First things first: The Occupy Wall Street protesters are largely correct. There is tremendous economic inequality in the United States (and there is tremendous economic inequality in most countries, although the inequality here is considerably greater than it is in most "developed" countries). Inequality in the United States is significantly more pronounced than it is in many developing countries, actually. Five of the 'stan countries have more income equality than the United States, for example (and if income inequality is that marked here, one has to imagine that wealth disparity is far, far greater).
To be honest, I'm far less concerned with income inequality than I am with poverty reduction for a variety of reasons, but that's not the point I'm trying to get at today, exactly. As far as income inequality itself goes, I think some of it is necessary because, let's face it, that's jut the way the world works. While you have plenty of people of one political persuasion arguing against such vast inequality (with plenty of sound arguments, if normative arguments are your cup of tea), you have plenty of people on the other side arguing against things like progressive tax systems (with plenty of the same sound, normative arguments). What one perceives as "fair", however, is ultimately subjective, and rarely economically feasible.
What I am interested in talking about is something that struck me the other day, and that is the fact that inequality, though it exists at least roughly to the degree that the Occupy Wall Street folks say it does, is absolutely NOT what has driven them into the streets en masse.
Is inequality really that much worse right now than it was, say, five years ago? It has certainly increased, but not that much. Yet, there were no mass "I am the 99%" protests five years ago. I guess some kind of "tipping point" argument could be made, but I wouldn't for one second buy it, at least not as it relates to income disparity. So what has changed?
I have been well aware of the vast disparity in wealth and income in the United States for quite some time, and I have always thought that as long as people's basic needs were being met (and the definition of "basic needs" here is somewhat nebulous) they would remain either blissfully ignorant of that inequality or, as was the case with me, not really care all that much one way or the other. As long as those who have the most economic pull here made sure that people, by and large, were content, then there would be no need to try to equalize ownership of income or wealth. And for the most part, that is the way things have been.
Let me digress slightly here just for a moment. I firmly believe that we can't ask for more than to be happy. If I'm truly happy with my life, I don't really want for anything. I also believe that most of us are more or less psychologically and emotionally healthy people, and psychologically and emotionally healthy people don't generally poke their noses over the fence to see how many toys the neighbor has before deciding whether or not to feel happy. In short, our own happiness rarely has much at all to do with our material wealth relative to those around us (much less some faceless CEO). Oh, there are plenty of exceptions to this, but I think people whose days are won and lost based on how their stacks stack up against the neighbors' are never going to be happy anyway.
Okay, I'm getting way off track here. Bottom line: we don't care that much about inequality, but we do care about being able to be paid a reasonable wage for our jobs, about being able to have a job at all, about not having our houses taken away from us, about our kids being able to go to school, about being able to pay our medical bills, and so on and so forth. Inequality could be one thousand times greater than it is right now, and if the overwhelming majority of Americans didn't have to deal (or at least worry about the potential of having to deal) with such problems, there would be very, very few people out in the streets protesting income inequality.
So what has changed? More and more (and more and more) of us are worrying about how to find a job, and if we have one, how long that job will be there. More and more of us are worrying about what will happen if we or a family member gets sick, and whether or not it will financially ruin us for life. More and more of us are worrying about where we will live if we lose our jobs or have one of those illnesses, once we can't make our mortgage payments and our house (or are cars) are foreclosed on or repossessed. It is that kind of desperation that is driving people into the streets, not the inequality issue.
These protests don't seem like they're necessarily abating. Those who have the power to influence economic policy (whether they be corporations or elected officials) would do well to keep this in mind, and at least tone down the greed and lust for power to a level that will get people back in their houses, watching TV and playing board games with their families, barbecuing on the weekends, and whatever else it is that keeps Americans happy. Because here's the secret: we really don't care that you get fabulously rich off the fruits of our labor, as long as we're not up at night worried about the future.
And while I'm not a massive fan of tipping-point arguments, I think there may one to be made here (albeit using completely arbitrary numbers). If making 500 times more than the average allows you to be obscenely rich and the status quo is maintained, but making 501 times more results in an economic situation that pisses people off to the point at which they are willing to do something about it, maybe that extra increment is not worth it in the end? Food for thought.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Some thoughts after a trip to the movies
I really like movies, and I really have a lot of spare time on my hands, and at $6 for a matinee, I have enough disposable income to go to the cinema as often as I like. This past summer, when I first got into Las Cruces, I actually had the urge to go, but was completely stymied by the absolute lack of anything interesting to see. There seemed to be nothing but stupid superhero movies (which I invariably hate), cartoons, sequels to stuff that sucked to begin with, and half-witted remakes of things that may or may not have been any good the first time around, but almost definitely won't be this time around. I just took a pass all summer, except for 8MM, which I thought was pretty good.
Anyway, on the recommendation of a couple friends, I have been wanting to go see Rise of the Planet of the Apes for a few weeks now (yes, I know it's been out for a good long while already), but for whatever reason, just haven't gone. My inability to make it over to see the movie, which I was sure I wanted to see, was starting to puzzle and annoy even me, so I finally got so irritated with myself today that I just went. I would like to comment on three major takeaways from this experience.
1. I was kind of bothered when I found out that there was a planned American remake of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. We Americans are good at a lot of things. We are probably the best in the world at a lot of things. Unfortunately, one of those things is taking great films and TV shows from other countries and turning them into complete garbage. There are about a million examples of this, and the one that immediately comes to mind is the remake of Nueve Reinas, an excellent Argentine crime caper. While the original is extremely clever, funny, and intriguing (and also does an outstanding job at showing how ingenious Argentine thieves can be), the American version is flat, boring, and completely devoid of charm. I imagined that whoever was going to remake The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo would dispense with any of the atmosphere that made the original so great and turn it into Hollywood schlock. Well, today I saw the trailer for it, and I have to tell you, it may be the best movie trailer I have ever seen. While I still don't know that my original prediction won't come true, I can at least say my attitude towards the entire thing has turned from complete scorn to eager anticipation. Check out the trailer:
God, that looks killer.
2. The reason I haven't gone to the movies for all this time is because each time I go, people drive me absolutely insane. Tolerance of what I find to be annoying behavior by strangers is something I have worked hard on getting better about, and with a pretty good degree of success. But man, there is nothing like a movie theater to make me wonder how my perception of the world and the appropriate way to behave in it diverges so sharply from some other people's. Today, an older couple sat in front of me. The theater was probably 10% full, tops, but they chose to sit directly in front of me. Maybe I chose a particularly good seat, and they had similar tastes. Whatever. Then, the woman started to talk.
And continued to talk.
Through the entire movie.
For me, remaining mostly quiet during a movie is pretty much obvious rule #1 of cinema-going etiquette. Is there really any other legitimate, objective argument on the subject? I'd like to think that there isn't, but this is just what I'm talking about. When it comes to opinions, I realize that mine is just that...one opinion, but it would seem to me that MOST people would be of a mind that it's polite to be quiet during the movie. Astonishingly, however, I appear to be in the minority with this opinion, and those who hold the strongest opposition views on the subject somehow manage to always sit next to or in front of me. Usually with a big hat on.
And it wasn't bad enough that she just constantly talked. The things she was saying had me consciously making an effort to not slap her in the back of the head. In my mind's eye, I could totally see it happening. I heard at least 40 "Oh my God"s. She also helpfully pointed out many, many obvious on-screen happenings. Upon seeing John Lithgow's lifeless, stiffened body, she observed, "He's dead. Do you see that? He's dead. He died. Oh my God. He's dead. He didn't make it. Do you see? Oh my God." In addition to this, she provided the always appreciated repetition-of-the-dialogue-just-spoken-on-screen-followed-by-laughter-and-the-statement-"That's funny!"
That's why I don't go to the movies that often. Bring on Transformers 18. Give me reasons to stay away.
3. Rise of the Planet of the Apes was actually not bad at all. I agree with a lot of critics who have stated that the "human" characters were largely undeveloped, and that the story was a little ridiculous, but there was definitely some kind of allegory there, and I'm trying to puzzle out what it is. There are some obvious candidates for possibilities, and some other ideas that have occurred to me. It doesn't really matter if any of them are right. It was refreshing to see a movie that made me think at all, because lately the local theater has been a wasteland for that sort of thing.
Anyway, on the recommendation of a couple friends, I have been wanting to go see Rise of the Planet of the Apes for a few weeks now (yes, I know it's been out for a good long while already), but for whatever reason, just haven't gone. My inability to make it over to see the movie, which I was sure I wanted to see, was starting to puzzle and annoy even me, so I finally got so irritated with myself today that I just went. I would like to comment on three major takeaways from this experience.
1. I was kind of bothered when I found out that there was a planned American remake of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. We Americans are good at a lot of things. We are probably the best in the world at a lot of things. Unfortunately, one of those things is taking great films and TV shows from other countries and turning them into complete garbage. There are about a million examples of this, and the one that immediately comes to mind is the remake of Nueve Reinas, an excellent Argentine crime caper. While the original is extremely clever, funny, and intriguing (and also does an outstanding job at showing how ingenious Argentine thieves can be), the American version is flat, boring, and completely devoid of charm. I imagined that whoever was going to remake The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo would dispense with any of the atmosphere that made the original so great and turn it into Hollywood schlock. Well, today I saw the trailer for it, and I have to tell you, it may be the best movie trailer I have ever seen. While I still don't know that my original prediction won't come true, I can at least say my attitude towards the entire thing has turned from complete scorn to eager anticipation. Check out the trailer:
God, that looks killer.
