We Don't Need No Stinkin' Cold War

By chance on YouTube I came across this video which put images to the audio track of JFK's speech to the American Newspaper Publisher's Association in 1961. The speech addresses the topic of freedom of speech in times of war. Below is what I consider the most interesting excerpt:

"We [The United States] are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless conspiracy that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence--on infiltration instead of invasion, on subversion instead of elections, on intimidation instead of free choice, on guerrillas by night instead of armies by day. It is a system which has conscripted vast human and material resources into the building of a tightly knit, highly efficient machine that combines military, diplomatic, intelligence, economic, scientific and political operations.
Its preparations are concealed, not published. Its mistakes are buried, not headlined. Its dissenters are silenced, not praised. No expenditure is questioned, no rumor is printed, no secret is revealed."

Right. Here JFK is painting a picture of the Soviet Union and its approach to world influence. What strikes me is the similarity between his characterization of the Russians in the 1950s and 1960s (which he contrasted to the United States, who allegedly value freedom of speech, the rule of law, and "a fair fight") and the currrent overt and covert policies propegated by the United States federal government under the Bush II administration (as well as in previous administrations: Clinton, Bush I, Reagan, Carter for example). When I heard him draw this picture of global influence, I immediately thought of our own imperialist and colonialist campaigns to rape, raze and divide "strategic" parts of the globe. We burn both ends of the candle now: we invade AND infiltrate, we subvert AND elect, we conceal AND publish, we headline AND bury, in this country and abroad. You see, one must have a DISinformation campaign as much as an information campaign, if one plans to acheive and maintian global hegemony.

In a related note, Noriega is getting out of prison. For the extended version of the story, look here: http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2007/01/25/ap/national/mainD8MS1TDG0.shtml

Oh, and P.S.: If you want the full text of Kennedy's speech, go here: http://www.jfklibrary.org/Historical+Resources/Archives/Reference+Desk/Speeches/JFK/003POF03NewspaperPublishers04271961.htm
or better yet: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlEqtaWpKEU&mode=related&search=

Straw Hat

Check out the new Mark Twain quote I came across in a chapter I was reading for biological anthropology. It's in the left-hand column under the section "Quotes favoritos."

Also, this is how I am today:

"grasping at straws"

1. trying to find reasons to feel hopeful about a bad situation.

2. trying to find some way to succeed when nothing you choose is likely to work.

from http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/grasping+at+straws

yep.

My Latin roots are showing

indigene |ˈindiˌjēn| noun an indigenous person. ORIGIN late 16th cent.: from French indigène, from Latin indigena, from indi- (strengthened form of in- ‘into’ ) + an element related to gignere ‘beget.’

So an indigenous person is literally "in-begotten" or "in-bred"??? That's not very nice.

This is a way in which etymology can be a bitch.

not CON, but PRO

provenience: |prəˈvinyəns| noun another term for provenance .
provenance: |ˈprävənəns| noun the place of origin or earliest known history of something : an orange rug of Iranian provenance. • the beginning of something's existence; something's origin : they try to understand the whole universe, its provenance and fate. See note at origin . • a record of ownership of a work of art or an antique, used as a guide to authenticity or quality : the manuscript has a distinguished provenance. ORIGIN late 18th cent.: from French, from the verb provenir ‘come or stem from,’ from Latin provenire, from pro- ‘forth’ + venire ‘come.’

compliments of Apple Dictionary 2005

I read the word 'provenience' in my Archaeoloogy textbook and was like, "WTF, mate?" So I happily searched for it in the dictionary. Aren't dictionaries fantastic?

To call me vituperative is perhaps correct; to call me 'despiste', even more so.

Spanish word of the day: despiste - (from despistar) noun 1. as a quality: absent-mindedness; 2. slip-up, error. As in, "That was quite a despiste, calling him by his nickname!" (¡Menudo despiste llamarle por so apodo!) --compliments of wordreference.com

English word of the day: vituperative - adj.: scathing; marked by harshly abusive criticism; As in, "his scathing remarks about silly lady novelists"; "her vituperative railing" --compliments of wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

Haven't done words of the day in quite some time. The Spanish word is one I just learned, in a meandering, accidental kind of way; the English word is the first one that came to mind. Hmmm....

Less gas, more peace

I got a lovely and inspiring Christmas present from my best reina, Elizabeth: a holographic Batman on the cover of a lined journal, which continues the Batman theme inside with occasional phrases and pictures. It's fantastically fun; Elizabeth told me she purchased it at the Strand in NYC (http://www.strandbooks.com/home/), a trip about which she recently wrote in her own blog, A Room Full of Books (http://aroomfullofbooks.blogspot.com/2006/12/selling-pencils-in-hanoi.html).

