older generations. Older generations with an idea of working America that no longer exists.

Post-graduate life has been hard, especially since I hit the job market running when the economic stability resembled a mild great-depression. My life greatly resembles the article, “Educated, Unemployed and Frustrated” (NY Times, Op/Ed)

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/21/opinion/21klein.html

While driving in the car today with a friend down a winding two lane Texas highway, I realized my generation might, and probably will be, the first generation that makes less money than our parents. We were raised with the expectations of the 90's, a time of prosperous growth, social complacency and the boom of the Internet.

I now know this working America is gone. I am not sure how to navigate a society that does not foster and grow with young, hard working, educated, intelligent individuals. But, regardless, I feel for most of my friends who are graduating college and entering the fierce, unforgiving shackles of the work-a-day world.

However, for me, graduating college five months after the banking crisis and the housing collapse has definitely put a unique perspective on the ideology of working, of economic stability, and what it means to be a young educated person in America.

http://money.cnn.com/news/storysupplement/economy/recession_depression/

2011-04-27T04:01:00.001Z

Today I out ran this storm:

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;

Robert Frost "Reluctance"

2011-04-26T05:56:00.001Z

I think it's odd that people can begin to exist in the immaterial realm.

...

web 2.0 bring people together or allowing a facade of existence apart?

flight of the conchords first season--- so good.

Urban Exploration

2011-04-23T02:49:00.000Z

Carrot Rope

2011-04-20T03:03:00.001Z

The 90's, a time where men could use a tarp as a backdrop, wear oversized raincoats in sun and awkwardly dance.

'

These days of complacency are gone, but things like this remind me of it's existence.

2011-04-10T20:07:00.001Z

I don’t know what it is. But. I stumble upon people who share incredible pieces of their lives with me, and many of them, I only see for a couple hours (or less). They soon become swallowed whole by the world and I never see them again. And, there I am, left with a small fracture of who they are and I wonder why they tell me these things in the first place.

Dave: A counter-cultural 20-something poet from a suburb outside of Houston. Along the way of stop-and-go Austin traffic, he tells me about the love of his life, a blind performance poet living in St. Louis. She performs her work, without ever seeing the reaction of an audience. She is an Atheist Muslim, who writes about the neo-empirical forms of race-relations and identity. We talk about court-ship and expression of love. He believes that people’s expression of love should not just be through sex, as he sees it only as a momentary act of pleasure. He believes the most intimate moments two people can share is complete honesty, openness and vulnerability. He then tells me that this woman he loves, will never love him back. At this point, we are at our destination, I smile and he steps out of my car and I drive away.

Tantra-Zawadi: A fierce woman who lives in Brooklyn. I spent the morning attending a workshop on multi-media artistic expression that she took part in. Tantra is an advocate for HIV/AIDS awareness, and travels throughout the country reading her poetry, screening her movie and advocating for HIV/AIDS prevention.

And, this guy:

Who, after his performance, told me that the only reason he really writes is because it is the only thing that makes sense to him surrounded by chaos.

Google: is it Making Us Stupid?

2011-04-09T03:26:00.001Z

It is no secret that I am a self-prescribed, paradoxical postmodernist. I have been struggling with the idea of the Internet, the differing forms of reality and what makes these varying degrees of reality "more real"- or valid than one another-
Along the way:

Is Google Making Us Stupid?

Re-post (because it is that good)

And
"Meditations on First Cybersophy"-Bill Pena

Seinfeld- A View on life

2011-03-25T23:02:00.002-01:00

I have a very kind of Seinfeld life. It has a lot of somethings, but eventually, they all result in a lot of nothing. Over time, character builds and hilarity ensues.

For those of you who don’t know, I was in a car accident a month and half ago. Four cars, actually, rear-ended, a sort-of-almost-defying- physics on a rain-slicked Texan highway. This chain reaction was instigated by an irrational New York driver, at 50 mph as the highway split. In a swift kick of irony, I rear-ended my best friend. After many tears, shock, cops and seeing the car, my car, driven from Washington--> Texas completely obliterated, I climbed into her bruised and battered, ’03 Ford Focus, the car that I rear-ended.

We stopped at a gas station so I could ice my wrist, the only injury I received, with frozen popsicles (ice wrist: then eat, of course this made sense!) And as a stubborn act of defiance, we drove Mr. Catfish, a Soul/Creole, and restaurant on the East side of un-gentrified Austin, as originally planned.

Silently, I ate my fried catfish, red beans and rice. I stared at the fossilized form of an alligator head on the wall, and looked out the barred windows outside to see people hanging out under the tree at the vacant lot next door. I realized, that if there is a God, and he/she/it exists, and they wanted me to be dead, I would be. I stared down at my now swollen wrist, and realized the cuts resemble a deep suicide attempt.

Since then, I have fallen in love with my bike, Penny Lane. I have joined a non-profit board with Austin Poetry Society, been accepted to amazing graduate schools, received scholarships and found time to take photos with my awesome garage sale find, a $5.00 accidental-light leak 35m camera. And, most importantly, I have learned the value and freedom of individual movement that a car brings.

Penny Lane <3

Like the previous post before, to me, there is nothing more freeing than the transitory time between one point and another, where you are not bound to obligation. And, like a Seinfeld episode, it is going this post is going to end abruptly and without a concise resolution. The following episode includes: A thick accented Ukrainian, the internet, Better Business Bureau and Kmart.

Blogs to come:
-Gentrification and marginalization of minorities, or How Everyone and Their Mom is Moving to Austin, Texas.

2011-03-13T04:04:00.001-01:00

The open road and movement forward, from one point to another represent the grey area, the transitory beauty in the time-in-between, the intricate façade of the momentary lapse of time where you are not bound tightly to obligations, responsibilities, places or people.

The open road is freedom. And it is movement. And it is rebirth. It is all of these things, and to me, it has become the purest form of individual freedom.

Very recently, my friends and I had a road trip to New Orleans. I spent 10 hours in a car through an East Texan sunrise, weaving my way through I-10E, built on top of swampland and eventually ending up in a city comprised largely of non-conforming vagabonds.

I spent much of my time wandering throughout parts of the city away from Downtown and Uptown. The more I roamed the streets, the more I realized that the town itself is one large clustering juxtaposition in transition and rebuilding.

There are abandoned, vacated homes scattered on almost every block. Some have chipping paint, and some have windows and doors are covered with cheap plywood two blocks away from multi-million dollar old plantation homes. This became a symbol of wealth distribution and classism for me that weaved its way into my entire trip.

I guess, after a lot of time, New Orleans, to me, is simply going through a stage of rebirth. The city is reforming it's identity and ideology. It is figuratively experiencing the time of movement, progression, of not being bound to obligation or responsibility, and of change.

However, this open road for the city isn't a smooth beautiful Texan sunrise, or an elaborate highway infrastructure built on swampland. It is an aggressive in your-face reminder of all the mistakes that were made Post-Katrina. At the same time, I saw the city itself, desperately tried to distance itself from it's painful past and discover new ways of creating a sense of self.

Coming Soon...

2011-02-28T05:24:00.000-01:00

Exploring the idea of rebirth:

Mini-Photoblog-The Path to a Cat Lady

2011-02-22T05:11:00.000-01:00

or how I spent hours playing with 6 week old kittens...

