Nor-Cal to North Sea #3: If you want to use my body...

The discussion around incentivized living donation is indeed a contentious one. My research in the Netherlands included hearing some professional discussions on this topic which I covered in my thesis. I don't think that this story covers some of the more creative options, like providing life long health care guarantees as incentives for donation. Also, it doesn't adequately broach the HUGE issue of inequalities that pervades any discussion on what incentives appeal to which populations, but for getting the polemic arguments out there, this newly posted video is a decent primer. What is of interest to me is how this discussion is framed in the mainstream. I also wonder how effective man on the street opinions are in this piece, or in any TV news piece for that matter. They always make me think of the brilliant Fry and Laurie Vox Pops:



And in the latest news on incentivized cadaveric donation, Death Reference Desk just posted this.

For you fun seekers out there, I will post (and probably re-post) the greatest anthem to intercorporeality and the usage of body:



Oh those college days seeing these guys in the Grove House before their major label deal.

Way to go Arizona

First it's immigrants so that prison industry can profit. Now its people who can't afford live-saving transplants (NYT coverage).

Why isn't there more outrage, one blog asks. Indeed, this points to how transplantation and its high price is a sticking point in debates about health care rationing.

Ya know people, hips don't lie.

HIV renal transplants in South Africa

Check this out. Another transplantation landmark in South Africa.

Yes, working on my thesis, so very little posting for the last several months, but this is thesis relevant!

Found out about it here: http://www.salon.com/news/feature/2010/06/16/us_med_hiv_kidney_transplants/index.html

This is the original correspondence:

http://content.nejm.org/cgi/content/full/362/24/2336

Genius.

Via e-patients.net

SFUSD: it can eff up sometimes, but we are on the brink of triumph

There's a campaign in the San Francisco Unified School District for funding to start up a 9th grade Ethnic Studies course. This would be a great way to integrate social justice into the educational experience for young people, promoting for pre-collegiate discovery of the power of diversity awareness and activism, something sorely lacking from high school save for a few enlightened teachers. Teacher friends, can you corroborate? And given SF's history of having the first ethnic studies program in the U.S. at San Francisco State University, this would be a great way to acknowledge and continue that legacy.

This would be such an amazing addition to the cirriculum, and one that I wish I had as a teenager. Much more useful than AP European History, even though I still have love for Mr. Granucci and that course...

I hope that they make this happen because for all its faulty crap, one of the things that I really liked about going to public school in SF (I'll admit it, this prob has to do with the fact that my mom made sure I went to the quality ones--and there's a lot of things that need to change in the system overall) was that there has never been some creationist whackadoo junk, or abstinence only sex ed, but instead there were field trips to backstage at the opera, $5 symphony tickets, and musicals about AIDS (this was before RENT, people). Indeed, it's one of the aspects of growing up in a city that fosters such values as a unique part of its ethos. The success of this campaign would be just one more thing that makes me proud to be a native San Franciscan.

For those of you in the Bay Area, there's a meeting this Tuesday, January 12th. You can also sign the petition (which I've done), among other things that only take a minute to make this awesome thing happen.

More information via the Hyphen blog here.

Holiday Happy Time

Well, it's 2010 and that can only mean that its time to look back on the holiday goodness that was bestowed upon me. Sure, it was super cold(I am a California girl), but tempering that was the warmth of love surrounding me.

Yuletide Destination: Paris, my very first time in France!

Some France Gall to set the mood (little 5/4 gem for y'alls):



With all the crazy snow, trains were getting cancelled left and right in Europe, and I never thought that my penny pinching decision to take the bus would prove clairvoyant. But it did, and I got to Paris with hardly a hitch. Joyousness suffused every fiber of my being seeing two of my dearest friends in the whole wide world waiting at the bus station in Paris, Erin and Slaven.

We headed Slaven's studio, situated at the foot of the Sacre Coeur in Montmartre. Activities included plenty of flaneur style wandering, lots of noodle consumption (going for nearly 5 months without Pho is hell and I intended to make up for it), baguette purchasing galore, winter essentials shopping with Erin, and cinema pilgrimages: Truffaut's grave in Montmartre cemetery, the Cinematheque Francaise (my favorite items at their museum were Catherine Deneuve's Donkey Skin from Jacques Demy's film Peau d'Ane, and the telegrams from all the filmmakers who had supported Langlois in '68), and a screening of Buster Keaton's The General.

We did midnight mass at the Sacre Coeur, replete with choir and a service in French that only Slav could understand. For Christmas itself, we did it up with home made crepes, and ate curry the following day. Curry Crepe Christmas!

Here's a link to the photos.

Then it was back on the bus to Leiden, where I met up with Machilu, a friend I made in Cape Town, who's now studying in Italy. It had been two years since we'd seen each other, but it felt like no time had passed. Also met her BF Vincent, who studies in England. They had been in Holland well before I left, since Vince has family here that they were visiting. So it was three days in a row with them, just chatting and of course eating loads of delicious stuff from dim sum to oliebollen. We did a little day trip to Delft, and then discovering that pre-midnight there was nothing but firecrackers in Leiden just danced up a storm to music vids and clinked our champie glasses to ring in the New Year's in Koudekerk, a village near Leiden where Vince's relatives live.

Piccies right here.

