Post 10

My daily routine often involves a stroll down "the Drag" - a street known for its lack of austin flavor and (I assume) named for the DMT'd out denizens that elect to reside in its crevices. Though the city of Austin is known for its plethora of small businesses and localism ideology, the drag is hardy a microcosm of these trends. The UT tower projects almost a direct shadow onto American Apparel, a franchise known more for its sexualized advertisements than for its sound business model.

Most of the advertisements show young-looking girls deliberately dressed and positioned to evoke an "after-sex" look, with messy hair, no make-up and incomplete outfits. Some show girls with their hands down their pants, or covering their "private parts" or even just exposing themselves completely. As Dr. Straubhaar pointed out in lecture, sex is often an incredibly effective advertising tool and American Apparel has taken that allure to a pornographic degree and successfully trademarked a business out of it.

The snap-shotty and informal style of the pictures mimics our "default picture" fixation and the culture that has evolved around it. The appeal of the simple and naturally staged portraits is reflective of the sexy yet spontaneous way that we (especially females) seek to portral ourselves in our virtual social lives. In a way, American Apparel has democratized sexual imagery by functioning as bridge between the exclusive high-end brands that pull off promiscuity by coating with excess and the world of pornography.

Though business is probably driven by more by sorority girls and "neon partys" then by the hipsters and something ironic, the American Apparel on the drag and the pictures and ads that frame the store remind as all everyday that it's OK, and even cool to be just a little slutty in our own disheveled lives.

Post 8

Hollywoods three act structure has come to be the narrative style of choice for the majority of filmmakers. It serves as a good formula for evoking triumph and breakthrough- both themes that leave viewers satisfied. Unlike the Classical Tragedy, the climax of the story falls near the end of the film instead of in the middle.

It's Kind of a Funny Story, the last film I saw in theaters, follows this model. In Act I the protagonist is admitted into a mental hospital where he meets a young girl. The introduction sets up the major conflict, which happens to be interpersonal- what's the purpose of life?- he wonders and is set up to find it in the the unlikeliest of places. That's where the first major plot point occurs, and where Act II begins to answer the question that the first act presented.

In Act II the protagonist befriends several of the patients in the hospital including the girl he likes. Through these characters he begins to unload the anxieties of his past and realize the triviality of his stresses. However the issues of his past make their way into his new utopia and shake things up a bit. The girl he used to like comes in to the hospital enthralled by the legitimacy of his "issues" which throws things of with the new love interest. His dad continues to put pressures on him about school and success. He sees the realness of some of the real life problems that so many of the people in the hospital have.

The Climax happens the night before he leaves the hospital to reenter into his "normal" life and he sponsors a pizza party for everyone on his floor. Simultaneously it is revealed that every conflict is resolved; he gets the girl, his friend gets to get parcial custody over his daughter, his reclusive roommate comes out of his shell, and he stands up to his dad. The remaining falling action/resolution is his naming all of this thing he now does to keep happy and sane. There is a full montage of him ridding bikes, kissing his new girlfriend, and volunteering at the hospital. The clear beging, middle and end not only make the story easy to follow but leave the audience satisfied.

Post 7: The Sitcom

Sitcoms function as a hyperbolic reflection of the anxieties and trends that exist within popular culture at a particular moment. SItcoms are dynamic in that each episode has a resolution and can stand on its own yet allows for character development and conflicts that roll over from episode to episode. The use of hyperbole and absurdity work to gain over all appeal and to democratize the content. Hyperbole is a smart means of creating mass appeal because of the entertainment guarantee that it supplies. The outlandish nature of sitcoms serve to democratize them as opposed to more subtle methods of communication that would only appeal to highly educated audiences.

"Friends" hyperbolizes the conflicts and celebrations of "everyday life" for twenty-something urbanites. The show is framed around an intimate relationship between two of the Friends, Ross and Rachel. Perhaps every reason that normal couples break-up and get back together is employed with a hollywoodized twist. But of course, in the end, love trumps all and ten seasons later they get married. However, the permanent plot and the episodic plot are loosely intertwined. Each episode seems to have its own climax and resolutions where the humor, not the underlying storyline, is the ultimate appeal.

Punch Drunk Love

The opening shot in the film Punch Drunk Love gives us hints to the protagonists personality. Barry Egan played by Adam Sandler sits at his desk on the right side of the frame in an empty warehouse space. The shot is taken from about 30 feet back giving it a large depth of field. The shot reveals that Egan is neurotic, lonely and perhaps detached. The director was giving hints of his personality by focusing on the emptiness of the space. The drawn-out shot last for the first 45 seconds of the movie giving the audience plenty of time to decipher what exactly the director is trying to highlight and foreshadow based on the frame.



A second shot happens a few shots after the opening where a harmonium is dropped out of a racing truck on to the side of the street where Barry works. Though Barry is standing around 100 feet away, there is a shot of the harmonium from his perspective that slowly zooms in until the harpsichord is in playing distance. This foreshadows to the role that the instrument will play in the film and also attributes ominous and dark qualities to the harmonium because of the threatening way in which it is displayed. It's shot as if it were a scene from a western film where the slow zoom focuses on each cowboy as they draw their weapons, almost giving the harmonium human like qualities.



About 12 minutes in to the movie Barry goes to his sisters house for dinner and in an act of unprovoked rage he kicks down the sliding class doors as his family is sitting down to dinner. The shot is filmed from outside of the house with Barry's back to the audience and his sisters facing him. This framing is meant to make the viewer sympathize with Barry as he is attacked and ridiculed by his sisters while he stands there seemingly ignorant to what he has done. It demonstrates that his anger is random and unintentional. I like to call it a "monkey in the middle" shot where the protagonist is positioned halfway between the characters posing a threat and the camera giving a feeling of autonomy to the audience to make judgments about the characters.

Post 5

The studio system functioned like most industrial factories of the time. The demand was high given that film was the only form of mass media and most people went to see movies anywhere from 1 to six days a week. In order to produce low cost films quickly and efficiently the studio system operated like a factory. This assembly line method required that all parts of the production staff were present at all times so that the contracted actors and staff would be able to work on multiple projects at once. Movies were so popular that during WWII the theaters were opened 24 hours a day and served to keep moral high and diffuse information and propaganda. The studio system was essentially manufacturing movies with directors usually pumping out 3-5 movies per year. To further increase efficiency on the viewers end studios began to pick up "house styles" that matched them with a particular genre. Stars were also ironically linked to their studios and styles with films being refereed to as John Waynes' or Judy Garlands'.

Post 4- All in the Family

Both All in the Family and the contemporary television show Modern Family provide a commentary on family life and structure. However, the "messages" portrayed in All in the Family appear to be implicit and leave "room for interoperation" that can allow for some viewers to see the irony in Archie's character while others relate to his antiquated bigotry.

Modern Family exposes and explains social issues such as gay marriage and teenage drinking in a more explicit manor to where the audience isn't as blind to the directors message. Both discus controversial topics and both usually align with the more egalitarian and rationalistic side of the issue. In a way, both of these shows function as intermediaries to the pubic in exposing controversial topics threw a medium that allows for the humanization of the issues.

For example, seeing the gay couple interact with their adopted vietnamese child might change public opinion about gay rights issues. Likewise for All in the Family when the "manly man" ex-NFL star is exposed as homosexual and Archie is surprised--maybe this could inform the public on the realities of homosexuality and that not everyone has to be the stereotypical gay "fairy" that Archie assumed.

The greatest difference between the shows is that Modern Family focuses on the idiosyncrasies of family matters in the 21st century such as divorce, inter-racial marriage, adoption, homosexuality, teenage rebellion, and the overall perfection of imperfection. All of these nuances are represented within the main cast and present reoccurring dialogs about these issues that allow for an in depth understanding of what it means to be a "modern family." Though i've had limited exposure to the show, All in the Family, seems to approach such themes in a more satirical way, where each episode focuses on the various perspectives of an issue as represented by each member of the nuclear family.

Here's an clip of the two men discussing what it's like to play a gay couple on the show. One of the actors jokes about himself being "gay for pay" because offscreen he is heterosexual.



Below is a sickening clip of that accuses Modern Family of being pro-homosexual propaganda. I wonder if the religious extremist would have had the same reaction to Archie's surprise gay friend, or if the irony would have been too difficult to decipher.

Post 3- Radio in the 20's

Technological advancement was the main factor that contributed to the democratization of the radio industry in the 1920's because it's invention preceded its societal purpose--the technology came before the ideas that made it practical.

In other words, the radio wasn't invented in order to broadcast news or advertise products, rather news companies and prospective advertisers capitalized on this new technology to conveniently further their various agendas. Unlike the atomic bomb, the advent of the radio wasn't viewed as a pressing technology that didn't yet exist, it was just easily integrated into American life because of it's many uses. Technology works to drive society because it functions as a threshold that creates systematic change in relation to the way we communicate.

On page 161 of the text book, there is a line that says, in the 1920's "it did not take people long to figure out what to do with radio." The use of the phrase "figure out" in ascribed with particular importance. People like Frank Conrad, and stores like Westinghouse literally invented uses for this invention. Frank Conrad used is as a mediam to disseminate news which created a public demand to make the radio a house hold utility.

