Responsible media and grounded politics? How Utopian!

I'm one of those people who came to believe, quite some time ago, that it's virtually pointless to watch televised news if you're geniunely interested in keeping abreast of the world's events. I think it's important to reveal my cynicism straightaway...

Now, I know this is an often harped-on shortcoming of our fair democracy. Yet, I feel the need to put in my $.02 because I never cease to be amazed at the stuff that finds its way into our "news broadcasts", let alone the subjects which constitute "big stories".

This election campaign has revealed so much of the ugliness in our politics and the very disturbing and overwhelmingly petty nature of our news. Part of me thinks that there are plenty of people out there who feel as I do, who are smart enough to see the cracks in the veneer, who can laugh at the absurdities. But, I also think there are plenty of people out there who devour the garbage they're fed, and then ask for seconds. This has to be true, because if this system were perceived by its mechanics to be broken, it would have been fixed; those media conglomerates are innovative like that.

I am truly passionate about the importance of media to the development of society; I believe it is a critical component of the formation of identity, both for us as individuals and for our national identity. I also believe that true democracies cannot function without a reliable and forthright media. Thus, it saddens me immeasurably that we focus so intensely on "issues" such as the presence or absence of a flag pin on the lapel of a presidential candidate (because somehow, that is the true measure of one's level of patriotism) or that we focus almost more attention on the things someone says who may be, however strongly, associated with a candidate than we do about the things the candidate him/herself says or believes.

Granted, politics is a dirty business. But I fail to understand why we've allowed ourselves to come to this point, where the emphases are on constant smear campaigns and the perpetuation of frivolous, laughable "news". We deserve better than that. And we're never going to be able to move forward as a country, never going to become better informed and politically-savvy as a people unless we demand better.

While I do think certain minor or off-the-cuff happenings can be telling of one's character, and may thus have some pertinence in the dissemination of information to voters, the line was crossed many miles ago. We've left all reason behind. Personally, I'm a hell of a lot more concerned about the state of our foreign policy, how poorly we pay our educators, our national debt and the fact, in this respect, China has us "by the balls", or...I don't know, the sad fact that millions of children in this country and around the world are living in completely avoidable squalor, many ravaged by completely avoidable disease.

I want to care. I need to care. And I KNOW there are are many folks like me out there who want the truth, who want more than relentlessly debating the slut factor in 15-year old Disney stars, or who want more than stories regarding what the personal beliefs of Obama's pastor say about him as an individual, despite his repeated denunciations of said beliefs. Was he scratching his face or was he flipping Hillary off? Should we have reservations about Hillary's ability to run a country when she is seen to have cried on national television? (I've referenced the Democrats because I think these are the most ridiculous of examples, not that some pretty lame stuff hasn't been said of McCain.)

The point is, we crave substance, and only rarely are we satiated.

Of course, many times it's easier to put the blinders and go about our lives in peace. Maybe we've all grown a little too comfortable, have taken for granted our position of isolation. I think many of us believe this really makes our lives easier, better; but I think we're wrong. I believe our desire to maintain this status quo has led us a place that many of us are pretty upset about. Upset about wage levels, failing or absent social security nets, the structure and/or direction of our military campaign in the MidEast, or the steady decrease in the size of the middle class, lack of healthcare for millions, the cost of college education, or maybe the way this Administration has represented us in the international community. Or maybe you're upset that we're not doing more for those outside our borders, or maybe you think we're doing too much there and not enough at home. Our lack of confrontation has indeed proven poisonous.

Whatever it is, we are all, in some capacity, to blame. Our media has helped us get here, and too many of us have endorsed sub-par media. It has distracted us from important and pressing issues, and we haven't done enough to change the way our media operates. Don't get me wrong, the occasional Britney trainwreck or latest Tom Cruise Scientology development can be a welcome tonic for the stresses of daily life. But, let's reign it in. The essence of our news needs to change and we're at a critical juncture.

I believe that many of the crises we face could have been prevented (or, at least, lessened) if we had been given better, GENUINE information by those with the responsibility and power to do so, instead of so much smoke and mirrors we might as well all live at the freakin' Fair. The present reporting habits of the media virtually ensure we will never be able to suss out who's really the best candidate for President - I don't care how many so-called "debates" they hold; the last televised Democratic debate, for example, was an abysmal failure and a waste of two-plus hours of Americans' time. Our aim is way off the mark. We need to ask tough questions and demand direct, intelligent responses. We need to consider our news for what it was designed to be rather than what it has become - entertainment.

Instead of the illusion of truth, let's have the real thing. We pride ourselves on our democratic nature but the truth is, we aren't living up to our obligations as democratic people. And that goes for the purveyors of news. I know some may cite my criticisms as evidence of a lack of patriotism or some other shortcoming as an American. But I believe one of the foremost obligations of a democratic people is to be critical of government, media, and other social institutions; if we fail in our criticisms, we fail ourselves and endanger the ability of our politics and ideology to survive.

At the most basic level, it's a matter of respect. Political systems and ideologies must be respected enough that media and politicians themselves take care to focus on the issues most important to the survival of said systems and ideologies. No amount of revenue is worth that kind of defeat, but I'm inclined to believe that the media bigwigs making a killing on our continued ignorance won't share my sentiments. At least until their pocketbooks are affected. Essentially, while the problem is all-encompassing, not much of consequence will be done without some noise from the little people - the very people who should have an interest in altering the status quo.

La vie, je t'adore maintenant!

Each birthday, I always become hyper-reflective. This year, I feel as though I've become a proper "grown up". I guess that makes sense because, as I learned in Criminology, the brain is not fully formed until the age of 26. Hmmm...

I'm mere months from completing an undergraduate degree that I've been working on for nearly eight years! I can't tell you how excited I am...perhaps its because I've toiled so many extra years working toward this goal that it seems that much sweeter.

I've spent the last three years in a remarkably stable and adultlike romantic relationship. This may sound normal for some of you, but I'm not used to such mature and comfortable togetherness, and certainly not for such a length. Not to mention, I haven't witnessed the greatest examples of amorous relationships in my life, which I feel has given me some emotional handicap. Nonetheless, this is officially the longest relationship I've been a part of thus far, and I have to say, I feel a great sense of accomplishment.