2. The reason I haven't gone to the movies for all this time is because each time I go, people drive me absolutely insane. Tolerance of what I find to be annoying behavior by strangers is something I have worked hard on getting better about, and with a pretty good degree of success. But man, there is nothing like a movie theater to make me wonder how my perception of the world and the appropriate way to behave in it diverges so sharply from some other people's. Today, an older couple sat in front of me. The theater was probably 10% full, tops, but they chose to sit directly in front of me. Maybe I chose a particularly good seat, and they had similar tastes. Whatever. Then, the woman started to talk.
And continued to talk.
Through the entire movie.
For me, remaining mostly quiet during a movie is pretty much obvious rule #1 of cinema-going etiquette. Is there really any other legitimate, objective argument on the subject? I'd like to think that there isn't, but this is just what I'm talking about. When it comes to opinions, I realize that mine is just that...one opinion, but it would seem to me that MOST people would be of a mind that it's polite to be quiet during the movie. Astonishingly, however, I appear to be in the minority with this opinion, and those who hold the strongest opposition views on the subject somehow manage to always sit next to or in front of me. Usually with a big hat on.
And it wasn't bad enough that she just constantly talked. The things she was saying had me consciously making an effort to not slap her in the back of the head. In my mind's eye, I could totally see it happening. I heard at least 40 "Oh my God"s. She also helpfully pointed out many, many obvious on-screen happenings. Upon seeing John Lithgow's lifeless, stiffened body, she observed, "He's dead. Do you see that? He's dead. He died. Oh my God. He's dead. He didn't make it. Do you see? Oh my God." In addition to this, she provided the always appreciated repetition-of-the-dialogue-just-spoken-on-screen-followed-by-laughter-and-the-statement-"That's funny!"
That's why I don't go to the movies that often. Bring on Transformers 18. Give me reasons to stay away.
3. Rise of the Planet of the Apes was actually not bad at all. I agree with a lot of critics who have stated that the "human" characters were largely undeveloped, and that the story was a little ridiculous, but there was definitely some kind of allegory there, and I'm trying to puzzle out what it is. There are some obvious candidates for possibilities, and some other ideas that have occurred to me. It doesn't really matter if any of them are right. It was refreshing to see a movie that made me think at all, because lately the local theater has been a wasteland for that sort of thing.
Monday, September 26, 2011
When did this happen?
Today I woke up feeling old. O-L-D old. I'm pretty sure it'll go away by tomorrow, but I got up this morning with a sore neck and generally feeling like I'd been run over by a train which backed up and then ran over me again. And trains don't back up, my friends.
The puzzling (read: worrying) thing about the whole situation is that I haven't really exerted myself physically. Just the normal kind of running and gym stuff. I guess I didn't get a whole lot of sleep over the weekend, which I hadn't thought of until now. That makes me feel kind of better, that there may at least be some exacerbating circumstances and it's not just that life has now managed to beat my ass, at least temporarily. I'm going to go ahead and say no, I'm not willing to give in yet, but this is at least a scare.
I scheduled my Oral Assessment for the Department of State today. It will be December 2. So look out.
The puzzling (read: worrying) thing about the whole situation is that I haven't really exerted myself physically. Just the normal kind of running and gym stuff. I guess I didn't get a whole lot of sleep over the weekend, which I hadn't thought of until now. That makes me feel kind of better, that there may at least be some exacerbating circumstances and it's not just that life has now managed to beat my ass, at least temporarily. I'm going to go ahead and say no, I'm not willing to give in yet, but this is at least a scare.
I scheduled my Oral Assessment for the Department of State today. It will be December 2. So look out.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Odds and ends, odds and ends...
...lost time is not found again!
A little more than a year and a half ago (and my, how time does fly) I was at the culminating four day Field Training Exercise (FTX) at Basic Combat Training in Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Pretty much everyone in the platoon (the company, the battalion?) had been dreading it, because it was extremely cold and we knew we'd be sleeping in tents and doing some kind of BS all day, every day. We got the living crap smoked out of us the first night, in the sand, so that was a rocky start. Even before we got there, I was dreading it, and I was pretty sure the four days would never end.
As it happened, the four days went by pretty quickly, and when we finished, I thought, "Wow, I thought this day would never get here, and here I am, at the end of FTX." My immediate next thought was this: I'm going to die someday. Someday, I will be thinking, "Wow, I thought this day would never get here, and here I am, at the end of my life."
It was kind of an unsettling feeling.
A little more than a year and a half ago (and my, how time does fly) I was at the culminating four day Field Training Exercise (FTX) at Basic Combat Training in Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Pretty much everyone in the platoon (the company, the battalion?) had been dreading it, because it was extremely cold and we knew we'd be sleeping in tents and doing some kind of BS all day, every day. We got the living crap smoked out of us the first night, in the sand, so that was a rocky start. Even before we got there, I was dreading it, and I was pretty sure the four days would never end.
As it happened, the four days went by pretty quickly, and when we finished, I thought, "Wow, I thought this day would never get here, and here I am, at the end of FTX." My immediate next thought was this: I'm going to die someday. Someday, I will be thinking, "Wow, I thought this day would never get here, and here I am, at the end of my life."
It was kind of an unsettling feeling.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
My thoughts on the end of Don't Ask, Don't Tell
Let me preface this by saying I'm not a homophobe, never have been, and never will be. I know plenty of gay people who are absolutely wonderful, and I know plenty of gay people who I'd rather not be around. I would say the ratio of good gays to bad gays in my life roughly approximates the ratio of good straights to bad straights. To be honest with you, I couldn't care less about a person's sexual orientation. Maybe being gay is a big part of who you are. Great. I don't care. Maybe being straight is a big part of you you are. Fantastic. Really not interested in your sex life, at all.
With that being said...
On a practical level, I personally didn't have much of a problem with Don't Ask, Don't Tell at the beginning. I just figured that since gays weren't necessarily barred from serving (and believe you me, I have a pretty accurate gaydar and I know damn well I've run across more than a few in my two years in the military) then if a man or a woman was that interested in serving the United States of America in its military, either that desire to serve trumped coming out or it didn't. If you're that patriotic and gung ho about being a soldier, maybe it shouldn't be so difficult to keep your sexuality a little extra private. But after about 30 seconds of considering that, I realized it was complete BS. The philosophical me has a pretty big problem with treating gays like second class citizens, especially if they are willing to fight and die in our nation's military. Why should straight soldiers be able to carry on ad nauseum about their sexual exploits, yet gays are compelled to keep everything about that part of their lives to themselves, or risk being discharged? Being a thinking, reasoning person, I just can't abide it.
So, philosophically I think it's a good thing that gays can now openly serve. What are the practical implications, though?
As with anything, I think it's kind of hard to tell, but here's my best guess:
Most gay people I know aren't all that flamboyant, are very respectful of others' boundaries, and are private about their sex lives. I would say most are pretty much like straight people in this regard (as with just about everything else aside from having sex with partners whose genitalia match their own). There is, however, that gay stereotype that we all know and love, and stereotypes don't just fall out of the sky. I have certainly run across my fair share of absolutely flaming homosexuals.
Most soldiers I know aren't all that macho and brutish, are thinking and reasoning people, and are more or less willing to live and let live. I would say that most are pretty much like civilians in this regard (as with just about everything else aside from having being shot at as part of their job descriptions). There is, however, that soldier stereotype that we all know and love, and stereotypes don't just fall out of the sky. I have certainly run across my fair share of absolutely moronic soldiers.
For a little while, those stereotypical soldiers and those stereotypical gays are going to have a go at each other, and I predict that there will be isolated and tragic incidents. I think it's almost unavoidable, as some gays (probably the ones that most other gays can't stand to be around) will find the temptation to prove all their critics right irresistible, and some soldiers (probably the more bi-curious ones) will find the temptation to prove they're not gay by stomping a queer irresistible. It's obvious who will be in the wrong in these cases (and lord, do I hope I'm wrong about them), but those situations could be avoided if people were smart about things.
In the long run, however, I can't imagine there will be a massive flock of gays hanging around military recruiters' offices, and I suspect that the percentage of gay soldiers in the military will be for all intents and purposes similar to what it was before Don't Ask, Don't Tell ended. This means that if there is a gay soldier in the shower with you now, he was probably there with you before, and it's unlikely he was looking at your junk with any more curiosity than the straight dude on the other side of you then or now, so chill out about it.
Things will shake out, cooler heads will prevail, and in the long run (despite the macho culture), this is going to be a non-issue in the military, and our society as a whole will have taken a quiet, but important, step forward.
With that being said...
