Thoughts on Egypt

In looking at pictures of the events in Egypt, I am struck by the absence of anti-Americanism. Maybe they are there, but just haven't been captured on film. However, I find this unlikely as the burning of American flags and effigies are usually what the media likes to seize on.

I find the absence of the anti-American rhetoric fascinating because:

- The US is a powerful symbol to rail against in any protest, but especially in the middle east
- The US provides copious amounts of assistance to the Egyptian government that the people are intent on bringing down

The only image I saw that had any reference to the US was some protesters pointing out that a tear gas canister had "made in the USA" written on it.

I guess sometimes it is not all about us.

It uneases me that the future of the country (and perhaps the region) hinges on the wisdom of a leader who has clearly lost touch with the world around him. Hopefully he will recognize that he must move on and that a peaceful transition of power can be achieved.






I'm not holding my breath.

Snow

We were hit by yet another snow storm last night.  According to news sources we are already at the 6th snowiest season since they began recording.  I don't mind the snow too much.  I much rather have snow than rain.  I love how the landscape looks after a snowstorm.  I like how the snow reflects light once the sun comes out, which compensates for the short winter days.  It is fun to see the tracks of the various animals have treked across our yard.  Not having to go to work is a mixed bag.  It is nice staying home, but it also means having to catch up with material when we do get back to campus.

Then there is shoveling and clearing the snow.  I also have mixed feelings about that.  I enjoy getting out of the house and doing something physical in the fresh air.  I like the peace in the area if I am out right after the snowfall: few cars, quietness, stillness.  The type of snow that has fallen does make a difference.  Light flaky snow is so easy to clear; I do not like if there is ice.  The one thing I hate - the giant hard levy of snow/ice piled up at the end of our driveway from the plows clearing the street.  It's such a chore to break through it.

As I was out shoveling the other day, the silence was broken by the roaring and grumbling of snow machines and riding mowers equipped with snow removal equipment.  Then a big front loader came along to clear our neighbor's driveway.  I stopped to take a break, which I need to do frequently given my pitiful level of fitness, and I looked around looking at the sources of the din.  I was the only one out with a shovel and hence the only one taking a breather.  If a neighbor threw a glance my way, I would offer them a wave to which they would wave back.  Occasionally a neighbor might drive by perhaps on their way to restock their kitchen.  Again waves might be exchanged.  But no conversation.

Perhaps if others would be shoveling, they would take a break like me and be willing to exchange a word or two.  If that were the case, maybe I would know my neighbors a little better.  Is this another example of technology (snow machines) or wealth (paying someone else to clear the snow) isolating us socially?

For now I will continue to shovel on my own amid the buzz of others technology.

Sounds of Place

Following is a comment I left on Oso's blog following a fascinating post on Mexico City:

This post brought back a lot of memories.

I find flying into Mexico City more fascinating than any other city.  It is equally impressive during the day or night.  It's not just the sheer size of the city - Sao Paulo is pretty impressive too - but the flight plan that takes you over most of the city as you arrive.  Sometimes the descent into the thick layer of smog is both fascinating and revolting.  

As to the sounds of the city, I remember that we knew the coming and goings of the neighborhood based on what we could hear.  Because doorbells often didn't work, people would announce themselves based on a particular sound.  There was the man who drove up on his loud motorcycle and yelled "Las tortillas!!!"  You had only a few minutes to grab a few pesos and run outside to buy them before he zoomed off.  The milkman had his own particular whistle.  Then there were the camoteros, who would ride around on their hybrid bicycle/oven that would emit a particular whistle.  Another biker would be the guy who would sharpen knives by propping up his bicycle and pedaling to spin the sharpening stone.  He had a little bell he would ring on his handlebars to alert everyone that sharpening services were being offered.  The mailman would just tap on our gate.  Our neighbors' friends would have their specific whistles to announce that they were there for a visit.  A few would yell out the specific person they wanted to see.  Then there were car horns that differed in timbre and people had their unique rhythm of honking.  And I can't leave out the music - people sang without inhibition and car radios shared the music with the rest of the neighborhood.  However chaotic all this may seem, the cacophony was woven into a complex symphony of place.  All this may now just exist in my nostalgic thoughts, but I have no doubt that they have been replaced by a more contemporary version.