I have big plans for graduate school, volunteer work abroad, and the like. I feel calm - a rarity too! - about where I'm at and where I'm headed. I feel as though I'm finally coming into my own. It's brilliant, refreshing.

This stuff...c'est la joie de vivre.

Randomness

Two of my sisters posted Ten Random Things About Me memes on their blogs, so I've decided to follow suit.

1. Keeping to-do lists of any kind, and having a physical manifestation of my accomplishments (however small) gives me a great sense of pride.

2. Once I've established a place for something in my home or car, I am very particular about its always being returned to its place.

3. A few years ago, my boyfriend taught me how to change the oil in my car. Now, I complete all changes myself.

4. I hate raw onions, but I actually kind of like sautéed ones.

5. Before I die, I'd love to speak fluent French and Swahili, as well as speak Spanish, Arabic, and Italian on at least moderate levels.

6. I turn all the labels of containers in my refrigerator and pantry to face out.

7. Although I would love to, I cannot donate blood because the process makes me extremely nauseated and/or ill.

8. While elephants in general are my favorite animals, I love the African elephant best.

9. I like to maintain a schedule and I enjoy daily routine, but at times I also feel quite constrained by them.

10. I am registered as an independent voter.

The girl who cried nervous.

So, I have this weird tendency to cry when I'm especially nervous. I first identified this "issue" in the sixth grade when I was asked to read, in front of the entire school, an essay I had written regarding the D.A.R.E. (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) program I had recently completed. The reading took place at my D.A.R.E. "graduation", with all the other kids and sixth graders' parents in attendance.

Essentially, when I took the stage and stepped up to the mic, I immediately began tearing up. I proceeded to cry through the entire reading and I'm sure my words were barely intelligable. I was completely mortified but I hung in there, and scurried off the stage with great haste afterward.

I didn't realize at the time why that happened. Later, when I started having to give talks in front of the church congregation, I cried too, but then I thought it was because I was overcome with emotion for my religious convictions, or something. I thought it was a trait inherited from my mother, who often cries when speaking of topics she's emotionally invested in. So I blamed it on emotions and Mom. To be fair, I thought the public speaking element played at least a minor part.

But in the last several months, on four-and-half-separate occasions - sometimes one-on-one, others while in front of groups - I have broken down in similar fashion (I include a "half" occurrence because one time I was able to reign it in before full exposure). It's like it's getting worse. Two of the times, I thought it was, again, the consequence of some underlying emotional connection to what I was speaking of, but the others there was no valid reason for. It didn't occur to me until it happened again today - approximately 15 years after the first incident - that it was a result of nervousness. I was asked by one of my former professors to speak to her class about some resources I had compiled for students on international affairs, media literacy, human rights, activism, and the like. While I do have some emotional connection to what I was speaking of, I consciously talked around them. Yet, true to form, I got teary-eyed TWICE over the course of my talk. I am so embarrassed by this because I am not usually a cry-happy sort of gal, and especially not so around perfect strangers.

So, what the hell is up with this compulsion? Why is my nervousness manifest in such an embarrassing (for myself and others) sort of way?? I am truly upset about it, and I wonder what sort of effective activist and advocate of human rights I can be when I can't get through a 10 minute speech without ugly facial contortions and ready waterworks. I think this crying detracts from my message and that is what particularly irks me. I don't want to be the weird chick that showed up to class and cried for apparently no reason. I want to come with something to say, because I have lots to say. It makes me wonder if I ought to just have stayed with the journalistic ambitions 'cause I can cry all I want from behind the veil of a computer screen. Obviously the point here is that I dont "want" to cry, but you get my drift.

I am beginning to wonder if there is something I haven't dealt with from my past, and perhaps I need a little therapy to suss out what is going on here. I've got to figure out something because I'm just not willing to accept that this is how my life will be; I'm just not. I'm far too proud and have too many professional ambitions for that.

Some brilliant musicians you've never heard of.

There is no shortage of crap music and film in the world today. Or, maybe it's always been that way. But, it seems as though there's so much more bad than good, especially where music is concerned; at least if we're considering the "successful" artists. However, a few months ago I saw a beautiful independent film that managed to renew my faith in both media. It's called Once, and it stars two real-life musicians (Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova), the former being the frontman for a long-succesful-in-Ireland band called The Frames and the latter a classically trained Czech performer. I'd never heard of them before seeing this film, nor did I encounter a ton of buzz for the film itself (sad to say), so I had no expectations going in.

In short, I was completely blown away. Mesmerized. Even now, months later, I find myself daydreaming, reveling in its wonderfully quirky, yet simple joys. First of all, the musicians/actors are f-ing brilliant (and, rightly, so is the soundtrack). Secondly, as they are not actors by profession, they both exert this lovely awkwardness and self-consciousness that is absolutely endearing.

When my girlfriend and I left the theater, grinning ear-to-ear and figuratively floating, we both said to the other, "I think I've got a crush now." On Glen, the "guy" (as he's referred to in the credits) from the film. His charms and humor and vulnerability were irresistable. The next day, I bought the soundtrack, and proceeded to let in marinate in my disc player for a good six weeks, on repeat. (A rarity, indeed.)

A week after the viewing, I came across an advert in the local independent weekly about the duo. They'd be performing as "The Swell Season" at a small venue here in town. After freaking out, then gaining composure, I called my friend and told her we simply had to see the show.

After waiting with baited breath for two months, we finally drank in the goodness, as it were. Just last week. Suffice it to say that it was one of the best live performances I've ever witnessed. I am in no way understating when I write that that show completely revived my spirits and renewed my faith in the power of music in a way I've not experienced in many moons. On a few occasions, I was nearly brought to tears by the sheer power of the lyrics, the haunting violin, the piano ballads...the whole lot. Simply gorgeous.

As you might guess, I'm still high from that performance. I don't know that I have ever had such a profound reaction to music and for such a period; frankly, I'm loving it. Since the show I've purchased The Swell Season's self-titled ablum, as well as two cds from Glen's band, The Frames. These guys kill it, I tell you.