I say it was inspiring because it's exactly the sort of thing I should have bought myself--but didn't have the good sense to--in order to help me out of my slumping self-pity and malaise. The first thing I wrote in it is a pathetic string of words I dare not even name a "poem", and which will never see the light of day. I might even paste something over top of it, just to make sure no one reads it, biggest absolute slaughter of a piece of writing that ever there was. The second reflection I put down Wednesday morning in shaky handwriting on the bus as it bumped along through the Highlands on the way to campus. I thought this little entry was worth making electronic (oh, how we young'uns hypervalue our digital resources these days...).

17 Jan 2007 9:30am
I am on the 29 bus heading toward campus by way of St. Matthews and Cherokee Park. Riding the bus is one of my New Year's resolutions, which I took up when possible in order to use less gas and to help alleviate my feeling of guilt and responsibility over global warming and supporting the imperialist state. The practice is also helpful as an exercise in relinquishing control--one of my most difficult impediments to peace of mind and soul.

The time of my life when I was at my best (to date) was the two year period when I was able to refocus my irrational need to control into a productive way to balance myself. I did this through veganism, time alone, and church participation (especially prayer). Now I'm trying again, working my way back to the belief part of things, and just starting with NO SUGAR and little-to-no dairy or meat.

Phase 2 of the redirection of my control issues is, as I said, to take the bus. This forces me to slow down, have empty time, to plan ahead (time of transport, packing my lunch, thinking a day ahead), and to give my velocity over to someone else. This is the hardest and the most rewarding part of riding the bus; to let someone else take the wheel and get me from point A to point B is a daunting task because it requires faith and trust, two things scarce in my heart these days, being generally a person whose motto is something like, "If you want something done right, do it yourself."

So you can understand how I can be of two minds (or of divergent mind and heart) when the bus driver suddenly decides to idle at a random stop for 3 minutes, or when the driver turns off the engine and steps outside to inspect the side of the bus! My intellectual brain tells me, "You have two hours to get to campus/home. Chill out. Even if you're late, you're not going to cause any big upset by your tardiness, in the grand scheme of things. You have all the time in the world." This used to be a much more effective method of allaying my irrational fears and anxieties. It is harder than it used to be, however; it’s harder to choose that thread of thought over the fear-based brain that is simultaneously telling me, “WTF is that guy doing? I’m nowhere NEAR campus/home! I’m f***ed if I have to get out of the bus here. I’m going to be late! WHAT’S GOING ON? WHY’S THIS HAPPENING???!!!”

But it makes me worry less just to write that down, actually.

i think i'm having a breakdown.

i think i am on some serious burnout. i have spent the last two plus years working SO HARD for everyone else that i have forgotten to take care of me. i have rotted from the inside out. i have become self-righteous, depressed, hurt, defensive, angry, hopeless.

i cannot be all things to all people. i must be good to myself.

this includes:
- exercising my body
- sleeping enough
- finishing school
- making money
- exercising my creative outlet
- engaging with the intellectual and creative world (in the form of museums, movies, concerts, shows, conversations, books)

i have become incapable of viewing myself objectively; of turning the eye inward; of being okay with humility, uncertainty, emptiness.

i have forgotten how to be empty.
how to live in the mystery, in the in-between
and how not to require it of others.
how can i demand understanding?
how can i even ask it when i am unwilling to participate in it myself?

how can i step back from this ledge?
how can i love myself?
how can i remember how to hold myself up to my own candle, and not the reflected candles of others falsely displayed and magnified in my own insecurities?

i must reteach myself
to know myself
so i can like myself again
and see possibilities again

to look at my life as a blessing and not a problem to solve.

Why one has to take 12 hours of a foreign language at the University of Louisville

"Those who know nothing of foreign languages know nothing of their own." Goethe

I just got this quote from the Facebook profile of a friend of mine, André, whom I met through my Spanish classes at the University. It is amazing how such a little sentence can speak to such a great portion of my heart. This is my mantra for anyone who wonders why s/he has to take "stupid 12 hours of a foreign language." Language is an amazing gift to humankind. It has the power to build civilizations--and to tear them apart. Language is the fundamental unit of our humanity; it is unique to our kind of all living things on earth. (Certainly, there is communication among all living things; and within specific groups--bees or dolphins or redwoods--there is a more specific kind of communication. But this must not be mistaken for language, for a formal system of finite rules and infinite possibilites, a generative quality than can only be understood and replicated and used by human beings.) It is part of this gift that we, as children, can load many different languages into our heads without the need of formal training. Learning to use language is as natural to (most of) us as learning to walk or to feed ourselves.