As to exploring neighborhoods.  I don't think you are alone in the city when it comes to finding your movements constrained to a few areas.  Involved I do think the difficulty of movement (traffic in particular) in the city is part of it.  But Mexico is also very segregated by class (and by fear).  Another issue is that a lot of the places you list, there isn't much that would draw an outsider.  For example, Naucalpan was right next to where I used to live, but there really isn't much there for you to really explore.  Unless you like small industrial parks and warehouses.  Obviously, if you know someone there, they can take you to that special taco stand or show you that small plaza where you can hang out.  But otherwise, you are the guero who got lost or came to gawk at how the "others" live.  

My suggestion, though, is to find specific places to visit in different parts of the city.  For example, go to the Sonora market and get a limpia or a sobada.  Go to la Villa and sit and watch the pilgrims.  If you want to go to Naucalpan, go visit the Basilica de los Remedios where people with illnesses go to pray for cures (there is also a cool statue of St. George slaying the dragon/devil - I could see that statue from my childhood window).  Or just ride the length of a metro line, getting off at every other station.  An interesting illustration of segregation is if you go to the south of the city, go from Jardines del Pedregal to Cuidad Universitaria to Colonia Santo Domingo.  Three completely different worlds within a few kilometers.

But the city extends way beyond the DF.  I couldn't tell you what to see in Cd. Neza or Ecatepec or Santa Fe, for that matter.  

In any case, have fun and thanks for the trip into my memories...

I spend enough time writing it, I thought I should post it here too.  Why not?

Absent-mindedness and Mishaps

We are back from our jungle and archaeological adventure in Mexico.  

We didn't get as much sun as we would have liked and there were the occasional mishaps, but we did have a good time.  We stayed at a interesting little eco-hotel (more like a b&b) in a little village tucked away in the jungle.  We visited the Maya sites of Coba and Ek Balam, but skipped Chichen Itza.  We also explored the small city of Valladolid, which is sleepy and a bit rough around the edges.  It does have a cenonte right in town, with a restaurant overlooking it.

Of the mishaps, I shall share the last one.  While in Valladolid, we bought two bottles of liquor: Xtabentun, the local drink made with anise and honey (this one had also been infused with coffee), and Kahlua.  On the day we were flying back, I mindlessly put them in my carry-on backpack and not in my suitcase.  I realized right after we checked our bags, that I couldn't get through security with them.  I ran back to see if they could retrieve the suitcase, but they said no.  The only option was to toss the bottles or check my backpack.  They gave me a little box to try to pad the bottles in the backpack and I checked it, hoping for the best.

Our trip connected through Atlanta and we had to get our bags to clear customs.  I thought if the bottles survived, I could repack them in the suitcase and take the backpack on the plane.  As I picked up the backpack, I felt some moisture.  The Kahlua bottle made it, but the Xtabentun bottle didn't.  There was a wet, sticky, and pungent puddle inside the bag.  I had to discard the broken bottle in the box - mind you this is just outside customs - and find a bathroom to dump the puddle from the backpack without looking too suspicious.  After all of this, I packed the Kahlua bottle back in the backpack, covered the backpack with some plastic bags, and packed the whole sticky odorous mess in my suitcase.  We cleared customs ok and rechecked the suitcase.  Only then did I realize that my house keys were in my backpack.  My worry was that if my bag got lost - not beyond the possibility given the way the days events had gone - we would be locked out when we got home.  I called the friend who was dog-sitting for us and asked her to leave a spare set of keys hidden somewhere outside.

In the end the suitcases made it.  I did get a note inside my suitcase from TSA that they had opened and inspected it.  They were probably wondering why it smelled like a wino.  And the Kahlua bottle did survive!

I think in the future, Sara will have to pack for me.

New Year, Same Sh...