'Twas lovely times, even if I couldn't be with the bio-family for the first time in my life. A great denouement to 2009 and auspicious launch to 2010.

Swedish dreamscapes

Recently I took a trip to Stockholm, Sweden.

Here is the link to the picture album.

Sorry, I can't be more elaborate, but I think the unreal blazes of golden fall colors, and the preciousness of Stockholm will be enough to enrapture you.

Hey white friends (and POC alike), call it like you see it!

This is a nice short article about Jimmy Carter and anti-racist whiteness from The Root.

Here's a passage from it:

But the response to President Carter by leaders of his own Party reflects a critical problem that helps explain why our discourse about race is so often smothered before it even takes its first breath. Whites are often reluctant to call out racism because they know that they will stand alone. Too often, those whites who are courageous and honest enough to break the wall of silence that surrounds race, are rewarded by ostracism and denunciation. They are left alone to defend publicly what is understood and only spoken about behind closed doors. Their candor is instead regarded as a kind of transgression, the violation of a silent pact – one made among anti-racist whites -- who adhere to the view that naming racism will only empower it.

It's a good reminder that, no matter how we identify, when we see racism it is probably better to confront with compassion than to remain silent in more instances than we will allow ourselves to vocalize. The courage of those who speak out, like President Carter, is sadly not met with commendation, but is instead dismissed.

Here's another perspective that riffs on the Jimmy Carter statement.

Warning: Depressing in the Depression

This video and article totally compelled me. The way that they talk about losing Navajo culture, the way that they blame each other for loss, but also definitively identify whiteness and white America, once again reminds me how sharply people feel personal responsibility for things that are widely systematic, and how deeply people internalize this. But the futility that I palpably comprehend from the film seems too dark for me. Can we ever really compensate for what people feel is a loss of culture? What is at stake in its loss? From an anthropological perspective, how and what kind of documentation and understanding is required to stave off or even restore this loss? What does it mean to lose culture to whiteness, emotionally, socially, economically? How can this attitude of futility be combated? The reporter doesn't ask these questions so much. He just seems to present it as a pitiable human interest story without really reflecting on his place in presenting this narrative.

Yes, I am gearing up for the school year. Classes start Tuesday. Determination to find many more ways that scholarship can still mean something real.

Can you dig it, baby?

Leiden has been a wonderful place to me so far. Thanks to a wonderful string of coincidences, I have ended up staying with Bert and Marjolein, a couple who live in a quiet Northern area of Leiden called Merenwijk. It is tranquil, and oh so green here. And Marjolein and Bert have been the kindest hosts.

I have been borrowing Marjolein's bike for now, when I need to go into the city center or the university buildings, etc. It's a flighty 15 minute bike ride (at my slow unaccustomed pace) from the house. I don't yet have piccies of the center, but it is a bit different from this grassy tucked-away haven. It is a nice contrast and precursor to my move into my solo apartment the city center on September 1st.


Here's the album from my stroll around the Merenwijk park, replete with mini animal farm.

And here's a little muziek to set the mood:

Cologney Baloney

As always, the bifurcation of my blogosphere is split thus:

Here at The Avera Palimpsest, you can always find the personal life updates,the travelogues, the newsworthy, and the serious social justice reflection. Over at PopCornucopia, you'll get my musings on pop culture, often with critical slant, as well as any arts and entertainment rocking my world.

Recently, I took a trip to Cologne, Germany to visit my Auntie Mary who was there on business. After landing in Amsterdam and spending a day there, I hopped on a train the next morning to go on yet another whirlwind journey. It was nice killing time in Cologne, before I got my housing situation sorted in the Netherlands. And especially nice to spend some QT with the Aunt. I'd be more detailed, but I am pooped out and now trying to get geared up for the commencement of school.

The Dom cathedral spire (1 of 2)

Click here for more pictures in a facebook album of my little trip to Cologne (Köln) it seems I have trouble spelling Germany in German :( What a stupid monolingual American am I!

Please excuse me while I move to the Netherlands

Yep, I will do my utmost to post some good stuff in here once again, but life's just gotten in the way.

The blogging dropoff is largely due to the manic activity of the last three weeks of my job, with a jazz festival, camp and residency program going at full force, and being marooned on the island that is Stanford. Thankfully, the storm from that weather front has subsided.

Alas, further complications have lead me to moving to a faraway place that requires international wire transfers, deciphering the indecipherable, and the general stress of relocation at a breakneck pace. So until that is fully in swing, don't expect anything regular.

Thanks for your patience and understanding of the intermittent nature of posting in the coming weeks.

Obama Africa sampler platter

Here's Obama's speech to Ghanaian pariliament:



Hail to the Ohene! Go kente cloth! Although there is nothing terribly shocking in his speech, it is certainly an interesting demonstration of personally asserted Pan Africanism that no other Western head of state that I am aware of has ever been capable of in such a symbolically significant way.


Here's a nice little summary of the Obamas' visit to Cape Coast. I heart Cape Coast.

Lastly, RaceWire (ColorLines blog) recommends the coverage of his trip here.