Example 2:

Example 3: blurry sneak attack

2011-02-21T03:33:00.001-01:00

It hasn't rained here in several weeks and its been getting in the low-80s again. So in lou of enjoying the sunshine and life, I went exploring with my friend today along the greenbelt. I've since realized that Texas is uniquely beautiful with strange muted aesthetic. It's starting to grow on me. The snakes, however, are not. Anything with no legs shouldn't exist. Period. But the muted colors? Beautiful!

However, the entire time I was exploring, I was terrified of seeing one of these.

Representation of the Self (Myself)

2011-02-20T16:22:00.001-01:00

Or Do you say, I, Me, or My or you or us?

Recently I have been editing biographies of poets for a local poetry festival in town. The poets were given the task of writing about themselves in 75 words or less. To be noted: generally, poets are my favorite type of people.

I find the idea of self representation intriguing, in many facets. The majority of my reading is centered first person- subjective- sometimes stream of consciousness narrations.

This is, absolutely Nietzsche-esque, forever locked inside your own mind with no relevance or relation to others or ability to see another human as well as you see yourself bleak. Absolutely cultural contextualized and aptly placed in a given timeframe bleak. If you doubt everything everyone else sees, the one thing you can never doubt is what you see. It is after all, the only true fact that you can be sure of. I was once told the easiest thing to write about is yourself. After all, that is all that you know, really. You see yourself more than anyone else. You see the world with your own eyes. You live inside your own head.

And, from a readers point of view, writing from your own view lets others see you clearly.

That said, you would think a 75 word biography would be an easy task.

Wrong.

After reading 30 or more pages where poets write about themselves to other poets I have concluded that there are generally four ways people can write about themselves.

1) The third person narrations, in which you simply say your name and use he or she pronoun in representing yourself. This distance from yourself, by yourself, allows you to write your accomplishments. Common accomplishments include: family (breeding), marriage (devotion to the husband/wife), hobbies (as this is what I do) and a long, long list of where you have been published. The latter proves your credibility in the poetry scene.

2) The person who simply states their profession. Ie- I am a nurse for 24 years. Their identity is closely linked with what they do for employment. This idea always baffles me. As in, I am a teacher and nothing else or I am a student studying Math-ah-mat-ics, and I do nothing else. How can a person only identify with their job?

3) My favorite:

Those people who recognize that they do not know who they are. They switch from third person to first person, weaving their identity together, leaving you more-so baffled than you were to begin with. Who are you? I don’t know.

4) People who quote their own words in their own biographies.

"There is no real reality to a really imagined life any more."- Gertrude Stein

"Becky"

2011-02-10T04:39:00.002-01:00

Last year, my friend and I were on a bus heading Uptown to Harlem. We were holding all of our suitcases and luggage. They were cumbersome, and on the ride there, my friend had her suitcase topple over onto the old woman next to her. It was awkward. We were lost and the map for tourists stopped at 90th St. As we headed more Uptown, we realized we were the only white people on the bus.

The surroundings became unfamiliar, we soon became jaded and confused so we decided to get off the bus. I successfully picked up my suitcase and stepped outside. Alone on the wide sidewalk, I waited for my friend to step off as well.

I had never been to NYC before and I realized that we were incredibly far from where we needed to go. In fact, we were in an area close to the projects on E 112th street.

I see my friend and the doors to the bus won't open. I hear many people on the bus scream, "Stacy, get yo ass off the bus! Stacy!" She pushes on the doors, but they won't open. I hear more yelling using the name "Stacy." At this point, I am confused, a little scared and lost. I don't know where to go, I've never been to NYC before and most importantly, my friend's name isn't Stacy and I only have a 20 stuffed in my bra.

Eventually she gets off the bus, and we walk 2 miles through Morningside Heights to Spanish Harlem. (There is another story intertwined here, but this post is not the time or place.) As we are walking, our suitcases rolling behind us, we can not figure out why they called her "Stacy."

Now I know.

Come full circle to 10 months later. Fast forward to my life in Austin. Here, I learned the term, "Stacy" and/or "Becky" refers to white women- sorority-esque, dyed blonde hair, tanned skin, usually small vocabulary with an overabundance of the "like" and "you know." Picture the ideal Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. Generally, they wear tight clothes, stuffed bras and 4 or more inch heels. They wear uggs with their jeans skirts and an Abercrombie sweatshirt to match with straight, flat ironed hair. I am sure we all know someone who is a Becky. Maybe they dye their hair and majored in Comm, have a job in PR and shop at Nordstroms. Or maybe they were the girl we talked to waiting in line for the bathroom at the bar. There is nothing wrong with being a Becky. My roommate is a Becky and her friends are all Becky's.

Rewind to Harlem, it makes sense if one contextualizes the situation: White girl on a bus carrying an overstuffed suitcase, dropping her belongings onto old women and getting stuck on the bus and not knowing how to open the doors (that particular friend is far from anything resembling a "Becky").

The term Becky has now become code for a group of girls my friends and I see who all look, talk, act and dress the same.

6th Street- Becky City

What makes this slang term even better, is the definition provided by Urbandictionary.com (specifically, #5)Becky-Urban Dictionary

And this song:

Becky- Plies

I see a lot of Becky's around Texas. Even in Austin in the warehouse district. There are old Becky's and young Becky's. There are short Becky's and tall Becky's. But, they all leave me with the same feeling, after I talk to them. In some ways, my now, dirty blonde hair and curvy body type looks like a Becky. I get a lot of Becky's coming up to talk to me about makeup, hair product and "indie/underground" bands like Spoon, Band of Horses and Nirvana [yes, Nirvana...]. I also get men who also think I might be a Becky, they have huge arms and go to the gym and have short, trimmed careful hair and play a sport. Usually I ward both of them off with the some sort of verbose rhetoric. One time, I even used the word, 'subjectivity' and his face literally crinkled around the eyes and he walked away as if to say, "She's not a Becky."

The feeling after encountering a Becky resembles a slight sharp pain in your brain. You realize you spent 10 minutes making small talk about the color eyeshadow to wear with their outfit, where they purchased the outfit, the amount of time they spend on their hair, what they put in their hair, or how they made their cute top fit on them so their boobs look bigger. Always the small boobs with the pushup bras.

So next time you find yourself in a conversation with a women, and she looks like every other women out there, and your brain begins to hurt, because she lacks personality, realize, she's just another Becky trying to make a name for herself.

Cat Daddy

2011-02-09T03:24:00.001-01:00

Call me SpongeBob

Stackin Krabby Patties

Bitch I go to work

Do my Cat Daddy

The one amazing thing about working in a high school is seeing popular culture take its form. Group think is incredibly prevalent with 15-18 year olds. The cat daddy dance is one such example. I cannot even understand why this has caught on.

Downsides to being in a high school:
-teenage boys.
and
-hormonal girls
-But, mostly, teenage boys.

A Texan Style Existential Renaissance

2011-02-07T05:52:00.005-01:00

I never imaged that life would begin to make sense when I was dressed in a sequined skirt with leg warmers dancing to an 80’s cover band. But, it did, in a sea of drunk thirty-somethings, to a poorly done cover of “Working for the Weekend.”

