El fin de año siempre se aparece como la gran oportunidad para mirar atrás. Sirve como pista para la auto-reflexión. Esta vez lo siento como un gran reloj de arena que está por vaciar una de sus mitades, y espera ansiosamente que una mano lo venga a voltear.
Me parece más curioso aún que no es un sentimiento privado, sino más bien, es una actitud compartida. Las ganas de despedir el año recordado sus sucesos se vuelven un acto colectivo. Desde las interminables listas de lo mejor del año (discos, libros, fotografías), hasta los noticieros que recuerdan los sucesos más imporantes, pareciera que el ser humano divide el tiempo en pedazos porque necesita gozar de los finales. O será que en realidad, lo que anhelamos son los recomienzos?
Para mi este año trajo muchos y profundos cambios. Por ejemplo, finalmente terminé la carrera y con ello me quité de encima mi propia piedra del Pípila que me mantuvo pesado durante años. En ese sentido, este fin de año me siento más ligero que nunca... pero llegará enero y habrá que planear un recomienzo. En qué? Todavía no sé. Por lo pronto, confieso que yo sin duda necesitaba gozar de un final, y este año me trajo un auténtico final feliz.
Y ya que estamos en esto, le cedo la voz a un experto:
"It's funny. I can look back on a life of achievement, on challenges met, competitors bested, obstacles overcome. I've accomplished more than most men, and without the use of my legs. What. . . What makes a man, Mr. Lebowski?"
The current lack of posts in this blog is directly attributable to the fact that your host is taking a break from the Vancouver snow to produce some good ol' Vitamin D in Puerto Vallarta. He's already seen a dozen humpback whales.
Wow. I'm surprised and filled with delight. I just came back from a wonderful wedding in Minnesota and I'm pleased to inform that I discovered two inalienable truths. First, that Jewish weddings are definitely the most fun. (I mean, the famous Jewish "chair dance" where everybody elbows each other is infinitely better than the usual "let's dance a corny slow song and have everybody else watch from the sidelines")
Second, that Minneapolis is a gorgeous city for the architecturally sensitive eye! I expected a nice skyline like any other important American city, the usual parks, and some grand avenues. And yes, I knew about the incredible Walker Art Center and about the famous Mall of America. I also expected the unbearable cold that makes your ears numb the second you step out of the airport door. But I never thought that I would be constantly surrounded by impressive buildings by the most renowned architects of our time!
Minneapolis surprised me the second I stepped out of my hotel door the first morning. Not because of the cold (which was quite shocking), but because of the skyways. It turns out that Minnesotans decided to solve their slight weather problem by connecting every building in the downtown area with glass skyways! In other words, you can traverse through most of the downtown (going to work, lunch, running errands, shopping, dining) in the comfort of heated bridges, never stepping outside. In a way, the city is becomes a live mall.
However, to the first time tourist, a skyway feels like a hamster playground that can never substitute the feel of a city's streets. So I did step outside into the cold air, and it paid off. If you're ever planning to visit this city (and I insist, you should), here is a rough sketch of my itinerary, or what some smart marketing guys would call "Minneapolis by foot 101":
1. Start early at the Walker Art Center and visit the expo. Then, step outside and walk around the building at least seven times to fully enjoy this amazing creation by Herzog and de Meuron. (these Swiss architects were the ones who turned that old London factory into the Tate Modern...and the created the "bird's nest" stadium for the Beijing Olympics). Then walk around the famous sculpture garden.
2. Walk along the Loring Park and visit the Basilica of St. Mary, which looks like a smaller, but definitely not more modest, version of St. Paul's in Rome. Find your way to Nicolett Mall, which is a pedestrian oriented street full of stores, and which runs a parallel to the theatre district. Walk down on Nicollet (towards the river) and you'll catch a great view of the great skyscrapers, like the Foshay Tower.
3. Take a left on 5th Street and go visit the Hennepin County Library. It's simply fantastic! The building was completed in 2006 by none other than César Pelli (or the architect that designed the Petronas Towers in Malaysia). When I was there, I was walking around the central hall when suddenly a small brass band came down the escalator playing the most joyful circus music and momentarily interrupting the typical library silence.
It's 3am and I'm writing my LAST term paper. Wow! If it wasn't for the caffeine pumping through my body, I can assure you that I would almost be able to feel the premature nostalgia. Anyway, given that this last undergraduate all-nighter is a very special event for me, I hereby grant you blogfans the chance to read the intro paragraph to my (still unfinished) last term paper:
When writing about international affairs, newspaper reporters express themselves through a particular geopolitical discourse. Their news reports use claims about geography to paint a vision of the world that situates their stories and their arguments in a specific ideological realm. Given that most popular newspapers are owned by large corporations, the geopolitical assumptions inherent in the stories they publish can be indicative of their political or economic agendas. Thus, by analyzing newspaper reporting and identifying the particular inclinations of the writers, it is possible to challenge a story’s air of objectivity and unmask the hidden bias towards a specific discourse.
In this context, the present essay will explore newspaper reporting of a military deal signed between the United States and Poland on August 14, 2008, where Poland agreed to allow the installation of American missile silo’s in its territory. The move was controversial and aroused strong criticism from the Russian government, who interpreted the deal as an affront to its national security. The first part of the essay will present a brief history of the issue. Then, the essay will analyze four news stories on the issue that were published on the same week by four different sources: The New York Times, Fox News, The Independent, and The Daily Telegraph. By deliberately choosing two American and two British sources, and a left leaning and right leaning source in each country, the essay pretends to explore geopolitical differences based on the newspapers’ ideological lines. Also, choosing articles from the same week helps to control for differences in information that may accrue when comparing stories published within a larger time frame. The essay will ultimately argue that by favoring a specific world view while marginalizing others through their geographic assumptions, each news source displays a distinct political agenda.
Aaaaaaaaaa. It's 3pm and in half an hour I'll be sitting down taking my last ever undergrad Economics final. Dang. I'm nervous and excited. And I just had to share that. Fingers crossed.
Yes! The exam went great! As my mother would say, "train hard, fight easy." Wise woman. Now I have to eat something and start writing my last term paper, due tomorrow at 3pm. Dang.
Hace un par de dias recibí un email que me dejó pensando toda la tarde. Me produjo sentimientos encontrados, pensamientos antagónicos, y un poco de confusión personal. Pasaron dos dias y hoy decidí contestarlo. Luego tomé la mala decisión de postear el email completo sin pedir permiso. Pido una disculpa.
Ahora bien, el email era sobre una persona que visitó la instalación "Cantos Cívicos" de Miguel Ventura en el MUAC y quedó consternado por la comparación entre soldados Nazis, soldados americanos, millonarios mexicanos, y los judíos ricos de Nueva York. Para esta persona la instalación es increíblemente ofensiva hacia la comunidad judía y cuenta que perdió la cabeza y comenzó a gritar que la UNAM tenía que cancelar la exposición. Mi respuesta fue la siguiente:
Hace rato leí tu correo sobre la instalación en el MUAC y me dejó pensando en muchas cosas. Curiosamente, hace un par de dias tuve un exámen final sobre la película "Seven Beauties" de Lina Wertmüller que trata el tema del Holocausto y recibió fuertes críticas de la comunidad judía porque la consideraron "soft" on the Nazis, al igual que con "Life is Beautiful" de Roberto Begnini. En mi opinión, estas críticas optaron por una posición hiperdefensiva y, paradójicamente, poco crítica de la obra. En pocas palabras, they missed the point.
¿A qué voy con todo esto? Creo que la reacción de tu amigo es indicativa de una mala costumbre en la comunidad judía de hiperreaccionar hacia todo lo concerniente al holocausto. Te lo digo con el mayor respeto posible, pero creo que la comunidad se equivoca al pensar que hay sólo UNA manera de ver el Nazismo y sólo UNA manera de intepretarlo y representarlo: la suya.
No he visto la instalación, por lo que mi opinión carece de pruebas y no puedo decirte con toda certeza si estoy de acuerdo con tu amigo o con los curadores. Pero por lo que leo en el email, creo que cuando "perdió la cabeza", tu amigo se vuelve parte de la "primaria simplificación" de la que se queja. Creo que cualquier obra de arte, cualquier texto, tiene varias capas de lectura, y perder la cabeza por pensar que tu interpretación es la única posible me parece excesivo e intelectualmente irresponsable. ¿Qué tal que el mensaje es otro? ¿Existe la posibilidad de que tu amigo no haya entendido la obra? Los libros de Salman Rushdie han ofendido a millones de musulmanes...pero por ello puedes decir que los ofendidos entendieron su obra o la intención del autor? Tal vez, tal vez no. Yo soy de los que no cree que exista una interpretación "correcta" para una obra de arte, por lo que el problema se reduce a tratar de dialogar entre las diferentes posibilidades que se abren con esta anarquía interpretativa.
Continuando con la instalación, no crees que hay un subtexto evidente que bien puede unir a los millonarios mexicanos (que son parte de una elite capitalista que contribuye a la explotación económica del país y a mantener un sistema de privilegios intacto) con los soldados americanos (que son los peones en un juego de dominación económica global, donde está en jaque la seguridad energética de Estados Unidos) con los judíos ricos de NY (que controlan las grandes corporaciones capitalistas y a través del AIPAC aseguran la protección de sus intereses económicos elitistas en el congreso americano) con los Nazis? Sí, con los Nazis (que diseñaron un plan para la dominacion económica global basado en un expansionismo imperialista). Sin duda hay grandes diferencias! Por ejemplo, los Nazis planearon y ejecutaron un genocidio porque su plan de dominación económica tenía un terrible componente de elitismo racial. Pero esa es otra capa de lectura de esta obra.
A diferencia de tu amigo, creo que sí se puede identificar al nacionalsocialismo con todo lo demás. El problema de tu amigo es que para él el nacionalsocialismo automática y exclusivamente significa la exterminación de los judíos. Pero esa es sólo una manera de enfocar el lente. Tu amigo dice, "jamás hay alusión a sus crímenes". Yo le respondo: ¿tiene que haber? (y ¿estás seguro de que la dominación por medios económicos no es un crimen?) ¿Qué tal que pones la cámara en otra perspectiva? Creo que los puedes unir a todos con una palabra: imperialismo. O con otra: elitismo. Otro par: explotación y dominación. En este sentido, los soldados, los ricos mexicanos, los Goldman y los Nazis se vuelven símbolos de lo mismo. Por supuesto la obra no me está diciendo que Carlos Slim se sentaría a cenar con Adolf Hitler, o que un Goldman necesariamente está de acuerdo con la invasión en Irak. Lo que sí me dice es que todos ellos, como símbolos, y vistos desde cierta perspectiva, aluden a lo mismo.