Another year gone by, but not much has changed.  I wish I could be optimistic about the upcoming year, but things still look grim.

It's ironic that I received tenure this past year, meaning that my job is fairly stable from here on out (not a certainty, though, with that nutty governor in New Jersey), yet my life seems so very unstable and uncertain.  The stress of it all has been overwhelming and depressing.  I am not sure where I am going here because I just don't want to vent and spew all the details.

Despite the personal financial crisis that is looming, I am taking a short trip to Mexico next week.  Flying down on frequent flier miles and visiting on the cheap.  It will be good to have a change of scenery and more sun and warmth.  Is it the smartest thing to do?  Probably not.

I am not sure why peace of mind and stability in my life continues to elude me.  There have been poor choices and gambles that have not paid off along the way, but there has also been a lot of bad luck.  I am not sure why.

So here I go, trying to survive, trying to keep my head above water, struggling to overcome the stress and the worry.

Happy (?) New Year...

Good News - No Party

Today I received two bits of good news.  The all-college tenure committee voted to recommend my tenure.  That was the last major obstacle.  Now it goes to the college's president and board of trustees for final approval, which is just a rubber stamp.   I also got word from a journal that they accepted an article I submitted for publication.

I am not celebrating, though.  Sara is in Berlin this week at a History of Science workshop.  Moreover, I have been feeling down recently.  Our finances are a mess and Sara is still looking for work with no real prospects.  The stress of it all has been crushing me.  Add to it the dismal weather and days that are getting shorter and it all makes for a nasty cocktail of the blues.

That's all for now.

The Birthday Myth

Somewhere in my youth, along with the Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, the tooth mouse (Mexican version of the tooth fairy), and other lies parents tell their children, the birthday myth was ingrained in my mind.  The myth that there is one day a year when you are celebrated, a special day when people stop to remember you and things go your way.  It always seemed that birthdays worked liked that for others.  But I seemed to be missing out.  Like the eternal Cubs fan, though, I always thought that this "could" be the year that the myth would pan out for me.  And every year, not only was I disappointed, but it seemed like bad things tended to happen.  My earliest recollection was my fourth year birthday party when my party was held in an old-fashioned style ice-cream shop in Mexico.  As is the case in many eating establishments, the staff gathered around to sing and make a fuss.   Except at this place, they would offer you a bit of cake by holding it up for you to bite, but when you went to take the bite, they would smash it in your face.  As a four-year old, I didn't quite enjoy that.  I remember sitting under the table crying with cake all over my face.

I won't sit here and reminisce about all the unfortunate incidents that have happened since, suffice it to say that there seemed to be a recurring theme.  Over time, I came to distance myself from the concept of my birthday as a time to celebrate.  However, that birthday myth continued to covertly live on deep inside my psyche and a part of me continues to long for it.  Of course, the negativity I associate with this one day and the absence of having the myth play out for me intertwines with the other demons in my head to create a festival of self-deprecation.  It runs ramshackle over any logic my intellect puts forth - why should this day be any different?  It's just another day.  The world moves on just like it did yesterday, just like it will tomorrow.  But somewhere inside this aging 40 year old body (and mind), there is still a child longing for the attention, wanting to be celebrated, and hoping that no one will smash cake in his face.

Yet here I sit at home alone, moping.  The day is almost over and I will have another year before I go through the same set of emotions again.

But 40 - wow.  My youth is gone.  Oh well...

Old Fart

Today is my last day as a thirty something.

Poop.

Viva Mexico!

Tonight marks the start of the Mexican Independence bicentennial.  It also corresponds with the centennial of the Mexican Revolution.  It seems that every 100 years Mexico faces social and political upheaval.  So here we go again...

I have been following with dismay the violence that has gripped my home country over the past few years.  I was struck with the fear that underlies people's lives when I was there visiting my family.  Private guards with automatic weapons, barricades, walls, and general paranoia dominated the landscape.  The government has launched offensives against the drug cartels and has tried to purge its ranks to eliminate corrupt officials.  But the violence continues to escalate.

