Monday, December 12, 2011

On the Inside Looking In

I write to you having finished all my papers. I had no finals and I have no research projects, grants, or extended work rolling over into the break and I feel so free! I even started a book this afternoon (after a nap, of course). It's the season of reading all the things I want and nothing I don't and I'm very pleased. My best wishes to all those still working on their papers and finals.

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The title of this blog indicates a certain presumptuous way of thinking. Anyone who knows me, knows I am open-minded and have deep affection and appreciation for other cultures and ways of life. But I tend to think about things from an American perspective and I often look at things, asking how they will affect the Americas, mainly the U.S. I guess you could say I'm exceptionalist, though not expansionist in my political sentiments. I do believe the U.S. is part of a divine plan (and not in an evangelical way either) in the sense that I believe in God and I think He has put us on earth and in this land with purpose.

I often find it necessary to question my worldview and way of thinking and part of that involves interrogating the culture to which I belong and subscribe. In other words, I try to take the outsiders perspective and look inward. Last week, as I was finishing up with classes, Gustavo brought in two Chinese professors who are visiting and staying at UMF. Their thoughts on American politics and foreign policy was refreshingly enlightening. They critiqued the current Republican-nomination race, characterizing it as showy and hinting at its circus-like feel; admitted that the President is of less concern than the Secretary of State (Henry Kissinger is still held in high regard there); and said that the Chinese government is not an oppositional force that the U.S. should see as a rivalry, but a partner seeking cooperation from the U.S. I personally favor cooperation, but opinions matter less than the meaning of this story. We need to reflect. We need to think of ourselves in a different light. We need to look inward and discover a truer sense of national identity before proceeding outward.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Bottom-Up Reform, Higher Education Reform & Grey's Anatomy

I want to thank all of the faculty and staff at UMF who have been supportive of me as I've been publishing my "Crisis in Higher Education" series with The Farmington Flyer. I believe everything I am saying and I truly wish it didn't have to be said because the more I know, the more disenfranchised I feel from the institution I have studied at and worked for, for the past four years. I especially want to thank the person (who must remain anonymous so as not to jeopardize their employment) who informed me this week that my articles have become the discussion of the infamous President's Council. If you're not aware of what the PC is, it's okay. I didn't know it even existed until a month ago. Ostensibly, I've only been able to gain a little knowledge of it -none of it from the administration, of course -but what I know troubles me.

Here's what I've heard: the PC is a group composed of the upper administration of UMF and the Director of Athletics. Not a single faculty member sits on this council. The PC is responsible for, among other things, creating schedules. The Director of Athletics sits on the council to make sure that there are as few conflicts as possible between athletic practices and classes. In addition, the PC decides issues of tenure, hiring, and firing (for all those people they don't give tenure to). It's quintessentially tyrannical and disgusting. **Disclosure: if any member of the administration reads this and would like to elaborate on the President's Council's duties or refute my claims, please do!**

But I'm happy to be telling you about all this. Why? First, it is a gesture toward transparency, the ultimate check and balance. Second, it is just another way in which I tell the story of the student. Here, I am standing up for the rights of students and faculty who are being subverted. Maybe it's not much, maybe it's nothing at all, but it is an attempt at the very least to work from the bottom to call for institutional reform. It's the reason I applied to a Master's program in Social Work. It's why I will tell my 'coming-out' story for an art (queer-art-politics) project this weekend. I don't have time to set up a tent and Occupy something and defend the proverbial 'little man.' But I am a visual/written artist and I can tell a story and hope, hopelessly hope that someone listens.

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Some other food for thought: where did Grey's Anatomy go? I know it's become this kind of primetime soap opera, but it was so delectable! They just killed Teddy's husband and now I want the second part! Also, anyone unfamiliar with Mumford & Sons or Fela Kuti should get familiar.

Mel is back on Tuesday and even though we can't see each other for at least a week, I'm cracking a huge bottle of wine for her in celebration.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Coma-post (haha!)

Do you ever have one of those books that you can't put down? I started Zachary Mexico's China Underground on Wednesday and breezed through the first hundred pages and read the last 200 last night, finishing just after midnight. It wasn't one of those so-called profound books and I won't be talking about how it changed my life, but it was addicting. Mexico has this conversational, sing-songy way of writing that just flows from chapter to chapter. It's a travelogue and he's never in one place for very long (I suspect some critic would cite the book as lacking "depth."), but his insights and criticisms are spot on. He's not overly-idealistic about China, but he's not ethnocentric either.

But alas, this is not a blog of book reviews. It has led me to contemplate what kind of reader I am or want to become. When I leave college, I don't want to stop reading. Indeed, I want to devour more than ever because I won't have the demands of school hounding me. But what kind of reader am I? Well, most of the time I think of myself as not having read enough. I don't know enough history; I haven't read enough the classics; I'm over-read in a certain area or time period, etc. I'm not blameless, but I suspect that college has made me one of those over-neurotic types that never thinks he's good enough and thus prone to panic and self-doubt on a regular basis. Or was that my Catholic upbringing? Let's just hope I'm not famous enough at my death to warrant a publication of my journals...the analysis, psycho and otherwise, would keep people occupied for centuries.