I love music. I don't think I could live without it, I feel it in my soul. The Swell Season and The Frames have become artists I can't live without, and I'm ashamed it took me so long to discover them. I just can't say enough about them, and I don't bestow such compliments lightly, but if I go on much longer it will just be embarassing.

It's criminal that they're not headlining names in the States. That said, it seems this "little movie that could" has struck such a chord with audiences that it's generated Oscar buzz...and it was also this year's Audience Award Winner at Sundance (yay!). Methinks it's only a matter of time now...

So, here I am well into a (healthy!) obsession with these musicians, buying up their booty, and counting down the days until the DVD release. Well over 8000 songs in my music library and I'm recycling - almost exclusively - theirs. It's strange, I feel like I did when I became a fan of the New Kids on the Block as a young girl (thankfully, my musical tastes have evolved with age). I had a crush on Jordan - one of the group members - and daydreamed about our eventual matrimony, I recorded their TV appearances (and then watched them repeatedly), hung their posters on my walls (kissing them before bed), bought the various figurines and tee shirts. You know the drill...sad, but true.

I feel so juvenile again - sans some of the more eccentric behavior - and there's a purity to it that's just delicious.

Do yourself a favor and give them a listen.

Jus in bello?

Jus in bello means "justice in war" and it is one of the principles of the just war theory that has, for centuries, been widely accepted in international relations.

This concept is such that nation-states agree to adhere to certain principles and practices when engaged in war with another/other nation-state(s)...such as offering fair treatment of POWs, engaging in proportionality (that is, an eye-for-an-eye, not a heart-for-a-fingernail sort of thing), limiting civilian casualties, and so forth.

I've been thinking about how in "our" latest campaign in the Mideast, we have either deliberately ignored this principle, or we've tried to find stealth ways around it. Obviously, there is the infamous scandal involving prisoner treatment at Abu Ghraib, as well as prisoner treatment and alleged torture practices at Guantanamo, Cuba, to what I, and many others, would consider unacceptable civilian casualties (iraqbodycount.org shows documented body counts at somewhere between 75-82,500 since 2003). All the while, the lofty goal of establishing an operational democracy has remained elusive and militia in-fighting is worse than ever.

These thoughts bring me back to the idea of American exceptionalism. Why do we think that we can slap some moralistic moniker on a military operation, and justice goes out the window along with geniune morality? We can say we want to spread democracy and our supposedly universal values, and on that basis, the ends we employ justisy the means. Torture is an acceptable reality of the interrogation process because it is assumed that every last one of "these guys" will stop at nothing to anihilate the American people, even if the grounds for such assumptions are shaky at best. Why do taxpayers spend ridiculous amounts to employ the likes of Blackwater to provide security for every Tom, Dick, and Harry from the States, when their are untold numbers of Iraqi civilians who REALLY need protection?

Sadly, the list goes on. The point is, the means that are being employed are counterproductive if the ends being sought are those that have been publicly espoused. Too, these gentlemanly principles of war ought not be viewed as purely symbolic, but as ethical constraints and rights of all people.

Jus in bello is a lovely idea. It should be respected by every nation-state. For us, however, only when convenient.

B is for Brilliant.

It's a beautiful thing. The Sox once again in the World Series...

I love baseball, when you get to the heart of the thing, when you can strip away all the bullshit and look beyond the guys who aren't there for the purity of it. (It's a lot like cycling in that way.)

Forgive me for the indulgence, but I've not been able to follow the game as closely as I'd like these last couple of years. I'm no longer bourgeois enough for cable (actually, it's largely a principle thing), and so it's only during the playoffs (when the networks actually broadcast the games) or when I happen to get lucky with the controlled TVs at the gym, that I actually get to enjoy the pleasure of a good game.

Which leads me down a path of nostalgia for all the times I used to go to Mariners games, take in the city of Seattle for a day and then head to the ballpark, feel the energy, smell the mingling of grass and leather and beer and Pacific NW air. When you're watching teams with real heart, with long histories, it's even sweeter. Delicious, I tell you.

As an aside...these instances always make me wonder how people can say they don't like baseball. It's like sacrilege, or something. A lot of "unbelievers" I know say it's boring. But that's because they don't understand the incredible strategy that is involved, the delicate dance. And at the core of it all is a history, a history that is bound up in the emergence of a national spirit, though perhaps not as salient as it once was. The way I see it, to say that baseball is boring is like saying that listening to something like Beethoven's famous Symphony 3 is boring because it lasts a long time and there are no lyrics. The nuances, the story that is being told are what's important; it ought to be critically examined. Baseball is no different.

Anywho, the point is that good moments in baseball remind me how good it feels to be alive. They give me hope, even if it's short-lived and somehow superficial. And these days, I'll take what I can get.

I love this game.

GO SOX!

Why Burnt Cream?

The title for this blog stems from an experience some years ago, when a friend asked a rather intriguing question: If you had to choose a food that best describes your character, what would it be?

I thought quite hard on this one and what I came up with was crème brûlée. Since then, I have asked a number of others the very same question, and I've found it to be telling. I've never questioned my admission to being a custard, because what I said then remains true today. My explanation, as best as I can remember...

Crème Brûlée is not for everyone, and for many who enjoy it, it's an acquired taste. It's not the prettiest looking thing - crispy and burnt, far from grand. The custard is protected by a rough exterior, though it's easily broken by a well-intentioned tap or two. The inside: Rich, creamy goodness. Complexity of flavor. Warmth. Perhaps, a touch of spice. Sweet, but not too much so. It's taste and texture varies over time and space.

So, yeah, that's me in a ramekin.

The ONE Campaign

I don't know about you, but I think Americans have an obligation to lend a hand, to pick up the little guy when he's down. But, not the sort of help that entails war or variations on imperialism. Real help. Solidarity. Commitment.

The ONE campaign was launched in 2002 and is gaining serious momentum. (Maybe you've already heard of it - I hope so.) The campaign is backed by a host of not-for-profit organizations and various religious and relief organizations, as well as politically active public figures. It calls for the allocation of a mere ONE percent of the budget of the United States to various entities within Africa for the fighting of the HIV/AIDS pandemic and widespread poverty.

