Whoa! It's been a while. I didn't intend for THIS much time to pass but the truth is that I think it's been a good thing. I've been gloomy and hurty, and I've needed the time to journal for myself for serious. I went to Texas and New Mexico and those were good ideas. I've been working on a few projects to try to keep my twitchy hands distracted, and that's not so bad.
Thoughts I'll probably share on in the next few days include the possibility of a feminist reading of Hank Williams, some art/doc ideas that I'm working on or playing with the idea of working on in the future, and food photos (I'm cooking again, which is surely a sign that the darkest times are past?). I spent last week looking at water preservation projects in Zapotec communities of the central valley of Oaxaca and I have some more thoughts I'm working on in that realm. I've also been thinking a bit about what the student movement of the Latin America of the 1970s translates into in my life as a mid-20s US-born woman. Meeeehhh. I've also been reading tons and trying to stay out of the rain. Generally, I think things are advancing positively.
So yeah, I visited El Paso, which was a wonderful vacation and seeing Dunya was great and all that good stuff. New Mexico is just as pretty as everyone says it is, and I swam in creeks with Native American boys and it was just about as lovely as could be. I also floated around in the Rio Grande. I got to bike around El Paso and go to museums and concerts and eat brisket and it was really exactly what a vacation should be. However, I'm not sure there's a way to visit that area without carrying a bit of the weight of what visiting that area means, and I'd started working on this poem while I was still there, but I think it's ready now:
"Divisar" is a word that
evokes division,
but it just means "to see."
I went to El Paso to divisar
the imaginary line that divides
and makes every difference.
I found a high place to sit
so that I could see what
a nation at war looks like
from a place that loves wars.
I laughed at myself,
expecting to see the charcoal gunsmoke
of political cartoons, or
perhaps the bellicose diagonals
of ancient Rome--
expecting to hear the rumble of
the fosas comunes
of Juarez.
I saw only life
as it moves
from trees to highways,
from one side of El Chamizal
to the other.
I saw Cristo Rey
and Wells Fargo,
both looming precariously,
the boom time long past.
I saw electricity and a sunset:
the things we cannot stop
once they have started.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
and there's nothing we can do about it now
Okay! First of all, I posted this on facebook a while back, but waaaatch it:
So pretty!
Bien. Well, I had the world's most exhausting delegation, went home for the world's most disastrous visit, and then came back, had my heart broken a little, and started a new delegation today. Everyone is really cool and I look forward to hanging out with them, so that's exciting!
I have a few thoughts to share in this post, on drunkenness, restaurants, and love.
Let's start with drunkenness. A few nights ago I went to an art opening with Betty. These things are always awkward for me, since I don't know anyone and really don't know if I want to know anyone, so I resolved to have a beer and head home. Then this weird man started talking to us, and then he bought mezcal shots and things escalated rapidly. We were talking about letting life flow, and I had an epiphany that I should try to be an actual art photographer. Then, I came home and tried to use the telephone. Ahhh, mezcal.
Restaurants: so ever since I was little I've kept fastidious notes of all the different chain restaurants I visit, because I'm fascinated by the variations among them. Also, I really like it when people say things like "that place has bad Coke", or my real favorite, which is "that place has great ice." Some places really do have superior ice, and in truth, no detail is lost on the discerning consumer (obvi I am one). These are the details that matter: I don't really care so much about the obvious things like menu offerings if the details have been carefully monitored: availability of Splenda? Gross. Availability of different types of olive oil for my pizza? Awesome. This has led me to a careful study on the two fancy pizza places in Oaxaca, which I continued today. I will have to make more visits before I can present findings, but I just keep eating lame Margherita pizzas.
Also, even though most mornings are still very hot in Mexico, I insist on drinking coffee. This is sort of tragic, because even though Oaxaca is a big coffee-growing state and there is delicious coffee grown here, an actual cup of coffee isn't THAT easy to find, and usually it sucks. This makes the classic breakfast (which I am now told is to be referred to as a "silver bullet") of coffee, water, and orange juice (you know, the "food" element) very hard to find. The worst is when they bring you Nescafe. The worse worst is when they bring you Nescafe and it's 100 degrees outside and you are nowhere near air conditioning.
So. This brings us to our next topic. This morning, pitty came into the house with a bird in her mouth. This was an awkward moment. Were we evolutionarily stepping all over pitty's game if we took the bird away before she killed it? How dead was it? She didn't seem to have a plan of killing it anytime soon, choosing instead just to bat at it. I don't know what this means for our relationship with pitty, but it did get me to thinking about certain things in my life.
I know every few months or so I have some epiphany on the subject of love that I feel the need to express here, but here we go. The world is full of suffering--the type of suffering that could be cured with some medicine or food but above all else the simple type of love that tells you to DO something. I know this is a disgusting oversimplification of the world's problems, but bear with me.
I think my anxiety is a feeling. I think my depression is a feeling. They are clouds that I float in and out of, and when I am in them, they affect my life. When I am out of them, they don't. I don't think love is this type of thing. I think love is more than this type of feeling: I think it's a decision to live a certain way, and do certain things. I think the particular way and things vary from person to person. I think to me, love means wanting to make things with someone: art, pies, jokes, life, all that stuff. As I see it, this is what I have to offer, and it is simple. I've discussed before the magical phenomenon of people not informing you when they are done fighting the good fight with you. I don't really know what that's about, or how it is that people manage to weigh down love with all this bullshit existentialist baggage in a world of such urgency and misery, but this time around I feel sort of like the bird pitty was playing with today. So, as I've decided many times before, this time I will redirect my need to make things to a cause that can accept those things with openness and honesty, and I will distract my twitchy hands and heart for a while.
As for the bird? We freed it, and it flew away.
So pretty!
Bien. Well, I had the world's most exhausting delegation, went home for the world's most disastrous visit, and then came back, had my heart broken a little, and started a new delegation today. Everyone is really cool and I look forward to hanging out with them, so that's exciting!
I have a few thoughts to share in this post, on drunkenness, restaurants, and love.
Let's start with drunkenness. A few nights ago I went to an art opening with Betty. These things are always awkward for me, since I don't know anyone and really don't know if I want to know anyone, so I resolved to have a beer and head home. Then this weird man started talking to us, and then he bought mezcal shots and things escalated rapidly. We were talking about letting life flow, and I had an epiphany that I should try to be an actual art photographer. Then, I came home and tried to use the telephone. Ahhh, mezcal.
Restaurants: so ever since I was little I've kept fastidious notes of all the different chain restaurants I visit, because I'm fascinated by the variations among them. Also, I really like it when people say things like "that place has bad Coke", or my real favorite, which is "that place has great ice." Some places really do have superior ice, and in truth, no detail is lost on the discerning consumer (obvi I am one). These are the details that matter: I don't really care so much about the obvious things like menu offerings if the details have been carefully monitored: availability of Splenda? Gross. Availability of different types of olive oil for my pizza? Awesome. This has led me to a careful study on the two fancy pizza places in Oaxaca, which I continued today. I will have to make more visits before I can present findings, but I just keep eating lame Margherita pizzas.
Also, even though most mornings are still very hot in Mexico, I insist on drinking coffee. This is sort of tragic, because even though Oaxaca is a big coffee-growing state and there is delicious coffee grown here, an actual cup of coffee isn't THAT easy to find, and usually it sucks. This makes the classic breakfast (which I am now told is to be referred to as a "silver bullet") of coffee, water, and orange juice (you know, the "food" element) very hard to find. The worst is when they bring you Nescafe. The worse worst is when they bring you Nescafe and it's 100 degrees outside and you are nowhere near air conditioning.
So. This brings us to our next topic. This morning, pitty came into the house with a bird in her mouth. This was an awkward moment. Were we evolutionarily stepping all over pitty's game if we took the bird away before she killed it? How dead was it? She didn't seem to have a plan of killing it anytime soon, choosing instead just to bat at it. I don't know what this means for our relationship with pitty, but it did get me to thinking about certain things in my life.
I know every few months or so I have some epiphany on the subject of love that I feel the need to express here, but here we go. The world is full of suffering--the type of suffering that could be cured with some medicine or food but above all else the simple type of love that tells you to DO something. I know this is a disgusting oversimplification of the world's problems, but bear with me.
I think my anxiety is a feeling. I think my depression is a feeling. They are clouds that I float in and out of, and when I am in them, they affect my life. When I am out of them, they don't. I don't think love is this type of thing. I think love is more than this type of feeling: I think it's a decision to live a certain way, and do certain things. I think the particular way and things vary from person to person. I think to me, love means wanting to make things with someone: art, pies, jokes, life, all that stuff. As I see it, this is what I have to offer, and it is simple. I've discussed before the magical phenomenon of people not informing you when they are done fighting the good fight with you. I don't really know what that's about, or how it is that people manage to weigh down love with all this bullshit existentialist baggage in a world of such urgency and misery, but this time around I feel sort of like the bird pitty was playing with today. So, as I've decided many times before, this time I will redirect my need to make things to a cause that can accept those things with openness and honesty, and I will distract my twitchy hands and heart for a while.
As for the bird? We freed it, and it flew away.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
a little too wrong and I can't wait
First of all, listen to this, because it's brilliant.
It is a fun time! A time of contradictions! Everyone knows I love those!
Anyway, here goes:
I made a damn cheese! And then I made a pretty delicious improvised saag because, while I may be totally willing to make a cheese, I am absolutely too lazy to clarify my own butter. (Because as we know, friends, dignity is about knowing where to draw the damn line.) I would say that I think I am onto something, but I don't really think I'm onto anything other than that I made something delicious.
Also, I have two sort of opposite things to present to you, both of which brought me much joy:
First, I love Tiger Beatdown. I was unsure about Sady having guest posters because, come on, Sady is awesome. But some of the guest posters are awesome, too! Namely, Silvana, and specifically, this post.
Now, I am all about pulling some critical theory on pop culture, and I particularly think Beyonce's oevre of late really lends itself to this stuff. But that pieces does a better job of that discussion than I can.
On the other hand (or maybe the same hand but another finger or the other side), through some chain of weird internet dorkout, I discovered this blog.
Look. I am nonprofit girl. Nonprofit girl has nondescript hair and wears no makeup. Nonprofit girl wears comfortable shoes for walking through construction sites. The idea of someone putting paint on their face all day and all the things that could potentially imply (air conditioning! not smelling like bus!) is weirdly comforting.
I've been interested in this stuff lately, because of some of the points made in the first article, about the performative aspects of femininity. Granted, I completely agree, but obviously anyone could enjoy some of these performances, both as the performer and audience. And also, I think the backlash is performative. I realize this doesn't apply to everyone I know, but I do know several women who've expressed that because of their nonprofit work or interest in social justice, they feel pressured to act or look a particular role. I'd imagine that the ensuing weirdness probably applies to folks who participate in all sorts of activities "dominated" by the opposite gender expression. I guess what I'm saying is that while I found the idea of this type of analysis of Beyonce's video really stunning, I'm not sure it really says anything productive about our behavior. That is to say, it seems to me like there's no exploration of what should come next. It also seems to not want to make room for the possibility of having this sort of feminist analysis but still enjoying engaging in the performance.
I don't know. I've been pretty interested in watching out for these behaviors lately, and trying to decide what I think they mean. I haven't really decided, but I sure do like to play with eyeliner in my room (and look at things like this), so perhaps I am biased.
It is a fun time! A time of contradictions! Everyone knows I love those!
Anyway, here goes:
I made a damn cheese! And then I made a pretty delicious improvised saag because, while I may be totally willing to make a cheese, I am absolutely too lazy to clarify my own butter. (Because as we know, friends, dignity is about knowing where to draw the damn line.) I would say that I think I am onto something, but I don't really think I'm onto anything other than that I made something delicious.
Also, I have two sort of opposite things to present to you, both of which brought me much joy:
First, I love Tiger Beatdown. I was unsure about Sady having guest posters because, come on, Sady is awesome. But some of the guest posters are awesome, too! Namely, Silvana, and specifically, this post.