The last two weeks have been hard. The holidays always make me more pensive. Myles and I decided to just be friends, which is as complex as it sounds. One of my biggest supporters in my college career recently rebuked me in a controversy that seems to be ever-unfolding. All of it has culminated in a decision I believe is best for me: I am NOT going to apply to the University of Iowa. Over the past few days I've gone from telling myself I'm not ready for a doctoral program to I hate what universities have become and are becoming and I don't want to be in that environment. If I am accepted to USM for Social Work, I will go, but right now I am planning for other alternatives for next year. The mystery of it all frustrates and scares me. And that's where I am right now.

I'm about to go make some delicious (pray!) pizzas and enjoy some time with friends. It's a small task and pizza isn't that hard to make, but I need to find my success and satisfaction in the little things in life.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

A little Thanksgiving LitCrit

I'm currently waiting for the crabmeat-stuffed haddock (or is it the other way around) to come out of the oven and the lobster risotto smells delicious on the stove! We're just having a small family dinner this year so I've spent most of the day reading waiting for the Criminal Minds marathon at 4. I can't stand the Westminister Dog Show or the Macy's parade and ABC and NBC have come up with these new, modern cartoons that AREN'T Charlie Brown or Frosty the Snowman, so I've got a half hour until serial killing and Matthew Gray Gubler's hair come on.

I read the NYT and Slate today and I thought I might visit asmainegoes.com, a forum for all things political in Maine. Admittedly, I'm not up on my Maine politics, but I like to see what most of these ordinary hard-working men and women think about their state and this is what I found: http://www.asmainegoes.com/content/occupy-aroostook. Okay, so you might be as annoyed as I am about another Occupy protest, especially one that seems more about counteracting the Tea Party or espousing the liberal agenda Obama won't take on and not about ending bank bailouts. (I like some other parts of the platform too, but let's not get into the nitty-gritty.)

First paragraph: "Prof. Alice Bolstridge is the organizer. She is a poet who taught Literary Theory, Creative Writing and American Lit at the Oklahoma State University. Literary theorist are academics who write and often speak in Litcritalian, an obscure dialect of English using familiar verbs drained of familiar meanings and neologisms meaning nothing at all. Litcriticians know almost nothing yet believe they have a unique understanding of everything."

Literary theory is frustrating. Agreed. Yes, many theorists write in this cryptic language that seems to rely upon its obscurity to both make meaning and display the intelligence of the author. Me: I appreciate lucidity and erudite insights. Indeed, I've spent many a post criticizing theory and theorists for the way in which they often obscure what they are actually talking about or seem more intent on displaying their own prowess the way a peacock flaunts its feathers. But this attack is ad hominem outrageous! What does Professor Bolstridge's background as a theorist (not to mention her success as a scholar of American Literature and Creative Writing) have to do with Occupy Aroostook? Professor Bolstridge has been remarkably clear in demands and even intimates her aspirations from the implementation of said demands, as you can read in the AMG post. The author writes a self-defeating argument. Okay, you disagree with her. Okay, maybe you don't need to take Occupy seriously (especially the one at Harvard). But why do you need to open with a personal attack in order to start a discourse of disagreement?

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Decolonizing the Mind & Why We Should Be Angry

UMF's Native American Film and Performance Symposium came to a close last Wednesday with a poetry reading and talk by William Yellow Robe Jr., followed by a staged reading of his play Wood Bones and a Q&A. Yellow Robe is about to publish an e-book tentatively titled Spam Rants of that Crazy Indin Yellow Robe.



While Yellow Robe's poetry concerned itself mainly with the loss of his first wife to cancer, the mere act of writing poetry (as well as being an accomplished playwright) signals his concern over indigenous peoples' ownership of emotions and storytelling. He gives his audiences a unique Native perspective and even when we're angry, disturbed, or saddened by what we hear and see on stage, we (especially non-Native people) need to pay attention. As Yellow Robe tells it, he might be angry and write about it, but if we have no problem asking a crying person why they're sad, then we need to ask angry people why they're angry. And Yellow Robe is angry, at least in print. He's not ranty, or spewing vitriolic negativisms as White people, but he is contesting both White and Native stereotypes and ethnocentrisms and as he said at dinner, it gets tiring to feel like he's saying the same thing over and over and wondering if anything is changing.

One of Yellow Robe's talking points surrounded the commercialization of Native figures as team mascots. I happen to agree with Yellow Robe, but more importantly he illustrates the diversity of opinions amongst Native peoples. James Francis, historian of the Penobscot Nation, speaking last year at Colby College, said that the official stance of the nation is 'they don't really care.' What matters here is that because indigenous peoples are not mascots or costume, but cultures, they are made up of people of differing opinions. In a step towards decolonizing our minds, there must be an acknowledgement that indigenous cultures are not homogenous. In other words, not all Native peoples want the same things! Some care deeply about eliminating discriminatory team mascots while others are concerned about the trampling of environmental or land rights and, frankly, don't give shit about mascots (to paraphrase Francis).

Yellow Robe is what we might call "pro-contamination." As puts it, Native peoples have been contaminated by everyone: "We're even kosher!" His writing is infused with his perspective as an Afro-Native writers and with the idea that authenticity can be found in actions, not in federal papers or the way one dresses. Purity is a moot point in this case. In owning his emotions and writing about them, he validates himself and his identity. But he doesn't think his identity (or the identity of Native Americans generally) should be a point of novelty. As he tells it, numerous people have come up to him and touched his hair and his necklace and other wares. Another component of decolonizing our minds will be a rejection of exterior features as points of fascination, as something to marvel at and, by extension, eulogize. William Yellow Robe Jr. is not wearing his necklace or telling his stories to pay tribute to the past; like most indigenous writers, he's writing to say 'we're still here!'

