aftermath

So, I'm currently in Bosnia, sunny safe secure Sarajevo to be exact. It's quite amazing... I keep thinking back to Martin's Civics class and our discussions about the situation in Bosnia/Herzegovinia - I would never have imagined myself sitting in the hotel bar at the Holiday Inn which housed reporters on the incidents -- drinking a passable Old Fashioned and writing a blog.

Early today I saw bullet lines around the corner of a building... the product of a soldier kneeling on the ground firing around the corner... it was next to the tourist information center. I wonder if he made it... what his memories of those few moments in his life are - how is he affected? I also look around me and see people functioning, rebuilding, working - it brings me back to New Orleans - and the idea of aftermath. Humanity thrives - this city had it so much worse - and here they are - making it work. Maybe we can all take a clue from them - forge forward - never forget the past but move on with the lessons we have learned.

In other news - top America quotes of travel

"America? I love America! The music is shit, apart from The Doors."

In reference to German lawyers in Bulgaria working on a first name basis, "I guess we can still learn SOMEthing from the Americans."

and finally - in response to finding out I was American, "But, your not fat?"

mourning - a moment of silence for a friend departed

Yesterday was dreak (a gaelic word meaning a combination of dreary and bleak... and a little rainy). Winter has come and brought with it a shadow over my soul. I ask everyone to please pause for a moment of silence to remember my closest friend and ally. While our relationship was fairly short - in comparison to other friendships I have had - he helped me more than perhaps any other. Despite his many flaws, he had become an extension of not only my body, but also my psyche. I cannot imagine another that will fit so well into my life. I know that over time the pain in my heart will subside, as new friends replace the old... but I will never forget you, Canon Rebel K2. Perhaps the Canon Rebel XS will prove effective, but I cannot imagaine him replacing the closeness that we had. You were always there for me. You always spoke for me, saying the things I would have been afraid to. May you rest well, or may you be cured of your disease and find someone new bolster, love, and speak through your lens.

Good bye Canon Rebel K2... wish I had been rich enough to fix you.

The Interwebs and school

School has started, and with the start of school came my first assignment: an essay; three pages; double spaces; 12 point font. Subject: What Mass Medium is most important in your life. This took me FOREVER to complete. Not because the subject matter was difficult, but because I was faced with an internal dichotomy. I knew what the professor wanted; an elementary essay that descibes why the internet (in my case) is most to me: which also shows an understanding of the term mass medium and the development of the mass media to date. It would have gone something like this:

The most important mass medium in my life is the internet. This is because I use the Internet everyday, and for a variety of purposes. I use the Internet to communicate with my friends as well as attend school and manage my life.

Gag me. I haven't been in third grade for a long time, and I just refused to write it. So, the following is what I wrote instead.

Sure, it strays a bit from conventional essay writing practices. I did include all the hyperlinks you see in the text here; it's a statement; it's funny. Some of the hyperlinks are funny. Hopefully my lack of editorial organization fitting a "proper" paper writing outline and scheme will not detract to much from my grade, or my purpose in writing this piece. he he

I suppose there are people who are capable of living their lives without the Internet; I am not one of them. The idea of a world without email increases my heart rate; and the thought of completely losing Internet access for any serious length of time sends me into a full-on panic attack. And, I am not being melodramatic when I say, “I cannot function without the Internet.” I’m sure that I could give up MySpace, Facebook, LiveJournal, OkCupid, LastFM, iTunes, MSN Messenger, AIM, and Yahoo IM if absolutely necessary. While these programs/sites are important to maintaining my sanity, and useful in maintaining contact with friends around the globe; they are not imperative to the continuation of my life. However, without the use of the Internet and my email, I would not be able to access my bank account balance, verify course enrollment, solidify my financial aid and student loans, even attend my courses. In short, my life would fall apart.

I have constructed a life executed almost entirely over the “web.” Perhaps I was able to envision this scheme because I am a product of the “virtual age.” The Internet and I are a virtually the same age; actually, I am 4 months older than the Internet. Well, this is not really true if you place the birth of the Internet as the initial APRANET development throughout the cold war. But if you do, as I have chosen to, say that the Internet was born on January 1, 1983, when military computers (formerly using NCP) migrated to the use of TCP/IP protocol then I am 3 months and 22 days older than the Internet. However, that Internet was not available to the general populace, much like I (as an infant) was not ready for mass socialization. The Internet and I exploded upon the world in tandem in the 1990s.