My father has worked the radio industry for over 30 years and has a radio show that is syndicated all over the country. Changes in technology continue to be the most influential factor in the way his show operates and makes money. This is a clip from an interview with Tim Allen in the 80's, that shows some of the more antiquated technology.

Post 3 - Cultivation Theory

The cultivation theory explains how bias news stations reflect the general publics assumptions about political identity.

The Cultivation theory reveals that people develop their "realities" based on what is presented to them through media. If a particular subject is receiving substantial attention, such as criminal activity on nightly news, people tend to be hyper-aware of that subject. This can have a negative effect as it could lead to desensitization among populations, so viewers may start to see crime as something "inevitable" in it's prevalence. This could also result in populations that have an hypersensitive fixation with a subject, so viewers think that there chances of getting murdered are disproportionately inflated because of the amount of time homicides get on the news.

The same theory applies to news stations, as perceptions of what it means to be a republican or democrat are clearly outlined and presented through media. This theory is not only applicable to the way political parties side on a particular issues, but also to what is a "moderate" or "normal" stance within the party. If the general public were a refection of Fox news and MSNBC, for example, then the political body would be divided among the two most polarized ends of the political spectrum, when in reality the vast majority of people fall somewhere in between. This makes people more likely to a) align themselves with an issue based on their political allegiance, and b) feel pressured to choose between two, very clearly drawn-out options. This also leads people to believe that the general public is more polemic than in reality.

On Friday September 17, Jon Stewart announced his "Rally to Restore Sanity" in response to the current way the media limits the amount of acceptable representations of current events.

The following is the call to rally that is written in the white section of the above poster. It begin's with a highly relevant quotation from the film that presents a commentary on media entitled Network

"I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

Who among us has not wanted to open their window and shout that at the top of their lungs?

Seriously, who?

Because we're looking for those people. We're looking for the people who think shouting is annoying, counterproductive, and terrible for your throat; who feel that the loudest voices shouldn't be the only ones that get heard; and who believe that the only time it's appropriate to draw a Hitler mustache on someone is when that person is actually Hitler. Or Charlie Chaplin in certain roles.

Are you one of those people? Excellent. Then we'd like you to join us in Washington, DC on October 30 -- a date of no significance whatsoever -- at the Daily Show's "Rally to Restore Sanity." Ours is a rally for the people who've been too busy to go to rallies, who actually have lives and families and jobs (or are looking for jobs) -- not so much the Silent Majority as the Busy Majority. If we had to sum up the political view of our participants in a single sentence... we couldn't. That's sort of the point.

Think of our event as Woodstock, but with the nudity and drugs replaced by respectful disagreement; the Million Man March, only a lot smaller, and a bit less of a sausage fest; or the Gathering of the Juggalos, but instead of throwing our feces at Tila Tequila, we'll be actively *not* throwing our feces at Tila Tequila. Join us in the shadow of the Washington Monument. And bring your indoor voice. Or don't. If you'd rather stay home, go to work, or drive your kids to soccer practice... Actually, please come anyway. Ask the sitter if she can stay a few extra hours, just this once. We'll make it worth your while.

Post 2 Hegemony

The myth of the "American Dream" continues to drive the societal assumptions that celebrate social mobility and merit-based achievement. In reality there is little evidence that supports this pervasive belief, yet it is overwhelmingly glorified by the media with films like "The Pursuit of Happiness" and the "rags to riches" rhymes from rappers like Jay-Z. The myth comes to life in our history books, in fact disempowering youth of color by exacerbating the idea that there are no real societal strains that are preventing minorities from climbing social ladders- that the people that live in their neighborhood are in fact responsible for the poverty and complacence that defines their culture. This assertion is disguised as an empowering and egalitarian idea and actually maintains the socioeconomic stratifications that prevent such mobility from coming to fruition. The myth of the American dream represents an example of hegemony, because it shows how media can create a consensus surrounding a particular issue that is perpetuated by a sentiment of "common sense."
Hegemony exemplifies the reciprocal relationship between media and society from the perspective of those with power. An idea that can be harnessed through logical fallacy can easily become accepted by the broader public. Through deception assumptions arise.

George Carlin puts it well in this clip. He ends it with "the American Dream is only possible when you're asleep."