I’ve been accepted to two really academically esteemed education programs. But, I don’t think I’m done with Texas. Saying no to NYU and UW is going to be really, really difficult (these schools are both ranked alongside Harvard/ other Ivy Leagues for education) but it’s not what I want right now. It makes sense logistically, but my life doesn't work in logic. I already picked up and moved once, and I am not ready to do it again in 5 months.

I don’t know why it took a horrible cover of Loverboy and a sassy sequin skirt, surrounded by men in suits to realize this, but I am glad I did.

Moving 2,300 miles to a city I had never visited, to a roommate I had never met, where I had no friends or family, to a job I interviewed over the phone, with only $1,000 in savings and all my possessions packed in my car was a huge risk. There was a lot that could of gone awry, but nothing has gone wrong. It has worked out almost flawlessly, minus a few bumps along the way.

Now, it’s hard for me to imagine my life before I honed my independence 6 months ago. Everything I had seems so far away and so distant, it feels like it was lived by another person. It’s oddly comforting. This creates a deep nostalgia for people I once loved, my friends I saw on a regular basis and places that carried comfort. I miss all of these things, but I don't want these things I had any longer.

Life is wonderful, and especially, when I contrast it with what it was a year ago. So here's an internet gem that conveys my mood- (and also confirms that Lykke Li is a bit nuts!)

On a random sidenote, I have an amazing internship which allows me to spend time editing poetry and talking to poets, which has always kind of (really, truly) been a dream of mine. Working, interning and living is keeping me pretty busy. But-

Living the dream? Pretty.Damn.Good.

Snow Day.

2011-02-04T19:13:00.000-01:00

This morning, I woke up at 6am to a text message from my boss. Work was cancelled. Austin Independent School District has declared it a 'snow day.'

There is something really beautiful about snow. Right now everything is dead and brown in Texas so the dusting of color was welcomed. While Texans are still a bunch of pansies, I had a wonderful adventure this morning. I love life.

My favorite image, even though it's not a great photo.

My apartment complex pool, a palm tree and sprinkle of snow.

A little kid playing in the snow took this photo of me (so serious! so cold!)

I can't recall the last time I had a snow day.

So beautiful!

Freeze!

2011-02-04T04:43:00.000-01:00

Over town, there are cute little freeze warning signs:

and then this...

18?

2011-02-03T05:03:00.000-01:00

Or Fuck You Cold Front.

Something is not right when Texas reaches 18 degrees.

My apartment does not have insulation that is made for this type of cold weather. I can feel the draft come in from my windows. It reminds me of college when I was so poor we could not afford heat. I woke up in a 45 degree room and put on wet jeans. I dreaded getting out of the shower. I dreaded getting in the shower. I dreaded going outside. It makes me want to spoon for the first time in months. I have thus decided I am not ready to move where there is no sun and where it is cold. I forgot how unhappy I am.

Other notable hilarities: The gas stations are all closed and won't pump gas. There is no one outside and school has been cancelled. (There is no snow, here, only cold!) I have received emails about how to dress in cold weather. I've deduced that Texans are really bunch of pansies.

That aside, these are two wonderful things that made my week thus far:

My student drew this for me! Methodist cat!

Grocery shopping today around 11pm (I like the store when its not crowded)

I saw Texas Style Colby-Jack cheese on sale!

What a find!

2011-02-02T05:48:00.000-01:00

It always feels really good flying into Washington.

Photo & Poem of the day!

2011-02-01T03:54:00.001-01:00

Photo byJack Simon, courtesy of Fecalface.com

And because this poem is so beautiful.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Pablo Neruda

Sonnet XVII

Emerging Technology with cellphone pics and January Walks

2011-01-10T00:36:00.001-01:00

Segment 1: Texas Houses. Blue skies, 70 degrees and desolation.

Free range Chickens.

Movement and Music.

2011-01-02T21:51:00.001-01:00

Maxim Ludwig & The Santa Fe Seven

This song is Texas to me. My Texas, in a traditionally ego-driven style. An hour and a half, Monday-Friday I cruise the "Farm to Market" (FM) and "Ranch to Market" (RM) roads. The thing with having such a large land mass, is that a)everything is larger because there is space and b) everything is incredibly spread out.

So, I spend a lot of time in the car, sitting. For some reason, this song makes a lot of sense to me as I am weaving in and out of traffic at too high a speed.

Power of the Metaphor

2010-12-30T07:50:00.000-01:00

The way in which this speech is logistically arranged is almost ingenious and perfect representation of the layout of a perfect essay.
James Geary, metaphorically speaking | Video on TED.com

3 Most Intriguing Men of 2010

2010-12-30T07:44:00.000-01:00

In lou of the end of the year, I bring you the three most intriguing men of 2010.

3-Joseph Gordon Levitt
He's been around since 3rd Rock From the Sun, as the awkward, long haired pre-teen. However, this year, he was cast in Inception. He's been a variety of sensitive teen-dramas, but this solidified his acting talents and versatility. I saw Inception my second day in Austin at the Alamo Drafthouse. I was just coming off my 4 day seeing-America-Kerouac romp, and while the movie was damn good, the end resonated deeply within me (partly because I was still in shell shock of new-everything- and I felt like I was constantly dreaming).

2-Sufjan Stevens
There's a long-winded man on the public radio I listen to who is obsessed with Sufjan. He spent at least, ten minutes discussing the possible ways to pronounce his new album, "The Age of Adz." one Wednesday morning as I was driving to work. He constantly praises Sufjan for his talents. And, justifiably, the album is really fucking good. Sufjan might just be one of the best looking, artistically talented men around. And "The Age of Adz" is one of my top albums this year. Not to mention, he writes beautifully, both lyrically and in his creative prose.

1-James Franco
Acting out Alan Ginsberg is tough. I thought Franco really captured the beat-counter culture that paved the road for the modern-rebellion that followed a decade later. Franco read Ginsberg's poetry with the same fire and slightly awkward rhythm that came to define Ginsberg's style. Franco looks good in anything, (even with a curly perm in "Milk") but there was a certain natural air to Franco's take on Ginsberg, and the style of the time period. Which, coincidentally, is my favorite aesthetic dress for men. Regardless, Franco took on the role of Ginsberg and his poetry, incredibly well.

Christmas Eve 2010

2010-12-27T21:01:00.000-01:00

or "Oh, shit there's a bolt missing"

I was sitting in the Denver International Airport. I’d already been through a two and a half hour flight to 86 it out of Austin at 9am on Christmas Eve. I was beat. 50 hour work weeks, graduate school applications and a slew of happy holiday sweater/bike rides/rock hikes. I was tired. Dead. Tired. That morning I woke up at 6am to fix myself breakfast and make sure I had all the bbq, hot sauces and Mexican candy in my suitcase for Christmas.

I just wanted to smell the cold Washington air and feel the icy chill in my bones. I wanted it so badly.

My flight was late into Denver and I ran across the airport to catch my flight to Washington. My backpack bouncing as I ran across the “moving walkways” listening to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros in a skirt, tights and heels. The song was Home. This important ironic foreshadowing for the rest of the narrative. It probably looked (and was) incredibly comedic. I arrived at the the gate just as they announced my name over the loudspeaker.