APWNN (Place With No Name), lovingly referred to as “place,” was an online bulletin board (BBS). Unknown to the majority of the UNO library staff, the UNO library servers were running a massive text-based BBS for the entire New Orleans geek community. Everything that was worth reading or writing about was on “place:” cheat codes, program code, Whitewolf and Wizards of the Coast game updates, and of course online drama. I was rocketed into the world of instant data procurement and communication. The transition from friends logging onto APWNN with a Commador-64 to using my Macintosh Centris to remotely access Tulane University’s servers to research my junior year science project seemed instantaneous. By the time I joined the Air Force, our home-based web access was a hack (with a stolen user Id and password) into the remote Loyno (Loyola New Orleans) server and my roommate was tech-support for a domain hosting company. Even I was falling behind the dot-com power curve!

But, it would be my military service that made me realize the power of accessing the virtual world. Online banking and livejournal (lj) became my personal saviors. From my dorm room in California, I could manage my bank account in New Orleans (Bank One was not in California at this point) as well as update more than 20 friends on my life, love and adventures. Email was convenient, but the freedom to update lj once as opposed to cutting and pasting drawn out stories into emails was stellar. The blog culture became imperative to my communication. Now, the only people I email are my parents and grandparents; and that’s only because I can’t be bothered to censor my blog.

I have mentioned two aspects of online life: the social aspect and the business aspect. These are both very important to my life. However, when discussing the usefulness of the Internet we cannot forget the information accessibility. How did I survive without Wikipedia, imdb, Google, and AskJeeves? I don’t know. All of the knowledge of the world exists behind the search engine. If I want to whether or not Verka Serduchka (the Ukrainian entry in Eurovision this year) was in fact “ripping off” Gogol Bordello or vice-versa; I do a search in Wikipedia. If I want to know how much money I need to travel from Edinburgh, Scotland to Varna, Bulgaria, I go to SkyScanner. Much like I cannot imagine going out clubbing without a cell phone (I did buy a UK cell phone as soon as I reached the country.); I cannot imagine not instantaneously being able to find the answer to any question I have, no matter how random.

The world exists online. I’m not referring to computer games like SecondLife (in which a world literally exists completely virtually); I find that frightening. I am referring to the fact that I can, without getting out of my pajamas accomplish most, if not all of my daily errands; communicate with my friends in Germany, America, Korea, Italy, etc; as well as complete and turn-in my homework. I haven’t been to a CD store in years, and only go to bookstores for the smell. This is the modern age; but it is a double-edged sword. As the virtual world expands and science fiction becomes science fact, we cannot ignore the possibility that we are changing as a race. Human interaction no longer requires the physical. Direct brain interfaces are not theoretical anymore, and may be released in the video game market within the year. I have chosen to live my life online so that I can see the world. I believe that as communications technology expands the market base while shrinking the world, not being comfortable with international culture and interaction will become an alienating disability.

However, What about the people that live their lives in order to not see the world? New psychosis are rapidly developing across the globe as more and more people become incapable of face-to-face human interaction, replacing what is necessary for the continuation of humanity with virtual relationships. As we continue to make leaps in virtual technology and human systems interaction, I believe these elements will balance; human interaction and virtual interaction will continue to feed each other and allow for a universal world-view. However, it’s not a bad idea to remember that the writings of Jules Verne and Ray Bradbury were once considered as ridiculous as “The Matrix” is today. Internet addiction is not just a theory it’s a reality. I have experienced the pain of Internet withdrawal; symptoms of which I’m sure can be likened to any “hard drugs” available. So, I leave you with this humorous take on what can occur when people are “disconnected,” while I go check my email, IM my friends, update my lj, edit my Facebook, and pay some bills.

What happens when the Internet goes down?

In the name of Love

Because, it's the sweetest idea ever... and it relates to my last post. International Love is beautiful thing! And in Paris nonetheless! A great cliche!

International love: Destiny or Cliche

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“How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?”

Do I love? Or better yet, am I capable of love? Is it, perhaps, that I am constantly in love with the sociopath because I am, myself, one? Is it possible that, like the ocean, the slightest change in surface temperature can bring forth a wrath of unconquerable and deadly emotion, while the true heart and deepest parts remain calm and untouched?

I can name at this moment, 3 men I would happily throw away my whims and follow to the ends of the earth. One is like the brother I never had, and while I adore him; could never really think of him in a romantic way again. The complete lack of sexual attraction I have for him coupled with his complete happiness with a much better suited lass make the idea of a life with him, while idyllic (in that total fairy tale sense), ludicrous.

The second two I hardly know. One because I never really wanted to, and the other because there just hasn’t been time. One stands as an icon, and you cannot maintain an icon when you know them as a human.

Can I say I’ve really loved anyone? I have come to realization that perhaps I am in love with an idea. Perhaps I have just used a person that fits some description of my “perfect man” to idealize the man I want. If this is truly the case, it’s possible that a relationship with him would be completely disastrous and painful to both of us. If you have idealized a person for so long, is it possible that they have become nothing more than an icon? If this is the case, the reality of that person can be a very dangerous thing to both your own sanity, and theirs. If this is truly the case, I should stay as far away as possible.

Young love is of course, the best love. Not young as in the age of the persons in love (though love between young people is totally Hollywood beautiful), but young as in early stages of a relationship. The first few months are so peaceful and happy as you imagine a possible future with a person. You imprint upon this other human being the ideals you seek, and only later do you question why they have yet to live up to those standards.

Young international love is even better. Like something straight out of a Victorian romance, the young lovers kiss on a bridge overlooking iconic images of foreign lands, and then the image fades. What happens next? Of course we all imagine that our young hero and heroine live happily ever after, but that is the story, the romance. Where does reality step in? In reality, can they live together? Are they going to figure out that they are completely unsuited for each other? Who is going to break whose heart and what life decisions will have suffered because of it?

It is often said that legends all began with truth. Does it then follow that clichés are such because they happen often? The cliché goes something like this. Young female traveler meets the man of her dreams in a café in some exotic foreign land. What follows is a whirlwind love affair topped off with passionate kiss as fireworks memorialize some holiday she doesn’t even know the name of.

Well, in my experience, we met in front of a theater; and the fireworks memorialized the end of the festival season in Edinburgh. The backdrop was a pond in a city park lit by a spectacle of fireworks and music from a castle towering above. I was incredibly drunk on South African Shiraz I had been drinking directly from the bottle and some kind of sickly sweet Irish liquor I would be perfectly happy to never drink again (clichéd much?). But now, it’s the next day, the next week, and I wonder where exactly it goes from here?

So, what’s my final outcome? Love is love. Be it in Paris, Venice, Edinburgh, or New Orleans. Perhaps the romantic ideal of finding one’s perfect love in a foreign land is clichéd. But really, it’s just that love itself is, for some people, a regular part of life. No matter how far, or fast, I run. No matter where I go, I will always find myself faced with my own soul, and thus my own predisposition for love. As I get older and live through more heartbreaks and letdowns each one becomes less and less painful. But, the cycle does not end. I will probably not make the wisest decision in this current situation, nor will I probably make the best decisions regarding love in the future. It is not in my nature to do the logical when dealing with the whims of my heart. But I will let the current take me, and what will be, will be.

Aftermath

2 years. As I surf the “web,” I find countless references to the fact that it’s been 2 years now since hurricane Katrina slammed into the southeastern United States, leaving behind a wound both physical and emotional. She not only murdered, destroyed, and washed away so much in her path; she gashed open issues that we as Americans had swept away for years. Festering wounds on our own national identity came to surface. A simple web search for Katrina + California will find a scathing and bitter undercurrent of feeling from southerners regarding everything from liberalism to oil resources, from earthquakes to vegetarian diets. If anyone thought that the tensions between the north and south of the US were over, Katrina proved otherwise. When faced with the question, “how much should the federal government be expected to aid a city/state?” the answers were both inspirational and shocking. But, in the end, did anyone really come up with an answer? Louisiana has relied on the federal government for years and will continue to do so, but no one has figured out if that is responsible or warranted. Is it possible that in relying on the federal government we allow our specific cultural identities to be watered down? Is America one nation? Or is America a united group of nations? In the future, how should we look at ourselves?

Most people talking about Katrina are amazed that so much time has passed since the storm. They speak about the destruction they still face in their daily lives, the lack of assistance, the countless people that still wait for direction, or aid. Have we created a cult here? Is this the new American cult of disaster? Where we stand by helplessly always looking back to the point of our demise? Waiting for someone to give us an answer as to where we are supposed to head now? I personally can’t believe it was only two years! I hear two years and think, “ Really! God, it feels like decades ago!” How many people have I been since that day? An American Airman in South Korea, a future-wife, the other woman, a student, a bartender, a traveler; all these things I experienced, I have lived since “the storm.” My life goes on, and on, and on. What affect did this storm have on that? Is it perhaps that my response was to keep moving? I ran away from New Orleans once; I returned to a city torn apart and grieving, her wounds open and bleeding for the world to see. I found that I could do nothing to help her.

What was Katrina like for me? Everyone seems to want to describe the moment. The moment they realized the storm was really coming, the moment they saw the levees break, the feelings they had. Across the world, across continents, everyone who holds the city dear or close for whatever reason, was glued to a television set somewhere, desperate to know what was happening, how the this place was going to fare. I was not exempt from this group. I cried, a lot; didn’t we all? I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t work. Was useless like everyone else, but the one thought playing in my head like a broken record was, “I was trained for this! I can help! Just get me there.” Of course, upon my arrival I wasn’t needed, and could do nothing to ease the pain of my city. Heck! I couldn’t even get into my city. But, at least I was there. And that sentiment is why I had to separate from the Air Force, and it’s why I had to be back. The city kept calling to me, as it does. And that hasn’t changed. Even now, that I’ve run away yet again. It’s still home.

As I walk the streets of Edinburgh or London, do I see something alien? No, I see only the similarities. I see home everywhere I look. The café I go to, reminds me of Zotz; the bars remind me of Flanagan’s. New Orleans has a grip on my soul, as I’m sure it does to everyone who has been infected with the city. This is why people will fight to the death for it. This is why no one who has ever lived there questions whether it should be saved. But, how do you save a city that never wants to be saved? How do you save a place that exists to be on the edge? I don’t know. For me, I’ll be an ambassador. I’ll keep telling people to visit while knowing deep down I don’t have the intestinal fortitude to actually live there myself (yet). I’ll keep traveling the world, looking for answers. Looking for the reality about humanity I need to find to be able to answer the questions that face the city now. How do we deal with urban blight? Poverty? Crime? Maybe we don’t. Maybe the town will eventually die, but I don’t think so. I think like a three legged dog… she’ll just keep on running after bones. Limping about without a care in the world because what the pitying onlookers don’t realize is that leg wasn’t all that important anyway. It’s the soul that matters. And you can’t ever kill the soul of my city. She infects every human she touches, and she will live forever.

The Futility of Education

That which he creates defines a man, and to define not just oneself but many men is a thing of wonder. For this reason, we build the gallery and the museum; these places become churches where we worship not God, but the ingenuity and creative capability of mankind, which is what separates us from the rest of the creatures on Earth. In the past few months I have made a habit of worshipping at these sites. What I have found is that, while I was glad for my knowledge of the pieces I viewed, the education I received had been futile when faced with the actuality of the work.
In the academic setting, society requires that students take lecture courses on art. The hope being the students will at least gain an appreciation for the field. In this aspect we are marginally successful. The memorization of works and dates becomes tedious, and more often than not students sleep through their lectures, catching only key ideas they will then regurgitate at a later date. The problem lies in the fact that as much as the professor can try to relate the experience of viewing a piece, in the end, art must speak for itself. Something that is completely impossible through the slide replication. I do not see the humor of a Johns encaustic if I cannot recognize that it is encaustic through a slide. Nor can I appreciate the beauty of a Mapplethorpe photograph blown up to 50 times its actual size. Magritte’s “The Treachery of Images” completely loses it’s meaning when you don’t recognize that the pipe is painted exactly life size. The question then, is how does the academic institution maintain a program to widen the student’s world-view when this art is scattered across the globe. I had to visit multiple countries to view only a few select American artists. I must go to Paris to see the “Mona Lisa,” Italy to see a Michelangelo, etc. While the actuality of the work is the only way in which the student can appreciate it’s importance, perhaps the answer to the academic question is not in the university funding world travel for students enrolled in Art History or Art Appreciation course, though that would be truly wonderful; but instead in the way the subject matter is approached.
The first step in the process of redefining the art course is that students and professors recognize its futility. If both parties walk into the lecture hall recognizing that the course is not about memorizing images and theories, but instead about preparing for a journey that each must embark upon individually at a later date. Changing the point of the class from information that must be received to be considered “educated” to inspiration to seek out things of great beauty.
Secondly, the United States of America is severely lacking in foreign exchange experiences. We often hear stories of students studying abroad in other countries, and the occasional well-off American student may get the chance to study in another country for a summer or so; but in order to facilitate an internalized world-view studying, working, or living abroad must become the rule and not the exception. Americans learn of foreign countries as far-away places that do not affect our daily lives, and might have some neat old stuff, hardly an open-minded world-view. However, foreign exchange programs are often cost-prohibitive, highly selective, and generally difficult. In Europe, on the other hand, if students are studying abroad the “gap-year” (year between high school and university or between university and life) is not only common, it’s almost expected. Warranted, the “Mona Lisa,” is much more accessible if you happen to live in Spain than it is if you happen to live oceans away from it, but that’s really not an excuse. With the accessibility of low-cost travel, e-learning, and worldwide market economy, it’s almost ridiculous to feel cut off from the rest of society just because there happens to be an ocean in the way.
Finally, art in your own backyard. It is really quite sad that while most university students diligently tromp their way to classes, they are rarely encouraged to visit the galleries and museums in their own communities. First of all, only a few places in American have student discounts/are free. This is just ludicrous! All places of art should be available to all people no matter how much money they happen to have. And the professors of art should mandate not just encourage that their students seek out art in their own communities to experience what it is to be faced with the reality of a piece, to be moved by something. Yes, perhaps they are not looking at “the classics” or “the masters” but they are looking, and feeling, and that is what will truly inspire a person to see more.
Art is an experience, and the greatest pieces are scattered across the globe for our wonder and amazement wherever we go. For now, I will continue to gaze at the masters and wonder how I never “got it” in the classroom or lecture hall. But, I will continue to hope that one day, there will be a future in which everyone is