I have been trying to closely follow the conflict between the Chinese government and the protesting Tibetan monks in the Lhasa province (and elsewhere). I feel this latest unrest provides a prime example of the kind of human rights violations the Chinese government commits daily. Many human rights groups are calling for a boycott of the upcoming Olympic games in Beijing. The Bush White House claims it is encouraging the Chinese government to have a dialog with the leaders of these protests. However, this administration has refused to speak with its own adversaries, so it's quite absurd that it expects others to do so. I'm infuriated by the fact that Bush still intends to attend the opening ceremonies of the games. Simply showing his face at the games implies he endorses China's hosting these games, and it's disgusting to think about all the horrible acts China has committed against its own people.
I wonder what the White House would be saying if Barack Obama was president. I wrote a short email to the campaign, and I'm awaiting a response. I'll let you know when I receive it. This is an important issue, and we can't stand idly by as it unfolds. One of my friends likened the situation to the 1936 Olympics. While I think that's an overstatement and the situation could be a lot worse, we as citizens of the world have a duty to try to prevent it from becoming so.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Impassioned Serenity: Mexico v. 2.0
WARNING: The first three paragraphs of this post are a bitter tirade. If you do not care to read about the writer's loathing for passport-carrying bros and their hos, please advance to the fourth paragraph. Thank you.
When I was in college, I never took vacation during Spring Break. No Cancun, no Tampa, not even a trip to New York for the Big East tournament (although this would have been a great year to go -- P I T T Let's Go Pitt!). But this past week, I found myself picking my way through the Atlanta airport among throngs of flip-flop wearing, beach towel toting college kids, all on their way to the warm sun of the Caribbean/Latin America. It wasn't until I started praying that I'd be seated as far away as possible from these rowdy packs that I realized that what I scheduled as a week-long visit with a friend in Puebla, Mexico coincided with the unholy institution to which hordes of pale kids in Greek-letter t-shirts loudly declared their loyalty at least a dozen times a day -- "Spring Break '08!"
Air travel isn't something I generally enjoy. It involves long lines, hours of seated boredom, and lots of fossil fuel. But generally, the benefits outweigh the annoyances -- it's fast, it's uncomplicated, and it's fairly affordable if you do your booking right. I recommend it to strangers who say they have never left the country. I tell them to buy the cheapest ticket they can find and purchase the Lonely Planet guide for their destination; trips are easy to plan. But I would never, ever recommend that anyone try a taste of travel during the chaos and obscenity that is Spring Break. Just thinking about it makes me feel like I need to take a shower -- hot water beating into my scalp and loud, shower door-enhanced singing are the only things that can block out the memories of the insanity.
I am all for rowdiness and fun. Give me some beers and tickets to the game, and I'm set for hours of cheers and jeers. Switch out the tickets for a handful of good friends and a stack of red Solo cups, and things will only get better. But maneuvering myself through pockets of (soon to be) hungover students after navigating check-in lines, immigration, and customs, well that's just the straw that breaks the traveler's back.
Between ugly experiences at the airport, I enjoyed a week of sunshine and tortillas in Puebla, Mexico. It was nothing more than a week of art museums, afternoon walks, and hot drinks in the evening, but it was an ideal escape from suburban Maryland. In Puebla (city), I saw an exhibit of Julio Galan. Critics say his work is Kahlo-esque, and I think they're right. But whereas the meaning of Kahlo's work is sometimes so obvious it violently hits the viewer like an anvil to the cranium, Galan's paintings force viewers to create their own interpretations. His work is interactive: his paintings are a question and he left few clues as to his original intentions before his untimely death in 2006. The discovery of Galan was uplifting for me. It gives me someone new about whom to wonder, read, and talk. I want to see more of his works, so the discovery gives me a new treasure to hunt, too.
Back in Cholula, where I was staying, I experienced another highlight of my trip: Container City. I was walking through the town with my friend Erick one evening when I saw a sign for Container City (red with white letters), posted on a high pole a couple blocks ahead. As we neared the sight, I saw a number of large containers, much like the kind people use to store their belongings on their driveways during home renovations or as they prepare for a move. "Oh, self-storage," I thought to myself. For some reason, it struck me as strange that a self-storage facility would be necessary in a town like Cholula. People didn't seem to have all that much "stuff." But then I remembered that it's a college town, and I concluded that self-storage, although costly, is a logical solution for many nomadic college students.
Well, all my thinking was for naught. Container City is not a self-storage company. It's a city within a city.