Post 1 RTF (305)

This week in media Laura Schlessinger said the n-word and a hate crime was committed against a muslim cab driver in lower Manhattan. However, depending on ones media outlet of choice, these stories were broadcasted, subjectified, glorified, or ignored demonstrating the way media is used as a venue to both control and liberate the masses. The trends of the blogosphere, where opinion trumps objectivism, seem to have infiltrated mainstream media into two explicitly polarized spheres with an increasing presence. In fact, there's TV shows and radio programs with the sole purpose of dissecting media, looking for the way programs and commentators contradict themselves and present radicalized opinion as mere fact. Yet this very conglomerated controlling entity has the power to liberate--it has driven populations to end wars and attract international attention during oppressive regimes. With new forms of information sharing, there is shift in the way society and media interact and the way we inform ourselves and with what tools. I view the current state of the media with a certain allure and mystery that I am trying to understand as a student striving to influence others. Though I am commonly irritated by the trends of social media in my generation I am wondering how this can be used as a tool for social change and to what extent. My interest is distributed equally between radio, television and film, as I admire figures such as Ed Murrow, Jon Stewart, and Julia Bacha and view each type of media as a mechanism for social change.

One of my favorite blogs is called Aid Watch


http://aidwatchers.com/

After I graduated High School in 2009 I embarked on a trip around the world that focused on the study of varios development issues. I made this video as a culmination of my experience abroad.
http://vimeo.com/11820001

My Last Time Riding ANYthing with 4 legs

Ever since I realized that clouds weren’t made of marsh mellows and saw a clip from an episode of 60 minutes of some amazingly pre-camera phone era shot of an airplane spiraling into the ground, my preferred methods of travel have always been those that require wheels rather than wings. And, though I do have my dose of Lorezopam pre-flights nowadays, I flew enough this year to put me on a high-risk list, making this trip one that would more than likely remain on the ground.

Prior to today’s travels, my knowledge of the Greyhound Bus system was limited to recent canadian greyhound murder story and the dog that my moms old homosexual hair dresser had that would run around like a rat with bits of human hair all over it’s body. Hardly excitable, but being both frugal and freaked of flying, I took a chance. Besides it was only 10 and a half hours, with NO stops or changes. BULLSHIT GREYHOUND!!!

Admittedly the first mistake was mine. It said on the “e-ticket” very clearly that the ticket need to be printed, and thankfully Kailee was able to sprint, yes kailee sprinting, to the nearest hotel and produce a paper copy. Apparently my blackberry and smile weren’t enough… After boarding the hound, I quickly realized how seriously my driver took his job, first noticing his holster, no HOLISTER Charlie, fully equip with two pens, a pocket knife, and an ambiguously shaped case that could have either been a hand-gun or his tampons. He hopped on bored and checked the bathroom for any homeless people that may have wanted to hitch a ride to Canada and gave us a safety briefing where he reminded us not to smoke, masturbate, or talk on cell phones for more than 30 seconds. And so we began…

The first four hours were easy. I slept, wrote, and peed 3 times almost without missing. Then came every tiny town in between Syracuse and Buffalo on and off the “stop-less” greyhound. I listened to the sounds of children, children being beaten, children reacting to being beaten, the enormous woman next to me snoring, (I wish I was kidding, really) and the sounds and smells of people opening and closing the restroom door. The only perks of this journey have been the outlets available for every seat, which enabled me to edit my bonnaroo footage and create this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mY59BZEuRK8

Then we get to Rochester and I realize that the first douche-bag driver took my 3rd ticket instead of my first one. But thankfully I have all of this information on my black-berry and there is a ticket counter which would of course be able to look up my information and verify my story, especially since it would have been impossible for me to have duplicated my ticket since every ticket has a name on it and everyone shows there passport to get on the bus. One would think…

I get up to the front of the line and I tell the woman that the man-over-there (literally he was right there) took my incorrect ticket and she laughed and said “likely story” and sent me to ticket counter minutes before my bus pulled away. The unhappy woman who looks like that cross-dresser from the Wedding Singer at the ticket counter, says “sorry I can’t reprint tickets” as I’m showing her my itinerary on my phone. I buy a new ticket and try to be angry and say that I’m going to do something like I’ve seen my mom do when the room service is wrong for the 3rd time. But instead as I’m walking to get on the bus, I see the nice man reach for my luggage and just start crying, hysterically, and this overweigh black luggage man is so confused yet so kind and asks me what’s wrong and if I’m ok. And at this point there’s no stopping, I’m about to embrace this stranger and cry into his arms, when the ticket lady comes over and tells me I can get my money back. But of course my charge that was made 2 minutes prior required a 20% fine, but at least I’m on. Everyone on the bus, having seen this all happen, invites my on warmly. And in the end, I got a whole row to myself.

My cousins rehearsal dinner started two hours ago and I’m sitting at border patrol waiting for the a-hole on my bus who decided to bring too much booze across the border. It’s 8:30pm and I haven’t eaten since the veggie burger from hell at Burger King at 10 am. My arrival time was initially 6:15 and I’m still 2 hours away….rarr BORDER PATROL GET A CLUE: all of the marijuana is running the other direction!!! It’s amazing how the question What are you bringing? can make you feel like El madre of a drug cartel.