As much commentary has pointed out, this was a very strategic visit. I am ambivalent about what is going to happen to Ghana once they start pumping oil, even as Obama emphasizes energy innovation in the developing world. I am skeptical about the real benefits of mining black gold, as its track record for benefitting barons without any substative positives (and generally negatives, actually) for the general populace. If anything, such plundering of natural resources generally seems to increase inequality and creates and/or worsens social divisions. We all know how great that is. From an anecdotal standpoint of being there 6 years ago, Ghanaians pride themselves on their peacefulness and the sustenance of what is ostensible democracy relative to regional counterparts. But if competition for resources results in serious conflict I don't know how strong those institutions are in weathering a potential storm which may evolve in a petrolized Ghana.

However, I think I may need to look a bit deeper into the actual policy measures and how this new phase of Ghanaian "development" was conceived before completely passing judgment. At first blush, it smells mighty fishy to moi. Fellow Ghanamerican followers, any thoughts?

Whiteness in South Africa and a wee bit more

Here is a great article from ColorLines by a white American journalist/professor about his short stint in South Africa and his observations about the racial politics.

Check it out. Would love to talk with folks about it. Especially, my South African friends and my North American friends who've spent time in ZA. This is a discussion that could go on for hours.

Oh man, we are still at the point where just naming whiteness is half the battle.

Gooooo Shaners!

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

The asian fetish chronicles continue...

Here's some pretty decent commentary on a book that I've previously only read wholly unsatisfying reviews for (including the salon one that is mentioned). Somehow the commentary makes me want to read the book even less. Do we really need another white dude commenting on his own fetish in so many words? It all seems a bit masturbatory on the author's part and a waste of my reading time when I could be nourishing my mind with Moby Dick or Toni Morrison's Jazz (my two reads of the mo).

One day, will do more homework on all this and write something more insightful. But sometimes, it's too painful to think about. For now, I just like peeking back at this site every now and then. I laugh every time, even if the humor is a bit broad.

This is one soldierly fight that I will enlist in

Support the end of Don't Ask Don't Tell. Please visit this link and sign this petition. It only takes a minute. If it's not enough to have me encourage you, watch this:



It is also great to see Asian Americans front and center for this campaign. I hope Obama keeps his promise and that Congress helps him do it.

Count me as one of 'em

This is no surprise, but it still makes me sad.

And women supposedly live longer anyway? Hmmm.

Pearls of wisdom about swine flu

Daily Kos has a great and detailed rundown of school closures and an informed take on the swine flu and classification of a pandemic.

The fact that it's being called H1N1 is starting to bug me, only because every time I hear it, I instantly get this song stuck in my head:



When a fatal disease starts translating into an infectious pop song, you know you're in trouble.

Yay! PUBLIC HEALTH

I know it's corny, but hey, just watch and ruminate on how important all this stuff is:



According to Daily Kos they are trying to get 100,000 views by the end of this week.

It is National Public Health Week so celebrate by treating yourself right. And investing in your community.

As the agenda says, "Shifting the focus from treating illness to providing community-based health promotion and health services will measurably improve health and control costs."

Meet you in the lobby

Gooooooo Shaners! My old friend Shane Goldmacher notified me about his latest set of articles on the staggering power of lobbyists in California state politics. Please check them out. They're a nice little piece of muckrakking.

Part 1

Part 2

Top 10 lobbying interests

It's no surprise the magnitude of sway lobbying interests hold, but reading some of the nitty gritty is eye-opening.

Shane is also one of the sexiest banner ad posterboys ever:


For more of Shane's top-notch reportage check out the Sacremento Bee's Capitol Alert.

Heath and reconciliation?

Check out this article about the call for an HIV/AIDS Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa.

It's an interesting concept. Considering the importance of the right to health (not just health care and/or absence of disease or illness) movement, and the way that health is now being advocated as a human right, any violation that threatens the health of a large swath of the populace could be considered a sort of proxy genocide, perhaps. Anyone want to weigh in on this? I guess I should read the book cited to learn more about foundations for the argument, its feasibility, and potential execution...

Trav'lin' Light: The Slovenian Appendix

In the middle of my time in England, I went to Slovenia's capital city, Ljubljana, to present my research at the European Association of Social Anthropologists biennial conference. The theme for the conference was "Experiencing Diversity and Mutuality", fitting considering my Masters is in Diversity Studies. At any rate, it was a great four days. I met many amazing scholars and developed a further interest in anthropological enterprise. There was even someone who showed up at my presentation because they specifically wanted to hear about my research. Turns out she is also doing work on bone marrow transplantation! Her angle is more about pain experienced by donors and recipients. But how cool is that to make such a fortuitous connection! Glorious to know I'm not the only person looking at those issues from a social science perspective.

Thankfully, I made sure I had time to check out Ljubljana. The sunshine was out in full force and perfect for late afternoon strolls and warm riverbank dinners. There were winding cobbled streets, gorgeous architecture, buildings stained by graffiti, and bike lanes on the sidewalk that were certainly put to good use.

Slovenia, as my native Balkan (Bosnian) friend Slaven points out, is the Balkan country that wants to think it's not Balkan. It fancies itself more Central European. Given its borders with Austria and Italy, this does make sense. Indeed, the food certainly reflected the nature of this continental crossroads, as did the demeanor of its citizens, fluent in Slovenian, English, and usually German and/or Italian. Gregarious folk, too. I remember that on the flight from London to Ljubljana, the passengers were gabbing merrily the whole way there, and applauded loudly when the plane landed.

