Happy HolYdaze & my Apologies!

Whew! Many weeks have flown since my last post, and a “new year” is upon us…

I have been negligent about my blogs, and won’t make amends in this single post at the holYdaze (yes, they are SUPPOSED to be “holy” and they OFTEN leave us in a daze, especially in how these days get converted from spiritual solace and inspiration into consumer orgies [pepper spraying your competitors in the malls to get the advertised specials] and unfulfillable personal expectations [in the face of dysfunctional family, friends, and self]).

First, regarding the holYdaze…

Hanukkah began a few daze ago. It was marked by my first exposure to Adam Sandler’s classic "Hanukkah Song" (yay to us jewish guys on the Mary Tyler Moore reference in the NEW revised version I heard on the radio!), as well as the great and perplexing "How do you spell Ch(H)anuk(k)ah?" song by the hilarious LeeVees! I don’t keep this holYdaze (any of the 8 days of them!), but I DO still remember the blessing over the candles (thanks to endless repetition as a youngster, as well as my excitement over each day’s gifts!). I particularly remember my Mom at this time, including her boundless love, reverence for a religion she didn’t get the education to understand, and her time- and labor-intensive food preparation (yay latkes!).

Then, last night I went to a winter solstice party that has a rather long local tradition. Every year the participants light a backyard bonfire before sunset, and one or more folks kept that blaze going until first light of the following day to ensure the return of the SUN! It was a VERY eclectic group of pagans, ganja bud trimmers, and science fiction aficionados last night, and then there was “the professor anthropologist.” I want to thank the folks that tolerated my presence there, and hope that I wasn’t too condescending in my attitude and comments; it’s something that is still a struggle, a self-righteous way to separate “them” from “me,” but it is worth the effort for me to try to “be here now.”

 

Tonight a local couple are hosting me for Mexican food, and then we will go to a forum of the would-be congressional candidates for our district in the upcoming 2012 elections. The man of the house has been rebuilding my ancient (1970s) but beautiful bike piece by piece, while the woman has given me “special” Humboldt cookies. I tried to “return” the favors with blue sour cream cornbread and a book about Spanish anarchism, but they have now responded with more fun and favors. Maybe this is what friendship looks like – a virtuous cycle of giving, receiving, and giving more? I have almost forgotten the give-and-take of friendship, just as I had of love. Now, so late in life, I’m trying to learn how to take part in human interactions, and it’s both fun and frightening.

My fav, and the Xmas special in most of Mexico, tamales with all the trimmings!

Tomorrow, according to local “free forum” radio station KHUM (also linked at my Eureka blog) is (Seinfeld-inspired) “festivus” (a holYday for “the rest of us”)! My new LOVE has said she is inclined to visit me after a long day of work, so I need to scrounge up an aluminum pole, and we’ll air grievances, engage of feats of strength, and explain everyday events (like our growing love for one another) as festivus miracles!

She will stay for the Xmas weekend, so we’ll have to find more fun things to do… KHUM is threatening a long awaited rainstorm, so it may be indoor activities; wish us luck finding something to do! Suffice it to note that I first experienced the virtuous cycle at full strength in this new and growing relationship, and that it is both rewarding (she bakes THE best holYdaze cookies!) and scary (vulnerable?) for the expert “bridge burner.”

Her's are MUCH nicer (and more natural), but these fit the stereotype better!

Finally, there are all the other holYdaze events, including Kwanza and the New Year. As I explained in my very first blog post, after years of scorning the USA, the 4^th of July has become MY own day of personal independence; now I hope to make the annual winter cycle of events a time of appreciating friendship and love after years of self-denial and overt cynicism. Although the fears that generated those attitudes are still there, I am more aware of them, and am choosing to laugh at and discuss them!

While WE associate fireworks with the 4th of July, Mexicans often have them for every religious fiesta, including those related to the birth of Jesus...

Second, at this joy-filled time, let me acknowledge my recent dereliction of duty to my reader. As you can intimate from the above, I have been (for once!) busy practicing what I preach. In addition, I continue to volunteer at the wonderful Food for People (on a busier holYdaze basis); we ran out of our holYdaze meats (hams and chickens) briefly yesterday, so think about making a $$$ contribution if you can (see my Eureka blog, wherein I provide a thick description of this wonderful Humboldt County institution).

The man in the suit says, "Excuse me. I'm going to need this [food (corn for making 'ethanol')] to run my car!"

Furthermore, I have been preparing to return to the classroom. Aside from the reading of texts, preparation of lectures and assignments, etc., I am trying to prepare psychologically to approach teaching in a whole new way, after 2+ decades of hit-and-miss efforts. Wish me luck!!!

This is an international example of hate mail off of the Internet. It was sent to a teacher by someone who clearly didn't appreciate their educational experience... Glad to know I'm not alone!

