"I like my sugar with coffee and cream"

That's a line from the Beastie Boys' song, "Intergalactic," off of their album Hello Nasty. And that line reminds me of something that happened earlier today.

As I often do, I went out for a late morning walk across Arch Street and down through the concourse and food court of the Comcast Center, which connects underground to Suburban Station. And like many train stations, there are plenty of places to go for a quick meal or a snack. Or in my case, for my morning coffee.

So I get to Dunkin Donuts and step up to place my order with the young woman standing behind the register. I say, "medium coffee, with sugar, no cream." So she turns to an older man who is standing right, and I mean right, next to her, and she says, "medium coffee, with sugar, little cream." So I speak up and say, "No, no: no cream, just sugar." But behind the counter and out of my line of sight, the guy must've poured some cream into a cup, because the girl says to him, "no cream." So the guy tosses the cup in his hand and grabs a new, second cup and begins to pour out some coffee. But I say right then, jokingly, as if to reaffirm what the girl has said: "just sugar, no cream, no coffee." As soon as I say that, the guy begins to move as if he will pour out the contents of this second cup and then grab a third, new cup. But I say, "no, no, I'm just joking, I want coffee with my sugar." And both the girl and the guy look at me stone-faced, clearly not understanding what the heck I was talking about, probably being accustomed to customers either tired or rushed to catch a train, and not really used to any attempt at humor, especially the hard-to-detect, dry-and-sarcastic kind.

Needless to say, I got back to the office with my coffee. It had just the right amount of sugar. And no cream.

Need Change?

I was walking down Walnut Street earlier today. On the southern side of the 1400 block (between Broad and 15th Streets) and between Lush and the Bank of America ATM, there was a group of three modern-day hobos, i.e. train-hoppers, the color of brown from head to toe: clothes, skin, hair, and all. I'm not saying that they were of African descent; no, by all outward appearances, they were almost certainly of European descent. I'm merely saying that they were totally brown, kinda like Pigpen from The Peanuts.

Well, of these three hobos, the one sitting in the middle was young and healthy-looking. He was holding a sign that read: "I'm like Obama. I want change." Pretty good pun, huh? I got a good laugh from that one.

The Chairman says...

Just about every night now I'm tuning in to the Olympics. And every night, right around the 9 o'clock hour, they check in with Bob Costas at the "International Broadcasting Booth." They have him sitting at this desk, with a shot of Tiananmen Square in the background, and over his left shoulder (on our, the viewers', right-hand side) is a clear shot of the larger-than-life portrait of Mao Tse-Tung hanging from the Tiananmen Gate. This got me to thinking about a book that I read three summers ago, during my first summer of law school. The book: "On Guerrilla Warfare" by Mao Tse-Tung.

In the spirit of intercultural exchange, engendered and inspired by the Beijing Olympics, let me offer you some quotes from that book:

Political power comes out of the barrel of a gun.

The first law of war is to preserve ourselves and destroy the enemy.

Historical experience is written in blood and iron.

Without a political goal, guerrilla warfare must fail, as it must if its political objectives do not coincide with the aspirations of the people and their sympathy, cooperation, and assistance cannot be gained. The essence of guerrilla warfare is thus revolutionary in character.

Evil does not exist in guerrilla warfare but only in the unorganized and undisciplined activities that are anarchism -- Mao quoting Lenin.

Guerrilla warfare is the primary war strategy of a people seeking to emancipate itself -- Mao quoting Chang Tso Hua.

Guerrilla strategy is the only strategy possible for an oppressed people -- Mao quoting Kao Kang.

The people must be inspired to cooperate voluntarily. We must not force them, for if we do, it will be ineffectual.

Military action is a method used to attain a political goal. While military affairs and political affairs are not identical, it is impossible to isolate one from the other.

We further our mission of destroying the enemy by propagandizing his troops, by treating his captured soldiers with consideration, and by caring for those of his wounded who fall into our hands. If we fail in these respects, we strengthen the solidarity of our enemy.

[T]he fundamental axiom of combat on which all military action is based [. . . : c]onservation of one's own strength; destruction of enemy strength.

In all battles and wars, a struggle to gain and retain the initiative goes on between the opposing sides, for it is the side that holds the initiative that has the liberty of action. When an army loses the initiative, it loses its liberty; its role becomes passive; it faces the danger of defeat and destruction.

The book clearly demonstrates -- in its 114 pages (which are really less, since the first 40 pages are a scholar's introduction) -- that Mao was a pragmatic politician who understood the basic principles of politics, which necessarily included a seemingly instinctual, yet well-thought-out and logical, understanding of the masses and the practical need for concentrated, mobile military action to harass the establishment's armed forces in the campaign to gain popular appeal, and thus political strength.