Monday, October 17, 2011

Beadling & Georgina Lightning

I've been thinking a lot lately about the connections between film scholar Laura Beadling's discussion of indigenous filmmaking and Georgina Lightning's film Older Than America. Beadling provided a wonderful theoretical foundation to Native films when she defined them as expressions of "cultural sovereignty --opportunities to tell one's own stories and create one's own images."

Niro's Kissed by Lightning seeks to reconcile the traditional narrative of Hyenwatha (Hiawatha) told by Whites both through Mavis's paintings and the stories told by Jessie, her dead husband. Lightning's film, while part of the canon of indigenous filmmaking (especially with its 23 film festival awards!), carries a different message. Georgina (I think lunch, dinner, and a goodbye hug allow us to be on a first name basis) doesn't hide her social activism. Indeed, her film and television career seem like mere digressions in a blossoming career as a social and cultural changer. That's why I think we need to consider her film as something closer to a bottom-up history. She's not retelling a narrative; she's telling a story that has never been told. Worse, it's been obscured by historical ignorance and blatant cover-ups of a sinister, conspiratorial nature.

What distinguishes Older Than America is its ability to be read and interpreted and its simultaneous ability to elude us all. Yes, its pays homage to some of the great horror films and thrillers occupying the AFI canon; yes, it has themes, motifs, symbols, and language all waiting for interpretation. All that pales in comparison to its status as a protest film, crying out against vicious abuses by the American government and myriad religious organizations. Older Than America demands an authentic apology from our President and our government. Its showing at the National Museum of the American Indian on November 17th is a beacon of hope that legislators will listen: "common" experience payments aren't cutting it. Acknowledgement and proper memorialization are needed to work through a healing process --Georgina's ultimate goal.

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I spent some time with Georgina on Friday and I'll share my thoughts. She's not bitter or angry. She has a clear set of demands (not unreasonable) that will really benefit us all. We talked at lunch about textbooks and their role in forming young minds to White versions of history. On this we agree: throw them out! Until a textbook comes along that can tell a truthful version of First Peoples/Nations, educators need to rely on Native Americans (as guests in classrooms) and primary documents to learn and comprehend history. Her long-term vision is impeccable: healing might be the goal, but in order to get there she foresees a showing of her film in The White House. Finally, she knows how powerful media is in our lives and its ability to implant ideas and spark movements, because as we all should know there is nothing more powerful or transformative than an idea. Her medi(a)um is film and it reminds us all that just when we think we know history, even that stuff we're not expected to know, we don't know it all.

Laura Beadling & Indigenous Filmmaking

Laura Beadling’s Common Time discussion on the state of indigenous filmmaking and Shelley Niro’s Kissed by Lightning underscored the nascent and fragile state of Native Americans telling their own story. As might be expected of any industry, Hollywood is a peculiarly exclusionary institution and rarely provides financial support to Native filmmakers. Niro’s film was partially funded by the government of Canada which might be considered a component of the apology issued by Prime Minister Stephen Harper to all members of the First Nations.

Beadling used the second half of her presentation to critically interpret Niro’s film. In particular, she illuminated aspects of the film that a non-Native viewer or someone unfamiliar with the culture would be unlikely to understand. Mavis’s paintings, for instance, depict a “traditional” narrative of Hyenwatha (Hiawatha) and his efforts to form a Confederacy. With this knowledge, viewers are able to treat the film with a greater aesthetic since the paintings now possess double meaning as manifestations of Jessie’s (Mavis’s husband’s) stories to her and as expressions of a Native creating Native imagery/stories in an “authentic” way. This is, after all, the ultimate goal of indigenous filmmaking.

Noticeably absent from the film is an explicitly scathing critique of White culture. There are of course moments of tension --the diner scene especially --but Niro uses them to express multiculturalism and a sense of unity. Niro’s choice to rewrite the diner scene from confrontational to funny serves a more effective agenda since viewers learn that African Americans too can stereotype and be stereotyped by other minorities. They expect a “traditional” Mohawk song from Mavis and she manages to pass judgment on the singers boisterous, Gospel-choir natures; Mavis targets them for their showy affect which indeed she sees as more confrontational to the White patrons than her own quiet, unassuming manner which just wants a meal. By singing together, Mavis and the Gospel singers evoke a sense of unity and spirituality. A seemingly more effective strategy than confronting the glares and terrible customer service is to overcome all that through solidarity. More generally, Niro’s choice to focus on Mohawk narratives demonstrates that indigenous filmmaking can follow two tracks: creating “authentic” or “traditional” stories or re-telling stories which have been manipulated by White filmmakers. In other words, Niro ignores the problems of The Last of the Mohicans (among hundreds of problematic portrayals of Native Americans, but perhaps the most famous) and in developing Mohawk storytelling (through painting and film), reshapes Native identity in her own subtle, but equally effective way.