Now, I am all about pulling some critical theory on pop culture, and I particularly think Beyonce's oevre of late really lends itself to this stuff. But that pieces does a better job of that discussion than I can.
On the other hand (or maybe the same hand but another finger or the other side), through some chain of weird internet dorkout, I discovered this blog.
Look. I am nonprofit girl. Nonprofit girl has nondescript hair and wears no makeup. Nonprofit girl wears comfortable shoes for walking through construction sites. The idea of someone putting paint on their face all day and all the things that could potentially imply (air conditioning! not smelling like bus!) is weirdly comforting.
I've been interested in this stuff lately, because of some of the points made in the first article, about the performative aspects of femininity. Granted, I completely agree, but obviously anyone could enjoy some of these performances, both as the performer and audience. And also, I think the backlash is performative. I realize this doesn't apply to everyone I know, but I do know several women who've expressed that because of their nonprofit work or interest in social justice, they feel pressured to act or look a particular role. I'd imagine that the ensuing weirdness probably applies to folks who participate in all sorts of activities "dominated" by the opposite gender expression. I guess what I'm saying is that while I found the idea of this type of analysis of Beyonce's video really stunning, I'm not sure it really says anything productive about our behavior. That is to say, it seems to me like there's no exploration of what should come next. It also seems to not want to make room for the possibility of having this sort of feminist analysis but still enjoying engaging in the performance.
I don't know. I've been pretty interested in watching out for these behaviors lately, and trying to decide what I think they mean. I haven't really decided, but I sure do like to play with eyeliner in my room (and look at things like this), so perhaps I am biased.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
get your money back at the door
I am not making excuses for myself. I am not sure there is anything to make excuses for, other than being an asshole, which I fully blame on neoliberalism and the assasination of Jorge Eliecer Gaitan.
But here we go: when I write for serious, I do it here. Let's talk about how people die because of neoliberal policies. Let's talk about how that happens entirely too close to where I live, entirely too close to people I work with.
Do I have an excessive sense of social responsibility? Probably.
Anyway, here's what I'll say: I started this blog so that roughly ten people could be entertained by my Oaxaca misadventures, my ruthless judgments of others, and the weird things that I find. The titles are song lyrics! I videotape myself! Sometimes it has been a nice jump-off point for rewarding conversations about spirituality, food, relationships, haircuts, etc. with those 10 people that I emailed the URL to. Actually, less people than that. And for those of you who read these things and comment on them and make me feel less crazy or sometimes more crazy: I love you guys. Seriously. You are my support network.
Apparently, despite my precautions, this damn thing is searchable! So the world could, given the right Google keywords, find out that I am a big jerk! It's weird the things you will write when you think you are protected by the general anonymity of the internet, but I think it fits into what I was (unfortunately, kind of sarcastically) alluding to in my last post: living with a certain degree of privilege=anonymity. It allows you to deal with people who think just like you and look just like you and are too polite to tell you when you are wrong. This blog has been that space for me in a time when I have no other space like that in my life.
But maybe that's not right. Maybe I should've thought, "Well I am putting this on the damn internet so I should think twice about hating nixtamal and Mexican supermarkets and other things people love." But I didn't.
So my conclusion is this: I will continue to be angry and yeah, probably, I will continue to make unreasonable demands of social responsibility from the sundry groups that I run into, both on the ground here in Mexico, and via newspapers. But I also commit to being less flippant about it, because if there's one thing that pisses me off about yesterday's shitfestival, it's that no one could engage in a productive conversation because of defensiveness and ego.
And, as a good friend and I concluded this morning, social justice=check your ego at the door. I can commit to that.
But here we go: when I write for serious, I do it here. Let's talk about how people die because of neoliberal policies. Let's talk about how that happens entirely too close to where I live, entirely too close to people I work with.
Do I have an excessive sense of social responsibility? Probably.
Anyway, here's what I'll say: I started this blog so that roughly ten people could be entertained by my Oaxaca misadventures, my ruthless judgments of others, and the weird things that I find. The titles are song lyrics! I videotape myself! Sometimes it has been a nice jump-off point for rewarding conversations about spirituality, food, relationships, haircuts, etc. with those 10 people that I emailed the URL to. Actually, less people than that. And for those of you who read these things and comment on them and make me feel less crazy or sometimes more crazy: I love you guys. Seriously. You are my support network.
Apparently, despite my precautions, this damn thing is searchable! So the world could, given the right Google keywords, find out that I am a big jerk! It's weird the things you will write when you think you are protected by the general anonymity of the internet, but I think it fits into what I was (unfortunately, kind of sarcastically) alluding to in my last post: living with a certain degree of privilege=anonymity. It allows you to deal with people who think just like you and look just like you and are too polite to tell you when you are wrong. This blog has been that space for me in a time when I have no other space like that in my life.
But maybe that's not right. Maybe I should've thought, "Well I am putting this on the damn internet so I should think twice about hating nixtamal and Mexican supermarkets and other things people love." But I didn't.
So my conclusion is this: I will continue to be angry and yeah, probably, I will continue to make unreasonable demands of social responsibility from the sundry groups that I run into, both on the ground here in Mexico, and via newspapers. But I also commit to being less flippant about it, because if there's one thing that pisses me off about yesterday's shitfestival, it's that no one could engage in a productive conversation because of defensiveness and ego.
And, as a good friend and I concluded this morning, social justice=check your ego at the door. I can commit to that.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I'm just like all the boys from Texas, or, "Why I Hate Crop Mob"
A lot of things in life make me grumpy. You know what makes me grumpy? Watermelon in my yogurt. Corn tortillas. Men in moving vehicles stopping said vehicles next to my walking person and saying lewd things. (I was wearing sweatpants, dude. And also? Fuck you.) Owning my white privilege.
Ever since I moved to Mexico, especially in my time in the primarily indigenous states of Oaxaca and Chiapas, I have had to own white privilege that I am not sure I got to enjoy in my rather Latino-ish childhood. But I am pale and this means people are either kind of rude, they make creepy comments about my pale hotness, or I get charged 18 pesos for a grapefruit jugo that I just know only costs 12. Look, world, you were totally right. Being white is hard business.
Oh, wait.
Naturally, this lifestyle of constantly apologizing for something I am not entirely sure I have adequately enjoyed is kind of exhausting. It makes me dream of my days in Carrboro, where I could pay five dollars for some ears of corn or alternately dumpster them from a Food Lion. Where I was politely ignored by the bearded, plaid-clad masses. Where I could rest easy, taking comfort in my privileged anonymity. And let's be honest. Carrboro is lovely. It is full of Stuff White People Like, and I love that Stuff. Farmers' markets? Fancy sandwiches? Grad school? It is all there, friends.
Recently, though, a particular Stuff that happens in Carrboro has exploded in national attention: the Crop Mob. The Crop Mob website describes the mob as "primarily a group of young, landless, and wannabe farmers who come together to build and empower communities by working side by side." How fucking glorious--hold on, let me be an asshole and latch onto this image of the scruffy, Jeffersonian youths! They are building community through agrarianism! Wait. Aren't there, like, a community of people out there who, like, have to do farmwork? For money?
Oh, duuuuude, there totally are! In North Carolina, even! And they are exploited and have rights that are being violated and they get sprayed with pesticides while they work in the fields! And there's a totally brilliant movie about one of these guys that my favorite professor in the whole, wide world made!
My problem isn't just with the fact that Crop Mob fetishizes the work that is done by millions year after year for shitty pay. It's not just that they talk about their low-resource farming as being "much more labor intensive", as if the workers stuck working factory farms are just living it up. It's not just the whole "I'm so tired of using my brain, I want to use my hands now" attitude of privilege. It's also that they don't even seem to explore the analysis as to why they themselves can't own land.
I've developed a lot of anger towards American food sovereignty and basically good-food movements since I've been living in Mexico, because I find these largely lacking in food solidarity. Listen to me, activists, foodies, and other grumpy types: we cannot "go local". Because factory farms still exist, and guess what? Here in Mexico, we eat dirty, pesticide-y produce dumped by US markets because even if you stop buying salmonella spinach and high-fructose corn syrup doesn't mean that corporations aren't going to try to pawn it off on someone. So when we talk about building community, we can't just do it with the five kids who are working on this vegetable garden with us. It is our responsibility to really build community with the whole food cycle. With the universe. And, oh yeah, it's our responsibility to change the international agreements that allow this stuff to happen.
Just remember Imbesi's Law of the Conservation of Filth with Freeman's Extension: In order for something to become clean, something else must become dirty...but you can get everything dirty without getting anything clean.
Ever since I moved to Mexico, especially in my time in the primarily indigenous states of Oaxaca and Chiapas, I have had to own white privilege that I am not sure I got to enjoy in my rather Latino-ish childhood. But I am pale and this means people are either kind of rude, they make creepy comments about my pale hotness, or I get charged 18 pesos for a grapefruit jugo that I just know only costs 12. Look, world, you were totally right. Being white is hard business.
Oh, wait.
Naturally, this lifestyle of constantly apologizing for something I am not entirely sure I have adequately enjoyed is kind of exhausting. It makes me dream of my days in Carrboro, where I could pay five dollars for some ears of corn or alternately dumpster them from a Food Lion. Where I was politely ignored by the bearded, plaid-clad masses. Where I could rest easy, taking comfort in my privileged anonymity. And let's be honest. Carrboro is lovely. It is full of Stuff White People Like, and I love that Stuff. Farmers' markets? Fancy sandwiches? Grad school? It is all there, friends.
Recently, though, a particular Stuff that happens in Carrboro has exploded in national attention: the Crop Mob. The Crop Mob website describes the mob as "primarily a group of young, landless, and wannabe farmers who come together to build and empower communities by working side by side." How fucking glorious--hold on, let me be an asshole and latch onto this image of the scruffy, Jeffersonian youths! They are building community through agrarianism! Wait. Aren't there, like, a community of people out there who, like, have to do farmwork? For money?
Oh, duuuuude, there totally are! In North Carolina, even! And they are exploited and have rights that are being violated and they get sprayed with pesticides while they work in the fields! And there's a totally brilliant movie about one of these guys that my favorite professor in the whole, wide world made!
My problem isn't just with the fact that Crop Mob fetishizes the work that is done by millions year after year for shitty pay. It's not just that they talk about their low-resource farming as being "much more labor intensive", as if the workers stuck working factory farms are just living it up. It's not just the whole "I'm so tired of using my brain, I want to use my hands now" attitude of privilege. It's also that they don't even seem to explore the analysis as to why they themselves can't own land.
I've developed a lot of anger towards American food sovereignty and basically good-food movements since I've been living in Mexico, because I find these largely lacking in food solidarity. Listen to me, activists, foodies, and other grumpy types: we cannot "go local". Because factory farms still exist, and guess what? Here in Mexico, we eat dirty, pesticide-y produce dumped by US markets because even if you stop buying salmonella spinach and high-fructose corn syrup doesn't mean that corporations aren't going to try to pawn it off on someone. So when we talk about building community, we can't just do it with the five kids who are working on this vegetable garden with us. It is our responsibility to really build community with the whole food cycle. With the universe. And, oh yeah, it's our responsibility to change the international agreements that allow this stuff to happen.
Just remember Imbesi's Law of the Conservation of Filth with Freeman's Extension: In order for something to become clean, something else must become dirty...but you can get everything dirty without getting anything clean.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
like two bitter strangers
Hey, friends!
Does anyone even still read this thing?
Days got pretty damn dark there for a bit, and I got pretty sick in the Isthmus right before moving and right after the Mexico City odyssey. I am glad to be recovering, and at the moment I am celebrating finishing for real the translation of the big gay toolkit (a long but kinda cool story--we got a job translating a toolkit that is gonna be introduced at the US social forum next month!) by sitting in a very pastel cafe in a fancy part of the OAX, drinking possibly the world's worse michelada (they had a 50 peso minimum and I reasoned that beer was in order, okay?), and listening to the Avetts (good ol Avetts).
We are finally beginning to settle into the new house, which is really very nice, and I am beginning to enjoy life in the me-ways of enjoying life again. This means that this morning Betty and I took on the city early, got some errands done, went to the market and bought a bunch of pretty green stuff, a bag of eggs, a bag of milk, and walked home. Then we lazied, I ate something that could technically be called a quesadilla except that I used a flour tortilla and, um, fried it in butter, and I lazied around the house drinking coffee and reading vegan cookbooks. It was almost like being back in Chatham county. Almost.
The truth is that no matter how I manage to entertain myself here (and I entertain myself plenty), I'm not sure I could ever conceive of this as my home. And maybe that's not what is being asked of me, but maybe also a home is precisely what I want at this time. So yes. Thoughts are being had.
Also, WfP sent us FlipCams! We haven't done "real" documentation yet, but I've done some maaaaad real documentation of my hardcore lifestyle. Please observe.
Also, I've pulled out my old Nickel Creek album from high school, and I am by no means defending its quality, but you know what? High school was AWESOME. Also, I miss the South a million times in many ways.
Well, on the bright side, now that I have time to spend recovering and being happy and dividing my time up into awesome projects, I hope to be back to my vegan-baking/kale-cooking/fiddle-playing/picture-taking self in no time!
I hope you are all well, friends!
Does anyone even still read this thing?
Days got pretty damn dark there for a bit, and I got pretty sick in the Isthmus right before moving and right after the Mexico City odyssey. I am glad to be recovering, and at the moment I am celebrating finishing for real the translation of the big gay toolkit (a long but kinda cool story--we got a job translating a toolkit that is gonna be introduced at the US social forum next month!) by sitting in a very pastel cafe in a fancy part of the OAX, drinking possibly the world's worse michelada (they had a 50 peso minimum and I reasoned that beer was in order, okay?), and listening to the Avetts (good ol Avetts).
We are finally beginning to settle into the new house, which is really very nice, and I am beginning to enjoy life in the me-ways of enjoying life again. This means that this morning Betty and I took on the city early, got some errands done, went to the market and bought a bunch of pretty green stuff, a bag of eggs, a bag of milk, and walked home. Then we lazied, I ate something that could technically be called a quesadilla except that I used a flour tortilla and, um, fried it in butter, and I lazied around the house drinking coffee and reading vegan cookbooks. It was almost like being back in Chatham county. Almost.
The truth is that no matter how I manage to entertain myself here (and I entertain myself plenty), I'm not sure I could ever conceive of this as my home. And maybe that's not what is being asked of me, but maybe also a home is precisely what I want at this time. So yes. Thoughts are being had.
Also, WfP sent us FlipCams! We haven't done "real" documentation yet, but I've done some maaaaad real documentation of my hardcore lifestyle. Please observe.
(I know this is bigger than the standard size I've been using, but I kinda liiiike it, okay?)
Also, I've pulled out my old Nickel Creek album from high school, and I am by no means defending its quality, but you know what? High school was AWESOME. Also, I miss the South a million times in many ways.
Well, on the bright side, now that I have time to spend recovering and being happy and dividing my time up into awesome projects, I hope to be back to my vegan-baking/kale-cooking/fiddle-playing/picture-taking self in no time!
I hope you are all well, friends!
Monday, April 5, 2010
forgive [my] bad luck soul
Whoa.
Dude bros, life is LONG.
The past few weeks have been full of all kinds of discoveries and happy things and sad things. Tony and I went to the Isthmus and learned lots of stuff about the communities out there and megaprojects and all that good stuff. I learned how to make my very first pair of jorts. It is hot in Mexico. For Easter we went back to Teotitlan, the Zapotec weaving town that I love, to visit the woman that heads up the Vida Nueva women's weaving cooperative. Ah, co-ops, Easter, sweet families....
This is sort of a bittersweet time: my boss just arrived in OAX from Managua, which is a wonderful thing, but Dunya will be leaving soon, and Lalo and Alexis soon thereafter. It's weird when your already tenuous support net starts to dissipate, but it's also kind of whatever--at this point, the unknown is just sort of the unknown: not bad, not good. And that's kind of exciting.
It looks like the team will be moving to an adorable neighborhood just north of the centro at the end of the month, Xochimilco, and you are all of course welcome to housewarmering. Of course, before that, we will have our site visit with tha Boss, a goodbye trip for Dunya to Puerto Escondido (hello, Brazilian bikini store!), and then a long trip to Mexico City, Puebla, and Tlaxcala for Tony, Betty, and me. I'm particularly excited about this, because I haven't been to Tlaxcala in six years but the town we are going to out there is one of my favorite places ever ever. After that, we'll have a couple of days of rest and then Tony and I will be back off to the Isthmus to do more planning for the North Carolina delegation (wanna come?). Then the move. This is all on top of the everyday work that has to get done. It's a crazy time.
I don't know when I'll see my family and I miss them like crazy. I also have about 4 layers of homesickness operating: Colombia homesickness, Appalachia homesickness, Carrboro homesickness, and the one that tends to prevail all and thus feels most gentle, Northeast homesickness. At the same time, I walk around Oaxaca in a sort of grateful daze: I'm not a tourist! I get to live here! I know all the nicest places to sit!
Oh! I've managed to find a few new nice places to sit (rooftops) and also what might be my favorite bar. Also the other night we all went out and danced really hard (I always dance hard, but I dance harder to Shakira, it's the truth) and then we came home and Lalo and I stayed up being philosophical and nostalgic and eating cold potato wedges out of a plastic bag and I'll be damned if it gets a whole lot better than cold potatoes, BFFs, Shakira, and whiskey.
Today was a grueling workday and the past few days have all been sort of grueling because I am pretty sure I have parasites again. I am taking the stuff and taking it all in stride, but even today we managed to take sometime in between all our work crap to buy sweet cowboy shirts and get hell market haircuts (this time 10 pesos for mine!). I have been laughing a lot remembering my mother and my aunt Rocio's antics. Gosh, I miss them. I started laughing at the memory of them laughing really hard at something during a haircut today and I had to make myself think of sad things so that I could stop laughing so hard while someone had scissors right next to my face. I then reflected out loud about how glad I am to have had my heart broken, that I will always have something to help me get serious again when I am laughing too hard.
Dude bros, life is LONG.
The past few weeks have been full of all kinds of discoveries and happy things and sad things. Tony and I went to the Isthmus and learned lots of stuff about the communities out there and megaprojects and all that good stuff. I learned how to make my very first pair of jorts. It is hot in Mexico. For Easter we went back to Teotitlan, the Zapotec weaving town that I love, to visit the woman that heads up the Vida Nueva women's weaving cooperative. Ah, co-ops, Easter, sweet families....
This is sort of a bittersweet time: my boss just arrived in OAX from Managua, which is a wonderful thing, but Dunya will be leaving soon, and Lalo and Alexis soon thereafter. It's weird when your already tenuous support net starts to dissipate, but it's also kind of whatever--at this point, the unknown is just sort of the unknown: not bad, not good. And that's kind of exciting.
It looks like the team will be moving to an adorable neighborhood just north of the centro at the end of the month, Xochimilco, and you are all of course welcome to housewarmering. Of course, before that, we will have our site visit with tha Boss, a goodbye trip for Dunya to Puerto Escondido (hello, Brazilian bikini store!), and then a long trip to Mexico City, Puebla, and Tlaxcala for Tony, Betty, and me. I'm particularly excited about this, because I haven't been to Tlaxcala in six years but the town we are going to out there is one of my favorite places ever ever. After that, we'll have a couple of days of rest and then Tony and I will be back off to the Isthmus to do more planning for the North Carolina delegation (wanna come?). Then the move. This is all on top of the everyday work that has to get done. It's a crazy time.
I don't know when I'll see my family and I miss them like crazy. I also have about 4 layers of homesickness operating: Colombia homesickness, Appalachia homesickness, Carrboro homesickness, and the one that tends to prevail all and thus feels most gentle, Northeast homesickness. At the same time, I walk around Oaxaca in a sort of grateful daze: I'm not a tourist! I get to live here! I know all the nicest places to sit!
Oh! I've managed to find a few new nice places to sit (rooftops) and also what might be my favorite bar. Also the other night we all went out and danced really hard (I always dance hard, but I dance harder to Shakira, it's the truth) and then we came home and Lalo and I stayed up being philosophical and nostalgic and eating cold potato wedges out of a plastic bag and I'll be damned if it gets a whole lot better than cold potatoes, BFFs, Shakira, and whiskey.
Today was a grueling workday and the past few days have all been sort of grueling because I am pretty sure I have parasites again. I am taking the stuff and taking it all in stride, but even today we managed to take sometime in between all our work crap to buy sweet cowboy shirts and get hell market haircuts (this time 10 pesos for mine!). I have been laughing a lot remembering my mother and my aunt Rocio's antics. Gosh, I miss them. I started laughing at the memory of them laughing really hard at something during a haircut today and I had to make myself think of sad things so that I could stop laughing so hard while someone had scissors right next to my face. I then reflected out loud about how glad I am to have had my heart broken, that I will always have something to help me get serious again when I am laughing too hard.
Monday, March 29, 2010
kick my heart on down the road
Hey, friends!
I know it's been a while!
The truth is that I don't want to spend too much time on the introspection right now, but let me tell you, it's been the most awesome month ever! First I had an awesome friend-time with Ali, and then I had some more productive work-y type-thangs. Then, I went sorta-fancy backpacking through the Mexican Isthmus. Who gets to say stuff like that? The truth is that this Flickr set is a pretty good narrative of the adventure, so I'm gonna leave you folks with that until I can get myself together.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/marinmakespictures/sets/72157623725098580/
I hope you are all well, and I send you many hugs.
I know it's been a while!
The truth is that I don't want to spend too much time on the introspection right now, but let me tell you, it's been the most awesome month ever! First I had an awesome friend-time with Ali, and then I had some more productive work-y type-thangs. Then, I went sorta-fancy backpacking through the Mexican Isthmus. Who gets to say stuff like that? The truth is that this Flickr set is a pretty good narrative of the adventure, so I'm gonna leave you folks with that until I can get myself together.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/marinmakespictures/sets/72157623725098580/
I hope you are all well, and I send you many hugs.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
siempre supe pero no hice caso
What a weird week! Since I last wrote a lot of funny things have happened! And I have been thinking too much for my own good!
You should listen to this while you read, because I don't care if it's so two-thousand-and-late, it's my favorite: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdK3YGXwDOI
For one, the cookies I was going to make? Here's the story: one of the failures of NAFTA is that random goods are not consistently readily available in Mexican supermarkets. (Okay, that's a joke. Sort of. Come on, NAFTA. Go big or go home. Seriously.) But for some reason, last week at the Soriana, there were roughly 50 bags of chocolate chips. Chocolate chips! These do not exist in the Mexico. So, I, being the eternal fool that I am (but always learrrrrning...), only bought one measly bag, assuming that the presence of the chocolate chips meant that they would be carrying them from then on. Already I shake my head at my silliness. Next time, and for you out there, let me do your learning for you: if it will not spoil quickly, buy it by the armful. It's like communism or some shit. (Okay, it's not. But kind of. Right?)
As I was standing there in relative shock in the supermarket, a man walked up to me and asked me if I was from New York. I am not. Then he said, "Oh, you look like you're from New York. I've been there." At this point I was beginning to cringe inside, but then he said the magic words: "I've also been to North Carolina." At which point we became BFF. Well, not really, but I stopped cringing a little. Anyway, he talked my ear off for a while and then we agreed to hang out at some point in the future.
Then, a friend called and asked if I wanted to bake at the migrant house and I was all TOTALLY and so then I borrowed Maida the landlord's handmixer and marched myself to the migrant house, where I baked cookies and discussed hairstyling and migration with the totally awesome women there. Then I came home, did Pema reading group and baked cookies for the house and ate chilaquiles (with cheddar! the opulence! the Tex-Mex-ness!) and then ate cookies. Best Sunday ever, is what I'm saying.