On a practical level, I personally didn't have much of a problem with Don't Ask, Don't Tell at the beginning. I just figured that since gays weren't necessarily barred from serving (and believe you me, I have a pretty accurate gaydar and I know damn well I've run across more than a few in my two years in the military) then if a man or a woman was that interested in serving the United States of America in its military, either that desire to serve trumped coming out or it didn't. If you're that patriotic and gung ho about being a soldier, maybe it shouldn't be so difficult to keep your sexuality a little extra private. But after about 30 seconds of considering that, I realized it was complete BS. The philosophical me has a pretty big problem with treating gays like second class citizens, especially if they are willing to fight and die in our nation's military. Why should straight soldiers be able to carry on ad nauseum about their sexual exploits, yet gays are compelled to keep everything about that part of their lives to themselves, or risk being discharged? Being a thinking, reasoning person, I just can't abide it.
So, philosophically I think it's a good thing that gays can now openly serve. What are the practical implications, though?
As with anything, I think it's kind of hard to tell, but here's my best guess:
Most gay people I know aren't all that flamboyant, are very respectful of others' boundaries, and are private about their sex lives. I would say most are pretty much like straight people in this regard (as with just about everything else aside from having sex with partners whose genitalia match their own). There is, however, that gay stereotype that we all know and love, and stereotypes don't just fall out of the sky. I have certainly run across my fair share of absolutely flaming homosexuals.
Most soldiers I know aren't all that macho and brutish, are thinking and reasoning people, and are more or less willing to live and let live. I would say that most are pretty much like civilians in this regard (as with just about everything else aside from having being shot at as part of their job descriptions). There is, however, that soldier stereotype that we all know and love, and stereotypes don't just fall out of the sky. I have certainly run across my fair share of absolutely moronic soldiers.
For a little while, those stereotypical soldiers and those stereotypical gays are going to have a go at each other, and I predict that there will be isolated and tragic incidents. I think it's almost unavoidable, as some gays (probably the ones that most other gays can't stand to be around) will find the temptation to prove all their critics right irresistible, and some soldiers (probably the more bi-curious ones) will find the temptation to prove they're not gay by stomping a queer irresistible. It's obvious who will be in the wrong in these cases (and lord, do I hope I'm wrong about them), but those situations could be avoided if people were smart about things.
In the long run, however, I can't imagine there will be a massive flock of gays hanging around military recruiters' offices, and I suspect that the percentage of gay soldiers in the military will be for all intents and purposes similar to what it was before Don't Ask, Don't Tell ended. This means that if there is a gay soldier in the shower with you now, he was probably there with you before, and it's unlikely he was looking at your junk with any more curiosity than the straight dude on the other side of you then or now, so chill out about it.
Things will shake out, cooler heads will prevail, and in the long run (despite the macho culture), this is going to be a non-issue in the military, and our society as a whole will have taken a quiet, but important, step forward.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Second time's a charm?
This morning, as I suspected I would based on the intelligence I'd been able to gather, I got an e-mail letting me know my results letter from the State Department's Qualification Evaluation Panel was ready to be downloaded.
Okay, let me stop here to explain something. I don't get nervous. When I was younger, I got nervous all the time. For whatever reason, though, a while back I just got over it. The first few times this came up in conversation with others, I realized how ridiculous it sounded when I told people. I'll admit that if I weren't me, I wouldn't believe myself, but facts are facts, ma'am. Anyway, I started to think about why that might be, and this is the conclusion that I reached (it's not a particularly profound conclusion): I'm really just not that afraid of death, and the chances of someone immolating me are so slim that it's not worth worrying about. So when I start to think about any situation and the worst possible outcome, anything short of immolation is not worth worrying about either. If something "bad" happens, I'll fix it or get through it, or whatever. The bottom line is that in a lot of situations in which other people would get butterflies in their stomachs, or sweaty palms, or a racing pulse, I don't. Simple as that. Someone points a flamethrower at me, all that might change.
When I saw the e-mail today, though, I got nervous.
It was really strange. My pulse immediately quickened and I felt flush. My breathing became shallow, and the world around me seemed to darken a bit. It really took me aback, and I tried to remember the last time this happened to me. And then I remembered. It was the last time I got one of these e-mails, in June of 2008.
I actually wouldn't click on the link to access the letter until I'd settled down enough to satisfy my pride. Click, click, username, password, slight pause, "Congratulations! Based on a comprehensive review of your candidate file, you have been selected to participate in the next step of the Foreign Service Officer selection process, the Oral Assessment," adrenaline dump.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy about the news, but I'd also be lying if I told you I took it for granted that I'd get an invitation. I thought it was pretty likely, since I got the invitation three years ago and I've packed quite a bit of living and experience into those three years (not to mention a DoD Top Secret clearance). But if there's anything the entire Foreign Service process taught me the first time around, it is that I can't take anything for granted. I thought I had everything sewn up way back then when I passed the Oral Assessment, and we all know how that turned out. So, I am happy that lightning is striking twice as far as the invitation goes, but I know there's still a long road ahead of me. But, if I passed it once, I can pass it again. I´ll prepare a little more this time around, go in a little more relaxed, and hopefully prove once again that I'm an excellent candidate.
Anyway, that's my big news for the day. That, and I went to the gym for the first time since early July. Which was also good.
TTFN.
Okay, let me stop here to explain something. I don't get nervous. When I was younger, I got nervous all the time. For whatever reason, though, a while back I just got over it. The first few times this came up in conversation with others, I realized how ridiculous it sounded when I told people. I'll admit that if I weren't me, I wouldn't believe myself, but facts are facts, ma'am. Anyway, I started to think about why that might be, and this is the conclusion that I reached (it's not a particularly profound conclusion): I'm really just not that afraid of death, and the chances of someone immolating me are so slim that it's not worth worrying about. So when I start to think about any situation and the worst possible outcome, anything short of immolation is not worth worrying about either. If something "bad" happens, I'll fix it or get through it, or whatever. The bottom line is that in a lot of situations in which other people would get butterflies in their stomachs, or sweaty palms, or a racing pulse, I don't. Simple as that. Someone points a flamethrower at me, all that might change.
When I saw the e-mail today, though, I got nervous.
It was really strange. My pulse immediately quickened and I felt flush. My breathing became shallow, and the world around me seemed to darken a bit. It really took me aback, and I tried to remember the last time this happened to me. And then I remembered. It was the last time I got one of these e-mails, in June of 2008.
I actually wouldn't click on the link to access the letter until I'd settled down enough to satisfy my pride. Click, click, username, password, slight pause, "Congratulations! Based on a comprehensive review of your candidate file, you have been selected to participate in the next step of the Foreign Service Officer selection process, the Oral Assessment," adrenaline dump.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy about the news, but I'd also be lying if I told you I took it for granted that I'd get an invitation. I thought it was pretty likely, since I got the invitation three years ago and I've packed quite a bit of living and experience into those three years (not to mention a DoD Top Secret clearance). But if there's anything the entire Foreign Service process taught me the first time around, it is that I can't take anything for granted. I thought I had everything sewn up way back then when I passed the Oral Assessment, and we all know how that turned out. So, I am happy that lightning is striking twice as far as the invitation goes, but I know there's still a long road ahead of me. But, if I passed it once, I can pass it again. I´ll prepare a little more this time around, go in a little more relaxed, and hopefully prove once again that I'm an excellent candidate.
Anyway, that's my big news for the day. That, and I went to the gym for the first time since early July. Which was also good.
TTFN.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Since last we spoke...
...not a whole hell of a lot has happened.
I transferred from my excruciatingly boring National Guard assignment doing surveillance to a much, much more interesting and fun National Guard assignment as a criminal analyst. I actually work about 20% more hours, but beyond that, life is sooooo much better than it was before. Actually, the 20% longer workweek is not really much of an issue, since I really enjoy what I do, and love my co-workers. It's actually a pleasure to go into the office Monday through Friday, and I am learning a lot and feel like I'm actually accomplishing something, so that's great.
I continue to read a lot. Last month I read 9 books on Rwanda, and though I've slowed down the pace considerably in September, I'm continuing to turn the pages. I've got another book or two to go on Rwanda, and then I'll move on to the Congo. I always suspected that Africa was a fascinating place (and, let's be honest, most places are fascinating if you have a sufficiently curious nature), but I've really gotten wrapped up in it. It's nice to learn things that are completely new to me. I feel smarter and smarter every day.
Since I absolutely suck at this blogging thing, I feel like I should pace myself a bit, so I'm about to wrap this up. I have signed up for a couple upcoming races (a 5-miler in Sunland Park next Sunday and then a 10K at the end of October). There's only so much prep-time available for the 5-miler, so I'm not really sweating that one too much. I'm setting a not-so-ambitious goal of a 37 minute finish time for that one. I am, however, going to start an honest to god six-week training program for the 10K, which is something I have never done in my life. I've run a couple 10Ks, but never actually trained for one, so to speak. I'll probably use that as some kind of motivation to blog. You know, tracking my progress and all.
Hopefully, the act of putting pen to paper (or putting my fingers to the keys, as it were) regarding the training will lead to writing here about other things too, though I am highly skeptical.
TTFN
I transferred from my excruciatingly boring National Guard assignment doing surveillance to a much, much more interesting and fun National Guard assignment as a criminal analyst. I actually work about 20% more hours, but beyond that, life is sooooo much better than it was before. Actually, the 20% longer workweek is not really much of an issue, since I really enjoy what I do, and love my co-workers. It's actually a pleasure to go into the office Monday through Friday, and I am learning a lot and feel like I'm actually accomplishing something, so that's great.