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A big thanks again to all who made this Film and Performance Forum a success and to all those in attendance.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Thinking about Sound: the Auditory and Tactile in "Kissed by Lightning"

American Quarterly's latest issue considers the idea of sound in American Studies. A thick and groundbreaking issue, the contributors open up a previously marginalized arena of American Studies to make us all think and discourse on the nature of sound and its relevance to American culture. With the Native American Film & Performance Forum now underway with a showing of Shelley Niro's Kissed by Lightning, I found myself considering the auditory features of the film. Below is an excerpt of my response to the film:


Shelley Niro’s Kissed By Lightning explores the relationship between the tactile and auditory. Three central themes provide the foundation for the tactile: Mavis cannot touch her dead husband Jesse, though he constitutes her memories throughout the film; her paintings represent the product of her hands –with texture, life, and color, her art can be touched; finally, there is Mavis’ physical-emotional relationship with Bug which stabilizes the narrative. But with  each theme the viewer relies on music to weave the plot together as the film cuts between memories of Jesse, Hyenwatha, and the Mohawk peoples of the past. Mavis’ memories of Jesse would be diminished without the sharp sounds of the violin to link the two characters; indeed it is sound that evokes her feelings of sadness and grief. The paintings function in the same way: while beautiful and a clear illustration of Mavis’ skill, their ability to depict Mohawk myths/legends only develops because of the use of “traditional” Mohawk music (e.g. drums, chanting). In other words, memory –that is, the past –needs music to connect the stories; music serves as a clear reminder that ‘the past’ is not simply visual, as viewers imagine it, but also auditory –one can hear the past. In fact, it seems Mavis can only see the past and paint it because she hears it in her husband’s stories and music.

The encounter between Mavis, Bug, and the African American singers lends itself to examination. Although a multicultural gathering, it reveals a set of assumptions on the part of the singers: there were “real” or “authentic” Mohawk people, that the Mohawk are “all gone,” and that contemporary Mohawk peoples know “traditional” Mohawk music and are always in touch with their musical “roots.” Interestingly, Mavis and Bug do little to correct any of these conceptions, except to say that they are indeed Mohawk. Their acknowledgement of identity comes with a brief silence that seemingly allows the thoughts to simmer with the singers: indigenous peoples are not “all gone.” But again it is music that defines the moment. After asking to hear a “traditional” Mohawk song, Mavis sings “Where is my Home?” a song written by Niro herself. The song defies stereotypes of chanting and it does not require drums or even dancing. Furthermore, it counteracts an older stereotype that white people make music, Native people make noise. Instead of connecting viewers to the past, as the camera focuses solely on Mavis, it highlights the transitory nature of the film, specifically the geographical and emotional transitions between Bug and Mavis. Other transitions take place as well: Zeus increasingly becomes more like his father, developing as a musician; Mavis’ paintings begin as images on canvas to legitimated “art” as they are displayed in a gallery, and the relationship between Josephine and Mavis. 

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As an aside, a huge thank you to all who showed up in support of our series of events. It bodes well for future events and, more generally, the future of indigenous discourse at UMF.

Friday, September 23, 2011

A Fine Ending to a Crazy Week

Sleep deprived and under the burden of allergies (or is it a sinus infection? we'll see...), I'm struggling to keep it all together and keep up with these posts. But it's nothing some Carole King and red wine can't cure, or home-made squash soup (oh the wonders of being home for the weekend!). In class on Thursday Gustavo told us he is editing a book, teaching two classes, directing six independent studies, practicing his own music, and then I lost track. How do these professors manage it all? I know sleep deprivation must be involved, but have they also find a hole in the space-time continuum that allows them to get all their work done. I don't feel lazy per se, but I wonder whether they ever feel like their drowning in work the way I do, as if they're never caught up.

The last work I read this week came by chance; returning Gary Snyder's Turtle Island to the library this morning, I decided to open it up (after a week of staring at it on my desk) while waiting for a paper to print. "What Happened Here Before" is magnificent and epic (not in scale, but in subject). Snyder tackles the long history of earth and condenses without missing or omitting. It left me renewed after Oroonoko, a tedious novella by Aphra Behn.

We're reading Yekl for Multicultural Literature and Film. It comes at an interesting time as Palestine seeks recognition from the UN. How ironic that they must have peace to be a full member, though the UN was created to help create peace, now they say Palestinians must do it themselves.

Last night I dined with some friends at a local restaurant, The Homestead, and we ended up sitting next to visiting writer Nikky Finney's table as she ate with some faculty and students. If you're a literature geek, you can appreciate sitting near a literary celebrity. I've yet to read too much of her work (if there is such a thing as too much), but the experience of being near greatness is always invigorating.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Alexie & Friends

Again, it's been too long. I keep promising to recommit myself, but the rhythm of the semester hasn't come together yet. Everything still feels choppy, though this is only our first full week. Myles and I are still working out the infamous balancing act of time together/time apart/time for work/time for fun. I never feel like I'm winning the battle, especially with the work overload, but we'll see.

I won't make excuses for not posting, but I can say, when it's hot and summer-like, I have no inspiration. I loathe the heat and humidity and lately my room feels something akin to a sweat lodge. When the sun is out, I just want to bask in it and revel in the fleeting vestiges of summer, usually with a glass of chardonnay and some crab meat and crackers. Autumn and winter give me time to contemplate, cooped-up in my haven, watching the snow fall on bare maples.

