Cycling in the Heat, and Thoughts of a Summer Past

I took a bike ride this morning.  I left at 11:10am and returned at 11:46am, making it a 36-minute ride.  Most of my ride was along the Schuylkill River Trail.  After just checking Google maps, I estimate the ride to be about 10 miles.  During the time that I rode, the air temperature was at or near 90 degrees and the dewpoint was high, around 72 degrees.  By the time I got back home I was sweating like a racehorse.  But it felt good, really good.

As I wrote recently, I feel like my holistic health is greatly improving: physical, mental, spiritual.  There are two main components to it: 1) more time: to be with my wife and daughter, to lift weights and take bike rides, and to read, among other things; and 2) being away from the office.  I had lunch with my good friend Madhu yesterday.  One of the first things he said to me, when we sat down to eat at Sansom Kabob House, was that I looked better than I have in a while (or something to that effect).  I told him that I feel better than I have in a while, and I shared very briefly why.  It's good to know that, in such a relatively short time, I've been able to feel better and move in a positive direction.  It's what I was very much hoping for, and I thank God so much for this and all blessings.

Meanwhile, as a note on a related element, I've put a bit more effort in the past couple days to do more reading.  After a couple sessions, I'm now 200 pages into the 348-page (this edition, at least) Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez.  It would take a pretty big push, but I would love to finish the book by the end of this coming weekend.

I have intentions -- and already the first book in line -- to change the direction of my reading.  Immediately before the birth of Seva, I figured that I would only have the time and mental capacity to read fiction -- something that could be read in short spurts and would be a welcome escape from the rigors of early parenthood.  Now on the third book of the three books I bought just before Seva's birth, I'm ready to read topics of more substance, non-fiction, and related to my field of work and the skills necessary to excel in it.  I won't share the title of the book that's currently in the batter's box (since I haven't begun it yet), but I'll say that I'm looking forward to reading it, thus giving me added incentive to finish Love in the Time of Cholera as soon as possible.

Anyway, as I'm writing this, the sky is a weird color -- the sun is setting in the west but the sky is covered in low clouds as rain is coming down fairly steady.  I just stepped outside on to the back patio to check on the kittens (as I'd recently mentioned in a post here).  Earlier this afternoon I checked on them due to the strong heat.  I saw three kittens huddled together in a matted clearing, then their mother cat came from my right, hissing at me -- more as a warning than out of any viciousness -- while slightly to the left of the huddle of kittens came another two crawling underneath the wooden fence separating our property from the neighbor's yard behind us.  In total, there are five kittens: two mostly gray with black stripes, two with white patches and patches of gray/black, and one totally black.  It was really cute to see.  But as I just checked them now, all five are sort of huddled near each other, completely soaked and still getting pummeled with raindrops, while their mother cat is nowhere to be seen.  I hope the kittens make it through this rainstorm.  I wish there was something I could do right now, but I don't think there is.  Since they don't realize it at all, Rocky and the Baby should be thankful to be indoors, where it's safe, warm, and dry.

Now, on to a totally separate topic, for some reason today I thought about the last "girlfriend" I had before meeting my wife.  I put the word girlfriend in quotes because I can't say that I consider all past relationships as being at the girlfriend level.  I don't know of any further classifications in the English language that allow for further distinction.  I consider that I had three relationships with girlfriends, as I define that term, before I met and began my relationship with my wife.  My relationship with Adaliz was a relatively short, 4-month relationship between my relationships with my last girlfriend and with my wife; although our relationship was sincere while it lasted, I don't consider it a relationship that rose to the level of girlfriend, mainly due to the length of the relationship.  Adaliz was (really, is, but I'll speak in the past tense since the relationship is over) a beautiful girl.  She had long straight dark brown hair, light brown eyes, and beautiful naturally tan Latina skin, being of half Salvadoran and half Venezuelan descent.  Strangely (or perhaps not so, as assimilation and acculturation go), she spoke very, very little Spanish.  She was very much into poetry and, somewhat on a broader scale, into art.  In fact, one of my favorite memories with her was a date to the Modern Museum of Art in New York City.  As I said, she was a visually and aesthetically beautiful girl.  As with so many relationships, especially from the man's perspective, it was Adaliz's physical beauty that really drew me to her.  I also loved her name, something about it made me desire her even more.  Our relationship began just fine.  We met at my friend Paul's wedding in Key West, Florida.  At the reception, I found myself looking for, and then at, her quite frequently.  Near the end of the reception, I knew that I had to say or do something, so I took the opportunity when she passed by me to say, "Are you going out [after the reception]?  I hope to see you out there."  I ended up seeing her shortly after, at a bar where nearly everyone went after the reception.  I approached her when she was at the bar ordering a drink and I started a conversation; things started from there and we ended spending the rest of the night together, until I finally went back to my hotel room around 3am.  During that time, she and I left everyone behind and went bar-hopping, during which time we talked and got to know one another.  When ended the night on the roof of her hotel, overlooking the main drag in Key West, kissing and talking still with one another.  I finally pulled myself away to go back to my hotel room, as I already mentioned.  After that weekend, we kept in touch and followed through on plans to see each other.  She lived in Hoboken, New Jersey, while I lived in Philadelphia of course.  So, it was a long-distance relationship, something I vowed to never do again after the lesson I learned from the end of my relationship with Cherise.  But due to my attraction to her, I was willing to overlook that at the beginning.  The distance also helped to slow things down, or at least keep things from getting too passionate, which was a good thing.  Looking back on it now, although I wouldn't have needed the time to reach this conclusion, it was a relationship characterized largely by sexual passion.  I believe that we both cared about each other, for sure, but the reality was that our time together was less about what we saw or what we talked about than what we did together.  It was a perfect cure -- for what it was worth -- from the esteem hangover that I was feeling from the miserable end to my relationship with Ileana.  It really was, as I smile even now typing this.  Sounds good, right?  Well, as time went on, there were two issues that emerged, oddly and ironically both tied to lessons learned from previous girlfriends.  First, I got tired of the distance, which I mentioned already was a main lesson from my relationship with Cherise.  Second, I began to notice that Adaliz had a hot side, no surprise after having experienced and felt her passion in bed, but the prospect of a relationship with another young, hot-tempered, or less-than-even-keeled Latina was the last thing I needed after the misery and heartache I suffered at the hands of Ileana.  I began questioning to myself the relationship with Adaliz and about two weeks before I ultimately ended it, I asked Adaliz for some time to think things over.  That totally infuriated her, which further supported my second concern above, thus paradoxically driving me to call the end of the relationship almost right away after her reaction.  What she may not have realized fully was that the emotional scars from my last relationship were still very fresh, and with my self-esteem already in a much healthier spot (due to Adaliz herself), I knew that I deserved much better, or at least different, than an immature temper.  I have no qualms now with the decision I made to end the relationship with Adaliz.  As fate would have it, I met my wife only the very next weekend after I ended it with Adaliz -- which any onlooker would say was a rebound, but I'm now married, happily so, and we have a beautiful daughter.  If there's anything I'll always remember and cherish from my relationship with Adaliz, it was the passion, something that cannot be invented or feigned, and something which in its own right is a blessed experience from God.  I believe that firmly with full faith.  That's why, despite the brevity of the relationship, and any observer's writing it off as simply a rebound relationship, it was worth much more than that.  I can say that because I was the one who lived it and I am the one who remembers it and cherishes it now.