Oh my god. Slovenia honey is the bomb. I bought a jar of coconut creamed honey and it was magnificent. Apparently Slovenia is known for its beekeeping. The place where I procured this elixir was a shop downtown, and the salesgirl said that the owner keeps his bees and produces the honey some distance away and comes in regularly to the shop to re-stock its shelves. I brought the honey back to London, and within three weeks I used up the whole damn jar. I really should've bought back more. If anyone plans on going there, please bring me back a caseload.

Anyway, here's a set of piccies from my walks around Ljubljana. Sadly, my digital camera was busted so these are from a disposable camera. Forgive the quality and lighting issues.


This is the castle perched atop the hill in the city. They have art exhibits and a cafe there too. The hill has some pretty views, but the light was going when I hiked up there, and the duskiness didn't allow for any shots worth posting.

This is the old athletic building near my hostel: if you enlarge it you'll see cool building detail

The backside of one of the dragons flanking the town bridge: if you look closely in the background you'll see they do have Chinese restaurants everywhere!



Yes I am a nerd and I went to the train museum. Vintage transport is mesmerizing to me. Don't hate. Look how neato toledo this old engine is!


The city center

A city church

If you'd like to catch up with the other parts of the journey, here ya go:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

To close out the Trav'lin Light series here's its namesake tune once again:

Madagascar: Far from Vanilla

For all of you who thought that Madagascar was just a peaceful island teeming with lemurs and high quality vanilla, think again. There's been some serious stuff going on there.

I figured if I have time to blog about American Idol, I have time to clue folks in on what has been transpiring under the radar of most Americanos.

Hello, there has been a MILITARY COUP!!!!!!!!!!!! Okay, so maybe I am living in a cave, but I always get the sense that the U.S. is an incredibly insular place. Certainly introspection is important, and domestic issues must also be a part of consciousness. It's common political science knowledge that in American elections voters never cast their ballot based on candidates' foreign policy. But this is no excuse for ignorance about international affairs. American provincialism is a seriously scary ethos that already has unleashed serious repercussions.

Does anyone remember when General Musharraf seized power in a coup in Pakistan? No one batted an eyelash here, but now it's supposedly a FP priority, given it's a Muslim nation and potential nuclear threat. How could people so easily forget that when a reporter asked W. who the leader of Pakistan was, among other foreign executives, he was stumped? Thank god there is a new administration. In the spirit of this new administration, let's renew our pledge to make an effort to increase our knowledge of happenings outside our immediate sphere.

Don't get me wrong, I still love lemurs too. In fact, I wonder how the political situation is affecting biodiversity policies and research.

Booker: Turning the page on race?

One of my academic heroes, Vijay Prashad, doesn't think so. Read his great review of Gwen Ifill's book The Breakthrough in ColorLines magazine. I've not read her book, but now will very likely pick it up.

He makes some really great points about black men and electoral politics, for example, scratching beneath the surface of Obama as a symbol.

And he talks about Cory Booker, who I have been fascinated with ever since I saw the film Street Fight a few years back on POV. He is one of the most engrossing political figures I have ever seen. While Prashad is critical of him, he also does point out Booker's redeeming qualities. If you can get your hands on it, please watch Street Fight--don't read any of the Cory Booker links I have here because they will give away the ending. Not knowing the outcome is part of what makes the documentary riveting.

Here's a convo with the director/excepts from the film:

Part 1




Part 2 (don't watch the last minute, it gives it away)



Sorry, Part 3 might not work.



Oh well, you get the message. Should be enough for you to put that in your netflix queue straightaway! This is film is so relevant for our political landscape, take a gander.

Trav'lin' Light--Part Three: The Massachusetts Pictorial Supplement

After hustling in NYC, it was time for some respite. Sarah, a prominent figure in my travels, once again re-entered the picture. I trekked on the Chinatown bus to Boston to meet up with her. She's doing a film program there. We (snore) spent a day working our butts off on our respective academic efforts, but in the next evening we went to one of her friend's houses where there was a lively Thanksgiving feast along with a charades-like game. It was topped off with dessert, a Danish dream cake--there were a lot of Danish people there--and a name-that-tune competition.

We went to a liquor store to pick up some stuff to make mulled wine for Sarah's roommate Rico who was cooking for us. While browsing we saw the cutest beer bottle labels ever. Don't know if the brew inside was any good though:

Owls!!!!!!

Then, the real fun began. Jones and I rose early in the morning and took the bus to Hyannis. I had my SF, CA playlist blaring in my ears making me all homesick for the coastal wonder of beloved California. It was the first time I felt home's memories tugging at my heartstrings.

But, in way, home is where your heart is. Indeed, some of my heart was left in Cape Town. I have been so lucky to have people in my life who have traversed the world to cross paths in many places. A communion of geographic memories is holy. It is so special to be able to share multiples places/times in common with people, and I know how rare that is. Already to have journeyed and been with Sarah in Cape Town, London, and Boston was overwhelmingly grand. Jennie and Mpho, who were also friends in Cape Town were waiting for us at the Hyannis bus station. They both reside in Cape Town, and since they had gotten married weren't able to visit the U.S. They tied the knot in Soweto (Mpho's hometown). Jennie's family is from Cape Cod, and finally they were making the trek stateside as legalized partners. Jubilant times to be reunited!

After driving to Jennie's aunt's house, we met her family, sat and had some rooibos (how South African!) and cookies. Then we set off for the Cape beaches and Jennie treated us to a tour of her childhood haunts. Seeing the ocean again, after such a long absence, inahling that salt-kissed air, my love of the coast was reawakened.

Whoa, there's a Cape Town here too!

Jennie and Mpho: Awwwwww



Who's that Inuit grinning on the beach?



Just us gals



A tangle of seaweed

After our tour of the Cape we retuned to the Hutchinson homestead for a lavish Thanksgiving feast. The second of the week! Jennie's uncle stopped by and shared his considerable horseshoe crabshell collection with us. I brought a couple back to NYC for Simone's ever-growing wunderkammer.

Jennie's dad donning a horseshoe crab hat



Eeek! Get it off!



Attack of the killer horseshoe crabs!

As the evening wound down, the Cape to Cape crew piled in a car and headed back Bostonward. Back at Sarah's abode we sat down and looked at Jennie and Mpho's wedding pictures. I wasn't able to attend as I had to leave South Africa days before. It was marvelous to see the photos from the ceremony and celebration. The joy and ebullience was transmitted through those images. Still exhausted from jetlag (They had only arrived in the U.S. a day before) J & M crashed and Sarah and I respectively hit the sack too. The next day we all went to Boston's chinatown for some dim sum. We met up with Rico and his son Morris (Mr. Mo for short). After a stroll through Boston Common Sarah led us to the Imperial Garden, and old theater refurbished and repurposed to serve up some delectable Chinese delights. The interior was entirely preserved. We ascended a staircase and were a bit bewildered to find a majestic decor inside. After a little walk around downtown Boston, we capped off the day sipping piping hot chocolate in Cambridge. Bidding adieu to J & M, Sarah and I turned in to watch "Madagascar". And the next day I said farewell and headed back to the Big Apple.

The gang at Boston Common


Sipping hot chocolate


Mr. Mo's first Dim Sum



Mpho digs into some gai lan


Mo likes it! Particularly the fried stuff


Sarah and Rico chowing down



Check out the decor in this place!


The Cape to Cape Crew

Trav'lin' Light --Part Two: NYC condensed soup

Please add one cup of job hunting, researching, and writing to dilute.

After a month in England and Slovenia, I found myself in another heaving metropolis with its own delights to tickle the taste buds, jam the ear canal, pique the olfactory.

Here's a concentrated wallop of NYC sensory snapshots in no particular order:

• Emily K. and Christopher as Lucy and Ricky for Halloween!
  
• Too much champagne poured at Tout Va Bien dinner for Ms. Meltesen's birthday.
• Decadent dessert before dinner at Cafe Lalo with Cynthia. And then eating bomb-ass Mexican mole chicken. The tacos there are good too.
  
• Watching the Cho Show for the first time. Super hilarious...Margaret Cho went back to Lowell High School to speak!
• Farmer's Markets: magenta ribbons running through green chard, tart orchard apples and homemade apple cider, hefty slices of stringy squash, long Chinese eggplant, rollie pollie brussels sprouts
  
• 2046: watched twice in a month. It doesn't get much better or more painful.
  
• Ashes of Time redux: Cheesy but stunning. The closest you will see Leslie Cheung and Tony Leung get to death metal hair.
  
• E.J.'s luncheonette (OMG homemade corned beef hash, sweet potato fries, formica and chrome--retro classique!) Em Kenney had a milkshake here even after her mondo breakfast cuz it was so righteous.
  
• 53rd & 6th: Meat and Rice at 2am, smelled from block away. Devoured while sitting curbside.
  
• Central Park promenade and vibrant autumnal gold
  
• Pan ya bakery: green tea lattes and curry buns
• Washington Square Park asylum: singers and music til midnight with the crazies. Who knew an overworked culinary student and a homeless guitar player with perfect pitch could create such sonic beauty?
  
• An economics camp reunion with Ryan, where we recalled a certain special mix tape. After all this time, he still thinks the Les Paul and Mary Ford duet is cool. We listened to Yann Tiersen's gorgeous score from Amelie and gushed about Jean Pierre Jeunet's films. Man, nine years pass and some things never change...
  
• Coziness in a borrowed oversized lambswool sweater whilst eating breakfast the morning after a strange jaunt to a futuristic bar in Koreatown.
  
• Hong Kong supermarket: 2 floors of Asian goodness. Cheaper than anywhere else!
  
• The wonderful drippiness of soup filled dumplings at Joe's Shanghai shared with a long lost friend from childhood.
• Looking at the bridges from DUMBO and eating gourmet chocolate with Simone, while the trains rattle by.
  