It always disappoints me when I can't seem to get through my fun reading book. Indeed, I haven't even chosen an author to become enamored with; last year it was Bukowski; the year before, Vonnegut, etc. I think a trip to the library is in order. I'm shying away from the Beats only because it's so trendy right now and I don't want to be mistaken for a hipster. But, I'm thinking Sontag or maybe Paglia. I've read some of their stuff but I need more!

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So, part of this blog is going to be devoted to textual analysis and reflection. I'm taking a class with Michael Johnson (whom I secretly call Mikey J, a trend that seems to be catching on for all those enamored with his soft tone and wonderful bits of insight): Multicultural Literature and Film. In addition to the course, we've added a second component that acts as an independent study. This week: Sherman Alexie's The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven.

Alexie creates tragic characters, trapped by their own histories and tells us firmly: rez life, Indian life is cyclical.  Alcoholism, escape from the rez, the fleeting moments of basketball heroism never change. The world of Thomas Builds-a-Fire and Victor Joseph is awkwardly post-assimilationist: the Indians are already infected with alcoholism, live in HUD homes, are intermittently employed, sometimes for the BIA. Simultaneously, these Spokane Indians are rebels: Victor's father protested the Vietnam war, heard Jimi Hendrix play "The Star-Spangled Banner" (at once patriotically American and dissident), and Thomas Builds-a-Fire criticizes the Tribal Council and gets convicted by the local BIA for his story-telling.

The point of view shifts throughout book too, but we're never quite there, wherever we are. Readers becomes Indians at a distance: witnesses to "crimes of an epic scale." The perspective torments us as we struggle to unravel the hyperbole from realism and slowly discover that we can't. History, wedded to tales of modern rez life, leaves characters indifferent to atrocity and agony, unable to move out their indigence. To change would make these Spokane Indians participants and protagonists in their own drama. But, if "to do is to be" (Sartre), then Victor and Thomas and Julian and all the other characters can't do, because then they might be, be real people, be Americans, be Indians, be defined and confined by identity. Alexie's stories grimly inform us: Native Americans must be stuck in the in-between.

Monday, August 29, 2011

It's been too long! Some thoughts on Ecocriticism and Joni Mitchell

I can't believe it, but it's my first post for the month of August. So much has happened between my last post and now: I turned 21. I am back together with Myles, both of us more mature from the last time, more prepared to articulate ourselves and put forward the necessary effort. Mel is off to Australia in a few weeks and I'll miss her terribly. This summer has been a sort-of test period for being apart; we've only seen each other twice this summer (and did quite a bit in those few days), but all in all, we've only spent a week together for the whole summer. Australia will be the true test, both of us without our complimentary spoons to comfort the other from all the craziness of the world.

Last time, I talked about the implications of ecocriticism in the classroom. In order to see it fulfilled, we're going to have to engage in unconventional means to turn knowledge into action. We're also going to have to let go of the shackles of carefully-guarded disciplines in favor of interdisciplinarity. For those of us in literary studies, we need to give up on The Text in favor of culture as the text.

Recently, I came across a favorite old song of mine: Joni Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi." (performance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgMEPk6fvpg and lyrics:http://artists.letssingit.com/joni-mitchell-lyrics-big-yellow-taxi-tsgr9wh).

The miracle of Mitchell's lyrics lies in the fusion of environmental thought. While today's environmentalists are typically sub-divided into factions with specific causes, Mitchell takes a larger scope, lamenting urban sprawl, the end of the individual-owned farm, the use of chemicals on food (before Michael Pollan was even old enough to vote!), and the development of spaces for audiences to consume and conceive of nature. More importantly, "Big Yellow Taxi" functions like a poem, can be analyzed like one, and, like all writing, has cultural implications.

The saddest lyric of "Big Yellow Taxi," is easily "They took all the trees/And put them in a tree museum/And they charged the people/A dollar and a half just to see 'em." A museum serves as a commemorative place, paying tribute to the past. A tree museum implies the end of trees, at least in a natural, liberated sense. Trees becomes symbolic of rigid organization through parks (both local and federal) and development communities. A personal anecdote: the recent re-paving of our street included new sidewalks and new water and sewer lines. As such, the trees lining the street were dug up and have yet to be replaced, leaving our house and others abominably hot from lack of protective cover. Meanwhile, the newer, wider thoroughfare in town has carefully trimmed trees, perfected to attract new investment to the town. The town's priorities are twisted, but it is a microcosm of larger trends in which swaths of land are clear cut and then replanted with limited shrubs and small trees. For all this pristine "beauty," we charge something closer to a million and a half.

In order to ensure that we live in nature not visit it, we need to start reading outside the ecocriticism canon. We need to read Joni Mitchell, Jack Johnson, and others. And we need to recognize the value of texts as something other than cultural artifacts. "Big Yellow Taxi" remains a valuable contribution to ecocriticism because it turns thought into action through performance. We can't all sing like Joni Mitchell, but we can turn environmentalism into action in our own ways.






Sunday, July 24, 2011

Must knowledge be demonstrable to be valuable?