Monday night in the 215

I didn't bring lunch to work today, so I walked over to Reading Terminal Market.  That place has so much character.  I feel like a tourist when I'm in there.  There's just this feeling of history and culture -- and a certain kinetic energy and vibration there -- that makes it feel alive.  Maybe precisely because I was coming from the mundane, neutral (if not sometimes negative, energy-sucking) vibe at work, there's a certain escapism to being in Reading Terminal Market, from the buzz of all the people working there to all the people passing through.  I also think the variety of foods is some sort of subliminal reminder that there's a whole world out there.  That's a feeling I love to have.  It reminds me of Pike Place Market in Seattle or Jean Talon Market in Montreal or maybe even Camden Town Market in London, all places I've been in my travels.  Again, there's something transcendentally cultural about a good market, and Reading Terminal Market is up there with the best.

After work, Jeannie and Seva came with me (after a typically jam-packed ride on the 17 bus) to Neighborhood Books, so I could re-load on reading material, having just finished Blindness by José Saramago around the middle of last week.  Since the shopowner was closing -- we walked in just a few minutes before 7pm -- I quickly browsed the fiction section to come up with a couple good finds: Mexico City Blues (242 Choruses) by Jack Kerouac and Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez.  As I told the shopowner, I'm only looking for fiction these days that I can digest in short bits, since Seva is only five weeks old and thus my capability to concentrate on reading is not at its sharpest.  I need material that I can easily digest.

Finally, I just want to memorialize my feeling at this moment that life is pretty good.  I've been blessed with an amazing wife.  And in turn we've been blessed with a beautiful, healthy daughter.  Not to forget Rocky and the Baby, who've been my family for nine years now and whom I love dearly for their faithful love and companionship.  It's not as if we're without our challenges, don't get me wrong.  But I'm thankful for my home life.  As I write this, the Baby is below me to my left, making soft meow noises and gently requesting attention.  For all of this, I thank God.

Save yourselves from this corrupt generation

Today was a pretty good day.  For most of the work day, I kept my office door closed and my nose to the grindstone.  My main objective yesterday was to make as much progress as possible in returning telephone calls to clients who'd left voicemail messages to me.  My main objective today was to make as much progress as possible in working on a healthy stack of physical casefiles that were on my desk.  By the end of today, I had both objectives nearly completed; I have about 5 clients to call-back and about 4 physical casefiles to review.  I was able to leave work pretty early, at 5:35 p.m, and meet Jeannie and Seva at Liberty Place.  From there, we walked to Miel, where Jeannie got a chocolate croissant.  And then we walked to Rittenhouse Square, where we were able to sit on a bench and relax for a solid half-hour to 45 minutes.  As I mentioned to Jeannie, the temperature was near perfect.  It felt good to be out of the office, with my wife and daughter, while the sun was still out, in one of my favorite places in the world.

I just checked today's reading (Acts 2:36-41) and really liked one of the lines from the first reading: "Save yourselves from this corrupt generation."  I think about my generation and I wonder: are we corrupt?  If so, what makes us corrupt?  I think here in the United States, and more and more so abroad, we've been and continue to become materialistic.  As an example, I know that my friend Bill's wife, Nancy, insisted on a huge house in the suburbs, even though it was (from my understanding) beyond their financial bounds.  The idea of going deeply into debt for the sake of affording property merely to feel good about oneself seems silly to me; its like a teenage boy insisting on borrowing $200 to buy a pair of sneakers just to impress others.  I also think this culture has too strongly valued individuality and short-term gratification; this has manifested, among other ways, in a high divorce rate, which reflects the individual's happiness over the individual's commitment to something bigger and greater than him or her.  I also think that our culture, especially here in the United States, has become too focused on labels and categories to favor certain groups over others.  On this point, I agree to a certain degree with many conservatives that feel that minorities are being given preferential treatment.  I think this is especially true, ironically enough, in liberal organizations, which strongly favor women and persons of African and Latin American descent (blacks and Latinos, in common parlance).  I think history and popular culture have inculcated the American public with a deep sense of modern guilt, which manifests in babying and/or glorifying minorities, which is not necessarily a sin in itself, but in some situations actually manifests as resentment or even borderline hatred of men and persons of European descent (men and whites, in common parlance).  It's almost like saying that, because someone's great-grandfather lived at a time of racism (whether he was actually racist or not is not important), we should not give any advantages or recognition to this white man now.  I think it's led white men to feel defensive and insular in the areas of work, business, and residence where they predominate.  I think these white men and their closest family, friends, and sympathizers largely make up the Republican Party.  And because they're becoming more and more outnumbered, they're becoming more and more defensive.  And those with an imbued sense of modern guilt are loving it.  But is this right?  Is this something our culture should be proud of?  I believe it's dangerous to let the pendulum swing too far back the other way.

Anyway, I'll end this post by noting that Rocky has jumped up on to my lap and the Baby is crouched on a step about two-thirds up on the staircase to my right.  I love these guys so much.

A Very Nice Day, but a Day of Foreboding?

The dateline for this post will read Thursday, April 10th, but since it's just past midnight, I'm actually writing at the end of the day on Wednesday, April 9th.  Overall, it was a good day.  It was sunny with blue skies, pretty windy at times, but a high temperature of about 65 degrees.

I took a sick day today to spend the day with Jeannie, especially for her two medical appointments.  I drove her to the medical building at 8th & Walnut Streets, then found a parking spot on 9th Street just south of Locust.  When I got upstairs, the receptionist told me that Jeannie had already been taken back for her NST (non-stress test) and I wasn't allowed to go back.  I told the receptionist, if she could, to tell Jeannie that I wasn't going to step outside then.  I took the elevator back down and walked over to Washington Square, where I got a large coffee to go from Talula's Daily.  I went out to grab a seat at one of their sidewalk tables, sitting in the direct sunlight, with a seat facing Washington Square.  It was wonderful.  While drinking my coffee, I read half a chapter in The Four Signs of a Dynamic Catholic, which I got from Father Ed the other night that I visited him.

Eventually, Jeannie got done with her appointment and she came down to meet me.  Since we just so happened to watch the movie Unbreakable last night, I took advantage to walk her, without any preamble, to see Dream Garden, the incredibly beautiful mosaic in the Curtis Center, which was featured in a scene in that movie where Bruce Willis and Robin Wright are at a restaurant eating dinner.

From there, we walked over to Chestnut Street to look for food and I presented to Jeannie the choice between three contiguous restaurants: Prime Burger Company, Aqua, and Rosa Blanca.  After reviewing all three menus from the sidewalk, Jeannie settled on Rosa Blanca.  We liked the vibe inside.  As the hostess walked us back to our table in the back left-hand side, I saw Good Day Philadelphia co-host Mike Jerrick sitting at one of the booths up front.  The food was pretty good.  Jeannie and I both got sandwiches; mine was called a Calle Ocho.  I also ordered tostones on the side.  Jeannie drank a mango milkshake with our meal.  After the meal, I got a cafe cubano to go, which we shared while sitting on a bench in Washington Square before going back in for Jeannie's second appointment at 2pm.