I continue to read a lot. Last month I read 9 books on Rwanda, and though I've slowed down the pace considerably in September, I'm continuing to turn the pages. I've got another book or two to go on Rwanda, and then I'll move on to the Congo. I always suspected that Africa was a fascinating place (and, let's be honest, most places are fascinating if you have a sufficiently curious nature), but I've really gotten wrapped up in it. It's nice to learn things that are completely new to me. I feel smarter and smarter every day.
Since I absolutely suck at this blogging thing, I feel like I should pace myself a bit, so I'm about to wrap this up. I have signed up for a couple upcoming races (a 5-miler in Sunland Park next Sunday and then a 10K at the end of October). There's only so much prep-time available for the 5-miler, so I'm not really sweating that one too much. I'm setting a not-so-ambitious goal of a 37 minute finish time for that one. I am, however, going to start an honest to god six-week training program for the 10K, which is something I have never done in my life. I've run a couple 10Ks, but never actually trained for one, so to speak. I'll probably use that as some kind of motivation to blog. You know, tracking my progress and all.
Hopefully, the act of putting pen to paper (or putting my fingers to the keys, as it were) regarding the training will lead to writing here about other things too, though I am highly skeptical.
TTFN
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Back
Okay, my life is pretty boring. These days, it's actually more boring than ever. Have you seen that movie Groundhog Day? Well, then you get the idea. Consequently, I don't have much interesting to write about. I am, however, reading a lot, and I'm going to just start posting book reviews here. I'll probably start tomorrow. Sound good? Okay.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Saturday Update
I haven't written here for a while, and there's a very good reason for it. The reason is that I'm a lazy blogger.
My brother and I made the trip from Albuquerque to Mapleton, Maine in 43 hours. We alternated driving and sleeping (at one point, I drove 1000 straight miles, which was a new record for me). It was nice to drive all that distance together, and we had a really good time and a lot of laughs.
Here in Maine, it is C-O-L-D cold. It is absurdly cold. I mean, it's just stupid how cold it is. I've only been out to run three or four times, and it's a struggle, because it is so damn cold. I can't stress how unseasonably low the temperatures are. Outside right now it is absolutely arctic.
We have been busy for the past week installing a new heating system in the basement of the house, which we more or less finished today. My brother knows a lot more about this stuff than me, but I'm learning pretty quickly. He didn't know jack about it before, either, and we've come to the conclusion that necessity is not only the mother of invention, but the mother of skill acquisition. A human being has the capacity to store so much knowledge, and a lot of times we box ourselves in with expectations that society places on us or that we place on ourselves. We all have the potential to be renaissance men/women, and I think lack of money to pay someone else combined with a healthy thirst to learn new things helps us along that path. I could be just bullshitting. I do know, however, that my brother and I have learned a LOT of stuff thanks to inheriting this old farmhouse, and it's wonderful in a lot of different ways.
Did I mention that it is really freaking cold here?
I'm probably headed back to New Mexico next week for a 3-month temporary duty assignment with the NM National Guard down on the border with Mexico. It's pretty good money, and employment opportunities in Maine are a little limited right now. It seems silly to have driven all the way here for a couple weeks' stay, but I wouldn't have done anything differently. The trip with my brother, and the time we've spent working and hanging out together over the past days has made it all totally worth it.
Yesterday, just out of morbid curiosity, I decided to see how much I could bench press. I have lifted weights MAYBE 10 times since August, and 0 times since mid January, so I was not expecting much at all. It was more or less to gauge where I am and have an idea of just how weak I've gotten. It ended up being like when I ran a five-miler a month ago to "ease back into" running, and somehow ran the fastest five miles I have ever done (35:50). Yesterday my max bench press was 250 lbs. I won't lie...I was pretty damn impressed with myself, since the most I EVER did was 275, and that was back when I weighed 210 (I'm now around 165). I should really work WITH my body, if it seems to want to work with me.
Well, I don't know what else to write. Wish I had something profound to say, but I'm not feeling particularly profound lately. Be well.
My brother and I made the trip from Albuquerque to Mapleton, Maine in 43 hours. We alternated driving and sleeping (at one point, I drove 1000 straight miles, which was a new record for me). It was nice to drive all that distance together, and we had a really good time and a lot of laughs.
Here in Maine, it is C-O-L-D cold. It is absurdly cold. I mean, it's just stupid how cold it is. I've only been out to run three or four times, and it's a struggle, because it is so damn cold. I can't stress how unseasonably low the temperatures are. Outside right now it is absolutely arctic.
We have been busy for the past week installing a new heating system in the basement of the house, which we more or less finished today. My brother knows a lot more about this stuff than me, but I'm learning pretty quickly. He didn't know jack about it before, either, and we've come to the conclusion that necessity is not only the mother of invention, but the mother of skill acquisition. A human being has the capacity to store so much knowledge, and a lot of times we box ourselves in with expectations that society places on us or that we place on ourselves. We all have the potential to be renaissance men/women, and I think lack of money to pay someone else combined with a healthy thirst to learn new things helps us along that path. I could be just bullshitting. I do know, however, that my brother and I have learned a LOT of stuff thanks to inheriting this old farmhouse, and it's wonderful in a lot of different ways.
Did I mention that it is really freaking cold here?
I'm probably headed back to New Mexico next week for a 3-month temporary duty assignment with the NM National Guard down on the border with Mexico. It's pretty good money, and employment opportunities in Maine are a little limited right now. It seems silly to have driven all the way here for a couple weeks' stay, but I wouldn't have done anything differently. The trip with my brother, and the time we've spent working and hanging out together over the past days has made it all totally worth it.
Yesterday, just out of morbid curiosity, I decided to see how much I could bench press. I have lifted weights MAYBE 10 times since August, and 0 times since mid January, so I was not expecting much at all. It was more or less to gauge where I am and have an idea of just how weak I've gotten. It ended up being like when I ran a five-miler a month ago to "ease back into" running, and somehow ran the fastest five miles I have ever done (35:50). Yesterday my max bench press was 250 lbs. I won't lie...I was pretty damn impressed with myself, since the most I EVER did was 275, and that was back when I weighed 210 (I'm now around 165). I should really work WITH my body, if it seems to want to work with me.
Well, I don't know what else to write. Wish I had something profound to say, but I'm not feeling particularly profound lately. Be well.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Back in the Five-Oh-Filthy
I got back into Albuquerque on Thursday evening at 5pm Mountain time, which means I was in transit for a total of 23 hours. I'm used to the long trips by now, so the time went by reasonably quickly. I had to wait 3 hours in both Washington and Denver, but Denver had free WiFi, so it was not that bad. The flight from Buenos Aires to Washington was only about half full, so I had room to stretch out and ended up sleeping very well. As usual, there was a selection of movies available to watch, but I didn't even bother. Southbound customers had both The King's Speech and True Grit as options. Northbound customers like me? Transformer-type garbage. Anyway, I had tired myself out during the day (I had a private tour of the Congress building with my good friend Gabriel), so I slept like a rock on the plane. The trip was very uneventful.
Here in Albuquerque I'm staying with my friends Mary and Julio, who are awesome hosts. My brother will get here on Thursday, and we will take off. In the meantime, I've been trying to leave things in order here in New Mexico as well as get all the stuff I will take with me organized and packed. So far it has been no small task. I have a shit-ton of books, and I just don't like the idea of parting with any of them. Primarily what I have to take with me are books and clothes (including all the stuff the military has issued me, which is way more than I remembered), but the books are going to be priority. I really think that with some creative packing I can fit it all, but we'll see.
It seems that transferring to Maine from the New Mexico National Guard will be no problem at all. At least that's the way the readiness NCO made it sound, and he seems to be on top of his game, so I have no reason to doubt him. We'll see how it works out.
I just realized I don't have that much to write about. If anything comes up, you'll be the first to know, and I'll blog from the road. That's it. The end.
Here in Albuquerque I'm staying with my friends Mary and Julio, who are awesome hosts. My brother will get here on Thursday, and we will take off. In the meantime, I've been trying to leave things in order here in New Mexico as well as get all the stuff I will take with me organized and packed. So far it has been no small task. I have a shit-ton of books, and I just don't like the idea of parting with any of them. Primarily what I have to take with me are books and clothes (including all the stuff the military has issued me, which is way more than I remembered), but the books are going to be priority. I really think that with some creative packing I can fit it all, but we'll see.
It seems that transferring to Maine from the New Mexico National Guard will be no problem at all. At least that's the way the readiness NCO made it sound, and he seems to be on top of his game, so I have no reason to doubt him. We'll see how it works out.
I just realized I don't have that much to write about. If anything comes up, you'll be the first to know, and I'll blog from the road. That's it. The end.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Stroll along Rivadavia
This morning, as planned, I met up with my buddy Benedict at the Plaza de Mayo so we could walk the 116 blocks (9.5 miles) that Avenida Rivadavia courses through Buenos Aires proper. After having some medialunas (and a Cindor for me...god, I love Cindor), we set out with our cameras to document the changing face of the city. Since we were planning on passing through some ostensibly "complicated" neighborhoods, we didn't take much money.
