Stripped

Tonight.
Radio City.
With the girls (and 1 boy).
Eddie Izzard.

Thank you Lord for Sending Me the F Train?

(That title is a wee shout out to Ms. S.)

Also, this is dramatic and quintessentially New York. I can't think of a worse place to give birth than a subway platform. She's a hero.

Donning my health care advocate hat (so as to justify tooling around on Gothamist in the AM), I read the comments in the Gothamist article. One of these read, "That baby probably got more attention on the subway platform than she would have gotten at Bellvue [Hospital]." Sadly, this may be true. Health care disparities, indeed.

Belated, but Fab, Father's Day Festivities

So my dad's in town today, and usually when he visits I drag him around to schmancy bistros, brunches, and boutiques and he humors me. This time we're doing NYC dad-style.

Lunch: Tiffin-Wallah. Homestyle South Indian cuisine on the East Side.
Movie: Bollywood smash hit, Sarkar Raj, at AMC Empire in Times Square.
Dinner: Panda Garden, the best Chinese place you can see from my apartment window.

All Dad's favorite things, food and Hindi hits!

It's the least I can do since he's taking me furniture shopping in New Jersey tomorrow.

New Feature: Poetry Thursdays

Just for some inspiration to carry us through the week. Lord knows I need it today.


Who Said It Was Simple

There are so many roots to the tree of anger
that sometimes the branches shatter
before they bear.

Sitting in Nedicks
the women rally before they march
discussing the problematic girls
they hire to make them free.
An almost white counterman passes
a waiting brother to serve them first
and the ladies neither notice nor reject
the slighter pleasures of their slavery.
But I who am bound by my mirror
as well as my bed
see causes in colour
as well as sex

and sit here wondering
which me will survive
all these liberations.

-- Audre Lorde

I love women's colleges...

... though of course not for the reasons that most women's college grads love women's colleges. These are certainly institutions of higher education that are susceptible to the same critique regarding race and class as all other elite institutions of learning.

But today, I'm posting from the sunshine drenched Bryn Mawr College, where I am attending a conference of and for very fierce grassroots activists. So, today, I'm soaking in the general delight of women's higher education. I'm also loving and missing my MoHo days with some long-lost fervor. Kisses to all my girls!

Back to the activism...

Grossed Out

Geraldine Ferarro, please just stop.

Sigh.

Plans For My 10,000th Day

I recently found out that sometime between one's 27th and 28th birthdays, we come upon our 10,000th day of existence. You can caluclate that day for yourself on this nifty little website.

So, while I'm hard at work today, the evening will be spent downtown with a dear pal, getting a facial at SpaBelles and then to Dip for girltalk and fondue.

Wheeee! Who says getting older is no fun? Not me!

28 before 28 (Read: Holy shit I'd better get my act together.)

I turned 27 about 6 months ago and it's freaking me out a little. Overall, things are pretty good. I have, however, become a procrastinator in my old age. So I thought I'd change things up a little and be proactive for the remainder of this year.

Here's a list of 28 things I'd like to accomplish before I turn 28. It's ambitious, considering that I've only half a year, but then timidity was never my style.

1. Take a trip, for fun.
2. Learn how to cook my favorite three Indian dishes.
3. Read the People's History of the US.
4. Get 5 articles published.
5. Get a handle on the internaional human rights framework.
6. Buy some paints and a canvas and make something fun.
7. Edit and revise my MA thesis.
8. Get all my books to come and live with me.
9. Do a financial assessment.
10. Actually decorate my office.
11. Create a home filing system and use it.
12. Start a youth health project at work.
13. Read all of Checkov's short stories.
14. Become a PPNYC volunteer.
15. Publish something in an RJ anthology/journal.
17. Read something by Alice Munro.
18. Get to know my parents better.
19. Go to 3 museums/galleries that I've never been to before.
21. Write some things that aren't for work.
22. Go see the Nuyorican Poets Slam.
23. Spend QT with Varun.
24. Take a dance class.
25. Send birthday cards on time.
26. Go home for Diwali.
27. Come up with a thoughtful 5 year plan.
28. Get cable.