The afternoon appointment was another weekly follow-up with the one of the midwives, who conducted a cervical examination.  The results were very promising; the midwife told us that Jeannie is nearly 4 centimeters dilated, about 80% effaced, and the baby's head is at about a minus-1 or minus-2, all very good signs that childbirth should be imminent.  In fact, the midwife explicitly stated that, though there is no guarantee, she predicts that Jeannie will go into labor "tomorrow or Friday."  Jeannie and I were both happy to hear that and we're hopeful that the prediction comes true, so the next 48 hours may certainly be momentous.

After the appointment, we drove home so I could drop-off a couple things, then we drove to the post office so Jeannie could mail some tax forms to her/our accountant.  Next, and as the final highlight of our day, I drove us to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, where we "ran" (more like slowly jogged) up the steps to Art Museum, then walked back to the bottom again.  Then, when a group of young people, perhaps high-school kids, lined up to race to the top, I spontaneously joined them in the race (and I believe I may have actually won, or at least place in the top 3).  After walking back down to join Jeannie, we walked up to the top together and then went into the museum.  This idea to climb the steps to the art museum, in an attempt to naturally "induce" labor, came to me from Belinda, a receptionist at [...], who told me that she did the same thing with her daughter, who was then a few days beyond full-term with her son, Simaj, who happened to be born the next day.  Coincidence or not?  I don't know, but I hoped that the same technique could encourage the birth of our baby girl within the next day or two now.

Jeannie and I enjoyed walking around the art museum, focusing our walk in the wing on the back right-hand side.  By total chance (or was it?), we saw Jeannie's good friend, Veronica, who lives in San Diego (!), who so happened to be there on an official tour with a group of work colleagues.  It was so random and so crazy that we must believe that it was meant to happen.  It was really hard to believe that we actually ran into her there.  So on that note, dear reader, I want to remind you to have faith.  Always.  God will bring you surprises and happiness, sometimes when you least expect it!

Friday night musings

Work

I'm in an abusive relationship with the family law unit of [...].  I'm committed to the relationship: I show up every day, I work consistently, I don't take time off unless I'm truly sick or for a pre-planned vacation.  Yet although I'm committed, I'm taken for granted by the other side in the relationship.  I've never once been offered praise or a complimentary word or a positive word of recognition by my supervisor or anyone in the unit.  If anyone in the unit denied that, I would ask the cross-examination question: "can you produce one email or written evidence of having done so."  And like an abusive relationship, when it's not the default of being taken for granted, when I do get attention, mainly from my supervisor, it's criticism, it's what I've done wrong.  Just like the oppressed party in an abusive relationship, I'm made to feel like shit and that I'm never good enough.

Culture

In current events, Philadelphia Eagles wide receiver DeSean Jackson was released today.  I'm fine with it.  Although he's certainly talented, I still think he's overrated.  Similar to my criticism of members of my own field of law, I dislike how DeSean has such a big ego.  Show up and do your job, do it well.  The media is claiming that there is evidence that he associates with gang members, who have been tied to murders.  I also dislike the glorification of violence and crime so prevalent in a certain element of the American hip-hop, urban, primarily American-of-African-descent culture.  Leaders of society -- chief executive officers, business owners, politicians, coaches, lawyers and judges, media personalities, and others -- should set a stronger, more vocal example against the acceptance or acquiescence of this culture of death.  So, with all that being said, I'm fine with the Eagles releasing DeSean Jackson.

Love

I feel so blessed to have Jeannie and Rocky and the Baby in my life.  With our baby daughter on the way, due to arrive any day now, we're really becoming a family.  My marriage, and my relationship, with Jeannie is strong and healthy.  And Rocky and the Baby are there for me, making me happy day in and day out for the past nine years.  As much other shit may be going on in the world, from my office and beyond, I thank God that my life at home is good and stable and healthy.  Thank you, God.

Mojitos

Yesterday afternoon I met up with my ex-girlfriend Heather. The last time I saw her was six years ago, and that was merely a brief, chance encounter on Walnut Street. The last time that I spent any real time with her was seven years ago. So needless to say, despite not having any intentions of anything beyond seeing her to catch up, I was still a bit excited to see her. We met at 3pm in Rittenhouse Square. Since I usually attend evening mass at 6:30pm, I figured a little more than three hours should be enough to catch up on most everything. The weather was sunny and dry and simply beautiful. Our meeting went exactly as I had hoped; I felt good that we had reconnected as friends. Now that I've seen her, though, my pre-meeting intentions have not changed. I'll be happy for she and I to be friends. Of the girls that I've dated for more than a month or so, there's now only one that I don't communicate with. All of rest care about me, just as I care about them, and they're mature enough to maintain a friendship with me. When I was younger (i.e., around the time when I broke up with Heather), I had a rigid philosophy of cutting all contact if a relationship didn't work out. But I don't feel that way any more: life is too short to hold grudges or exert mental/emotional energy to keep a wall up. Unless something really egregious happens to end a relationship, there's not much reason to turn your back on someone who you were compatible with to have a relationship with, even if it wasn't long-lasting. The reality is that the overwhelming majority of all relationships fail; relationships are the classic live-and-learn experience. So anyway, to bring it all the way back around, I'm glad that Heather and I can now be friends.

This past Saturday night was great. Wagner came by the double-deuce and Spruce to help me move out my old television and put it curbside. I had a few beers in the fridge, so we hung here for a little while. I took the opportunity to ask him some serious questions about his vision and goals for his law career. Since he's becoming one of my good friends here in Philly, I wanted to know if he would ever consider going into practice for himself, since that is my goal/hope/ambition. He said he had never really considered it, but said that he would now that I put the thought out there. It was a good, refreshing conversation before hitting the town.

Originally I had wanted to go to a new spot near me (at 20th and Sansom) called Village Whiskey. As we were walking out of my place, Wagner called up Tobin to let him know where we were going. At that moment, I took the opportunity to check my phone, lo and behold to discover that I'd missed a text message just a minute earlier. It was from Ileana, a girl who works with some of my friends at one of my old workplaces. She was out with her roommate and was inviting me to stop by if I wasn't busy. So the timing was perfect; Wagner's and my plan changed and we went to Rum Bar to meet up with them. It was a nice atmosphere in there, as there was a pretty good crowd, several of whom were wearing an eye-patch in honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day; it was pretty funny. We all spent the rest of the evening drinking mojitos. I was really happy to have the chance to talk to Ileana, since I'd only really talked to her once before for not much more than ten minutes. I kept being happily surprised to find out that we had a lot in common. So between the (strong) mojitos and the good conversation, I had a very good Saturday night.