• Creating a confetti party in the subway with my Trader Joe's trail mix--accidentally!
• Reunion with Erica after 3 years. Hooray for our federal government which paid for the exquisite dinner at Public--it was like a private eye's office in a film noir. Clerking for a federal judge with a deep expense account has its perks it would seem. And so fun convincing her of the virtues of a terrific little purple dress.
• Kojo and me, a sequel to the London meet-up: pondering the pursuit of the PhD and just being happy we can hang out in twice on different continents after a 3 year absence post-college.
• Slurping ramen at Ippudo with Cynthia just to celebrate our respective fabulousness.
• Catching a sweet little jazz show at Smoke. Gotta show the love for Yosvany and Ambrose. Stanford Jazz, represent!
• First time playing Rock Band, talking interdisciplinarity, playing apples to apples, eating lamb burgers, and listening to the genius of Purple Rain with a bunch of cool, smart dudes.
  
• Congee Village with Ryan, and discovering the bakery with sponge cake wrapped in green tea pancake.
• Hagi with Mary and Simone. If it's good enough for Anthony Bourdain, it's good enough for us.
  
• Twirling in the season's first snows with Cynthia. In fancy dress, no less!
  
• I ran away from the NYC madness and spent a week in New Haven with Erica. Slumber party madness! We made green tea mochi, dumplings, and knitting projects.
  
• Spotting the cute guy from Lipstick Jungle at Dean and Delucca on Broadway. He's from Claremont!

Here are some pictures from my friends copied off facebook from my time in NYC (thanks guys!):

Cynthia and me at Zum Schneider beer garden

Em and Em on Halloween: She was Lucy, I was a washed up music prodigy

Erica and Me: rockin' the side part

Christopher, Emily, Jean-Francois, and me: Celebrating Em K's b-day at Sway

In Central Park

For the Thanksgiving trip to Boston and Cape Cod, please see Trav'lin' Light Part Three. Sorry for the messy chronology. Part Four will have Slovenia pics.

After nearly three months in New York, the holidays were fast approaching, I had ridden my last wave of couch surfing, and there was no reason to stick around as my bank account dwindled. So I headed back to home to San Francisco, where the warmth of the sun shone unseasonably, family was abundant, and the Christmas feast (with goose no less) was bountiful. And here I remain. For now...

Would you wear a shirt with your dad's face all over it?

Bona Mugabe would. She did, actually:



Read this story about the 20 year old and the pressure to deport her from university in Hong Kong. This is an Afro-Asian connection that perturbs me.

We are family

Bring the family back to San Francisco!

One day I will have more energy and find some better articles about this. But I thought this would suffice for now.

As a San Franciscan, born and raised, this city is in my heart and soul. Sometimes in my dreams about one permutation of life in the distant future, I will raise children here. But this appears to be a fading dream. Although I may not ever live that dream, I would like it to at least be possible for others. I know firsthand the enchantment and wonder of growing up in this wonderful place. Sure, nostalgia always gets the better of me. And if other trends of gentrification, hipster migrations, and carpetbagger yuppies aren't bucked then it will become a San Francisco supremely hostile to the urban values of diversity and maverick independence that make the children of this magical peninsula soar.

A different kind of love for V-Day

Please read this article: "Love On Campus." Special thanks to Mana for sending it to me.

At first it may seem like another media studies analysis, but by the end I was inspired. Surely, there are parts of it that I take issue with. For one, can't this love be the province of more? Could we not extend it beyond the coterie of a professor-student ingroup? Can't the bearers of love also be non-academics?

There are so many different kinds of love. While I feel the love that the author talks about in this article is abundant in my life, it is not the only love with which I am nourished. Thank you to those who have bestowed any form of it upon me. Oooh, gotta cut it out before I get too mushy...

Stil, this article is particularly cool, because it speaks to some of the reasons why I want to eventually continue with scholarship. The feeling, the power, and the ardor of ideas run deeply for me. And I want to pass this on to others. But I would also hope that I do and will continue to do so beyond the strictures of the classroom or office of a university. Also, can those relationships happen more equitably, be a more balanced exchange? I don't think the line between pupil and teacher is always so cleanly cut. Aren't we always both? Also, how does this kind of love operate in tandem with or in opposition to others? Dare I say it, is there a hierarchy of love?

Nonetheless, it is a solid reminder that we should celebrate love in its many forms and challenge the long-held notions that confine people to privileging heterosexist eros.

If that wasn't enough to get you to click on the link yet, here's a little tidbit preview:

"Teaching, Yeats said, is lighting a fire, not filling a bucket, and this is how it gets lit. The professor becomes the student’s muse, the figure to whom the labors of the semester — the studying, the speaking in class, the writing — are consecrated. The alert student understands this. In talking to one of my teaching assistants about these matters, I asked her if she’d ever had a crush on an instructor when she was in college. Yes, she said, a young graduate student. “And did you want to have sex with him?” I asked. 'No,' she said, 'I wanted to have brain sex with him.'"

When we're talkin' brain sex, call me unabashedly polyamourous.

Another bad effect that Prop 8 propagates

This is an article I just read that really reflects one of the concerns I had the moment Prop 8 passed but Obama was elected. In other words, our struggle is only as good as we see how it connects us to others.

For non-Californians here is more info on Proposition 8.

Trav'lin' Light--Part 1

The essential theme song for my recent sojourn. And Queen Latifah, whom I totally love, did an album with this song as the title track. Ella Fitzgerald's version is my fave, but I can't find a good recording of it online to link. Without further ado, let's talk travels.