On a related note, I am also rewriting my Oxford Uni presentation for possible publication. It is the necessary next-step in returning for a planned 2^nd workshop, possibly as early as this winter!

I want to go back!!!

Finally, to my long-patient reader, I promise to try to post more regularly on all of the above and other new situations and events in the coming year. Meanwhile, I wish you and yours the very best holYdaze, with love and friendship circling all around you within a universe that meets your needs and inspires your work and play. Look for this affirmation here, there, and everywhere (including this beautiful and amazing story of love lost and then found at 40,000 feet)!

The many bridges I have burned, Part 2

This continuing blog theme -- "the many (social) bridges I have burned" -- recapitulates diverse nefarious destructive episodes in my life up to now. Part 1 provided numerous examples of how I have tried subconsciously to sabotage my own professional career over the years; the (ultimate?) paradox here is that I have suddenly and without apparent conscious effort on my own part been reborn in recent months as both an international scholar and locally employed instructor!

Now, just in time for the stressful holiday season, Part 2 gets much more personal, using as a case study how I undermined a traditional (that is, cross-culturally durable) kinship relationship with 2 "poison-pen" letters. As a scholar who specializes in studying the socioeconomic relationships within and between families, this faux pas (I've linked to the comic strip!) is way past ironic... However, if you are trying to avoid an upcoming family get-together, this would be one way to get yourself "excused" from the festivities!

Of course, the purpose of exploring my various misadventures is for me and my loyal reader to learn valuable lessons from these episodes so as not to repeat them in the present and future. They are not meant to be merely opportunities to wallow in social squalor (AKA schadenfreude [the link is to a recipe for THE "schadenfreude pie"!]). Nonetheless, the melodramas have a certain titillating appeal, including the ever-popular "And I thought that I was fucked up until I read about YOUR life!" 


One could quibble over WHO actually burned this bridge, and HOW/WHEN it was torched... Perhaps the bridge I burned was actually rendered unsafe long before I decided to destroy it; in that case, it was merely the demolition of a death-trap, or a kind of social euthanasia that is not without redeeming qualities! Let each glean whatever insights that they might from these musings...

I assume that the stories that the individuals in my brother’s family tell of this estrangement are very different than the one I provide here… As Erica Jong notes in her memoir Seducing the Demon: writing for my life, this would be expected. For example, she and her daughter have very different tales about the actual events surrounding the latter’s commitment to a rehab facility (pages 242, 243); the mother says that she brought her daughter to the hospital (located in the rural mid-West), while her daughter claims that her mom abandoned her in her moment of need to go hang with "the beautiful people" in Europe! It is not possible for each of these versions to be THE truth. Nonetheless, as Ms. Jong makes clear, both stories are valid: there is no one TRUTH in actual events involving different individuals, but only various perspectives that can and should all be told by all of those willing to discuss the family’s secrets (page 242). 


Although stories told by individuals within a family are likely to vary, Ms. Jong and I agree that such stories NEED to be told… She says (page 272), "Writing is not a hostile act but an act of understanding -- even when it's satirical, even when it's bitter." And (on page 138), "I have to release the inhibitions that imprison me. I have to get rid of the voices that urge: Write nice things, don't embarrass the family..." Clearly, I have taken Ms. Jong's writing advice quite literally here.

The author of the best-selling book Fear of Flying (18 million copies in 50-odd languages!) makes it clear in her memoir (page 233) some 3 decades later that "...all autobiography is fiction, and all fiction is autobiography"!

The bulk of what follows is a reprinting of back-to-back bridge-burning written messages which had the effect of completely severing social relations between my brother and his family on the one side, and me all by my lonesome on the other side. I wrote the first offending letter to my sister-in-law shortly after my mother died, probably during the same week in which I produced my mom's eulogy. The second was a follow-up email message to her husband (my brother), written several weeks later.

These missives are examples of modern “poison-pen” letters (one was delivered by a postal carrier and the other was sent via the Internet to an email Inbox). They were neither anonymous or malicious, but WERE "too frank" for the sensibilities of their recipients and immediate kin. (My brother suggested as much, telling me that he had told his wife that there was some "Truth" in my letter to her, but that the timing and tone put it beyond the pale...) Such letters are a dying art in the “unfriending” Facebook Age. However, both vehicles serve much the same purpose: to foment a social rift so wide that it is unlikely to be repaired. Both letters were condemnations of my sister-in-law's behavior; she is glossed throughout this post as "Rich Bitch" or RB for short (and yes, she actually used to wear a gold necklace with that charming phrase emblazoned on it!). Her cold calculations regarding herself versus others reminds me of the Mary Tyler Moore character in "Ordinary People" (the first 3 minutes of this YouTube clip provide a hint of the shallow narcissism she embodies):

Anyway, a recent example of the depth of the divide that now separates me from my bro’s family involves the marriage of one of their sons. I was NOT invited to the festivities, nor have I met the new member of the clan... In fact, I have had NO communication with anyone in that nuclear family in the last half dozen years. Is that a bad thing? You can be the judge of that from what follows...


