moody piece of junk

I wrote this last night, frustrated about not having written on this lately due to no internet at home. It's more personal than Mexico or travel related. I'm not sure if I should really post it, but why not? Also, today I played the violin for a while and it made me happy. Here it is:


We've had cool weather recently. So cool in fact, I'd venture to say the high of the past two days was not above 90 degrees Fahrenheit. After this afternoon's scuba lesson, Mallory, Megan and I were all shivering. Fortunately our teacher's enthusiasm for air conditioning had subsided for our trip back to Merida. It was a nice medium – still warm and with wind in our hair. Not too cold, artificial, and icy, like life is with A/C on full blast. It's just about balance.

As the sun dove ever deeper it just kept getting cooler. It was so nice when I got home that I changed into shorts and took a stroll around the neighborhood with my ipod and music to set my mood, which was nothing short of unprecedented.

I've considered myself pretty lucky to avoid a lot of stressing about what I'm going to do after I graduate. In fact, I really almost never thought about it; since my year off it's been a pretty straight path. That mildly fatalistic combination of persistence and self-negation, I think, has had a lot to do with how I make decisions in my life, and especially big ones. It's a comforting, easy, and, dare I say, insincerely-buddhist manner of navigating life's milestones. But I don't think I want to do it like this anymore.

That's why I chose my college. I just sort of did. I had a good visit. To me it wasn't particularly profound although to some of my hosts I became some sort of religious symbol thanks my cramped spread-eagle sleeping posture. And I was relatively happy with the decision. And I'm not complaining about what my future is looking like, either. I've got a guaranteed job (assuming I don't quit or perform abysmally) that's salaried, with benefits, and summers off. I might also get a masters degree. Even though I wouldn't dare to complain, what good would the best liberal-arts education money can buy be if I couldn't critique this situation?

Do I know what I'm getting myself into? Not really. I listened to an episode of This American Life a few weeks ago which featured that hipster economist from NPR. He had a story about the economy in which he tried to convince his cousin to go back to college over a three-way phone call between them and an economics professor. The cousin had a pretty good job as a carpenter, and he said that he loved it because he leaves all his work at work – he never talks about work at home. Professionals, on the other hand, do this all the time. Yes, being a badass teacher and viewing that role as central to combatting unquantifiable social juste issues is something that I want to do, but the fact that I will continually be making choices about living my own life simply by choosing how much I will work is a incredibly intimidating. My job's training materials make it very clear that my job will take a lot of work and that I will pretty much eat, sleep, and breathe teaching. It sounds a lot like college, but with a little more freedom and less being continually subjected to others' judgement.

Right now, I'm going into this future optimistically, believing that I'll get a lot out of this experience. I think the training curriculum has just gotten me down – I've been reading it all weekend, and it has successfully bludgeoned one key idea into my head: think about everything you do all the time and in many ways. There's a lot of good specific info in it to be certain, but the general message is: think about what you're doing. Ok, I will. I know I'll learn a lot by teaching, and I'm pretty interested in that as a possible “career” in the future. Luckily, it's a pretty versatile “career.” Summers off, and every corner of the world with human populations needs some sort of teacher. Lots of opportunity. The world is wide open to me.
I think I can get out of debt, too. This is a big one. But what if I can't? It might mean getting trapped into this lifestyle where work never ends. Perhaps this is where Marx went wrong in the manifesto: professionals are workers whose work never ends. They have to keep producing the same results all the time, meaning taking their work home with them. What if I end up with a life like this?

I know that I can be successful at whatever I really set my mind too. That's not the problem. The problem is that success isn't really aligned with happiness. I mean, who really wants to not have time to explore themselves, diversify themselves, do something, anything artistic. Play music, write, paint, wear funny clothes, tell a joke, play a sport or game, dance (of course), belligerently mumble with urgency of existential matters and paradoxes, recognize the essential unity of everything in the universe. What if I don't get to do these things anymore?