Within 4 blocks I had my very first "hassled by a cop" experience in Argentina. I was stopping at the corner of each block, taking a picture down the block, just as I'd planned. Unwittingly, I took a picture of the Israeli embassy, and there was a cop nearby watching. I had no idea that the Israeli embassy was there, I was just taking a picture. Anyway, the cop motioned us to go over to him, so we did. Now, the first thing you should bear in mind as you read this is that, on face value, I had no problem with the police officer wanting information from us. To begin with, after five months of training in military intelligence, I realize very well that people taking pictures of such important buildings are, whether they like it or not, "individuals of interest." Additionally, there have been terror attacks on Jewish sites here in Buenos Aires, including the Israeli embassy...pretty significant attacks in which many people died. So, I had no problem with the officer doing his job. But, of course, he couldn't just do his job and be decent about it. Below you will find a fairly accurate recreation of the highlights of my conversation with this representative of Buenos Aires's finest:
Officer: Why did you take that picture?
Me: Oh, I'm going to walk the entire length of Rivadavia and take pictures of each block.
Officer: Well, you just took a picture of the Israeli embassy, and there's a bank there, too.
Me: Oh! I had no idea the embassy was even there!
Officer: Where are you from?
Me: I'm from the US.
Officer: Do you have your passport with you?
Me: Actually, no. I never carry it with me. Should I?
Officer: (just gives me a look like I'm a complete idiot)
Me: Well, I have it back at my apartment. But since we're going to be passing through some complicated neighborhoods today, I didn't bring it with me, because I didn't want it to be stolen.
This is where things took a turn for the worse.
Officer: So the US doesn't issue passports, huh?
Me: (starting to get annoyed, because I'd obviously just finished telling him my goddamned passport was in my apartment) Yes, of course the US issues passports.
Officer: So, what? You think just because you're an American, and this is just Argentina, you don't have to carry a passport with you?
Me: (completely pissed off, now) Absolutely not.
Officer: So? What's your explanation?
Me: I already gave it to you. Let me ask you a question, officer. Do Argentines not take photos when they go on vacation? Or am I the first tourist you've seen here with a camera? Help me understand this, please.
Officer: (annoyed that I both speak Spanish and am not getting all nerved out and ready to offer him a bribe - or my camera) You know, if I want to I can take you into the station and make you prove who you are.
Me: (all patience gone) Oh, please, please do. Take me right down to the station if you want to make yourself look like an asshole. I have a half a dozen lawyer friends here, and I'm sure they'd be happy to come down and help me prove myself. Please, let's go right now. It'll make a good story for later.
Officer: Just get out of here.
Why, oh why, oh WHY could this guy not just do his job in a professional manner, explained his concern regarding me taking a photo of the embassy, and just let us resolve the problem in a civil way? It would have been too easy, because I was very, very sympathetic to his cause. But no, he had to be a jackass, and I've had it up to my eyeballs with jackasses. Plus, somewhere in the back of my mind I was thinking about how he's probably gotten off on making other, more Spanish-and-pelota challenged travelers quake in their boots, and it just got under my skin. Anyway, all was well that ended well, but seriously, WTF?
The landscape of the city shifted as we moved along the avenue, but so did the price structure. I could not believe it! A choripan (sausage sandwich) will probably run you anywhere from $3.50 to $5.00 in the more upscale/touristy neighborhoods. At a stand right there at the edge of the city, as we were finishing up our journey? $1. One. Dollar.
Anyway, it was a nice walk, I enjoyed it immensely, probably got a little sunburn, and got some exercise. I am uploading the photos on Facebook, and am still thinking of how I might display them in "hard copy."
Here is a picture of a classic automobile we saw towards the end:
Hasta la próxima...
Within 4 blocks I had my very first "hassled by a cop" experience in Argentina. I was stopping at the corner of each block, taking a picture down the block, just as I'd planned. Unwittingly, I took a picture of the Israeli embassy, and there was a cop nearby watching. I had no idea that the Israeli embassy was there, I was just taking a picture. Anyway, the cop motioned us to go over to him, so we did. Now, the first thing you should bear in mind as you read this is that, on face value, I had no problem with the police officer wanting information from us. To begin with, after five months of training in military intelligence, I realize very well that people taking pictures of such important buildings are, whether they like it or not, "individuals of interest." Additionally, there have been terror attacks on Jewish sites here in Buenos Aires, including the Israeli embassy...pretty significant attacks in which many people died. So, I had no problem with the officer doing his job. But, of course, he couldn't just do his job and be decent about it. Below you will find a fairly accurate recreation of the highlights of my conversation with this representative of Buenos Aires's finest:
Officer: Why did you take that picture?
Me: Oh, I'm going to walk the entire length of Rivadavia and take pictures of each block.
Officer: Well, you just took a picture of the Israeli embassy, and there's a bank there, too.
Me: Oh! I had no idea the embassy was even there!
Officer: Where are you from?
Me: I'm from the US.
Officer: Do you have your passport with you?
Me: Actually, no. I never carry it with me. Should I?
Officer: (just gives me a look like I'm a complete idiot)
Me: Well, I have it back at my apartment. But since we're going to be passing through some complicated neighborhoods today, I didn't bring it with me, because I didn't want it to be stolen.
This is where things took a turn for the worse.
Officer: So the US doesn't issue passports, huh?
Me: (starting to get annoyed, because I'd obviously just finished telling him my goddamned passport was in my apartment) Yes, of course the US issues passports.
Officer: So, what? You think just because you're an American, and this is just Argentina, you don't have to carry a passport with you?
Me: (completely pissed off, now) Absolutely not.
Officer: So? What's your explanation?
Me: I already gave it to you. Let me ask you a question, officer. Do Argentines not take photos when they go on vacation? Or am I the first tourist you've seen here with a camera? Help me understand this, please.
Officer: (annoyed that I both speak Spanish and am not getting all nerved out and ready to offer him a bribe - or my camera) You know, if I want to I can take you into the station and make you prove who you are.
Me: (all patience gone) Oh, please, please do. Take me right down to the station if you want to make yourself look like an asshole. I have a half a dozen lawyer friends here, and I'm sure they'd be happy to come down and help me prove myself. Please, let's go right now. It'll make a good story for later.
Officer: Just get out of here.
Why, oh why, oh WHY could this guy not just do his job in a professional manner, explained his concern regarding me taking a photo of the embassy, and just let us resolve the problem in a civil way? It would have been too easy, because I was very, very sympathetic to his cause. But no, he had to be a jackass, and I've had it up to my eyeballs with jackasses. Plus, somewhere in the back of my mind I was thinking about how he's probably gotten off on making other, more Spanish-and-pelota challenged travelers quake in their boots, and it just got under my skin. Anyway, all was well that ended well, but seriously, WTF?
The landscape of the city shifted as we moved along the avenue, but so did the price structure. I could not believe it! A choripan (sausage sandwich) will probably run you anywhere from $3.50 to $5.00 in the more upscale/touristy neighborhoods. At a stand right there at the edge of the city, as we were finishing up our journey? $1. One. Dollar.
Anyway, it was a nice walk, I enjoyed it immensely, probably got a little sunburn, and got some exercise. I am uploading the photos on Facebook, and am still thinking of how I might display them in "hard copy."
Here is a picture of a classic automobile we saw towards the end:
Hasta la próxima...
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Last week in Buenos Aires
I'm down to my last six days here in Buenos Aires. Usually, as I get closer and closer to leaving, I just get increasingly more sad. This time around I have pretty mixed feelings, but only because of other decisions I've made. Up until a few days ago, I was just experiencing the usual sensation of dreading the return to New Mexico. However, since I've decided to move back to Maine rather than stay in Albuquerque, I'm feeling a lot better about leaving Buenos Aires (thought still very sad).
Yesterday was overall a very good day for me. It started off a little rocky, because I have been eating like crap, and being extremely lazy with my exercise routine (comparatively lazy, at least) and was pretty disappointed with myself. As easy as it is to say, "Well, look, you're on vacation, you're taking advantage of the time you have to do other things, and eat the kind of stuff you can't get in the states", I am all too aware of how easy it is to get f-a-t FAT again, so I decided to move my ass over to the park for a run. It was meant to be an "easing back into things" 5-miler (the round trip walk to the park, at about 5.5 miles, was going to be an added bonus). As it turns out, I ended up running my fastest ever five miles. I'm not sure how that happened, but I'll take it. It's a good sign of things to come, I hope.
After the run, I went over to Recoleta Cemetery to take some photos. I was mostly interested in the statues, and anything else that might catch my eye. One picture, in particular, came out pretty nice, I think. I wasn't sure whether or not it would, but have a look for yourself:
The sun was right behind the statue's head, and I couldn't tell if it was going to look very good when I took the photo, but I think it's interesting.
Tomorrow I'm going to do another photo-project. I don't know if you all know, but Buenos Aires not only has the widest street in the world (9 de Julio) but also the longest (Rivadavia). A couple years ago I walked the length of Rivadavia from where it starts (near the Plaza de Mayo) to the outermost edge of the capital (the street continues well into the province). It was stunning to see how much the city changed as I walked along, so tomorrow I'm planning on taking a photo of each block as I walk the 10 miles or so that the avenue runs here in the capital. Then, I'll try to figure out a way to display them that gives you that sense of spatial continuity (and, thereby, showing the change). Hopefully it turns out to be as interesting as I think it will. My German buddy, Benedict, is thankfully crazy enough to accompany me.