But this extraordinary miracle has a drawback: since we learn our first language(s) intuitively, we never have need of formally (abstractly, left-brainedly) understanding the system we are using. It only becomes necessary to understand language as a formal system when we must learn a second language. By the time we reach a mere 6 years of age, our brains have already rewired to the point that intuitive language learning has been severely diminished, and so we must learn language a different way. Instead of just hearing, repeating, and understanding, we must also read and write, memorize, diagram and list. These are all helpful in becoming comfortable navigating within the foreign language.

Because our brains have rewired and because we read and write, we can also use these tools to re-examine our own lengua materna. It is in dissecting a second language that we can see how to do it to our own language; and when we do this, we become better speakers, better writers, better communicators in our first language. As well, we can come to understand, in a larger sense, that since there are many languages--many systems--there are furthermore many ways of expressing a thought, each unique and essentially untranslatable. We can also, most importantly, understand that language is a SYMBOLIC SYSTEM, and understanding its structure can extend to our understanding not only of other languages but also of other symbolic systems such as music or mathematics. Through initiating and then deepening our understanding of a foreign language (or multiple foreign languages) we have the ability to tame our first language as well as to open the door in our minds to greater understanding of the intangible systems that compose our universe.

Three and a half babies

I had a dream last night, very vivid... I dreamt of travelling, and I was in Africa. I was at the base of a mountain, in a clearing. It was a sunny, warm winter day. I witnessed a wild, dark brown, shiny horse in the throes of labor, and she finally, explosively, gave birth to a foal. Then she ran off as if spooked, or in a hurry. I searched to see if the foal followed her in the trail of dust she kicked up in running, but I couldn't see the foal. I feared she hadn't made it. I can't remember for sure if I finally found the foal or not.

Shortly thereafter I witnessed an elephant giving birth as well, in the same clearing, in the same place. Her birth was slower and seemed more comfortable--not like the wild and writhing foal's birth. Also, while the wold horse gave birth in the sunlight, the elephant was slightly closer to me in the clearing, in the shade of a tree, although it was still plainly daylight. After the baby elephant was born, she and her mother sauntered off together. They seemed private and shy.

I then witnessed a rhinoceros give birth. Her body completely contorted, expanded, and contracted again as her baby emerged. When the baby was out, she seemed to be the mother's twin. They departed, intertwined souls, together.

Finally, after the three intense birth experiences I saw at the foot of the mountain, I found myself suddenly inside a midnight blue hospital room with three women lined up in beds against the wall, close together. One of them was Oprah, and she was also having a baby. She was in labor, and was covering and uncovering her head with a hospital gown. It looked sort of like a burkah. She seemed uncomfortable, but not uncontrollably so. She was still smiling, but she wasn't speaking. Kirstie Alley was in the bed beside her, writhing and whining and complaining.

Then I woke up.

Twas a three birth night. Wonder what it means?

Anything new with you? ¿Que te pasa?

marriedtothesea.com

What will those crazy techies think up next?

This is one of the crazier things I've seen lately. Every time I think I can sort of envision the path technology will take, my inklings are completely blown out of the water! I am totally amazed by this. Check it out:

http://www.vonage.com/vonagevphone/#

I think traditional land line phones will be virtually extinct in the next 50 years. We have already eliminated public land line pay phones. Many people use their cell phone as their main personal line--and quite a few of them don't even have a landline in addition to their cell. Most larger companies and institutions have inegrated their phone systems with their internet systems, and they all have DSL. USB online phones seem like the next logical step for the consumer...

Although, all this switch to high-speed info makes the necessity of more fiber optic cable laying an absolute necessity. How are we to manage the increased traffic and utilization of this fantastic technology without supporting it with more infrastructure?

Anyhoo. How cool is Vonage?