The ceremony and associated festivities of my estranged nephew's wedding have been sardonically referred to within the extended family as “THE royal wedding,” riffing on the contemporaneous international hullabaloo over the nuptials in England of prince William and commoner Kate. This is insightful insider wordplay in that both recent weddings were held by folks with way too much money on their hands, and who feel compelled to provide the masses with “espactaculos” (as my Mexican migrant friends would put it) on par with the infamous bread and circus parties of ancient Rome. 

Paid for by the taxpaying public, and centuries of serfs, slaves, and colonials... THEY may look stupid, but it's the 99% of the world's 7 billion people that need to get smart!

      Having explained the contexts for the post, without further ado my letter to my brother’s wife:

1 October 2005


Dear "Rich Bitch" [note: see especially definitions 5 & 6 in this embedded link]:

I hope that you are doing well and feeling better after this trying period of time. I know that you have helped my brother and your kids a lot, and I appreciate that. I also know that you have tried to help the rest of the family...

The sad fact is that I often felt that you actually impeded my ability to do the things that I needed to do during Mom’s illness. I’m sure that you have your own feelings and examples for why things did or didn’t happen; perhaps it will be necessary for you and I to meet in person to discuss all this when I return. However, I decided that the situation for me is such that I had to send you this message now. It is not a lighthearted note, nor should it be taken lightly.

There was a time when I actually felt real affection for you, but that was SO long ago. You and I have discussed some of the events and behaviors before, to little apparent effect as far as I can tell. I could write pages of complaints, but will just offer a few particularly pertinent examples here. Take last Tuesday, when you and your maid came over to clean and set up [4 hours late because you had to go to a luncheon]. I was very busy stupid-vising the tree trimming outside and doing my own work in my room. Nonetheless, you were relentless in your scathing comments about what you considered untidy, cluttered, and tacky conditions in Mom’s home. I know that this is how you feel and have always felt; you usually look pained to even sit down in this house, and have long deigned Mom’s hospitality. Nonetheless, the intensity of your cattiness the other day was such that I became newly incensed. [The fact that you were ordering me around like a servant because YOU were so late in arriving was just the rancid icing on a very stale cake!]

I have to wonder... What happened to the sweet, thoughtful girl my bro dated [in high school]? How did you become such a superficial, high-society caricature? Are all you 90210 matrons this inhumane? Or is it a family influence, since some, but certainly not all, of your family share many of your worst traits? When you talk down to me, other family members, or even wait-staff in a restaurant I loathe myself for even knowing such a shallow and hateful person...

Over the years Mom would beg me [and other family members] not to cause trouble when I had had it with your words and behaviors. She implied tactfully that there might be problems in your marriage, and she didn’t want me or anyone else in the family to add to them in any way. She loved my bro so much that she was willing to put up with all your abuse for 4 decades... Well, I was not, so I tried instead to avoid family gatherings, especially those hosted by you. This is one major reason why I barely know your sons.

Yes, I have just tried for many years to avoid you. The mere prospect of being at the same event with you fills me with dread and makes me sick with stress. It also brings out the absolute worst in me... One particularly “memorable” event was your sons’ Bar Mitzvah [ you know, the one with the "traditional" Lakers' girls in their cheer-leading outfits!]. You were so despicable that my then-wife and I wanted to turn around and leave as soon as we arrived; we made ourselves unavailable to be part of a family photo before the party began because I wanted to do you bodily harm.That’s why we’re not in that photo you asked me about the other day. Indeed, it's just like you to assume that we had been “late”; and, ironic since I’ve never known anyone more chronically tardy than you. Look at my face again in those BM pictures; can’t you see that I only wanted to be a thousand miles away from that place, or more specifically, from you?

Over the years my bro has repeatedly said that he wants a closer relationship amongst us siblings. I can’t speak for my sis, but this is how I feel. Your husband is a decent guy, not without his own faults, but in my opinion a much nicer person than I am (yes, I know only too well that I have my own obvious flaws...). I plan to try to accommodate him, but, now that Mom is gone, I will not hesitate to tell him how I feel about you. If you can’t keep a civil tongue and attitude toward everyone when I am around, then I will merely tell him that I just can’t socialize with his family when you are present. [Now that Mom has died] I won’t take this stress any longer.

So, the decision is entirely up to you. Sincerely, "phdauthor"

As I understand it, Rich Bitch (did you enjoy the lewd music video above?) decided to read the letter aloud to her whole family around the breakfast table! I can only imagine the "reality tv show" quality of her martyrdom, as she read every last word of my poison-pen letter! Anyway, my "decent" bro hit the roof, and when he came back down to earth he chose his wife over his bro (as he had chosen RB over HIS OWN MOTHER during all the years of RB's abuse, outlined in the letter above; for this, HE cannot be forgiven!). He proceeded to make a series of demands on ME (he IS a lawyer, so what can you expect?). The following was my email response:


Dear "Bro":

I have thought a great deal about many things since last Sunday’s visit. I have reread     my letter to RB, considered all that you had to say, and mulled over many other issues, some of which you know much about and others that no one can imagine but me. I have also had a 2-hour talk with a therapist, and plan to pursue several avenues in that realm in the hopes of gaining further insight and maybe even self-improvement. All of the above was/is in my own self-interest, since I have problems that go far beyond the current situation with [your wife,] RB. Therefore, I can’t obsess on this situation too much longer.

I currently do not want to even see RB, let alone talk or apologize to her. Just contemplating further interactions with RB makes me feel physically ill. While I am sorry that you, your sons, and others are upset, hurt, and/or angry about the content, tone, timing, and/or etc., of my letter [to her], for me it was a personal liberation after decades of bottled up emotions. Perhaps I only feel this way because I am a really sick individual; indeed, I told you some time ago that I know that I am. Perhaps some day I’ll get better and regret, maybe for the rest of my life, the decision I’m making now. Unfortunately, I can only go by how I feel and what I think now.

I have no desire to attend holiday get-togethers at this time. The intense period of familial interaction during Mom’s illness was very difficult for me, and I want to be alone as much as possible, focusing on my own problems. So you and sis needn’t have any issues about who to invite to what; I don’t want to participate in any of these festivities. I’ve been very uncomfortable in such situations for a long time, and nowadays get physically ill at the thought of going to them. As I mentioned to you, I felt this way before [sister's son’s] recent Halloween party, and this obviously had nothing to do with RB; indeed, it has everything to do with me...

In regard to “business” related to Mom’s house, you should feel free to contact me in regard to any issue, or to come over whenever you need to. When you, RB and/or sis decide to either sell or lease the house, just let me know and I’ll move out. Until then I will probably remain here, though I definitely won’t remain beyond next summer. Of course I’ll let you know in advance of any decision I make regarding that. Sincerely, "phdauthor"

The End (of a long established and carefully constructed set of familial expectations and obligations)!!! 


Postscript: while I wouldn't recommend that anyone emulate this case study (indeed, it is meant as a precautionary tale of behavior that is likely to lead to social shunning), it IS pretty much GUARANTEED to eliminate unwanted familial obligations, such as participation in “THE royal" event (wedding, baby shower, baptism, bar mitzvah, quinceanos, confirmation, graduation, etc.) that most relatives have to endure from some social climbing nouveau riche members of the family at some point in every generation... (And good luck with THAT!) 


Finally, I am increasingly convinced that this was one bridge that had suffered decades of vandalism, and that the arsonist might have had some pretty compelling reasons for burning down such a twisted and perilous wreak. However, as hinted at above, I think that I took the worst case scenario (above) and applied it to virtually all of my kinship relations, leaving me a voluntary orphan in regard to family, and even extended it to most friendships, which I am too quick to dispose of whenever the challenges to reciprocity threaten my too simplistic point of view. Indeed, the primary reason that I began this blog was to reevaluate, redeem, and respect those relationships which ARE worth the efforts, even at some small cost to my egotistical "freedom" of action, thoughts, and feelings. Wish ME luck with THAT!

Building Bridges Instead of Burning Them, Part 1

The sincerest form of flattery is not imitation (or, in academia, plagiarism), but friendship, emulation, and "paying forward" whatever positive outcomes relationships generate. I have been running from relationships most of my life, and I have refused to hear those few scattered souls who tried to say into my willfully deaf ears that I made a difference, helping them to solve a problem, pursue a dream, or sustain a good feeling. I shrugged off any attempts at lasting solidarity in the same way I adamantly rejected small kindnesses and celebrations of life (gifts, rites-of-passage like birthdays, graduation ceremonies, etc.). Afraid of the commitments and fragilities embedded in any social bridge, I peremptorily burned all my bridges through not-so benign neglect or active hands-on sabotage.

I've been burning my bridges since I was a kid, when I imprinted this response from my bitter, angry, impatient, and volatile father.

Until now. Especially in the past month I have been shocked, scared, and humbled by a small but veritable outpouring of kind words and gracious acts that have demonstrated that my works and/or deeds have had positive effects on others. And, in my very belated recent effort to rise from the ashes, and to CROSS bridges instead of BURNING them, I have suddenly found that I can actually help to BUILD bridges too!!!!! And, in the act of a hands-on building of bridges, I can feel closer to wonderful individuals and all of humanity...

A hand/heart!!!!!

