Nination

Sunday morning's rhyme

2011-12-04T10:17:00.006Z

Sunday morning
Night rush slowing
Labour waiting

A still picture
Rested leaves, lazy river
The joys of leisure

A stroll in the green
A walk by the gray
But Sunday morning
Is now yesterday

Inspired by the mighty Velvet Underground, and all Sunday mornings.

Lyrics by Lou Reed and John Cale

Sunday morning
Brings the dawn in
It's just a restless feeling
By my side

Early dawn in
Sunday morning
It's just the wasted years
So close behind

Watch out
The world's behind you
There's always someone around you
Who will call
It's nothing at all

Sunday morning
And I'm falling
I've got a feeling
I don't want to know

Early dawn in
Sunday morning
It's all the streets you crossed
Not so long ago

Watch out
The world's behind you
There's always someone around you
Who will call
It's nothing at all

x2

Sunday morning

Party People

2011-11-06T18:02:00.007Z

It is a synchronised shuffle with booze-fuelled determination from one place to the next, along streaks of yellow and blue and to the sound of honks, laughter and sirens. A watery blur of constant motion in the search for a good time. A few hours of feeling, of sweat, of possibility, powered by liquids and song. It is a conscious effort to forget serious things that will inevitably resurface in the morning, when the night has washed away into damp cigarettes and shattered glass in the early pink haze.

London, 2011

Fitzgerald's Montmartre

2011-11-06T17:39:00.010Z

All the catering to vice and waste was on an utterly childish scale, and he suddenly realised the meaning of the word ‘dissipate’ - to dissipate into thin air; to make nothing out of something. In the little hours of the night every move from place to place was an enormous human jump, an increase of paying for the privilege of slower and slower motion.
From "Babylon Revisited," F. Scott Fitzgerald, Paris, 1935.

Image: Pisarro, "Boulevard Montmartre: effet de nuit," 1897.

Source: Camille-pissarro.org

Drive: A winning soundtrack

2011-10-06T00:26:00.005+01:00

I've just gone to see Drive. The film is fantastic. What it lacks in dialogue it makes up in super stylish cinematography, perfectly portraying LA's seedy underbelly as part of everyday life. Ryan Gosling's driver - if I remember correctly, a nameless character - is the humbly cool, semi-enigmatic hero. I won't give it away. But by far, the triumphing element is the music.

Drive is a perfect example of how crucial a soundtrack is to a film's overall mood, and, consequently, its lasting effect on the viewer. The music includes songs from Chromatics, College ft. Electric Youth, Kavinsky, Desire and Riz Ortolani; first time I hear about any of them, but they're already in my library less than an hour after watching the film. The score is by Cliff Martinez, who's no rookie to soundtracks. The result is a stylish action thriller that with any other music selection would have been just another LA mob movie, in my opinion.

This compilation should give you an idea, but by all means go watch the whole thing. No spoiler alert necessary.

Another lesson to take away is to not let trailers deceive you! I wasn't moved when I saw the trailer for it, but decided to go anyway. Good decision.

Blaze up indeed

2011-10-05T16:04:00.013+01:00

Just a few weeks ago the beheaded body of Mexico's Primera Hora newspaper editor was found with a threatening message. It accused her of denouncing gang crime and revealing city locations where drug deals take place or gangs meet. María Elizabeth Macias used social media to report organised crime in the region, Nuevo Laredo, on the eastern side of the increasingly dangerous US.-Mexico border. Apparently beheadings are the murder tactic of choice of the Zetas cartel. At 39, she became the fourth female journalist murdered in the country in 2011. Just two weeks before, the bodies of a man and a woman were hung from a bridge in the same city with a warning to all citizens to not report organised crime on social networks. At the beginning of the year, an armed group kidnapped a distributor of two newspapers also in Nuevo Laredo. He was tied up, thrown into the trunk of a car, and then ordered at gunpoint to stop distributing the papers. The kidnappers then set fire to the 1,100 copies he had on him. Around 15 journalists fled Mexico just in August and September of this year.

The preceding are just a handful of examples of the massive violations of press freedom in Mexico, a country plagued with drug turf violence that hasn't spared the media industry. It's not just editors and journalists, but anyone using social networks and even newspaper boys who obviously have nothing to do with the paper's contents. It is all about withholding information from the public. It has come to the point where journalists, bloggers and even readers must censor themselves, not to protect a media empire or the government, but to stay alive.

The Mexican government has taken some measures to address these violations:

- Giving at-risk news workers a gadget with which to call for immediate help
- Police escort to and from interviews or for work-related transportation
- President Calderon's commitment to increase punishment for crimes against journalists by making them federal offences
- Modifying legislation to keep journalist-protection laws from expiring
- Strenghtening police forces to ensure freedom of the press

Sounds like a lot of empty policy work to me, but it's a start. The violence against journalists and freedom of information, however, must be looked at in a greater context: as another ramification of drug war violence. The problem must be solved at the root, meaning, in my opinion, decreasing demand for illegal products not just in Mexico, but in the U.S., where a lot of it goes. Easier said than done, obviously, but the government's crackdown that began in 2006 has left over 50,000 dead and has not decreased violence. Two years ago Mexico even decriminalised possession, in restricted amounts, of marijuana, cocaine, heroin, LSD and metamphetamine.

A line in a National Geographic documentary about drug submarines headed to the U.S. from Colombia exemplifies the fatal flaw in the U.S. American approach to the drug wars. One hot-shot (yet anonymous) U.S. narcotics officer says the following (during the first 10 seconds of the doc, no less): "It's amazing, the lengths that they'll go to pump this evil into the United States." No offence, but how stupid can you get? Nice propaganda, Nat Geo. The problem is demand for an illegal product, and as long as that continues, I don't foresee drug-related violence decreasing. Maybe the U.S. should think about offering better treatment facilities for addicts and discouraging kids to get into the habit. They probably will anyway, because that's how things go, but it would be a lot less worse if they could buy a gram of coke and in doing so, not fuel a violent product chain that leaves thousands dead and violates the right to information for many more.

I'm not saying, "Don't do drugs." Governments: be realistic and less patronising and don't force people to buy illegal products because many have died in the inevitable process of making them available to your citizens. You don't see alcohol cartels, do you? That's what I'm saying.

Images are from Por favor, no más sangre (Please, no more blood), a campaign started by Mexican cartoonists to protest drug-related bloodshed. They are free of copyright.

Sources:
Reporters Without Borders, "Mexico woman newspaper editor beheaded"
RWB, "Jail for community radio leader"
RWB, "Mexico TV technician killed in Coahuila"
La Prensa Libre, "Calderón anuncia proteger periodistas"
El Mundo, "México ultima plan Colombia para proteger a periodistas del narco"
The Huffington Post, "Mexico decriminalises small-scale drug possession"
National Geographic, "Inside cocaine submarines"

Better News for the World

2011-07-10T14:50:00.010+01:00

The phone hacking scandal leading to the death of Murdoch's News of the World has become, well, news that have reached the world! Given that not only am I in the media field, but that I live about a 10 minutes' walk from the News International HQ in Wapping, London, it seems appropriate that I revisit my blog after an inexcusably long hiatus to comment on this issue. Thanks Rupert!

The paper is, until today, part of Rupert Murdoch's absurdly massive media empire, the News Corporation. I have to admit that I never purchased the NoW, and now is literally my last chance, as the paper is publishing its last-ever edition today. Maybe I will and maybe it's worth something in a few years. Many would argue that it's been worth a lot for a long time now, as the Sunday newspaper with the largest circulation in the UK, 2.9 million in the first half of 2011. Judging by the content though (and by its nicknames 'News of the Screws' and 'Screws of the World') the value of yellow journalism comes into question once again, along with issues at the core of journalism, like privacy, media-police and media-government relations, and accountability.

Hacking phones is illegal in the UK, and the wrongfulness of hacking the voicemails of murdered teenage girls, the families of fallen soldiers, and anyone really, cannot be overstated. This has been widely reported and commented on, so I'll spare you. Upon first finding out that the whole paper was to be shut, I thought the action was a bit drastic and extremely unfair for all the staff that had absolutely nothing to do with this scandal. It does not attack the root of the problem, which I initially thought was faulty journalistic ethics and the ease with which papers get away with them. I still believe this is a big problem. However, I now think that beyond problems on the supply side, the more troubling issue is the fascination of Brits with tabloid stories.

The most widely distributed of all papers in the UK is The Sun (also Murdoch's), whose circulation in February 2011 was 2.8 million. Second place is for the Daily Mail - yet another tabloid! - with 2.1 million. I understand that after a long day's work reading about Wills and Kate shmoozing with Hollywod celebrities is far more appealing than learning the latest from Lybia or Syria, and I'm no excuse. But l always do this with a sense of guilt. Why do I care? How many nice dresses can they wear? How many embarrassing drunk pictures can they publish? How much brainspace is this taking that could be filled with much more important, or at least noteworthy, information? For the sake of reducing the amount of gossip, meaningless information and just sensationalist clutter, I for one am glad that there is one less tabloid newspaper in the world.

That said, it still does not decrease demand, and I don't know if anything ever will. And wanting to know celebrity gossip, while petty and indulgent, is not an evil thing, the problem arises when you consider the stories that are not just meaningless chatter about affairs and fashion mis-haps. Tabloid papers also publish stories on world events like any other hard news source, and the conservative, right-leaning and sometimes bigoted editorial stance hammered down from Murdoch himself is a much more serious epidemic. Biases are the norm, and objectivity, if indeed almost impossible at any news organisation, is readily thrown out the window in yellow journalism. This is nothing new, but again, another reason why I am not crying over the end of the NoW.