I get in the plane and sit down. I give up my window seat so the woman with the fat baby can sit next to her husband. I am now significantly squished in between a woman from Wyoming in Carhart’s reading Nora Roberts and an incredibly, oversized man, about the age of 45. He is spilling onto my seat and I am literally so squished I can't really move. He is breathing heavily and watching Fantasia on a mini-dvd player. I can smell his breathing. I just pray this flight doesn’t take very long and pull out a copy of “Vogue” that was given to me by a sorority-esque woman who was sitting next to me on the previous flight.

The man starts snorting. As if his breath wasn’t bad enough, he now has a sound! His strange, irregular breathing was then interrupted by an announcement. There was a bolt missing from the emergency seat and we were permanently stuck in Denver until it was a)fixed or b) we found another plane. Fuck the bolt, I want to go home and move about freely.

I immediately get off the plane and begin wandering around the Denver Airport. I swindle a husband and wife into treating me to a whiskey sour. I sip it and make casual conversation with a couple from Minnesota before heading back to my plane.

Three and a half hours later (10 hours from when I left my apartment in TX) the plane is ready to fly. That bolt must have been incredibly important.
The flight is normal and I arrive in Washington, late, but in one piece.

The breath in the cold air and feel the icy chill in my bones.

There is no time to waste because I have to go to Episcopal Mass, one of the only traditions my family has, which is ironic because we are not religious. In the least. Immediately following my flight, I get in the car, drive into town and attend mass. I see my grandparents, I hug them quietly in the pew and sit. The bishop gives a sermon relating Charlie Brown to Jesus and Truth. We drink the wine and eat the bread. The mass is always longer than I remember. But, at least I grew up attending a Cathedral, which is never boring because I am surrounded aesthetically beautiful, intense religious imagery.

I also have a grandfather who was raised a Catholic in New York City during the depression. He is now hard of hearing and carries some kind of resentment for Christianity. In the silences, he said the following.

Dean: “Please feel free to fill out information cards at the end of your pew if you would like to get in contact with our church.”

My grandfather: “I wont’ feel out one of those. They just want my money”
And, the best, said during the sacrament,
My grandfather: “I don’t want to drink their wine. It’s crap.”

And, it was a Merry Christmas indeed.

Keep the soles moving.

2010-12-27T18:21:00.000-01:00

I am not a fan of New Year's Resolutions, (it seems stupid to set a goal for a new year, and you should just do it because you want to)
but as 2010 was an awesome ride (like, whoa) I am looking forward to 2011. Here is why:

-10K run in March
-My 24th Birthday (salute! Officially in my Mid-twenties)
-SXSW
-80 degrees in March...
-Playing soccer
-Grad School, Fellowship, or I don't know teaching English in some foreign land.
-My friends & family visiting Atx
And, the general unknown after August..

The Relative Size of Things

2010-12-26T05:33:00.002-01:00

Recently I was in an apartment that had a variety of maps as décor covering the walls. The maps were in the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom and the makeshift hallway.

We started talking about the idea of space (as in the space between countries) and the relation of people to this space, politically, socially and personally. I’ve always been fascinated by maps, and the way in which people express their external surroundings and the way in which countries position themselves on a map.

"Old Map"

It amazes me that this map can exist, with somewhat surprising accuracy, considering there was no ‘objective’ at the time, (hey, they thought the Earth was flat). I also love the fact that N. America & Antarctica represent such an incredibly large land mass. As if being unknown is equal to a larger size size and significance.

Click to enlarge

Aussie "Upside down" Map- I love the fact that Australia orients themselves this way.

And, one of my favorites, The Peter's Map: This is an area accurate representation...which really stirred up scholars back in the 70's. It used cylindric equal-area to show one way in which the world is proportionally measured. Africa you are huge:

Africa-in proper size proportion to other countries:

It always amazes me that the size of W. Europe and N.America is so incredibly small.

Postcolonial Trade Map-Because after seeing Africa, you realize power is not all about size...

Click to enlarge!

And, perhaps the most commonly used Map: Mercator. Just note how the map is centered around N. America.

These are all maps representing the same thing, it just is so surprising how something so 'objective' (as in, there is only one earth to show) can take a variety of forms.

The Holiday Cactus.

2010-12-23T23:28:00.002-01:00

I have to say, my sense of time is severely fucked. It was 80 degrees on the first day of winter. I spent my weekend getting lost in boulders in jeans and a t-shirt.

However, nothing put me in my present place in time like a "holiday" cactus. Essentially, cactus grows here like trees, so it makes sense to decorate one accordingly. There are lights on them, some of even have ornaments and I've even seen one dressed as a deer!

At first, I was pissed. "How dare someone decorate a cactus?" It rubbed me the wrong way. As the anger subsided, and the holiday mood took over, I realized it's kind of kitchy. There wasn't a lot here to get me in the holiday spirit. It's still hot and sunny. I recently received a sunburn. I still sit out on my balcony and read in my hammocks. It gets dark at 5:45.

In all of it's strange decor, became one of the few things that reminded me of the upcoming holiday.

On an awesome sidenote: You can also eat cactus. And it's quiet delicious! Like many things, here, they fry it and put it in a burrito.

Folclórico, Step, Jesus and Lyle Lovett.

2010-12-16T05:19:00.002-01:00

It's 76 degrees here, (and sunny) and the last week can be summarized by the last 24 hours. I attended the Winter Talent show for the school I work at (which, I love, love, love) and they had the following performances (back:to:back)

Ballet Folclórico-which, is NUTS.

Followed by Omega Ki-Step Team

followed by an poem about Jesus... a really, really intense poem filled with imagery and blood.

Then, while on the way to work this morning, I saw a car that painted, "Jesus is Coming!" in lime green letters in the window. I then heard the following Lyle Lovett song, as I passed the said car.

"If I had a pony, I'd put it in my boat...and ride it to the ocean"
UH...WHAT?! It might be sleep depravation but it was me, the highway, a Jesus car, and Lyle Lovett this morning. A brutal combination and symbol for all that random chaos I see on a daily basis, that has stopped allowing my life to make any sense.

Later in the day while sipping on Lone Star, I heard the following quote uttered by a Coked out hipster. "I'm sorry I'm late guys, I'm feeling really Larry David today, I've all all this coffee and I'm all sortsa neurotic"

Fake Plants, Pad Thai and Holographic Animals

2010-12-07T02:34:00.000-01:00

Sometimes life can only be symbolically described by everyday occurrences. Ordinary, is, after all, only applicable to subjective understanding of one’s surroundings. Or, some postmodern bullshit like that, right?

The day after my return from thanksgiving, my friend and I, in a spur-of-the-moment craving wanted Thai Food. Hard. Call it estrogen cravings, call it random spontaneity for adventure, or exploration, it doesn’t matter.

I searched “Thai Food” on Karen, my incredibly untrustworthy GPS outside as we were parked in an abandoned shopping center. We found a place 1.56 miles away on Manchatta. (pronounced: Man-cha-tah).

I get in my car, turn on the headlights and we drive. It’s a straight shot. On the way we listen to Beyonce’s "Ego." I feel good about my life in that moment, arranged perfectly in it's place in time. I turn up the radio. We car dance.