When I think about my life, I think the times I've been most “successful” in ventures such as these were times when I was least traditionally “successful” in others. During both of those times, I left my work at work and didn't really do homework. I'm thinking of course of the last two years of high school and the year I took off of college. My senior year of high school is kind of a blur. I'll leave it to you to extrapolate that implication. I partied a lot, I played guitar a lot every day, I had the wackiest job I will ever have. I'm convinced this year deeply affected my in many ways. I think, during this time, I learned how to creatively converse with people. Mainly thanks to Liz, I'd say I have excellent conversational skills.

There was one time we came up with the idea to make a comic based on a combination of Star Wars and Seinfeld. The Star Wars characters would be living in New York and have funny incidents happen to them. We had a whole issue planned out but never really got around to it. There was one night during which we listened to Zaireeka a few times and, gradually becoming more and more disoriented (infer away, dear reader), became more and more confused about just what the fuck was going on anyways!? It's a tricky album. Or the roman candle wars, swimming in the lake at midnight, drinking our sorrows away when Phish “broke up,” the cable access tv ping-pong tourney, or living with a hobo. (Yes, I really did live with a homeless guy for a while in high-school.) I was pretty much free. Sure, I was in high school and depended on my parents for stuff, but I made the most of it in a pretty positive way.

Since then, the only other time when I've really been able to do stuff like that was when I took a year off of college. I left my work at work, and did a million other things when I wasn't at work. Innumerable potlucks, bike rides, concerts, beers, game nights, weird situationist zines, drum circles, comics, conversations about the importance of the avant-garde and how to apply it to video game design, community spanish lessons, skill-shares, activism stuff when the EPA (no joke) tried to dump a bunch of toxic waste in the city, and daily celebrations of life. I can honestly say that I would be a very different person if not for that year. I'm a lot better for it, and the kids in Kalamazoo are family to me.

I'd say that I've felt like I'm accomplishing the most when I'm accomplishing the least according to a “professional” viewpoint. That's why I'm worried: what if I don't make it out of debt? I'll be trapped into continuing this cycle of “professional” employment. I might never follow some crazy dream of becoming a mad farmer, acoustic wonder-boy, or member of the traveling nation. That would make me sad.

I don't think I'm the only person concerned with this type of conflict. I'm bred for success – educated at an elite liberal arts college and storming onto the scene with a truly challenging task (slash job) which will provide opportunities for personal growth in certain ways. But probably not in others. At Grinnell I learned to read, critique, and write like a pro, but almost never played my guitar. And I lament this. What will I end up sacrificing next time around?

I see this conflict springing up in some other places, too. Today a friend and I were talking about globalization in a corporate coffee-shop. During the conversation, two other friends came in. We looked at each other, and, rather than saying hello, justified our presence in the belly of the beast. “It's just that all the independent cafes are closed today (Sunday). You'd think this was like... a small town or something.” “Yeah...” We got back to unpacking some weird theoretical mumbo-jumbo about production in a neo-liberal globalized economy as antithetical to education. Very weird and hard to decipher, probably French (translated into Spanish). If people need to acquire increasingly specialized skills to work, does that mean that teaching the skills of critical thinking goes down the tubes? The liberal-arts as irrelevant? Outdated? Ha! I think not.
I was reminded of a brief history of this radical simplicity commune place in France called The Ark (L'arche?). I heard this story in another radical simplicity commune place in Missouri called the Wren Song Sanctuary when I went there for a bit in March 2008 (and how I long to go back!). Some of the founders had previously lived at the Ark when it broke down. It was supposedly one of the biggest, oldest, most successful communities of this kind in the world. But as time progressed and the new anti-capitalist movement was began to take shape, the residents slowly but surely sorted themselves into two groups: one dedicated to the simplest, most peaceful living possible as a way to offer change, and one which wanted to travel and use a lot of technology to stay connected and on-top of every issue. Over time, the chasm between these groups became so vast as to end in a dissolution of the Ark. Sad, but true. I think this story is a parallel to what I'm facing personally and what the privileged sector of the new counter-culture faces. To be badass professionals and work to change things with some degree of integration or just opt-out and seek love, creation, and spiritual truth.