The phone hacking scandal was the legal tipping point to shut down the paper. Parasitic and trashy as tabloids may be, freedom of information and opinion of course still trumps rubbish content, as it should. However, the NoW broke the law, and therefore stepped into a legal realm with consequences that not even Murdoch should escape. And I say 'should' because obviously a blind eye has been cast endless times when it comes to the elites and law abidance, but in this case Murdoch's paper has accepted the consequences of its illegal actions. Therefore, the axing of the paper is also a positive act in this respect; it should not be exempt from a clearcut law despite the power of its owner. It's a simple but often dismissed idea.

So for the sake of reducing the inundation of tabloid news and astronomically biased content in this country, and to show that power is not yet completely outside the law, the end of the NoW is not the worst thing. There is now even more unemployed talent, but hopefully they'll be able to put their journalistic skills to use in some place where there is at least a semblance of seriousness where informers actually wish to enrich, rather than further litter, their readers' minds.

Sources:

http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/notw/public/home/

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/index.html
http://www.pressgazette.co.uk/story.asp?sectioncode=1&storycode=46681&c=1
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/News_corporation

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daily_mail#cite_note-mediaweek-0
http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/table/2011/may/13/abcs-national-newspapers?intcmp=239

E: In Egypt protests, keeping the media's role in perspective

2011-02-06T13:28:00.006Z

Much has been reported about the ongoing Egyptian protests denouncing the government of Pres. Mubarak. The role of the media has come under scrutiny as well, due to the government's shutting down Internet around the country, the persecution of journalists covering the events and the protesters' use of new media to organize and communicate. Suffice it to say that the government should not try to censor any news and it should allow journalists to do their job, and that it's good that protesters found Twitter and Facebook useful for their cause.

However, the following articles serve to remember the real issues at stake here. Namely, yes, foreign correspondents have been pursued, hurt and arrested, but so have hundreds, thousands, of Egyptians, not just now, but throughout Mubarak's regime, and that's what we should keep in mind. Also, in an important life-and-death conflict for a whole nation, to emphasize the importance of two private, American media tools, Facebook and Twitter, seems a bit petty and paternalistic.

Nicholas Kristof has been reporting from the gound for the New York Times and his Facebook posts have included the following:
"Thanks so much for all your expressions of concern about my reporting in Egypt. They're much appreciated -- but, frankly, it's also a bit embarrassing that so much attention has focused on foreign journalists getting arrested or beaten up. As this article makes clear, the abuse of Egyptians is 100 times worse. And the only journalist to be killed so far was Egyptian. Let's not lose that perspective." - 5 February 2011

"A tough day for journalists in Egypt. A Greek reporter stabbed, ABC reporter threatened with beheading, many beaten up or arrested. But remember, we have a measure of protection because of our foreign nationality, and we can always leave. It's the Egyptians who are stuck here, who take 10 times the risk, and who have none of our protections. Their courage awes me." - 3 February 2011

Another NYT columnist, Frank Rich, published this piece today perfectly illustrating why it's wrong to overstate the role of new media in this conflict, and, more generally, how U.S. coverage of most Middle East events has ultimately bred ignorance about the area.

I realize I am quoting from and linking to the same media which I intend to criticize, but not all of it is bad, and like I said at the beginning, I have nothing against new ways of communicating. On the contrary. My issue is with perspective and context.

E: Worst press freedom violator in the world, Eritrea

2011-01-25T16:18:00.010Z

Reporters Without Borders (Reporters Sans Frontières) is an international non-profit organization that campaigns for press freedom by applying pressure on governments that violate it either by censoring information, imprisoning, torturing and killing journalists, spreading propaganda, and other oppressive methods. Every year, the organization ranks countries according to their level of press freedom. In 2010, the top spot was shared by Nordic and Western European countries: Sweden, Finland, Norway, Iceland, the Netherlands and Switzerland. The bottom spot, 178 out of 178 countries ranked, went to the small country of Eritrea, in the Horn of Africa.

View Larger Map

Eritrea won independence from Ethiopia, its neighbor to the south, in 1993, and since then President Isaias Afewerki has ruled the single-party state without any semblance of democracy. In a continent plagued by undemocratic processes, famine, civil war, all sorts of inequality and devastating poverty, Eritrea has gone a step further and claimed Africa’s place as its sole nation without private news-media. In September 2001, Afewerki’s government violently purged any individuals or entities deemed dangerous to national security, a move that included shutting down newspapers and radio and television stations that printed dissenting or unfavorable stories about his government. Many journalists became prisoners of conscience and sent to remote prisons around the country. About 20 are still jailed today, and others have died behind bars due to inhuman living conditions (exact numbers are hard to come by).

In terms of everyday censorship, the state-run media basically spew out government propaganda to promulgate its ultra-nationalist ideology. Authorities regard the internet as a threat to this brainwashing program due to its ability to disseminate independent, objective, and, the most worrisome, dissenting information. To technically restrict access as much as possible, the government has declined to improve connection speed. Politically, the four Internet service providers (ISP) must use the infrastructure of EriTel, a telecommunications firm that works closely with the state ministry of information. Whenever Afewerki considers there to be a high risk of information dissemination and online activity, he instructs EriTel to cut off Internet connections, which leads to no Internet service at all, since all four ISPs must go through EriTel. But even if users can go online most of the time, bearing the slow speeds and the censorship, Eritrea still has a long way to go before its citizens truly reach the digital age: the Internet penetration rate of the country is an unacceptably low 3%. This means that in a country with 5.8 million people in July 2010, only 175,000 had access to the Internet in some way or another. Connectivity is very tricky to measure, and even more so if independent information is practically nonexistent, but all the statistics I found pointed to a very underdeveloped status in this respect.

Technical blockage and information censorship are two of the main inhibitors of a free press, not to mention of freedom of information in general. One of the two official Eritrean websites, www.shabait.com, has the logo, “Serving the Truth.” No need to point out the irony in this. Eritrea has deep troubles with poor literacy rates, high risk of malaria, typhoid fever and hepatitis A infection, and a high infant mortality rate, among others, not the least of which is an oppressive and completely undemocratic government. The opportunity to go online and read an objective news story does not appear as crucial to development as improving school attendance, for example, but the importance of freedom of information in any country cannot be undermined by other non-negotiable necessities, like food, water and health facilities. Let’s hope the international community applies more pressure on Afewerki to start solving at least some of these problems.

Sources:
BBC
Reporters Without Borders
CIA World Factbook
Sudan Tribune

C: Going online is human right in Costa Rican city

2010-08-24T02:53:00.010+01:00

Curridabat lies on the eastern side of San José, the capital of Costa Rica. It is a canton of the San José province with a population of more than 60,000. Founded in 1930, it was named after the Indian chief Corrirava, who ruled the region when the first Spanish conquistadores arrived. Last Friday, August 20th 2010, it started offering free wireless connection to all its residents.

Internet access is now a human right in Curridabat. Residents can go with their laptops and their smart phones to the central park, the stadium, the Paris neighborhood and inside certain apartment complexes and enjoy free access. It cost the municipality 20 million colones, or around $40,000, to provide this service. Racsa, the state-run Internet provider, charges $15 a month per household for unlimited Internet.

According to an article in La Nación, the program has its flaws. Only about 120 users can be online simultaneously, which is not a lot and means very slow speeds if the system is at maximum capacity. So even though there are 60,000+ residents with a right to connect, only around .2 percent of them can actually practice it at any given moment. Some residents have also complained that it is only a matter of time before hackers access the network and disrupt service for everyone else, that the city has more pressing problems like bad roads, and that it isn't even safe to bring a laptop to the park.

View Larger Map

All valid complaints. But the main point here should not be overlooked: Curridabat understands that universal Internet access is a basic requisite of any society hoping to be informed and progressive. Curridabat's mayor, Edgar Mora, has said that not only has the canton granted access to its citizens, a service that it will continue to improve, but that Curridabat will soon adopt a law stating that access to the web be a fundamental right. This is already the case in countries like Finland, Estonia and France. In fact, according to recent data from Unesco, Undesa and the World Health Organization, by the end of 2009 the Internet penetration rate in developed countries was 64 percent. By contrast, in developing countries only 20 percent of people were using the Internet. Worldwide, the figure is 26 percent.

There is a long road ahead to reach a state where Internet access is a human right protected by law, one that requires large investments in information and communications technologies (ICTs). It would cost approximately $2 million for all of Curridabat to go online effectively, which isn't even that much compared to other government investments. The first step, however, is free, and it is simply accepting the fact that universal online access is key to social and economic development. Curridabat took this step and acted upon it in what will hopefully turn into a chain reaction across the region.

Watch video (might not load...).

Sources:
La Nación
Municipalidad de Curridabat
International Telecommunication Union
XE.com

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Nicaragua, 31 years later

2010-08-09T07:16:00.012+01:00

Two weeks ago I went to Nicaragua and witnessed a sad contrast between natural beauty and human misery. The view from the top of the Santiago Crater in the Volcán Masaya Park near Granada was breathtaking, moving, beautiful and the rest, but it didn’t strike me as much as the dirty, disillusioned faces of children begging for money on the streets of Managua. A girl, no older than 7 or 8, followed me around while I took pictures of the Palacio Nacional in the Plaza de la Revolución, asking me for money to buy sandals for her feet, naked on the hot, dirty streets of the capital city. A pair of flip-flops costs about 64 córdobas, or $3.

Posters and banners of a smiling Daniel Ortega with the words “Nicaragua, cristiana, socialista, solidaria!” fly high over the slums and beggars.

The government of the longtime leader of the Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional (FSLN) has been in power, for the second time, since 2007. He was previously president between 1985 and 1990. Some recent events are worth highlighting: refusing to recognize the government of neighboring Honduras after last year’s coup d’état there, failing to show up for a meeting with Costa Rican president Laura Chinchilla concerning border issues, and his almost fanatical support for anything Hugo Chávez says or does, including cutting ties with Colombia over said country’s allegations about Venezuelan support of FARC groups there. But according to the posters, all of Nicaragua is faithful to the cause, whatever that may be.