Alan Bennet's drama and the subsequent film adaptation of The History Boys features a scene in which two of the boys vying for Oxford and Cambridge suddenly get up and begin enacting a dialogue in front of the other boys in the classroom. Having learned this scene (and other shrapnel pieces of cultural knowledge: Gracie Fields' "Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye" and the difference between the conditional and the subjunctive tenses in French), the boys are trying to justify another teacher's "General Studies" class and its goal of creating "well-rounded individuals" by acting out their knowledge. Their teacher Mr. Irwin remarks, having figured out what they are quoting, "God knows why you learned Brief Encounter."

The title of today's blog post comes from a New York Times article (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/24/education/edlife/edl-24masters-t.html?pagewanted=1&ref=general&src=me) asking whether the Master's degree is the new Bachelor's. In today's economy, the answer is, unfortunately, 'yes.' Reading the article, we find that Master's programs are becoming hyper-specific; we are professionalizing degrees. Who is benefiting from this scenario? Certainly not students who are putting themselves deeper into debt. Answer: schools and companies. Schools fill more seats, make more money. Companies connect with schools, scoop up their best students. The key word here is 'professionalized.' It is not to say that the English or Anthropology Bachelor's doesn't make you qualified, it means that all your knowledge, especially your unquantifiable knowledge (reading The Atlantic, trivia guru, your ability to act out all the melodrama of Brief Encounter) does not fit into the corporate ideology. In sum, because 'the market' is penetrating the walls of 'the institution,' this ideology has infected universities.

If this system didn't involve collusion between businesses and schools, it would be easier for consumers (e.g. students) to change the system, to refuse the status quo. Nonetheless, the system will change. Inevitably, the inflationary value of education will collapse in a tulpenmanie moment. It will only come when the overall educational ideology of the U.S. stops holding college professors on a pedestal as paragons of success and shifts towards an embrace of creativity and individuality. Then, and only then, will corporate ideology shift toward the notion, popular in Residence Life departments, that differences are good; differences make us successful.

Truth: my love of books might not translate into direct profit for my employer. But, my ability to connect with co-workers who also love books might make me a happier employee, a more productive employee, a leader through my creation of strong group dynamics, etc. It is the aforethought to see "random" knowledge" as "indirect" profit.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Turning Ecocriticism into Reality

It's been 15 years since the publication of The Ecocriticism Reader, a forward-thinking anthology put together by Cheryll Glotfelty. Of course, words like ecopoetics and ecocritical are older than the book itself, but this year marks a milestone. In her introduction, Glotfelty speaks of turning her corner of literary studies into a field in which teachers and students engage in active participation in the environment. Glotfelty's tone is one of idealism, but she remains a visionary. Unfortunately, because the contributing writers ostensibly wrote their pieces before Glotfelty's introduction, they do not openly share her interests and sometimes it is unclear what they intend to do other than interpret a text. The result is a seminal book that features a multitude of writers, many of whom are crying stick to the text!

So how do we turn literary studies into a conduit for activism? Teachers must begin by overturning the classroom. The four walls, the uncomfortable desk-chairs, the windowless spaces have got to go! How can we honestly claim to read something in an ecocritical light while making students sit at desks which defy ergonomic logic! Bad for our bodies --they've got to go! Start holding classrooms outside. Yes, even when it's cold. Why talk about the suffering of Native peoples in the mid-November winter? Go outside and understand it! When there's no snow on the ground, ask why. Ask about the experience of New England Natives in contrast to Natives of Cabeza de Vaca's "Florida." How does weather contribute to different texts and in what way can we see weather as a marker of experience? In sum, the classroom must become the last resort, not the common refuge for the safety of our learning.

When we do come inside, everyone must sit at round tables (oh the joys of Harkness!). We constantly lament the status of the environment in our global discussion(s). No one seems to agree and some, who deny that environmental crisis exists, seem not to be listening to anyone at all. Round tables will encourage group discussion and group problem solving. It will increase risk-taking behavior and encourage students to solve long, hard problems (like an environmental crisis) by talking with one another. And even when the environment is not the subject, students may take their skill to the problem or many others, for discussion and hearing what others have to say is so often the solution to a global litany of issues.

Teachers (yes professors, that includes you) need to engage in the greening lifestyle: biking to work, gardens, buying used stuff (despite the reputation of Craigslist, it is a small step toward greening ourselves and our classrooms), and anything they can. In bringing ethics into the classroom, it is no longer satisfactory to bring the ethics of writing and research, the ethics of a discipline, we must adhere to environmental ethics.  Mother Earth must be in our minds when we teach, not only when we teach about the Transcendentalists.

A brief aside: if you have not seen or read Into the Wild, do so --now!

Friday, July 8, 2011

Queering the Kitchen: EpicMealTime

With overflowing booze and bacon, Ernest Hemingway could only be proud. EpicMealTime, the sensational(ized) YouTube cooking channel has become all the rave in the last few months, with its host, a burly Canadian (actually, all three hosts are Canadians) and I couldn't resist discussing them!