Frida in Philly

On Saturday, I took an early morning bus to Philly, bounded up the same steps that Rocky Balboa did in 1976 and waited in line for 45 minutes (despite having pre-paid tickets) wringing my hands in the lobby of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Why all this drama on Saturday morning, you ask? Well, this was the last weekend of the Frida Kahlo exhibit in Philadelphia. Frida is moving on to San Fran in the fall and I'd have hated to miss her when she was so close to home.

Standing in line, the exhibit maitre'd told me that the exhibit was wonderful. "I won't give it away, but you're going to love it," he said. "There are a lot of photographs, I'm not going to tell you anything else." He smirked a knowing smirk and went off to corral another group of Frida lovers into an orderly line. Oh boy, was he right.

The exhibit was wonderful and I saw some of my favorite Frida works, as well as a ton of never-before-released family photos with Frida looking about as fierce as you can imagine. Once I'd become accustomed to the crowd, surprisingly enough, it was a very intimate experience.

The most interesting moment happened when I left the exhibit and wandered into other parts of the museum. It was almost impossible to appreciate the sometime coldness of contemporary and modern art after having been witness to art that was so personal. Dramatic and traumatic at times, but always personal and real. It was hard to relate to Cubism and Dada after that (and you all know how much I love the Dadaists and their funkiness).

It reminded me that intellectual art is always interesting and often beautiful, but visceral art can do something that the intellectual kind: reveal something true and human. That is Frida's legacy.

All in all, a Saturday very well spent.

For Hillary: On Being a Good Diva

Got this in my inbox today. Click. You won't be sorry.

Word.

The Winter [Spring, Summer and Fall] of My Discontent

Many seasons have passed since I last written. I've graduated from UChicago, and now, MA in hand, am working in NYC. Any of you reading this already know the details so I'll spare you. But I'm back here, in cyberland, because somehow, I've missed writing into this vacuum. It's strangely comforting to chronicle for strangers and friends alike. Gives the diarist's dilemma some depth.

With that in mind, I'll just continue to chronicle the life and times of a 27 year-old activist living in the big city. Some posts, inevitably, will recount tales from this previous year. There's some good material there, and I'd hate to lose it. I'm sure you understand.

Oh, and the blog title has changed. It's roots in cement these days, so sand metaphor just didn't seem to fit any longer.

Cheerio dahlings.

I'm Baaaaaack!

Does anyone still read this thing? Well, after a long absence, I'll start posting again. Life is a little boring right now, so I'll think of creative ways to keep you all entertained.


Stay tuned!

Thesis....

...DONE!

What a relief! After a few days of celebration, I'm now back in the middle of my two remaining finals.

The thesis is about the politics of recognition and Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye. Considering the limitations of time and space, I'm happy with the way it turned out. Whether it is a sophisticated bit of argumentation or not still remains to be seen. If nothing else, I have a good sense of what it is like to make an original philosophical claim. Have no delusions though, it is excruciating. Nevertheless, I can't say that I didn't enjoy it. Surprisingly enough.

Regardless, I'm happy to be entering the workforce again. I miss organizing and activism. So here's the APB: send fun and fabulous social justice job postings my way! I'm back on the market!

Woo hoo!

The Final Stretch

If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it.

- Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon


With one week until the thesis is hardbound and turned in, I suffer the brutal reality of time. So, I'll do the only things that I can.

Take a deep breath, keep working, and hope these pages catch flight.

Surfacing, sort of

I've been drowning in this thesis for the past few weeks. I've still got a week and a half to make it into something worth reading - we're in the home stretch!

I'll return to posting soon, I've got some good stories about my last few weeks in the Windy City, a Cinco De Mayo celebration to report on (there were maracas and sombreros, my friends), a talk by Judith Butler to cover (at the reception afterward I had a run in with the famed Ms. Butler herself) and some public fretting to do about where my life leads next!

In the meantime, send me happy thesising thoughts -- I need 'em!