During a trip to the Volcán Cerro Negro, where I literally climbed up the volcano, sandboard in hand, and then surfed down from the crater head to the base, our guide Marta told us about some of the alleged positive aspects of Ortega’s policy. According to her, the government handed out uniforms to children to encourage school attendance, and mothers of those who died during the revolution receive some kind of compensation, as do those that fought and suffered severe injuries. I have found no evidence of this, however. No articles, old or new, in any news source. Then again, Marta had also answered in detail my many questions regarding sand boarding, but while hiking up the dome, another guide, Emir, said Marta had never climbed it herself.

So who knows if anyone ever received uniforms thanks to Ortega.

Filth is another aspect that struck me in Managua. Blue plastic bags decorate the city. Before being discarded like chewed gum, they serve as income to those who sell them filled with water to cars at red lights and during slow traffic to ease the heat of the very humid city. There is trash everywhere, and in between, rows of shacks where hundreds live, huddled together with their clothes and their babies. Some of the slums rest just a few steps away from the imposing Plaza de la Revolución, where 31 years ago thousands died in a revolution meant to end the misery and injustice brought on by the Somoza dynasty.

Despite the poverty and waste, I have to say that I never felt unsafe in Managua. We took a few walks at night in the dark streets of the Altamira zone (which admittedly is quieter and more residential), and the only aspect that freaked me a little was the rifle held by every house guard, but I know this is unfortunately common in many Latin American countries. The 2010 Global Peace Index ranks Nicaragua as the 5th safest country in Latin America, and 64th overall out of 149 countries analyzed. The United States ranks 85th.

About a half hour’s drive southeast of Managua, a trek around the Santiago Crater of the Volcán Masaya is a walk on the moon. I came back from pitch-black caves, 180m deep and teeming with bats, to meet crisp air, deafening silence and a sparkling sky hanging over the crater. It is surreal. I have never felt smaller, and more powerless against nature. The sky was black and blue, with only strips of cloudy mesh between me and the dazzling party above. And straight ahead, a short descent beckons a peek into sulfuric gas and lava. We peered into Santiago’s gaping mouth, but could only see flashes of red and orange calmly shining through the gas, and we heard a few sleepy rumbles. It could have almost been the silent cries of hundreds of thousands of people in the depths of misery, letting those above know that although their unrest is now only a soft roar, they will not be dormant forever.

B: Bangladesh sans Facebook

2010-06-21T06:02:00.010+01:00

Bangladesh recently removed a ban on Facebook that it had originally imposed due to “caricatures of the Prophet Mohammad and ‘obnoxious’ images of the Muslim-majority country's leaders,” according to Al Jazeera and government officials.

Wait a tick, isn’t Facebook a public forum? Of course not. I don’t even want some comments on my party pics to be public. And in countries like beautiful Bangladesh, ranked 121st in Reporters Without Borders' 2009 Press Freedom Index, even positive depictions of Mohammad are regarded as blasphemous. So on Saturday, May 29th, Bangladesh Telecommunication Regulatory Commission (BTRC) shut down Facebook temporarily while the issue was resolved, says The Daily Star, the largest English-language daily in the country.

One Bangladeshi Facebook user started a competition that invited those so inclined to submit caricatures of the Prophet for “Everybody Draw Muhammad Day” on May 20th. The man has since been arrested, and none of the news agencies I checked had information regarding his punishment. However, authorities said the social networking site had been shut down only temporarily while the images were taken down. Some cartoons of prominent Bangladeshi politicians had also been floating around, another no-no.

Protests ensued in Dhaka, the capital, before and after the ban, with Bangladeshis taking the streets to denounce both the circulation of anti-Islamic images as well as that fickle shield called freedom of speech. Predictably enough (but thank your God of choice for them), students and professors of Dhaka University protested the assault on their rights to express an opinion. They suggested banning individual profiles instead of restricting everyone’s access because of an individual’s questionably reprehensible actions.

"Information should be free flowing. When that is hampered, people would only find more interest in finding ways to bypass it,” said one Prof. Reza Choudhury. Hmm, people who have had a chance to be educated strike again.

Finally, on June 5th, BTRC told Internet Service Providers to make the site available again, relieving all those who were eager to see weekend photos of their exes and read status updates about what their friend’s new favorite sandwich is.

This writer assumes that nobody won the cartoon contest.

Sources:
Al Jazeera
The Daily Star
Reporters Sans Frontières
BBC News

Image: AlJazeera.net

Gershwin knew

2010-05-08T05:55:00.011+01:00

Dear blog, please don’t hate me. Not so recent events have prevented my otherwise strict adherente to regular posting. Regularly sporadic posting.

I have left the building. The New York City work and apartment buildings, to be specific. I have left the state and the whole mainland, actually. My plans were once again brushed aside with a sneer, and, as so many times before, I’ve been spared a few days to figure out what to do with life. The masterplan is still unfolding, and I can just sit here and wonder who is doing all the unfolding. It seems like unfolding IS the plan.

What I do know with certainty is that I already miss the big city. If only for a mere 8 months, I can now proudly say I’ve paid Manhattan rent, New York state taxes, MTA fare, New York City $13 movie tickets, and all that good stuff. What a privilege! Now I can really survive anywhere, except in suburbia and rural areas.

Anyway, this will not be a post about how great New York City is because Woody Allen, Martin Scorsese, Jay McInerney and many others have already done that one million times better than I could. So, just as my own list for whenever I go back, and as a record of what my experience has been in the big apple (it had to be said at some point), these are the little things that make up my New York:

The diversity.

Maoz - best falafel in town, for me. I know, it is a health food joint, not an authentic Middle Eastern street vendor. But it is what it is, and I will miss eating in Union Sq. park and then feeling like there is a rock in my stomach.

Shake Shack – there is no shaking after eating these heavenly burgers. Well worth the usual 45 minute queues. I am searching online burger forums to discover their secret recipe. This is going to be an excellent summer of burger research.

The Immigrant – established 2009 by the uber cool Jason, owner/bartender/charitable entertainer. The first time I went to this tucked away beer and wine bar on 9th and 1st, Jason gave us a gourmet chocolate-covered pretzel, dried fruit, and unreleased beer samples. He has an Echo & the Bunnymen tattoo and taught me about lastfm.com. Goodbye Pandora, hello tempranillo.

BOA, or Bar-on-A, or Barona – serpent-themed chill bar on Ave. A and 10th or 11th. Good for after-work drinks when it is empty except for the lovable afternoon drinkers.

McSorleys, strictly on weekdays when you are a lovable afternoon drinker – woodchips on the floor and very cheap homebrewed beer on Astor Place.

Trader Joe’s – Of course not only in New York, but there is not one where I am now or where I will be for the foreseeable future. Maybe the force doing all the unfolding can unfold a Trader Joe’s in London.

Trader Joe’s Wine Shop – Yes.

Artichoke – artichoke pizza. My pre-Thanksgiving snack and daily temptation on the way back from work. I can still smell it…

Attitude – Get outta heeere!

Zeny’s roof – my friend Zeny has a great rooftop that I have mentioned before. You can see the Empire State Building, the Brooklyn Bridge and the silly neighbors who party to the Black Eyed Peas.

L, 4, 5 lines and M15 Limited bus – north, south, east, west for just 2.25 a ride! Beats the T by miles, literally and metaphorically. The 7, N and W also get a mention for the lovely view of the city on the way to Queens.

Headquarters of nameless philanthropy – $5 all-you-can-and-will-eat salad bar.

Almost all of Williamsburg.

The plain fact that everything, and anything, you can think of, has happened, is happening or will happen again, in New York City.

So there, that is what I will miss the most. Also, some people.

Wild Wes

2010-03-01T01:26:00.020Z

A week ago I saw Fantastic Mr. Fox and came out very happy. It is the latest of the writer/director's films and his first shot at animation. It is not my favorite. It still, however, has the Anderson elements that make his films dear to me: the funniest, most clever and touching dialogue, though in this case the credit for that goes to Roald Dahl, obviously, whose novel the movie is based on; colors, colors, shiny colors, even more so with animation; the Mark Mothersbaug collaboration, which never fails to remind me of Rugrats; flat monotones; a Wilson brother; funny adventure that is trivial in a larger scope but life-defining for the characters; and of course, the Rolling Stones. Although I have to say that the choice of "Street Fighting Man" during the foxes' first operation was a bit too easy.

Netlix then delivered Bottle Rocket, the first of Anderson's films. Not nearly as refined as The Life Aquatic or The Darjeeling Limited, it is still very funny and in a way launched the careers of Luke and Owen Wilson. The real insignificance of the events and the love for a transitory character are there, as well as the slow motion scenes. The film has a lazy start, but the relationship between Luke Wilson's Anthony and Lumi Cavazos' Inez (uncredited, strangely enough) picks it up. For some reason, the infatuation between a would-be thief and a Paraguayan motel housekeeper seems more out of place than Anthony's and Dignan's (Owen Wilson) plans to plunder for life. It's worth mentioning that Owen also co-wrote the screenplay for this, as he would do in the cases of Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums.

I liked both of them, as I've liked Rushmore, Tenenbaums and, now, Fantastic Mr. Fox. The pinnacles, for me, still are Life Aquatic and Darjeeling (including its Part 1, Hotel Chevalier). The human touch, the music and the visuals are unsurpassed. I look forward to My Best Friend, in production.

His work, as both director and co-writer:

Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009)

Hotel Chevalier (2007)

... aka Part 1 of 'The Darjeeling Limited'

The Darjeeling Limited (2007)

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)

The Royal Tenenbaums (2001)

Rushmore (1998)

Bottle Rocket (1996)

Bottle Rocket (1994)

Uptown Green

2010-02-21T01:43:00.012Z

Manhattan. Buildings, noise, crowds, filth, car exhaust, hot dogs; all there. 33.7 square miles of raw city. It's been like this for a while and it will continue to be, and we love it. Although 33.7 square miles isn't really true. Take out about .6% of that area, the portion representing a somewhat peculiar and completely unexpected little chunk of nature: The Cloisters.