Below is a link that details some of the issues that hundreds of millions of Africans face and what the ONE campaign hopes to achieve. If you think this seems like something worth fighting for, you may choose to electronically sign The Declaration. It requires nothing further from you, but will help to send a message to our lawmakers and the powers-that-be.

http://action.one.org/Issues.html

Thanks for reading.

5000 Things to Do Before We Die

Do you ever feel like there are so many problems to tackle, and can't find a way to go about solving them? Or worse, that it's beyond hope and what's the point anyway?

We've got it all wrong, and I want to change things.

But I haven't a clue as to how to engage in something really meaningful. I'm talking about our environmental problems, combating global warming, developing a workable social security and nationalized healthcare of some sort, ending this insane war we're engaged in, making corporations develop environmentally sustainable practices, sending aid to the Developing World and ensuring that it makes it to the people and social entities that truly need it, legitimizing this so-called democracy we have in place. The list goes on.

You know, I often wonder how we - myself, my community, the countless generations that have preceded mine - let it come to this. How is it that we haven't been able to keep the engine of corporate capitalism and globalization in better check, through the writing of tight, implementable legislation? Why haven't we held our politicians to higher standards? Why haven't we fought for more diversified and uncensored media? Again the list goes on.

I don't see how this country that is always looking for bigger, better, more, could not have, at some point along the way, closely observed the operations of other nations and then pieced together a nation comprised of the best bits? That's obviously a very simplified suggestion, but the point is that we ought to be able to identify successes of other industrialized nations - think Sweden, France, etc. - and find a way to may them workable for us. Are 'we' really so proud and complacent that we can't admit that we haven't all the answers?

See, once I get thinking about all the ways in which we are going wrong, it's hard to break free. It becomes such a weight. And while I understand that I, as an individual, can do little if anything to change the course of history, I do know that social movements and uprisings of the sort that we very obviously need, require a start somewhere. With one person. And then another. And so it goes.

Where is the momentum we so desperately need? And how is it possible to prioritize such impossibly huge and all-encompassing issues? Is it more important to concentrate on education or environmental sustainability or equal pay for women in the workplace or fair treatment of gays or media conglomerates or economic development of Third World countries, or the genocide in Darfur? How can we say?

There are so many things requiring our attention its so easy to become paralyzed and do what we've long been doing: Nothing

A little light reading...and a side of hope.

A few days ago, I finished reading a book which chronicled the events of the Rwanda genocide of 1994, the months leading up to it, and of course, the aftermath. It was written by an Officer in the Canadian Army, Lt. Gen. Roméo Dallaire, the man who was Commander of the United Nations Assistance Mission in Rwanda (UNAMIR). The General lived and worked in Rwanda for a year, and was one of the few voices warning the United States and the UN that something awful was brewing in that tiny central African country. He lived in the heart of the genocide and civil war, and though he witnessed the mass killings (it is approximated that 800,000 people were murdered and close to 2 million were displaced/became refugees), he and his troops were able to save thousands.

It was one of the most important books I've ever read, and one that I wish more people knew about. It's the sort of book that breaks your heart, makes your stomach turn, and is at the same time a testament to the will that some exercise on behalf of their fellow men and women.

What follows are excerpts from the conclusion:

At its heart, the Rwandan story is the story of the failure of humanity to heed a call for help from an endangered people. The international community, of which the UN is only a symbol, failed to move beyond self-interest for the sake of Rwanda. While most nations agreed that something should be done, they all had an excuse for why they should not be the ones to do it. As as result, the UN was denied the political will and material means to prevent the tragedy...We have fallen back on the yardstick of national self-interest to measure which portions of the planet we allow ourselves to be concerned about. In the twenty-first century, we cannot affort to tolerate single failed state, ruled by ruthless and self-serving dictators, arming and brainwashing a generation of potential warriors to export mayhem and terror around the world. Rwanda was a warning to us all of what lies in store if we continue to ignore human rights, human security, and abject poverty.

Several times in this book I have asked the question, "Are we all human, or are some more human than others?" Certainly we in the developed world act in a way that suggests we believe that our lives are worth more than the lives of other citizens on the planet. [When I requested American troops for the assistance mission in Rwanda] An American officer felt no shame as he informed me that the lives of 800,000 Rwandans were only worth risking the lives of ten American troops; the Belgians, after losing ten soldiers [on the first day of the genocide], insisted that the lives of Rwandans were not worth risking another single Belgian soldier. The only conclusion I can reach is that we are in desperate need of a transfusion of humanity. If we believe that all humans are human, then how are we going to prove it? It can only be proven through our actions. Through the dollars we are prepared to expend to improve conditions in the Third World, through the time and energy we devote to solving devastating problems like AIDS, through the lives of our soldiers, which we are prepared to sacrifice for the sake of humanity.

As soldiers we have been used to moving mountains to protect our own sovereignty or risks to our way of life. In the future we must be prepared to move beyond national self-interest to spend our resources and spill our blood for humanity. We have lived through centuries of enlightenment, reason, revolution, industrialization, and globalization. No matter how idealistic the aim sounds, this new century must become the Century of Humanity, when we as human beings rise above race, creed, colour, religion and national self-interest and put the good of humanity above the good of our own tribe. For the sake of the children [who are now orphans in Rwanda] and of our future.

Peux ce que veux. Allons-y. [Translation: Where there's a will, there's a way. Let's go.]

------------------------------------

In the last few years I have come to feel that my "calling," so to speak, is to work in the humanitarian field, to help those whom often don't have the resources to help themselves, those generally overlooked by the rest of us - that is to say, the bulk of those in the Developing World. I want to do something of substance, something that requires personal sacrifice. And this is what I've come to feel is most worth my time, talents, and effort.

General Dallaire's is the sort of plan that I can get behind. I truly hope that enough people in this country will do their homework, become angered enough and can put their wishes in action, and that we can somehow force a re-evaluation of 'our' priorities. Then, we must act accordingly. It is unfortunate, but a good deal of the world will not act except in concert with, or at least with the approval of, the United States.

There's a world beyond our borders, with people just as lovely and worthwhile as ourselves. We need to work to legitimize their existence instead of imposing our will, or - in the worst of cases - ignoring them altogether.