Despite the brevity of the book, one is struck with the simple power of Mao's thinking. And as a result, one is left to understand how Mao continues to convey such influence, even authority, over China -- its government, society, and its people -- and at a more basic level, why you and I saw his face looking at us from the exterior wall of the Gate of Heavenly Peace into our living rooms over the course of these 2008 Olympics.

Noticias

Estimados lectores hispanohablantes:

Este noviembre voy con mi amigo, Paul, al sureste de Asia. Mas especificamente, vamos a intentar a visitar los 4 paises de esa parte del mundo: Tailandia, Laos, Cambodia, y Vietnam.

Estoy emocionado porque esto sera mi primera vez en Asia. Realmente, mi primer toque en Asia sera en Japon porque tengo un cambio de vuelos ("lay-over") en Aeropuerto Narita, que es el aeropuerto de Tokio. De ahi, voy y llego en Bangkok, la capital de Tailandia.

Otro evento mas temprano es el concierto de Tortured Soul, uno de mis grupos favoritos. Haga clic AQUI para visitar el sitio de ellos y escuche unas piezas de Tortured Soul. El concierto es el proximo jueves, en Newark, una ciudad al norte del estado de New Jersey, que queda muy cerca, solo unos kilometros de New York City.

Tortured Soul es un grupo de tres maes: uno en la guitarra baja, otro en el keyboard, y el baterista, quien tambien es el cantante. La musica puede ser clasificada como house o electronica, por el sonido del keyboard. Pero tambien puede ser clasificada como soul, por la voz y la forma de cantar del cantante. En total, es una combinacion que me gusta mucho.

Finalmente, les digo que tengo ganas de ir a un partido de football ("futbol norteamericano") de mi universidad de derecho: Temple University. La universidad esta ubicada en el norte de la ciudad de Philadelphia. Por un acuerdo con el equipo profesional de football aqui en Philadelphia -- los Philadelphia Eagles (Aguilas) -- el equipo de Temple juega todos sus partidos en casa en el estadio profesional de los Eagles. El estadio se llama Lincoln Financial Field, y es uno de los mejores estadios en todo el pais. Fue construido muy recientemente.

En la temporada pasada, el noviembre pasado si me acuerdo bien, yo fui con mi amigo Bill a un partido de los Temple Owls contra los Penn State Nittany Lions, en Lincoln Financial Field. Penn State es mucho, mucho mejor que los Owls, y ellos ganaron. Pero los Owls lucharon hasta el final contra un rival mas fuerte y con mas "armas," es decir, mas jugadores mas atleticos.

El primer partido en casa de los Temple Owls es el 6 de septiembre. Quiero aprovechar de ver un partido en Lincoln Financial Field, sin pagar tanto como ir a un partido de los Philadelphia Eagles. Y a la misma vez, quiero apoyar mi universidad, la universidad donde estudie derecho.

Bueno, ticos, nicas, boricuas, y cualquier Fulano de Tal, espero que todo este bien con ustedes. Espero que sigan visitando mi sitio aunque sea casi siempre escrito en ingles. Y finalmente, espero que todo este PURA VIDA, MAE!!!

Doesn't it suck when . . .

. . . you've just gotten out of the shower, feeling all fresh and clean, when you suddenly realize that you have to take a monster shit? And then, during the long, protracted process of taking that monster shit, you seriously debate whether you should get in the shower all over again, in order to re-clean what was just re-dirtied?

I guess you could call that a shitty night.

Wade to Kobe Dunk

Click HERE to see the Dwyane Wade to Kobe Bryant alley oop from the USA-Greece basketball game in the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

How sick was that?

Women are equals of men -- social conservatives should quit resisting it

Woman-centered, not fetus-centered

In the United States, the debate around abortion has been tactically centered -- intentionally -- around the concept of the fetus. That is to say that not only all discussion, but more importantly, all thought and consideration of abortion begins with the fetus as the protagonist and the anchor around which any debate begins and develops. This 'framing of the issue' -- strategic as it is -- is meant to distract most people from the real protagonist: the woman who has become pregnant.

The effect of this tactical shift from woman-centered to fetus-centered analysis is noted in the book, "Backlash," by Susan Faludi: "[a]s the fetus's rights increased, the mother's just kept diminishing." (p. 432). The end result of this intentional tactical shift by social conservatives from woman-centered to fetus-centered discussion was that, "by the close of the '80s, a fetus actually had more legal rights in some areas than a live child." (p. 430).


Liberty for all, not control by some over others

A woman's right to decide whether or not to abort her pregnancy -- and her concomitant rights to 1) professional medical advice to inform her decision and 2) professional medical services to care for her in the event that she does decide to abort her pregnancy -- are inextricably tied to the concepts of sexual independence and reproductive freedom.