The week progressed equally well, with me finally being able to redirect my attention to shit like new research (health indicators) and meeting folks from other organizations about delegations. There was yoga class. Oh shit, that was after Monday and Tuesday, when Niños Heroes got shut down! Niños Heroes is a huge, many-laned feat of engineering of a road. Instead of just having the "coming" lanes on one side and the "going" lanes on the other, like most roads, on Niños Heroes they swerve around, alternating, so that you don't need four-way intersections. It's kind of brilliant and also kind of insane. Also, there are amazing jugglers and fire-eaters and unicycle-riders on the road most of the time. This road also neatly cuts off the northern border of the center of Oaxaca, so it's pretty vital to travel on it to get to residential neighborhoods and whatnot. Anyway, a coalition of leftist groups blocked it. No harm done, but it was amazing how quiet and calm the road was, still full of people but everyone just hanging out, eating and laughing. On the road. So we missed Monday yoga and decided to have wine instead. Then we found the dumbest graffiti in the world and did a photo shoot:
Me trying to make an adequately dramatic face. The graffiti says "I want to write something, but I don't know what." Real nice, Neruda.
Me and Tony being a pair of cagapalos.
So, yeah. Wednesday yoga. Then on Friday, I did a lot of meeting with partner orgs and whatnot (wherein I agreed to all sorts of shit! Farmwork! Salsa-dancing! Skill-shares!), and found my way to the Zocalo for what I hoped would be my last such meeting (no-show), and ended up running into some artist collective kids that were doing a public art thing about ending violence against women, as part of a bigger event. They invited me to make a painting myself, so I got all paint-covered and did that. Then I zoned out in my house for a while (did I mention it was HOT out?), went back out to a poetry reading as part of the same event, drank some coffee and went to a movie about the Juarez femicides that they projected outside near the Zocalo (Bajo Juarez, which is pretty good but also sad).
Yesterday I mostly lazied and read, and then today my supermarket friend and I went to Monte Alban, a huge Zapotec ruin that is featured in the cinematic masterpiece that is Nacho Libre. I started feeling a little gloomy, so I went to the market and bought lilies (regular-type) and calla lilies (two of my favorite kinds of flowers) and also a strawberry licuado, and came home and arranged the flowers. I think I am about to make some chickpea cutlets.
So! Things I have been thinking about.
For firsters, I have been reading the Pema, and there's some stuff in there about just feeling your emotions and not using them. I think I've been interested in this general idea for a while, but I think I also don't really get it. After all, isn't my anxiety a feeling? When I tried to "enjoy" my anxiety and just feel it and be okay with it, "settle with it", it didn't make for very good relationships with others. I'm not sure I'm a good little Buddhist. Meh. It's a journey, right? The reading on tonglen, on breathing our bad feelings in and breathing out a sort of prayer that there not be that same bad feeling for people everywhere, is kind of compelling.
I guess the most important thing for now is that nothing is the end of the world. Even when I feel like something is a life-or-death situation, usually I just breathe and get through it eventually (this may be my special "shield of crazy", huh?) and everything is fine until the next time. One of my good friends wrote me an update about his life this week and said he was starting to just do what he wanted and not worry: damn the torpedoes, he said. This is my new battle cry--it makes me feel awesome and brave every time. I used to have this fear that if I took everything one day at a time, I'd forget the big picture, but that's dumb, I can't because that's just not how I roll. The big picture is just always breathing, changing. Thank God.
You should listen to this while you read, because I don't care if it's so two-thousand-and-late, it's my favorite: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdK3YGXwDOI
For one, the cookies I was going to make? Here's the story: one of the failures of NAFTA is that random goods are not consistently readily available in Mexican supermarkets. (Okay, that's a joke. Sort of. Come on, NAFTA. Go big or go home. Seriously.) But for some reason, last week at the Soriana, there were roughly 50 bags of chocolate chips. Chocolate chips! These do not exist in the Mexico. So, I, being the eternal fool that I am (but always learrrrrning...), only bought one measly bag, assuming that the presence of the chocolate chips meant that they would be carrying them from then on. Already I shake my head at my silliness. Next time, and for you out there, let me do your learning for you: if it will not spoil quickly, buy it by the armful. It's like communism or some shit. (Okay, it's not. But kind of. Right?)
As I was standing there in relative shock in the supermarket, a man walked up to me and asked me if I was from New York. I am not. Then he said, "Oh, you look like you're from New York. I've been there." At this point I was beginning to cringe inside, but then he said the magic words: "I've also been to North Carolina." At which point we became BFF. Well, not really, but I stopped cringing a little. Anyway, he talked my ear off for a while and then we agreed to hang out at some point in the future.
Then, a friend called and asked if I wanted to bake at the migrant house and I was all TOTALLY and so then I borrowed Maida the landlord's handmixer and marched myself to the migrant house, where I baked cookies and discussed hairstyling and migration with the totally awesome women there. Then I came home, did Pema reading group and baked cookies for the house and ate chilaquiles (with cheddar! the opulence! the Tex-Mex-ness!) and then ate cookies. Best Sunday ever, is what I'm saying.
The week progressed equally well, with me finally being able to redirect my attention to shit like new research (health indicators) and meeting folks from other organizations about delegations. There was yoga class. Oh shit, that was after Monday and Tuesday, when Niños Heroes got shut down! Niños Heroes is a huge, many-laned feat of engineering of a road. Instead of just having the "coming" lanes on one side and the "going" lanes on the other, like most roads, on Niños Heroes they swerve around, alternating, so that you don't need four-way intersections. It's kind of brilliant and also kind of insane. Also, there are amazing jugglers and fire-eaters and unicycle-riders on the road most of the time. This road also neatly cuts off the northern border of the center of Oaxaca, so it's pretty vital to travel on it to get to residential neighborhoods and whatnot. Anyway, a coalition of leftist groups blocked it. No harm done, but it was amazing how quiet and calm the road was, still full of people but everyone just hanging out, eating and laughing. On the road. So we missed Monday yoga and decided to have wine instead. Then we found the dumbest graffiti in the world and did a photo shoot:
Me trying to make an adequately dramatic face. The graffiti says "I want to write something, but I don't know what." Real nice, Neruda.
Me and Tony being a pair of cagapalos.
So, yeah. Wednesday yoga. Then on Friday, I did a lot of meeting with partner orgs and whatnot (wherein I agreed to all sorts of shit! Farmwork! Salsa-dancing! Skill-shares!), and found my way to the Zocalo for what I hoped would be my last such meeting (no-show), and ended up running into some artist collective kids that were doing a public art thing about ending violence against women, as part of a bigger event. They invited me to make a painting myself, so I got all paint-covered and did that. Then I zoned out in my house for a while (did I mention it was HOT out?), went back out to a poetry reading as part of the same event, drank some coffee and went to a movie about the Juarez femicides that they projected outside near the Zocalo (Bajo Juarez, which is pretty good but also sad).
Yesterday I mostly lazied and read, and then today my supermarket friend and I went to Monte Alban, a huge Zapotec ruin that is featured in the cinematic masterpiece that is Nacho Libre. I started feeling a little gloomy, so I went to the market and bought lilies (regular-type) and calla lilies (two of my favorite kinds of flowers) and also a strawberry licuado, and came home and arranged the flowers. I think I am about to make some chickpea cutlets.
So! Things I have been thinking about.
For firsters, I have been reading the Pema, and there's some stuff in there about just feeling your emotions and not using them. I think I've been interested in this general idea for a while, but I think I also don't really get it. After all, isn't my anxiety a feeling? When I tried to "enjoy" my anxiety and just feel it and be okay with it, "settle with it", it didn't make for very good relationships with others. I'm not sure I'm a good little Buddhist. Meh. It's a journey, right? The reading on tonglen, on breathing our bad feelings in and breathing out a sort of prayer that there not be that same bad feeling for people everywhere, is kind of compelling.
I guess the most important thing for now is that nothing is the end of the world. Even when I feel like something is a life-or-death situation, usually I just breathe and get through it eventually (this may be my special "shield of crazy", huh?) and everything is fine until the next time. One of my good friends wrote me an update about his life this week and said he was starting to just do what he wanted and not worry: damn the torpedoes, he said. This is my new battle cry--it makes me feel awesome and brave every time. I used to have this fear that if I took everything one day at a time, I'd forget the big picture, but that's dumb, I can't because that's just not how I roll. The big picture is just always breathing, changing. Thank God.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
the minor fall, the major lift
Hm. Well, after last post's rant about different things, I had a lot of extra thinking to do, mostly to assuage my melting pot of feelings or whatever. Mexico is treating me very well. Because we run in such tight circles, we tend to see folks from the nonprofits we work with when we go to different events. This is extremely comforting. We also have a better grasp of what's going on, and I think I generally feel like more things are possible, which is a great feeling.
I guess I got a little weirded out after my father left. I am still trying to work through that.
But there's been neat stuff going on! Our Pema reading group meets tonight, there are Almodovar movies (my favorite) at the CASA, and there are a couple of neat things I am going to try to figure out to do with Aaaaali! I am so excited to have a visitor! Friends are fun! :)
Yesterday we went to an all-day meeting that was being held to commemorate the 25th anniversary of a fair trade organic coffee cooperative based here in Oaxaca. It was basically a crash course in fair trade organic coffee cooperatives and I have more questions than I did before we got there and now I know people who can answer them, which is a pretty good place to be. We didn't drink as much coffee as I thought we would. The meeting was held in a town that is famous for black clay pottery, which was mostly boring besides a few spectacular exceptions.
Then, on our way home we stopped at one of the many, many tiny hair salons right outside Abastos (the hell market, which I honestly like) and got our hair cut. The whole experience took maybe 15 minutes and cost about three dollars USD (for both Tony and me). (You just have to be really specific.)
Last night, we were going to go to some Mixe music presentation at the Graphic Arts Institute, but we went at the wrong time and missed it. Instead, we ended up meeting with a friend and her new friend and talking in Carmen Alto, one of the plazas in Oaxaca, this one generally full of hippie traveler jewelry-making kids. I got into a conversation with one of these kids, who was actually from Oaxaca, and it quickly got kind of awkward because, well, he was pretty drunk. He was explaining to me the origin of these dangly earrings he had made by saying "well, you have to understand the history of the conquest of Mexico. The Spanish came with their huge bows and arrows--"
(me) "and their horses!"
(kid) "Yes, and our arts were nothing in the face of their weapons--"
(me) "and of their horses!"
(kid) "Well, now we suffer so much. You people need to understand this."
(me) "Who is you people? What are you implying?!"
Anyway, the whole converation ended in the guy calling me easy and difficult at the same time (but not that kind of easy! as he then clarified), and then I walked away.
Then we came home and I was going to make cookies but realized I was missing some rather important ingredients, so I am making the cookies today. We ended up sitting around and discussing the art projects we're all either working on or thinking about and then we listened to Jeff Buckley, which was a good way to end a ridiculously long day.
Well, if all this stuff is going to get done, I'd better get started!
I guess I got a little weirded out after my father left. I am still trying to work through that.
But there's been neat stuff going on! Our Pema reading group meets tonight, there are Almodovar movies (my favorite) at the CASA, and there are a couple of neat things I am going to try to figure out to do with Aaaaali! I am so excited to have a visitor! Friends are fun! :)
Yesterday we went to an all-day meeting that was being held to commemorate the 25th anniversary of a fair trade organic coffee cooperative based here in Oaxaca. It was basically a crash course in fair trade organic coffee cooperatives and I have more questions than I did before we got there and now I know people who can answer them, which is a pretty good place to be. We didn't drink as much coffee as I thought we would. The meeting was held in a town that is famous for black clay pottery, which was mostly boring besides a few spectacular exceptions.
Then, on our way home we stopped at one of the many, many tiny hair salons right outside Abastos (the hell market, which I honestly like) and got our hair cut. The whole experience took maybe 15 minutes and cost about three dollars USD (for both Tony and me). (You just have to be really specific.)