So, yes, I decided that, since I'm going to be waiting anywhere from 6 months to a year to start my new job, I might as well be unemployed and looking for work in lovely, idyllic Aroostook County, Maine in my own house, rather than unemployed in filthy, dirty Albuquerque renting an apartment and spending what little savings I have. The only upside to being in Albuquerque, I think, is a stronger job-market, but there are a few things I can do in Maine, and I really like the idea of settling into my own place for a year (I say my own place, but it really belongs to my mother, my brother, and me). I'm looking forward to growing some vegetables, fishing, continuing to work on the house with my brother, and just generally being "home" and near family. Just taking it easy, doing what I can for work to get by for a while, and then engaging with the big wide world again. Anyway, here's a picture of the house:
I can't wait for spring!
Anyway, gonna go now, more later. Thanks for reading.
Yesterday was overall a very good day for me. It started off a little rocky, because I have been eating like crap, and being extremely lazy with my exercise routine (comparatively lazy, at least) and was pretty disappointed with myself. As easy as it is to say, "Well, look, you're on vacation, you're taking advantage of the time you have to do other things, and eat the kind of stuff you can't get in the states", I am all too aware of how easy it is to get f-a-t FAT again, so I decided to move my ass over to the park for a run. It was meant to be an "easing back into things" 5-miler (the round trip walk to the park, at about 5.5 miles, was going to be an added bonus). As it turns out, I ended up running my fastest ever five miles. I'm not sure how that happened, but I'll take it. It's a good sign of things to come, I hope.
After the run, I went over to Recoleta Cemetery to take some photos. I was mostly interested in the statues, and anything else that might catch my eye. One picture, in particular, came out pretty nice, I think. I wasn't sure whether or not it would, but have a look for yourself:
The sun was right behind the statue's head, and I couldn't tell if it was going to look very good when I took the photo, but I think it's interesting.
Tomorrow I'm going to do another photo-project. I don't know if you all know, but Buenos Aires not only has the widest street in the world (9 de Julio) but also the longest (Rivadavia). A couple years ago I walked the length of Rivadavia from where it starts (near the Plaza de Mayo) to the outermost edge of the capital (the street continues well into the province). It was stunning to see how much the city changed as I walked along, so tomorrow I'm planning on taking a photo of each block as I walk the 10 miles or so that the avenue runs here in the capital. Then, I'll try to figure out a way to display them that gives you that sense of spatial continuity (and, thereby, showing the change). Hopefully it turns out to be as interesting as I think it will. My German buddy, Benedict, is thankfully crazy enough to accompany me.
So, yes, I decided that, since I'm going to be waiting anywhere from 6 months to a year to start my new job, I might as well be unemployed and looking for work in lovely, idyllic Aroostook County, Maine in my own house, rather than unemployed in filthy, dirty Albuquerque renting an apartment and spending what little savings I have. The only upside to being in Albuquerque, I think, is a stronger job-market, but there are a few things I can do in Maine, and I really like the idea of settling into my own place for a year (I say my own place, but it really belongs to my mother, my brother, and me). I'm looking forward to growing some vegetables, fishing, continuing to work on the house with my brother, and just generally being "home" and near family. Just taking it easy, doing what I can for work to get by for a while, and then engaging with the big wide world again. Anyway, here's a picture of the house:
I can't wait for spring!
Anyway, gonna go now, more later. Thanks for reading.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Only in Buenos Aires
This evening I went out for dinner with my friends Tom and Geraldine at a nice spot in Palermo called Las Cabras. We met at 9, had a lovely meal together, and left around 11. Tom and Geraldine took a cab and, having firmed up plans to meet Tom in the morning for a final run before he and Geraldine depart Buenos Aires tomorrow evening, I started towards home, about a 1.5 mile walk through a very safe neighborhood, most of it along Avenida Santa Fe, one of the main arteries of the city.
As I rounded the corner from Fitz Roy onto Santa Fe, I saw a couple running towards me, pushing a shopping cart between them, and laughing. They were youngish, and the woman was carrying a baby under her arm. They were accompanied by a scrawny looking dog. They were obviously pretty poor, and what many here in the city might refer to as negros de mierda. The term "negro" in Argentina has no real racial connotation, but there certainly are undertones of classism involved. Anyway, I remember thinking that their childcare skills needed some serious help, as the bouncing up and down as they ran along could not have been doing this poor baby any good, and it looked pretty distressed and bewildered. So was I, I guess.
When I say the woman was carrying the baby, I mean to say she was carrying it the way a running back might carry a football, though with significantly less protection. I rather suspected that if she had "fumbled the ball" she'd have been more than happy to let the opposing team take it and run it in for a touchdown, or wherever else they might want to take it. Although I count myself among the left leaning of the world, I recognize that this kind of criticism is likely to invite a knee-jerk reaction from a lot of those who believe any criticism of a "subaltern" group is absolute sacrilege, and that whatever kind of destructive behavior those people might exhibit is surely the fault of some privileged white male sitting somewhere, and not the fault of the underprivileged individual in question. To some degree, and in many cases, I can get onboard with that...to some degree. Life is complex, social problems are complex, cause-and-effect-and-cause-and-effect is complex. I get it. I, however, choose to assign the lion's share of this woman treating her child like a ragdoll to the woman herself.
Anyway, it was a disturbing sight, and I wondered what could possibly have been the hurry, and assumed they were probably trying to catch a train or something. In other words, I gave them the most possible benefit of the doubt I could with a good conscience. And then I saw Fernando come around the corner.
Of course, at the time I did not know this stranger's name was Fernando. All I knew was that he was covered in blood, it looked to be coming from a gash on his head, and he was shouting, "Which way did they go? Which way did that cowardly little bitch go?" Suddenly, I realized the two parent-of-the-year candidates were not running for the train, but had instead just committed an assault and were fleeing the scene. I yelled, "They just ran past, there they go!" and, as I am wont to do (and much to the chagrin of...everyone?) I joined in the chase.
This is the way I look at it: This is a city full of people who, understandably, abide by the mantra "no te metas" (don't get involved). Just a couple days ago I had seen a typical display of this as people walked past a boy beating and robbing another boy on the street. Let me reiterate that, intellectually, I absolutely understand this approach. The city, while not that dangerous, certainly has enough dangerous people lurking around to make it a real risk to "get involved." So I really can't criticize those who prioritize their own personal safety in the face of potential danger. I'm just not one of those people.
What's more, I think that if we let those who are willing to do harm to others have their way without putting up a fight, we're all doomed to be victims of those who are more willing to do violence. And that idea sickens me. Put aside the more global ramifications of that statement for now (and I'm well aware of them, trust me). I'm talking about on a person-by-person basis. If we're all willing to roll over and play dead when those aggressive individuals prey on us, and if we're all willing to turn the other way when someone else is being preyed upon, we're essentially giving up. Again, I get it. I understand the value of personal safety, and by no means am I trying to say that I don't value my own. What I am saying, however, is that I'm not willing to be a victim, and if I can, I want those would-be predators to understand that there are those of us out there who will, if struck, strike back. And there are those of us who, should we perceive a situation in which an innocent individual is being victimized, are willing to step in.
In this case, when I saw Fernando, covered in blood, running after his assailant, I thought, "Here's a man after my own heart." We chased this guy a solid couple of blocks (Fernando lagging behind, being injured, older, and slightly heavier) when I saw him pick up a glass bottle and turn back to threaten us. I was quickly gaining on him (the street punks who can outrun me, I imagine, are few and far between), but when I saw this, fell back a little. He continued running, and I continued running after him, but at a safer distance while I looked for my own weapon. After a couple blocks of winding west, north, west through Palermo, I found an empty wine bottle, and picked up the pace, closing the distance. Fernando was quite a ways behind, yelling at the "fucking coward" to stop and face the music. The guy rounded a corner, I rounded the same corner a few seconds later, but he had disappeared. Fernando caught up, panting, exhausted, and bleeding like a stuck pig. We walked together back to Avenida Santa Fe, and then back the way we had come. We crossed his attacker's "mujer", and Fernando informed her that she was living with a little piece of shit coward, and that when she was 40 years old, she could remember this night, and tell her child what a pussy his father was. Pussy in all capital letters, he clarified.
We walked together for a few blocks, and he filled me in on what had happened. He was standing, waiting for the bus and talking to his wife on the phone, when the young man and woman had approached him to ask him for some money, the man holding the baby. He told them he didn't have any, at which point the man sucker punched him, and an unseen assailant hit him over the head with a stick, opening the gash. Fernando, an ex-Marine, did not go down, but instead hit back, causing one of the brave young heroes to run away, and then delivered a kick to the other's kidney, causing him to hand the baby off to the woman (yes, he had punched Fernando WHILE holding the baby) and run. Ostensibly, the woman took off beside him and that is, more or less, where I entered the story.
Fernando was absolutely incredulous that anyone had helped him at all, and was extremely grateful, inviting me a coffee with him after he changed shirts and washed up. I gladly accepted. When he found out I was an American on vacation, he was even more flabbergasted, and showed his appreciation with a pretty manly hug. We sat for about an hour at a cafe and talked.