¿No crees entonces que el problema son los símbolos y los significados que les atribuimos? Pienso que los símbolos son construcciones sociales, y por lo tanto, cargan el peligro de ofender a quienes los leen de una sóla manera (el que tu amigo sienta que le "arrebataron su holocausto" implica que se rehusa a aceptar una lectura ajena al holocausto que le han enseñado). Pero también creo que, afortunadamente, los significados nunca son estáticos. It takes only one voice of dissent (and hopefully one email to a friend) to propose a new meaning.
Puesto que he recibido varios emails de gente que me acusa de trivializar al Nazismo, de querer cambiar los símbolos del holocausto, aclaro lo siguiente:
Mi última frase no propone cambiar el significado del Nazismo para quitarle el componente del genocidio. Por el contrario, mi punto era decir que, además del genocidio, el Nazismo se puede leer en otros planos, y Miguel Ventura aprovecha esta posiblidad para darle una lectura alternativa al Nazismo, una lectura que le permite encontrar un común denominador con los otros "malos" contemporáneos. Posiblemente es una lectura banal y que trivializa los crímenes Nazis porque aísla el aspecto económico y omite la parte más cruel y brutal. De acuerdo! Pero yo en ningún momento di mi opinión sobre si esta lectura me parece adecuada o correcta...simplemente dije que me parece posible su lectura y que perder la cabeza por no querer aceptar que existe esa posibilidad en la mente del artista es irresponsable.
Recibí otro par de emails que de verdad me hicieron pensar y ahora me toca reformular. Al tratar de defender la "libertad intepretativa" del artista e insistir en que su punto era sólo buscar un común denominador, se me olvidó que por supuesto, las interpretaciones que trivializan también lastiman, y por lo tanto, son poco deseables en un ámbito público como es un museo. El que haya otras lecturas del Nazismo es una obviedad, pero afortunadamente la lectura que prevalece en la mente de la mayoría es la del terror y el genocidio. Y en efecto, tal vez los crímenes de los Nazis son una lección tan importante que sigue siendo demasiado temprano (y tal vez siempre lo será) como para buscarle nuevas interpretaciones a los símbolos. En este sentido, ahora entiendo y tal vez comparto el dolor de quien fue a la exposición y sintió que le quitaban su holocausto, puesto que el artista en efecto ofende al extraerle al Nazismo su componente más brutal. Si bien con mi respuesta inicial busqué defender la libertad creativa del artista (insisto, sin siquiera conocerlo o haber visto la obra), también creo que dentro de la libertad de expresión hay expresiones que merecen ser refutadas. (le agradezco enormemente a los que se tomaron la molestia de escribirme porque sus opiniones sólo me enriquecen)
I love it when someone you know suddenly figures you out. It's especially funny when they summarize the "essence of you" in a simple, totalizing phrase.
Today, I was sitting on a comfortable couch studying for a final with my friend Olivia, interrupting her every now and then with a comment or one of my random stories. And then, in what seemed like a sudden epiphany, she put down her book, looked at me straight in the eye, and said:
"Oh my God. You're one of those people that socialize while waiting in line at the bank."
Tuesday, December 2nd 2008 did not exist for me. Or better, I didn't exist for Tuesday December 2nd. I skipped the day, most of it. I caught a glimpse of the beginning and barely saw the end. Nothing more. The story goes something like this...
Following a terrible personal tradition, I procrastinated the writing of a 12 page term paper to the day before the due date (Tuesday, Dec. 2). The research was done and I had taken all the necessary notes...but it was 10 am on Monday and I hadn't started writing. Not a single word, not the thesis statement, no intro paragraph. Nada.
It usually takes me about 2 hours per page for an academic paper....and that's when the structure and argument have already been laid out. So, hoping for the best, I opened my computer, took out my books, spread out my notes around the table, and braced myself for 24 hours of writing.
Fast forward to Tuesday morning. At approximately 9.15 am, with bloodshot eyes and a bunch of coffee cup carcasses lying around, I clicked "Print", ran to my professor's office, desperately succeeded in finding a stapler, and finally turned it in. And then I finally went to sleep. After eating a banana. At about 10 am.
As usually happens when I pull all-nighters, I assumed I would sleep for 4 or 5 hours, and then wake up at lunchtime to enjoy the rest of Tuesday in zombie mode, either preparing for a final or going for a run to clear my mind of the previous day's essay marathon. I had even planned for some post-essay grocery shopping. But no. I opened my eyes at 10.30 pm. The entire day gone...vanished!
Oddly enough, I was still feeling exhausted, so I had some cereal and went back to bed and here I am, on Wednesday morning, trying to come to terms with the fact that I missed an entire day.
I can't sleep when I think about the times we're living in I can't sleep when I think about the future I was born into Outsiders dressed up like Sunday morning With no Berlin wall what the hell you gonna do
It's a new year, I'm glad to be here It's a fresh spring, so let's sing In 2080 I'll surely be dead So don't look ahead, ever look ahead It's a new year, I'm glad to be here It's a fresh spring, so let's sing And the moon shines bright on the water tonight So we won't drown in the summer sound
If you find me I'll be sitting by the water fountain Picket signs, letdowns, meltdown on Monday morning But it's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright It's alright Cause in no time, they'll be gone, I guess I'll still be standing here
It's a new year...
Yeah, yeah, we can all grab at the chance to be handsome farmers Yeah you can have twenty-one sons and be blood when they marry my daughters And the pain that we left at the station will stay in a jar behind us We can pickle the pain into blue ribbon winners at county contests
It's been three days now and I'm still boiling inside. Every time I think about it, my skin dries up and my little stomach releases...well, stomach juice of course. "What on God's name are you blathering about?" Well, I'll tell you what I'm blathering about.
...because I had to write a term paper. Arrrghhh. At the moment I thought it was the right choice, the responsible one (considering my final countdown). But then, at midnight that same night, I got a 5 day extension. Arrrghhh!
Anyway, the symptoms of my post-ImissedYeasayer stress disorder have only increased because now I can't stop listening to their music. AND, almost every music review that I've read compares them to David Byrne! So double arrrgggggh. (I'm tempted to call it "divine punishment")
So please join me in my frustration by pressing play and realizing what you also missed:
And yes, we should all listen to Rodrigo more often.
I'm proud to share that today I pulled a "fan from hell." Well, kind of. I didn't wait for hours in the rain outside a backstage door, nor did I buy a coffee and doughnut for a limo driver just to extract the hotel info of a visiting rockstar. But I did set a couple of alarms, one at 9.00am, another at 9.45, to remind me about the 10am pre-sale of tickets for the David Byrne & Brian Eno Tour!! (the venue for Vancouver will be the Queen Elizabeth Theatre, which should give you an idea of the importance of this renewed collaboration)
I'm writing a term paper addressing the issue of representation of women's bodies by feminist artists. My research today led me to a piece by Barbara Kruger that I had never seen before: "Untitled" (Questions). The artist appropriates the image of the American flag and fills it with questions about authority and power. In this sense, the image invites the viewer to contest the idea of patriotism and forces a critical (feminist) look at American values.
By questioning the values that this flag represents, Kruger's image made me think of all the American flags that today wave freely atop military bases in Afghanistan, Iraq, Guantanamo, etc. It made me think about the freedom and justice embedded in the stars and stripes, and how these waving stars and stripes must look ridiculous when juxtaposed to the nighttime stars and scars of occupied lands. (And who better to explain this hypocrisy of American values than Don Mitchell in his famous "You Who Are The Bureaucrats of Empire, Remember Who We Are.")
This also reminded me of the recent US election. It made me think not only about the enormous patriotic pride generated by Obama's victory, but also about the wave of false patriotism that the McCain-Palin camp unleashed when they rhetorically divided the country into "real America" and "_____ America." Two visions of patriotism, one inclusive, one divisive. (Is any of them desirable?)
p.s. in a few days, Mexico celebrates the anniversary of the Mexican Revolution, a struggle that generated much of the imagery that has been used and reused as symbols of Mexican national pride. I wonder if this celebration is not just recycled patriotism and protocol but still means anything at all. (an interesting viewpoint with Andrés)
Confieso que cuando me enteré del avionazo del pasado 4 de noviembre, sentí ansiedad. La idea de un atentado contra el segundo hombre más importante en el gobierno de mi país me agarró por sorpresa. Afortunadamente cuento con un escepticismo brutal que no me dejó preocuparme demasiado hasta no saber más detalles sobre el terrible suceso. Las teorías de conspiración transforman todo, hasta un estornudo, en una sospechosa coincidencia.
Ahora que la SCT publicó los contenidos de las cajas negras, mi ansiedad va en picada. Hoy siento una terrible tristeza. Saber que tantas personas murieron por algo tan banal como una turbulencia de ala me parece una verdadera tragedia. En el caso de Juan Camilo Mouriño, no sé si sea peor o mejor que su muerte haya sido por un sencillo y evitable error humano, que por un preciso y premediato ataque de los narcos. Pero lo que sí sé es que cuando se trata de la muerte, no importan los peores y los mejores. Importa nada más la muerte, que es total.
After 7 long years of playing the character of a student at various universities and institutions of higher education, I have finally entered the final phase of my bachelor's degree. In exactly two weeks, I will attend my last ever undergraduate lecture and my university experience will come to an abrupt stop. For those of you who know me and understand what this process has meant, you will agree when I say that I never thought I'd see the day...
But before embarking on a long "what does it all mean?" post (which, I assure you, will eventually come), I have to prepare for the most excruciating couple of weeks of my time at UBC: I have to write 4 term papers (>3000 words each), give one presentation, conduct one interview, and battle through the last Econ problem set. If all goes well and I'm alive and breathing when this is over, I promise I'll at least make some t-shirts with the legend "I survived the bachelor's degree" (which you will be able to purchase here). Anyway, wish me luck, or the least amount of all-nighters!
The title should be "The Death of Hope". But that would be too dramatic. Too defeatist. It would imply a belief in the unrelenting tyranny of the majority. Instead, I'd like to believe that Tuesday's disappointment was simply a temporary setback; just a minor glitch in a matrix that is constantly being rewritten...perfected.
I'm talking about California's newly approved Proposition 8, which reinstates the ban on same sex marriage in that state. This past summer, California became the second state (after Massachusetts) to approve same sex marriage in the United States, raising hopes amongst civil rights advocates that the move might spread to other states.