I already noted in my post from Oxford University (I'm still in shock that I got to go there! What an amazing honor!!!!!), that two young academics showered praise on my research/publications, and said that it was useful or even inspirational in attaining their own considerable achievements... I have received two e-testaments to the same effect from other Workshop participants in the weeks that  followed. Finally, I recently received a kind e-note of appreciation for my contributions to the Workshop from my Oxford host, with the suggestion that I will be among those invited back in the new year for a second Workshop to build on our discussion, and prepare papers for publication!

These comments of appreciation, IF the recipient is willing to hear them, are themselves inspirational, In my case, they have made me realize that I can and do make some modest contributions within this vast universe, and that I must follow through with more of my research being turned into published works...

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

...even as I continue growing my solitary sprouts of hope for a greener, thriving future in my "anonymous" blogs!

(Note: Now that I have a new academic affiliation, I plan to write grant proposals to raise a small fund for the materials that would allow people dependent on food-banks like the amazing Food for People to grow some of their own food [various types of sprouts that can be produced in their rooms, on windowsills, and even in encampments]; it's SO easy you can learn about it from Natasha St. Michael on YouTube! Progress of this project will be posted here when it occurs, hopefully by the time that spring has sprung after the cold wet grey winter that the locals insist is on its way...)

A hand/plant!!!!!

Then, last week I told my dearest friend (and former lover) that I really enjoyed a local blog by a young woman describing her life, work, and knowledge here in Eureka. Ms. "X" must have thought I was showing off when sometime later she checked out Ms. "Y"'s blog, only to find that the latest post there was inspired by that blogger's developing friendship with me! I was myself surprised, flattered, and humbled to be the subject of a straightforward and heartfelt reflection on life, limitations, and fears suddenly confronted and altered for the better! So I recommend that any loyal reader check out the writings of my new true friend at Dammas's blog.

A scary but helpful tip from Dammas's blog: umbrellas don't work well in Eureka's many down-, sideways-, and up-pours!!!!! She recommends hoodies, so I went out and bought one on sale before the seasonal deluge commences...

Although it might appear that I am bragging (and maybe I am!!!!!), what I am more in touch with feeling is humility and apprehension. I find it humbling to know that some people have noticed my meager efforts, and have transformed those works into new and enriching discoveries of their own. And I am apprehensive because of my lifelong fear of not measuring up to the exacting standards of others in my family, community, profession, etc. Like Dammas, I am well aware of the fact that I am complex, perplexing, paradoxical, and far from "perfect" (whatever that is!); like Dammas I fear that some others will focus on the abundant negative aspects of my persona in order to diminish and dismiss my efforts to produce somethingS good.

A hand bridge of strength in numbers!!!!!

But, Dammas and I, along with so many others, have taken inspiration from the youth, the marginalized, and WORKERS, more and more of whom have been putting it all on the line in recent weeks all over the world -- despite the demonization of the rich and powerful -- to demand better Wall Streets and Main Streets everywhere on the planet. (I kick myself for being sick this whole last month, and for therefore doing far too little in the way of active solidarity! The lesson here is to take care of yourself, because your body is not only your Temple, but the means to the satisfying ends of standing up for your basic Human Rights.)

Actual workers say "Enough is enough"; join those representing the 99% of Americans against the endlessly ruthless and gluttonous 1%!!!!!

These protesters are also standing up to fight against the elite's use of some workers, especially the police, to coerce and abuse all other people standing up (in the tradition of populist protesters of every age) for the average American as opposed to the privileged few.

Beauty and the unwitting Beasts...

So, with a bigger, more hopeful heart, mind, and spirit, I pledge to make new social bridges with the people in my classrooms, my co-op, the farmers' markets, the food-bank, the laundromat, and on the streets everywhere and every day!

Every attempt to suppress the people brings more of the 99% to the streets!!!!!

I hope to see you there!!!!! We can join hands, become friends, and help reverse course to save this planet, which is our only possible home.

How can we let the already filthy rich continue to defile our collective house in their rush to accumulate even more wealth? It takes 32 years to count a billion dollars, one per second, yet we permit 1,500 individuals to be billionaires! It takes 32,000 years to count a trillion dollars, one per second, yet the bankers and speculators got their political buddies to give them 16 trillion dollars during the "economic crisis" that the rich had caused and profited from! No wonder the government says it's broke, and that it has to cut services (like education, good paying jobs, food for people, social security for the old, and heathcare for the sick, etc.)  to the 99%!!!!!

The Bridge of Sighs, left unsinged...

The Oxford Bus Company driver roared away from the bus stop without unloading my bag, which contained all my dress clothes! Was I going to have to wear shorts and sandals to my presentation the next day? I spent the next 3 hours in search of my purloined carry-on bag, lugging my backpack around, being misdirected from one side of the town of Oxford to the other while on foot and without any local currency to engage a taxi after my 16-hour plane flight. And Oxford is pretty big, with over 160,000 inhabitants!

"Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone..." -- Joni Mitchell

I did lose my temper over the unwillingness of any bus company official to take responsibility, and return my bag. And, I was totally exhausted when I finally found myself reunited with my bag, but lost on a hot afternoon in the midst of Oxford University while trying to find my lodgings at the Corpus Christi College (students didn't even know where that college was!).

But, on turning a sharp corner on the narrow cobblestone street I was treading I suddenly blundered right into the Bridge of Sighs, and I realized that the baggage fiasco was all just part of the experience of traveling to a new and very different land (although our peoples both claim to speak the same language, it sure doesn't sound like it!). I was just beginning MY magical mystery tour!!!

It's hard to stay outraged when confronted with this beautiful architecture!

And now the Oxford workshop is over! My own presentation was too long, with too many slides to show in a mere 15 minutes, so I had to skip most of the fun stuff in order to emphasize the main academic point I needed to make. Instead of 3 case studies of billionaire employers (complete with pics of them with celebutants like Martha Stewart and Oprah Winfry), I only discussed one, but the intro, argument, and conclusion were intact. And during the Q&A that followed, when a questioner wanted to know what theories we used, I tried to replied humorously (oxymoronically?) that I was an unrepentant marxist/anarchist/free-spirit.

That's me!

In the past I would have been somehow surly at the unfairness of the limited time, and/or might have just given up trying to make my talk a complete (if truncated) whole when time was running out, but this time I made the best of a bad situation, and did what I could. A number of participants were kind enough to come up to me later to say that they had enjoyed my presentation, suggest that they had learned something from it, and made further queries about my methods. I was gracious and responsive, rather than sullen or defensive. One senior scholar said that he believed much as I did, but would not have admitted it for fear of alienating part of his audience; I replied without hesitation that this was because he is smarter than me, to which he backed off by saying "No, not at all!" I believe that this European bridge may have steamed a bit, but remains unburned!

Half of the Workshop room...

[Although I would have liked to have been better prepared, with the opiates and antibiotics coursing through my body to keep the "Eureka crud" (some kind of local bug that has been hitting the folks of Humboldt County for several years) in check, I think that I did as well as I could reasonably expect.

Yes, you read that right. After 4 years with nary a sniffle, and on a sustained health kick that includes loads of fresh fruits and veggies, on the eve of my plane flight I got a very sore throat, accompanied with fever, chills, aches, and pains. The doc found an ear infection (!?!) and advised me against a plane flight, which he thought would be painful, or worse damage my pus-filled inner ear due to changing air pressures going up and coming back down. I swallowed all of his meds, and jumped onto my 16-hour flight with only the mildest trepidations. I have come to believe, for reasons to be discussed in future posts, that something is looking out for yours truly...]

My plane was much larger, but equally full of people struggling to get to the tiny bathroom cubes down aisles that tossed and turned with the strong air currents that buffeted our flight. Thank the gods that I do not have air sickness to add to the Humboldt humbug that had a grip on my body and mind!

Everyone had received all the papers prior to the event, and were expected to read them. I was determined that my talk did not just regurgitate what I'd already written... While my paper focused on the benefits of using a particular method (social network analysis) to improve immigration research, my presentation illustrated that point by targeting one of the current "missing links" in immigration research, which is the wealthy (billionaire) employers that get so rich by using new immigrant workers at low pay in substandard working conditions.

A depiction of the deprivations of poverty; regardless of the parents possible shortcomings, how can we let the bulk of the poor -- innocent children -- go without the necessities of life, when a few have so much more than they need? How much more do they have? See the following photo and its caption!!!

"Bill Gates' 66,000-square-foot compound is built into a hillside on the edge of Lake Washington, near Seattle. Out-of-shape visitors can skip the 84-step hike to the ground floor and opt for an elevator ride instead. Among its enviable amenities: a 60-foot swimming pool with an underwater music system, a 2,500-square-foot gym and a 1,000-square-foot dining room, which seats 24." 
[My added comments: Gate's Microsoft was successfully sued for firing hundreds of American software programmers, and importing on 3-year visas foreign programmers from Asia and the former Soviet Union at salaries that were two-thirds lower. The EU found his company guilty of a number of corporate crimes (like engaging in predatory monopolistic practices, and they were fined millions of Euros. Etc.]

There were about 40 scholars at the Oxford Workshop, mainly from European nations from Estonia to Italy, Portugal to Germany, Netherlands to Slovenia, and about 50/50 between women and men. Only a few were Americans. Indeed, on my panel I was "the token" old white male, surrounded by much younger and smarter women. That was a new and enjoyable experience! Later, 2 of those 3 women each told me separately that my 2005 article had help inspire them to do graduate studies! I was so flattered and amazed that my work had actually had such an affect on some that I was on the verge of tears, and both they and I actually blushed from the emotional connection briefly made.

The other half of the Workshop room.

Not only did I eat well, and mingle with very good scholars on a topic of burning interest to us all, but I loved my lodging in Corpus Christi College! It's very old, but has all the necessities, and is very lovely.

The plaza just inside the College gate; all the inscriptions on the pillar are in ancient Latin.

Many of these photos were taken at dawn, because our Workshop kept us too busy indoors from 8 am to 6 pm, with dinner thereafter...

A broader view of the quad at dawn, with the entry to my room on the right...

I had lovely conversations with senior scholars from across Europe, the US, and Australia, young go-getter academics from Georgetown, the Netherlands, and here at Oxford (which actually has 3 different and apparently largely non-cooperative "immigration studies" programs!) in this quad. I also encountered new PhD students, readying themselves to go out to the field to do a year's research before writing up their findings.

It brought up so many memories of my glory-daze as a "Fellow" on the inside career track while at UC San Diego's Center of US-Mexican Studies, and its sister institution, the Center for Comparative Immigration Studies... In my early 30s already, I was then confident that a cushy research job at a prestigious institution was in my immediate future. I didn't realize then that my outsized and often abrasive ego could upend those opportunities...

My desk, and the open windows overlooking the plaza.

I wrote the first draft of this post from this desk, and found the space an inspiration rather than a distraction...

The view of the college, from my window, at dawn.

Oxford's beautiful buildings precede the advent of the English empire and the capitalists' industrial revolution. Instead, the wealthy elite were "blue-blood" titled aristocrats, and the labor that built these hallowed halls consisted of serfs, who were bound to their "lords" estates from one generation to the next. Karl Marx saw the horrors of unfettered capitalism as an improvement over the abject servitude of the feudal system, although he mistakenly thought that the mass of peoples would eventually overturn greedy capitalism for a more equitable socialism, in which the mantra would be "From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs..." Perhaps this may still happen before the "creative destructions" of capitalism doom the planet (or at least our species) to a devastation akin to extinction; that's why an increasing number of our global youth are occupying Wall Streets around the world!

Marx said that religion was "the opiate of the masses," while a character in the great British movie "Oh Lucky Man" is found walking down a post-industrial nightmare of a manufacturing zone past graffiti sprayed on a wall stating, "Revolution is the opiate of the intellectuals." Perhaps this why almost everyone (rich or poor) is "on (some sort of) drugs!" We are all self-medicating to tolerate the fact that our contradictory dreams of either great wealth or communal equality are unlikely to occur.

The University Church of Saint Mary the Virgin; I had thought only Mexicans were so hung up on Mary!

So, I had a few hours after the Workshop concluded to look about this 800-year old "disneyland." It is so beautiful in that medieval way, and steeped in so much history (for example, the high walls around all the colleges were originally defensive works, built by the academic "gown-ies" (in their scholastic robes!) to protect them from the non-academic locals that resented the scholars' growing demands for precious land.

The pedestrian path between Corpus Cristi (Body of Christ!) and Merton colleges...

The buildings and gardens are so gorgeous...

I want to live here!!!

And the sidewalk cafes are so inviting...

Can you see the tables & coffee stand under the tree?

But, I rushed through a final heavy and delicious English breakfast...

Here toasting my hosts in the dining hall beside my Slovene colleague...

Jumped on a double-decker bus...

It was still early morning...

And headed back to London, to leap upon the luxurious Eurostar to Paris...

I ate my first real French meal (a delicious smoked salmon ravioli in a rich but not too creamy sauce while on the walk from Eurostar station to Tristan Plaza...

And walked through two neighborhoods and found my quite lovely hotel room/balcony, looking out over a very narrow one-way street aimed at the nearby Metro station in Pigalle Plaza. I went to sleep at dusk, awoke at 2 am (local time), wrote this, and hope to calm down enough to go back to sleep before a very warm sun arises in a non-fall-like Paris. More on that later!

A movement in my life: RIP, Jimi Hendrix

[Update (23 November 2011): Rolling Stone mag top musicians (again) vote Jimi Hendrix the best guitarist of all time; the HuffPost has a short bio video embed in their coverage of this tribute that is worth watching...]


This post is "a movement in my life" (NOT a moment...) for several reasons… It describes a series of events and situations scattered over time and "thought" together at the moment of writing it. The themes are huge for me: from my lifelong love for rock music to my intense hatred of racism, and an abusive father that somehow tied them together in my mind.

After a few hours of helping shoppers at Food for People’s choice-pantry, I came home and finished my Oxford presentation; it’s pretty damn good, and a real potential bridge burner I am "proud" (?!?) to admit. I have 13 daze until I fly to London! Maybe I'll figure out how to make the message more palatable to my audience by then.