Like most Argentines that I know, he was very conscious of his heritage, and came from Dutch blood on his mother's side and Arabic on his father's. He had dropped out of high school and joined the marines, serving 5 years as an infantryman before getting out. He now worked as a waiter at a restaurant in Belgrano, and was just on his way home from work when he was attacked. We talked for quite a while about Argentine history, and I was surprised (but at the same time, not so surprised) by his grasp of both 19th and 20th century immigration history, and different conflicts the country had been involved in. This conversation branched into a discussion of various aspects of Argentine culture, child-rearing, and the economic interests of the British in Las Islas Malvinas, all of which he had very interesting and well-informed perspectives on. It was a fascinating conversation, one that you couldn't have with many high-school dropout waiters. But, you know, this is Buenos Aires.
As we left the cafe and walked back to his bus stop, he thanked me again, pointing out that in this city, it is a rare thing that a complete stranger comes to your aid. He invited me to go eat at the restaurant he works in tomorrow night, which I'll be sure to take him up on. I thanked him for the coffee, and told him I was glad to meet him. It's not every day, I said, that you meet such a nice guy under those kinds of circumstances. He laughed, gave me another hug, got on the bus, and said he'd see me tomorrow, and maybe after we got off work, we could see if those fucking cowards weren't lurking around the neighborhood again.
As I rounded the corner from Fitz Roy onto Santa Fe, I saw a couple running towards me, pushing a shopping cart between them, and laughing. They were youngish, and the woman was carrying a baby under her arm. They were accompanied by a scrawny looking dog. They were obviously pretty poor, and what many here in the city might refer to as negros de mierda. The term "negro" in Argentina has no real racial connotation, but there certainly are undertones of classism involved. Anyway, I remember thinking that their childcare skills needed some serious help, as the bouncing up and down as they ran along could not have been doing this poor baby any good, and it looked pretty distressed and bewildered. So was I, I guess.
When I say the woman was carrying the baby, I mean to say she was carrying it the way a running back might carry a football, though with significantly less protection. I rather suspected that if she had "fumbled the ball" she'd have been more than happy to let the opposing team take it and run it in for a touchdown, or wherever else they might want to take it. Although I count myself among the left leaning of the world, I recognize that this kind of criticism is likely to invite a knee-jerk reaction from a lot of those who believe any criticism of a "subaltern" group is absolute sacrilege, and that whatever kind of destructive behavior those people might exhibit is surely the fault of some privileged white male sitting somewhere, and not the fault of the underprivileged individual in question. To some degree, and in many cases, I can get onboard with that...to some degree. Life is complex, social problems are complex, cause-and-effect-and-cause-and-effect is complex. I get it. I, however, choose to assign the lion's share of this woman treating her child like a ragdoll to the woman herself.
Anyway, it was a disturbing sight, and I wondered what could possibly have been the hurry, and assumed they were probably trying to catch a train or something. In other words, I gave them the most possible benefit of the doubt I could with a good conscience. And then I saw Fernando come around the corner.
Of course, at the time I did not know this stranger's name was Fernando. All I knew was that he was covered in blood, it looked to be coming from a gash on his head, and he was shouting, "Which way did they go? Which way did that cowardly little bitch go?" Suddenly, I realized the two parent-of-the-year candidates were not running for the train, but had instead just committed an assault and were fleeing the scene. I yelled, "They just ran past, there they go!" and, as I am wont to do (and much to the chagrin of...everyone?) I joined in the chase.
This is the way I look at it: This is a city full of people who, understandably, abide by the mantra "no te metas" (don't get involved). Just a couple days ago I had seen a typical display of this as people walked past a boy beating and robbing another boy on the street. Let me reiterate that, intellectually, I absolutely understand this approach. The city, while not that dangerous, certainly has enough dangerous people lurking around to make it a real risk to "get involved." So I really can't criticize those who prioritize their own personal safety in the face of potential danger. I'm just not one of those people.
What's more, I think that if we let those who are willing to do harm to others have their way without putting up a fight, we're all doomed to be victims of those who are more willing to do violence. And that idea sickens me. Put aside the more global ramifications of that statement for now (and I'm well aware of them, trust me). I'm talking about on a person-by-person basis. If we're all willing to roll over and play dead when those aggressive individuals prey on us, and if we're all willing to turn the other way when someone else is being preyed upon, we're essentially giving up. Again, I get it. I understand the value of personal safety, and by no means am I trying to say that I don't value my own. What I am saying, however, is that I'm not willing to be a victim, and if I can, I want those would-be predators to understand that there are those of us out there who will, if struck, strike back. And there are those of us who, should we perceive a situation in which an innocent individual is being victimized, are willing to step in.
In this case, when I saw Fernando, covered in blood, running after his assailant, I thought, "Here's a man after my own heart." We chased this guy a solid couple of blocks (Fernando lagging behind, being injured, older, and slightly heavier) when I saw him pick up a glass bottle and turn back to threaten us. I was quickly gaining on him (the street punks who can outrun me, I imagine, are few and far between), but when I saw this, fell back a little. He continued running, and I continued running after him, but at a safer distance while I looked for my own weapon. After a couple blocks of winding west, north, west through Palermo, I found an empty wine bottle, and picked up the pace, closing the distance. Fernando was quite a ways behind, yelling at the "fucking coward" to stop and face the music. The guy rounded a corner, I rounded the same corner a few seconds later, but he had disappeared. Fernando caught up, panting, exhausted, and bleeding like a stuck pig. We walked together back to Avenida Santa Fe, and then back the way we had come. We crossed his attacker's "mujer", and Fernando informed her that she was living with a little piece of shit coward, and that when she was 40 years old, she could remember this night, and tell her child what a pussy his father was. Pussy in all capital letters, he clarified.
We walked together for a few blocks, and he filled me in on what had happened. He was standing, waiting for the bus and talking to his wife on the phone, when the young man and woman had approached him to ask him for some money, the man holding the baby. He told them he didn't have any, at which point the man sucker punched him, and an unseen assailant hit him over the head with a stick, opening the gash. Fernando, an ex-Marine, did not go down, but instead hit back, causing one of the brave young heroes to run away, and then delivered a kick to the other's kidney, causing him to hand the baby off to the woman (yes, he had punched Fernando WHILE holding the baby) and run. Ostensibly, the woman took off beside him and that is, more or less, where I entered the story.
Fernando was absolutely incredulous that anyone had helped him at all, and was extremely grateful, inviting me a coffee with him after he changed shirts and washed up. I gladly accepted. When he found out I was an American on vacation, he was even more flabbergasted, and showed his appreciation with a pretty manly hug. We sat for about an hour at a cafe and talked.
Like most Argentines that I know, he was very conscious of his heritage, and came from Dutch blood on his mother's side and Arabic on his father's. He had dropped out of high school and joined the marines, serving 5 years as an infantryman before getting out. He now worked as a waiter at a restaurant in Belgrano, and was just on his way home from work when he was attacked. We talked for quite a while about Argentine history, and I was surprised (but at the same time, not so surprised) by his grasp of both 19th and 20th century immigration history, and different conflicts the country had been involved in. This conversation branched into a discussion of various aspects of Argentine culture, child-rearing, and the economic interests of the British in Las Islas Malvinas, all of which he had very interesting and well-informed perspectives on. It was a fascinating conversation, one that you couldn't have with many high-school dropout waiters. But, you know, this is Buenos Aires.
As we left the cafe and walked back to his bus stop, he thanked me again, pointing out that in this city, it is a rare thing that a complete stranger comes to your aid. He invited me to go eat at the restaurant he works in tomorrow night, which I'll be sure to take him up on. I thanked him for the coffee, and told him I was glad to meet him. It's not every day, I said, that you meet such a nice guy under those kinds of circumstances. He laughed, gave me another hug, got on the bus, and said he'd see me tomorrow, and maybe after we got off work, we could see if those fucking cowards weren't lurking around the neighborhood again.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Little Boy from Fuerte Apache
Look, unless I can come up with some kind of gimmick, I have to accept at least one of the following realities:
1. I'm not interesting enough to regularly write a blog, or
2. I'm not self-indulgent enough to regularly write a blog.
Either way, as you can see, I'm having no more luck this time around at maintaining a blog than I did the first couple tries. Ah, well.
Anyway, last night I went to Villa Devoto to go to the movies with a friend. I screwed up and got off the bus at the wrong corner (though, luckily, only a couple blocks away from where I was supposed to get off). As I was waiting there, I saw what appeared to be two boys playing on the other side of the street. They appeared to be wrestling around. I watched with more than a little curiosity, having enjoyed a childhood wrestling match or two myself.
Since I'm now a "trained" intelligence analyst, I'm pretty conscious of a lot of the mental processes that most people unconsciously go through when trying to evaluate something, whether it be a difficult problem, a news story, or simply a puzzling situation they are witnessing first hand. Watching these two boys go at it was no exception. Let me give you a blow-by-blow of my analysis:
Hey, look at those two little kids wrestling. I remember when I used to do that!
But, it's kind of dangerous for them to be wrestling there right on the corner with the traffic passing by so closely. What if one of them falls in the street?
Wait a minute...there's a grassy park right there, why aren't they just playing in the park?
Shit, they might actually be fighting. They're both really little, maybe 8 or 10
years old. They can't hurt each other that badly, but maybe I should cross the
street and break them up anyway.