I have to thank Gen. Dallaire for reminding me of that. And for renewing my conviction to continue on the path to Africa...and perhaps, beyond.

I think I'll write him a letter.

Allons-y.

p.s. Read this book: Shake Hands with The Devil: The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda by Lt. Gen. Roméo Dallaire

My phone can talk?

Last night I watched a documentary entitled The Lost Boys of Sudan. It followed two teenage boys enrolled in the U.S. Refugee Program, as they made their to the States for resettlement and continued education. It was thoroughly interested to witness the challenges they encountered in suburbia, and the difficult processes of assimilation.

At one point in the film, one of the boys rang home - something he hadn't done in quite some time - to be greeted by an angry sister. Upset because he ought to have been calling home at least once a month to brief the family on his progress and the whereabouts of expected remittances. After much arguing, the boy made a poignant remark, something to the effect of, "Here, there is no time to call. If you came to America, it would take you a year to call your husband. Then you would believe what I say." This boy obviously had a deeper understanding of our culture than many gave him credit for.

I found it especially relevant as I've been contemplating of late the increasing isolation that I feel from those that I care for, and with it, greater superficiality of correspondence. Especially in this country, we live such fast-paced lives, always on the go. Always chasing something...the sorts of somethings that require a sacrifice of community and real bonds. (No) thanks to technology, we've largely replaced face-to-face (or voice-to-voice) communication with the electronic. It's often easier, less time-consuming. But while we think we're making things easier on ourselves, we're really doing potentially long-term damage to ourselves and our relationships. I've noticed it in mine. And frankly, I don't like it.

I've long felt that all this technology we've grown so accustomed to has led to greater isolation and anomie; I know that I am not alone in this, that my perspective is far from novel. But it's now that I'm beginning to see an increase in its adverse affects a bit closer to home.

I remember when I was living in London and making some local friends there, one guy expressed surprise when I told him that I'd call him at such-and-such a time before we were to go out. He said that people (especially of the younger generations) in London rarely spoke on their phones anymore, they were simply used for text messaging. Though it was only two years ago, I remember thinking that that was ludicrous, annoying even. And here, I and others like me are making that unfortunate transition.

While I've always preferred being in another's presence to speaking with them on the phone, distance and other such impediments make it harder to do. Often that has meant that I just don't communicate with others as much or as often as I might like. So, I'm going to make a point of picking up the damn phone once in a while, and I'm going to try to see my friends more often. Even though I feel like I have no time most of the time. Because there's no replacement for geniune, human interaction.

Best of 2006

personal Best Of list...from all that I enjoyed in the previous year (in no particular order)

Best Books:

The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver
Mountains Beyond Mountains - Tracy Kidder
We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Killed With Our Families: Stories from Rwanda - Philip Gourevitch
The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
Freakonomics - Stephen D. Levitt
Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
Snow - Orhan Pamuk
Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal - Christopher Moore

Best Films:

An Inconvenient Truth
I Am David
V for Vendetta
The Edukators
Thank You For Smoking
The Constant Gardener
Ghosts of Rwanda (PBS documentary)
Run Lola Run
City of God
Das Experiment
Inside Man

Best Food:

Black & White Salmon Ravioli - Pazzo Ristorante, PDX
Espresso-braised Beef Penne - Caffé Mingo, PDX
Baja Chicken Tacos - Oba!, PDX
Moroccan Chicken Soup with Vermicelli - homemade by yours truly
Mama Leone's Chicken Soup/Tomato Orange Soup (my custom blend) - Elephants, PDX
Pumpkin Apple Muffin - Java Mama's, Tigard OR
Freshwater eel nigiri and Las Vegas Roll - Sin Ju, Tualitan OR
Jasmine Rice with Coconut Milk and Mango - Tin Shed, PDX
Grilled Pork Chops - Shelby's Beach House, Cannon Beach OR
Sweet Potato Fries with Aioli - 820, PDX

Best Music Purchased (or pirated from friends!):

Lander - orange chrome sky
Amos Lee - Amos Lee
Imogen Heap - Speak for Yourself
The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Stadium Arcadium
Nina Simone - Forever Young, Gifted, and Black
Nina Simone - The Essential Nina Simone
Bob Dylan - The Essential
Willie Nelson - The Classic Unreleased Collection
Coldplay - X&Y

Suicide.

Two days ago, my sister's friend committed suicide. And, while I didn't know him, I find myself reeling in the aftermath.

A little over three years ago, my cousin, Ben, killed himself. He was 19. A good kid. My sister was closest to our cousin and, of my siblings, I think she was hardest hit. Some of the events that precipitated his death parallel those of her friend, and so it is all the more eerie.

Emile Durkeim (one of the founding fathers of sociology) said that suicide is the most individual act a person can engage in, meaning it is the least "social" behavior. I remember realizing soon after, that Ben's death was not unlike a rock thrown into a pond: it creates a seemingly endless ripple effect. So many people were directly and indirectly affected by his actions, and the fact that I cried after hearing news of Danielle's friend, a person I had never met, makes me question Durkeim's logic. (Though I was crying for my sister - her suffering - should not affect the point I'm trying to make.)

While I understand that he was referring to suicide as an individual act in terms of mindset/one's consciousness, I can't believe that it is not inherently social. People and behaviors, actions, etc., are what comprise society...and when incalculable numbers of people are affected by one person's individual free will, it becomes a social action.

What's more, this most recent suicide has me revisiting the death of my cousin, reliving all of the anguish. Not only that, but how he could have felt so alone or so uncurably miserable that jumping off a freeway overpass was seen as the most appropriate solution. What our heads talk us into doing when our hearts are broken...or is it that our heads are broken and the hearts do the talking?

Aside from this pondering, comes a - perhaps - unanswerable question. When do we act on instinct, and when on rational thought? (It's the proverbial head vs. heart question that plagues me ceaselessly.) Without going into detail, my sister felt instinctively that she should have acted in a certain way to help her friend, but she had someone else telling her to "be smart" and avoid entangling herself too deeply in the situation. In the end, rationality won out, and truth be told, that person was probably wrong. Now all she has left is "what if?".