I realize that the violence is not widespread, that the media profits by sensationalizing it.  Nonetheless, the crimes committed are stupefying.  The killings, the disregard for life, and the lack of compassion are discouraging.

What has become of my country?

Violence has been part of its history, so in some ways what is occurring now is nothing new.  The Revolution created anarchy throughout the country a hundred years ago.  Political repression is part of the historical fabric of the nation.  But the recent, albeit slow and uneven, economic and political progress offered glimpses of optimism that Mexico could move on and overcome its skeletons.  Such hope has been eclipsed, at least for now.  While it is not dead, a major struggle lays ahead.

But why? Why is Mexico, a country of such kind and friendly people, engulfed in such a nightmare?

This is the eternal question.  In my eyes, it is a natural consequence of prolonged inequality, both economic and political.  Inequality destroys civic society.  The blatant disparities that exist in Mexico, while almost invisible to those living there does affect the psyche of people.  Blatant wealth and development that provides riches to a few and toil to the many, while the political system stifles voices of dissent, creates an atmosphere of discontent.  In such a system, corruption becomes a vehicle for public officials to eat at the table of the haves.  Graft by government workers corrodes the public trust and civic participation dies.

In such a place, the lure of quick success, a ticket to wealth regardless of the path becomes very tempting.  If morality has been lost in the rest of society, what is the benefit of adhering to it.  Loyalties switch, sometimes bought with tangible benefits.  In the absence of civil morality and staunch group loyalties, violence becomes the only viable tool.  As the violence escalates, vengeance is inevitable. Tit-for-tat, an eye for an eye, into an unending cycle of horrors. All the while, the wealth (and the arms) continues to flow, providing the incentive (bait?) for new recruits, new foot soldiers to carry on the fight and pawns to be sacrificed in the war.

So where is Mexico going?  I do not know...

The path out is one that seems untenable at the moment. It would require legalization of drugs and tighter control over weapons in the US, a controlled but free movement of labor between Mexico and the US, and a civic awakening among Mexican citizens.  Legalization of drugs would reduce the profits and wealth of the cartels.  It would make the recruitment of participants more difficult.  Weapon control would make it more difficult for the cartels to arm themselves.  Free movement of labor would end human smuggling, would allow for a better flow of wealth from the US to Mexico that would stimulate the Mexican economy and promote entrepreneurship.  None of this is likely to happen, though.

So all that is left is civic participation.  There have been glimpses of this already.  I do not know if on its own it can succeed.  Never underestimate the will of determined people, especially Mexicans.  It takes a strong will to make the way into a country that is determined to keep you out, to work in the field, to be abused and denigrated, and to continue to smile through all of this.

For now, Mexico will celebrate.  Perhaps forget its problems for a day or two.  It is a time to be proud, to remember our history.  But it is a time to draw strength for the struggles that lay ahead, a time to reconnect with neighbors, to see that there is hope to overcome the violence that lies in wait.

Happy Birthday, Mexico!  Hopefully 100 years from now you will be able to celebrate in peace.

Torture

Sitting in my office during office hours just after lunch, I realize that I have a piece of food stuck between my teeth (in between two molars).  Slowly it starts to aggravate me more and more.  I try using my tongue to push it out, but it only serves to irritate me more and more.  Using my fingernail doesn't work either.  Finally, I march over to the bookstore to see if they have floss.  They do, but there is the rush of people still buying books so the line is really long.  I leave and try buying some gum from the vending machine in the hope that it might stick to the food and pry it out.  No, it does not.  I find a piece of string and try it in lieu of floss.  Not only does it not work, it breaks and now I have food and string stuck in between my teeth.  I head back to the book store, grab the floss, and make my way to the back of the long, long line.  I cannot deny that thoughts of slipping the floss into my pocket and walking out crossed my mind.  The food, the string, and the blaring hip-hop music all conspire to annoy me more and more.  In line, I glace at my watch and the time before my class starts is getting shorter and shorter.  I finally make it to the register and the person says "No cash".  Not a problem - I put the $2 floss on my credit card and rush back to my office. 