Sexual independence is a facet of the American idea of liberty; sexual independence is personal liberty within the realm of sexual behavior. This means that women have the same scope of sexual freedom allowed men, and that either gender is free to make decisions regarding their sexual behavior without an obligation to consult the opposite gender. As this relates to abortion, as it is presently considered in the United States, this necessarily demands the elimination of the primacy of male family control. And in basic terms, it is important to keep in mind that control is the antithesis of freedom.


Pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion

Those who are pro-choice can be described as those who are in favor of abortion rights, which does not mean that they are proponents of abortion. This is a critical distinction which many social conservatives would prefer to blur; it is a critical distinction which Angela Y. Davis points out in her book, "Women, Race & Class," on page 204.


Reproductive freedom, not reproductive control

From "Women, Race & Class", page 202, by Angela Y. Davis:

When nineteenth-century feminists raised the demand for "voluntary motherhood," the campaign for birth control was born.

"Voluntary motherhood" was considered audacious, outrageous and outlandish by those who insisted that wives had no right to refuse to satisfy their husbands' sexual urges.

Birth control -- individual choice, safe contraceptive methods, as well as abortions when necessary -- is a fundamental prerequisite for the emancipation of women.

Legal analysis of abortion: Roe v. Wade

Any time I hear or read anything from an anti-abortion/anti-reproductive rights proponent about Roe, I wonder to myself whether they have ever read the actual Supreme Court opinion. This is only my own personal presumption, but I would presume that the answer is 'no.' I have a feeling that many of these proponents believe that the court opinion is simply the length of a short paragraph, something like: "Abortion is legal because we say so. We can easily change our opinion later if you elect a Republican president though. Thanks, the Supreme Court."

From "Backlash", regarding Roe: "[t]he landmark ruling is simply a return to status quo. The right to an abortion -- practiced in one form or another since colonial times -- had never been restricted until the last half of the late 19th century." (p. 421). In fact, "[i]n 1800, abortion was legal in every state and popular opinion on it largely neutral." (p. 422).

The fetus-centered analysis, mentioned above and which comprises today's popular opinion, however, is in sharp contrast to the logical consideration of the U.S. Supreme Court, a consideration all the more important because it carries legal force and authority. The Court has unequivocally ruled that "a woman's life and health must always prevail over the fetus's life and health, direct quote 439 U.S. 379, 400." (quoted in Backlash, p. 444). Furthermore, "[t]he courts have long held that parents cannot be compelled to take actions to benefit their children's health." (p. 440). Nevertheless, the weight of popular opinion -- to which the courts are subject to influence being that they are made up of real people -- led to a deterioration of that position; from Backlash: "[b]ut when it came down to a choice between the health of the mother and the rights of the fetus, the fetus began to win out." (p. 440).


The moral of this story:

"All of women's aspirations -- whether for education, work, or any form of self-determination -- ultimately rests on their ability to decide whether and when to bear children. For this reason, reproductive freedom has always been the most popular item in each of the successive feminist agendas -- and the most heavily assaulted target of each backlash." (Backlash, p. 422).

Doesn't it suck when...

. . . you've just wiped your ass and you realize that you must've been careless in folding the toilet paper because you also realize that you actually wiped your asshole through direct contact with your finger(s)?

I guess you could call that a shitty day.

The Redeem Team

Just finished watching the USA men's basketball team, a/k/a "the Redeem Team," win their first Olympic game against the men's national team from China. It has been said that this was the most-watched game in the history of basketball. And I set my alarm and woke up this morning with the express purpose of watching this game.

And what a game it was! The first half was a nail-biter; I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat, as China hit 3-point shot after 3-point shot, and the Redeem Team kept in the game with solid interior defense and athletic play on the offensive end. And even sitting by myself in my apartment at the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I could just feel the intensity and excitement through the television screen. The game really had the electricity of an NBA finals game 7.

In the second half, Team USA pulled away from China by relentlessly applying pressure defense, oftentimes leading to steals or defensive rebounds off of bad shots, and by pushing the ball up the court in order to take advantage of its greater speed, athleticism, and deeper bench. For me, the most exciting aspect of the game was seeing the NBA's three most dynamic and athletic scorers (with the possible exception of Iverson) on the court at the same time and playing with notable chemistry and selflessless; the three stars, of course: Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, and Dywayne Wade. All 3 looked fast, strong, and sharp, as individuals and as teammates.