Needless to say this is my last trip with greyhound, and it should be yours too. Feel free to write them hate mail and mass murder every grey dog you see. Any suggestions on how to get from Toronto to Indianapolis on sunday?

Home is whenever I'm with you...who?

Each time I fly into the Indianapolis Airport I’m hardly overwhelmed with a feeling of being home. Though all the collections contrived by my American heritage are housed in this droopy state, the only feelings of excitement come at the thought of my family and food (food that is, of course, not prepared by my family.) My only acquaintances are juvenile playmates or the hobo I occasionally smoke crack with near my dads fire pit, and by hobo I mean my three year old sister and by smoke crack I mean blow-bubbles.

As the seemingly outgoing and friendly person that I glorify myself to be, I find myself lonely and bored, coloring my day by cataloging episodes of the Colbert Report and even reading Aid Watch blogs, secretly wishing I had someone to share these habits with. Perhaps this comes as a result of a over-stimulating year, where I was always preoccupied by censoring my beliefs and T-shirts as I was living in unfamiliar and unwelcoming places, where miscommunications resulted at times in Indian host moms asking forgiveness for your misshapen nan bread in front of a shrine of Blue Gods.

Thinking Beyond Borders should probably include some seminar on “Returning to social situations” or “How to small talk like Gandhi” because I have apparently lost all social ability, never had it in the first place, or I am just a mean person, which isn’t worth disposing of… That knowing your audience thing, when it comes to everything, is totally underrated! My failure to learn this guiding communication skill takes responsibility for my current predicament. This may teeter on sounding like a cry for friends, and it is, but these 5 days of solitude have produced some benefits. I have girlified my room with posters of Justin Beiber and my boyfriend (really, is there really a difference?) and read exactly 37 articles on the Gulf Oil spill.
It’s a shame that the oil in the gulf isn’t the eating kind, cause then it would make frying up sea food that much easier. And have any of you all seen the footage of the oil gushing out of the bottom of the gulf? Well, my first though was that it makes Michael Mores period look like a leaking faucet, and second that Wyclef Jean and Al Gore are about to co-write a song about pelicans and sea turtles. Just saying, I said it was coming…

And in between sticky-tacking my walls and a quest to find local food, I have gone to yoga class to center my clustered life and make my butt look like it did sophomore year of high school (is it too early to make jokes like that?) And each time I walk into my studio I revert back to a memory of myself doing yoga in India.

Highly anticipating taking part in this ancient practice in the land of it’s roots I walked in to my yoga class in India ready to impress the teacher and work away months of too much Chinese food. My teacher couldn’t have looked more different that the blond Barbie doll instructor I go to in Indy; it was a older looking Indian man dressed in a suit with a belly that looked more like Buddha’s than my Barbie yoga guru. Upon entering the class he quickly mocked us for our attire and how it paralleled the West’s butchering of this practice that had been coated with a US stamp of efficiency and had been popularized my Madonna’s butt-hole. In that class we began and middled and ended with sweat-less breathing exercises including one that me and my American yoga friend may have gotten in trouble for. With his thick Indian accent he instructed us to raise our hands up and down while doing some sort of power breath making a “ha” sound which quickly evolved into uncontrollable laughter and confusion on our part where the “ha’s” never seemed to end.

And though I never got the workout I probably needed that day, I still find myself nostalgic about that moment of joy when I walk into yoga and feel more like I’m in a Billy Banks video than a yoga studio. Between the excessive apparel, the blaring hip-hop, and the hot instructor shouting out ancient postures and proverbs like a drill sergeant, something feels slightly, hmm, American about all of this. And I can honestly say, I love it.

When I think of this transition from oh-my-god-the-word-is-so-big life, to oh-my-god-there’s-nothing-to-do life, I need to think more on these terms. To stop obsessing about the particulars of the friends I choose, the food I east, and the crack I smoke, but to embrace these American touches—as the death penalty is still legal in my future home state and who knows the penalties for claiming to be liberal in Texas.

JK Austin, luv yas!

AfriKa-not just a Collection at American Apparel

To all young travelers looking for enlightenment, perspective, or maybe just a lay in the the "Global South" i give you some preemptive advise to avoid the transitional "culture shock"--stop in Plettenberh Bay, South Africa on your way home. It's a dream destination for those who enjoy whipping their asses with gold flacked toilet paper and use their designer cameras to photograph the less fortunate on "township tours." It's a place where the first and third worlds collide and where words like "tolerate" and "seperate" are commonplace in describing their interaction with each other. From their multi-million rand homes mostly vacationing families can see the destitute villages just down the hill, and eye soar, interupting the near perfect view of the Bay. Houses with those high-tech binoculars set on tripods like a telescope point towards the ocean with the hopes of maybe spotting the occasional whale or dolphin, never orientated backwards to get a closer look at the poverty and despair so near. DiSPARITY at its finest. see where i'm going?

