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.

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.

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.

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.

(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!