A students at UDLA, the largest university in Cholula, came up with the idea fairly recently. The containers, which were indeed initially designed for self-storage, are modified slightly. Each of them has at least one wall of glass, usually sliding doors. These window/walls face the interior of the "city," which is why I didn't see them from the street. Companies of various kinds rent the units as store fronts. There is a fashion boutique, a salon, and even a tea house. Originally, the brains behind this project had intended to rent some of the units as small apartments, but this idea wasn't too popular. Although the units are large enough to house a bar and three tables or four clothing racks, they'd be quite cramped as living space. And in a town where rental properties abound, they just didn't appeal as homes. But they definitely appeal as commercial space (at least to me).
I don't know how many units comprise the entire city, but a good estimate would be something like 20. I visited only a handful, and by far my favorite was the Mandala tea house. Mandala was set near the city's entrance, but far enough from the street that it gave me the feeling that I'd discovered something secret when I stepped in. From it's entrance, you face a wall of glass jars, each filled with tea bags of the exotic nature from all over the world. As you approach the bar, the tea maiden (that's not really her title, but I like how it sounds), takes two or three jars from the wall and brings them to you for a sniff. These are her recommendations (which she makes based solely on your appearance). They're always dead-on. The first time I entered Mandala, I was offered an Indian black tea and a South African vanilla. The first was meant to be served in water, the latter in milk. I wasn't in a milky tea mood, so I opted for the Indian black. While waiting for the tea maiden to prepare my drink (which she did with the utmost care and the use of at least three different technologically-advanced tea machines), I took a seat at one of the small, low tables. Across from me, a large East Asia-inspired mural charmed my eyes with its swirls of cool colors and serene faces. My gaze shifted to the table beside me, and I spotted a book, "20,000 Secrets of Tea" by Victoria Zak. I began to leaf through it and soon found myself completely engrossed. There were profiles of hundreds of herbs, charts listing which can be used as treatments for which ailments, and pages of herb history. I've never been a tea aficionado, but this book called out to me like Straight Jacket to Shaun Brumder. I found a new passion.
I went back to Mandala two more times that week. Container City was so comfortable -- intimate, young, efficient. The setting was as inspiring as the tea itself. Using containers as storefronts was cheaper than construction, used fewer materials, was gentler on the environment, and gave each business an automatic audience of interested potential customers. I was surprised that I had never before heard of such an arrangement but certain that it must be in used elsewhere.
Check out this site and containercity.com for more information about these pre-fab wonders. I'm off to relax with a cup of oolong tea before the next round of the NCAA men's tournament.
When I was in college, I never took vacation during Spring Break. No Cancun, no Tampa, not even a trip to New York for the Big East tournament (although this would have been a great year to go -- P I T T Let's Go Pitt!). But this past week, I found myself picking my way through the Atlanta airport among throngs of flip-flop wearing, beach towel toting college kids, all on their way to the warm sun of the Caribbean/Latin America. It wasn't until I started praying that I'd be seated as far away as possible from these rowdy packs that I realized that what I scheduled as a week-long visit with a friend in Puebla, Mexico coincided with the unholy institution to which hordes of pale kids in Greek-letter t-shirts loudly declared their loyalty at least a dozen times a day -- "Spring Break '08!"
Air travel isn't something I generally enjoy. It involves long lines, hours of seated boredom, and lots of fossil fuel. But generally, the benefits outweigh the annoyances -- it's fast, it's uncomplicated, and it's fairly affordable if you do your booking right. I recommend it to strangers who say they have never left the country. I tell them to buy the cheapest ticket they can find and purchase the Lonely Planet guide for their destination; trips are easy to plan. But I would never, ever recommend that anyone try a taste of travel during the chaos and obscenity that is Spring Break. Just thinking about it makes me feel like I need to take a shower -- hot water beating into my scalp and loud, shower door-enhanced singing are the only things that can block out the memories of the insanity.
I am all for rowdiness and fun. Give me some beers and tickets to the game, and I'm set for hours of cheers and jeers. Switch out the tickets for a handful of good friends and a stack of red Solo cups, and things will only get better. But maneuvering myself through pockets of (soon to be) hungover students after navigating check-in lines, immigration, and customs, well that's just the straw that breaks the traveler's back.
Between ugly experiences at the airport, I enjoyed a week of sunshine and tortillas in Puebla, Mexico. It was nothing more than a week of art museums, afternoon walks, and hot drinks in the evening, but it was an ideal escape from suburban Maryland. In Puebla (city), I saw an exhibit of Julio Galan. Critics say his work is Kahlo-esque, and I think they're right. But whereas the meaning of Kahlo's work is sometimes so obvious it violently hits the viewer like an anvil to the cranium, Galan's paintings force viewers to create their own interpretations. His work is interactive: his paintings are a question and he left few clues as to his original intentions before his untimely death in 2006. The discovery of Galan was uplifting for me. It gives me someone new about whom to wonder, read, and talk. I want to see more of his works, so the discovery gives me a new treasure to hunt, too.