I spent my time in two different neighborhoods each with its own set of roofs--one with roofs made of green tile and the other with roofs made of sheet medal and plastic. I always new where i was because of what song subconsciously began to hum--"little boxes on the hill side....", i was near the green roofs. The various writings of Tupac Shakur-- i was in the townships. It's amazing that out of most of the squatter shacks come sounds systems that one would think would exceed the cost of the timber and sheet metal it takes to build the entire structure. I swear if Alicia Keys wrote a song where she explicitly addressed the stigma of HIV/AIDS she would end the pandemic.

I spent my days in Kurland village, a township established the 1970's to by the government to maintain voting power, shadowing a home-based care worker who worked with patients with HIV/AIS, TB and other ailments. We were conducting a survey on the NGO we were working with in order to have accurate numbers of time spent with different category patients so that they could increase funding. I pricked fingers and checked blood pressure, watched as my care worker cleaned feces off of the dead and bathed the dying. I saw hunger and sickness, poor and poorer...until 3 o'clock.

Then i headed into The River Club where i was living with a white single mother who upon giving us a tour of Plett in her BMW informed us that "People really just like their own kind." We ate steak and potatoes and were reintroduced to so many of the comforts that were distantly familiar--hot showers, a pantry, the english language... We would sit around the dinner table at night and tell stories from our days in the townships and my host-mother would respond with, "It's amazing that all of this goes on in my backyard--i had no idea." Ignorance. Misunderstanding. Judgement. Prejudice.

Hotels in the shape of sailboats and water spick-its supporting 20 families. Conversations of literature and travel and wondering if there will be dinner. Bank statements and government grants. Like a haunting tip-toe you can hear the pitter patter of rich, poor, rich poor... side by side yet on different sides of the body. Polarized. Marginalized. Unrealized.

this whole Citizen Cope thing wasn't really intentional but the pattern of misunderstanding made it easier for each side to justify itself, in a way that can be represented through a chain reaction of self-defense.

Im sitting in my NYC hostel semi-thankful for the KFC and ignorance i saw in South Africa. time square isn't as shocking as it would have been. tbc....

OMMMMMmmm

Only in India can walk out of your door to find people praying to shrines on street medians, men getting their beards touched up on the side walks, and a mix of camels, elephants, motor bikes and cars cruising the roads in sprawling cities with no traffic laws. Or if you're in a big city or near a World Heritage Site you might see sun-burnt tourist with smeared bindis on their heads wearing pujabi suits and walking around like their outfit some how makes them blend in better--a swarm of foreigners in traditional wear spotted in a city where more indian women are wearning t-shirts and jeans than Saris.

I have spent the past 2 nights in Jaipur, a capital city in north-western India, that attracts both indian and foreign tourist which leads me to the unlikely explanation that all their suitcases got mixed-up at the airport? Anyway it has been another challenging, exausting, and thought-provoking week. As i become less of a novelty and more of a Patel it has become easier to ask questions of faith, gender, and morals. Thankfully our post-dinner conversations have moved past me naming all 16 members of the family at their request to topics that are both a little more serious and harder to communicate. They we asking about american culture and i was responding in slow english with no articles and incorrect tenses and finally the topic of politics came up.
"Do you like Barack Obama," I asked followed by a unanimous "NOOOOO!"
"Why," I questioned "His ideas?"
"No he is BLACK man." My 22 year old sister said.
I was so taken back by their response. For a country that was advancing its development in the image of the West and specifically the US it was so puzzling that they were so dismissive of our president on the basis of race. "Our Chief Minister-white skin." She said. So in India not only do they "vote their caste, instead of cast their vote" but vote in accordance to skin color. I didn't really know what to say back. I could think of anything that could be communicated in simple english. So i blurted out something that i definitely don't believe that i said because i felt like i had to say something-"But...America, most powerful country in the world yes? Best country? We CHOOSE black man. Doesn't that say something?!!!" And then came the equally angry and proud Indian nationalism speech, "India culture best! India economy best! Indian people many intelligence!" I don't think I've ever defended hambergers and T-shirtd more in my life...


One night after arriving home late from seminar i was greeted my our anxious sisters waiting on the sidewalk waiving the ends of their head scarves in the direction of the temple. It's Thursday that means loooong temple day, i wish i had my period.... I walk to meet them and with angry looks on their faces i notice them making unclear gestures pointing to my head and i realize i don't have my head scarf for this exciting religions experience i am about to endure for the third time... One of my sister moves to walk back home and get one and i said "NO" and pulled the hood of my American Apparel sweatshirt over my head to make a DIY head cover. Some of them laughed, some of them sneered and then dragged me in to the temple and plopped me down indian-style. Then i was given a strand of prayer beads and instructed to recite "Hariom" over and over with each bead that passed through my fingers. As i went through the motions thoughtlessly, tired from a long day and anticipating my chore of mopping the temple floors after the service one of my sisters said something to me that caught my attention, "Say your gods name."