And the rest await ripples.

Melancholy and the Infinite Suffering

Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss. But an awareness of ignorance? That's the kicker...

I don't know if there is any worse feeling than having knowledge of something, a situation, and not having the ability to change it. Virtual hopelessness.

It doesn't matter if the situation involves a loved one, or strangers. Thousands of them. Millions of them. All struggling, whether in oblivion or not.

Awareness hurts, but so, too, does the knowledge that we're ignorant to the excessive suffering of others. On some level, we know it's happening even when we don't know the particulars.

Awareness is supposed to encourage action, but sometimes, wish though we might, we can't just step in and attempt to "fix" the problem ourselves. Boundaries.

...

The blackness of their eyes haunts me. The pain they don't even attempt to conceal because it's their right to make themselves heard. The lifeless bodies of the innocents, the cries of women many times raped, have done little to jolt us into action. So, it's all in the eyes. All they have left.

...

This is one of my gray days...where there is no right or wrong, black or white, but solely what lies between. And while the world is gray, they are dying.

the united states of portland.

sometimes, i feel like portlanders take a lot for granted.

we have the pleasure of living in a city that boasts (in my humble opinion) a larger-than-average population of politically aware, active, environmentally conscious (etc.) folk. because we live in such an environment, and despite the evidence we see of "the outside" on the telly, in the newspaper, we develop this idea that the rest of the u.s. is just like portland. that people don't just accept the status quo, but that they choose to think for themselves, to obtain well-rounded perspectives of important issues from various media, and so forth. i think, particularly, that this idea is fiercely alive at institutions of education, like psu.

it's funny...we go to college and we're taught to question what we're told, that the world is rarely what it seems, and that it is increasingly important to see the world with international eyes. and yet, we portlanders - the "tree hugging liberals" who love to criticize our government officials because of their relentless pursuit of a blanket, pro-western agenda in the middle east - are still ethnocentric enough to think that what is good or true for us is good or true for every other american.

example: i was in my foreign policy class the other day, we were discussing cold war policy and the trend that developed during that time of government powers "misrepresenting" situations abroad in order to increase public support for u.s. military/political involvement. basically, that politicians have to be spindoctors if they want the american people behind them. one of my fellow classmates then asked, "why can't the government just tell us the truth? why can't they tell us that we invaded iraq for oil? i think everyone really knows that's the truth anyway."

frankly, i was dumbfounded. how can someone really think that most americans believe THAT? there are millions of americans that are basically media-illiterate, or who don't care enough to look beyond their sensationalistic evening news to learn of other sides to a story, or are the kind to support and trust in their president "no matter what", or whom are in denial about the international state of affairs, power politics, etc. what about the religiously-inclined folks who truly believe we are on a moral, "righteous" mission to spread peace and promote democracy abroad?

what it boils down to is - i dare say! - americans wouldn't stomach the thought of going to war on account of access to oil (and/or other natural resources, geopolitics, etc). sure, many of us may believe that is the truth, but what about the rest of this vast country? i don't think ol' gw would be able to amass much public support if he chose that approach. (to be fair, its not as if he's the only one who's tried to strike an emotional chord with the people - american foreign policy has reflected a moralistic, "righteous power" drive for decades.)

so...back to the issue at hand...here was a formally educated woman saying americans want - and would easily accept - the truth. what i think she was doing was applying the desires and/or attitudes of those around her, and in her class, to those of all other communities in the country. but we aren't every other community; portland is not a microcosm of the larger society. and, if SHE - someone who has had the opportunity for a higher education, who sees herself as knowledgeable and aware - can make that sort of attribution error...

well. we're right f$*@ed, my friends.

Questions

How is it possible to want something so much and at the same time, to fear it so intensely?

I can't say I don't think about getting married, what it would be like...both the wedding and the marriage, the house, the kids, but at the same time, I can't say that I don't sometimes think I'll never be able to pull it all off. That, at some crucial moment, I'll balk...and throw away the potential for something more, all because I'm scared. Scared of it not working, and scared of what my life will become when it doesn't.

This is the part where I blame my parents. Yet, it's not about blaming them for getting divorced. It's more about them staying together for as long as they did, and the effects that THAT had on their marriage, and more importatly, on us. The fact is, we got to see a lot of the ugliness in their marriage, ugliness that trickled down (most often) from my mother to us. The way she treated us was a manifestation of what she felt inside, things she could find no other way to relieve herself of.

So, while I was young, it was my mother who was the bad guy. But as I grew and learned more about my parents' relationship, I saw more and more of the ugliness in my father. The things he did that, indirectly, affected his children. The things he didn't do that directly affected his children.

And yet, to this very day, they both claim to love us.

How can a person truly love another and do such things? How can they fail each other in such ways? How can one love another and be so selfish?

I don't want that sort of love. But...who I am to think I'd be exempt from such love if I marry? If I have my own children?

And so it is that I blame my parents for making me afraid of marriage. (There it is, I've said it.)

But....I still want it. Part of me is still romantic enough to desire "that life", to hope that someday I'll find myself in a situation that lends itself to marriage. The little girl in me still longs for the fairy tale. Call it optimism, call it idealism, call it what you will. I want it someday.

Though, sometimes I secretly hope someday never comes. Or, at least until I can get some answers to the questions that plague me.

I ask myself:

Is it really realistic to think he'll love me forever?
And, even if he loves me, how do I know he won't stray? Will he still want me if I get fat? Will I love HIM forever? Are we both selfless enough to work as hard as it takes to make a marriage work? Will we get bored, and if we do, will be remain steadfast in our commitment? When times get tough, will we be able to ride it out? Even if we think our love is true and everlasting, is it REALLY, or is our love merely clouding our judgement?

Even if we're completely honest with ourselves, how is it possible to answer such questions? And, if we can't answer them, can we trust what we actually feel, enough to just go with it?

Or, is this all a routine I engage in because of some subconscious motive to sabotage my future, my shot at happiness?

(I know you're thinking, "Great. She has to go and get all psychoanalytical on us.")