A branch of the Metropolitan Museum located in Fort Tryon (190th street!), The Cloisters is by far the most beautiful space I have seen in all of New York City. Going into the A train in the West Village and emerging at the northernmost tip of Manhattan is a trip from the hippest of the bohemian hip to medieval river banks. Duke Ellington should have changed the song to "Take the A train if you want to get to nature and stunning views." The Hudson swims by on the left and the view is from a hill, no less. The river's beauty is unsurprisingly lost when looked at from sea level, with Jersey buildings and fumes right behind. But up north, only mountains descend into the Hudson on either side. The Cloisters itself includes the land, four acres on a rocky hill, and the museum devoted to medieval art.

Admission is a recommended $20 for adults, and unlike at the Met's main building, you can't get away with $0. We strolled in and were stopped by a security guard informing us we needed buttons, so we went to the lady at the counter and firmly said we wanted a button, then danced around the fact that we weren't going to pay $20. "Well you gotta pay something, " was the response. $5 each it was and we got our button, a pin to say "Hey, I paid something."

The $5 included walks inside the museum galleries and gardens and a close encounter with Hugh Jackman and his family (Wolverine! Looking good). Best part was still the view, and that's totally free. A few hours later, fully stuffed after an even more surreal Dominican restaurant on 193rd, a quick nap on the A got us back to the village, and to the sirens and the one or two trees surrounded only by all of Manhattan.

The most dangerous man in America: he tells the truth

2010-02-19T05:08:00.021Z

I went to the Paley Center for Media for a screening and panel discussion (and wine and cheese reception) of the new, Oscar-nominated documentary about the Pentagon Papers, The Most Dangerous Man in America: Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers. I found out about the film through work, and although I naturally attend anything including free wine and cheese, I am especially glad I attended this. Daniel Ellsberg himself, 78, was present and very much alive for a guy his age.

The film is incredible. Having studied both journalism and international relations, I can't say that any of the content was especially shocking, but it's always entertaining to hear Nixon talk (aka "son-of-a-bitch" this and "son-of-a-bitch" that) and the live footage from the era is a great asset. The rich group of commentators, however, is what impressed me most, proof of the filmmakers' rigorous research and the validity of their message. White House counsel to Nixon John Dean, Nobel Laureate economist Thomas Schelling, you should know Howard Zinn, Ellsberg's wife Patricia, Ellsberg's assistant Tony Russo and a plethora of New York Times, Boston Globe and Washington Post journalists and editors give their input, including newspapermen who worked on the story along with Neil Shehaan (who got the byline) and were part of the unprecedented decision making that went into the Papers' publishing. Ellsberg narrates the film himself, and he and his wife delve into his personal life and how tragic events in his childhood affected his fateful decision decades later.

Recap for those unfamiliar: Daniel Ellsberg was a government employee with top-secret access during the Johnson administrations and a key Vietnam War strategist. Although highly respected by his peers and with an amazing career ahead of him, Ellsberg became disillusioned with and ultimately enraged about the war. He realized how blatantly the government was lying to the American public and decided to bring the truth to light, even if it meant a life in prison (at one point he was sentenced to 115 years!) He leaked the Pentagon Papers, 7,000 pages, to the New York Times and eventually to 17 newspapers, and the secret was out. There were numerous consequences, not the least being Nixon's resignation after popular opposition to the war escalated immensely partly as a result of the exposed truth about the U.S. military's progress in Indochina (slim to none). Very summarized version.

Daniel Ellsberg is a very bright man. A very bright man who came to the realization that for all its hype and think tanks, the U.S. has not learned very much from recent history, its own history. And he gave a very poignant example during the discussion about people's complacency (or as I see it, convenient ignorance). After 9/11, newspapers and news channels around the world focused on the human side of events; the pastimes, the families, the backgrounds, the last text messages, the legacies of the men and women who died, and it was very touching and shed light on just how horrible the events were, how much individual people suffered, not just the government and the country's defenses. People were (are) scared of the nation's new vulnerability and the government's robustness, but most of all they were outraged and heartbroken, and rightly so, at the attack on civilians, innocent bystanders, people with homes and children and faces. Now, in Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Pakistan, that is what's called collateral damage. Where are the human faces of the innocent bystanders there? But again, Daniel Ellsberg is a very bright man and that is how he came to this realization.

The film is by Judith Ehrlich and Rick Goldsmith. Watch it, remember it, pick up a book if you've never heard about the Pentagon Papers, and learn and apply. Now if only the people who count did that. After all, the rest of us are just really innocent bystanders.

Really, Massachusetts, really?

2010-01-20T02:41:00.008Z

This is NOT the city where I went to college.

Boston Globe coverage.

Massachusetts has voted Republican. This makes me mad, not because of what will happen, because this is just a fluke and lessons will be learned, but because of how fidgety and gullible people are. Ted Kennedy, the liberal lion, the ultimate fighter for universal health care, has been replaced by a Republican. A conservative Republican will now represent Massachusetts in the Senate. These are his main traits, chosen for the level of disgust they provoke me:

- Scott Brown has openly supported waterboarding.

- Scott Brown has vowed to oppose the healthcare overhaul.

- Scott Brown is against providing a path to citizenship for illegal immigrants (wait for it!) unless they leave the country.

- Scott Brown opposes a cap on carbon emissions. Now, that's just evil.

Are people really so fickle? One year without radical and immediate change, and the state turns Republican? Have a little faith, people. You have not only betrayed a senator who fought hard all his life for the betterment of this country; you have betrayed your home state.

I'm embarrassed for the praise I've always given to Massachusetts.

Moin moin*

2010-01-13T03:44:00.019Z

A recent trip to Deutschland has left me filled with memories, new experiences, and, well, just filled. As in full. The holidays are good enough an excuse to overdo the eating, if you're the kind of person to need such an excuse, but a trip to Germany, to visit the older family members, no less, has, in my experience, a 96% chance of fulfilling the happy belly factor. From Cologne in the midwest to Oldenburg up north down to the charming town of Heidelberg near the French border, the following are dishes that should not go without notice. Warning: it is a sausage fest, literally.

Good ol' bratwurst - can't write about German food without including the famous wiener. Good at touristy markets, like the Neumarkt in Cologne, as well as in nice restaurants, like Kulturbrauerei Scheffel's in Heidelberg. Good with kartoffeln (real potatoes), good with just bread, good with sauerkraut. Not too good for you, but it's a walking country so it's okay.

zander - fish. Aka pike-perch in English. Also known as lecker, German for delicious. Given my embarrassingly limited German, I decided years ago that lecker would be an invaluable part of that small roster of words I do know. And zander certainly had me saying it. Find it at the Ratskeller in Oldenburg, and just say: "Kann ich bitte haben der Zanderﬁlet in Butter gebraten

auf Gartenkräuter-Rahmsauce, Salzkartoffeln, Salatteller? Danke!"

Wintertaler - a hearty and creamy vegetarian medley in the oldest restaurant I have been to, Zur Sackpfeife, in Ladenburg, outside Heidelberg. A Google search, strangely enough, didn't easily give me a year, but the town, and the building that houses the restaurant, is from the Late Middle Ages (as in 14th and 15th centuries). The name of my dinner just means "winter dish," and it definitely warmed me up with mushroom and cheese all melted together. It is one of those places where a visit by myself to the bathroom was a little nervewracking, with strange old figurines lining the banisters and creaking wood floors. Well worth a visit, sehr schon!

currywurst - not so good the morning after, but good at the market with some gluevine. Sausage topped with curry paste often mixed with ketchup.... yeah. No one else was a fan, and the day after I wasn't, but I'd been craving it since currywurst Berlin 2008.

Jever - most popular beer in northern Germany, according to one local. Nothing spectacular.

König Pilsener - very popular beer in western Germany. Good with pretzels.

Kölsch - the beer of Cologne (Köln in German). Very good and a standard. It's clear and goes down smoooothly.

Scheffel's Hefeweizen - I am a fan of Heffeweizen, so I knew this would be good. It was better. Brewed in-house at a wonderful restaurant and inn in Heidelberg, same one mentioned above where I got the wurst. Lecker!

Heidelberger studentenkuß - The "student's kiss" chocolaterie in a tiny street in Heidelberg has this story: the shop was popular since its opening in the 1860s and the chocolatier devised a tasty and innocent treat for students to give to whoever made their hearts beat a little faster. "Alas, the ever-watchful governesses were never far away," reads the brochure, so a real peck was out of the question. The recipe today is the same as that of 1863 and the lack of chaperones in the vicinity doesn't diminish the cuteness of the shop and the tastiness of the kuß.

As for more sweet treats, that's a whole other post. Considering the visits to older female relatives, delighted to see us, the cakes and pastries were overflowing the tables...

Auf wiedersehen!

*moin moin is slang in Oldenburg for "What's up?" Ja!

Giving Thanks (Successfully)

2009-11-30T01:51:00.009Z

There is something about successfully cooking an edible meal for more than two people that makes me feel like a grown-up. For this Thanksgiving, a holiday with which I am very well acquainted but always simply as an enjoyer and not a producer, I cooked my first turkey, and for no fewer than 11 people. It was intimidating, but I am happy to say that it was a success. Towards the end of the night, the turkey was the least stuffed creature in the room.

A successful meal is somehow analogous to the way in which life falls together. An empty table off of which twelve people would be fed slowly, but surely, turned into hardly any space for cutlery. That is one of the reasons I enjoy cooking so much; it's creating something hopefully good out of nothing. It takes creativity, planning, personality, and frankly, luck (potluck dinner). And also friends who bring the rest of the food because the turkey and a dessert are feats enough. More cooking, more order.