There were so many amazing plays. But the one that stood out to me as totally sick was a fast-break where Kobe was handling the ball, and just after he crossed the elbow on the right-wing, he flipped the ball up in the air with his left hand, and LeBron elevated over a Chinese player, and simultaneously grabbed the ball in mid-air with his right hand and, in one decisive motion, slammed the ball through -- and I mean through -- the hoop, with the Chinese player still standing on the floor beneath him. Let me tell you: It. Was. Sick. After that play, the screen flashed to a shot of President Bush in the stands, and he looked thoroughly impressed.

This was the first time that I'd had a chance to see the Redeem Team play. I was happy to see how well they played together, even while I can see that they have some room for improvement. But, all in all, I can definitely say that that game made me proud to be from the United States, undoubtedly still the world's most dominant country in basketball.

From the Gayborhood to Dubai

I watched the Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics last night. I had decided that I wouldn't go out to meet my friends until I watched the delegations from the United States and Costa Rica walk into the Bird's Nest during the Parade of Nations. Throughout the procession I cooked and then ate dinner: pasta shells with roasted garlic spaghetti sauce and two, chopped roasted garlic Italian sausages.

Once the CR delegation came into the stadium, I got ready to head out. In honor of Team USA and the start of the Beijing Olympics, I wore my red-white-and-blue Nike Prefontaine sneakers and my gray t-shirt with the G.I. Joe insignia, including the red-white-and-blue striped box next to the subtitle, "A Real American Hero."

From the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I walked straight down Spruce Street to Valanni's, a restaurant just below 13th Street. I went there first because the text that I had received from Park a little bit more than an hour earlier said that the group was there. So I walked in and looked around; I didn't recognize anyone there. As I walked out, I looked at my phone, noticed a missed call, and was about to check my voicemail, when I simply looked across the street and saw the gang seated at an outdoor table in front of Mercato. So I walked over briskly, wet my right pinky finger, and with the all-important element of surprise, gave Park a wet willy.

I sat down with the bunch there while everyone finished off their food. I had a couple glasses of wine and a few nibbles of dessert. It's important to note here that the reason that everyone gathered for a night on the town was the imminent departure of our friend, Park, who is set to relocate to Dubai, United Arab Emirates, just this coming Monday. Our night out was a chance to have some fun before he takes off, and to let him know that we're gonna miss him.

Everyone else having finished off their food and the 5 bottles of wine that they BYOB'ed, we gathered up the troops to hit the town. We walked down Camac Street all the way over to Walnut Street, until doubling back half a block down Quince Street between 12th and 11th to go to a practically unmarked bar called the Bike Stop -- a bar which, unknown to me, is apparently renowned in the Gayborhood.

The Bike Stop could've been a bar out in the exurbs for all appearances -- it was very dimly-lit, it was filled with a bunch of biker-looking dudes, it had a pool table on a raised platform on the far side of the bar, and there was classic rock music from the 1980s. But once your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you realized that the appearances revealed the bar's Gayborhood nature -- some guys were shirtless, either with or without leather suspenders, and there was not one lone woman inside the place (until we showed up with 3).

Park had explained to me that the basement of the Bike Stop was a destination in its own right; the word was that it was filled with gay guys four rows deep in total darkness and that you would have to grope your way through sweaty bodies to get to the bar. Of course once we got to the Bike Stop, I asked Park which way to the famed basement to find out if the basement was really as intimidating as its reputation indicated. Before walking down the stairs, Park noticed the sign that said "no cologne and no sneakers allowed"; neither one of us could quite figure out why those two things were prohibited. And despite the fact that I was wearing my bold tricolor sneakers, we went down anyway. So what did we see? To be honest, it really reminded me of the basement of the house I lived in on Water Street during my senior year of college: dank, dark, and cement-exposed walls. It was not, however, totally dark, nor did we have to touch anybody to get around. Other than the very strange, inexplicable feeling that all these quiet men were lined up around the cement wall waiting for some kind of performance to take place, and that there were only men down there, it wasn't weird at all.

Needless to say, we didn't stay down there too long. Park's girlfriend had come down just a couple minutes after us, and after milling down there for a few minutes, we decided to go back upstairs to play pool. The group of us played for about an hour or so. The table that we played on was so terribly slanted toward one corner that it made for some miserable games; it was funny at first, but by the end it was annoying.

So we left there around 1:30 and went directly to Knock. It was a very nice place; I was told that this is a prime location for gay professionals to meet. We all stood around and chatted for a while. But the real story there doesn't begin until right before we left, at about 2:30.