Last night, we were going to go to some Mixe music presentation at the Graphic Arts Institute, but we went at the wrong time and missed it. Instead, we ended up meeting with a friend and her new friend and talking in Carmen Alto, one of the plazas in Oaxaca, this one generally full of hippie traveler jewelry-making kids. I got into a conversation with one of these kids, who was actually from Oaxaca, and it quickly got kind of awkward because, well, he was pretty drunk. He was explaining to me the origin of these dangly earrings he had made by saying "well, you have to understand the history of the conquest of Mexico. The Spanish came with their huge bows and arrows--"
(me) "and their horses!"
(kid) "Yes, and our arts were nothing in the face of their weapons--"
(me) "and of their horses!"
(kid) "Well, now we suffer so much. You people need to understand this."
(me) "Who is you people? What are you implying?!"
Anyway, the whole converation ended in the guy calling me easy and difficult at the same time (but not that kind of easy! as he then clarified), and then I walked away.
Then we came home and I was going to make cookies but realized I was missing some rather important ingredients, so I am making the cookies today. We ended up sitting around and discussing the art projects we're all either working on or thinking about and then we listened to Jeff Buckley, which was a good way to end a ridiculously long day.
Well, if all this stuff is going to get done, I'd better get started!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
hay que correr el riesgo
Well! I just had an awesome mini-vacation with my dad! We didn't do anything particularly interesting or anything, but it was still great. I have found that when I spend time with my family, especially with my parents but of course my brothers too, it has a way of making everything in my life seem so inconsequential, because everything is overshadowed by the love I feel for them and also my desperation to make them happy.
There are things I am not able to write well about. The problem is that they are things that I think about so much, to such overwhelming degrees of obsessiveness and detail and just plain time, that I could never render them down to the "right" level of simplicity. Probably one of these is my feelings for my family, and another one is my frustration with love.
Yes, love, which I have been thinking about a lot lately for a few obvious reasons (it was Valentine's Day, I am kind of lonely, my last relationship fucked me up, so on), is a strange thing. I have, probably like most people, worked myself into the situation of never wanting to love someone again, not really, anyway, because it just seems like too much trouble. (This is such a lofty and vastly untrue statement. Let's just work with it, though, for the purposes of this paragraph.) Even on my good days (which are many--let's face it, I am exceedingly lucky, even if I have never won anything that didn't require some work on my part), I sometimes think a little bit about the way things ended up and it grosses me out. I wish I could be like other people, who pretend there is no past and just look forward, but I cannot shake myself out of the question, "who are we if not the things we have loved and the things we have fought for?" The problem is that from there it's only a skip and a jump to wondering why someone wouldn't just honestly telling you that they will not be fighting for you, and what I decided when I was spending time with my father this week is that, despite the zeal with which I sometimes (often!) put myself through terrible things, I do not want to wonder about that ever again. Which is a thought that makes me smile.
So yeah, if I was to really tackle that subject, it would drone on and on for book-length soliloquys of nothingness, because at the end of the day, my experiments show...nothing.
Anyway, I met the guy from some famous band called El Recodo in the botanical garden in Toluca and he was very nice, and some government official asked me to photograph the two of them together and then I guess he was so grateful that he offered me a free trip to the zoo with 77 schoolchildren, which I promptly accepted. So on the bus with the schoolchildren I got to know a guy that worked for the organization that takes these rural kids to places like the zoo and the botanical garden and we got to talking about immigration and slavery and history and Mexican futbol. My father didn't get back from work til three in the morning, and then he jumped awake at 5, stumbled around until he found a phone in the dark, and called my mother to see how she was doing (she'd been sick). Then he went back to sleep.
My father and I spent lots of time together doing unremarkable things, and then this morning he went to the airport and I went to the bus station and that was that.
I spent a lot of the six-hour bus ride looking out the window. I was kind of lucky that this bus was making a stop in Nochixtlan first before heading into Oaxaca city, so I got to do some Mixteca sight-seeing. I was thinking about how hard I bucked against these landscapes, these hot, dry, sometimes almost lunar landscapes, when I first got here. I thought about how much I sometimes still wish to be in foggy wet mountains, either in North Carolina or in Colombia, eating some sweet corn thing and wishing I had a sweater. (I think some of this is nostalgia from forcing my roommates to watch the No Reservations Colombia episode again.) But now, I don't just look at these landscapes as my own experience (oh, yes, what follows is bullshit, but guys, it's also true!), I also think of them as the home that thousands have had to leave, that people living in some grey city in the North daydream about, missing the cactus and the soil-that-is-really-sand and the sun and their loved ones, the way I miss mine, and I am grateful, because even if I am not taking in surroundings that make me feel at home, and frankly I feel sick or at least uncomfortable most of the time, these surroundings are someone else's home that they miss and wish to return to, and this place at least tolerates me, in my scrappy-kid-pretention, and I will always love it for that.
And is it so wrong that I am in such a good mood that I am listening to this?
It is not.
Also, because I have been thinking about it, watch this one:
Cheers!
There are things I am not able to write well about. The problem is that they are things that I think about so much, to such overwhelming degrees of obsessiveness and detail and just plain time, that I could never render them down to the "right" level of simplicity. Probably one of these is my feelings for my family, and another one is my frustration with love.
Yes, love, which I have been thinking about a lot lately for a few obvious reasons (it was Valentine's Day, I am kind of lonely, my last relationship fucked me up, so on), is a strange thing. I have, probably like most people, worked myself into the situation of never wanting to love someone again, not really, anyway, because it just seems like too much trouble. (This is such a lofty and vastly untrue statement. Let's just work with it, though, for the purposes of this paragraph.) Even on my good days (which are many--let's face it, I am exceedingly lucky, even if I have never won anything that didn't require some work on my part), I sometimes think a little bit about the way things ended up and it grosses me out. I wish I could be like other people, who pretend there is no past and just look forward, but I cannot shake myself out of the question, "who are we if not the things we have loved and the things we have fought for?" The problem is that from there it's only a skip and a jump to wondering why someone wouldn't just honestly telling you that they will not be fighting for you, and what I decided when I was spending time with my father this week is that, despite the zeal with which I sometimes (often!) put myself through terrible things, I do not want to wonder about that ever again. Which is a thought that makes me smile.
So yeah, if I was to really tackle that subject, it would drone on and on for book-length soliloquys of nothingness, because at the end of the day, my experiments show...nothing.
Anyway, I met the guy from some famous band called El Recodo in the botanical garden in Toluca and he was very nice, and some government official asked me to photograph the two of them together and then I guess he was so grateful that he offered me a free trip to the zoo with 77 schoolchildren, which I promptly accepted. So on the bus with the schoolchildren I got to know a guy that worked for the organization that takes these rural kids to places like the zoo and the botanical garden and we got to talking about immigration and slavery and history and Mexican futbol. My father didn't get back from work til three in the morning, and then he jumped awake at 5, stumbled around until he found a phone in the dark, and called my mother to see how she was doing (she'd been sick). Then he went back to sleep.
My father and I spent lots of time together doing unremarkable things, and then this morning he went to the airport and I went to the bus station and that was that.
I spent a lot of the six-hour bus ride looking out the window. I was kind of lucky that this bus was making a stop in Nochixtlan first before heading into Oaxaca city, so I got to do some Mixteca sight-seeing. I was thinking about how hard I bucked against these landscapes, these hot, dry, sometimes almost lunar landscapes, when I first got here. I thought about how much I sometimes still wish to be in foggy wet mountains, either in North Carolina or in Colombia, eating some sweet corn thing and wishing I had a sweater. (I think some of this is nostalgia from forcing my roommates to watch the No Reservations Colombia episode again.) But now, I don't just look at these landscapes as my own experience (oh, yes, what follows is bullshit, but guys, it's also true!), I also think of them as the home that thousands have had to leave, that people living in some grey city in the North daydream about, missing the cactus and the soil-that-is-really-sand and the sun and their loved ones, the way I miss mine, and I am grateful, because even if I am not taking in surroundings that make me feel at home, and frankly I feel sick or at least uncomfortable most of the time, these surroundings are someone else's home that they miss and wish to return to, and this place at least tolerates me, in my scrappy-kid-pretention, and I will always love it for that.
And is it so wrong that I am in such a good mood that I am listening to this?
It is not.
Also, because I have been thinking about it, watch this one:
Cheers!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
February has redeemed itself!
I am quite sick (hence my lack of posts, just a gross cold), but I am about to pack to take an overnight bus to Mexico City! My dad flies in there at noon tomorrow and then we will ride up to Toluca together! I am so psyched. VISITS ARE THE BEST. Even when they are, uh, technically work trips.
Stuff is fine, the time off is really welcome, lots of new photos on the Flickr, more updates after my Toluca adventure!
Stuff is fine, the time off is really welcome, lots of new photos on the Flickr, more updates after my Toluca adventure!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
talvez te asombres
Boy, am I tired.
I'm still on delegation right now and today I got home from a town not too far away from here called Teotitlan del Valle, where there's a women-run weaving cooperative. They weave traditional Zapotec rugs and more modern stuff, but all made on traditional looms with local dyes. They showed us their whole project and all that. It was pretty interesting. I didn't really get any of the downtime that's intended for delegates during these visits, because I was interpreting for the delegates the whole time, which I think is just how these things go sometimes.
What I really did enjoy was how welcoming the families were. "Our" family was very kind and included the woman who had really pushed to form the weaving cooperative. I got to ask lots of questions and spend lots of time with her. Our first afternoon there, she made a really wonderful potato soup with tomato broth. It was just like my mom's soup. Spending time with these strong women and eating their amazing food (and having Pastora, our host, sit on the edge of my bed when I was sick with a migraine) made me feel really cared-for but also made me really homesick.
Just now, I got home and made some white rice. It's funny, the smells that really bring you back home--I made the rice the way my mom makes it, with a bit of onion and some vinegar in it, and the smell brought me right back to cooking with my mom.
Unfortunately, it's not often enough that I reflect on how lucky I am to have this experience: to be welcomed rather frequently into people's homes and shown their gardens, the important herbs in their cooking, and then many times be offered their food. It's amazing. And then to be shown the projects they've concocted with such care: in the past five days I've been offered basil from a rooftop vegetable garden, taught about tree bark that can be used for dyeing wool from a reforestation project, and offered tiny squares of Jell-O from someone's market stall in a corn husk. I didn't take a camera because I thought that would be weird, but it was all really beautiful.
I don't mean these things to brag, it's just that I realize I get so gloomy about Mexico and being far from my family and being lonely and all that, but the things I get to see and live (and, uh, eat) are really pretty amazing.
And, uh, exhausting. Southward, Christian soldiers!
I'm still on delegation right now and today I got home from a town not too far away from here called Teotitlan del Valle, where there's a women-run weaving cooperative. They weave traditional Zapotec rugs and more modern stuff, but all made on traditional looms with local dyes. They showed us their whole project and all that. It was pretty interesting. I didn't really get any of the downtime that's intended for delegates during these visits, because I was interpreting for the delegates the whole time, which I think is just how these things go sometimes.
What I really did enjoy was how welcoming the families were. "Our" family was very kind and included the woman who had really pushed to form the weaving cooperative. I got to ask lots of questions and spend lots of time with her. Our first afternoon there, she made a really wonderful potato soup with tomato broth. It was just like my mom's soup. Spending time with these strong women and eating their amazing food (and having Pastora, our host, sit on the edge of my bed when I was sick with a migraine) made me feel really cared-for but also made me really homesick.
Just now, I got home and made some white rice. It's funny, the smells that really bring you back home--I made the rice the way my mom makes it, with a bit of onion and some vinegar in it, and the smell brought me right back to cooking with my mom.
Unfortunately, it's not often enough that I reflect on how lucky I am to have this experience: to be welcomed rather frequently into people's homes and shown their gardens, the important herbs in their cooking, and then many times be offered their food. It's amazing. And then to be shown the projects they've concocted with such care: in the past five days I've been offered basil from a rooftop vegetable garden, taught about tree bark that can be used for dyeing wool from a reforestation project, and offered tiny squares of Jell-O from someone's market stall in a corn husk. I didn't take a camera because I thought that would be weird, but it was all really beautiful.