Michael Warner and Lauren Berlant, in their seminal essay "Sex in Public," theorize that the projection of national culture (i.e. heternormative white culture) subjugates the sexuality of its citizens; consequently, spaces for acting out sexuality (cinemas, clubs, print and online mediums) emerge. In this case, the kitchen becomes the space in which sexuality emerges, a space featuring multiple sexualities, a queer space. In EMT we see the dual narratives of national and globalized identities forming simultaneously as the series develops. The hosts use bacon and syrup as their signifiers for Canadian, while frequently appearing in supermarkets and ethnic restaurants. The latter locations indicate that the hosts have broken the barrier into a global community of consumerism and as such lose some of their Canadianess

The absence of hardened nationalism allows the hosts and guest stars to produce public sex, that is acts which  express sexuality. One of the hosts, Alex Perrault has become simply "MusclesGlasses" and the main host, Harley Morenstein affectionately refers to him as such. Inspired by fanfare, Morenstein engages in openly homosocial interaction, girded by undertones of homosexuality. He devalues the body in the same way as viewers, leaving him without a fully-expressed identity; MusclesGlasses is a condensed moniker summarizing Perrault's status as a masculine, accessorized body. There's also the wonderful ejaculatory imagery which seemingly appears in every episode: while making tacos, the men promise that the female tasters will sour cream; a later episode features ice cream. Morenstein's use of inflection is key to deploying his sexual commentary. 

Finally, there are the thinly-veiled acts of explicit homosexual sex. On a trip home to see his Dad, MusclesGlasses is fed taffy on a large stick by Morenstein who visibly enjoys feeding his the phallic object with its sweet nectar. Feeding each other food as symbolic of the blowjob has become a theme appearing in other episodes as well. Or, in "The Black Legend," the men make a giant crepe and find two girls to eat it in a play on girl-on-girl porn with Morenstein as the voyeur in the background, doing his best to appearing as if he is masturbating.

Kindly, the men want us to know that we can also be men like them with the sale of shirts that read "&Baconstrips&Baconstrips&Baconstrips," a phrase that is exalted in each non-dessert episode. The best we Americans can muster in retort to these virile Canadians: Vegan Meal Time (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbBCWZue57M). The Swedes have concocted a whole series entitled "Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time" making such delicious treats as "Macho Salad," a title meant to outdo EMT's "Meat Salad."

Bon Appetit!

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

It Gets Better!

In 2005, Time magazine published a wonderful article entitled "The Battle Over Gay Teens" (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1112856,00.html). I found it illuminating at the time as I wandered in an ether of uncertainty, beginning to realize the tangibility of my sexuality, no longer a far-off abstraction that couldn't possibly apply to me.

Funny, perhaps tangential anecdote: the first day of sophomore year, I had Geometry class second period and my teacher was talking about planes. He said "the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plane" and then looked directly at me and said, "Hayden, do you know what movie that's from?" Being the culturally-literate person that I am, I didn't want to disappoint, but I really didn't know! Don't ask how I got to age 15 without seeing My Fair Lady, but it happened. (Truth is, I still haven't seen it, which I suppose, to someone, means I'm not really gay.) But I remember the sense of dread that I felt, not only because I didn't know the answer, but because knowing the answer might make me gay. The logic isn't there, but when you are on the verge of coming out, every gesture and action is scrutinized as something that might out you, something that might make you "too gay" and therefore unacceptable to others.

But I think there is a tendency to be self-congratulatory about sexuality. The article concluded that fewer gay children are growing up less traumatized than past generations. Truth. And who couldn't be happy about the recent legislative success in New York? Meanwhile, media depictions of the Westboro Baptist Church (whose politics I despise, so please don't mistake me) or really anything in Tennessee make people who espouse "anti-gay" views into Neanderthals. But even as queerness becomes more "mainstream" and gay people progressively gain rights, there is still plenty of internal suffering. The existence of a stronger, more visible community does not preclude the personal anguish that exists. The suicide of Tyler Clementi is the only necessary evidence.

But it gets better and not just because there's a super cool project that says so (http://www.itgetsbetter.org/). It gets better because we can laugh at silly stuff like not wanting to say something that might out you, like not wanting to wear something because it gives off the wrong perception. It gets better because you realize you can choose how out you want to be. It gets better because, while your sexuality might be the most complicated part of you, it's not the biggest part of you. Once realized, sexuality is subsumed by the whole. You are you.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

We All Have Things to Learn

I went to the Portland Pride Festival today. It is my third year in attendance and, as usual, I was accompanied my one of my fruit-flies (female friends who are magnets for gay men). We watched a great parade, ended up holding the flag and marching when it seemed like there weren't enough people, and walked around procuring free stuff. I'm torn between my favorite freebie: the small condom case (condom included) that attaches to your key chain or the carabiner with a measuring tape inside.

A recent Facebook status by one of my friends reminded me that not everyone likes Pride. Indeed, I use to hate the idea of Pride. I thought that it gave people an excuse to act "super gay," that we don't need cordoned-off days or weeks to celebrate different groups (in fact, I still feel that the biggest flaw in celebrating certain demographics allows us to forget them the rest of the year), and that there was little substantive value in Pride. My friend believes that Pride diminishes (or does not celebrate) monogamous, long-term relationships, but rather glorifies partying and ultimately ends up having a negative effect on the perception of gay culture.

I might tend to agree with this perception if I hadn't seen so many gay couples and their children at Pride today. As for the people who are "super gay" (by that, I think he means drag queens and flamboyant individuals), the negative perception of them comes from people who don't understand them or don't want to understand them. For a long time, I didn't understand them. I also didn't understand people of ambiguous gender identity, queer identity (I didn't know anything outside of gay or lesbian until early in my college career), and the rampant discrimination against queer people that takes place on a daily basis. I was just a white kid from suburbia who had grown up going to Catholic school and church his whole life and only new that he gay and very little outside of that. But we're all learning, all the time and I am proud to say that by getting to know the diverse people who attend Pride, I have a better understanding of myself and one of the communities to which I belong.