From what I understand, Park had ordered a glass of wine during last call right at 2:00am. He paid for it and may have had a couple sips of it; the glass of wine was sittting on the bar. In the bartender's haste to clean up after closing, however, he accidentally cleared Park's glass of wine. Partly because Park had paid for the wine and had not finished, but also, I suspect, because Park wanted to make a point of having his glass of wine on his last night out in Philly before his grand trip, he demanded another glass of wine to replace the one that had been taken. The bartender poured him another glass, but at that point, the owner came around to find out why a patron could be demanding any alcohol a half-hour past last call. Park had little patience (or sobriety) to explain the whole story, and the owner was put-off, saying that it was against the law to serve alcohol past 2am. So Eric steps up and says to the owner, "We are the law." And James, sensing the tension -- and obviously not knowing to whom he was speaking -- says to the owner, "Hey buddy, why don't you beat it." Right then, I walked out of the bar to meet up with the other half of our group, who were already waiting outside on the sidewalk. Surprisingly, and fortunately, things inside simmered down and the misunderstanding was cleared up -- Park downed his whole glass of wine and the three guys came right out to meet us on the sidewalk. Crisis had been averted.

Without belaboring the details, I'll say simply that we all said our good-byes and best-wishes to Park. His flight to Dubai leaves on Monday. He intends to begin a blog once he gets there; of course I'll post the link.

From the corner of 12th and Locust, four of us -- Eric, Alex, James, and me -- walked west up Locust, since we all live in the general Rittenhouse Square area. For the first couple blocks of our late night walk we saw several trannies walking the streets in search of business. Immediately after crossing Broad Street, I saw two girls and a guy up ahead, so right before we passed them, I said, "look, here are a couple more trannies;" the look on the girls' faces was one of pure indignity, but the four of us laughed our asses off. Then, on the 1500 block of Locust, as we approached Misconduct Tavern in fact, I saw that there was a chain-link chain hanging across part of the sidewalk. So I kept talking to the guys, pretending that I wasn't looking ahead, and purposely ran into the chain, feigning surprise and pain; we all laughed our asses off some more before going our separate ways.

Notes from the Underground

It's 8pm on 8/8/08, and I ate a date that tasted great, but that shouldn't affect my weight of 88 kilos, or the fact that I hate hate (but I guess that means that I do hate, then, right?). But wait, do two wrongs make a right, or shall I state: do two hates make a great? My pate now grates from this constant state of contemplate. Hey mate, at least it's still 8/8/08.

"The gull sees farthest who flies highest." -- from Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach.

"Apuntale a la luna, aun si fallas alcanzaras las estrellas." -- from a Johnny Walker billboard along the road from San Jose to Limon, in Costa Rica, 2002

That last quote gives me occasion to remind you, kind reader, to click the link on the blog archive to your izquierda for 2002 entries. I've been adding them steadily, transcribing them from the journal that I kept during that time.

The Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics will be televised shortly, after which I'll be going out with some friends later tonight. I'll let you know how that goes.

Double-Deuce & Spruce

Many of you have been hearing this term used more and more across the city of Philadelphia. And many of you have been thinking that you would like to use this term too. But you want to find out more about it before you start using it like a native "two-fifteener" (another hot buzzword these days). Well, of course you can count on Philly 215 to help you out; so here you go:

The "Double-Deuce & Spruce" refers to one of today's hottest (and, not coincidentally, one of the most important) intersections in the city of Philadelphia. It is rumored that, if one stands in the mathematical, pinpoint center of that famed intersection, one can hear the whispers of the illustrious Benjamin Franklin, one of our city's and one of our nation's greatest forefathers. And this intersection of which we speak can be located by truthseekers and pilgrims alike by picking apart and analyzing the buzzword itself: "Double-Deuce" is a slang, hip, streetspeak version of what proper grammarians refer to as 22nd Street, and "Spruce" is a rather straight-as-an-arrow, clear-as-Philly-tapwater version of what the bourgeoisie calls Spruce Street.

Now that you understand what "Double-Deuce & Spruce" represents (at least in theory, but not necessarily in practice -- for that you have to live near the epicenter itself), go on with your bad self and spread the good word. And by doing that, you'll be that much closer to being a "two-fifteener," which in turn is defined as a veritable resident of Philadelphia, the connotation being that you are strongly in favor of taking this city boldly into the 21st century by supporting everything and everyone that promotes -- as it has been dubbed by National Geographic Magazine -- "America's Next Great City."

Female Genital Cutting in Egypt

I recently read an article on msnbc.com that caught my eye for two reasons: 1) it was about Egypt, a country that I visited earlier this year, and 2) it was about female genital cutting (FGC), a topic about which I wrote a paper in my third year of law school.

The article is entitled, "Effort in Egypt fights against mutilating girls: Genitals cut on 96 percent of married Egyptian women; girls face same fate." Click HERE to access the article.