This is why, for me, the stakes are so high. And why I'm, for once, concerned about what I'm doing with my life. I'm hoping that I can find a balance. It's all about balance. I've been envisioning my life on that premise for a while. It will be tough. One side will want all of myself and I there won't be much of me left if I oblige. After this is over, I'm going to take a big step in the other direction – working on a biodynamic (and all that good stuff) farm for a while. I'm praying that after these two or three years of teaching I will be free of debt. I'm hoping that my cell phone will be obsolete, and my car (eek! buying a car!!!!) will be stolen, but my biking muscles will be stronger than ever. I'm looking forward to the day that my computer will break and my mind will be sharper than ever. I'm counting on the day my ipod dies but my guitar is still cool.

After a month in Minneapolis, I know about two dozen people, some of whom I see regularly. At work. Canvassing.

I have no apologies, by the way, about my meager contributions to this blog. There are plenty of other places, online and off, that I write regularly and with a great degree more thought and interest. Just think of this as an exercise in contrast.

long post to make up for mis faltas

Sorry for the long time, no update thing. Anyways, I've done a lot of cool stuff since the "party weekend." Don't worry, I haven't been recovering this whole time. I have been busy, however.

During carnival, which is like when the city goes crazy and is a big party for a week and school is canceled, I actually took the opportunity to go to San Cristobal de las Casas, which is in Chiapas. The city is considered a Pueblo Mágico, and I could not agree more. I went to visit my friend from Michigan, Andrea, who had just moved there and I met her roommates, who are also really nice. She had just gotten a job at a Lebanese restaurant, so I mostly explored the city myself on foot during the day. It was a lot of fun - there are lots of churches which are arquitecturally unique to Chiapas due to the mixing of indigenous and christian religions.

There is a great artisan market there - and it's dirt cheap! A lot of Chiapaneca women come to Mérida to sell stuff and probably do with moderate success. However, the journey about doubles the price. In San Cristobal I was able to pick up a pretty nice leather messanger bag and knitted wool hoodie for about $400 MX. Both seem like they're super high quality to me. In Mérida, the same bag is often hawked for $550 MX, and not from actual street vendors but from tourist-oriented souvenir shops. The fact that I haven't seen many Chiapaneca women selling them in Mérida tells me one thing - that people go down to Chiapas, buy the goods, and then bring them back up here to sell at 2-3 times the price down there.

When I was in San Cristobal, I felt guilty haggling with people. The fact is that the differene in price I got on the items wasn't that much to me, and even the asking price was a pretty good deal for what I was buying. I never pushed very hard, and mostly negotiated just to go through the motions. Buying stuff in bulk, I imagine that the souvenir middlemen of Mérida make a killing. Needless to say, not to the benefit of the actual producers of the products.

I'm having one of those "ohmigod the structure of the world economy really needs to change in order for people to have equal opportunities in life" moments. Since this trip, I've been on the lookout for manifestations of structural inequality, both the causes and the consequences. There are a quite a few when one is looking.

For example - the women who come to Mérida from Chiapas to sell stuff. Why do they do it? I guess I should ask them to really know - maybe it's some sort of employment circuit that every member of some sort of artisnal co-op does every so often. I'm guessing not, though. That means shouldering the cost of travel, lodging, moving a lot of products with you, and normally bringing children. I'm sure they've perfected their system of doing this, but how much can it benefit them? Even if it does result in economic benefits, it undoubtedly perpetuates structural inequality. For example, the children aren't in school. By the time they grow up, they'll be ready to work in the artisnal market, but won't have many other opportunities. However, the number of kids which come of age into this situation can only be increasing - as I said, the women in Mérida often have 5 kids with them, and the same was true in San Cristobal.