I cut open the package the floss is in, draw the string of floss out, wrap it taught around my two fingers and plunge it deep between my teeth.  With a swift swoosh the food and the string are pried out.  I feel liberated.  Now it is time to go to class.

Tomato Jungle

Our tomato patch has gone wild.  Even the plant that got crushed when I dropped an air-conditioner from the second story window.

In the tangle there are a plethora of hidden tomatoes that escape the picking.  Many fall and roll into oblivion where they are forgotten until they begin to ferment.  As I was picking some of them today, I became intoxicated with the aroma of tomato brew.  Who knew?

We have different varieties of tomatoes, including some tiny micro ones which are about the size of a pea.  Despite their minuscule size, they are packed with flavor.  As I popped one in my mouth, I began to think, "Wouldn't it be cool if it also had a punch of spice?  Just like red-hot candies."  My stream on thought went on to ponder why hasn't anybody created a spicy tomato.  Tomatoes and chiles are both nightshades - it seems like with the miracle of science the two could be hybridized.

That's what I want - a spicy tomato.

Issues

Things haven't been too cheery in the Xolo household.

Due to circumstances that I shan't go into here, I find myself very stressed and anxious.  It is distressing when the preoccupation swallows you completely and there is little respite.  My stomach hurts and I am sure it is from the worry.  Not good, not good.

Classes have started and all three of mine seem promising.  Good vibes from the students.

I look with alarm what is going on in this country and if my mind weren't elsewhere I would be concerned as well.  The latest: a pastor in Florida wants to have a Qur'an burning.  Ironic, isn't it, that those who would be the first to oppose the building of an Islamic center in southern Manhattan and deny the first amendment rights of those people are the first to take advantage of their first amendment rights to engage in book burning.  The hypocrisy...

It looks like Congress is going to go from bad to worse in November.  Ah people with their short-term ADD memories.

So I am off to deal with my own demons for now.  Who knows when things will become more serene?  I don't see it in the horizon - alas.

NFNY

New York City is not fun when the temperature is 100 degrees.

I feel bad for the tennis players playing in the US Open.

I really feel for sanitation workers.  I can't think of a more thankless job.  Having to deal with fermenting trash in this weather is torture.

Tomorrow is the first day of class for me.  One class in the morning and one in the afternoon.

I am going to wing it.

Meetings

I had a day full of meetings.  A great way to start a new academic year.

On the bright side they were much more streamlined and productive this time as compared to times past.

I am slowly becoming aware (or being reminded) of how busy I am going to be this semester.  That's on top of teaching classes.

Tomorrow there are more meetings...and a drive into the city (not for anything fun).

And did I mention it was hot.  It's pretty awful.  I am hoping it is summer's last hurrah.  Although we might get grazed by Hurricane Earl on Friday/Saturday.  Events like that used to excite me, at least a little.  Now that I am a home owner - not so much.  I tend to be much too aware of the swaying trees and falling branches.  Unfortunately, a couple of our trees are what you would consider "weed trees" - meaning they grow randomly and really fast (not that you could get high off of them).  This also means they are not very sturdy and tend to have branches - sometimes very large branches - break off.

I don't think Earl will come close enough to cause concern.  There are plenty of other things to worry about.

College Life

Campus is coming back to life - reawakening from its summer slumber.  Voices are reemerging in the hallways along with footsteps and activity.  Bodies float across the quad more frequently.

As I arrived today, I saw parents helping students carry, wheel, schlep, lug, and drag their belongings to their dorm rooms.  I remember when...

I remember when it was me moving on to campus.  The anticipation, the nervousness, the excitement, the relief.  Summer was over and I knew that a grueling experience of challenging my mind and taxing my stamina laid ahead.  But I was eager to reconnect with my friends (of course, there was the excitement of meeting new people the first year) and to hear about their adventures.  There was always the need to get so much done those first few days.  We had to register for classes.  No internet back then, so we had to go to a room and sign up for classes.  There were different time slots according to year, but otherwise it was first in line, first in class.  I learned that there was always a crowd when it first opened in the morning, but when those people got through it was fairly empty until about noon when the crowd lingered until registration closed. 