I don't want to be foolish, naive...to go about life thinking I'll be an exception to what is (increasingly) becoming the norm: divorce. Nor do I want to make life decisions based on fear, only to find out - much too late, of course - that I gave up the only thing I ever really wanted. Where is that elusive "happy medium" we're always talking about?

And the million-dollar question: Is there ever a time when I'll be able to cease asking myself that last one?

Leaves change, and with them my perspective.

09.14.06 - 5.10 p.m.

I've been looking forward to this day all week. The day the rain began. It feels as though autumn is finally here, and I'm elated. I've been eager like a five year-old on Christmas Eve. This is - without doubt - my favorite time of year. The time when my love for this city, this place, abounds.

Despite the age-old adage that spring is a time of anticipation, of new beginnings...for me, it is not so. Autumn is my spring. A period that refreshes. It feels as though everything begins anew. A time when the cat gets the tongue of the cynic in me.

This morning, I opened the window in the living room which looks out into the backyard, and to a wall of sprawling trees and shrubs beyond it. The rain had stopped falling, at least temporarily, but the sky was still dolphin gray and plump with clouds; the air was so fiercely crisp I felt I could bite into it like a Granny Smith. I put my nose to the screen, closed my eyes, and drank it in. The honesty. The scent of the air after rain, particularly the first of the season, is one I wish I could bottle and dip into whenever my soul needed cleansing. It's that good.

I feel romantic. Perfectly imperfect. Hopeful. Alive. I am always pleasantly surprised that a change in the weather, a gentle shift of season, can alter my perspective so greatly, and I often wonder if this is so for others. And, I wonder how it is that I lived so long in place where a REAL, leaf-turning, hot-apple-cider-drinking, beanie-and wool-sweater-wearing, anticipation-inducing, crisp, cool air sort of autumn never, ever, presented itself. Perhaps that is why I always felt I was missing a part of myself there, and, on some level, why I felt so drawn to the Northwest. Because, after all, how can one feel complete if she rarely feels alive?

When I tell people that part of what brought me to Oregon was the rain and overcast sky, I usually get peculiar reactions. My mother - who was all but convinced that if I moved here I'd become depressed and suicidal within mere months - is still geniunely shocked to know that, each year, I look forward to the rainy season. Even after six years. She often asks when I will finally grow tired of all the rain, of all the "dreariness" and gray.

Each time, for one brief moment, I open my mind to the possibility, but then, I am bombarded with images and ideas, thoughts of everything that the rain is to me; that is all it takes. And so, I always smile and say confidently, "Never."

Love on Two Wheels.

i fell in love. with cycling.

it was a couple weeks ago. a cool, cloudy sunday morning, and i was riding in the bridge pedal with my good friend. we were nearing the last leg on the 24 mile loop...the long climb up and over st. johns bridge. by this point in the ride my legs were taut, muscles loose, i was in the zone, pushing ahead at a quick, steady pace. i was a little apprehensive about the climb as i haven't done much sustained climbing in the few meager months of bike ownership.

so, i talked myself through it. literally. my muscles burned like hell, but the mental commentary kept me pushing on. i saw several people to my right who had given up and were walking their bikes up the hill. i couldn't let that be me...i'm too prideful (and too much of a perfectionist, for that matter). i wanted to quit, but i forced myself to welcome the pain, love the pain. after what seemed like minutes, i had reached the top of the hill leading to the bridge, and passed lots of riders in the process (woohoo!). now, i was feelin' good! i could see the end. i picked up my pace, and started toward the bridge. it was still uphill, but not as steep and as i reached the crest of the bridge, i got that "runner's high", only much, MUCH better. the pain subsided, my limbs felt noodle-like, warm...and (pardon the cliche) i felt free. it was the most incredible feeling: a gorgeous view of downtown, the feel-good aura of physical exertion, crisp, cool breeze against my skin, a feeling of accomplishment. pure bliss. i couldn't help but smile.

until that point, i liked cycling. i loved my bike, mind you. i loved the idea of cycling. but i hadn't yet fallen.

so good.

Euro Travel Journal

All of the following have been copied from my travel journal, dating from 15 June-1 July 2005, during which time I traveled throughout Europe.
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15 June 2005
Paris, 8.20p

Finally, I am here! For so many years I have wanted to visit and now that it's here, it's a bit surreal. I am staying in a tiny "hotel" in Montmarte, just a few blocks from Sacré Cœur. It is run by an elderly couple and their mangy dog, none of whom speak English. They have been kind despite our communication issues - I suppose it happens often. The hallways in the place are impossibly narrow, and, to my surprise, unlit. It's most definitely a no-frills kind of place, which is fine by me. More character?! After all, when I arrived last night to find all of the hostels booked up, and many nearby hotels, I was just thankful for a relatively inexpensive place to lay my head.

This morning, after a light French-style breakfast of coffee and pastry, I hiked up the hill to Sacré Cœur. Its domes rise so high above the surrounding neighborhoods that it seems all the more majestic. It appears a brilliant white, the first basilica I have ever visited. It is from its entryway that I caught my first glimpse of the city, and from that vantage point, I must say, it looked rather unspectacular. Afterwards, I explored the neighborhood on foot, then hopped on the Métro so I could make my way to the Louvre. Stopped at Champs-Elysées, walked to l'Arc de Triomphe (much bigger than I had imagined), and wandered down the avenue for a bit. En route to the Louvre, I stopped at the Grand Palais, which I believe to be an art exhibition center of some form. (Though I'm sure it was not always so.) The building is quite beautiful, but I did not go inside.

The Louvre - wow. So overwhelming, it was. I knew I wouldn't have time to see everything, even if I spent a week here, so I chose a few key areas. On the whole, I am very glad I went, but I was actually somewhat disappointed. I visited the Musée d'Orsay afterwards and I enjoyed that far more. I saw virtually everything there, including an absolutely fantastic collection of Degas paintings, drawings, and sculpture.

Am now enjoying some lovely French food for dinner - steak au poivre! Yum :) Also, green beans with some kind of onion garnish and potatoes that have been sautéed in oil. They are thinly sliced almost like potato chips, though the taste bears little similarity.