Metro New York

2009-10-19T02:57:00.003+01:00

9/11 conspiracy theorists philosophizing with their posters and their flyers on the 4 downtown and a girl with an afro and a pin-striped shirt blows bubbles from her seat that bounce off the rickety floor on a Saturday night.

Travel: Revere Beach, ghost town

2009-10-15T19:42:00.007+01:00

March 17, 2009

Revere, MA – It is March, but the frozen puddles and brisk afternoon air give no hope of a real spring in the making. The sky is many shades of gray and humidity hangs low. Revere Beach is quiet, with not even the cry of seagulls to melt the coolness. But it is still a beach day in some ways, as tired waves churn gently and a calm, liquefied sky washes and watches over infinitely shifting dark sand.

The train ride to the country’s oldest public beach is equally uneventful. About forty minutes after leaving downtown Boston, through seaside suburbs and sandy factories, after swerving over peripheral inclinations in the style of a children’s roller coaster, and before reaching the end of the line at Wonderland, the MBTA blue line creaks to a halt at Revere Beach station. The doors slide open and the beach creeps in. The air smells of salt and the streets are quiet. Then up the dusty outside staircase, across the flat bridge over the station, and down the empty narrow streets toward the sand. More streets signs than cars crowd the road between the town and the beach.

To the far right, various small shacks and summer hangouts offer soda pops and ice cream, frozen lemonade and sorbets. There’s the Twist & Shake, the landmark pink and white ice cream and slush shack that initiates the row of vendors and is a haven for sweltering beachgoers during the summer. The 1980’s-Miami-Beach-style local’s offerings are graffitied proudly at each side of the entrance, and floor-to-ceiling glass windows let passersby in on the process. They are closed for the season.

With no nearby snacks as an option, the next logical step is toward the unassuming ocean. The wind that brushes hair and deflects seagulls’ flights seems to have no effect on the grey water, which, were it not for its infinite stretching, appears more like that of a placid lagoon than the capricious Atlantic Ocean. Waves are suds that carelessly break when reaching the black sand, with no roaring cry to announce to end of their cycle. Footsteps of sneakers and boots have a short life span near the water as the shifting blackness erases any traces of visitors. The weary dozen or so people trudging on the wet sand speak mutely, their voices carried off by the steady breeze as quickly as water dissolves their footsteps. It is as if no visitor remains there for more than a few minutes.

Broken pieces of shells are the threshold between wet and dry. Shapes of white, cream, pink, brown, black and all their shades lie glistening in the black moisture, their long broken journey finally over. The prettier and more complete ones are scooped up and deposited in pockets to later become house décor or another inevitable piece of garbage. They lay faithfully by the water’s edge as far as the eye can see, curving with the coast in both directions.

Idling along the water can only last so long though, before hopes concerning food and drinks availability in the seemingly dead seatown arise. Nick’s Place, with its famous chicken kebabs, humbly offers sandwiches, pizzas and a televised soccer game. It is busy. The coastal town is teeming with fishnet-stockingued-and-thong-displaying older women, their thick mascaras as clumpy as their pink lipstick. They eat pizza and strut around the place like it’s after midnight. The afternoon sun makes an effort behind some clouds, and a family splits a pizza and Cokes. A player scores a goal and the TV cheers. Thirty minutes, a cheesy pineapple pizza and a few more hookers later, a different thirst ensues.

It is quenched at the Shipwreck Lounge a few locales down. A dive bar with a neon Keno sign and blue lettering, it sits in the bottom corner of a stout white inn. The visitors are very much local. They are mixed: some seem to have stumbled upon an alcohol-serving place after a little league game, and they’ve placed a Tupperware full of sandwiches on the bar. Others have designated stools. They all sit around the bar, which has no beers on tap, and acknowledge everyone’s entrance. The floor is carpeted and the light is minimum. Yellowish photographs of JFK, Muhammad Ali and FDR clutter the walls, with a few Keno machines interrupting the historical theme. A bottle of Heineken comes with a small crystal glass resembling hotel buffet china. Free pretzels are included, in the same little glass. An old man with greasy hair under a red bandanna takes to the floor with one of the soccer moms. The song is “It’s not unusual” (Tom Jones).

A glass of pretzels and a beer down and the adventure nears its end. An evening walk down the boulevard past Nick’s Place and Twist & Shake towards the corner and up the hill leads to the T stop, back into the city and the usual.

Dear SallieMae

2009-10-13T17:58:00.007+01:00

I don't reproach people who look at me with pity in their eyes and offer words of sympathy after I say, "I just graduated. My major was journalism." Print media crisis aside, the general crisis is enough for any recent grad to accumulate slow head shakes, slight head tilts, the eye rolling combined with deep exhalation, and any other forms of the listener's way of saying, "God help you."

Having graduated a little more than four months ago, the pressure is on. I have 39 different cover letters. If HR people were to get together and throw around common names flooding their inboxes, my name would be up there. I'm not giving up and something will come up eventually. I am actually not mad at the situation, because what are you going to do? I don't have a family to support, I don't have a mortgage, and thankfully, I'm healthy (being uninsured is part of the thrill; cue slow head shake). I have a lot of friends in the same situation, and we offer each other support. The one person who's e-mailed me countless times to remind me of how much my priceless education is worth is the same woman who lent out a hand before I even enrolled in school. She's truly been with me along the process, and I'm sure she'll continue to be by my side for decades to come. Oh Sallie Mae, what would I do without you?

I could worry less about Dec. 1st, when I have to start thanking Sallie Mae for everything she's done, by, little by little, paying her about $30,000. My other good friend, the U.S Department of Education, has its share of the fun and is also flooding my email. He isn't letting good ol' Sallie get away with all the money, so he offered help early on, too. As part of the federal government, he knows he is taken seriously and he'll get his roughly $25,000. Sallie wins by just a little. Sallie Mae sounds like someone who will have a warm blueberry pie ready for you, with a glass of milk, sitting on a patio table with a view of rolling hills and some cows. Well Sallie, you're getting a piece of my pie. And a big one.

The United States education system is deeply flawed, and if you ever wonder about how to solve the country's other problems, you can find the root in that one. I always thought you couldn't put a price on education. Education is priceless. People with a college degree earn more! That's the best one. My income so far equals about zero, but I'll be sure to give the government and Sallie a big chunk of my first paycheck, so, yeah, I'm glad I'm better compensated than someone who didn't get any selfless help from my friends. The higher education system in this country promises marvels, growth, freedom of thought, innovation, a chance to explore. And then it spits you out and hands you a hefty check. Colleges reel you in with glossy pictures of gleaming minority students and fancy facilities; they sit you in front of PhD's and demand nothing less than the newest editions in goundbreaking textbooks; they promise the world at your fingertips after graduation, but you'll be hooked like a bloody fish to the school or the government until you pay off every cent. Wiggle a little if you don't have a job or have other expenses, and they only tighten the grip with deferment and forberance options also known as, "Take your time, accrue interest, we're not letting go, ever."

I guess this isn't a letter to SallieMae or my dear government, but a warning to all college-bound individuals. Boston University has a price tag of almost $50,000. Good luck finding much else other than rich white kids or rich international kids, and good for them. But it sure as hell ain't good for me, and thanks to Sallie, I'll remember this every time I transfer my hard-earned and higher-than-average-because-I-went-to-college salary to her and the Feds. I'm starting to think that going to university in the United States was not the smartest move.

Here is New York

2009-09-27T05:56:00.004+01:00

"There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter - the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something.

Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last - the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company."

E.B. White, "Here is New York," 1948

Thank you, Peter!

Busing out of Boston

2009-08-31T21:52:00.018+01:00

Like countless times in the past four years, I'm on the bus to New York. After so many Fung Wah trips with stops in places where the food is shiny and with bus mates who throw up on board, and after squeezing by on the packed streets of Chinatown towards the Canal St. stop or rushing through them at night, so ironically empty and lifeless that there's nothing Chinese about it except the blazing graffiti symbols and the many emptied out jewelry store windows, after the never-changing fee of $15, I decided to upgrade to Mega Bus and Bolt Bus for a few extra bucks and an arrival in a much more official looking station at Penn. Not any cleaner or nicer, but at least the buses had wi-fi. The destinations once in the City have ranged from the Lower East Side, to Fort Greene in Brooklyn, to Gramercy Park to the Upper West Side, all places where I at some point never thought I'd get to know and visit often. Four years ago I first came to Boston, which seemed in itself a bit surreal.

Working at the store where I've been during the summer (which doesn't allow "bloggers" to name it but the following anecdotes probably give it away), I found myself sneering at eager BU students and parents buying decals, stuffed animals, towels, pajamas; all with 'BU' in big proud letters. And don't even mention the ones who want anything that says Frozen Four on it. I'd charge them, wrap their BU shot glasses and "Proud BU Mom" mugs and process their credit cards for three-figure sums. Please; in my four years here I only ever bought one sweatshirt, a basic t-shirt and some discounted sweatpants because my old generic ones stopped fitting (too many Thai places nearby). Somehow I managed to forget that I bought sweatshirts for both my sisters, BU mugs for my parents and BU grandparent stuff for Oma und Opa. I even gave an ex-boyfriend one of those awful "Someone from BU loves me" teddy bears. But that was all freshman year; no self-respecting upperclassman would actually get anything from the overpriced store (that I no longer work for).

Despite all my skepticism and eye-rolling, however, I couldn't help the nostalgia creeping in from witnessing these kids' and their parents' excitement. I miss it. It was a change to go to college, but it was a planned change and you have your schedule even before you know your roommate. It's four years where many things change, some mental and emotional growth hopefully occurs, life is lived, independence is savored and you don't remember a lot of it; but it's still all planned out and controlled. Now, I have no idea. I have grandiose ideas, but those don't count for much else than for keeping me below panic attack levels.