Unfortunately, discrimination met with opportunism this Tuesday, and bigotry had its way. With Obama's victory, the evening was supposed to end on a joyful note. Hope and Change were supposed to be the day's loudest songs. But this reverse move towards inequality in California was hardly the kind of Change that was floating in the air on election night....it is contrary to the Hope in a better and more equal future that millions of voices had in mind when their voices echoed "Yes we can!"
p.s. I would suggest you start by trying to eat consciously. And consume no bottled water. And becoming involved...in whatever it is that you care about.
En honor a todos los compañeros que ayer portaron la playera de Obama,
Los diez mandamientos del buen asistente de concierto:
1. no escucharás el último disco de la banda durante el embotellamiento en el Viaducto rumbo al concierto. 2. no entrarás al concierto cantando el último sencillo de la banda. 3. no caerás en la trampa de ponerte a discutir datos de la banda en voz alta antes de entrar (se vuelve una dolorosa prueba de tu capacidad para retener los datos de su entrada en Wikipedia) 4. evitarás comprar la playera del concierto para usarla durante el concierto. 5. bajo ningún motivo o circunstancia usarás la playera de los Ramones (que por supuesto, nunca viene al caso y sólo confunde) 6. durante el concierto, tratarás a toda costa de no delatar que sólo fuiste para escuchar las dos rolas que ponen en el radio (ej. no mostrarás una emoción desproporcional hacia sólo un par de canciones) 7. no saldrás a la calle coreando en voz alta la rola que más te gustó. Ya la oimos todos. Y por algo pagamos para oir la versión original. 8. no llevarás puesta la playera del concierto a tu escuela/trabajo el dia siguiente. Traerla puesta abajo de la camisa de vestir no te exime. (se vuelve pecado mortal si además fue la que usaste el dia del concierto) 9. antes de dormir, cortarás la pulserita de acceso especial que te pusieron al entrar. 10. la taza de café del concierto se quedará guardada en tu casa por lo menos una semana.
Me confieso grave pecador. Por mi culpa, por mi culpa...
A los fans de Obama que hoy salieron orgullosos a pasearse por las calles:
Traer puesta la playera de Obama es casi como ir a la universidad con la playera del concierto del dia anterior. Es como llegar a la oficina con la taza de U2, o como dejarse puesta la pulserita de acceso a la zona platino del Foro Sol. Es como traer el disfraz del América el dia posterior al clásico.
Pero igual se siente re bonito leer "Change" en tantas personas. Salud!
p.d. mención honorífica al compañero que está sentado junto a mi y maneja el combo playera-cachucha. Un aplauzo.
It's 2 pm on this historic election Tuesday and I came across an image in the NY Times that caught my attention. To me, it correctly depicts the attitudes of both candidates during the last stretch of this race:
McCain looks worried, insecure. He has an awkward, forced smile. His hands make him look uncomfortable with himself. It is the image of a man that is almost embarassed, that doesn't want his picture taken today. His eyes have an air of avoidance. He reminds me of the "He's a Muslim" incident, and of the fear rhetoric of this past week. His face here and his attitude in the last stretch of the electoral race reflect the feelings of a man that is unsure of achieving victory.
Obama is standing confident, strong. His pose indicates that he wants this picture taken because he feels comfortable today. His right arm is held high, proudly showing a card, his left is resting calmly on his side. It feels as if he's thinking, "the polls are on my side so I'll have nothing to explain tonight." He is making strong eye-contact, but is not smiling...he retains an air of urgency, expressing the seriousness of today's voting. This attitude reminds me of his last speeches, where he appeared self-assured about the merits of the campaign, but still reminded his listeners that the race was not over.
The way the diptych is constructed drives me towards Obama. Not only do we read from left to right in the languages that I speak, but McCain's eyes push me outside the picture to the left, whereas Obama's bring me into the picture, to the center third of the image, where the important subject is his confident hand.
My point? That this image speaks a thousand words, mostly unfavorable to McCain. I hope this is a premonition of tonight's results.
A spectre is haunting the United States of America...the spectre of Change.
All the powers of old America have entered into a holy alliance to exorcise this spectre: Big Oil and the corporate lobbies, Murdoch and McCain, Christian fundamentalists and Neo-realist paranoids.
Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as "too liberal" by its opponents in power? Where is the opposition that has not hurled back the branding reproach of "socialism", against the more advanced opposition parties?
Two things result from this fact:
I. Change is already acknowledged by all Americans to be itself a power.
II. It is high time that those who believe in Change should openly, in the face of the whole world, publish their views, their aims, their tendencies, and meet this nursery tale of the spectre of Change with a manifesto of the party itself.
To this end, liberals of various nationalities have assembled in this blog to view this speech:
And here it is. My 100th post. One hundred times of saying farewell to silence. To voice my opinion. To try and share my thoughts and feelings with the outside world. To connect or reconnect with those I've met in the past or will meet in the future. One hundred times of venting my mind in binary code instead of paying for a shrink.
I would like to thank (here goes the Oscar acceptance speech), first and foremost, my mom and dad for never leaving any embarrassing proud parent comments. Vancouver, for always saving the day with a pretty view when there is nothing to write about. Miriam, because without her, the "comment" links would be truly lonely. The Ubyssey newspaper, for ignoring the fact that I reprint their articles without permission. My friends who hate my guitar, for giving me the necessary courage on Wednesdays to upload yet another painfully corny song. My roommate, for his fine taste in cheese. Fred Herzog, because without him I wouldn't have had my most narcissistic moment in cyberspace. The Republican party, because without them there would be nothing truly important to oppose. Seattle, for attracting the dozens of bands that we get as rebounds, giving me a chance to brag about some uber cool evenings. And last but not least, special thanks to God, because by not existing, he/she/it provides yet another excuse for random blathering.