Pride does some things really well and I want to talk about those:
It brings together people of different religions, races, genders, and socio-economic backgrounds. It reminds us we co-exist along queer people everyday; they work in grocery stores, banks, auto dealerships, hospitals, etc. We are reminded that our sexuality, the most complicated part of an individual, can exist in tandem with a "normal" or "average" person; it undercuts the idea of queerness as deviance. As much as Pride may be a salute to a counterculture, it also illustrates the way in which queerness has become integrated into our culture without assimilating.


Camille Paglia has observed that the rainbow flag with its strict geometric lines does not speak to the broad melange of people who identify as queer in some way. It's true. That is the one thing I would change about Pride; let all the colors blur and blend the way the people at Pride do.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Howl & Some Thoughts on the Writing Process

I just finished two films about writers: Howl (2010) and Sylvia (2003). The first features James Franco, Jon Hamm (of Mad Men fame), and David Strathairn (of Good Night and Good Luck). James Franco plays the famous Allen Ginsburg and the movie cuts between an interview, an obscenity trial (Ginsburg was not on trial, but his publisher Lawrence Ferlinghetti, another poet as well, was), Ginsburg reading his epic in a smoky bar, and animations drawn from the poem. The second features Gwyneth Paltrow as the tragic Sylvia Plath and Daniel Craig (of James Bond fame) as her unfaithful husband, Ted Hughes.

I enjoyed both films in their own way. Howl, I think, was a selfish film in that it seemed to be more about the artfulness of it all, and thus about James Franco's ability to make film. If I didn't know anything about Franco and his pursuit of MFAs and PhDs as well as his Museum of Non-Visible Art (don't ask), I probably wouldn't have been as irritated. But all I could think about through the entire film was how much was trying to be done: a portrayal of Ginsburg as the writer, a historic account of puritanical 50s America, and a feat of animation in which poetry literally becomes imagery. There was so much going on; the movie became a portfolio to Franco saying 'look at all the different things I can do, I'm an artist not just some one-dimensional man, some actor.' Perhaps most frustrating was Franco as Ginsburg hammering out line after line of "Howl" with ease at the typewriter, vomiting up lines thick with metaphor with ease. It simply is not how writers, even great ones like Ginsburg, write or wrote.

Sylvia, by contrast, nailed the writing process. We see both Plath and Hughes hunched over at their dimly lit desks at night, grabbing their hair in frustration, thesauruses thrown open, searching for the right word. Hughes might find some inspiration from his bike rides, but he doesn't compose great work unlike Franco's Ginsburg who, with what seems like a few short wandering around Brooklyn (though admittedly there is greater depth to the plot), wrote "Howl." Plath as well slaves away, slogging through the crap to get to the good stuff all while raising children. We can't help but be impressed by the accuracy of the writing process, appreciate how much Plath's and Hughes's struggle for great writing (and greatness) mirrors our own.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

New Beginnings

When I created and began writing my first blog, it was about politics with a tendency toward American foreign policy. That was two years ago. I found myself becoming disenfranchised or simply disinterested with politics. I realized that I can like foreign policy without making it what defines me. Since then, it's been a gradual epiphany toward recognizing the value in loving art, history, literary studies, Native America(ns), poetry, anthropology, and generally whatever fancies me. A professor once told me that people who I believe in interdisciplinarity (mind you, I don't know if I am one of those people or I'm just doing what I want because it pleases me and I want to be a well-rounded individual) rarely ever touch the surface of anything or make any significant strides in modes of thinking. I'm not out to make this blog my rebuttal to her myopic statement; I want this newborn thing to be beautiful and for me as well as for other readers.


So here goes:
I'm reading an article by Louis Menand that appeared in The New Yorker last week (this week's issue is the summer fiction issue and it features a story by Lauren Groff who went to UDub-Madison with a friend of mine, Jacques Rancourt. I will link to both of them soon. Here's the link to Menand: http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2011/06/06/110606crat_atlarge_menand) and he's talking about the value of college. He points to the higher income of people with a bachelor's degree: $83,000 versus someone with a high school education, who on average makes $31,000. Menand seems to be making a big leap from the "value" of education to income; though I don't doubt that a college education is beneficial (how can I?), I think I'd rather have little to no debt and make $30,000 than have a quarter of a million dollars (or more! the thought makes me nauseous) and make $80-85,000. Perhaps this is naivete, but the idea of debt makes me incredibly unhappy and I think I'd rather have to worry about living on/with less than worry about vast amounts of debt. It also bothers me than the inflationary status of higher education is normalizing the idea of debt, especially long-term debt. When 22% of awarded degrees are going to business students, the thought of debt seems to parallel the way we treat our environment and economy: it's okay to use up natural resources now, we'll figure it out later; it's okay to speculate on housing and the value of "derivatives" and other forms of non-existent money, we'll figure it out later; it's okay to spend piles of money on my undergraduate degree, I'll pay it back later, it will all work out. That philosophy of "we'll figure it out later" distresses me personally, but it correlates to the way we behave and suggests that we need to start changing the way we think about the "value" of things.