We walk in. The salad bar is covered in saran wrap. The ceilings and walls have a strange faded cream color. I see wood monkey statues sitting on the window in compromising positions. I already love this place. It’s like the kind of dive-bar that makes you feel right at home when you walk in. Places like this don’t have to throw around themed bullshit or pretentious demeanor with swanky posh furniture or facades. It’s simple. It’s real. They just want to give you food. Thai food.

Waiting to be seated, I hear the cry of a baby. I glance over the cash register and see a small Asian baby in a car seat. I don't really know what to do so I hope the waitress seats us soon. I wave to the crying baby in the car seat.

A petite woman walks up and leads us to our table. We sit down. There’s a playing card labeled, “10”. Table 10.

I look around and see metallic pictures on the walls, black light furry posters of tigers and holograms of waterfalls. On the television, which sits directly behind us, they are playing The Simpsons.

I order my food. It arrives seven minutes later and it is delicious.

I am surrounded by non sequitur décor, the sound of Homer Simpson, delicious food, good company, holographic animals and waterfalls and large awkwardly placed fake plants. A day earlier, I was sitting with my family at a café surrounded by a foot of snow. Life's weird and wonderful.

Juxtaposition is beautiful and everyday, ordinary life should never be overlooked. Even if there are holographic asian posters on the wall.

Happiness.

2010-12-03T03:23:00.000-01:00

or here is 20 minutes worth sharing:

December 2010

2010-12-01T23:35:00.002-01:00

It's officially the first day of December. And, it is going to be 80 Saturday! My idea of seasonal time is officially fucked.

Now, dear readers, October used to be my least favorite month, but I've now concluded since time moves differently in Texas, November is now my least favorite month here. December holds the promise of Christmas and New Years, an official close to the year as well as the promise to start a new one... November has Thanksgiving, a brief holiday and it takes away an hour of sunlight in the evening. This November, I might conclude, struck a deal with the el diablo y el infierno. I was not. a. fan and I am glad that it is the last month of '10.

My December began with the following quote: (in regards to sex)

"If someone could get the milk for free, why would they want to buy the cow?"

"Fat Free or Skim, baby, it's all the same steak."

Life is too short to spend it unhappy. So---

Cheers to December- the month that allows me a week off to apply to graduate school & surprise 80 degree weather & home to see the friends and family.

Blogs coming up:
-The highly anticipated 'Flea Market' visit back in August (I've FINALLY figured the dynamic out)

-Classism in higher education (or why the fuck is it so expensive to apply?)
-Slam Poetry (words in motion)

Mid-Something 20's!

2010-11-30T02:12:00.002-01:00

or hotdayyymmmmnn, 3 blogs in 3 days.

I received the following email yesterday from my good friend:

"So I think the mid-twenty somethings are a time of existential angst, pre- mid-life crisis and a strange transient place lacking any permanence for the middle class. I mean, just for the fucking boushey kids"

(Boushey is one of my favorite slang terms I've learned, along with 'clutch' as in, "That's so fucking clutch" clutch= really awesome/exciting. Clutch is something I can't pull off saying, without getting strange looks. But Boushey, it's become one of my favorite words)

Ok, so I spend my time with mid 20 somethings, recent college graduates, who are all really intelligent and really funny. While it leads to a chaotic work environment, it also leads to funny photo ops and intense conversations and an understanding for our place in life at the current time. Which, is really really nice. We all believe strongly in education and helping others. I am sharing the following photo because it perfectly describes my daily environment (and also, because it was 'office floral day' and that concept is hilarious to me for some reason)

So, to conclude, floral day+crazy slang+this awesome cee lo song= a magnificent monday

Seriously, this song is kind of mushy in a cheesy wonderful way and it hits the right chords.

2010-11-28T18:46:00.000-01:00

While I was back, a lot of people asked me what Texas was like. So, I will show you in the best way that I can:

Pair the vibe/tonality of this song and feeling with winters that look like this:

The more I'm here the more I realize Austin is still the south. It's not the deep south, and technically, Texas is its own region, but I still know I wake up with subtle social differences I notice right after coming back from Washington. Here, I can't escape in-your-face-racism (talks about the confederate flag and "White Pride", Robert E. Lee statues and gentrification, people constantly asking what race you are) extreme poverty or people who don't understand sarcasm and approach difficult situations with passive rhetorical strategies.

However, all that said, moving away from any comfort I knew, friends, family, familiarity, and immersing myself in complete solitude, has been, and will be, one of the best decisions I will ever make. I encourage everyone to do something similar.

And now, a message from George Strait:

Saturday Night in the Vegas Airport

2010-11-28T07:19:00.001-01:00

I typed this sitting on the floor of the Vegas airport, I haven't edited it but I like it

The Las Vegas airport looks as if it were the basis for the first season, some sort of B—grade cable-going pilot episode of a Sopranos spinoff. There are brightly colored neon lights surrounding the top of a faded soft pink wooded ceiling, curvy cursive blue and red neon letters spelling “cocktail lounge” and “Las Vegas Restaurant and Bar.” There are pockets of noisy, gold and white gambling machines with the old pull down levers. There is patterned blue and pink carpeting worn from foot traffic. This is a place of movement; it is the grey area that exists solely to give meaning to the destination. And, it is in the middle of the fucking beautiful Nevada desert’s nothingness and open space.

Flying here from Washington, I saw the Sierra Nevada range at sunset from 39,000 miles above. They were orange and red and beautiful. They are kind of beautiful that punches you in the gut and gives you a reminder of your temporality; they taunt and tease you with their seemingly timeless geographical aesthetic. In fact, they were so beautiful that I forgot about the old man next to me puking as the plane took off. I forgot about how I only have 2.5 hours sleep and I forgot that I have still have 6.5 hours travel time, 2,300 miles away to travel and a shit ton of work to do when I get back.

I had a strange flight here besides the man puking six inches away from me in a garbage bag. I proceeded to pass out against the cold window and waking up with a bag of plane crackers in my lap. (Which, were given to me by the old man who was puking.) I had strange, hilarious flight attendants. These are kind of people authors make as characters in novels. This is precisely why I am writing this down. These are the strange, wonderful days that happen too far in-between because life is lulled by redundancy, predictability, aided and coddled by routine.

When I arrived in Vegas, while the plane was taxiing, the flight attendant sang, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” to the passengers. She had a soulful southern voice and she KILLED it in that good way. The other flight attendant, Clarence, is up for the ‘flight attendant of the year award.’ He is a Vegas live-in resident, a fifty something, almost retiree, with leathery-like skin and frizzed orange dyed hair, carrying more sass than Oprah. I’ve never laughed at a joke a flight attendant made. The plane seemed to reverberate laughter a good portion of the way.

When I was exiting the plane, both excited to be in Nevada for the first time, and happy to be away from puking, I passed a man in a knit pool decorated sweater. There were eight balls, stripes and solids. I complimented him on his sweater. His response, “Thanks, I also like to play pocket pool.” I am pretty sure he had on a toupee.

I then immediately discovered my flight had been delayed 2.5 hours. With some time to kill, I gambled away $10.00 and sipped on a whiskey sour mourning my loss with luck. I noticed the disproportionate number of old folk in sweats as I caught a buzz.

***

Back track to last Tuesday, the day before I flew out, my friend were sitting on my hammock discussing the idea of flying. He told me his worst fear is the world running out of fuel and not being able to travel any longer, about how he thought the world would feel as if it were shrinking. It made sense, in the late night daze, kind of way.