It was also important to find the perfect time to go to the bookstore for your books; otherwise you would be bumping into everyone and waiting hours in line.  There was always the shock of how much the books cost and the debate whether to buy them used to only save a few dollars.  I hated used books.  I found people would highlight and markup the wrong sections - and that would be terribly distracting.  Why would someone highlight that? 

The best part would be the late nights, hanging out in a lounge or outside on campus somewhere.  Reestablishing the connection to your fellow students, your collegiate kin.  Retelling experiences, lamenting hardship, overcoming disappointment, and reading ourselves for the upcoming challenge.

I never did work as hard as I could have in college, but I did work hard - most of the time.

As I watch the students today I reminisce and in doing so share some of their emotion.  But some of their experiences were obviously unthinkable to me way back then.  In particular the constant contact they have with everyone else.  Cell phones, computers, the internet.  How has that changed their experiences?  There is no catching up because everyone knows what everyone else is doing from their facebook updates.  They don't need to hunt down their friends on campus because they just call them up and ask them where they are. 

But the anticipation, the nervousness, the dreariness, the excitement, the dread, and the preparation for the new semester is still there.  As their professor, I know what awaits them - at least in my classes.  How will they respond?  That's up to them.  Their response is important, though.  It will set the dynamic for the semester, which in turn will determine the nature of the class.  I'm bringing my experience and my nerdy enthusiasm...and yes, my nostalgia...which emotions and experiences will they bring? 

We'll see....

Random

I feel like posting something, but I don't know what.

I am feeling glum.  I mope.

I would like some stability in my life.  What would it take?

Stupid question.

It's hot again.  I don't like it.  The heat is going to stick around as if to taunt me.

I am starting to think about my courses.  I should try to be creative.  Make my classes different.

I am up for tenure this semester - although it won't go into effect until a year from next semester.  I still need to apply for promotion by December.  That's a separate decision, but it would also go into effect next year.  Those are big hurdles that once passed will bring a sense of tranquility - at least professionally.

Then I can go crazy with creativity in my classes.  The mad eccentric professor...haha.

I am disillusioned with this country.  The level of ignorance and stupidity among some people is truly discouraging.

So it goes...

Last Day of Summer (Break)

Summer is over.

At least summer break is over.  Classes start on Wednesday, but my first class is on Thursday.  Until then, my week is full of meetings and other work related tasks and events.

It will be nice to get back to a rhythm - summer's lack of structure can be hard to deal with.  I have high hopes as to what will get done during the summer months, but it never pans out.

I am also looking forward to cooler weather.  This has been a hot summer.  And humid - something I don't do well with.  The uncomfortable climate can be a great excuse for the lack of productivity.  It always is: heat, cold, grey, rain, or whatever happens to be overhead that day...always a distraction.

A return to getting paid will be good too.  It has been a very difficult summer financially, trying to make ends meet.  Our system of not getting paid during July and August is nuts.  I know I should plan ahead and save up, but it never seems to work out.  This year I need to be better about that.

Stress has been abundant this summer.  I don't think it will go away, but at least I will be busy to keep my mind off of it.

Back in Black

Back in Black

Well...not really in black.

The world has moved on, the online community fizzled, so there is some mourning to be had.

But here I am, to try to resurrect this depository of ideas that has languished for so long.  I need a spark, a catalyst to try to move my "real" writing ahead.  I need to take that mess I wrote six years ago that is commonly known as a dissertation and turn it into something more readable, something that someone would actually want to publish.

And yes, there is always complaining to be had.  I need a venue for that too.

How far will this endeavor go?  Is this a twitch on a corpse that is beyond resuscitation?  Or is there new life in this pseudo space?  I know more likely than not, this will be a soliloquy; a lone voice in an empty room, theater, arena...

But this exercise is not for others...

If someone wants to converse, great.  But if I just rattle off to myself, so be it.

So carry on...

Facebook killed my blog...Boo.