And of course, the friendships. I'm lucky that many of my friends will be in the city too, and hopefully other special people will venture there as well, soon. My friends are the same people I met on the first week of uni. I guess I didn't branch out much; despite all the years of drama and silly girl stuff, I never really had a strong motivation to do so.

I'm going to New York now and am again on the bus. My many strategies of landing my own seats were tried and tested many times, and I've succeeded in the last couple of trips. There's again someone loud close to me, some new found friends who feel the need to tell each other their life stories, those who pass out from departure to arrival, and the people in front of me whose seats recline back way too much and are making typing this difficult. No more stops in greasy Chinese places where, although starving, I couldn't bring myself to buy phosphorescent chicken and risked missing the bus by running to some nearby pharmacy for chips. And of course there are the students who actually do their homework during the trip, not just lug around books and laptops with doomed determination.

This time, however, I have three very heavy suitcases instead of a crammed backpack. This time I brought shampoo and all my underwear, not because I've recently just decided to be hygienic, but because I know I can't borrow toiletries for too long and I'm going to need more than one change of underwear. This time, when the bus pulled out of Back Bay Station and sped past Copley, and the high rising Student Villages 1 and 2 of my own BU, I didn't have my computer out playing the opening credits of something. I didn't immediately resume a book or call someone. I looked back at the Prudential Tower and the West Campus dorms and the past four years of my life, and realized all too quickly that I'm not just going to New York; I'm leaving Boston. My safe haven and my first real snow. My first of many things. And as excited and anxious as I am, I couldn't help but feel that I was leaving a big part of my life behind. And then it all started to get blurry and I was relieved again by the empty seat next to mine.

Travel: A Moroccan Joy Ride

2009-07-22T04:38:00.005+01:00

February 2009

MARRAKECH - We were on our way to eat tajine when our cab driver decided to stop in the middle of the road to get some water. He said he’d only take a few minutes and ran off, down an alleyway and around a corner. There was still a lane between the sidewalk and us. We had asked at our hotel, the Atlas Asni, where we could have some authentic Moroccan food in a traditional setting.

Having landed from London only a few hours before, my French was still not properly run in. We were prepared, then, to be somewhat ripped off. We were in good spirits, however, and our budgets were still untouched. We got a name, got a cab and got in motion. About eight minutes later, the car stopped.

As we waited for our cab driver, my friend and I looked around outside. She was nervous; I was acting cool. It was dusk and the spice-heavy air hung low, reaching our hungry senses through the open windows of the small car. Patches of green and periodic dry bushes decorated a 2-meter median on Avenue De France, where our cab was now awkwardly stationed.

The main road was quiet for a Saturday evening, and those who did pass swerved around us and continued down the street, with the dry bushes on the left and a dusty unparticular sidewalk to the right. It was my first time in Africa and in a Muslim country, but apart from the camel outlines in the distance and the Arabic streets signs, Avenue De France looked like any road in any dusty town at sunset.

On the other side of the avenue there was a Spanish-style pink office building, with a balcony running along the second floor. Below, tucked away under a terrace roof, were several phone booths and rows of businesses, all closed at that time. More dry shrubs lined the sidewalk. To the left of the complex there were four ATM machines, where earlier my friend and I had made the first of many pounds-to-dirham conversions. At 16MAD to 1GBP, and 8MAD to 1USD, my fellow traveler and I sneered at our friends that chose pricier European destinations for their spring break trips. The fight about to ensue, however, led us, for a few minutes, to wish we’d traveled somewhere with a culture, or at least language, closer to home.

There were sudden voices coming from behind the vehicle. Three men were having a heated discussion in Arabic. Our driver had not reappeared. The voices got higher and more pressing, as did our anxiety. We were half hiding, half peering over the backseat to see what was happening. We didn’t know if they were armed, but they were walking on the street, to our left. Then we heard a clear punch blow, and screams. My friend panicked. I locked the doors and debated between staying in the car and making a run for it. There was a moment of silence, and then a man crashed, face down, against the rear window. We made eye contact, and real fear crept in.

A warm breeze came through the windows, and the dry shrubs swayed in the middle of Avenue De France. It was dark out.

The unspoken consensus between my friend and I was that the driver was in some way involved. The tajine lost priority and we cursed whoever had hailed us this cab. We didn’t even remember what he looked liked. For all we knew, he had just been thrown over his own car. Or had thrown someone else. In that instant when the apparent victim and I looked at each other, the many warnings against coming to Morocco on our own rang in high volume inside my head. It is unsafe for two foreign girls. It’s even worse for an American. Go to Venice, or the Greek isles. Africa can wait. It is technically the Middle East, after all. I hated to confirm the stereotypes.

The man rolled off the back of the car after some hour-long seconds and the tension seemed to ease. The fight had reached its climax. As the three men passed the car, we unbolted the door and ran. There is something very strange about abandoning a car in the middle of the road, windows down, on a dust-ridden road under a dark red sky. The warm breeze had turned chilly, and as we ran back toward the hotel, we heard the cab driver calling after us. We had not paid.

Back in the haven of our honey-scented lobby, we opted for a tourist trap. Across the street was Le Menara, and we made no mention of the incident as we dug into our overpriced, but uninterrupted, tajine aux apricots.

Travel: A three-part Series of Students in Costa Rica, Part III

2009-07-16T16:27:00.005+01:00

November 2007

Heredia, CR – The dense tropical forest did not silence the roar of the five raging waterfalls towards which the traveling students made their way in La Paz Waterfall Park, located fifteen minutes from the Volcán Poás.

The pressing humidity was heavy in the air, as if the mist and splashes of the waterfalls permeated all corners of the 70-acre forest. Walking through muddy paths, evidence of the rain curse of Costa Rica, the three students marveled at the abrupt change of scenery they had experienced in one day; from mountains with goats and coffee, to volcanic sulfur pools, to now a tropical forest with toucans and frogs. Although endless tourists had trekked the path before them, the lack of a banister or of signs made the wandering visitors feel like they were treading through uncharted lands.

The park is also home to a hotel accommodating seekers of complete relaxation and a union with nature. It is called the Peace Lodge. With warm springs, 2.17 miles of wandering trails and spa services, it guarantees a getaway from quick-paced life and stress. Two restaurants, a serpentarium, a butterfly observatory, hummingbird gardens and a frog exhibit cater to fauna enthusiasts as well. Furry pizotes, harmless creatures with monkey features and a snout, walk along freely in the park and some even linger by the restaurant kitchen door hoping to catch something.

The students slowly but steadily walked the La Paz River trail that borders the waters that would soon tumble down five falls. After having visited the part of the park with the animals, they had rested and enjoyed a typical Costa Rican meal: gallo pinto (rice and beans cooked together), fried plantains, tortillas, picadillo (potatoes and tomatoes) and chicken or beef with cas juice (a bitter, seedy fruit juice). For dessert, good coffee and arroz con leche (rice in sweet milk). Fruits cups also dominate Costa Rican menus, with fresh papayas, mangoes and pineapples easily available. Like most Latin plates, the food is not particularly the healthiest option but always promises to be delicious, filling and very flavorful.

After a good fifteen minutes of walking, the students reached the first of five waterfalls: El Templo (the temple). A wooden balcony lied at the bottom of the waterfall so that visitors felt the full force of the crashing water. It was a good spot for taking pictures, even though standing there for only a few minutes left their clothes moist. The remainder of the hike was now along hanging metal and wooden stairs and landings due to the downward sloping of the mountain. After El Templo, the water that had crashed down meandered through the river that soon led to the next, and most impressive, waterfall of all: Magia Blanca (white magic). Indeed, amidst dense bright green flora, the impenetrable wall of water seemed to appear out of nowhere and take over everything. According to a park brochure, this is the most photographed waterfall in the entire country. An eerie aspect common in all five waterfalls was the stillness of the water surrounding the waterfall, as if the weighty liquid falling on it had no effect. The water simply continued its steady but calm way to the next fall, in this case Encantada waterfall (enchanted).

Encantada was a more sprawling fall, whereas in the previous ones the water seemed to be accommodating itself to an ageless shape as it fell. At Encantada, it went everywhere. Standing on one of the balconies, the by now very damp students saw a smaller waterfall peering out from behind Encantada’s grandeur. It is called Escondida (hidden). This one carried water from a nearby stream that at this point merged with La Paz River to continue on to the last fall for the traveling water.

La Paz waterfall (peace) was the last fun ride for the river and the drop is the longest of all.

While contemplating this one under cloudy skies, rays of light suddenly shone through to add to the majesty of the scene. Rays came in through the dense mess of trees as the water screamed down, crashing one last time on its turbulent trip. From here the road was visible, bringing the students back to the reality of their proximity to civilization. A colorful truck full of pineapples drove by and the students then boarded a shuttle back to the parking lot.

Five minutes later, at the entrance of the Peace Lodge, even in all its simplicity and rustic image, the travelers felt they had been miles away watching the waterfalls. They felt they had been ever farther away at the brooding volcano, and the alpine style mountains laden in pine trees even earlier definitely made them feel they had traveled great distances. But it was only their first full day in Costa Rica, and in less than two hours, they were back in San José, back in traffic, but now with a full understanding of Costa Rica’s phrase for a good time: Pura vida! And they still had six more days of it.

Travel: A three-part Series of Students in Costa Rica, Part II

2009-07-16T16:25:00.004+01:00

November 2007

San José, CR – Three student tourists stood gaping in awe at the fuming eerie turquoise lake that is the crater of the Poás Volcano after cold winds parted the fog that covered the mile-long opening.