The next morning, Sunday, I forced myself out of bed early in order to volunteer at a community event in South Philly: la Fiesta de San Mateo de Ozolco. For those of you who may not know, San Mateo de Ozolco is a village in the state of Puebla, in Mexico. And interestingly, anywhere from one-quarter to one-third of that village resides for at least part of the year in Philadelphia. Thus, to honor their community's community here in the 2-1-5, they hold an annual fiesta, with a traditional misa and dancing by los moros y cristianos and by traditional Aztecs. It was a fun cultural event to be at, although I had to leave early in order to make it back in time to meet up with Heather in Rittenhouse Square. But I have to admit that my Spanish-speaking skills were dulled as a result of all the mojitos I drank the night before. It was all worth it though.

Alright, that's all for now, folks. I hope things are well in your little part of the world, wherever that may be.

Overcast

It's overcast and cool in Philly today. I vaguely remember waking up earlier this morning to a healthy rainshower, heard through the windows I leave open for most of the spring-summer-fall. That was probably around 8 or 9am, the time that most everyone else was getting ready and on their way to work. I rolled over in bed and fell back to sleep.

I just got done reading a chapter of "The Sun Also Rises" by Ernest Hemingway. I sat in the reclining chair near the living-room window. For some reason there was an occasional smell of peaches, but not the smell from the actual fruit, it was the smell you'd associate with the peaches-and-cream flavor of Quaker oatmeal. I enjoyed the smell, despite being perplexed at its unknown source.

This past weekend was pretty good. Being temporarily unemployed (or, as my friend Julie calls it: "funemployed"), I decided to take advantage of the free time and take a trip that I haven't done for well over half a decade (as my friend Corey reminded me last week): south to DC and Baltimore. On Friday late afternoon, I walked to 30th Street Station to catch an Amtrak heading to DC. It was a two-hour ride that was pretty pleasant. Somewhere between Wilmington and Baltimore, I started talking to the girl sitting next to me. She was on her way from her Central Park apartment to visit her parents in Phoenix, Maryland, about 45 minutes north of Baltimore, on their multiacre property; she needed to recharge in the peace and quiet of the countryside. We wished each other a nice weekend as she got off the train at Baltimore.

Arriving in Union Station in DC, I was very impressed with the size, architecture, and quality of shops in the station. Philly's 30th Street Station has amazing architecture, but does not come anywhere close to rivaling Union Station's commercial appeal. Mike eventually met me in the food court, where I was eating some rice and bourbon chicken for dinner.

We took the metro to U Street, our destination for the night. We went to Marvin's, Saint-Etas, Gate 54, and Black Cat. My favorite spot, by far, was Gate 54. It had the feeling of an old World War I bunker, complete with street signs and war paraphernalia on the walls. The fact that it was underground and dimly lit gave it a sense of coziness. And the dj really set things right by playing a lot of Motown before eventually transitioning to some old school, jazz-influenced hip-hop. The whole scene brought me back to my early days in Philly, and my favorite spot of all-time: Soma, which no longer exists. I may be going back to DC more frequently, if for no other reason than to soak up the positive, nostalgic vibe that I get at Gate 54.

Saturday, Mike and I went to downtown Silver Spring for lunch. Then, after stopping back at his place shortly, we hit the road to Baltimore. After patiently hunting down a parking spot near the corner of Charles and Chase streets, we walked to the Metro Art Gallery, where Evan's brother Ryan was playing a gig with his band, Rain the Shining. Mike and I had only missed two songs by the time we got there. The gig was part of the larger event: Artscape. Walking to the gallery, there were tons of artists' booths and displays, and tons of pedestrians crowding Charles Street, which was blocked-off to traffic. The weather was clear and low-humidity; it was perfect.

After the show, we got a jerk chicken dinner from a food vendor under a tent. Then, we drove to Bourbon Street, a club on Guilford Street in Baltimore. We hung out there for the rest of the night, on the roofdeck. I talked to several people over the course of the night. At one point an attractive girl, whose name I later got to be Alexa, walked by, so I waved at her, she said I was "hot," so I waved her over to me, she came directly up to me and we spontaneously exchanged a warm hug; she gave me her phone number without me even asking, and she told me to meet her later at some bar in Towson.

Despite the invitation, and our initial plan to do late-night in Baltimore, Mike and I decided to take the plunge and just drive back to Philly right then, at around 3 in the morning. We drove north up Charles Street, passing through Loyola College (prompting me to send a late-night text to Jess Lauria), and eventually getting on to 695, then on to 95-North. We stopped once at a rest stop to get a large coffee, our fuel to make it the rest of the way back to the double-deuce & Spruce. We finally arrived at around 5am. But I couldn't fall asleep for at least a couple hours, probably because of the caffeine still coursing through my veins.

The rest of the weekend was typical: coffee at La Colombe, hanging out in Rittenhouse Square, going to church at St. Patrick's (Mike joined me for that). So that's that. Now my sleep schedule is still messed up, but I'm trying to get back on track. It was a good weekend and thus totally worth it.

Bring back the home-cooked meal

"Those most vulnerable to obesity are those who frequently eat out," said Gary Foster, head of the Obesity Research Center at Temple University.

I heard that statement while listening to a WHYY news report this morning on 90.1 FM. You can hear the entire news clip by clicking HERE and scrolling down to the headline "Restaurant menus must have labels" with the December 18, 2008 dateline.

I've always been a strong proponent of cooking meals at home. By cooking at home, I know exactly what is going into my body, because I'm the one that buys the meal's ingredients and then prepares the meal. Growing up in a household where my mother (or sometimes my father) prepared a home-cooked meal every single night, I valued the importance of a well-rounded meal. I remember that every dinner included one meat (or, every once in a while, seafood), one grain (usually rice or pasta), and at least one vegetable. We rarely drank soda. And we rarely ordered out; we might get pizza or Chinese food about once, maybe twice, a month.

Conversely, I'm generally opposed to eating out. Even on nights when I'm tired from working all day or have little to choose from other than macaroni and cheese, I'll still usually choose to cook my own dinner, rather than eating out or ordering in. Ideally, I would eat out at a healthy, reasonably-priced restaurant once per week or every 10 days.

We live in a culture in which too many people have lost sight of the benefits of preparing their own meals and eating in the comfort of their own home. Our culture has placed too much emphasis on outsourcing everything to others so as to do as little as possible for ourselves, as well as on the perceived social prestige of eating out. I'd rather eat healthy and save money for doing it, than worry about showing off for others while paying more money for my laziness.

Reflections on TLC

Vapex. For some reason, in Bangkok especially, many men and even some women periodically put a small white plastic tube (similar to Chapstick) into their nose, sniff, and then repeat with the other nostril. Several men that I observed did this obsessively, to the point that I thought it was some kind of narcotic or chemical stimulant. We found out from an 18 year-old American girl who has been living with her mother in Bangkok for over a year now that this practice is meant to open the air passage from the effect of the city smog. She said that a lot of cab drivers use the strong menthol smell kinda like people back here at home use coffee: as a quick jolt to stay awake. In fact, the cabbie that drove us to the Hualamphong train station -- when we made it at the very last minute -- was using the Vapex like a fiend. Here's a pic from a guy on the Chao Phraya Express Boat gettin' his fix:


Volleyball. It seemed that everywhere we went in Cambodia (which was admittedly limited to just the town of Siem Reap and then the road from there to the border town of Poipet), we saw games of volleyball being played. When we first arrived in Siem Reap, we took a walk around town. After crossing a bridge to the other side of the river, we saw a spirited game of volleyball being played. And then on the day we took a taxi to the border (to eventually return to Bangkok), I saw at least two games of volleyball being played out in the Cambodian countryside. It made me wonder how the Cambodian Olympic volleyball team fared in Beijing.