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16 June 2005
Paris, 5.10p

Last night, following dinner, I went on an epic hike about town and I am paying for it today! I awoke this morning so sore that I was scared to attempt sitting up. My legs were so incredibly sore, and my back and neck, I could sense, were in knots. After some stretching and massage, I set off, though I have had to take it a little easier today. It has turned into a gorgeous day, much nicer than yesterday. So I had a great time wandering about. First, to Notre Dame, then a walk along the Seine. Took Boulevard St. Michel to St. Germain, just exploring the neighborhoods. V. cool area. Am now back at the Eiffel Tower where I finished the evening last night. Wanted to take some day photos and I thought it would be a good place to rest and get some sun. I am planning to visit the Latin Quarter tonight and, depending on how I feel, I may try to listen to some jazz somewhere. I would like to leave Paris tomorrow, despite originally planning to spend 3 days. It hasn't captured my attention as I thought it would and because I have already lost time to my neck injury last week (in London), I'd rather push on and spend another day in Germany or Italy. We shall see.

(Note: I returned to Paris again, appx 5 weeks later. I spent another several days in areas I had not previously visited. The city, I am pleased to say, grew on me.)
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18 June 2005
Antwerp, Belgium

It is incredibly warm here, must have been 85 when I got off the train. Not too excited about that bit considering I had to hike a good 45 minutes to my hotel. My pack was feeling especially heavy, the heat making me sweat profusely in my harness. The walk was scenic, though - it took me through De Meir, the city's main shopping district. Grote Market, too, where city hall and the famous fountain are located. It's quite a happening city and it doesn't appear to be too tourist-y. Every street I have walked upon thus far has been made of cobblestone, the buildings butting up closely alongside them, creating a cozy feel. My hotel is only one block from the river, a fact I did not know prior to arriving. Though I've not yet walked along the waterfront I can tell it will be lovely, especially given the cooling weather.

I am sitting now inside an Italian restaurant, awaiting the arrival of dinner. I had intended a more authentic Belgian delight but as I sat at a nearby brasserie, I saw pizza after tantalizing pizza being served to customers; I just couldn't resist! It's been some time since I've eaten it, and another thing, I am missing Kevin. Pizza reminds me of him.

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25 June 2005
Czech Republic, 12.45p
(En route to Prague via train)

I am pleasantly surprised by what I have seen of CR so far. It is far greener than I would have thought, and certainly more beautiful. It is nice to see real hills, for the have been all but absent from the landscape since I was in Ireland. I am thoroughly excited to reach Prague. Seeing this city is one of the aspects of my travels that I have most anticipated. My mother's family is from this country and I am the first of the family to come here; my grandmother has not even been. It is a special feeling. I wish very much that my mom could be here, she has always longed to visit. I plan to take a vast number of photos - at least she'll have that.

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26 June 2005
Prague, 10.15p

This is the most visually appealing city I have ever seen, in terms of architecture. I have spent most of the last two days wandering the cobblestone, and at every turn, it seems, something has appeared and taken my breath away. Yesterday, I hiked up to Prague Castle to catch a glimpse of the city. The castle overlooks the River Vltava, a most astounding view. The city's many bridges, the varying forms of architecture, and the romantic domes and spires - numbering in the hundreds, at least - make for a completely enchanting sight. The city has a haunting feel about it, this kind of cold, Old World-Europe thing. I really like how I've felt since arriving. I would like to come back someday, in winter or fall, because I think Prague's spirit will be all the more apparent then. Cold-blooded Czechs, and all.

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27 June 2005
Munich, Germany

Since the latter part of high school when I extensively studied WWII and the Holocaust, I have been quite interested in visiting a concentration camp. Today, I finally had the opportunity. I spent much of the day at Dachau, about an hour's train ride from Munich. It was a most surreal experience. It was once of those experiences in which so many emotions flood your soul that somehow, they cancel each other out and you're left feeling numb. I spent a good deal of time in the museum they have converted from the old multi-use building at the front of the camp. I was extremely impressed with the conversion, as it amounted to a very educational arena for visitors. They had dozens and dozens of old photos hanging about - prisoners, depictions of life in the camp, SS and Gestapo. Various Nazi propaganda and so forth. Trinkets such as identity cards and bits of prisoner uniforms, their eating untensils, have all been maintained and put on display. There was almost too much there, it was all so heavy; this weight atop an already emotionally-loaded sojourn.

The bunker, where prisoners were kept for torture or other purposes was perhaps the hardest to endure. Some of the cells were open and I tookd the opportunity to sit inside one of them, alone. It was at that point that I finally broke into sobs - as I sat in a corner peering about at the unbelievably small space, turquoise and bone-colored paint chipping hideously from the concrete walls. I forced myself to remain there longer than I wanted, to reflect on what I had seen thus far, and perhaps, to imagine a reality wherein I could not leave that space at will. I was struck by the choice of color - that bright, happy blue. Was it always there, or were the walls painted after liberation, some attempt to argue the presence of humane conditions? What prisons are painted in such a way? I thought it may have been a cruel joke, somewhat like the gates at the entrance to the camp; woven into the iron of gate are the words "Arbeit macht frei", or "work shall set you free". Dachau was a place of lies and double-vision. There was the Dachau that outsiders saw, their images cultivated through staged photographs and nazi-placed magazine and newspaper articles. Then there was the real Dachau, the one I began to see amongst the grossly decaying walls of the bunker.

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1 July 2005
Lake Como, Italy

I am so incredibly happy that I chose to come to this heavenly place. It is certainly one of the most naturally beautiful places I've set eyes on. The lake is shared by Switzerland and Italy, tucked away at the edge of the Alps. The peaks are fiercely jagged, yet almost entirely green. They appear to drop off abruptly as they reach the water's edge, leaving little room for housing or towns of any kind. Even so, they exist, precariously balanced above the water, stacked and stacked, as if upon each other. It is gorgeous. The water is a deep, rich blue, the mountains evergreen and gray, and the villages a multitude of warm hues; they look like the colors one sees inside a gelato freezer, on the sorbet end of things. Peach, blood orange, lemon meringue-type yellowish-white, cantaloupe, strawberry, and the occasional mint. The air is genuinely fresh and so far, there's been a constant breeze. I am feeling revitalized already!