And today I feel that I'm exactly where I want to be.
Beware. This post will offend you if you place faith above reason in your scale of values.
I watched the film Religulous this past weekend and found it phenomenal. Bill Maher's take on organized religion mixes elements of "laugh your face off" comedy with bits of intelligent skepticism a la Richard Dawkins. As I expected, the film was less about the impact of religious beliefs and more about the ignorant society that keeps them alive. It was hilarious, inspiring, and at times offensive in all the right ways.
Bill Maher is unforgiving in his documentary, where he puts Scientologists and Jews, Cantheists and Catholics on the same plane. And that's precisely what makes the mockumentary worthwile: the realization that all of these organized religions can be as absurd as the other. The fact that the Bible is the #1 all time bestseller doesn't make religions based on it less illogical! For Bill Maher, Scientologists are as crazy for believing in the alien spaceship as Catholics for believing in a virgin woman giving birth to the human version of a God.
Surprisingly, the most intelligent parts of the film were provided by the Vatican's chief astronomer and a retired Vatican priest. These men, although strictly religious, made it clear that it is not the educated religious elites that take religious scriptures as dogma ad absurdum, but rather opportunistic religious leaders that use the fear inciting power of religion to spread harmful lies. (i.e. the for profit religious corporations like the Evangelists)
But the message is by no means that of intolerance towards religious people. Maher is not against religion per se. Instead, he is against the negative effects that religious thought has on the human thought process...because the mechanism of "faith" goes against the process of questioning, of unrestrained curiosity. He criticizes these organizations because they discourage scientific doubt in favor of imposed dogma. And a mind that doesn't doubt, might as well be dead.
Needless to say, I left the theatre with a big smile on my face.
Aaaahh! Qué buena rola! Hace poco vi a esta banda en vivo y hoy me desperté extasiado y con ganas de oir esto!
If the trials in are really getting you down, We had a close call, I didn't even see it, Then another one, and I hardly believed it at all
What the writers say, it means shit to me now, Plants and animals, here on the bender when it's 80 degrees, the end of December, what's going on, only for you and me
And to showing off his he's going back to the south, We're hungry, next that I know, and running the blender in a lightning storm, disguises a blessing I'm sure
Knowing up his, here comes a fork in the road, Pants have gotta go, here on the island on the 4th of July, Looks like the tide is going home
Time I find a little way to your heart, Now to the General Store, nothing specific, Gonna wash my bones in the Atlantic shore, only for you and me.
Chequen qué chida su página de interné de ellos: Band of Horses (Y también tienen un gran blog!)
Pregunta a los compañeros bloggeros: Una vez publicada una entrada, ¿se vale modificar partes importantes del contenido? Es decir, excluyendo faltas de ortografía y gramática, ¿se vale cambiar partes centrales de un post o agregar frases que le cambian el sentido?
Lo digo porque hay una diferencia fundamental entre cambiar de opinión, expresándolo en un post posterior, y cambiar el post original. La diferencia reside en que en el primer caso se puede trazar el cambio de opinión, se pone en evidencia el error o la aberración anterior. En cambio, al modificar el post original siento que le estoy haciendo trampa a los que ya leyeron una opinón y de repente resulta que ya no pueden quejarse porque "el post ya no dice lo que creí haber leido." Me suena similiar a arrancarle hojas a la historia.
No es crítica dirigida a alguien... lo digo porque me enfrento seguido al dilema.
(premio al primero que conteste "a quién carajos le importa tu blog, anyway")
Yes, the Illinois Senator delivered again. He explained with surprising calm and detail every part of his economic policy. He gave convincing reasons why McCain's healthcare policy, tax cuts, and neoliberal politics would fail miserably...without using the word miserably. Yes, Obama was above McCain's anger and desperation because he was enjoying the calm that comes from knowing that your words are grounded on sound theory. He explained that McCain's policies were indeed a repetition of Bush's 8 years of flawed decisions. And yes, he defended his pro choice stance and treaded through that delicate ground by reaffirming that the term "pro abortion" is wrong. Obama showed that far from being confrontational, his mind invites dialogue and favors argument over dogma. Given that his country is haunted by a medieval religious lobby, seeing Obama today at the third presidential debate was a relief.
As for McCain... I'll leave it to the Gossip Girls and MoveOn.org:
Today is a sad, sad day for Canada. Stephen Harper won yesterday's election with 37.6% of the vote (Liberals 26.2%, NPD 18.2%, Green 6.8%), renewing the Tory minority. My first thoughts (apart from a loud "dammit!") are that the NPD succeeded in splitting the liberal vote, causing the Liberals' worst performance since 1984. In other words, the widespread calls to "vote strategically" didn't work. I'm not surprised...
Why would anyone vote strategically knowing that their single vote has no incidence in an election? Every person wants to have the personal satisfaction of voting for their true choice...and even if the ultimate objective of all opposition voters was to beat the Tories, the mere notion that your Green neighbor might not cooperate with the strategy because he feels his single vote is meaningless would give you an incentive to do the same. It was a predictable collective action problem, in the parlance of our times.