Asian tourists. In my previous trips to Central America, Europe, and Egypt, the great majority of fellow travelers (not that kind, silly) were Europeans. On this trip, it was quite different. Most of the tourists generally -- as opposed to the subgroup of backpackers -- were Asian: from my estimation, they were mostly Korean and Japanese. Of course among the backpacker crowd, the travelers were almost entirely "white," but even here a slim majority may have been Australian as opposed to European. One look at the map or a globe explains this phenomenon. Nevertheless, it was a new experience for me. As a final sidenote, I can count on one hand the number of Americans (i.e., from the USA) that we met on the entire trip. I guess the typical American tourists were all in Cancun or other Americanized neo-colonies: too scared, narrow-minded, or culturally conservative to step outside of their own culture.

Bangkok sidewalks. The transformation of the sidewalks of Bangkok over the course of a night is quite striking. In the normal hours of the night, up to midnight or 1am let's say, the sidewalks are characterized by streetside vendors selling souvenirs, t-shirts, and handicrafts. Besides that, there are handfuls of prostitutes on each block, just standing around waiting to be picked up by middle-aged white guys with lots of American dollars in their wallets. After 1am or 2am, though, as we realized when we took a cab at 4am to get to the airport, the sidewalks turn into a nocturnal, and much rougher-around-the-edges, version of Paris: by that I mean that there are lots of people still out drinking beers and smoking at tables all along the sidewalks. Believe me, this was more than just a couple of tables on one block; this was many tables block after block after block. By virtue of staying active throughout the nighttime hours, Bangkok must be classified as a world city.

Same Same But Different. That was a common phrase that we heard throughout all three countries of our trip. It was used in every situation imaginable. For example, you would ask if a certain dish tasted similar to pad thai, and the waiter would respond, "same same but different." It was funny, but vexing. But the phrase was so common that everywhere we went we saw t-shirts announcing it: "Same Same" on the front, "But Different" on the back. If you look closely, the girl on the right in this photo is wearing the t-shirt:


Prostitution. I guess it should come as no surprise that prostitution was prevalent where there were older, relatively wealthy tourists -- thus, in Bangkok and in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Although I have to admit that some of the prostitutes were quite pleasing to the eye, it didn't take long for me to feel disgusted by the whole scene: rich white guys basically "buying" companionship and sex from young women. But hey, that's capitalism, right? Money talks. I felt pity for most of these guys, who back home probably have no chance to get a beautiful woman. So can I blame them? Yes and no. And I pity the women too, because I wonder how many of them are pursuing any worthwhile goals, like education or an eventual career, while they sell their bodies; probably not too many, unfortunately. The whole situation is just shitty. I also thought of another byproduct: how many beautiful girls in Bangkok -- who are legitimately not prostitutes -- are eyeballed and objectified by old white guys who jump to the conclusion that they must be a whore because they're young and beautiful? Terrible, really terrible.

Ladyboys. Well, as long as we're talking about the openness of sex in parts of southeast Asia, we may as well talk about the openness of sexuality too. This is one thing that I felt was refreshing. For those not in the know, "ladyboys" are basically southeast Asian transvestites: men dressing like and adopting the mannerisms of women. Don't get me wrong, coming from a comparatively sexually-conservative culture like that of the United States, it was a bit weird to see the ladyboys. Here in Philly, it's easy enough to walk down to the Gayborhood and you can see all the transvestites that you'd like. But that's the big difference: here in the U.S. the places that sexual expressiveness is culturally acceptable are quite limited and the boundaries are clear; they're kinda like modern-day ghettoes (in the Jewish sense of the word). In southeast Asia, though, you could see a ladyboy anywhere. For example, the receptionist at our hotel on our first morning in Bangkok was quite androgenous; we really couldn't figure out that person's gender at all. And this openness of sexual expressiveness, without boundaries, was noticeable throughout much of our trip. Being the fan of freedom that I am, I found this facet of southeast Asian culture to be very refreshing and quite advanced of our culture in the United States.

French legacy. Continuing with my smooth segues, I'll dovetail off that last comment about culture in the United States with an observation of the cultural legacy of southeast Asia. In Laos and Cambodia particularly -- formerly colonized by the French -- you can see the lasting influence of French culture. Baguettes and crepes are common. Restaurants have French names. And not only that, but outdoor seating at bistro tables is widespread. And for the first time in my travels, I met a traveler who was French; her name was Anne-Sarah and she was studying law at a university in Can Tho, Vietnam. She was traveling with a group of fellow French students to Vang Vieng and Vientiane. Although the international lingua franca is now most definitely English, it seems that the French enjoy visiting areas that remind them, even a little bit, of home.

Backpacker circuit. Paul and I followed an itinerary that can be described as a big oval: from Bangkok, north to Chiang Mai, east to Luang Prabang, then south to Vang Vieng, Vientiane, Savannakhet, and Pakse, then southwest to Siem Reap, then west back to Bangkok. On the map it makes the most sense to follow this route, especially if doing most of it overland: by bus or train. And apparently we were not the only ones with this approach. When we were in Siem Reap, a girl came up to me at Temple Bar and told me that she remembered seeing me back in Chiang Mai. And from Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng, we hung out with our Aussie friends, Nick and Josh, and our English friends, John and his girlfriend Jenny. And lastly, the French girl, Anne-Sarah, and her friends were on our minibus from Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng, and I spent the entire 4-5 hour bus ride from Vang Vieng to Vientiane sitting next to and chatting with Anne-Sarah. The point is that, in southeast Asia, there is definitely a well-worn path which backpackers follow, what I called the "backpacker circuit."

Philly at Angkor Wat. Walking through one of the many temples at Angkor, I saw a Cambodian artist sitting on a rock, painting a picture; he was wearing a Philadelphia Eagles hat. I pointed it out to him and said "I'm from Philadelphia." His response was simply "godson", in the speech of a deaf man. I said, "ahh, your godson lives in Philadelphia," and he nodded his head. Later, as we were about to walk up the long and steep climb to the top of the tallest hill in the area -- where we were gonna watch the sunset -- I saw a guy in his early-20s wearing a red baseball cap. I was almost sure what it was, but I walked closer. Yup, it was a Phillies cap! So I approached him and said, "Phillies!" We talked for a few minutes. He asked me what it was like on the streets of Philadelphia when the Phillies won the World Series, he said he missed it because he was already in southeast Asia, I told him that it was mass joyful chaos, and I described the scene from Market Street and along Broad Street from that night. The guy said he lived in Northeast Philly. It was cool to see -- not once, but twice in one day -- Philadelphia being represented halfway around the world. Three cheers for the Two-Fifteen!