On the flight to India i was surprised to read that one of the Reason for Travel options on the demarcation sheet was "Spiritual Journey." I felt like i was in the Darjeeling Limited for a second, that the idea of traveling to India for some spiritual enlightenment was just something mocked in Hollywood or praised by L.A. fitness instructors turned yoga gurus. I could see how the non-violence, vegetarianism and funny looking gods that are a good decoration on expensive t-shirts that Hinduism praises could be appealing but when the same religious principles perpetuate practices like the caste system and womens oppression, poverty and religious intolerance i just wasnt confident admiring a practice that was overshadowed by so much evil.

So with the spiritual leader rattling off some Hindu scripture under a picture of a naked blue god i decided to do what was the closest thing i knew to praying, and began to say 'thank you'. For my parents and the curry i had eaten for lunch. for my hoodie and for my best friends. For everything i could think of that had led me to that moment sitting in the temple on the floor prayer beads at hand with people i could call my family all around me. and there it was...my moment of spirituality in india.

i wrote all of that so long ago but of course the internet connection wasnt working there so now, a month? later here it is. I am now in South Africa where the cultural difference couldn't be more different but many of the problems are the same. Here in Plettemburg Bay the disparity couldnt be more apparent. but i wont go there yet, while i am still processing india and you all are tired of my misspellings and syntax and blahh.

I DID the highest bungy jump in the world 648 feet! Don't tell my parents...