Of course, the Mexican educational system is no gaurantee of greater opportunities either. Again, I haven't done actual research into this, but it seems like every so often you have to take a test which determines if you keep going to school. If you fail, you're out of the system. I've been told that the Mexican educational system is incredibly corrupt, and while this testing process may be a great way to trim budgets, it does little to give opportunity to those who don't show "potential." Talk about high pressure and psychological assault. A friend of mine who works making copies in the facultad is pretty much done with school and working a dead end job. I'm really curious how much she makes but I'm afraid of asking. Again, what else is there to do when the system throws you out on the street? I really think someone needs to write a book like "Nickeled and Dimed" but about other countries and structural inequality. Maybe I will try to do this later.

But back to what I did in San Cristobal. One day I went to San Jan Chomula, where I did not hear a single person speaking Spanish unless I first spoke it to them. Everyone was speaking an indigenous language, the name of which I can't remember. I couldn't take my camera there, because photo taking has a bad rap - of stealing the subject's soul. Apparently tourists have been badly beaten because of this. Anyways, the carnival was pretty interesting. Men wore specific costumes and took smallish bulls around the plaza and controlled them with ropes held by about 20 men in total. Other men tried to jump on the bull and ride it. They were not costumed, and most appeared to be teenagers or early 20 somethings, or moderately intoxicated. Women pretty much just watched. So did I, for about three hours. It was very entertaining, and I didn't even see anyone get seriously hurt!

Later that night, Andrea and her roommates and I met a really nice, although probably quite psychologically insecure middle aged American tourist named Edward. He took us out to drinks at the Lebanese restaurant where Andrea was working. I drank about 6 Araks, which is a Turkish anise liquor. Yum! Ed's treat - double yum! Afterwards we went to some other places and kept partying and Ed went home. I got tired of him pretty early in the evening when his inner lecher emerged. He said he wanted to come to this canyon with us, but thankfully didn't answer his phone in the morning.

The following day, I dragged Andrea out of bed kicking and screaming (not literally, but it took a little work on my part) to go to the Cañon del Sumidero, a really cool canyon close to San Cristobal with rock faces up to 1 km. It was truly breathtaking; one view from within the canyon is the official seal of the state of Chiapas. There were animals, too. A few times we passed by an entrapment - my unofficial word for where currents take floating trash never to escape. Of the maybe twelve people in our boat, Andrea and I were the only ones who seemed to acknowledge the trash.

Back in Mérida, I rested for quite a while - I couldn't sleep during the overnight 14 hour bus ride back. Bummer. However, later in the weekend I went to Celestún, where there is a cool ecological reserve with about 15,000 flamingoes you can observe from a moderate distance. Even though I was super tired still, I figured it was worth it to go when friends were going rather than trying to go later and maybe having to pay a lot more for the boat. Interesting fact - the flamingoes go there to eat mosquito larvae. Imagine how many larvae there must be to feed that many flamingoes. Now imagine what that might smell like. Yuck. But it was still worth it. On both boat trips, the wind rushing through my hair and around my body was sufficient to wake me up.

Since then there has been little of note, especially because I've been so busy with homework and school actually. Test tomorrow, presentation Tuesday, and I need to think about papers now, too. The one thing I would mention is that today I went to see this Picasso exhibit in the centro cultural here. It was SO great and confirmed Picasso as one of my favorite artists ever. I saw a lot of other ideas coming from him through these drawings that don't really make it into big museums. The works were pretty much all drawings or black and white paintings spanning a lot of his career, from 1905 to 1955ish. The cool thing was seeing him approach the same subject in different ways and in varying degrees of what you'd think of abstractness and bodily distortion. If you ever get the chance to see work by Picasso that's not his most famous stuff, I'd highly recommend it.

The crazy thing, though: every room in this exhibit was guarded by multiple police wearing bulletproof vests and carying either shotguns or automatic weapons. I wonder what they think their guns are protecting...? Like, if someone is going to destroy the art, will a barrage of bullets in their direction actually do less damage? I doubt it. I thought the metal detector and bag inspection were sufficient.

Now, back to work.

Note: something weird is afoot with blogger and I can't post any photos or links right now. Maybe I will do that later in either this or another post.