um, so blogger kinda sucks. And livejournal seems to have sold out completely.
I've made the switch to wordpress.
Find me here http://fullandbye.wordpress.com/
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Kingston Burning
A political situation that has been slowly stewing here in Jamaica for almost a year completely exploded last week and has in the past few days made headlines around the world.
If you read no further, know that I am safe. Peace Corps always stresses that volunteer safety is their number one priority. While I have sometimes doubted the wisdom of specific safety policies (helmets while driving a donkey cart? Really?) The past few days have definitely ossified my faith in Peace Corps having their act together when situations get legitimately dicey.
And dicey they are indeed. News can gotten anywhere. For back story, the best journal article summarizing the situation (as of last week, before things got "hot") is this article here. Very comprehensive. Good reading too.
This story was published before the violence began. Since then there has been fighting between government security (military and constabulary force) and the private militia armed and paid by organized crime figures. Most of the major news outlets are on this story so information should be easy to come by.
Like most conflicts that make world press, this one is concentrated in a a few cities. There is a visceral tension in people's mood even in this bucolic outpost. But really, were it not for the media it would be hard to notice anything amiss throughout most of the country. Port Antonio remains peaceful, laid back, and pleasant. Moore Town remains quiet, beautiful, and friendly. When it comes down to it, farmers in the Rio Grande Valley (farmers everywhere, presumably) have other things to worry about.
I am not worried for myself at all. I am worried for my friends in the JDF.
My move from Port Royal could not have come at a more fortuitous time. When I was still in Port Royal, anytime I went to Kingston I had to travel right through the part of Kingston that is now the heart of this conflict. I met some wonderful and engaging people; taxi drivers, market ladies, hawkers, domino players, and buskers. I worry for these people too.
Updates as they come. Several people around the world--in Ghana, Israel, Seattle, Italy etc. have contacted me to ask about my safety. I am profoundly touched by the concern. It means a lot. I hope I have put your minds at ease. Anyone with further questions about me or about this situation is, of course, welcome to contact me privately off-list.
Tuesday will be the one-year anniversary of my shipping out from Seattle. The image from that 737 of Mt. Index and Lake Serene as we passed over the Cascades remains as clear in my mind as though it were yesterday. In a sense, it feels like yesterday.
Peace.
If you read no further, know that I am safe. Peace Corps always stresses that volunteer safety is their number one priority. While I have sometimes doubted the wisdom of specific safety policies (helmets while driving a donkey cart? Really?) The past few days have definitely ossified my faith in Peace Corps having their act together when situations get legitimately dicey.
And dicey they are indeed. News can gotten anywhere. For back story, the best journal article summarizing the situation (as of last week, before things got "hot") is this article here. Very comprehensive. Good reading too.
This story was published before the violence began. Since then there has been fighting between government security (military and constabulary force) and the private militia armed and paid by organized crime figures. Most of the major news outlets are on this story so information should be easy to come by.
Like most conflicts that make world press, this one is concentrated in a a few cities. There is a visceral tension in people's mood even in this bucolic outpost. But really, were it not for the media it would be hard to notice anything amiss throughout most of the country. Port Antonio remains peaceful, laid back, and pleasant. Moore Town remains quiet, beautiful, and friendly. When it comes down to it, farmers in the Rio Grande Valley (farmers everywhere, presumably) have other things to worry about.
I am not worried for myself at all. I am worried for my friends in the JDF.
My move from Port Royal could not have come at a more fortuitous time. When I was still in Port Royal, anytime I went to Kingston I had to travel right through the part of Kingston that is now the heart of this conflict. I met some wonderful and engaging people; taxi drivers, market ladies, hawkers, domino players, and buskers. I worry for these people too.
Updates as they come. Several people around the world--in Ghana, Israel, Seattle, Italy etc. have contacted me to ask about my safety. I am profoundly touched by the concern. It means a lot. I hope I have put your minds at ease. Anyone with further questions about me or about this situation is, of course, welcome to contact me privately off-list.
Tuesday will be the one-year anniversary of my shipping out from Seattle. The image from that 737 of Mt. Index and Lake Serene as we passed over the Cascades remains as clear in my mind as though it were yesterday. In a sense, it feels like yesterday.
Peace.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
roosters
If there is hell, I hope there is a special place reserved in hell for the asshole who started the myth that roosters only crow at dawn.
I have news for you, urban dwellers who have never been around a cock in your life: Roosters crow whenever the hell they feel like it.
I actually think that roosters crow whenever their five functioning neurons manage to fire simultaneously and give roosters a "thought" (including the thought "Holy shit! I'm a rooster!).