Now, before I go any further, I have to address the anticipated (properly or not) protest of one of my friends who often visits Egypt and is sometimes highly critical of his Egyptian friends for not being conformist enough to Egyptian (or more accurately, Islamic) practices. If my assumption -- that he supports, or at least condones, female genital cutting -- is incorrect, then I apologize.

If my assumption is correct, though, then consider this, kind reader: FGC is a cultural practice, not a religious (i.e., Muslim or Christian) practice. As the article indicates, both Muslim and Christian religious leaders have spoken out against FGC. Also, the fight against FGC in Egypt is being led by Egyptians: Egypt's parliament in June voted to ban female genital cutting as part of a law protecting children; and last year, the Egyptian Ministry of Health prohibited licensed medical professionals from performing FGC. These measures are not only laudable, but significant, when one considers that Egypt is the country where FGC is most prevalent.

Reading the article reminded me of a paper I wrote for my "Current Issues in Family Law" class in my third year of law school. My paper was more generally about the reluctance of U.S. asylum law to recognize, and thus grant, asylum on the basis of gender-based persecution. Here's an excerpt from a section entitled "Gender-Based Violence: History and Policy":

"Family violence has historically been perceived as a private matter. Considered as such, it was inappropriate for the state to get involved because of the doctrine of family privacy. Family violence was rarely conceived of as a social problem, or as having roots in women’s subordinated status in society.

The historical reality, however, is that violence against women is a manifestation of historically unequal power relations between men and women. Violence against women in general, and domestic violence in particular, serve as essential components in societies which oppress women, since violence against women not only derives from but also maintains the dominant gender stereotypes and is used to control women in the one area traditionally dominated by women, the home.

Victims of gender-related persecution have been largely unable to overcome the cultural stereotypes and gender inequities that pervade asylum law. Although women and children constitute 80% of the estimated twelve million refugees worldwide, the majority of applicants for asylum in the United States are men."

And from the section of the paper entitled "The History and Reality of Gender-Based Persecution" comes this excerpt, which mentions FGC:

"Perhaps the most pervasive forms of gender persecution are rape and other forms of sexual violence. There are, however, other forms of gender-specific persecution, including cultural and religious traditions inhibiting women’s right to life, liberty and security, such as female genital mutilation, honor killings, dowry deaths, and other traditional practices harmful to women’s and girls’ health. Included in this last category are forced abortion, compulsory sterilization, and forced pregnancy."

The bottom line here is that I support efforts to overcome the mystique surrounding certain entrenched cultural practices by exposing their basis in unequal and discriminatory cultural assumptions, as well as exposing the very real harm -- bodily and psychological -- that they pose to its unwilling victims. And so I support these efforts by the Egyptian government -- and the supporting voices of religious leaders -- to end female genital cutting among all Egyptians, Christians and Muslims alike.

Feeling Irie? Jah mon!

One of my good friends, Ethan, recently came back from a vacation (with his wife Christine) to Jamaica. Here's a good story that he passed along, properly quoted at his request and re-printed here with his express, written permission. :)

"I got friendly with a bunch of the locals (It was a very [Frank E. Speaks] moment)...they taught me some Patoi (the local slang dialect)...the thing that impressed me was that they have no word for "bad". Whenever you ask anyone how they are doing it is always Irie. Me being Me asked what happens when everything is not Irie...they actually had to think on it for a few mins and couldn't come up with anything. The one guy told me that everything is Irie and even if it isn't, it will be again soon so looking fwd to that moment...everything is Irie."

I love this philosophy. It's one that I think we'd all be healthier to adopt. Urbandictionary defines "irie" as being "at total peace with your current state of being. The way you feel when you have no worries."

The word and concept of "irie" reminds me a bit of the unofficial national motto of Costa Rica: "pura vida." Pura vida is literally translated as pure life. But its true meaning is much deeper. Pura vida is used as a greeting, such as saying hi. Pura vida is also used to say what's up. But pura vida ultimately means life is good, everything's chill, I hope you're doing alright and chilling too, so take it easy and go good!

In the spirit of this post, I wish you the very best for a wonderful day. Be irie and pura vida mae!!!

Promise Fulfilled (or, Nine Lives)

Yo people, I told you in my penultimate post that I was gonna fill you in on the happenings of Saturday night. Since I didn't fulfill that promise in my last post, I'm gonna do it now.

I caught the EL to Frankford Transportation Center. I got there a few minutes early, so I just hung out at a bus shelter at the corner where Bustleton and Frankford Avenues intersect with Bridge Street.