Why I'm Thankful

1. My family
2. School
3. People who care
4. Love
5. Holy people
6. Hybrid cars
7. Tofurkey
8. Christmas
9. Intelligence
10. Human communion
11. Scientists
12. Public Radio
13. Artists
14. Anthropology
15. Music
16. Animals
17. Gardens
18. The sky
19. Travel
20. Friends
21. Books
22. Humour
23. Miracles
24. Popular uprising
25. YouTube

Besides number 1, which is obviously most important, numbers 2 - 25 are in no particular order. I couldn't possibly order them; they are all essential, and essential to my life. For all these things (and many more), I am reminded to give thanks especially on this day.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

PS. You will perhaps note that I posted a new quote on the left column, under "Quotes Favoritos". Here it is again, just in case you missed it:

"The world in which you were born is just one model of reality. Other cultures are not failed attempts at being you. They are unique manifestations of the human spirit." - Wade Davis (anthropologist and ethnobotanist)

I also added a new favourite link, "Seasoned in Hell." It is the blog of my husband, and I highly encourage you to read it, as it's quite well-written and thoughtful. (Not that I'm in any way biased, mind you.) Right then. See you!

Breastfeeding International Icon

Vote for your favourite international (universal) icon for breastfeeding. Mothering Magazine is holding this contest. Check it out!
This is the abstract of the contest: http://www.mothering.com/sections/action_alerts/icon-contest.html


View MicroPoll
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Dia de los Muertos / Day of the Dead

I haven't been around much in the month of October, but here are some recent pictures. Día de los Muertos was today, and I built two altares; one to Elvis, and one to Santiago de Compostela. We showed them at the Day of the Dead celebration on campus today. It was great fun, apparently, but I missed all but set-up and take-down, since I had to study for a test, take a test, and attend a class. But I digress.

Here are a few pics.

Dostoevsky

This is the first draft of a poem I wrote this morning while reading Anthropology homework and thinking about why I act the way I do. Post comments and tell me what you think (and what you think needs changing).

working title:
Approaching whole mind

from my mother, the gift of candid speech
of laying one’s heart at the feet of another
and trusting that they will pick it up, hold it, and hand it back
rather than step on it and squish it to oblivion.

from my father, the gift of rhetoric
of building an argument
of clarity of logic, thought expressed eloquently
of the ability to turn heads with words.

I married them: the heart and the head
And I use the tools of each one (of each hemisphere)
I build towers of logic and gardens of feeling
With my mother’s purity and my father’s strength.

In the words I speak, and in the ones I write
I look for the hem of the line, the body callosum
Where the fabric of feeling and the fabric of reason
Are met, and marry and intertwine.

Ireland, ourstyle

The following pictures are:
Thomas and me at the Clonakilty Post Office, which is inside a former church. The people of Clonakilty are pretty sure that theirs is the only post office in the world that is housed in a former church. It's quite interesting; a beautiful old church building, which on the inside has a queue and plexiglass with tellers behind it, and a drop box!





Thomas with a bust of Barry McGovern as Vladimir from Waiting for Godot, taken on our visit to the Dublin Writers Museum.







Us with Nick Harper! Holy Cheese. We gave him a present, which he wore the night he played with his dad. We felt very honoured. The gift was a T-shirt with an Alex Ross painting on it of George Bush as a vampire, sucking the neck of the Statue of Liberty. tee hee. (pictured here)







.

Glocality

I'm feeling very technologically interconnected at the moment. I'm sitting in locally owned Sunergos Coffee on Preston (full o' people right now, by the way--cheers to college kids and Christians, the principal occupants of said shop!). It's 10:15 in the ayem, and I'm using my trusty little Apple iBook, mooching Sunergos' electricity to power the thing, sipping Guatemalan blend coffee, listening to someone else's music library on iTunes--someone who must also be in the coffeeshop. There is a band in their collection called the Appleseed Cast, and they are pretty supercool. (Like, I think I'll buy an album kind of cool.) Meantime, I'm reading Elizabeth's blog all the way from Boston and simultaneously chatting with folks on campus and around the country through Gmail and Facebook.

How glocal! (as in global and local at the same time.... It's an anthropology/economics term I learned. Doesn't roll off the tongue well, but it's linguistically interesting).

It all seemed so 21st century to me... and I mean that in a futuristic sense. Sometimes the feeling of living in the future now comes upon me with overwhelming clarity. Timelines, notions of "progress" and "civilization," fold and compress before me, around me, and I get a glimpse of what it must have been like to be Philip K. Dick. In the book VALIS he posits that time actually ended in 79 AD and that this 'modern' world is laid over it, and obscures that reality. I don't subscribe to that particular manifestation of the notion that time is illusory, but I do believe in that general idea. Time as an external, measured and measurable reality is a false notion. Time exists insofar as we create it and then observe (and obey) our creation, but it doesn't exist in some Platonic, empirical, objective, progressive kind of way. And all this intellectual theorizing is tangible for me when I have these moments of supreme surreality, when facets of what we in this culture, day and age call "reality" bends, shifts, or disappears completely, and one can see the pattern of all of it. I guess it sounds a bit like the Matrix, eh? But it is what I experience.