The Roots. Finally, speaking of Philly represent, I was at Temple Bar in Siem Reap when, over the loudspeakers, they played a song by The Roots. How appropriate: I graduated from Temple Law in North Philly and they were playing a song by Philly's very own hip-hop leaders, The Roots. Everything seemed just right at that moment, as I sipped on my Angkor beer, listening to "The Seed (2.0)", a great song that you can enjoy right now by clicking HERE (I couldn't find any videos that I could embed directly onto this website).

A bilingual United States of America

As this article (click HERE) explains, the Oprah Winfrey Show is going bilingual, i.e. it will be presented in Spanish in certain television markets.

I've said it before and I'll say it again now: globalization is not only an exporting of the U.S. culture and primary language to the rest of the world; globalization is a two-way street, which necessarily means that the U.S. is changing and evolving to the influences of other cultures and languages too.

In the area of language, then, this means that Spanish will become more and more prevalent -- and eventually mainstream (coexistent with English) -- throughout the United States. There are, unfortunately, plenty of cultural conservatives and plain racists who do not want to accept this reality. But a reality it is nonetheless.

As much as I wish this evolution would take place for reasons of cultural respect and exchange, the real reason -- as we can easily see from a savvy businesswoman like Oprah -- is money. The Spanish-speaking market in the United States is growing quickly and those who are quick to adapt to these cultural and demographic changes will reap financial rewards as a result. Whatever the reasons, though, the end result will be the same: a bilingual Estados Unidos de America.

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.

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).

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.

English-only laws = Bad & Wrong

At work earlier today I got into a discussion with a teammate about the issue of language rights and the status of English -- and other languages, particularly Spanish -- in (North) American society. She asserted the position that immigrants should be mandated by law to learn the English language. I asserted the position that the law should never be used to codify any aspect of the dominant culture, including language, because to do so would infringe upon a person's freedom of speech, here quite literally a person's freedom of how (i.e., in what language) to speak.

The following are verbatim excerpts from my law school thesis, entitled "The Hazleton Ordinance’s English-Only Provision: An Unconstitutional Attempt to Use Language to Expel Racial Minority Immigrants." (Citations will be provided upon request).

On the myth of linguistic homogeneity:

There is a long history of linguistic diversity in the United States. In fact, the United States is not now and never has been an exclusively Anglo, English-speaking, monolingual nation. Despite this, a historical view persists – a myth of linguistic homogeneity – that allows many people to regard English as the only truly American language. The perpetuation of this popular myth is critical for the survival of the English-only movement, since this myth is the primary justification for rejecting other languages. Thus, the converse is that the demise of the English-only movement must necessarily involve, at least in part, a deconstruction of the myth of linguistic homogeneity in the United States.

On the constitutionality of English-only laws:

First, and most notably, the Constitution does not provide for an official language. Second, the U.S. Supreme Court has explicitly proclaimed that the protection of the Constitution extends to all – to those who speak other languages as well as to those born with English on the tongue.

On language and politics:

English-only laws take an ethnic trait of the dominant culture, the English language, and give that trait legal, governmental sanction, creating second-class citizenship for Americans who possess different (hence unofficial), but equally American traits. Undoubtedly, the English language is a key symbol of the ethnicity of America’s dominant core culture. English-only laws thus use the language symbol to assert and enforce the dominance of the core culture and to marginalize all other American cultures. Thus, on a symbolic level, the debate about an "official" language (and the concomitant creation of "unofficial," un-American languages) is, at its core, a debate about cultural and political dominance and power. Because politics is human relations, and language is an organic component of such relations, language is politically significant.

On language and national origin:

There is a close correlation between language and national origin, which statistics strongly reflect. A 1984 study indicates that 97 percent of persons who usually speak Spanish are of Latino origin or descent. According to the same study, approximately 77 percent of American Latinos speak Spanish. These statistics demonstrate how close a proxy language is for national origin and, thus, how close a fit language discrimination can be for discrimination because of national origin.

On language and culture:

The assertion of English-only proponents that language is a culturally neutral medium is not defensible. Language is "the quintessential cultural tool." [. . .] For many it is the only means through which members can have access to their histories and through which many of the cultural rituals can be performed.

From the paper's conclusion:

Historically, the United States – including and especially Pennsylvania – has been and continues to be linguistically diverse. The notion that the United States is or ever was linguistically homogeneous is a myth. And in over 230 years of existence, the integrity of the nation has never been threatened on account of its linguistic diversity. Legally, English-only laws unconstitutionally infringe upon First Amendment rights of members of the public to communicate with government in a known tongue. Freedom of speech protects not only the right to speak, but also the right of the public to receive information and ideas. Socio-culturally, language holds a unique place among all other cultural characteristics as it is the medium by which cultural and familial roots are transmitted and by which one’s cultural and ethnic identity is maintained.

My recommendation to the Hazleton court, after reviewing the case-law and scholarship on English-only laws:

Under a textualist analysis [of the U.S. Constitution], the First Amendment says nothing about freedom to speak English only; the freedom refers to speech, without reference to any particular language. Accordingly, this constitutional freedom is not restricted to any language; if it were, it would contradict the very idea of freedom itself.

The concluding sentence of my term paper:

The law has made the mistake in the past of providing favored status to the dominant culture – and subordinated status to a minority culture – on the basis of a socially constructed cultural trait; we must now hope that it does not make this kind of mistake again.

Hi-Yo from Cairo

Tomorrow morning I'll get up first thing in the morning to visit the Pyramids. It's now 9:45pm here, and the city of Cairo is as awake as ever, but this is my last task before returning to my hostel (Sara Inn) to shower up and hit the sack.

We arrived in Cairo around 8:30am, after we caught a 10pm bus out of Siwa to Alexandria, then made the quick decision in Alexandria to just continue on immediately to Cairo. Although I slept on both buses, even to the point of drooling on the Arab scarf that I was wearing around my neck, my weariness is now catching up to me.

Cairo is one of the largest cities in the world. Due to a population explosion in recent decades, the city's infrastructure has not kept up with the number of inhabitants. And so the streets here are jam-packed with cars and with people. In addition there are very, very few traffic lights; I've been told that there are only two in the whole city, and that may be the truth.

As long as we're on this topic, let me relate an interesting adventure I had earlier this evening. I had to catch a microbus from the wealthy neighborhood of Nasr City (near the airport, and where Roland is staying with friends for the night) to the downtown area, in order to return to the hostel where I am staying for the next two nights. While I was catching the microbus, Karim (Roland's friend) was yelling at me to push my way into the microbus; I ended up squeezing my body facing backward while the sliding side-door to the van (i.e., the microbus) was still open while we were moving. At the next stop someone got off and I was able to replace their spot. The ride lasted for nearly 45 minutes through typical Cairo traffic; it's like the Daytona 500, there are no lanes, and every vehicle is constantly jockeying for position and weaving in and out of the other cars. Looking out the window of the van, I observed how much the city reminds me of the boroughs in New York, as there were lots of well-lit commercial establishments all over the place, with tons of people walking around. When I finally reached the last stop I got out and had to find my way on my own back to the hostel, with only a small map on the hostel's business card to guide me. Of course this meant crossing several major roads and intersections, which as I said earlier none of which have stop lights. This part of my trip reminded of the game Frogger, because I literally had to time my jumps from lane to so-called lane to avoid being hit by a car (earlier today while walking with Roland a car tried to turn where I was walking, and it's right front tire literally rolled over my foot before I hit the car with my hand and the driver stopped). As is common among pedestrians here, there were times while crossing the road that I had to wait, between lanes as cars passed by me, until I could proceed across another lane on the road. It was an exhilirating experience, although one that requires total attention.