But wait, there are people over there, responsible adults, just walking by without saying or doing anything. I really haven't been in this neighborhood before, maybe this is just how kids play here.
Besides, there´s no yelling or anything going on. They're obviously just having
fun.
Oh wait, this one is pulling that one's shirt off...and now he's turning his pocket inside out...and now he's taking his money. And now he's kicking him and crossing the street. Damn it, I should have gone and broken it up.
The miniature robber crossed the street, and started to walk by me. "Hey, kid, what are you doing?" I ask him, so he starts to run. I started to run after him but then thought, "What am I going to do? Beat up a 10 year old and re-steal the money?" so I just let him take off. I instead turned my attention to the little boy across the street, trying to get himself dressed on the corner.
When I reached him, I saw that he was quite a bit smaller than his adversary, which I hadn't noticed when they were just a tangled ball of little kids a few moments before. He was crying, swearing at himself. I asked him what happened, and he told me the bigger boy had just grabbed him and told him to hand over everything he had, and he'd tried to tell him that he didn't have anything, and that's what prompted the beating. I asked him if he lived nearby, and he told me he lived in Fuerte Apache, which is, depending on who you ask, the most dangerous neighborhood in all of the Buenos Aires urban area. I asked him how much money he lost, and he told me $19 pesos (a little less than 5 bucks). He had probably already sized up the situation and was lying through his teeth to me, and I was conscious of this but didn't care. I took $19 out of my wallet and handed it to him, and told him to be safe on his way home (I sure as hell wasn't going to walk him to Fuerte Apache, even if I hadn't had arrangements to meet a friend).
It's hard telling what he'd had to do to get that money. Although there are some pretty young little criminals, he obviously didn't have a weapon and was far too small to present a credible threat to someone, unarmed as he was. He probably had just begged it, or sold gum, or something. The typical stuff that little poor kids have to do here that will almost certainly prevent them from getting a proper education to ensure that their own kids won't be the victims of a Liliputian street-corner assault and robbery 15 or 20 years from now. $19 pesos is a pittance, but for a little boy, especially from Fuerte Apache, it was probably quite a bit, and I got the feeling that he was expected to go home with something to show for the day he'd spent out and about.
He didn't thank me for the money, but he seemed a little relieved and had stopped crying. As he was walking away he stopped, turned back to me and said, "You sure made that asshole run!" He smiled, then turned back around and headed home to Fuerte Apache.
1. I'm not interesting enough to regularly write a blog, or
2. I'm not self-indulgent enough to regularly write a blog.
Either way, as you can see, I'm having no more luck this time around at maintaining a blog than I did the first couple tries. Ah, well.
Anyway, last night I went to Villa Devoto to go to the movies with a friend. I screwed up and got off the bus at the wrong corner (though, luckily, only a couple blocks away from where I was supposed to get off). As I was waiting there, I saw what appeared to be two boys playing on the other side of the street. They appeared to be wrestling around. I watched with more than a little curiosity, having enjoyed a childhood wrestling match or two myself.
Since I'm now a "trained" intelligence analyst, I'm pretty conscious of a lot of the mental processes that most people unconsciously go through when trying to evaluate something, whether it be a difficult problem, a news story, or simply a puzzling situation they are witnessing first hand. Watching these two boys go at it was no exception. Let me give you a blow-by-blow of my analysis:
years old. They can't hurt each other that badly, but maybe I should cross the
street and break them up anyway.
fun.
The miniature robber crossed the street, and started to walk by me. "Hey, kid, what are you doing?" I ask him, so he starts to run. I started to run after him but then thought, "What am I going to do? Beat up a 10 year old and re-steal the money?" so I just let him take off. I instead turned my attention to the little boy across the street, trying to get himself dressed on the corner.
When I reached him, I saw that he was quite a bit smaller than his adversary, which I hadn't noticed when they were just a tangled ball of little kids a few moments before. He was crying, swearing at himself. I asked him what happened, and he told me the bigger boy had just grabbed him and told him to hand over everything he had, and he'd tried to tell him that he didn't have anything, and that's what prompted the beating. I asked him if he lived nearby, and he told me he lived in Fuerte Apache, which is, depending on who you ask, the most dangerous neighborhood in all of the Buenos Aires urban area. I asked him how much money he lost, and he told me $19 pesos (a little less than 5 bucks). He had probably already sized up the situation and was lying through his teeth to me, and I was conscious of this but didn't care. I took $19 out of my wallet and handed it to him, and told him to be safe on his way home (I sure as hell wasn't going to walk him to Fuerte Apache, even if I hadn't had arrangements to meet a friend).
It's hard telling what he'd had to do to get that money. Although there are some pretty young little criminals, he obviously didn't have a weapon and was far too small to present a credible threat to someone, unarmed as he was. He probably had just begged it, or sold gum, or something. The typical stuff that little poor kids have to do here that will almost certainly prevent them from getting a proper education to ensure that their own kids won't be the victims of a Liliputian street-corner assault and robbery 15 or 20 years from now. $19 pesos is a pittance, but for a little boy, especially from Fuerte Apache, it was probably quite a bit, and I got the feeling that he was expected to go home with something to show for the day he'd spent out and about.
He didn't thank me for the money, but he seemed a little relieved and had stopped crying. As he was walking away he stopped, turned back to me and said, "You sure made that asshole run!" He smiled, then turned back around and headed home to Fuerte Apache.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
2011 Report: One Day In
Well, based on the sketchiest of preliminary data culled from a very small sample size, 2011 is shaping up to be better for me than 2010, if only by default. Despite not really doing much of anything other than reading and talking with some friends, I had a pretty good day. I'm feeling pretty optimistic about the future. Although I'm not sure it's so bright that I've gotta wear shades, I have a good overall feeling about this year.
For one thing, I'm actively trying to make small adjustments to my way of thinking about life. Near the end of 2010 it became obvious to me that my life was not going to be the way I once thought it was. Because I was excited about what I thought it was going to be, this realization was pretty much a bummer. I spent more than enough time ruminating on this particular bummer, trying to figure out what mistakes I'd made and take responsibility for them, and resolving not to make them again. I'm extremely analytical by nature, as well as honest with myself, so I think that rumination process was pretty successful for me. It also allowed me to see the things I'd done right which, in the final analysis, were not inconsiderable. So, now that I'm (more or less) done with that, it's time to stop dwelling on what could have been or what I wanted my life to be, and start re-creating my vision for the future...at least my own personal future. That's kind of liberating.
Usually as I write these posts, I'll go back and edit them, not so much for content as for the flow of the words, little typos, whatever. I'm not going to re-read the previous paragraph, because I think I'd vomit from the ham-handed cliche of it all, but I really believe it to be true, so there it stays.
I'm really excited to be headed back to Buenos Aires for a couple months, despite it being the "scene of the crime", if you will. I have a couple interesting projects I'm planning on working on, and some great friends - both old and new - that I'm looking forward to seeing and spending time with. I'm also excited about getting back here:
That's Lago de Regatas in Palermo, which is essentially the center of both my geographical and spiritual universe, crazy as that might sound. It's there that I started running in late 2009, and that changed my life in so many ways. I've made that 1.25-mile loop around the lake I don't know how many times and no matter what kind of mood I'm in when I start running, by the time I finish, I always feel like my mental batteries are completely re-charged. Nowadays, a good run anywhere will accomplish that for me, but this little lake...well, it will always be special for me.
Speaking of running, I think I've run out of things to say. I might post a book review later. Something to keep this blog busy, at least.
Thanks for reading.
For one thing, I'm actively trying to make small adjustments to my way of thinking about life. Near the end of 2010 it became obvious to me that my life was not going to be the way I once thought it was. Because I was excited about what I thought it was going to be, this realization was pretty much a bummer. I spent more than enough time ruminating on this particular bummer, trying to figure out what mistakes I'd made and take responsibility for them, and resolving not to make them again. I'm extremely analytical by nature, as well as honest with myself, so I think that rumination process was pretty successful for me. It also allowed me to see the things I'd done right which, in the final analysis, were not inconsiderable. So, now that I'm (more or less) done with that, it's time to stop dwelling on what could have been or what I wanted my life to be, and start re-creating my vision for the future...at least my own personal future. That's kind of liberating.
Usually as I write these posts, I'll go back and edit them, not so much for content as for the flow of the words, little typos, whatever. I'm not going to re-read the previous paragraph, because I think I'd vomit from the ham-handed cliche of it all, but I really believe it to be true, so there it stays.
I'm really excited to be headed back to Buenos Aires for a couple months, despite it being the "scene of the crime", if you will. I have a couple interesting projects I'm planning on working on, and some great friends - both old and new - that I'm looking forward to seeing and spending time with. I'm also excited about getting back here:
That's Lago de Regatas in Palermo, which is essentially the center of both my geographical and spiritual universe, crazy as that might sound. It's there that I started running in late 2009, and that changed my life in so many ways. I've made that 1.25-mile loop around the lake I don't know how many times and no matter what kind of mood I'm in when I start running, by the time I finish, I always feel like my mental batteries are completely re-charged. Nowadays, a good run anywhere will accomplish that for me, but this little lake...well, it will always be special for me.
Speaking of running, I think I've run out of things to say. I might post a book review later. Something to keep this blog busy, at least.
Thanks for reading.
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