After having waited for about five minutes, standing awkwardly watching dense mist, the young visitors and dozens of tourists yelled and gasped as the clouds parted to reveal the gaping hole of Costa Rica’s famous active volcano. As camera shutters clicked and people crammed the wooden fence for pictures, the odor of sulfur emanating from the crater lake filled the air even stronger than before. The volcano museum claims the Poás has the largest active crater in the world at about a mile long, with a 320-meter deep poisonous lake. Geyser eruptions are common and fumaroles were coming out from around the lake. But everyone present seemed most taken aback with something much simpler and evident: the lake’s color.

Descending from the wooden fence would be like walking on lunar terrain, as around most volcanic landscapes. But Poás’ crater is striking to the eye because the volcanic rock goes down to waters that range from soft minty tones to almost shiny turquoise, depending on the chemical reactions at the moment. The milky water, not surprisingly, is boiling at 185˚ F, but looks placid and still. If seen without its volcanic surroundings, its creamy and thick appearance may pass for yogurt of some turquoise fruit that can be scooped up with a spoon. But it is just water, so acidic that it is poisonous and, without even considering its heat, would quickly kill anyone planning on taking a dip.

To the left of the crater volcanic land stretches beyond the eye can see, evidencing the path of lava after the volcano’s regular eruptions that date back as far as 11 million years. The park last closed for safety reasons in 1989 and although no rumbling can be heard, as in other Costa Rican volcanoes like the Arenal, the steady fumaroles and geyser eruptions are a constant reminder of its activity.

When the fog decided to settle elsewhere, the students understood why this trip had been a must. Not all visitors see the crater and some only see it behind clouds for a few seconds, but that Sunday noon, for a good 30 minutes, the Poás’ eternal cavernous yawn stared at them unabashedly, as if saying ‘here I am, you are lucky to see me.’

Travel: A three-part Series of Students in Costa Rica, Part I

2009-07-16T16:09:00.007+01:00

November 2007

San José, CR – Fruit stands, tin shacks and rows of coffee plants marked the mountainous track of student travelers on their way to the Poás volcano and La Paz waterfalls on a Sunday morning in Costa Rica.

Under an ever-changing sky, at times emerald blue and other times foggy white, the three young students started their northwest ascent from San José to nearby Alajuela to finally reach the active Poás volcano that overlooks the entire central valley where the nation’s capital lies. The strong winds felt throughout the climb would later permit the astounding view of the volcano crater known for its treacherous invisibility.

The rows of future mug fillers along the way are in reaping season now, with red beans waiting to be plucked and processed. As any coffee lover knows, Costa Rica is a leading exporter of the bean and sells as much as 20 percent of its seasonal crop to the United States. The three travelers took in the bitter acid smell of the product on which they, as most students, have relied on endless times to finish work. But these three not only indulge in the caffeine, but in the flavor, aroma and soothing feeling of the good coffee cup. A short stop along the road was mandatory. Several pictures and many deep breaths later, they continued their climb to the waiting volcano.

Higher up, as the temperature drops, chilly breezes and cool mist allow for the cultivation of strawberries, and the locals are well aware of their appeal. All along the roads, colorful

shacks shaking in the wind offer small, crimson strawberries that tasted real. All the sheds sold exactly the same at 1,500 colones ($3), but some invisible hand led tourists as well as locals to linger around specific huts and thoughtfully decide which berries to take, as if that was the only shack in miles where they could find the small red delights. Assuming nothing could be harmful in such a primitive setting, buyers enjoyed their berries as soon as they purchased them. The floor around the huts was wet with dark reddish splats, the last imprints of dozens of wasted berries pressed to the ground over time.

Leaving strawberries and coffee plants below, pine trees, goats, cows and cool fog bizarrely gave way to the lush tropical entrance of the Volcán Poás for 3,000 colones ($6). As if going over the threshold between two physically different worlds, the volcanic terrain was smothered in humid tropical flora dominated by the vast presence of the so-called “poor man’s umbrella,” a huge bright green leaf indeed usable as shelter from the constant rain. The greenness extended far up, but was invisible behind thick fog as the mountains got higher. But the wind was strong, and it moved the fog so that parts of the plant-covered earth walls were exposed before disappearing again. The winding asphalt road eventually got hikers to a clearing 8,200 feet above sea level that overlooked the abysm into the crater of the Volcán Poás, with only a wooden fence between safety and doom.

The three college students eagerly stared into a white wall of fog immediately after the fence. But they knew the wind would blow it away to reveal the crater. They braced themselves for the view below.

The perfect urban description

2009-06-26T01:45:00.003+01:00

This is Philip Roth in American Pastoral. He is referring to Newark, but I think it's the best description of urban decay, in any city, I've ever read:

"That grim fortification was the city's Chinese wall, browstone boulders piled twenty feet high, strung out for more than a mile and intersected only by half a dozen foul underpasses. Along this forsaken street, as ominous now as any street in any ruined city in America, was a reptilian lenght of unguarded wall barren even of graffiti. But for the wilted weeds that managed to jut forth in wiry clumps where the mortar was cracked and washed away, the viaduct wall was barren of everything except the affirmation of a weary industrial city's prolonged and triumphant struggle to monumentalize its ugliness."

p. 219

Citizen journalism in Iran

2009-06-17T15:16:00.007+01:00

The videos below from YouTube and iReport are just some of the many examples of citizen journalism covering the protests in Iran after the recent elections there. Iran banned international news networks from reporting the protests, so everyone is now relying on videos submitted by people in Iran, in the middle of it all, to have an idea of what happened. Citizen journalists on the ground in Teheran have mostly submitted videos to YouTube and CNN's iReport.

My opinion on this kind of reporting is still lukewarm. I don't rely on it and I don't trust it completely. Not for serious news anyway. This case is different however, because it's obviously a very serious issue and because these videos are pretty much all the images we have from Iran right now. They are supplementing a story that news networks were already covering before. And they do show the violence and fervor prevalent on the streets of Iran right now. Ahmadinejad's newly re-won government alleges that the online coverage is fueling more violence, a statement that is not only unprovable, but also another attempt to curve freedom of information in and from Iran even more.

Videos:

Commentary: 2009 HIV discrimination

2009-06-12T19:38:00.007+01:00

Read the full story here.

A CNN story has just reminded me of one of my all-time favorite movies, but this case is sadly reality. A man applied to work at the Transportation Security Administration (TSA), passed all tests with high qualifications, has worked all his life, but didn't get the job. Fair enough - it happens. But for the TSA, it wasn't enough to reject him; they sent a letter saying his health disqualified him from the position because it would render him "inefficient and ineffective." The man is HIV+.

He has been HIV+ for about 20 years. He is also a marathon runner and an HIV research advocate. He is young and qualified, he is an Air Force veteran, but he was discriminated against because of the virus he carries. My question is, Isn't that illegal? HIV isn't transmittable through air or contact, only though bodily fluids. Everybody knows this. Unless he planned on sneaking into an airport bathroom and having sex with a passenger or bleeding on someone's open wound, it's perfectly safe for him and anyone around him to have him there. The case is one of pure ignorance and paranoia.

Imagine what this man already has to deal with for the rest of his life. Some people will always be ignorant, but you'd expect a government agency to know better. I'm glad the story made it to CNN because I'm sure it represents hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of similar cases. With the breadth of information about HIV out there readily available to everyone, there is no excuse for this behavior, much less from a government agency. Shouldn't airports have greater things to worry about?

The ACLU filed a complaint against the TSA and hopefully justice will prevail. But at any rate, thanks to the media and to the man's courage to break the story, the TSA has just increased the degree of ignorance and paranoia for which it's already known.

And the movie is Philadelphia, who a "Rev." Phelps of Kansas calls one of his favorite comedies. What the hell is wrong with people???

Commentary: News.com.au "China's ultimatum: smoke or be fined" May 4, 2009

2009-05-04T16:03:00.005+01:00

Read article here.

What a drag. Economics over public health? Yes. Population control in the form of a silent killer? Perhaps.
It's unnerving to think of the possibility of the latter, but as far as the neglect of public health to boost the economy, there's no doubt about it. China is already the country with the highest rate of smokers in the world, so some may say that this only affects the problem marginally, and at the same time helps the nation economically. I say it's cheap marketing, not just monetarily, but morally. And maybe not even cheap for the poor and sick-bound Chinese men and women who have to buy the cigarettes (the article doesn't say if they'll be subsidized).

The extent to which the Chinese population smokes is evident in the fact that even most doctors incur in the nasty habit. The government is allegedly trying to get them to quit to set an example for the country, meaning it's trying to raise awareness about the dangers of smoking and wants a healthier populace. But at the same time, officials in the Gong'an county have taken it upon themselves to promote smoking. Granted, Gong'an is just one county in one province, Hubei, in the giant landmass that is China, but it's the principle of the thing. Does the staggering amount of people in the country make each one less important, individually, for it to be permissible to use them collectively as a sales ad?

And if it is all about saving money, quitting smoking is still the better option. The price of treating a lung cancer patient in the United States in 2004 was $9.6 billion dollars. I couldn't find numbers relevant to China or Asia, but just considering the exponential difference between populations in the U.S. and in China might give you an idea of its general expense (basically, a lot). And smoking doesn't just cause lung cancer, obviously. I don't need to go over all the health effects, including those for secondhand smokers, because they've been widely reported (and somehow still ignored), but, basically, it costs the nations a lot to treat patients.

Finally, the scarier thought: population control. China's problems with its 1 billion people are no secret, and I am no way implying that they're killing them off by making them smoke, because, again, this was only in one county, but it wouldn't be surprising if other nations or public rights groups interpret it as this. Whatever happened to free condoms?!

I hope Hu Jintao & co. intervene in some form, but maybe that's a naive thought. Hopefully, the results of this method will quickly prove to be nonsensical, before more adverse, but inevitable, consequences take place.

Severe commentary: Boston Globe, "Severin suspended for comments about Mexican immigrants," May 1, 2009

2009-05-02T16:32:00.008+01:00

Read article here.