A day in the life of-

2010-11-23T03:07:00.001-01:00

or Video Gems

I woke up yesterday morning with headache that would kill and a lingering thought that I lost my computer. (I eventually found it hidden in a drawer in my living room wrapped in a blanket, why I put it there, I don't know... but it made sense at the time)

The latter point should be noted, because without it, I would not of found some worthwhile links:

Because my students openly think I am a communist:

Cee Lo circa 2001:

And finally,

Picnic Tables and America

2010-11-15T01:37:00.001-01:00

or Patriotism Spurred by Too Many Lone Stars on Cold November Nights

The seven of us look like an advertisement for some sort of modern-day racial diversity, post-graduate overeducated underclass poster as we sip on our PBR tallboys and Lone Stars. It’s 12:30am and it’s cold. This is the first time I had goosebumps since August. We all sit squished together on cafeteria unstained style picnic benches.

I don’t know how it happened, and I don’t know why, but it did. We started drunkenly discussing how wonderful America is. “America is the best culture in the world” and “I fucking love America” were all words that fell out of our lips. Perhaps even direct quotes. This remains poignant to me because a) most of us are first generation college graduates b)half of my friends deal with american racism on a daily basis and c)we spend 45+ hours a week working in a failing educational school system with junior and seniors in some of the worst performing schools in the country. For those of you who don’t remember, I tried to play “I love America” game on the fourth of July and failed. Miserably.

Four months later, I never would of guessed I would of been sitting there on that Saturday night. All of us see forms of poverty, illiteracy, undocumented families, intense class gaps and students who have been enrolled in school for 11 years and can’t write a coherent essay or think critically. And, still, we all sit on wobbly unstained picnic tables, the cool November air keeping our beers cold, the clear sky an indicator for our miniscule place in time and we just fucking love America. I don’t know how else to say it, but the patriotism seeped out of us.

I find this situation both odd and heartwarming. Not only are we seven individuals, some of whom who graduated from some-name-dropping Ivy Leagues, (but I argue that it doesn't really matter) we are all intelligent and educated people. I've had so many conversations about what is "wrong" about this country (this list can go on and on) but I have rarely taken time to appreciate it.

They then started singing a rendition of 'We are the Champions' and 'America the Beautiful' . The hipsters, needless to say, didn't appreciate the music, perhaps because we were drowning out Lou Reed. I wish I was kidding. At this point, I had sensory overload. The Texan Ego needed more room sit and I got up and ordered another Lone Star.

Cliches are hilarious when they're true.

Neil.

2010-11-13T01:20:00.001-01:00

Today, is Neil Young's birthday. In honor of one my favorite (if not my favorite) singer/songwriters:

Then

It's been pouring rain all day. The rain always makes me nostalgic for the West Coast and times past as I drive along long stretches of highway hearing the rhythmic beating of the drops hit my car as I progress forward. I seep nostalgia. However, the constant muggy 60+degrees, hot-on-your-skin-stick-humidity, intermittent with sun rays piercing through clouds that stretch over the entire sky; this serves a reminder of my current place in time. Petal to the floor and progress forward.

I've been listening to Neil since I was 15, through high school, college, post-college woes and now, as I drive along a Texan highway at 65 mph pondering how I ended up in the one state I always used to make fun of. I sometimes look at my life and wonder how I ended up driving along the current road, at any given place or time, the movement says it all. The feeling of freedom and solitude seep through and replace the nostalgia as I left the comfort of friends, family and familiarity in the dissipate in my rear view mirror, 2,300 miles away.

Cheers neil,

Now (such a great song)

Failure!

2010-11-11T03:05:00.000-01:00

or How I have failed at the art of blogging

Dear Readers,

I apologize for being an untimely and random blogger. I have failed at telling wonderful narratives, and I have SO MANY incredible things to write. Working 50 hour weeks, putting the finishing touches on graduate applications, studying for the GRE's and trying to reconstruct my own subjective time has taken my blogging down.

Until then, here's some Young Galaxy-

Hair

2010-11-09T03:23:00.001-01:00

So I was out the other night (ironically at a hip bar) and they played this song:

For those of you who don't know, this is Willow, Will and Jada Smith's daughter.
Aside from being an arguably sexual metaphor this incredibly creepy seeing as she is NINE years old.

The conversation then went to this movie, "Good Hair"

yeah, these two things are not connected... but hey, its ok.

Falling down Stairs

2010-11-03T02:03:00.000-01:00

My friend sent me this today. It's an amazingly well done ad about domestic violence from Germany.
The imagery can be slightly disturbing, but hey, domestic violence isn't pretty or fun, and the ad is aimed to reflect this idea.

The Rent is Too Damn High

2010-10-19T15:35:00.000Z

or How Jimmy McMillan is (hopefully) taking NYC's Governor's Race

See full story here: The Rent is Too Damn High- Jimmy McMillan

The "official" website:

http://www.rentistoodamnhigh.org/

Why you should visit these things:

1- Quotes

On the deficit: "It's like a cancer. It will heal itself."
On negative campaigning: "As a karate expert, I will not talk about anyone up here."
On gay marriage: "The Rent Is 2 Damn High Party feels if you want to marry a shoe, I'll marry you."
On... Jesus, I have no clue what prompted this one: "We plan to bulldoze some of those mountains in Upstate to make New York an independent state. I want my own cable company; I want my own telephone company."
On the rent: Too damn high.

(via gawker.com)

2-His Appearance and Image

3-In all actuality, for many reasons, this is politic at its finest. McMillan is using the Media, pulling it's tail and feeding it the table scraps. He is be both hilarious, truthful and outlandish.

Modern America-- you baffle me.

Happy Mothafucking Tuesday.

Austin City Limits

2010-10-17T21:44:00.003Z

or The Sweaty Bourgeoisie Proletariat

As I sit on my baloney in a tank top and shorts in 80 degree weather listening to Van Morrison, I realized have discovered the meaning of autonomy. I will show this meaning through chaotic narrative progression.

Autonomy: Casually strolling into an 75,000 mass of sweaty people, 7 stages, hard beating southern sun with nothing more than myself, an empty waterbottle, $5 in my pocket and a seductive lust to surrender myself to a weekend full of live music and sweat. The world, for three days, was my motherfucking Oyster.

The festival started out with The Mountain Goats, a band that has taken on a new meaning since I've arrived in Texas. "All Hail West Texas" was the defining album of my 4 day drive (see:love for the goatsl) I then progressed to see many, many fucking amazing bands. I came home every night exhausted and covered in other peoples sweat. (Black Keys, The XX, Matt & Kim, M.I.A., Edward Sharpe and The Magneficent Zeros, The Strokes, Spoon, Vampire Weekend, Phish, Broken Bells, Gogol Bordello, The National, The Eagles, The Flaming Lips….) but these experiences are not worth blogging about. There are professionals over at stereogum that are much, much hipper than I and I shall leave that job to them.

I was swallowed whole by the mass of people, spit back out and I remained unscathed, minus the Strep Throat that was given to me by a joint I shared with a Phish fan (I believe). There's nothing like being baked, while being surrounded by 75,000 strangers wondering how you're going to ride your bike home or trying, successfully with a friend, to start a dance party to M.I.A. as she sings about revolution and intense political instability and everyone around you is either drunk, stoned or fucked up on some drug, or seeing Dan Aucherbach or watching The Lips crawl their way out of a strange figurative vagina...