I don't mean these things to brag, it's just that I realize I get so gloomy about Mexico and being far from my family and being lonely and all that, but the things I get to see and live (and, uh, eat) are really pretty amazing.
And, uh, exhausting. Southward, Christian soldiers!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
if we don't get busted, hope we make it out alive
Today was a silly day. February 2nd is a holiday called La Candelaria, where you apparently get all 12 candles you will use for prayer and such purposes through the year (one per month, duh) blessed. Old ladies also get their porcelain baby Jesus sculptures outfitted in new satiny getups for the occasion. Also, whoever almost ate the plastic baby in the Dia de Reyes loaf must have thrown a tamaleada (party featuring tamales) by today, which means really that all the plastic baby slackers threw tamal parties today. I for one, ate two tamales: one was filled with a black bean paste, and I thought the other one was a rajas one, which means long slices of cooked peppers, but it was actually rajas and some sort of animal. I am pretty sure it was dark chicken meat, but not entirely sure.
To that effect, today I got lost in the bored old lady neighborhood of Oaxaca, where I ended up on my hunt for an X-acto knife. I have been bored lately and I thought a shiny new knife might be just the ticket to un-boring myself. However, X-acto knives are apparently sort of hard to find, and I ended up getting directed into a corner of town (southeast) that I'd never really had a reason to be in before. This part of town was full of stores that sell bored old lady things, like styrofoam balls, wooden dowels, different kinds of scissors, and everything you need to make a custom getup for your baby Jesus. Unfortunately, they had nothing in the way of knives, and I was directed to the Frida Kahlo art supply store.
A thing about stores that sell tiny things in Mexico: you can't touch anything, and most of the time, you can't even see stuff. Most of the time, you just walk up to a counter and say, "do you happen to have tiny knives" or batteries, or a notebook, or whatever tiny thing it is you were looking for, and they will present you with your options, which is to say, they will present you with the one thing they have that sounds the most like the thing you were looking for. No multiple options, no fingering packages and daydreaming until you make up your mind (someone is watching you, so that's creepy, right?), no fun. Shopping is not fun. Which is probably a good thing, if you really think about it (sense of purpose! and whatnot), but it's definitely a different kind of experience. Anyway, I ended up dawdling awkwardly at the art supply store regardless because I couldn't believe that they had an X-acto boxed set (actually a knock-off brand, X-cel) but not just a single knife. (I already have a well-loved X-acto boxed set somewhere among my things in Lenoir.) I showed the lady what I was talking about: you know, just that one, but she shook her head no.
Of course that was total bullshit because I found one buried in a glass case (couldn't touch it, just used my razor-sharp eyesight, naturally) under a bunch of linoleum tools. Victory!
Then, the day slowly wound down with noodles and blanched green beans and bad internet TV.
And then!
Frida/pitty the cat gets to go outside into the courtyard at night because that is when the useless grandma store (unclear what they sell there) is closed, so there is no risk of her ending up on the rough streets of the OAX. She usually comes in and out as she pleases and then we ring a bell, present her with some kibbles and everyone goes on their merry way to slumber, but when Tony tried to call her in tonight, she didn't answer. Everyone ended up participating in The Search, including our landlord-family. Finally, we went upstairs to the dogshit terrace to see if she was up there, and the landlord somehow spotted her a few roofs over. Eventually, we lured her back with food, and I guess she hadn't wanted to come back because she was scared of Barky Schnauzer and his huge dumb friend the Silent Retriever--I had to carry her through while she hissed ("Ain't fucking with me now, huh?" is what I think she was saying in Cat). The landlord, Gil, kept suggesting that perhaps she was en celo and I let Tony explain that she did not have the organos reproductivos anymore. Then, his wife, Maida, revealed to us that Frida had been exploring her hunting instincts, having somehow kidnapped their daughter's hamster and tried to devour it. Fortunately, Maida caught her in the act, so she spit it back out. The vet says that beyond the shock, the hamster is fine. I wonder how this connects to the pieces of toilet paper pitty seems to have killed and left in my room. Perhaps she thinks we deserve a higher quality of gift. I think I wish she'd dedicate her time to more useful endeavors, like making surprised faces or playing the piano, that I might one day post her on YouTube and become famous.
I mean. What?
All in all, not a failure. Happy belated baby Jesus outfit/candle blessing day!
To that effect, today I got lost in the bored old lady neighborhood of Oaxaca, where I ended up on my hunt for an X-acto knife. I have been bored lately and I thought a shiny new knife might be just the ticket to un-boring myself. However, X-acto knives are apparently sort of hard to find, and I ended up getting directed into a corner of town (southeast) that I'd never really had a reason to be in before. This part of town was full of stores that sell bored old lady things, like styrofoam balls, wooden dowels, different kinds of scissors, and everything you need to make a custom getup for your baby Jesus. Unfortunately, they had nothing in the way of knives, and I was directed to the Frida Kahlo art supply store.
A thing about stores that sell tiny things in Mexico: you can't touch anything, and most of the time, you can't even see stuff. Most of the time, you just walk up to a counter and say, "do you happen to have tiny knives" or batteries, or a notebook, or whatever tiny thing it is you were looking for, and they will present you with your options, which is to say, they will present you with the one thing they have that sounds the most like the thing you were looking for. No multiple options, no fingering packages and daydreaming until you make up your mind (someone is watching you, so that's creepy, right?), no fun. Shopping is not fun. Which is probably a good thing, if you really think about it (sense of purpose! and whatnot), but it's definitely a different kind of experience. Anyway, I ended up dawdling awkwardly at the art supply store regardless because I couldn't believe that they had an X-acto boxed set (actually a knock-off brand, X-cel) but not just a single knife. (I already have a well-loved X-acto boxed set somewhere among my things in Lenoir.) I showed the lady what I was talking about: you know, just that one, but she shook her head no.
Of course that was total bullshit because I found one buried in a glass case (couldn't touch it, just used my razor-sharp eyesight, naturally) under a bunch of linoleum tools. Victory!
Then, the day slowly wound down with noodles and blanched green beans and bad internet TV.
And then!
Frida/pitty the cat gets to go outside into the courtyard at night because that is when the useless grandma store (unclear what they sell there) is closed, so there is no risk of her ending up on the rough streets of the OAX. She usually comes in and out as she pleases and then we ring a bell, present her with some kibbles and everyone goes on their merry way to slumber, but when Tony tried to call her in tonight, she didn't answer. Everyone ended up participating in The Search, including our landlord-family. Finally, we went upstairs to the dogshit terrace to see if she was up there, and the landlord somehow spotted her a few roofs over. Eventually, we lured her back with food, and I guess she hadn't wanted to come back because she was scared of Barky Schnauzer and his huge dumb friend the Silent Retriever--I had to carry her through while she hissed ("Ain't fucking with me now, huh?" is what I think she was saying in Cat). The landlord, Gil, kept suggesting that perhaps she was en celo and I let Tony explain that she did not have the organos reproductivos anymore. Then, his wife, Maida, revealed to us that Frida had been exploring her hunting instincts, having somehow kidnapped their daughter's hamster and tried to devour it. Fortunately, Maida caught her in the act, so she spit it back out. The vet says that beyond the shock, the hamster is fine. I wonder how this connects to the pieces of toilet paper pitty seems to have killed and left in my room. Perhaps she thinks we deserve a higher quality of gift. I think I wish she'd dedicate her time to more useful endeavors, like making surprised faces or playing the piano, that I might one day post her on YouTube and become famous.
I mean. What?
All in all, not a failure. Happy belated baby Jesus outfit/candle blessing day!
Monday, February 1, 2010
sigh
I am really sorry if you are a person who reads this blog, because the following post is a downer. You might want to skip it. I'm just saying. It's pretty self-indulgent.
Today started out being a good day, with trips to small towns and churches and "probably" the biggest tree in Latin America. I realized, because the day was so calm and pleasant, how much weird anxiety is just wired into my life.
And then I got home and it sank back in and now I'm cranky about it. If you have no place to run to, when you are so far from what you know that you were probably just running in the first place, and the things you have to count on aren't things you can trust, what the hell are you supposed to do? I feel like a little island sometimes. Maybe like a little island with a nuclear power plant on it. I know this is bad, this is harmful. I am sometimes worried about how hard it is for me to not be an ugly person in this situation.
Anyway. Rant over. The tiny church at the big tree, the Tule, was quite pretty, and surrounded by tourists. On the other hand, surprisingly, the church at Tlacolula, which shuts down its central streets for a huge Sunday market, didn't seem to be getting too much tourist attention, but was basically one of the prettiest churches I've ever seen (and I've seen A LOT of churches).
I also helped Tony make some bread that turned out pretty well. Bread is fun, it is the science-y-est of baking projects. You can tell the things that made a difference every time, and it's fun to predict how things will be different if you change a few measurements or ingredients or temperatures around next time.
I'm pretty unmotivated about the things I like right now. I've been forcing myself to take pictures because I know that eventually I'll want them, and besides my cheer-up efforts definitely have put me in the way of some really beautiful things, but I'm grumpy about it. I'm grumpy about cooking and about making art lately, too. It just feels like it's in vain or something. I'm trying really hard to pretend I care about that stuff anyway, I'm not sure why. At least work is still awesome. The delegates arrive on the fifth, and I'm excited to work with them!
This will be fiiiine.
Today started out being a good day, with trips to small towns and churches and "probably" the biggest tree in Latin America. I realized, because the day was so calm and pleasant, how much weird anxiety is just wired into my life.
And then I got home and it sank back in and now I'm cranky about it. If you have no place to run to, when you are so far from what you know that you were probably just running in the first place, and the things you have to count on aren't things you can trust, what the hell are you supposed to do? I feel like a little island sometimes. Maybe like a little island with a nuclear power plant on it. I know this is bad, this is harmful. I am sometimes worried about how hard it is for me to not be an ugly person in this situation.
Anyway. Rant over. The tiny church at the big tree, the Tule, was quite pretty, and surrounded by tourists. On the other hand, surprisingly, the church at Tlacolula, which shuts down its central streets for a huge Sunday market, didn't seem to be getting too much tourist attention, but was basically one of the prettiest churches I've ever seen (and I've seen A LOT of churches).
I also helped Tony make some bread that turned out pretty well. Bread is fun, it is the science-y-est of baking projects. You can tell the things that made a difference every time, and it's fun to predict how things will be different if you change a few measurements or ingredients or temperatures around next time.
I'm pretty unmotivated about the things I like right now. I've been forcing myself to take pictures because I know that eventually I'll want them, and besides my cheer-up efforts definitely have put me in the way of some really beautiful things, but I'm grumpy about it. I'm grumpy about cooking and about making art lately, too. It just feels like it's in vain or something. I'm trying really hard to pretend I care about that stuff anyway, I'm not sure why. At least work is still awesome. The delegates arrive on the fifth, and I'm excited to work with them!
This will be fiiiine.
Friday, January 29, 2010
zen
So, you know how when there are mosquitoes around, sometimes you do that thing where you swat at them by trying to catch them midflight, except that you never do actually catch them?
In the span of two minutes, I just caught two mosquitoes. In the dark.
I'm getting good at you, Mexico. Be-fucking-ware.
In the span of two minutes, I just caught two mosquitoes. In the dark.
I'm getting good at you, Mexico. Be-fucking-ware.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
so don't count your blessings yet
I am losing momentum, but I have been looking at lots of pretty stuff and also I have some tricks up my sleeves, so things are not all bad. I realized some unfortunate shit today. For one, it's only been three weeks since I came back to Mexico from Christmas break. What the fuck. That feels like months ago. Also, it's almost February.
Fuck.
Remember February? And by that, mostly I mean, remember last February? The month of blanket and couch and cat? The month of not getting off the couch, ever? Yeah. I hate February. Doesn't everyone?