Sometimes I can look through this hazy distracting veil of habit and structure and have these peircing moments of true clarity, when I can see the world full-on, not sideways or peripherally. It's breathtaking, and exhiliarating, and terrible.

So, enough of that. I hope you're all keeping up with Elizabeth's blog, A Room Full of Books , because it is hilarious, and poignant, and insightful, and lovely. Please do yourselves a favor and read it.

And speaking of blogs, sorry I've not been 'round much. The semester is eating me from the outside in. I'm holding off the attacks for now, but it has been disheartening and frustrating and draining in many ways. In equally many ways it's been a grand and worthwhile adventure, full of new and fascinating people, places, ideas, experience and feelings. In all ways it has been taxing. I look forward to rest and press on to the next project.

P.S. I have asked Jimmy and Thomas if I may post pictures of them from the Ireland trip, and they are fine with it, so expect more Ireland pictures SOON! Love and learning to each of you.

Autumn becomes me

Hace casi un mes que no estoy aquí en la red, en la blog. I haven't been on my blog in almost one month. And what a month! I had some pretty desperate moments of wanting to drop out of school as I attempted to negotiate my time, balancing between three executive boards, classes, work, and home--what with Thomas being ill and all. But he's on the mend now, happy to say. It was a long six weeks, worrying about him and having the added stress of a sick husband. And I am quite enjoying my semester, although I often think I have more to do than is possible to do in 24 hour days. C'est la vie.

In any case, I didn't come on here tonight to write about any mundane goings-on; rather, I wanted to post a poem I wrote a few weeks back when I had been mentally railing against the ridiculous Louisville weather as I drove home on a particularly sticky evening. I watched the sky turn from bright blue to pink and orange, not able to enjoy the colours for the heat. The beauty of the sunset was pushed back from my consciousness, as if I were appreciating a painting through a periscope, though, and I suddenly realized as I felt the heat and all the people enjoying it, how futile it was for me to pretend that hot weather is a thing I enjoy. I also realized, in a moment, how silly it is, more generally, to consider the weather we have in Louisville between May and September to be the thing called "summer"; it is not. Furthermore, it is an implied lament that I don't leave in a place where September is more autumn than summer. To have the stifling heat of the summer survive into September... it's just not fair. This poem is an expressed feeling about what a Louisville autumn really is: a disgustingly unpleasant period of time, free from breezes, cool rains, pleasant smells, or shade. It's hot and oppressive and dangerous and exhausting. And silly. So here it is.

Kentucky's Ohio

and what is autumn
anyway
in this stygian pocket
of the river’s ridge
the heat and damp
swallowing the spine of
this twisted river body.
We’re tucked in:
Ken-tucked
in this Ohio Valley summer
where the moisture hangs
and the mosquitoes multiply.

Is it October yet?

Facebook innovates again

I wanted to see if this would work. It's a Facebook "badge." Not sure exactly how it will be useful to me, but I was curious to see what happened. Hmmm.... Curiouser and curiouser.

¡Qué maravilla el internet!

In other news, the first two days of school are enjoyable thus far. I've only had one actual class so far, but have been keeping quite busy with Honors Student Council. I am looking forward to posting more pics from Ireland, but in the meantime I am feeling more placid than last semester, trying to be more organized and hopeful. This plan is going well so far; for instance, I have planned out all the dinner meals for the week. Yesterday was pesto pasta, the day before was beef stew, and tonight will be polenta cakes. I have revoked my veganism and feel quite good about it. My body feels more grounded, in a good way. Nourished, not schizophrenic. We'll see how it goes.

Overseas and into the heart

I've just come back down after an exhiliarating (and sometimes tense) vacation. Ireland for a week was amazing. The absolute best vacation ever. It felt so good to travel with my husband, to brbing together my love of travel with my true love. We stayed mostly in County Cork, and a few days in Dublin. I'll hopefully post a more detailed account of the trip, but for now, here's a picture or two of some of my favourite things on the trip.


a pretty cottage on Clonakilty Bay, West Cork.











me, taking advantage of a photo op at the Clonakilty Model Railway Village.












Nick Harper, playing his show at deBarra's Folk Club in Clonakilty, August 2nd. It was a spiritual experience....












This is a sheela-na-gig on the side of a 16th century castle. Sheelas were pagan goddesses carved into the sides of churches and castles to protect them from invaders. These sheelas were hags, or wisewomen, with hideous faces, who exposed their genitals, the source of their protective power.
















:)