London, England: A Tale In Every Face and Every Place
It began in London. I arrived in late August. Since my digital camera went kaput pre-Slovenia I have no pictures from those days. After hauling my luggage from Heathrow to Camden Town, Sarah, bedecked in a heather gray printed sweatshirt, white jeans and camo hi-top chucks, greeted me with a grin. Heaven to see a smiling familiar face. She escorted me on a quick walk from the tube station to Anna-Helga's flat, my home base for the month. Anna-Helga, native Londoner and a person Sarah once described as having both incredible style and real integrity, was nothing short of wonderful. Sarah doesn't lie.

Trying to recover from jet lag, there was some rest. But the day after, Sarah, Anna-Helga, and I went to romp around London. First we met up with their old school friend Martha, and we had a little picnic in Hoxton Square. We walked around and stumbled on an old watch shop, where one of them had a clock battery replaced. It was a little place that looked like it had been there for ages, walls lined with old pictures I cannot recall, other than that they were definitely yellowed with time. The proprietor was a friendly old guy who chatted with us briefly and got the timepiece issues sorted out in due course. Small treasures like that with real character are their own masterpieces of everyday life.

Our merry party had tea and cake at Maison Bertaux in SoHo, a favorite spot of Anna-Helga's. I spent an evening with Sarah's family too. Her mom made curry puffs and noodles and talked of the nursing profession. We sat and talked with her dad, while watching the Olympics, and he told me yarns of his trajectory from Macclesfield to British Council service across the globe. A day or two after, taking advantage of some rare English sunshine, I also accompanied the Joneses on a great day trip to the Cotswolds. Sadly, no Alex James sitings, but Stratford Upon Avon--home of Shakespeare, and many other towns' small cottage delights, was more than enough loveliness for one day. The doors on the oldest houses there were low enough that even I would've banged my head when crossing the vestibule. And we pulled over roadside for homemade bacon sandwiches and tea. The marvelous day was littered with little churches, stone walls, thatch roofs, fancy candy, and unbelievable locally-grown strawberries.

Did I mention, I also reunited with Kojo! Anxiously I stood on Tottenham Court Road, a "We Will Rock You" marquis looming above me, the madness of London whizzing by, all forgotten, when the man--the legend--emerged from the ephemera just as he had disappeared three years ago after graduation. How splendid to see a dear friend after an age apart.

On another day, I met up with Sarah and her BFF May to go to Notting Hill Carnival. They presented me with an artificial pin-on flower, and dressed in our bright attire, we rode on a packed 31 bus to the festivities. It was a surging mass of people, a spectacular whirl of sequins, glitter, body paint, and ornate headgear. Soundsystems blasted everywhere as we meandered through the maze of bodies, dancing madly too. Foodwise, we situated ourselves curbside licking fingers and smacking lips with jerk chicken smothered in hot sauce on a bed of blackeyed peas n' rice. The crowds grew even larger. And after lying in the grass to recharge, we were ready to head homeward. But the throng was so dense it took us nearly an hour to navigate our way out.

The next day I left for Slovenia for the European Association of Social Anthropologists conference. I will do another post on that as this one is quickly spinning out of control into a tome.

After an offering to the academic gods, I returned to England. I came back to yet another reunion, this time with Pat, my beloved Rotary counselor from Cape Town. She was stopping in London with her husband Roy to visit their daughter Sharon before heading to Bournemouth for a conference. I took a day trip with them to Ashdown Forest, a.k.a. the hundred acre wood of Winnie-the Pooh fame. We took an adventurous romp through meadows, heather, mud, mist, and rain.

Pat, Sharon and Roy looking for Eeyore's gloomy place

The rows of trees lined up like soldiers

Roy found this awesome mushroom

The gray sky, with pregnant rainclouds

Sharon, Roy, Pat, and me: we are at Winston Churchill's house, Chartwell. But we didn't think it was worth paying to go in! There was also a cool vintage car derby going on there.

Back in London there was some other merriment. Here is a picture of a really cute storefront I liked on Oxford Street:

I also went to this great exhibit at the V & A museum. It was The Supremes: The Mary Wilson collection. I took so many pictures of their staggeringly flash/fab performance outfits, it deserves its own post which I'll save for later. But here's a fun non-apparel tidbit from the exhibit:

The Supremes: Special Formula White Bread?

I also went to the London Transport Museum. Sounds dismally boring, but it was great, even if the admission was overpriced. There was an amazing collection of London Underground posters and restored old tube cars. Again, that's gotta have its own post, since I got camera-happy.

John Soane's museum/house was very cool. This famous architect amassed one of the most impressive collections of classical antiquities. The best part is that they're all displayed in this sort of crazy collage of disorder all over the house. It's as if with every new item he just cobbled together places to put it. There was so much sculptural treasure it seemed sprawling from every nook and cranny. There are some cool Hogarth paintings in there too. They didn't allow pictures, and I sure wish they did but here's the exterior:


Cambridge Grandeur and Greenery
One of the more memorable outings was a day in Cambridge with Sarah. We were on a stealth mission like secret operatives, going into the colleges like we were supposed to be there, shirking the stupid admission fees. But Sarah had just misplaced her Cam card, which would've provided us free entry anyway. We were only stopped once, by a rather prickly steward who refused us admittance, even when Sarah insisted she was an alumnus.

Look at the funny creature adorning something in the chapel!