Clearly, there are a few solutions: massive amounts of vegan mac and cheese (Allison, I am forever in your debt), watching scary movies with team Lalo (Paranormal Activity is really fucked up), recovering from scary movies by watching this:
and, well, other stuff, too.
It is of the utmost importance to look at pretty things and be upside down. Fortunately I live in a city where those things are very likely. And also, I found this: http://www.amandawachobtattoo.com/
We can make it through this month together, folks! And then it will be over, and it'll be March, and I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
Fuck.
Remember February? And by that, mostly I mean, remember last February? The month of blanket and couch and cat? The month of not getting off the couch, ever? Yeah. I hate February. Doesn't everyone?
Clearly, there are a few solutions: massive amounts of vegan mac and cheese (Allison, I am forever in your debt), watching scary movies with team Lalo (Paranormal Activity is really fucked up), recovering from scary movies by watching this:
and, well, other stuff, too.
It is of the utmost importance to look at pretty things and be upside down. Fortunately I live in a city where those things are very likely. And also, I found this: http://www.amandawachobtattoo.com/
We can make it through this month together, folks! And then it will be over, and it'll be March, and I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
send the autos swerving
It's a silly weekend so far.
Last night, we went to Tony and Betty's birthday party on Betty's roof. I tried to bake a birthday cake--twice. Both were failures. It sucked a lot. I've never had a baking fail quite like that. The COMI people couldn't believe it (my Christmas cake still hanging like a fond memory, I guess), everyone was really sweet about it, "I'm sure it was fiiiine." The party was fun, I hung out with team Lalo and drank a little more than I should've, but still enough to go home pretty early and all in one piece.
At the party we agreed that today we would go to a place where seafood buffet is free with drinks (?) since it was a coworker's last day in town, and then to a place called the Sports Bar (pronounced more like "esporrbar"). Esporrbar was very exciting and featured American bar food, which probably sounds like a lame thing to admit but once you've been anywhere long enough (not that long) you start to miss dumb stuff. Anyway, the drinking adventure started at like 3 so by 8 we were home and shiftless. At Esporrbar we sat in the VIP room which meant that we could request videos on the flatscreen TV, so we requested Beyonce and then Queen. The Beyonce set came without the "Single Ladies" video, and that was kind of sad, but it was a pretty good selection.
Anyway, all of that was whatever. The real reason I am posting is that thanks to the dark depths of the internet, I actually found this:
I totally remember seeing this article in Seventeen when I was, well, seventeen, and suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the way I'd been listening to Weezer and being vegan and wearing Doc Marten mary-janes (though mine were red and Liria randomly bought them for me). I think I kind of knew that I hadn't just made all of those things up on my own, and I think I also knew that they weren't some sort of ultimate expression of my personal uniqueness (as I would learn that there isn't one), but it was still pretty awkward.
And I love awkward, so I'm pretty thrilled I rediscovered it.
Also, I am totally wasting too much good material on this post in which I say almost nothing--seriously, Tony and I had some highly effective and pretty fascinating processing today and I am not even talking about that shit--because, well, I can't just keep this shit to myself:
Enjoy!
Last night, we went to Tony and Betty's birthday party on Betty's roof. I tried to bake a birthday cake--twice. Both were failures. It sucked a lot. I've never had a baking fail quite like that. The COMI people couldn't believe it (my Christmas cake still hanging like a fond memory, I guess), everyone was really sweet about it, "I'm sure it was fiiiine." The party was fun, I hung out with team Lalo and drank a little more than I should've, but still enough to go home pretty early and all in one piece.
At the party we agreed that today we would go to a place where seafood buffet is free with drinks (?) since it was a coworker's last day in town, and then to a place called the Sports Bar (pronounced more like "esporrbar"). Esporrbar was very exciting and featured American bar food, which probably sounds like a lame thing to admit but once you've been anywhere long enough (not that long) you start to miss dumb stuff. Anyway, the drinking adventure started at like 3 so by 8 we were home and shiftless. At Esporrbar we sat in the VIP room which meant that we could request videos on the flatscreen TV, so we requested Beyonce and then Queen. The Beyonce set came without the "Single Ladies" video, and that was kind of sad, but it was a pretty good selection.
Anyway, all of that was whatever. The real reason I am posting is that thanks to the dark depths of the internet, I actually found this:
I totally remember seeing this article in Seventeen when I was, well, seventeen, and suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the way I'd been listening to Weezer and being vegan and wearing Doc Marten mary-janes (though mine were red and Liria randomly bought them for me). I think I kind of knew that I hadn't just made all of those things up on my own, and I think I also knew that they weren't some sort of ultimate expression of my personal uniqueness (as I would learn that there isn't one), but it was still pretty awkward.
And I love awkward, so I'm pretty thrilled I rediscovered it.
Also, I am totally wasting too much good material on this post in which I say almost nothing--seriously, Tony and I had some highly effective and pretty fascinating processing today and I am not even talking about that shit--because, well, I can't just keep this shit to myself:
Enjoy!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
wonder of wonders
Yeah, that's right, folks!
I, mighty hater of all that is computerized, finally got tired of the way the blog looked, decided I didn't really like any of the pre-made blogger templates exactly the way they were, and learned enough HTML to make minor changes. Nothing too crazy, but still, I can't believe I figured out enough of this crap. Expect more changes to the layout in the future. I'm pretty excited. That was a pretty intense dorkout.
Also, today was apparently "there will be at least two clowns performing on any bus you take" day in the city of Oaxaca. I don't know why. But they all had face paint, and it was disgusting.
Also, winter is over. No complaining here.
I, mighty hater of all that is computerized, finally got tired of the way the blog looked, decided I didn't really like any of the pre-made blogger templates exactly the way they were, and learned enough HTML to make minor changes. Nothing too crazy, but still, I can't believe I figured out enough of this crap. Expect more changes to the layout in the future. I'm pretty excited. That was a pretty intense dorkout.
Also, today was apparently "there will be at least two clowns performing on any bus you take" day in the city of Oaxaca. I don't know why. But they all had face paint, and it was disgusting.
Also, winter is over. No complaining here.
Monday, January 18, 2010
glass houses
Finally, the sun is back out! There were some gloomy-looking days back there, with lots of clouds and sudden cold. Finally, things are falling into place again, and the nights don't seem quite so harsh. I still sleep in my sleeping bag and a wool blanket. But today, the sun was bright and we went on a pretty walk through a fancy part of town. The resentment of the past few days (mostly due to the living/working situation and feeling trapped in the OAX) has worn off. I've been shooting some expired 120 mm slide film--the fact that it's expired makes the results even less predictable than usual. Some are good, some are bad, some old ones I just got back are making me a little nostalgic, like this one:
But things have been okay, the delegation (which I wasn't working on) just got done with what seems like a lot of success, and consequently we had a busy weekend of going out and ended up throwing a spur-of-the-moment dinner party. We spent the last day of the delegation at a really pretty place off Reforma, a convent for ailing nuns:
We found a new market, the 20 de Noviembre market (which seems like an offshoot of Juarez, but so, so much better), where they mostly sell prepared food and juice (I got a chocolate-banana licuado). Anyway, after I got grumpy because I was hungry and pressured Tony into said licuado spot we managed to plan a dinner for eight and came off with this:
It was pretty tasty. I can't stop making oven fries. The other day I made seitan jambalaya (oh nutritional yeast, your wonders never cease) and ate most of it, too. So, yeah, potatoes and rice--I am going to gain a hundred pounds and enjoy every minute of it. The dinner party turned into a Youtube party, where we watched:
That song is sweet enough on its own, but the video is really great.
Yesterday was a great day, after all that stuff. We rested up and went to the train station market in the afternoon, the circus was back in town! Mostly they just did acrobatic things and slow-motion fight moves, but it was a lot of fun. (Photos forthcoming--ah, film delay.) Then, Tony and I ran some errands in town and I ate esquites for the first time! Esquites are kernels of white corn cooked with epazote, and served in a styrofoam cup with mayonnaise, cheese, lime juice, and chili pepper. I had been scared for a long time. Now, my love of corn products is no secret, but mostly I was afraid of all that crap they pile on there (how does that shit not curdle?!), but it was a really weirdly satisfying food. Then we had gelato and came home and watched The Hills. All in all, I'd call it a successful weekend.
The week is exciting, getting stuff finalized for a delegation and maybe being able to fill the time in ways that are better than watching incessant amounts of MTV (even though, let's be honest, it is pretty satisfying. Especially now that we play "the game"--drawing parallels between those girls' lives and our own: "So like, when LC has to go to Italy for work, it's like when they send us to Chiapas on the bus. Right?" "So when LC and Whitney had to go to New York City for one day to work a fashion show, it's just like when Betty had to go to Mexico City for one day to fix our visas. Right?"). I guess I play that game, sometimes I play a "Poeta Garcia Madero" game, sometimes I just stare at people, and when I am in a particularly bad mood I play "Holden Caulfield", which is sort of a good game in that it will get you through bad times, but it makes strangers think you are crazy, which can be good or bad. I play that game at the supermarket a lot.
Which reminds me!
I found a "big" Soriana (this weekend I found out there is actually a bigger Soriana somewhere else) but basically I've had this theory that somewhere in Oaxaca there is a gigantic strip mall with a big-box grocery store wherein all my dreams will come true: pie tins, cheeses (not just the balls of Oaxaca cheese or "tipo Manchego" (hence all the vegan mac-making)), razors, ketchup, canned beans that don't just come in "black" and "Mexican-type", you know, normal stuff. Well, the one that I found had some of that stuff! It was exciting!
Happy monday, folks! Now it's on to yoga class and vegan mac and cheese adventure, part 2!
But things have been okay, the delegation (which I wasn't working on) just got done with what seems like a lot of success, and consequently we had a busy weekend of going out and ended up throwing a spur-of-the-moment dinner party. We spent the last day of the delegation at a really pretty place off Reforma, a convent for ailing nuns:
We found a new market, the 20 de Noviembre market (which seems like an offshoot of Juarez, but so, so much better), where they mostly sell prepared food and juice (I got a chocolate-banana licuado). Anyway, after I got grumpy because I was hungry and pressured Tony into said licuado spot we managed to plan a dinner for eight and came off with this:
It was pretty tasty. I can't stop making oven fries. The other day I made seitan jambalaya (oh nutritional yeast, your wonders never cease) and ate most of it, too. So, yeah, potatoes and rice--I am going to gain a hundred pounds and enjoy every minute of it. The dinner party turned into a Youtube party, where we watched:
That song is sweet enough on its own, but the video is really great.
Then if you're familiar with the DC area, you might enjoy:
And then of course, to tie things up, there was:
Yesterday was a great day, after all that stuff. We rested up and went to the train station market in the afternoon, the circus was back in town! Mostly they just did acrobatic things and slow-motion fight moves, but it was a lot of fun. (Photos forthcoming--ah, film delay.) Then, Tony and I ran some errands in town and I ate esquites for the first time! Esquites are kernels of white corn cooked with epazote, and served in a styrofoam cup with mayonnaise, cheese, lime juice, and chili pepper. I had been scared for a long time. Now, my love of corn products is no secret, but mostly I was afraid of all that crap they pile on there (how does that shit not curdle?!), but it was a really weirdly satisfying food. Then we had gelato and came home and watched The Hills. All in all, I'd call it a successful weekend.
The week is exciting, getting stuff finalized for a delegation and maybe being able to fill the time in ways that are better than watching incessant amounts of MTV (even though, let's be honest, it is pretty satisfying. Especially now that we play "the game"--drawing parallels between those girls' lives and our own: "So like, when LC has to go to Italy for work, it's like when they send us to Chiapas on the bus. Right?" "So when LC and Whitney had to go to New York City for one day to work a fashion show, it's just like when Betty had to go to Mexico City for one day to fix our visas. Right?"). I guess I play that game, sometimes I play a "Poeta Garcia Madero" game, sometimes I just stare at people, and when I am in a particularly bad mood I play "Holden Caulfield", which is sort of a good game in that it will get you through bad times, but it makes strangers think you are crazy, which can be good or bad. I play that game at the supermarket a lot.