On Messiness

As you write something, in my case it's an MA thesis, you have to become very comfortable with non-linearity. You have to be willing to chase a thought through the muckiness of a nearly-overflowing mind. You have to learn to live with and appreciate messiness. This, I think, is an important life lesson. It's a kind of commitment. Some whacked-out bit of faith -- a belief that the messiness will lead you to something worthwhile. These days, I'm in the middle of that muck. Strung-out on a live wire that may or may not get me fried.

I've finished my first draft. I spent this weekend lazing about, sitting in the sun, near the lake, re-reading some of the texts that are central to my argument. Thinking about things like justice and beauty and political enfranchisement.

What I'm learning is that I have to relinquish a little control. Wallow in the uncertainty. Muddle through the messiness. Slowly. Writing and thinking are things I love to do. But they are certainly not tidy things. They can't be forced or controlled. I imagine that they are like children in these ways. They are stubborn and stomping. But goodness, they're worth it. When it works, and the words come easy, the thoughts seem to fit. When there's something tangible to track on a page that started out blank. Then. Then the messiness that you left in your wake doesn't matter. The trail of untidy thoughts is irrelevant.

Then, it's worth it.

Well, Shit

What a tough day. Considering the debacle at Virginia Tech, I've been in a bit of a funk. Now this.

From the dissent by Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg:

Today's decision is alarming. It refuses to take Casey and Stenberg seriously. It tolerates, indeed applauds federal intervention to ban nationwide a procedure found necessary and proper in certain cases by the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG). It blurs the line, firmly drawn in Casey, between previability and postviability abortions. And, for the first time since Roe, the Court blesses a prohibition with no exception safeguarding a woman's health.

Hell in a handbasket, it seems. Once I collect my thoughts, I might try to actually write something coherent about this. Also, I'm sending all my love and support to my dear friends and colleagues who work on these issues at the frontlines. You all are my heroes and I guess the show must go on. For now, though, I suggest we all look for ways to take it to the streets.

(Temporarily) Liberated

Phew. That was a little ugly, but somehow I managed to get the first draft of the thesis done and sent off to my advisor and preceptor.

In, what can only be called the world's most pathetic celebration, I hopped into bed (which I hadn't seen much of recently) with Ben and Jerry's Half-Baked and a DVD of the Bourne Identity (on loan from a kind neighbor). Now, after 8 consecutive hours of sleep(!), I have made and eaten a proper breakfast and have corn bread baking in the oven. It will be the perfect accompaniment to the black beans and rice I plan to cook for lunch.

Somehow, this post consists of the post-thesis-draft food chronicles.

Anyhow, I'm taking the day off from school. I'll be catching up on Ugly Betty and ameliorating my exhausted brain by watching back episodes of Gilmore Girls and maybe a J-lo flick thrown in for good measure.

Then in the evening, you guessed it, are the perfunctory celebrations with others who are also still reeling from humanistic inquiry - to be held at the local pub. I'm looking forward to seeing my dear colleagues at least a little relaxed and, albeit temporarily, liberated.

Don't wait up.

Roots in a Thesis

I've made it back to Chicago after a jaunt to Western Mass. It was fantastic. Now, I'm on notice with this thesis. A full draft is due next week. Here's goes nothing.

Springtime and Change

It's springtime in Chicago. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and the new quarter began today. And as if that weren't enough, I head to western Mass in a few days to bask in the wonderous, joyous, three-day bonanza that is the CLPP Conference.

Happy happy day.

In honor of all that, here are some words far more eloquent than my own:

"But now that so much is changing, isn't it time for us to change? Couldn't we try to gradually develop and slowly take upon ourselves, little by little, our part in the great task of love? We have been spared all its trouble, and that is why it has slipped in among our distractions, as a piece of real lace which sometimes falls into a child's toy-box and please him and no longer please him, and finally it lies there among the broken and dismembered toys, more wretched than any of them. We have been spoiled by superficial pleasures like all dilettantes, and are looked upon as masters. But what if we despised our successes? What if we started from the very outset to learn the task of love, which has always been done for us? What if we went ahead and became beginners, now that much is changing?"

- Rainer Maria Rilke, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge