Archive for the 'Diary' Category

So, I got stopped by some cops for taking some pictures.

The pictures were of these beautiful (to me at least) smoke stacks in town. I was driving by and thought the light was just right and decided to go ahead and snap some shots.

I was out there for about 10-15 minutes at the most. Around the time I was going to walk over and take a last shot of this peacock made out of flowers a cop car showed up, and from what I’d read on Boing Boing in the past about cops harrassing photogs I had a good idea of what to expect.

First there was one cop, officer Garcia. He opened with a general “why are you taking pictures,” and I explained that the smoke has this wonderful texture to it and I’m attracted to industrial looking buildings and structures, later referencing pictures I’d taken of abandoned buildings in Detroit. He talked about how in “this day and age” people get concerned when they see someone taking pictures of energy sources — and I thought, so that’s what it does!

Unfortunately, it was really really cold, and I accidentally put my hands in my pockets one too many times, which led the officer to frisk me. Yep, hands behind my back and legs spread apart, the real deal. All taking place along Neil street near that horrendously named new restaurant Buttitta’s. Maybe you saw me?

The officer didn’t like it when he found my iPhone set to record audio — oops. ( ^ _ ^ ) I told him it was for my own protection. Either way I didn’t do it right and the phone wasn’t recording anyway. He tried to tell me that it would have been illegal for me to be recording, and I’m familiar with the laws he was referring to, but it doesn’t apply to a public situation like that, especially where you’re talking to an officer, does it? I also found it odd when the officer started reading through my various little sets of notes and notebooks. That isn’t legal, is it?

Eventually two other cops showed up, one of whom repeated the line about “this day and age” and whether I understood why they stopped me, while the other amused me by asking if I was part of any ecological student groups on campus.

Overall, I didn’t mind. I’m pretty docile in those situations, and it felt like fieldwork more than anything else, where I was observing them as much as they were observing me. I tried not to be too creepy when I was taking my pictures, and it was right by a park of sorts with a sidewalk nearby, so I hadn’t been too concerned. But I wasn’t completely surprised when things went down the way they did.

After all that, I hope you like some of the pictures I took. I almost got arrested for them. Unfortunately, I never did get a shot of that peacock.

Insert Lyrics from a Song about Change

For those who don’t know, I have decided to change my dissertation research project from Japanese gay men in Tokyo and their experience of electronic and physical spaces to Mexican-American women in the U.S. and their performance/experience of family on Facebook. Yes, it’s a big change.

The main reason I changed was a desire to be able to participate in the dialogue about social media in the United States. This work also opens up projects that wouldn’t necessarily have been possible before, such as sharing photos and video of my research participants. Moreover it opens up the possibility of doing tech related service projects that run parallel to my work.

All along, though, I was experiencing anxiety about my project. Gay men in Japan are very private, and I worried about the ethics of shining light onto their hidden world. I also experienced a lot of resistance and hesitation from men I interacted with about participating in my research. In addition, I didn’t feel like I would ever reach the level of language ability that I would like to have for the kind of research I would like to do, such as having an intimate, if not embodied, knowledge of pop culture in the country where I am doing research.

One of the main reasons I experienced anxiety, though, had to do with my own sexuality. I had already been identifying as “mostly straight” for the past few years, but this became pronounced in the field. What I mean is that in this context I discovered just how terribly straight I am after all. I do think it’s possible to do research on Japanese gay men in Tokyo without being open to having sex, but I think it creates certain difficulties that cannot be ignored, especially when it comes to establishing relationships. Relatedly, I felt self-conscious about the fact that when I spent time in gay bars and struck up conversations with men, I was primarily interested in establishing a platonic friendship, while they were typically interested in a sexual and/or romantic relationship, which made me feel as if I was wasting and/or abusing their time.

So, that’s that. I’ve talked to my committee and my department, and they understand and are supportive. It was a tough decision after spending so many years on this project. As an indicator of how much it meant to me, after I dropped my Japanese class because I would no longer be needing it, I came home and bawled because of how much of a break this was with the community I had been becoming part of and the self that I had been creating.

It will be tough, though not as tough as my research in Japan, and for that, among other things, such as learning Spanish, I am terribly excited. My encounter with Latino anthropologists at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign made me aware of work I’d embarrassingly been unaware of before, and made me feel guilty after a while for not doing work on Latinos, so that is one other aspect of this new path.

Oh, Anzaldua

Reading Anzaldua makes my eyes watery. This Chicana lesbian talking about the border in Texas resonates with me. It hurts to think about how late I was introduced to her. It hurts to think about what if I never did. It makes me wonder how different my life and thoughts would have been if I’d found her sooner. She, this queer intellectual poet, makes me feel like I have a home among los mexicanos, a home I never knew existed and that I never thought I would have.

I saw two hats fly off heads on the way home.

One hat was really nice and gray, and I saw it in the street behind me after I heard someone grunt, just in time to see a car drive over it and then have it disappear from view.

The other hat belonged to a very young girl who was on the back seat of a bike being driven by her dad, or possibly grandfather. I picked up the hat and gave it to the dad, and he was thankful. But what I remember the most was the little girl’s cries of “Daddy! Daddy!” In her voice I could hear that she loved that neon pink and green hat and that it would tear her heart apart to lose it. It reminded me of my little sister and my eyes got watery on the way home. The little girl looked back at me for a brief moment and I wondered if she would remember it in the years to come — the time some weird foreigner rescued her beloved hat.

The Absolute Truth of the World

“He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.”

– Cormac McCarthy, The Road, p. 130

The Burden of Happiness

I’ve been reading The Road, but it’s so emotionally overwhelming that I have to stop every few pages to keep myself from breaking down. I decided to read something lighter concurrently to have another book to escape to when my psychological defenses are low and ended up choosing Mountains Beyond Mountains, about the doctor and anthropologist Paul Farmer. I’m really enjoying the book, but with the goal I had in mind, I don’t think it was the right choice.

Just now I was reading about Farmer’s decision to endure a multitude of hardships in order to serve the underclass in Haiti, which he said was “a way to deal with ambivalence.” Farmer is quoted as saying, “I feel ambivalent about selling my services in a world where some can’t buy them. You can feel ambivalent about that, because you should feel ambivalent. Comma.” The author explains, “[This way of ending his sentence] stood for the word that would follow the comma, which was asshole.”

Then I broke down. This part, which refers to a patient there, was what did it: “A younger man whom Farmer refers to as Lazarus, who arrived some months ago on a bed frame carried by relatives, wasted by AIDS and TB to about 90 pounds, now weighing in at about 150, cured of TB and his AIDS arrested thanks to medications.”

Reading about someone being so miraculously helped by medicine made me feel inadequate, naive, misdirected… In my head a voice rang out over and over again, “What are you doing [to help]? What are you doing? What are you doing?”

I haven’t been able to help anyone like that with my work, nor do I think I ever will, and that troubles me. For the past few years I have also wondered if my work on gay men in Tokyo is the best way to try and help, never mind the barriers that academia puts in place towards achieving such a goal, nor the pitfalls associated with comparing forms of oppression. A research participant even asked once how I proposed to help people with my work, and all I could say was that my primary goal as a sociocultural anthropologist is to understand.

I’m far along on this path and there isn’t much I can do about it now, and I do believe that my work has merit, but I must find a way to do more. Every time I feel pleased, happy, or comfortable I try to remind myself of that and remember the others who don’t have the same privileges that I do. I must find a way to rid myself of this burden of happiness.

Wahhh My Life is Boring!: How Having a Video Camera Makes You Feel Uninteresting

Of course, when I say that my life is boring, I mean that it is boring in a visual sense, not that I don’t find my life interesting. Rather than complain about my life, the goal of recording this video was to capture and express the way that my experience of reality is mediated through this device. Now, when I experience the world, it is evaluated for its visual interestingness — “Is this something I can capture on video and share with the world?” — in addition to be evaluated for being photographed, poeticized, storied, noted, blogged, or narrativized by some other means.

Having this camera fills me with the same sense I’m sure many others experience when they start their first blog, or, now, Twitter account — how am I going to fill this space? It’s a bit like having a blindingly blank page in front of me at all times, except that the criteria for making it go away is different.

All of these technologies for recording and sharing ourselves — they are also part of what makes us into cyborgs. With this video camera, I’m no longer myself, but myself-video-camera, just as I am myself-blog, myself-Twitter, and myself-notebook. In turn, not only are my memories of reality shaped through these devices, but the “me” that others experience is too, especially since I wouldn’t have shared this thought if I hadn’t recorded that video.

Does the New Kindle App for the iPhone Spell Doom for Fictionwise?

I’ve been waiting excitedly for this app to come out.

There were rumblings about it bundled in with the Kindle 2 news, but I felt like I would have to wait longer than this for it to come out for some reason.

I wasn’t waiting for the Kindle app because there weren’t any other ebook apps. As it is, I’ve already read some ebooks on my iPhone, such as World War Z from Fictionwise with the eReader app and Ulysses from Book Glutton with the Stanza app.

Instead, the reason I was waiting for this app was price. In fact, just the other night I was considering buying Spook Country from Fictionwise, but at around $20 it was just too expensive, especially compared to the Kindle version for $10.

My first thought, then, is to wonder just how negative an effect this will have on Fictionwise. I notice that they have already dropped the price of Spook Country down to about $14. With a club membership the price would be slightly lower, and truth be told I do like reading on the eReader app better than the Stanza app or the Kindle app. So, it still might be worth it to get the book through Fictionwise afterall now that the prices are so much closer to each other, but I don’t know how many others will lean towards this option.

Edit: As of 2009-03-06 the price of Spook Country on Fictionwise is back up to over $20. Maybe they weren’t trying to compete with the Kindle’s prices after all, to their detriment, I predict.

Had a Bad Day: Thursday, February 26th, 2009, Edition

When I woke up I discovered that I forgot to take my milk jug (that I had just bought the night before so I could eat cereal) back downstairs and it was spoilt.

Then when I went to catch the bus I noticed a large crowd waiting at the bus stop and felt relieved. But then they walked away and I figured out that they were in a class observing nature and that I had missed my bus. (Luckily I was able to catch another one.)

In Japanese I found that I did much more work on our homework than was necessary. I had woken up incredibly early in the morning so that I could get this homework done, and was stressed out the entire morning because I didn’t think I would be able to finish it in time to turn it in.

I went to a discussion on “Lust, Caution,” and didn’t realize that it lasted for two hours instead of one. It was somewhat painful since I had gotten such little sleep the night before.

I was waiting for a car to move from a perfect parking space when I went to the atheist meeting, and just before I could back up into it another car took it.

After the atheist meeting and a discussion at a local bar I was left feeling somewhat hopeless about the future of humanity and my fit into society.

Anti-American

From a conversation with a colleague:

Them: “What country are you from?”
Me: “Oh, I’m from the United States.”
Them: (Embarrassed) “Oh really? I thought you were from somewhere else. I’m sorry.”
Me: “No, that’s fine. I take it as a compliment.”