But it is true that roosters crow a lot more at dawn. This is easily explained by my previous logic. I think that roosters are so dumb that by daybreak they have forgotten completely what dawn is so they think "holy shit! it's getting light outside!" and then once it is light they are surprised by pretty much everything they see; "Holy shit! Two sticks in some mud!" or "Holy shit! A pile of garbage!"
I am all for civil liberties. But after living in rooster land for a year already, I can really appreciate Seattle's ban on urban rooster keeping.
I have news for you, urban dwellers who have never been around a cock in your life: Roosters crow whenever the hell they feel like it.
I actually think that roosters crow whenever their five functioning neurons manage to fire simultaneously and give roosters a "thought" (including the thought "Holy shit! I'm a rooster!).
But it is true that roosters crow a lot more at dawn. This is easily explained by my previous logic. I think that roosters are so dumb that by daybreak they have forgotten completely what dawn is so they think "holy shit! it's getting light outside!" and then once it is light they are surprised by pretty much everything they see; "Holy shit! Two sticks in some mud!" or "Holy shit! A pile of garbage!"
I am all for civil liberties. But after living in rooster land for a year already, I can really appreciate Seattle's ban on urban rooster keeping.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
irony
For some reason (laziness mostly) I have kept the predictive text feature on my phone turned on.
In the past this has led to some pretty amusing discoveries; such as the time I tried to write "guacamole" but my phone decided upon the term "hubbanoke". Not knowing what a "hubbanoke" is I nevertheless tried to use it in scrabble. It did not work. Apparently the nokia dictionary does not cut the scrabble mustard (or guacamole).
But it does now and again come up with a gem of irony.
Behold! The numeral combination that yields the word "pants" will, as the second option no less, also create the word "scots". The Scots of course are an ethnic minority in the British Isles known among other things for not wearing pants.
This gives me a sense of peace; the irony of the phone.
In the past this has led to some pretty amusing discoveries; such as the time I tried to write "guacamole" but my phone decided upon the term "hubbanoke". Not knowing what a "hubbanoke" is I nevertheless tried to use it in scrabble. It did not work. Apparently the nokia dictionary does not cut the scrabble mustard (or guacamole).
But it does now and again come up with a gem of irony.
Behold! The numeral combination that yields the word "pants" will, as the second option no less, also create the word "scots". The Scots of course are an ethnic minority in the British Isles known among other things for not wearing pants.
This gives me a sense of peace; the irony of the phone.
Monday, May 10, 2010
the captives
Is it bad that I use this blog to publicly ponder random things going on in my head as much or more than I use it to provide a glimpse into the exotic and titillating life of a Peace Corps volunteer? I promise I will write more about Jamaica. But right now I want to post a thought about social media sites.
A recent slew of wall posts on my facebook account led a friend to observe that we now have the choice to either reveal almost nothing to acquaintances, or to reveal a whole lot more than perhaps should be revealed in one fell swoop with people we are just getting to know.
It is an interesting point. On the one hand, I doubt if my close friends could learn much by poring over the details of my facebook profile. But I also frequently "friend" people who I have just met but who I very much want to stay in contact with. In a few minutes examining my facebook profile, these people can learn lots of trivial things about me, and a handful of not trivial things about me. Before facebook, these trivial and non trivial things used to be revealed to a new friend slowly through the process of dialogue and mutual inquiry.
I guess the question is whether or not this really matters. I think it does. For all the poo-pooing that smalltalk gets, I think that smalltalk is actually kind of important in the process of making friends: You meet someone, you smalltalk. After you smalltalk a little, you move into bigger and more substantive topics of conversation, and after you know someone a while longer you might feel comfortable getting into the lengthy sorts of dialogues that reveal some really complex facet of your being. Isn't this the process of making friends? I wonder if we interact with people differently now that we can largely circumvent that process of discovery. I no longer need to engage in a series of conversations with a new friend to discover what their taste in music or art is, or how they like to spend their freetime, or even how they feel about divisive political issues. Shit, I can even see if they are married, single, or in an "it's complicated" situation.
In speaking with this friend it dawned upon me that maybe we have lost something really valuable to facebook. Have we lost the process of discovery? Have we lost an essential element of the process of making friends? I am reminded of the series of scupltures in the Michaelangelo museum in Florence. As you approach the statue of "David", on either side of the corridor are some studies that Michaelangelo never finished. They are haunting and beautiful, these forms forever trapped in the marble. But isn't the process of making a friend in large part the process of mutually chipping away at each other's exteriors until you reveal and let yourself be revealed? Isn't this what dialogue is, really? And isn't dialogue the root of friendship?