Earlier today I visited the Egyptian Museum. Although I really like museums, they invariably make me tired and sleepy. But since I was alone I simply took my time and took plenty of rests. The best part of the Egyptian Museum was the exhibit of the Royal Mummies, for which I had to pay an additional entrance fee. This exhibit featured the mummies of such pharoahs as Hatshepsut and Tuthmosis. It was really cool and really surreal.

After my visit to the museum, I had to get lunch. I walked into a local restaurant, ordered two "ful" (bean-filled pita) and sat down to eat. Two men at the next table started talking to me. They asked me where I was from; of course I told them the USA. They asked me my opinion of Bush and I indicated with a hand-motion so-so; they immediately put their thumbs down. They asked me if Barack Obama was Muslim; I told them that he isn't but his father was a Muslim from Kenya; they hadn't known that. They asked me if I was Christian and I said yes; so I asked them if they were Muslim and they said yes; I told them that I love everybody as long as they're nice to me, they gave me a thumbs up. As it turned out, one was a legal advisor and the other was a lawyer. I asked them what they were eating, they told me it was "kofta" and asked if I would like to have one, I said sure; at the end, despite my attempt to pay for it, they insisted that they treat me to the kofta. It was really nice of them, and it was the type of direct personal interaction between people of different countries and cultures that I so enjoy.

Well, that's about all for now. I will fill in more details and clean up my writing on these posts once I get home. So please bear with me for now. Just know that I am thinking about all of you, yes you! And so you can be sure that a part of you is with me here in northeastern Africa.

Finally I'll say that contrary to what you may think the weather here has been relatively cool. This morning when we came into Cairo on the bus I was wearing a t-shirt, a long-sleeve button-down shirt, and a sweater, and I still felt a bit cool. Throughout the rest of the day, although I rolled up the sleeves, I continued to wear the long-sleeve shirt.

Anyway, a part of me is beginning to miss home now. But I know that I have two more days here in Egypt, then three more days in Europe to let it all out before returning to the grind. Feel free to leave a comment or to send me an email, as I am checking every day and would very much love to get a little transatlantic love from my homies. Peace out, y'all! Keep feeling alive in the 2-1-5!

Oasis = Water + Life

Today we swam in the Kleopatra spring, located within the Siwa Oasis. Although the air was a bit cool due to a steady wind coming out of the desert, the water of the spring was warm and refreshing. We dove in from the ledge of the stone wall surrounding the spring.

In order to arrive here, we caught a bus at 7:30am in Marsa Matruh, and rode 4 hours through the desert. For miles and miles, there is nothing but rocky desert on either side of the road. If it were not for the road, the surface of the earth to the horizon in any direction appears as the surface of Mars. The only break came halfway through the trip at a small cement structure, which housed a kitchen and some plastic tables. There I ate two soft breadsticks filled with some kind of red sauce.

Siwa is an interesting place. It is literally an oasis in the middle of the Sahara desert. Roland and I climbed a tall rock structure this afternoon, easily one of the tallest in all the oasis, from which we gained an amazing vista of the surrounding area. In one direction we could see the salt lake. Below us was the small town of Siwa, its central plaza and the streets radiating outward. All the buildings appear to be made out of mortar and limestone, to a great extent they resemble the adobe buildings of the American southwest. Surrounding the human settlements are hundreds and hundreds of palm trees. But then not too far out in the distance, one can clearly see the desert; all of a sudden the palm trees end and there is only sand and rocks stretching off towards the horizon. The sight is really amazing.

After checking into the Yousef Hotel right in the center of town, we decided that the best way to quickly explore the town and find the spring would be to rent bicycles. We did so and then did our best to avoid the young boys driving donkey-pulled, two-wheeled carts around town. The main streets in the middle of town are paved, but one doesn't have to go far until they turn into packed sand. Everywhere we rode (or later walked), little children would wave at us and say "hello!", it was truly wonderful. Some of the friendly adults would say "welcome to Egypt." The feeling here in Siwa has been so amazingly warm and welcoming.

Because we were simply riding our bikes with only the goal of eventually reaching a spring, we unintentionally took the long way to our destination, thereby traveling through some of the very poor outlying areas of town. But even in those areas the children were genuinely happy to see us and any time we asked adults for directions they were quite willing and ready to help point us in the right direction.

So we finally got to the Kleopatra spring, where there was a very chill juice bar and treehouse built around the large palm trees already growing there. The owner was a cool Egyptian guy who spoke English very well and loved using the word "wicked" to come off as being really hip to the game. There were also a handful of other tourists there, including a family from the south of Germany, a couple young guys from Hamburg, and later we had a reunion with Sven, a Norwegian backpacker whom we had met on the bus from Matruh to Siwa.

While Roland was speaking German with the guys from his country, I went up to the treehouse, which was really the roof of the juice bar, covered above with dried palm leaves to provide shade from the sun, and covered below with authentic Egyptian rugs on the floor, and pillows colored either turquoise, purple, or orange, lining the two-foot walls around the perimeter of the roof. I leaned back against a few of these pillows and listened to the chill music that was playing from below, some Marley, chill West African music, jazz, and other cool stuff. It was very relaxing, and it was exactly what I was looking for.

Earlier this evening, while Roland showered and then went to prayers at a local mosque, I hung out on the roof of our hotel, where we had a view of the illuminated rock dwellings of the ancient people of Siwa. The sight really cannot be described in words; to be sitting alone, listening to my music through my headphones, while sitting under a starlit sky and looking directly at illuminated ancient dwellings and the quiet expanse of the desert beyond, was absolutely mystifying. All of this in addition to the calls for and recitation of prayers over the loudspeakers of the several local mosques. After absorbing the sentiment of my existential surroundings, I finally attended to a more practical matter: my first shower in Egypt. There are few things more pleasant than a warm shower to wash away the dust, sweat, and grime of three days' travel, even if the showerhead was positioned directly over the toilet.

Tomorrow we will stay in Siwa for some more fun. We hope to go sandboarding as well as visit the Oracle here in the oasis. After this we have no plan, other than to take it one step at a time. Thanks for checking in, and I will try to write again tomorrow.

A Salaam Aleikum

I have made it to Egypt. We arrived on time at 1:25 in the morning yesterday. Flying into Cairo was interesting. The city lights were so expansive, the closest thing it reminded me of was Los Angeles. But of course a big difference was observing the bright green lights: these marked wherever there was a mosque, and there were hundreds.

Karim, Roland's friend, met us at the airport. We drove directly to an outdoor restaurant or food shop to drink assab, which is pressed sugar cane juice, it was very refreshing. We also drank a glass of mango juice. Then we went somewhere else to eat some fitir, roughly described as a pizza-like food filled with the ingredients of your choice; I ate mine with sausage.