Whoopee! I did the same thing in front of a door in the Cotswolds, but this doorway's a bit taller

Sarah's face says it all

I love Nando's, and guess what South Africans, they have one in Cambridge!

Trinity College

Birds gliding by the spires

Check out the crenellation on that, baby!

Miss Jones lookin' idyllic

This is a dining hall! Imagine eating there on the regular...

I think the sweetest part of the colleges tour was Emmanuel College, since this was Sarah's college. She showed me this wonderful little garden where on one of the last days of term she had gathered with her friends and some champagne and they sat beneath the canopy of tree leaves.

Duck Duck Goose!

Sarah and the sunlight beaming down on Emmanuel

After looking at the colleges, and taking a coffee break to simmer down from the irksome encounter with the steward, we took a jaunt through the meadow all the way to an orchard where we had lunch, tea, and scones. Sheer bliss!

Sarah tucking into a tasty salad in the orchard

Parliament Funkadelic
The rest of the month I was exploring muddy fields, park lawn sunbathing/newspaper reading, updating my wardrobe, and hiding in a broom closet in Parliament. You read me right, a broom closet. Anna Helga works at Parliament and she gave me a rockin' tour. This particular broom closet is of note, as it is where Emily Wilding Davison locked herself in the name of women's suffrage. What a badass. Here's the plaque commemorating said badass:

Anna-Helga holdin' it down for the feminism in the House of Commons

I found the bathrooms there to be rather fancy. I mean, look at the detailing on the stall doors.

I also saw some great films at the British Film Institute, which always seems to have a stellar program. The best was seeing a double feature of Paris Qui Dort and Buster Keaton's utterly hilarious Three Ages while a pianist provided the live soundtrack to these silent masterpieces. Oh how I love silents with live music!

Smell-o-vision
My memory was imprinted with scents everywhere in London. The Camden Coffee Shop is run by a man who took over in 1978 and has been there ever since. A site for java since 1950, its got age-old weighing and grinding machinery that seems to never need replacement. I loved the Kenyan estate pure 250g ground coarsely, the whir of the hardware rending the beans apart to produce a rich aroma that I toted around with me while walking down the High Street.

I recall being sweaty from a run up and down Primrose Hill in the trickling rain, head spinning from exertion and pleasure. I wandered around when the trickle subsided and I was drawn to a cupcake shop, the delicious perfume of baking filling the pastel walls, mingling with the smell of wet pavement. Miniature fairy cupcakes in hand, I bit the sugary icing, silky and smooth against the fluffy cake.

After a trip to Portobello Road Market, I can still remember the rosemary emitting from my shopping bag was sweet and forceful, pan de mie bread alongside, that sister to Dutch crunch. I remember Chamomile tea sipped whilst munching on the top half of the loaf eying shoppers with their Cherbourg-like parade of umbrellas. The crimson streaked nectarines were nestled there at the bottom of my shopping tote along with Brussels sprouts cloistered in their own brown paper sack.

Then there was the great stench of old records. In a Damon Albarn pilgrimage, I went to Honest Jon's. Why is it that music nerds' ass crack or line of their boxer shorts always manages to peek out from their baggy jeans? But I can't disparage them as they played all the records I asked to sample. Roy Ayers' Ubiquity and Everybody Loves the Sunshine albums along with a poster for Coffy lined the walls and I knew I had come home. A selection of stuff I knew I would love. You could’ve just grabbed a few things at random at hit the jackpot. Given my recent shying away from the rock pantheon, this was a welcome haven. This was on point with where my musical mood was. I selected the Ohio players Skin Tight, but then decided against it as I figured I might be better off finding a pressing at Amoeba upon returning to SF. But I did splurge on David Axelrod's The Axe, an Honest Jon’s compilation that was really sweet—and the packaging was gorgeous, and a CD of something entirely new to me—Yusef Lateef, woodwind player extraordinaire. All tight grooves.

In the midst of all this, Anna-Helga had a birthday party where I made some food, had a good time, and met some cool folks. One of those folks was Andrew, who was a great museum buddy. We went to the Tate Modern and he happily gave me the rundown of his favorite pieces. Take that, audio tour!

And on my last night in London we went to the Science Museum's "Lates" where they open the museum at night and have special stuff going on. We saw a dance performance in front of the digital exhibit that feature all sorts of five letter words that were being typed into search engines in real time. We fiddled around with the hands-on exhibits. And we sat at a screen featuring really old science films. We selected one about the magic myxes, Andrew and I, sat side by side with our respective headphones, and listened to the narrator, while watching these strange fungal growths oozing and pulsating in black and white.

In the morning, Anna-Helga and I went out for breakfast and we said our farewells at the station.

I left London with the scent of English roses filling my nose. I would walk outside and dip my sniffer in one all the time. The best time was after-the-rain red roses near Primrose Hill, full of flowery sweetness reviving in vivid color the four year old me dressed in a dusty pink frock inhaling from a rose clipped from the garden of my grandfather. It was tended with love, greenfinger meticulousness honed in the depression-era central valley, made ripe again with the floral magic that beckons to me in my memories. I was enveloped in its otherworldly smell, the upturned petals extending to the circumference of my face . Ah, those sensual touchstones that invigorate anew and wax nostalgic.