After a few minutes, I saw Mike's red pick-up pull up. So I ran across the street and opened the passenger-side door. A guy already in the passenger seat slid over on the bench seat so that I could get in. Mike introduced me to him and vice versa. Then Mike prompted the guy to show me something, so the guy lifted up his t-shirt to show me a shit-load of scars all over his abdomen. As he saw the look on my face, the guy told me that he'd been shot 9 times. He explained that he was shot in broad daylight, around 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon, on the street in front of a bar underneath the EL; he was shot for trying to prevent a fight between his friend and some guys whom he didn't know. From what he told me, he tried to put himself between his friend and one of the other guys, in an attempt to prevent the incipient fight, but the other guy interpreted that as him stepping up, and seemingly without any hesitation the other guy pulled out a .45 caliber and fired 9 times into his midsection. People went scrambling in all directions. And though there were police already there, they were somehow unable to catch the shooter. An ambulance came to the scene and one of the EMTs said to this guy, while slapping him across the face, "nigger, you gonna die." Miraculously though, they got him to Temple Hospital, where he was operated upon, and after a week of unconsciousness, woke up to discover that he'd survived.

Simply amazing. And even more so when considered in light of the fact that a few years ago this same guy was involved in a car accident on I-95, which resulted in him being ejected from his seat through the front windshield and thrown across the median into oncoming traffic from the opposite direction. He survived that too. I looked the guy in the face and asked him, "how many lives do you have?"

After Mike dropped off this cat with nine lives, we drove back to our original destination: Casa Brasil. Located at 6222 Bustleton Avenue (not far from the Boulevard), Casa Brasil is a solid, buffet-style, Brazilian restaurant. For those not familiar, Brazilian cuisine (not unlike that of its neighbor, Argentina) is renowned for its fine meats roasted on a spit or rotisserie, called "churrasco." A server will cut the meat as you prefer, anywhere between well-done and medium rare, and with more or less fat. This time I got some pork slices and sausage. On the side, I got yellow rice with black beans, green beans, and a bacon-wrapped drumstick. All of this, and stacked high on my plate, for less than $10. Talk about a solid, all-around healthy, and filling meal.

Post-dinner we stopped back at Mike's place to drop-off the truck, then we caught the 66 bus back down to the FTC to catch the EL into Center City. We went to Mission Grill, at 18th and Arch, for the birthday party of a girlfriend of a guy who Mike is friends with (Kevin Bacon has gotta be involved here somehow, right?). It was a good night; we got a chance to talk to some different people, as well as catch up with each other. And about Mission Grill, I've been there before, and must say that I really, really like the decor: mission-style, very Spanish-colonial California.

So that's about it. I was gonna write some more shit, but this is enough shock and awe for now. Besides, I've gotta go figure out what to do about dinner: I'm thinking eggs with ham, topped with mozzarella cheese, and with a whole wheat bagel on the side, topped with whipped cream cheese. Whaddaya say now, I got the skills to pay the bills!

Boring....or the prevalence of sand in my life

Here's what today was: sleeping, eating, laying down on couch, television, 3 loads of laundry, food-shopping, cooking, and now blogging. Well, I guess it was Sunday, my I-don't-have-to-run-day. But that's not such a great citation since it wasn't my fun-day, as the song lyrics indicate.

So what the hell else shall I write about? Lucky for you, I've been thinking about that question for a lil' while. And I have an answer: the prevalence of sand in my life. To illustrate:

Just last Thursday I finished the book "Dune" by Frank Herbert. In case you're not a sci-fi geek, Dune is a landmark science fiction novel. It's about a boy named Paul Atreides who grows up to be the leader of Arrakis, which is a desert planet. Ahhh (light bulb shines brightly over your head): a planet of sand AND thus tied to the theme which I have already noted. Although not of the highest literary value in terms of writing technique or style, it is still no doubt a very entertaining novel, and one which does a good job of raising several broader issues within the context of the sci-fi plot. These broader issues include the environmental (e.g., how a planet can manage, and even positively exploit, its limited natural resources), political (e.g., the necessities of power politics and the tactics necessary to gain and maintain political power), religious (e.g., the commonalities between various religions and the effect that space travel may one day have on religion and religious beliefs), and others.

Because of the readability of this book and the way that Herbert ties in some interesting issues that certainly remain pertinent today (especially environmental concerns), I do recommend this book.

While reading the book (and still right now), I set the desktop background of both my work computer and home computer to desert images: "Wind" and "Red moon desert" respectively.

In the book it was interesting to hear descriptions of how the Fremen, or desert-dwellers of Arrakis, developed technology to cope and adapt to the harsh conditions of the desert. For example, "still-suits" which helped to retain the body's moisture and recycle it through mouthtubes.

The imagery that Herbert used also brought me back to my experiences in Egypt earlier this year (see my earlier posts by clicking on "March" under the "2008" tab in the Blog Archives to the left of your screen, and scroll down to the posts between the 5th and 24th of that month).