The Sweaty Bourgeoisie Proletariat: Autonomy: being baked, surrounded by strangers and feeling oddly independent: Realizing the true meaning of solitude: Freedom.

Wa-bam.

2010-10-15T02:34:00.001Z

This woman is amazing. I'll let her words speak for her (and me).

Hi, How are you?

2010-10-02T19:46:00.001Z

or what does it feel like to live in the 3rd fastest growing city in the US?

and

and what does Daniel Johnston have to do with this?

Originally when I was writing this post, I was going to write about how incredibly and noticeably gentrified Austin has started to become due to its population growth rate. I was then going to relate it back to the famous, "Hi, How are you?" graffiti on Guadeloupe. Austin has grown, and along with it, so has the wealth distribution and social class.

"These days, though, the mural of a relic of an Austin which no

longer exists, but for in the minds of its current (and former) citizens

who are at least a decade older than the undergraduates who walk past it every single day"

Hip Austin Blogger

However, after thinking about this, I realized that I don't want to write about that, so I erased all my words, letters and spaces and decided to share a video by Daniel Johnston, the creator of the, now famous, "Hi, How are you" frog. I am drawn to his music, not because of its quality, but because of it's incredible raw honest tone.

Snapshots

2010-09-30T02:56:00.000Z

I was looking through some old photos of mine, and I realized I have taken some good shots over the last year. This also inspired me to take more of a photographic lens towards my blog, possibly. We'll see.

Until then two of my favorite photos I've taken:

NYC.

nostalgia towards mountains!

2010-09-24T03:55:00.003Z

Driving home yesterday this what filled my view:

Not bad.

Paired with some amazing music I discovered on the radio:

Bobby Bland, "Ain't Nothing You Can Do"

(after a 10 hour day dealing with nonprofits, and Texan Broken educational system, this was exactly what I needed.)

Queen's/David Bowie "Under Pressure"

Doris Troy "Just One Look"

Willie Buck singing some Muddy Waters.

There's a killer station here with blues, jazz and soul.

--------

I apologize, for the lack of narratives as of late. I have a pending list of things I need to write, but with gre's, 50 hr work weeks & grad applications and essays, maintaining a social life, I'm a little behind.

Cement

2010-09-23T03:31:00.000Z

or Stephen Malkmus... you've lost your humble.

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Pavement

www.colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

2010 Election

Fox News

but the band still sounds 90's...

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Pavement - Gold Soundz

www.colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

2010 Election

Fox News

The MeatPit

2010-09-19T20:02:00.005Z

Or how BBQ changed my life

I could write about a slew of things, such as, the time a visitor and I went to a predominantly Spanish flea Market, what 6th street is really like, how it feels to be see a constant and free flow of Mexican and Latino/a culture or how I won a free haircut and free booze at a hip bar. However, I will write about none of these things right now. Instead I am going to share with you a story about a meat pit, bbq and Lone Star Beer.

The Salt Lick is an all you can eat, delicious bar-be-que, b.y.o.b sit down restaurant.

There are four of us, three people from Wisconsin and me, one lone Washington resident. One of the men we are with is a fabulous homosexual. We are outside of the Austin bubble and into authentic Texas.

The drive is long, taking us through 2 highways and one, "FM" road. I have not yet figured out what an "FM" road is, other than a two lane highway that allows cars to go 50=65 mph. This road allows the Subaru outback to weave in and out of tight curves. We all notice a change in the landscape. The small hills are now covered in a lush greenery with small, green creeks forcing their way through the mossy covered ground.

I have no idea where I am but have become accustomed to the feeling of a lack-of directional sense. We finally found the bbq joint, planted, literally in the middle of nowhere. We pull in and the restaurant becomes a small village.

There is a winery, there is live music, a stage, a sprawling dirt parking lot and seven, (yes, seven) state troopers wearing cowboy hats directing traffic.

I am astounded. And also completely enthralled and overjoyed at this sight.

We grab a seat on a wooden bench and I crack open a Lone Star. I look over to my left, and see a mini football team, completely in uniform. I also see little cheerleaders. Yes, tiny 9 year old cheerleaders who are dressed in legit cheerleading gear. I sigh, realizing I haven't yet accepted the football culture here and take a sip beer.

Meanwhile, there are two 40-something men playing some folky country twang with a steel guitar, adding to the overall ambience and mood.

Our table is eventually ready, and we follow the waitress. We walk past "the meat" pit...

to long, cafeteria style wooden benches. We sit down, we crack open more Lone Star. We contemplate ordering "meat by the pound" but eventually decide against it.

I realize that, the four of us, kind of hip looking 20 somethings, with one obvious homosexual don't really fit in the atmosphere. I then see an older white man lift up a his brown grandson really high and press him up against a tree. I take another sip of beer.

Our food eventually comes. This is more bbq than I can handle. There is a pound of meat on my plate, some ribs, brisket and grilled sausage. I eat it all, my belly "dunlop" over my pants. This meal contained delicious, smoky flavors, combined with habenero sauce and twangy bbq sauce. Yes, as you may of noticed, I am avoiding the use of the noun, "meat" because writing 'delicious meat' is something I am not mature enough to do. In fact, I couldn't stop my subtle snickers at the use of Meat by our waitress. Sayings such as "Well the meat is cooked___" or "the meat by the pound is cheaper" and my favorite, "the sausage is heavily seasoned and then cooked in the meat pit."

Note: "Dunlop" refers to the saying, 'I have eaten so much my belly dunlop over my pants' to signify the fullness and Texan eating.

I am fuller than I have ever been. I am also in the middle of somewhere outside of the city, surrounded by families, a table celebrating a recent marine coming back (and I quote) "from the dessert" and a wedding rehearsal. I am in a cafeteria setting full of people who are celebrating wonderful things, such as marriage, returned of loved ones, and I am eating the best goddamn meal I have had in a long time.

Not to mention, I am completely, for the first time in a long, time, surrounded by people all of my race. (I live in a predominately 75% Hispanic neighborhood; work in a 95% hispanic and African-American school, so I have become used to hearing mostly Spanish and seeing mostly people who are have a different skin tone than myself. This is a far cry from the scenarios in Washington I have encountered). I think about some Cornell West and take another sip of beer as I finish my meal.

We get up to leave, walk past the meat pit, past the little football players and cheerleaders, past the twangy folk music, past the newly homed marine, past the sheriffs and back in the car. I buckle my seat belt, feel my incredibly overstuffed stomach and proceed to process my new home.

Economics of musical production

2010-09-12T02:26:00.000Z

two great resources:
Hulu- Before the Music Dies (excuse the narrator)

and the New Yorker Out Loud
Sasha Frere-Jones writes about independent labels (and some Arcade Fire)

If you are interested in the behind the scenes discussion and hot topic of "independent labels" and artistic production in Capitalistic system, check it yo.

So Hip. I bleed tattoo ink-- but just in B&W

2010-09-11T07:28:00.000Z

or how I was told "it's ok, my mouth is dirty too"

My dad reads what I write here, so I've been contemplating writing about this, but I figure this story is just too good to pass up. Sorry dad.