Back in Cholula, where I was staying, I experienced another highlight of my trip: Container City. I was walking through the town with my friend Erick one evening when I saw a sign for Container City (red with white letters), posted on a high pole a couple blocks ahead. As we neared the sight, I saw a number of large containers, much like the kind people use to store their belongings on their driveways during home renovations or as they prepare for a move. "Oh, self-storage," I thought to myself. For some reason, it struck me as strange that a self-storage facility would be necessary in a town like Cholula. People didn't seem to have all that much "stuff." But then I remembered that it's a college town, and I concluded that self-storage, although costly, is a logical solution for many nomadic college students.
Well, all my thinking was for naught. Container City is not a self-storage company. It's a city within a city.
A students at UDLA, the largest university in Cholula, came up with the idea fairly recently. The containers, which were indeed initially designed for self-storage, are modified slightly. Each of them has at least one wall of glass, usually sliding doors. These window/walls face the interior of the "city," which is why I didn't see them from the street. Companies of various kinds rent the units as store fronts. There is a fashion boutique, a salon, and even a tea house. Originally, the brains behind this project had intended to rent some of the units as small apartments, but this idea wasn't too popular. Although the units are large enough to house a bar and three tables or four clothing racks, they'd be quite cramped as living space. And in a town where rental properties abound, they just didn't appeal as homes. But they definitely appeal as commercial space (at least to me).
I don't know how many units comprise the entire city, but a good estimate would be something like 20. I visited only a handful, and by far my favorite was the Mandala tea house. Mandala was set near the city's entrance, but far enough from the street that it gave me the feeling that I'd discovered something secret when I stepped in. From it's entrance, you face a wall of glass jars, each filled with tea bags of the exotic nature from all over the world. As you approach the bar, the tea maiden (that's not really her title, but I like how it sounds), takes two or three jars from the wall and brings them to you for a sniff. These are her recommendations (which she makes based solely on your appearance). They're always dead-on. The first time I entered Mandala, I was offered an Indian black tea and a South African vanilla. The first was meant to be served in water, the latter in milk. I wasn't in a milky tea mood, so I opted for the Indian black. While waiting for the tea maiden to prepare my drink (which she did with the utmost care and the use of at least three different technologically-advanced tea machines), I took a seat at one of the small, low tables. Across from me, a large East Asia-inspired mural charmed my eyes with its swirls of cool colors and serene faces. My gaze shifted to the table beside me, and I spotted a book, "20,000 Secrets of Tea" by Victoria Zak. I began to leaf through it and soon found myself completely engrossed. There were profiles of hundreds of herbs, charts listing which can be used as treatments for which ailments, and pages of herb history. I've never been a tea aficionado, but this book called out to me like Straight Jacket to Shaun Brumder. I found a new passion.
I went back to Mandala two more times that week. Container City was so comfortable -- intimate, young, efficient. The setting was as inspiring as the tea itself. Using containers as storefronts was cheaper than construction, used fewer materials, was gentler on the environment, and gave each business an automatic audience of interested potential customers. I was surprised that I had never before heard of such an arrangement but certain that it must be in used elsewhere.
Check out this site and containercity.com for more information about these pre-fab wonders. I'm off to relax with a cup of oolong tea before the next round of the NCAA men's tournament.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
It's None of Your Busy-ness
Somebody once asked me if I'd rather be stressed but not bored at work or be bored but relaxed. I picked the latter, thinking about how I've had jobs that have left me so stressed I can hardly sleep at night for worry that something will go wrong the next day. Currently, things are pretty calm for me at work. Yesterday, my mom said to me, "You must have had a lot of free time at work today; you emailed me three different links." (see below)
I thought to myself, "Time flew by today. Actually, I was pretty busy ." But then, was I? Yesterday I had about three hours of free time at work, mostly spent cruising online news sources and chatting via GoogleChat. But three hours out of eight didn't seem like much.
Flashback one year and I am sitting in the Union Project main office, so busy my eyes could have been looking in two different directions and no one would have noticed. Three hours of free time? Unheard of. Somewhere along the line, my standard for busy-ness got thrown way off. And it's not just my subjective judgment of what constitutes a busy day, it's something about how my body reacts to it.