I worry that facebook has made public identity too cartesian, too reductionistic. There is really nothing on my facebook that I consider very private at all, but I still think that something of human interaction is lost when we can get by with learning the details of someones life through an itemized list without going through the process of asking questions and exchanging bits of information to reveal the form underneath the formless exterior.
A recent slew of wall posts on my facebook account led a friend to observe that we now have the choice to either reveal almost nothing to acquaintances, or to reveal a whole lot more than perhaps should be revealed in one fell swoop with people we are just getting to know.
It is an interesting point. On the one hand, I doubt if my close friends could learn much by poring over the details of my facebook profile. But I also frequently "friend" people who I have just met but who I very much want to stay in contact with. In a few minutes examining my facebook profile, these people can learn lots of trivial things about me, and a handful of not trivial things about me. Before facebook, these trivial and non trivial things used to be revealed to a new friend slowly through the process of dialogue and mutual inquiry.
I guess the question is whether or not this really matters. I think it does. For all the poo-pooing that smalltalk gets, I think that smalltalk is actually kind of important in the process of making friends: You meet someone, you smalltalk. After you smalltalk a little, you move into bigger and more substantive topics of conversation, and after you know someone a while longer you might feel comfortable getting into the lengthy sorts of dialogues that reveal some really complex facet of your being. Isn't this the process of making friends? I wonder if we interact with people differently now that we can largely circumvent that process of discovery. I no longer need to engage in a series of conversations with a new friend to discover what their taste in music or art is, or how they like to spend their freetime, or even how they feel about divisive political issues. Shit, I can even see if they are married, single, or in an "it's complicated" situation.
In speaking with this friend it dawned upon me that maybe we have lost something really valuable to facebook. Have we lost the process of discovery? Have we lost an essential element of the process of making friends? I am reminded of the series of scupltures in the Michaelangelo museum in Florence. As you approach the statue of "David", on either side of the corridor are some studies that Michaelangelo never finished. They are haunting and beautiful, these forms forever trapped in the marble. But isn't the process of making a friend in large part the process of mutually chipping away at each other's exteriors until you reveal and let yourself be revealed? Isn't this what dialogue is, really? And isn't dialogue the root of friendship?
I worry that facebook has made public identity too cartesian, too reductionistic. There is really nothing on my facebook that I consider very private at all, but I still think that something of human interaction is lost when we can get by with learning the details of someones life through an itemized list without going through the process of asking questions and exchanging bits of information to reveal the form underneath the formless exterior.
Monday, May 3, 2010
skipping stones
This is my last night as a resident of Port Royal. Tomorrow morning I move to Moore Town in Portland Parish.
Hard to watch these ripples fade. But I'm definitely excited to skip some more stones.
This is a maudlin occasion. I am excited to get working on my next project, but I am realizing just how settled into the life I have become here.
This all got me thinking about skipping stones.
Hard to watch these ripples fade. But I'm definitely excited to skip some more stones.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Tomorrow is my last day in Port Royal. Bright and early Tuesday Jeffrey the awesome PC staff member will pick me up and we will road trip it up to my new site. I'm excited to head up there. I am also going to miss Port Royal. This town is something special. It is safe and small and friendly and everyone has their nose in everyone else's business.
Also, I have become something of a B-list celebrity to the local kids. With my newfound powers I can get them to stop hitting each other simply by staring at them. I am so happy I chose to remain living with my host family here rather than moving into my own place. To be sure, my room is kinda small and kinda hot, and it is really loud. But by living here for a full 7 months I have become really close to my landlord and now consider him to be my Jamaican brother. I have an open invitation to come back here whenever I want and I intend to take him up on the offer.
Sail race today. Boat was shorthanded and it was blowing 25-30kts solid, so we decided to sail a white sail race rather than attempt anything with the chute. Some good tactics heading to the first mark put us more than a mile over our competition and everything was going perfectly until the hydraulic backstay ram blew a seal and spewed oil all over the place. Disaster! The piston for the adjuster is maybe 7" or so, but these seven inches mean the difference between a taut forestay and a slack forestay. They also mean the difference between a properly tensioned mast and a disaster waiting to happen. We finished the downwind leg fully rigged but had to douse the jib before beating back to the finish line. Without the jib, progress was slow and we did not have enough power to really punch through the steep chop. This ultimately meant a lot of pounding and a lot of spray.
Oh well. So long as no one gets hurt and so long as the boat is not seriously damaged, the worst day sail racing is still better than the best day doing most other things. So I really cannot complain. I mean, who else in Peace Corps gets to race sailboats sometimes?
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