It's really difficult to put into words the thoughts and feelings, and inner reflections, that one has out in the Sahara. The vastness of the desert is overwhelming, and for that reason, quite humbling. But in its way, it is very beautiful. Its size and simplicity seem to send a clear message to humanity to respect God's power to create and destroy. Perhaps -- if I may speculate -- that is why Islam plays such a central and pervasive role in Arab culture and society: the ever-present reminder of Allah's power over planet Earth and humankind.

Leaving you to ponder these deeper questions of existence, I leave you some visual images of reference. And for me personally, some visual images of remembrance:

NoLibs

For those who aren't in the know, the term "NoLibs" refers to Northern Liberties, a section of the city located roughly in the northeastern part of Center City. NoLibs is bounded by Spring Garden Street to the south, Girard Avenue to the north, Front Street to the east, and 6th Street to the west.

Last night, after hitting up the gym for a quick leg work-out, I headed out to catch the trolley at 19th and Market Streets, then transferred to the EL at 15th Street to head eastbound up to the Spring Garden stop. I was going to meet some friends at a highly-acclaimed restaurant up that way, Bar Ferdinand, which I've been meaning to hit up for a while.

Once I got there, I realized that I really should've gotten off at the Girard stop of the EL, since Bar Ferdinand is located just a couple blocks south of Girard. But the text message that I'd gotten earlier told me that I should get off at Spring Garden; oh well, it allowed me a pleasant walking tour of NoLibs' de facto main street: 2nd Street, along which are lots of bars, restaurants, and local threads shops. Second Street there really embodies the spirit of Northern Liberties: upscale alternative urban counterculture, i.e., hipster. (By the way, please read urbandictionary's definition of "hipster" HERE, hilarious shit and so on-point!).

Bar Ferdinand was definitely very hip, nice decor, quite upscale, a lot of good-looking people. I found my friends sitting at a long table directly in front of a mosaic mural with the Black Osborne Bull of Spain (El Toro Negro; the unofficial national symbol of Spain) right in the smack-dab center of the mural; it was really nice. Since the restaurant only serves tapas -- and I ate just one (mejillones con chorizo) -- I had to stop at Rustica Pizza back on 2nd Street, closer to Fairmount, to get 3 slices of pizza to completely fill me up.

After hanging out at Lisa's for a little while -- so everyone could have a breather before going out for the night and so I could finish up my pizza -- Claire and I decided to leave to catch the EL back to Center City. After having drank a very refreshing cup of Pepsi with my pizza, though, I was determined to find another cup of Pepsi: and not merely a plastic bottle of it, but another fountain drink of Pepsi. Wow! Well, that was a long and harrowing journey that eventually led to Drinker's, where I gave up and just ordered a cola, hoping that it would be Pepsi. I asked the bartender if it was Coca-Cola or Pepsi, and to my surprise he said that it was neither, but was instead a local, Philadelphia-produced cola. After doing a quite cursory search on Google (as if you need a link to Google, right) to find out the name of this local cola, I couldn't find anything. If you know what it's called, then please let me know!

Anyway, back to today. In just a little bit, I'm heading out again to once more catch the EL. This time I'm taking the line to the eastbound (northern) terminus: Frankford Transportation Center. Mike is picking me up there and we're gonna get some eats up that way before heading back down to Center City for a couple drinks. That story to be filled out tomorrow, so check back in y'all.

Flip-Flops

This afternoon, after work, I went to Urban Outfitters (which, incidentally, began in 1970 as a store called "The Free People's Store" right here in Philadelphia) on Walnut Street to take advantage of their sale of flip-flops: 2 pairs for $10. Considering that I've been needing to pick-up flip-flops, this turned out to be a great opportunity. I got a brown pair and a blue pair.

Afterward, in the spirit of getting some stuff that I need, I walked a block down Walnut to City Sports. I've really been in need of some athletic shorts to play basketball and work-out at the gym. I was in luck. I picked up a pair of navy blue Nike basketball shorts.

After that, I walked over to Rittenhouse Square to sit down on a bench and enjoy the really beautiful weather (mostly sunny; 88 F / 31 C). Of course, on a warm and sunny Friday evening, the park was packed with people hanging out and walking through. It was the kind of scene that really makes me happy and proud to live in the city, and so close to the park itself. After sitting and enjoying the scene for a little while, I decide to call Paul to talk to him about, among other things, our trip. We both agreed that we have some planning to do. And Paul suggested that at some point while we're over there we should rent motorcycles and just go riding through the countryside to see where we end up. I told him that I love that idea, that's what it's all about!

Well, in a little while here, I'm heading off to Northern Liberties to meet some friends. I'll let'cha know how that all pans out.