A year ago, a day with three free hours sprinkled throughout it would have dragged on into infinity. These days, it seems to fly by without waving hello. I think the turning point for my perception of time happened sometime in Mexico. There, I was working six to seven hour days, but I had a solid six hour chunk in the middle of the day that was totally unoccupied. I think the bizarre pattern that emerged in my life through off my concept of time; I can now easily pass four or five straight hours -- with a book, a computer, or someone to chat to -- without a worry. Time sails by smoothly, towing me along happily. I am never wont for something to do. In other words, I have become an expert at entertaining myself.
I'm not stressed, but I'm not bored, either.
How is this newfound ability to entertain myself (and what I think I am finding to be a craving for time to do so everyday) going to affect my life once I go back to school, back to the hustle and bustle that accompanies life in a big city, research projects, class presentations, meetings, etc.? Readjusting to that is going to be one of the major challenges of life at SFU. I know I am a good student and pretty damn adept at adapting to new environments, but adjusting to a new pace of life, that is a battle I had not yet considered.
The Good Links From Yesterday:
I thought to myself, "Time flew by today. Actually, I was pretty busy ." But then, was I? Yesterday I had about three hours of free time at work, mostly spent cruising online news sources and chatting via GoogleChat. But three hours out of eight didn't seem like much.
Flashback one year and I am sitting in the Union Project main office, so busy my eyes could have been looking in two different directions and no one would have noticed. Three hours of free time? Unheard of. Somewhere along the line, my standard for busy-ness got thrown way off. And it's not just my subjective judgment of what constitutes a busy day, it's something about how my body reacts to it.
A year ago, a day with three free hours sprinkled throughout it would have dragged on into infinity. These days, it seems to fly by without waving hello. I think the turning point for my perception of time happened sometime in Mexico. There, I was working six to seven hour days, but I had a solid six hour chunk in the middle of the day that was totally unoccupied. I think the bizarre pattern that emerged in my life through off my concept of time; I can now easily pass four or five straight hours -- with a book, a computer, or someone to chat to -- without a worry. Time sails by smoothly, towing me along happily. I am never wont for something to do. In other words, I have become an expert at entertaining myself.
I'm not stressed, but I'm not bored, either.
How is this newfound ability to entertain myself (and what I think I am finding to be a craving for time to do so everyday) going to affect my life once I go back to school, back to the hustle and bustle that accompanies life in a big city, research projects, class presentations, meetings, etc.? Readjusting to that is going to be one of the major challenges of life at SFU. I know I am a good student and pretty damn adept at adapting to new environments, but adjusting to a new pace of life, that is a battle I had not yet considered.
* * *
The Good Links From Yesterday:
- Rove Taunted at University of Iowa (pay attention to the quote in the third paragraph)
- Meds Lurk in Drinking Water (remember, this is just part one)
- Garfield Minus Garfield (posted to Small Wonder yesterday)
- A New Hope (the words I wish I could have found first)
Monday, March 10, 2008
Insanity
If I can't think of anything to write, at least I can bring you some Monday-morning entertainment. See below for the best modified cartoon on the 'net. I wonder what would happen if we removed Charlie Brown from Peanuts? Or maybe it'd be better if we removed Lucy from Peanuts...
Garfield Minus Garfield
Garfield Minus Garfield
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Slack-tastic
I am in the midst of the worst writer's block of my life. When I first got back from Latin America, I was writing constantly. Words were pouring from my pen onto the pages of my journal. I kicked out four short stories in a week. And then, it all stopped. The inspiration evaporated. I'm groping for words when I speak, and writing is a lost cause. I can hardly think of what I want to say, let alone a good way of saying it.
Is suburbia killing my brain? I'd like to think so. A problem like that would have an easy solution. But I don't think it's that simple.
I'm reading a lot, and that usually gets me writing. The main thing is that my journaling as fallen off. At the end of the day, I just don't feel like opening my little red book, and this is a new feeling for me. I love my journal. I always have. I have filled dozens of them in my lifetime. And yet, these past few weeks, I just haven't felt like it.
If you have a good writer's block cure, please send them my way. I am utterly desperate for suggestions.
Is suburbia killing my brain? I'd like to think so. A problem like that would have an easy solution. But I don't think it's that simple.
I'm reading a lot, and that usually gets me writing. The main thing is that my journaling as fallen off. At the end of the day, I just don't feel like opening my little red book, and this is a new feeling for me. I love my journal. I always have. I have filled dozens of them in my lifetime. And yet, these past few weeks, I just haven't felt like it.
If you have a good writer's block cure, please send them my way. I am utterly desperate for suggestions.
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