Because our bus to the east did not leave until 6am, we spent the rest of the night driving around Cairo. We drove by President Mubarak's residence, a section of the city called Heliopolis, which was very beautiful, Nasr City, where we ate our food, and other areas too.

Later after we caught our bus and were leaving the city, and the sun had risen, I saw other areas of the city. The buildings in these other areas appeared as if they had been bombed. There were donkeys on the streets. There were already lots of cars on the streets at 7am. And although there are 20 million people in Cairo, it doesn't necessarily seem that much because everything is spread out. Nevertheless, I only saw this at 7am.

As the bus left the edge of the city, we passed right by the pyramids. It was amazing to see of course. But it was also amazing to realize that they are located right on the edge of the city.

Then came miles and miles and miles of nothing but desert on either side of the highway. The driver was going very fast and weaving from side to side, so it made it nearly impossible to sleep, as much as I desperately needed to sleep.

We arrived in Marsa Matruh at 1:30pm. We checked into a hotel for about $4 per night for both, so about $2 per night per person, and that was about right. Here I finally had a chance to use a toilet (since there are almost never any restrooms in public). I decided not to use the bidet, which nearly touched me when I sat down.

After checking in, we went out for a walk through town and to the Mediterranean coast, only about 6 or 7 blocks from our hotel. The water was a very light blue, reminiscent of the Caribbean. Unfortunately, the air temperature was cool, due to the wind coming off the sea, and the water was too cool as well. So we just walked on to a pier, laid down and slept for a little while. I was awakened later by the calls to prayer from the mosque right on the sea, and by a group of young boys who approached us to say "welcome" and "hello."

We are trying to decide what to do tomorrow. We may take the 5 hour bus ride to Siwa, in the south, to go sandboarding and camping in the desert. But it all depends on it not being too cold at nighttime. If not, then we may head back east to either Alexandria or back to Cairo. We shall see....

Chevy commercials are racist and anti-immigrant

Do you know those Chevy commercials featuring John Mellencamp singing "This is our country"? Well, those commercials are pretty damn racist and anti-immigrant.

Really, think about it. Every person in those commercials is a light-skinned person of European descent, i.e. white dudes. Put that together with the song "This is our country." So is the message being delivered by Chevy that this country belongs to white dudes only?

To add to the racist overtones, let's recall one version of that commercial which shows a long fence being built by white dudes. Is this an allusion to a fence being built along the Mexican-U.S. border? Quite isolationist; quite xenophobic; quite anti-immigrant. And to really add insult to injury, the sign at the head of the fence, featured at the end of the commercial, shows that the name of the ranch is the "KK." Hmmm, add one more "K" and whaddaya got?

I'd love to see a new version of that commercial featuring only Native American Indians, and put to the same song: This is our country.

Either that or a version that shows who's really working all the ranches out in the Midwest: a ton of Latin American immigrants, put to the song: "Este es nuestro pais."

Hispanic Heritage Month

Well, we're halfway through Hispanic Heritage Month (Mes de la Herencia Hispana), which is observed every year from September 15th -- the Independence Day of five Latin American countries (Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua) -- to October 15th. (source)

The theme of this year's National Hispanic Heritage Month is Hispanic Americans: Making a Positive Impact on American Society. (source)

WHO IS A HISPANIC?
The term Hispanic, as defined by the U.S. Census Bureau, refers to Spanish-speaking people in the United States of any race. Thus, the term Hispanic is broader than any racial category. In other words, the term Hispanic is not a racial identification. There are black, red, white, and yellow Hispanics, as well as those that are brown. Also, there are Jewish, Muslim, and Protestant Hispanics, as well as those that are Catholic. (source)

On the 2000 Census form, people of Spanish/Hispanic/Latino origin could identify themselves as 1) Mexican, 2) Puerto Rican, 3) Cuban, or 4) "other Spanish/Hispanic/Latino." More than 35 million people identified themselves as Hispanic or Latino on the 2000 Census.

Many non-Hispanics jump to the conclusion that a Hispanic must necessarily fall into one of two archetypes -- Mexican or Puerto Rican -- or, if in Florida, then possibly a third -- Cuban. The numbers clarify this common prejudgment. 64% of Hispanic-origin people are of Mexican background. Another approximately 10% are of Puerto Rican background. This means that 1 out of every 4 people of Hispanic-origin are of neither Mexican nor Puerto Rican background. Continuing with the stats, Hispanics of Cuban, Salvadoran and Dominican origins account for about 3% -- each group -- of the total Hispanic population . The remainder are of some other Central American, South American or other Hispanic or Latino origins. (secondary source; primary source: AmericanFactFinder).

GROWTH OF THE U.S. HISPANIC POPULATION
42.7 million: the estimated Hispanic population of the United States as of July 1, 2005, making people of Hispanic origin the nation’s largest ethnic or race minority. (This estimate does not include the 3.9 million residents of Puerto Rico.)

Today, the U.S. Census Bureau estimates that there are now over 44 million people of Hispanic origin in the United States. That's about 14% of us!

102.6 million: the projected Hispanic population of the United States as of July 1, 2050. According to this projection, Hispanics will constitute 24% of the nation’s total population on that date.

OTHER RESOURCES
--> Read here the President's Proclamation on National Hispanic Heritage Month, 2007
--> Click here for a list of links to celebrate and research our Hispanic heritage

So celebrate the second half of Hispanic Heritage Month by eating Hispanic food, listening to Spanish-language music, supporting Hispanic businesses, and learning Spanish. That last point will be brought up in a later entry, when I will discuss the inevitable, already-occurring evolution of the United States as a bilingual nation. So listen up, juevon: aprenda hablar espanol ya!

Fin de semana, mae!

Here are three great events going on this weekend. Check'em out, yo!

Midtown Village Fall Festival
--> this Saturday, Sept 29th from 12 noon to 8pm
--> in Midtown Village
--> featuring international cuisine and beverage tents from nearby restaurants, product booths by retailers, all types of live music, adult and kids games, an outdoor movie, charitable giving and much more
--> more information here

Campus Philly Kick-Off
--> also this Saturday, Sept 29th
--> museums from 10am to 5pm (see esp my previous post)
--> music from 2pm to 7pm
--> on the Ben Franklin Parkway
--> featuring Talib Kweli, Against Me!, and The Ataris
--> more information here

And to stoke your pre-game for the concert, here are a couple vids to warm ya up:
Talib Kweli - Get By (he's sporting a Sixers hat, check it out at 1:00):


And, as we begin autumn, a fitting song to end the summer: The Ataris - Boys of Summer:


Puerto Rican Day Parade
--> this Sunday, Sept 30th from 11:45am to 3:30pm
--> departs from 20th Street & the Ben Franklin Parkway, then heads down 20th St to Market St, where it turns left and moves down Market St to 16th St, where it turns left to head back to the BF Parkway, moving back to 18th St, and finally arriving at the reviewing area at Logan Square
--> more info about the parade can be found at El Concilio's website here