Hipsters in texas fucking love their Pixie cuts. It's cool, androgyny is a thing here; think bean poles, dress wearing, huge doe eyed, vegan and incredibly lean.

I'm at a bar with a couple of my friends, when a very drunk, very awkward plaid shirt wearing man approaches us.. I immediately realize he's harmless (and uncoordinated) and upon telling me he's from Portland, he strikes up incredibly inebriated conversation. I drop witty bombs, the fuse unlit and wasted on him as he continues to make boring small talk. I even jokingly tell him I have a kid. (I don't).

This continues for awhile, in vain hopes, maybe, he will get my sass. Wrong. I need to get outta of this conversation asap.

As I am leaving, he reaches out to shake my hand. His fingers are limp and don't have a strong grip. Then he drops a bomb. He reaches to put MY HAND towards his mouth to kiss.

Not thinking, I say, "Oh... sorry my hand is really dirty, it's humid," and untangle his drunken fingers from mine.

His response, "It's ok, my mouth is really dirty too." and he points to his lips.

Wrong thing to say buddy.

I turn around and walk the other way, weaving my way in and out of the Pixie cuts and sea of plaid.

This man takes the award for most awkward one liner said to me thus far in Texas.

"it's ok, my mouth is really dirty too"

------

gah!

2010-09-07T03:25:00.000Z

or I know... I have stories to share, just not enough time to compose the narrative properly

Until then--

I am really stoked to see this band, quasi- Ra Ra Riot+Strange Animal Collective-ish+80's Nu-wave keyboards going on. One of my first live performances here in Austin!

Weird mix, but I bet they play great live.

I'll write sometime, in-between grad apps, teaching, life and exploration. Sorry folks.

2010-09-02T04:36:00.001Z

I really am digging this song at the moment. I love it because I am pretty sure they sing something along these lines:

you’re acting all american,
american, american,
listen here and who is asking you to?

you want to be all trendy,
but if you drink “whisky and soda”
you will always end up sick!

how can your loved one understand
if you’re speaking half american?
when you’re out loving uder the moon,
where do you get a phrase like “i love you”?

Translation is kind of awesome-- and I'm pretty sure this is Italian, not spanish but the two are very closely related... but there is also something to do with being born in Italy and acting like an American. I'm not quite sure what's going on here, exactly, but the song is catchy.

Flea Market

2010-09-01T01:07:00.000Z

or, "Am I Going to Get Kidnapped with my man friend

(who was wearing a 70's style, balls hugging pair of swim trunks?)"

I'm in the process of writing this epic narrative of what happened when a very white man and a slightly tanned woman unknowingly went into a hispanic flea market in Manor, TX. (pronounced, Maaaaeee-nrrrr)

Until then, here's a video of how I feel about it:

The State of (Tejjjas) Educational System

2010-08-25T23:17:00.002Z

As many of you know, much of the reason I moved down to Texas was because of their structure of their educational system and then strange, oddly progressive policy and law that allows gives state funding to undocumented students (or as many conservatives refer, "illegal aliens").

The Texas Senate Bill 1528 allows students to receive state funding to attend college if they have the following qualifications:

Must have graduated from a Texas high school or received the equivalent of a high school diploma (e.g. GED) in the state of Texas; and
Must have resided in the state of Texas for the three years immediately preceding graduation from high school or the receipt of the GED certificate; and
Must not have established a residence outside the state of Texas during the 12 months prior to enrollment at Austin Community College; and
Must provide a notarized letter stating that:

they will file an application to become a permanent resident of the U.S. at the earliest opportunity they will be eligible to do so.

Texas is one of three states in the United States to have this law for undocumented students, which are only an estimated 1% of the public 4 year university population here.

This law is relatively new and their are obvious problems (i.e- if a student is dependent on their family but their family does not pay taxes-- they do not qualify for the state funding (Tasfa-->TASFA). And, on average, a high need, low socioeconomic student does received only $4,000 per a year for a four year institution, only allowing many students to go to C.C. vocational programs with $2,000 in assistance)

I find this law particular interesting in contrast with other Texas Educational aspects such as:

-Abstinence only "sex" education

-Pro-Choice mentality
-Dry Counties (don't sell any alcohol in their county)

-Pro-America, Pro-Capitalist, Pro-Globalization history textbooks (see:TX Conservatives Win Textbook Votel)

-high rate of ESL/ELL(English Language Learners) student placement in Special Education

Also, factor in that an undocumented student doesn't have a social security number, and thus, upon graduation from college, cannot legally obtain a job here in the United States. Which is another problem in itself.

It's a big mess.

In lighter news:

I imagine most Texans to be "Sam the Eagle"

and then they put bumper stickers on their oversized Trucks that resembles the following:

the other day, someone told me they were, "A Texan first and an American after."

Show Me Your Piggy Skin

2010-08-20T22:20:00.002Z

or wtf is up with all this football?

The bar is packed with young twenty somethings, sweating in the hot Texas sun, sipping on cheap 2.50 Pbr tallboys. No one is talking and all eyes are thus diverted to the television. There are shouts, flaying arms, stomping and profane words projected at the screen.

It's a Dallas Cowboys football game.

One thing I have yet to really understand about Texas is the football culture. I don't like the Cowboys. In fact, the Cowboys are to football what the Yankees are to baseball. I just…don't like what they stand for.

However, I cannot shun the city's beloved team. I might as well have leprosy, limbs falling off and rotting. I would be a social outcast. So I just blend in, sip on my beer and stare at the screen.

Even more so, Atx, has UT Longhorns. The city and the fans are even MORE attached to this team than the Cowboys. There are Longhorn emblems on at least 65% of the cars here.

If this were not enough, I am also teaching After School classes at the high school that won the state championship in their division last year. They BLEED football. Scoring a touch down with the piggy skin creates heros. The quarterback IS the coolest kid in the school. He even dates a cheerleader. I feel like I'm in an after school special on Teen Nick but there is no way to turn it off.

The other after school teachers and I can go to the football games and have the hours count towards work, because it is so important to the school's culture.

Let me repeat that, the hours I spend watching a football game can count towards work.

Let's backup:

The college I attended did not have a football team & I was more than ok with that. I attended one football game during my entire time high school. It was freshman year. I wore red pants but didn't understand what all the commotion was about. If we wanted to hang out, we could do that anywhere. Why would I want to sit in a cold bleacher when I could be out with you somewhere cooler? So we did.

I think football is hyper-masculine (and homophobic) and also promotes an idea of hyperfemininity (cheerleaders). While I don't mind watching sexy man in their late 20's and 30's run around a field in spandex with massive muscles, I'm kind of opposed to the idea itself. So now, Fuck you college education! Fuck you for making me critically analyze gender play in American Sports! I wish I could change over-thinking, and just love football like the rest of Texas, but I can't. There are a lot of disgusting ideas, politic with academics, economic revenue, praise of the athlete, that just create a little unease for me. I'm all for your love of the game, it just can't be mutually shared.

This distaste for American football is going to have to change.

Quickly.

Very Quickly.

I'm going to have to learn to love football. I am going to learn high school cheers, I am going to see my students play on the field, I am going to wear school colors and I am going to re-live all those years I spent avoiding the football games... one game at a time.