I had written a whole post about my feelings concerning graduation, but my computer decided to do some sabotage and the post never saw the light of display. Maybe it was for the best.

So now my post will deal with a true case of utter disgust. Jay Severin, talk show host, wannabe Rush Limbaugh without the fat, overall vermin in human form. This person just got suspended for incendiary comments on air during his show. Incendiary is a mild word. I don't even know what words to use... above and beyond insulting, racist, ignorant, arrogant, hate-spreading and utterly unnecessary. And that pretty much sums up the qualities I loathe in a person. Severin has rolled them all up into one. When speaking of Mexican immigrants, these are the terms he uses:

"So now, in addition to venereal disease and the other leading exports of Mexico - women with mustaches and VD - now we have swine flu."

'Later, he described Mexicans as "the world's lowest of primitives".'

"When we are the magnet for primitives around the world - and it's not the primitives' fault by the way, I'm not blaming them for being primitives - I'm merely observing they're primitive." [note: not even a correct sentence!]

"It's millions of leeches from a primitive country come here to leech off you and, with it, they are ruining the schools, the hospitals, and a lot of life in America."

"We should be, if anything, surprised that Mexico has not visited upon us poxes of more various and serious types already, considering the number of criminaliens already here."

'Afterward, while talking to a nurse who called his show to complain about healthcare provided to immigrants, he commiserated with her when she said she was glad she didn't work in an emergency room. "Yeah, well, that's become essentially condos for Mexicans."

'On a 2004 broadcast, he compared US Muslims to a fifth column, and when a caller suggested that the United States should befriend Muslims, Severin responded: "You think we should befriend them; I think we should kill them".'

'He has called former Vice President Al Gore "Al Whore," Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton "a lying [expletive]," and Senator Edward M. Kennedy "a fat piece of lying garbage".'

You get the idea. Severin the swine's only apparent purpose seems to be to spread hate. Talk about swine flu!

Apparently he has lied about having a degree from Boston University (maybe he claimed he was buddies with Bill O'Reilly, who really did go to BU) and about having won a Pulitzer Prize. Seems like modesty is out the window, too. Stupidity isn't, however, since the list of real Pulitzer prize winners isn't to hard to come by.

People commented on how his suspension trumpets freedom of speech. The newspapers had even removed some readers' comments and I do not want to know what they said, but I'm glad intelligent caution and sensitivity was used in both removing the comments and in suspending Severin. This is not about freedom of speech. Cases of the First Amendment have almost always been decided on whether the "speech" is harmful to a group of society. To say the least, in this case it is. It's different to intelligently list the problems that illegal and maybe even legal immigration cause. Calling an entire nationality a group of primitives, however, just shows lack of intelligence and worldliness, and ignores the many achievements of that country (for ex., producing the world's richest man, for the money oriented). Not to mention delicious food and most of the grape pickers for California's tasty wine that I'm sure Severin has enjoyed (although he seems more like a cheap forty favoring bloke).

I won't fall into the same easy insults he's been rightly suspended for, but in any case, claims of free speech have no ground in this case. If he wants to go off his rocket, let him talk to a mirror or to his friends. No need to subject a nation to his crazy, unfounded rants. You have really spilled the (Mexican) beans on this one, Severin.

Commentary: The Times of London, "American journalist Roxana Saberi awaits fate after Iran spy trial," April 14, 2009.

2009-04-14T20:47:00.007+01:00

Read article here.

And this is yet another case of social injustice. Women's rights and freedom of the press are on the line here, but I'm willing to bet that it's more about the former. Iran has constantly been ranked as one of the countries with the worst press restrictions. The 2008 Press Freedom Index compiled yearly by Reporters Sans Frontières, or Reporters Without Borders, ranks Iran at 166 out of 173 in terms of its press freedom. Iceland, Luxembourg and Norway take the lead and Eritrea, Turkmenistan and North Korea are in the bottom rungs. I wrote an analytical paper about press freedom a few years ago and the rankings haven't significantly changed at all.

Various factors affect how free a press corps is in a particular country, but national peace is key among them. Peace cannot exist without gender equality because the sole idea of men dominating women already presents injustice. Poor Ms. Saberi. I don't know if she was a spy or not and the article doesn't say what conditions she is being held in (although it does say she's healthy), but I am confident that if it were a man, it would be less dangerous, at least as a matter of personal risk.

She was first arrested for buying a bottle of wine. On how many levels is this ludicrous? My first response was that it was an excuse to arrest her after she had been watched for a while, but after second thought, I don't really know the laws concerning women buying alcohol in Tehran. The report doesn't list any type of evidence to show that she was actually passing on information to the United States. I am curious as to what their suspicions are based on, and even more so about her alleged admission to spying. And no need to mention the implications of her American nationality.

The case is sketchy, at least what's being released about it. It is just regrettable that it happens in the first place. Female American reporter arrested in Iran after buying wine and consequently accused of spying. It fits the box perfectly. She has everything against her, at least on the surface. Hopefully positive updates to follow.

Commentary: NYTimes "Free-Range Trichinosis" April 10 2009

2009-04-13T18:14:00.008+01:00

Read article here.

I first read this opinion in the Times because it has the term "free-range" in it and I wanted to further read on an issue I care deeply about. I was not expecting to get upset as I kept reading, because the idea of someone being against an animal's right to some moving space seems just plain evil to me. However, Mr. McWilliams doesn't think free range is important in itself, but only in so far as it affects the flavor of some good tenderloin. Ouch.

"The fact that we’ve lost our way and found ourselves locked in the mess of factory farming, should not deter us from realizing that — if we genuinely hope to produce pork that’s safe and tasty — instead of setting the animal world partly free, we might have to take greater control of it," he writes. So, for a tastier hamburger or an even more sizzling strip of bacon, cage the animals. Their sole purpose, seems to be, after all, merely to serve as food. What about the larger issue of human dominance over animals with no fair play in the process?

Eating meat is part of the circle of life and there is nothing wrong with it. A lion eating an antelope is fair, even if those Discovery Channel chase videos are heartbreaking. It's how it's supposed to be. The difference between a lion and your meat-loving average Joe? The lion earns it. He waits, he runs and he uses his bare hands (or jaws). Average Joe goes to the meat aisle and enjoys the cool fridge air while picking his fleshy lump. The antelope? She ran free for years, grazed and eventually met her doom after a fight. The fleshy lump? Born and razed in a foul cage to unceremoniously face a bolt gun and slaughter.

Mr. McWilliams claims that free range now poses more dangers than the cage. He lists some statistics showing how free range pigs, which still don't live anywhere near real wildlife conditions, are more prone to carry the all-popular salmonella, some pathogen called toxoplasma (sounds bad but he doesn't really say what it is) and, shockingly, two of the free range pigs carried trichina (another enigma). Yes, well, you know why? They're animals. Pigs, in fact. They're supposed to be dirty. If the idea of eating a muddy pork grosses you out and you think it may carry some bacteria... don't eat it!

The news worries fine pork lovers, he says. Oh, poor pork lovers! What ever will increase their cholesterol now? How will they get closer to a heart attack? Let's just keep pigs locked in cages, rotting in their own feces, so that pork lovers, and especially, FINE PORK lovers, get their daily dose of pig.

The real pigs in this story seem to be the people who prefer to fully abuse an animal all its life than give it at least some running space before it's slaughtered.

Commentary: NYTimes "More Squatters Are Calling Foreclosures Home" April 10, 2009

2009-04-10T15:04:00.006+01:00

Read article.

This article really moves me. The stories of foreclosures and people who've lost their homes and jobs seem to be everywhere. I complain about this economy constantly and about having to graduate in uncertain times, and it's a valid complaint. But I'm sitting in a nice apartment, with heat (unfortunately still needed in April), sipping hot tea and eating toast. I'm typing on a nice laptop and thinking of what I will cook for myself in a few minutes. And the only bill I have, for now, is my credit card, a result of too many concert tickets. In other words, I'm fine. I have parents and I have a bank account. The people in this story barely have a roof.

The story does not refer to your typical poor family in forlorn countries with thatched ceilings and dirt floor. Their situation remains the same. The focus now is on families who used to have decent lives and suddenly find themselves squatting in some foreclosed home with no furniture and probably no electricity or maybe even water. Obviously, they're still better off than the families in the first scenario, but what a bad spot to be in. The sadness of this has been frequently commented, however. What moved me from this story were the organizations that help to place displaced families in foreclosed homes. Think about it: selfless individuals whose job it is to find homes for people they don't even know and have had no relation to. It is so easy to complain, like I do, about how I haven't gone to the cinema in so long because I'd rather save the $12. These people who work in organizations such as Take Back the Land and Women in Transition make it their daily goal to place someone under a roof. And good for them. Many will say how unfair it is for some to live in free homes while other are still struggling to pay mortgages and bills. No one deserves a free ride, as people around here always indignantly say. Well, I am here to tell you that if you can still pay rent, feel lucky. Be thankful you still have a job or some kind of financial mattress to keep you inside quarters. And should the day come when you don't, will you really not accept the help of the Poor People's Economic Rights Campaign, for instance, to keep your family out of the streets?

I applaud the work of these caring organizations. I'm sure there are mishaps and they're not flawless, but what matters is the idea: helping those who can't help themselves. With so many empty houses and so many people forced out of their homes, it would be nonsensical, and frankly, heartless, to not do the logical thing.

Someone's else nice thought

2008-11-23T06:10:00.000Z

"She went outside and set off in the direction of the embankment. She wanted to see the Vltava. She wanted to stand on its banks and look long and hard into its waters, because the sight of the flow was soothing and healing. The river flowed from century to century, and human affairs play themselves out on its banks. Play themselves out to be forgotten the next day, while the river flows on."

History

2008-11-05T08:29:00.001Z