In my opinion, if the opposition was so worried about a Conservative win, the candidates that ranked third and fourth places in last week's polls should have defected in favor of the strongest opposition candidate in their respective constituency. But, alas, that doesn't make democratic sense given that each of the opposition parties represented a very distinct set of legitimate ideals and projects. The tragedy of the Canadian political system then, is the lack of proportional representation. (for a much better explanation, read this perspective)
Anyway, I'm sad about Harper because I disagree with his worldview. These are my major problems with him:
- Harper has aligned Canada's foreign policy with the Bush administration. - Harper signed a deal to let US troops into Canada in case of an "emergency". - Harper has provided millions of dollars in subsidies for companies investing in the Alberta tar sands...an impending ecological disaster. - Harper supports tax cuts to big corporations. - Harper has silenced intellectuals speaking against him and blocked scientific panels discussing the effects of climate change. - And last but definitely not least, Harper is against reducing greenhouse gas emissions and described the Kyoto protocol as “a socialist scheme to suck money out of wealth-producing nations”.
In other words, Stephen Harper ranks high in my list of top 20 enemies of the world.
As the Georgia Straight put it, "there are many reasons not to vote Conservative, beyond the cost of the Afghanistan war and the idiocy of integrating Canada more deeply into the U.S. economy. They include: the Conservative leader’s misleading use of crime statistics to make Canada appear less safe than it is; his big lie that he wouldn’t tax income trusts; his other big lie in refusing to acknowledge that a Liberal carbon tax is offset with big income-tax cuts; Harper presiding over declines in Canadian productivity; Harper’s abandonment of agreements with the provinces that would have created more daycare spaces; the Conservative government’s decision to appeal a B.C. Supreme Court ruling in favour of Vancouver’s supervised-injection site; Harper’s elimination of the Court Challenges Program and the killing of the Kelowna Accord; Harper’s stacking of a stem-cell advisory panel with opponents of embryonic stem-cell research; Harper’s $45-million cuts to the arts; and Harper’s refusal to support the United Nations goal of having developed countries donate 0.7 percent of their national incomes to international development."
Oh, and did I mention that Harper has close ties with Evangelist groups? (appointed a minister to a scientific advisory group!?)
How to explain the beauty of my first Thanksgiving dinner without turning this into the corniest, cliché ridden post you've ever read? You see, I'm very excited by my new found love for this holiday. It's not only the fact that there was an obscene amount of delicious carbohydrates on the table, coupled with turkey and a vast selection of cheese. It's also not just the fact that it was a great excuse to sit around a table with friends to fool around and laugh until our faces hurt.
No...Thanksgiving really amazed me because it seemed more spontaneous than other holidays. You don't have to dress up like Dracula. You don't need to buy a ton of gifts. You don't have to belong to a particular religion or have some medieval spiritual beliefs. You don't need even need to decorate your house in any particular way. For this holiday, you only need to bring your appetite (and a modest donation in the form of a wine bottle to whoever volunteered to cook the turkey).
There has been much talk about nuclear bombs in the past several weeks. Too much talk, I would say. But this reminded me of this little post I've been hiding from my readers.
A few months ago, I took a little break from daily life to go visit a little place called Port Hope, Ontario. The town boasts a beautifully kept historical "main street" and a couple of very old churches. But what really caught my eye was the town's uranium processing plant. The El Dorado plant (now called the Cameco plant) enriched some of the uranium used in the Manhattan project, and some say it even supplied the uranium for the bombs dropped on Japan.
As I strolled around the fence of the uranium processing plant, a sudden silence fell upon me. I couldn't stop thinking about the impact this little town had had on world affairs. On people. On families. I stopped for a second to take it in, to realize what the metal structures in front of me symbolized...
I wondered what the town felt like in August 1945. What did people have on their minds as they crossed the street in front of the uranium plant? Did it smell any different? Did people go to work as usual? Was there talk about the town's complicity with the big mushroom clouds that shook the Japanese sky?
Today I woke up at 9am to the sound of my phone ringing. It was my dad. He said he was in Tokyo. It was raining, and he had decided to test the infinite powers of Skype by calling me.
At 1.30 pm, I headed downtown to watch Michel Gondry's "Tokyo!", following my VIFF plans. The film opens with a scene from inside a car on a street of Tokyo. It is also raining.
At 2.30, the main character realizes she forgot to move her car from where she parked it. She runs only to find that it has been towed.
At 2.31, I try to quietly recharge my parkmeter via cell phone, but I get the infamous robot voice that says "parking is not allowed after 3 at this location".
I step on a full row of toes, run out of the theatre, and arrive just in time to move my car.
I drove home thinking about the beautiful improbability of the day's coincidences. I thought about my dad, and imagined him riding a taxi on a rainy morning in Tokyo.
There is no doubt in my mind that Senator Obama had a stellar performance in today's second presidential debate. The democratic candidate came off as knowledgeable, humble and sincere. He was able to refute most, if not all, of McCain's accusations and attempts at misinformation. But more importantly, when speaking about foreign policy, he was more assertive than in the last debate. He finally sounded like the commander-in-chief that is willing to take strong military actions, if necessary. Although his bit about Pakistan made me feel uneasy, it probably earned him a heap of brownie points among those undecided American voters that bought into Bush's scare tactics and feared Obama would not protect them against the terrorists.
My favorite Obama: "We may not always have national security issues at stake, but we have moral issues at stake. [...] So when genocide is happening, when ethnic cleansing is happening somewhere around the world and we stand idly by, that diminishes us."