Table, Toothpaste and Subsidy

These three words, we were instructed, are English words that have been adopted by people living in Gujarat. The origins of the first two are parts of western culture that have infiltrated Indian Society precisely because most Indian families eat meals on the floor and use a certain tree bark to clean there teeth. But the question of the third can be explained less as a matter of practicality or necessity than one of influence and politics. India, which proudly boast its recent economic achievement, is under a lot pressure to feed its population of over a billion people while many of those people are climbing societal ladders and, with that, acquiring higher standards of living. So I wasn't surprised when i got to my homestay and upon taking a tour of my host fathers farm he showed off his Monsanto Genetically Modified Cotton that was subsidized by the Indian Government. We walked a little further on to the vast tabacco monoculture and he pulled out a "weed" by one of the plants and firmly told me to "tell Monsanto to fix this!" as if I had unlimited access to this seemingly untouchable multi-national corporation. This was my introduction to "small farming in India" which really seemed more like the endlessly erect corn fields i've seen my whole life driving in Indiana than the primitive picture of Indian agriculture i had painted in my mind. Eighty hectares of Monsanto, pesticides, machinery, and self-suicide seeds taking over rural india in the form of cash crops$$$$$$$$
That same day walking through the farm some women hunched over in vibrant saris in the distance caught my eye. My father, Daskaka--Gujarati for "uncle" (everyone's uncle*) pointed out that those people were "lower" and that all of his hired labor were, in fact, lower caste. Though this ancient practice of social stratification has been legally prohibited, it continues to drive and segregate society to this day. My family was a member of the highest caste, the Brahmins, who were those that could acquire "knowledge"or work as clergymen. And though my father hadn't made it past the 6th grade, his children had attended university and were striving to escape rural life and move there way into the "New India"--a world of Goldman-Sachs and Microsoft and T-shirts. He went on to say he paid his laborers 60 rupee a day (US $1.15) and he claimed that he abided by the Child Labor Laws which forbid children under the age of 15 to work. As I looked around, there were surely children working picking cotton and thinning tobacco and i couldn't help by be angry at this man who so easily could distribute his wealth more evenly and cultivate this land more lawfully. The laborers were filthy and many of them looked thin, ill and overworked so i was surprised when i learned that they actually live ABOVE the poverty line in india, which accounts for 80% of the population who lives under $2 a day. Adjusted for PPP these people made about $3 a day.
As the week went on i continued to encounter moments of prejudice and submission in both cases of sex and caste. One weekend night my sisters dressed me up in this sparkling red sari and bedazzled me with bangols and nose rings and we went to the small square outside the temple in our small town and began to dance the "Garba"--a traditional India circle dance. I noticed all of these people huddles around us on the ground wrapped in blankets with unkempt hair and dirty faces and i couldn't help but feel uncomfortable giddily dancing around with the upper caste knowing that there were people that couldn't--that didn't have the right to as lawful as it may have been. The last thing i want to do here is perpetuate and encourage this discrimination but how could i do that while still being "culturally sensitive." I didn't want to offend my host family who was (for the most part) being so great but i just couldn't ignore it.
Here more than anywhere else, i have noticed the line between "culture" and morality being blurred. Any seeming human injustice can be justified by a means of culture and religion. Why do i have to touch a mans feet (and put my face near his crotch) every time i meet one? Indian Culture. Why do my sisters have to give up there seats on the couch every time a man walks in? Indian culture. Did you get to choose your husband? No, arranged marriage is Indian culture. Why do I have to tell my family when i get my period? Because you are unclean and you can't go to temple or enter the kitchen--God says 'no.' Why do I have to vale my head at temple? Ramayana says so. Why don't you work on the farm everyday? We are high caste, this is Indian culture.
I couldn't help but be angry with my self for being so "stuck" on all of my American bias. Sure, i was uncomfortable with it but was that because it was wrong or just different? My family constantly told me i needed to be a "good Indian woman!" and that meant cooking and cleaning and (this one might be the most important) never being tired. As you all know 'organized' is not particularly a word i associate myself with, cooking isn't exactly my forte, and being passive and playing role is definitely something i've been constantly lashing out against my whole life, so you could see how this lifestyle would be different to say the least. And you should have seen their reactions when i told them i had (brace yourself) eaten an egg, or worse, a chicken. Or smoked a cigarette or tasted wine. And by far the most daunting, not have a religion! I felt like i was accepting and respecting so many of their cultural differences but they were just dismissing and hating on mine. They also have decided that wearing sunscreen is incredibly racist and my pregnant sister sneers at me everyday for me wanting to "no turn black." This reached a tipping point when one day i woke up 30 minutes late (7:30) and by sisters harassed me for being "lazy." And i just wanted to scream in their faces "I do what you tell me all day and do the same stupid fucking things to entertain all of YOU and make you laugh" but of course i didn't despite i could practically translate the remarks they were rattling off about me. And they hang a picture of Gandhi in their house...
But i had to make a decision about how to respond to all of this since my natural reaction was clearly formulated by my preconceived beliefs and imposing my own ideas or refusing to abide by theirs was both ignorant and disrespectful. So until i could make a decision i had to my surrender my beliefs and become a "good Indian women" and, with that, figure out what that really meant and felt like. When i changed my attitude i began to see things differently. One day, on women duty, i was cooking rotli with two of my married sisters and one who speaks decent English asked me if i liked cooking. I said yes, but i don't got to do it very often and then reciprocated the question. She put down the pan and spatula and with the most telling look in her eyes replied "It doesn't matter if i like or don't like--i have to do everyday." I had never thought that asking such a question could arise such emotion. It was my first experience of my sisters, who were all between the ages of 20-25 and married, honestly opening up to me about their lives. Daskaka challenged me as well one day, after some tough convincing, he took me to work in the rice patties and we all got right down in the mud with the laborers to plant rice in the morning sun. Daskaka and his wife also asked if they could bring their beds in to our room for sleeping, another aspect of the strong family bond that is so integrated into Indian Culture that felt comfortable to apart of. We watched endless hours of wedding videos, and they family cried as if these viewings were a weekly event and they had memorized every emotional moment. As i shared pictures of home, pictures of me and my "husband" at prom and me and my high school best friends before a Tokyo Drift themed dance, instead of being greeted with judgment and ridicule they responded with laughter and curiosity. Though my father did question "Why isn't your husband an Indian." I told him my best friend was, and i think that many have compensated despite that for some reason in all of the pictures i brought of me and Kailee we are either in some oddly compromising position or wrapped around body guards at M.I.A. concerts.
By the end of the week they had changed my Indian name. Initially they had called me Lily--"Tamaru nam Lily chhe" they had told me. One night attempting to overcome the language barrier, my sisters and I were cuddled up on a bed like a kid slumber party talking and laughing in a bizarre combination of Gujarati and English. After i asked something bordering on taboo about Indian Culture in Gujarati that was, apparently, very funny, someone blurted out what was to become my new nickname--Horkie. For the next few days everyone in the village went on calling me Horkie and when they would introduced me to friends they would proudly announce my newly given indian name, the meaning which i was still ignorant to. When i found out the meaning i was actually delighted at it's connotation. To me it signified the vary indication that i was breaking cultural barriers and surprising people with my sometimes inappropriate and unusual responses to these places and people.

Horkie = Naughty...

2 more weeks wiht my family then off to Agra and Delhi. Going to Mumbai with my family on Tuesday for an Indian wedding! A perfect venue to violate cultural practices!! Just kidding. but i'll continue to live out my name... Horkie Lily Patel