Which reminds me!
I found a "big" Soriana (this weekend I found out there is actually a bigger Soriana somewhere else) but basically I've had this theory that somewhere in Oaxaca there is a gigantic strip mall with a big-box grocery store wherein all my dreams will come true: pie tins, cheeses (not just the balls of Oaxaca cheese or "tipo Manchego" (hence all the vegan mac-making)), razors, ketchup, canned beans that don't just come in "black" and "Mexican-type", you know, normal stuff. Well, the one that I found had some of that stuff! It was exciting!
Happy monday, folks! Now it's on to yoga class and vegan mac and cheese adventure, part 2!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
or any other random spirit lover
It rained! Which is how we found out that our roof has a leak in it, and some of our books were ruined! Yesssss! It's the first time it's rained since I've lived in Oaxaca, and it's really not supposed to rain until the rainy season, and also it's cold. It's a perfect oatmeal morning.
There's been a lot to look at and think about the past few days, and that funny thing happened where I kept putting off writing about it and now none of it seems very important. Sigh. But really, I guess the point is that since I returned, I've been feeling quite lucky to live in a place where there's lots to look at and think about and where the days are beautiful and the sunsets are satisfying. Even if I can't stand the food :P
Well, let's get started: I went back to America, which was wonderful, and I probably saw you and it was probably really great to see you, unless I didn't see you and Ali, I am so sorry I didn't get to see you. I spent lots of time with my niece and nephews, which was fantastic. My niece got a full piano from Santa Claus, and she played some stuff for us (Chopin, Christmas stuff, and something she's been writing). If there is anything that can apparently make me cry like a baby, it's my nine-year-old piano genius niece. In general, though, the kids are all so sweet and funny and playing with them was wonderful. My mom made lots of empanadas (broccoli and cauliflower ones for me) and buñuelos, which I definitely ate a huge share of.
I spent a lot of time thinking about things that matter and things that don't matter and how many things that don't seem to matter made me so sick. Heartbreak always seems kind of silly in retrospect, I guess.
Once I got back to Oaxaca, it was sunny and busy and the city didn't seem to look over its shoulder to notice my return, which made it easier for me to messily try to assume my place along its jumbled ranks. I got right back into work, which is all about some Mexican sustainable agriculture right now. I am reading lots of great articles, and I went to a meeting with the Mexican postmodern superstar Gustavo Esteva himself. The meeting is basically about the coming insurrection and our place in it. It was a really silly meeting and it made me uncomfortable, mostly because it seemed like Esteva was taking a whole lot of space and it was all really academic (even in its references to the EZ) and I looked around at his listeners to find that I was easily one of the youngest and that the crowd was about half foreigners and half Oaxacans. In other words, not what I would consider optimal insurrection conditions. Finally, Esteva got down to business and started suggesting potential actions (I think, especially, since some folks may not have understood what he meant by "actions"), and his one suggestion was, "Say we all organize ourselves and in the middle of the night, we plant seedlings all over the city." Someone countered that planting green things is the city's job, and Esteva refuted that argument, claiming, "No, the city's job, based on the city's desires, is to cover more things with concrete. Our job, based on our desires, is to cover those same public spaces with green things. We want those things." I thought that was awesome, and I figured I could probably warm him up to puppets after a while, so I think I'll probably keep going to those meetings.
There are a lot of thoughts that come and go my way during the days, about animals, children, politics, indigenous rights, recipes, colors, and whatever other stuff, but most of the time, it all seems like the most important thing in the world at the moment, and then I forget about it. Ah, the stuff of life.
At some point this week, I became angry and was glad that I have such good coworkers, because Tony introduced me to the Ani DiFranco (would you believe I never had that phase?) and then we made a cream sauce and ate it with pasta and I made molasses cookies. Then, I talked Tony into loaning me one of his new Pema Chödrön books. It was a very effective course of action.
Today, mostly out of boredom and alone-ness (as opposed to loneliness, which is sad), I decided to make some homemade vegetable broth to use in recipes in the next few weeks. I ended up, for a few reasons (it's Saturday, I had to buy things for Betty and Tony's delegation, I had nothing better to do, I was taking pictures anyway), going to three different markets and also the grocery store.
First, I went to El Pochote, the organic market. The greens man, whom I am falling in love with a little because he is so sheepish but most importantly because of his ability to provide me with things like huge bouquets of chard with a little peach ladybug or a tiny cauliflower ("it is for two people," he says), surely had a beautiful tableful of stuff today, and he even let me take a picture. I got coffee and tomatoes there, too. Then, on to Xiguela, where I found the snacks for the delegation (amaranth-y things), tahini, tofu, and ginger. After that, I hit up the Soledad market--there, I got a juice from the old juice man (beet and grapefruit), potatoes, and a couple of onions. I left all that stuff at my house and rested up for the biggest errand of the day. None of the other markets had had any fruit, which we needed for the delegation, so I decided to go to Abastos (which you may remember, is the market from hell). At Abastos, I found rosemary (at a healer's stall) and fruit, as well as a ridiculously cheap one-kilo bag of beautiful pecans. Abastos is crazy, especially on Saturdays, especially on a cold, rainy day. Everyone is shouting at you to buy something. The thing is, if you can think of it, they probably have it (or at least a Chinese rip-off version of it).
Finally, I went to the supermarket and had my typical Mexican supermarket experience, wherein I am looking for something that seems unremarkable, say orange juice, a pie tin, a package containing less than 30 eggs, and they don't have it. Not that they ran out of it, just that they don't sell it. When this happened, I used to be able to just shrug and keep walking, but the more time I spend in Mexico, the more I find myself just staring into the space where whatever I am looking for "should" be, thinking that maybe if I wait just long enough, it will somehow arrive. Come on. Orange juice. Seriously.
After I finished all these errands, I came home and made the vegetable broth, which I then froze in ice cube trays. Then, I decided that maybe I should make a pie out of some of those pecans that I'd found at the market. Then, I thought about how much I like bourbon with pecan pie, and I remembered the tiny bottle of Maker's Mark (mmmm) that Charlie gave me for Christmas, and I reasoned that I should make some bourbon whipped cream to go with the pecan pie, so I went ahead and did that, too.
So yeah, today I was ridiculous. I feel like in some ways, I'm treading water trying to get back in the swing of things. But most of the time, even though I'm running around all crazy and doing eight things at once, I really enjoy at least six of those things, and I can sit back at the end of the day and be a little satisfied, so maybe that's okay.
There's been a lot to look at and think about the past few days, and that funny thing happened where I kept putting off writing about it and now none of it seems very important. Sigh. But really, I guess the point is that since I returned, I've been feeling quite lucky to live in a place where there's lots to look at and think about and where the days are beautiful and the sunsets are satisfying. Even if I can't stand the food :P
Well, let's get started: I went back to America, which was wonderful, and I probably saw you and it was probably really great to see you, unless I didn't see you and Ali, I am so sorry I didn't get to see you. I spent lots of time with my niece and nephews, which was fantastic. My niece got a full piano from Santa Claus, and she played some stuff for us (Chopin, Christmas stuff, and something she's been writing). If there is anything that can apparently make me cry like a baby, it's my nine-year-old piano genius niece. In general, though, the kids are all so sweet and funny and playing with them was wonderful. My mom made lots of empanadas (broccoli and cauliflower ones for me) and buñuelos, which I definitely ate a huge share of.
I spent a lot of time thinking about things that matter and things that don't matter and how many things that don't seem to matter made me so sick. Heartbreak always seems kind of silly in retrospect, I guess.
Once I got back to Oaxaca, it was sunny and busy and the city didn't seem to look over its shoulder to notice my return, which made it easier for me to messily try to assume my place along its jumbled ranks. I got right back into work, which is all about some Mexican sustainable agriculture right now. I am reading lots of great articles, and I went to a meeting with the Mexican postmodern superstar Gustavo Esteva himself. The meeting is basically about the coming insurrection and our place in it. It was a really silly meeting and it made me uncomfortable, mostly because it seemed like Esteva was taking a whole lot of space and it was all really academic (even in its references to the EZ) and I looked around at his listeners to find that I was easily one of the youngest and that the crowd was about half foreigners and half Oaxacans. In other words, not what I would consider optimal insurrection conditions. Finally, Esteva got down to business and started suggesting potential actions (I think, especially, since some folks may not have understood what he meant by "actions"), and his one suggestion was, "Say we all organize ourselves and in the middle of the night, we plant seedlings all over the city." Someone countered that planting green things is the city's job, and Esteva refuted that argument, claiming, "No, the city's job, based on the city's desires, is to cover more things with concrete. Our job, based on our desires, is to cover those same public spaces with green things. We want those things." I thought that was awesome, and I figured I could probably warm him up to puppets after a while, so I think I'll probably keep going to those meetings.
There are a lot of thoughts that come and go my way during the days, about animals, children, politics, indigenous rights, recipes, colors, and whatever other stuff, but most of the time, it all seems like the most important thing in the world at the moment, and then I forget about it. Ah, the stuff of life.
At some point this week, I became angry and was glad that I have such good coworkers, because Tony introduced me to the Ani DiFranco (would you believe I never had that phase?) and then we made a cream sauce and ate it with pasta and I made molasses cookies. Then, I talked Tony into loaning me one of his new Pema Chödrön books. It was a very effective course of action.
Today, mostly out of boredom and alone-ness (as opposed to loneliness, which is sad), I decided to make some homemade vegetable broth to use in recipes in the next few weeks. I ended up, for a few reasons (it's Saturday, I had to buy things for Betty and Tony's delegation, I had nothing better to do, I was taking pictures anyway), going to three different markets and also the grocery store.
First, I went to El Pochote, the organic market. The greens man, whom I am falling in love with a little because he is so sheepish but most importantly because of his ability to provide me with things like huge bouquets of chard with a little peach ladybug or a tiny cauliflower ("it is for two people," he says), surely had a beautiful tableful of stuff today, and he even let me take a picture. I got coffee and tomatoes there, too. Then, on to Xiguela, where I found the snacks for the delegation (amaranth-y things), tahini, tofu, and ginger. After that, I hit up the Soledad market--there, I got a juice from the old juice man (beet and grapefruit), potatoes, and a couple of onions. I left all that stuff at my house and rested up for the biggest errand of the day. None of the other markets had had any fruit, which we needed for the delegation, so I decided to go to Abastos (which you may remember, is the market from hell). At Abastos, I found rosemary (at a healer's stall) and fruit, as well as a ridiculously cheap one-kilo bag of beautiful pecans. Abastos is crazy, especially on Saturdays, especially on a cold, rainy day. Everyone is shouting at you to buy something. The thing is, if you can think of it, they probably have it (or at least a Chinese rip-off version of it).
Finally, I went to the supermarket and had my typical Mexican supermarket experience, wherein I am looking for something that seems unremarkable, say orange juice, a pie tin, a package containing less than 30 eggs, and they don't have it. Not that they ran out of it, just that they don't sell it. When this happened, I used to be able to just shrug and keep walking, but the more time I spend in Mexico, the more I find myself just staring into the space where whatever I am looking for "should" be, thinking that maybe if I wait just long enough, it will somehow arrive. Come on. Orange juice. Seriously.
After I finished all these errands, I came home and made the vegetable broth, which I then froze in ice cube trays. Then, I decided that maybe I should make a pie out of some of those pecans that I'd found at the market. Then, I thought about how much I like bourbon with pecan pie, and I remembered the tiny bottle of Maker's Mark (mmmm) that Charlie gave me for Christmas, and I reasoned that I should make some bourbon whipped cream to go with the pecan pie, so I went ahead and did that, too.
So yeah, today I was ridiculous. I feel like in some ways, I'm treading water trying to get back in the swing of things. But most of the time, even though I'm running around all crazy and doing eight things at once, I really enjoy at least six of those things, and I can sit back at the end of the day and be a little satisfied, so maybe that's okay.
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