On the other hand, McCain looked stiff and uncomfortable... his suit was too tight. He adopted a grandfather voice that sounded patronizing and false. He desperately tried to distance himself from the Bush administration, but Obama correctly pointed out their affinities. McCain's phrases sounded like prefabricated regurgitations instead of authentic answers to the questions posed. Incredibly, he shot himself in the foot again by giving vague and uncertain answers to the foreign policy questions. It was his turf and he slipped in it! Also, calling every general "my hero" and saying that there has been a winning strategy in Iraq was simply pathetic.
I have one unanswered question: Who had the brilliant idea of putting McCain back on those drugs that make you say "my friend" every two minutes? Adviser fail.
I've lived with a foul smell in my apartment since last Thursday. I took a minute or two every morning and every night to try to find the source, with no success. I knew it was coming from the kitchen, but kitchens are such good keepers and producers of smells that I assumed it was a "phase" my dear kitchen was going through. I let it be.
But this smell was not one to dissipate into the fresh air coming from the window. It intensified as the days went by...until it became unbearable. Today, at 1300 hours, I decided to take some action.
I poked my nose out into the air to follow its trail...which led me to the cutlery drawers. "Weird", I thought, "there's no food in these drawers that could rot." I slowly opened them one by one, expecting a dead rat or a similar horror in any of them. Nothing of the sort appeared.
Instead, as I opened the last drawer (the one where I keep plastic containers, ziplocs, etc), I found a deliciously putrid Camembert stored neatly in a small tupperware! Ahhh...the beauty of having a pothead roommate!
Here is the article that I wrote following Herzog's talk last week. The Ubyssey newspaper published an edited version in last Friday's culture section...but it's Sunday and I've decided to privilege my blogfans with the original version. Enjoy!
Don't Photograph Landscapes
“I’m not here to show my work, I’m here to start a dialogue” said Fred Herzog, as he introduced himself to the eager crowd of aspiring photographers that attended UBC Photosociety’s first annual general meeting at the SUB on September 25. “I hope I can be interrupted often, and I hope you get used to my accent.” At that moment, a projector was fired up, marking the beginning of a memorable evening with the renowned Vancouver photographer.
Herzog’s work needed no introduction. After forty years of photographing street scenes in this city, his images of Vancouver have become as common to photographers as the totem poles in StanleyPark. Yet, it was the photographer’s presence, his own voice explaining his photographs that filled the evening with magic. The kind of magic that exudes from Herzog’s lively, colorful prints.
Born in Germany, Herzog moved to Vancouver in the 1950s and soon began capturing the life of the city with his camera. He separated himself from other photographers by shooting mostly in Kodachrome, a color slide film that was hard to turn into prints. This limited his ability to exhibit because “Making cibachrome prints was not feasible. It was almost impossible for me to make a profit selling the prints.” Thus, although his collection of slides continued to grow, his work remained in the dark for decades.
In a way, however, this initial marginalization helped to turn Herzog into a living legend. His images were taken decades before the were finally shown in galleries, turning his exhibitions into colorful odes to nostalgia. It takes only a minute or two of glancing at the impressive colors and contrast in his photographs to understand the power of images that bring back to life an era that is generally remembered in black and white.
Moreover, anyone that attended Herzog’s fantastic retrospective at the VancouverArtGallery last year understands that there is something very personal about his work. His images occur in the most public spaces, yet they remain deeply intimate. As spectators, it feels as if Herzog has suddenly allowed us to take a glimpse into the private life of his subjects, making us all voyeurs of life in an epoch that is foregone but never forgotten.
As a projector showed us some of Herzog’s famous images, Herzog explained that photography is about looking, about waiting. He mocked people who carry a bag full of expensive lenses saying “the picture has to be in your head, not in your camera bag” and underlined the importance of concentrating on a moment, on a sudden detail that makes an otherwise irrelevant scene unique. With this, Herzog revealed his place in the long tradition of documentary photographers who, like Cartier Bresson, causally roamed the streets waiting for the instant précis to capture a unique event forever.
Considering the inherent difficulty of shooting people on the streets, Herzog was quick to explain that it is imperative to look for body language, which includes clothing. Stopping the projector at a picture of a woman with a cigarette in her hand, he said that first impressions matter because humans automatically make judgments of the people they see, and thus, a photograph has to capture a gesture or a detail that gives a strong first impression. He then added, that “if you look long enough, you can find vitality anywhere.”
When asked about the risks of photographing strangers, Herzog first shared that “people have shouted at me, people have told me to get away, people have told me to get off their property, and people have threatened me with calling the police.” Thus, he suggested that we “shoot first, and ask questions later!” However, he confessed that in his particular case it has been easier since by the time he started exhibiting, most of the subjects in his pictures were too old to care. Almost jokingly, he suggested to wait thirty years before publishing a picture of a stranger because “a dead person will not take you to court!”
As the evening came to an end, Herzog delivered his most poetic moment. “To me, the city is a stage and the people on the streets are all actors.” In this sense, Herzog stressed that “We need to record how people look in their natural state…it’s the reality of how we look.” He explained that if photographers don’t accept the task of showing people with no interference, without staging them, then we will lose any visual evidence of the way we really were.
As a closing remark, Herzog comically reminded us for the twentieth time that in order to succeed as photographers, “don’t photograph landscapes, everybody does it, and nobody cares.”