When I first got home tonight I put on a random series of 5 CDs I pulled out of my "rock" box, edited the presentation paper for awhile, washed dishes, and made some dinner. Jimi Hendrix’s “Electric Ladyland” was already playing when I left the kitchen to put away the laundry I had done in the morning. Suddenly I recalled when I really “heard” this album for the first time, while tripping on acid and smoking hash oil. I was 17 years young…

THAT'S why they called Electric LADYland! As usual, the European cover was nixed for the American release; what do we have against women's bare breasts on rock albums? (See the English cover for Blind Faith's Album for another example...)

I was at an artist friend’s house in downtown Fullerton, and a bunch of us rode trikes around the adjacent parking lot in the late afternoon sun while “Still Raining, Still Dreaming,” “House Burning Down,” and “All Along with Watchtower” (the video just below; you HAVE to watch it!) blasted out of the house’s windows and doors. I could really see the music in it's rainbow colors, because I was flying very high… Even now, tonight, I smelled those feelings again for a few minutes, and then I remembered even more profoundly MY Hendrix Experience…

The Jimi Hendrix Experience was my first concert, 5 years earlier. A friend bought tickets to the then-new LA Forum; I remember thinking how expensive those $5 tickets were! There were 3 bands: Cat Mother (who died without a trace), Chicago (then a new band that wowed the crowd from 10 to near midnight, and then The Experience, which came on at almost 1 am, and played until dawn. My friend "Michael" and I went down to the open space in front of the stage. It was 1966, and there was no visible security. We were packed into the space, and everyone was moving, smiling, and singing. I saw my cousin "Carl," sitting on the stage, 10 feet from Jimi’s feet, smoking a joint! (I didn’t start using drugs for another year…)

Jimi’s “Star Spangled Banner” (you really should watch this Woodstock version some time!) went on for an hour, with improvs and solos so long and diverse that the audience would forget that the hook was the national anthem until he got around to playing a few more riffs now and again. As the sun was rising in the parking lot, I stopped to buy a psychedelic poster of Jimi from a vendor, much like this one…

I was star-struck, and on the cusp of adolescence in the middle of the fucking ‘60s! I stuck Jimi’s poster up on my bedroom wall without a moment’s thought. I didn’t think of the televised Watts “Riots” (Rebellion), and how my father, just 2 years earlier had yelled racist obscenities at our black and white TV screen. “Kill the fuckin’ black apes!” was one of his more creative screams… I was 10, and wondered who could possibly scare my big, bad, bully of a dad (future posts) so much!

THE most infamous photo of the Watts Rebellion...

How could I not remember that?!? Freud calls it a repressed memory, and it was about to get a chance to be relived. When my father got home he somehow saw the poster in my bedroom. He ripped it down with one outraged swipe of his hand, and then balled it up and yelled at me, “No one is gonna put up pictures of niggers in MY house!” I was speechless, without a clue yet as to the depth of racism in contemporary America. 


Why get so hung up on the color of a person's skin? It would be 3 years later, locked up in a padded cell on an out-of-control 3-day acid trip, before I would remember that "The Revolution had been Televised," and to confront the fact that, as I would later love to say, “My dad would make a great Nazi if he hadn’t been born a Jew.” That was in 1970, when the '60s were over too quickly, and the downward spiral of the Boomer generation was already underway…

My cell didn't look like this modern version; it was like a concrete cell with wrestling mats nailed onto the walls and floor, and with a drain to hose out the vomit and urine, etc. in the middle.

As a hint of what was to come, by then Jimi Hendrix had already died, along with Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, and so many others, famous and unknown. Why did so many of our creative artists flame out so young? Perhaps they couldn’t bear to live in the hateful society they could see so clearly? A lot of people blame their demises on drugs, but maybe they were "medicating" because they couldn't stand the realities all around them. The Vietnam War continued for 3 more long, genocidal years, and the Civil Rights movement had been stalemated. Although the United Farm Workers union was looking stronger, it would soon be just another feel-good cause without any rebels. And, the Boomers that had fueled the '60s would put away their love beads and flock to Wall Street.

Morrison's grave site; maybe I'll make the pilgrimage while in Paris?

Somehow I survived my own decade-plus drug trip… I should have died any number of times; I actually rode a motorcycle up canyon passes and to Big Sur while out of my mind on this or that.


My cousin "Carl," up there on the stage at the Hendrix concert, had died during this period. He tried killing himself by running onto the 101 freeway in evening rush hour traffic while naked. When the cars didn’t finish him off, he bought a gun.

I grew up with the notion that life and death were equivalent, and that it was OK to off myself if I wanted to. I remember eating a bottle of orange baby aspirin when I was about 10, mad that I was made to go to bed before my TV show was over!?! My puke tasted like orange candy all night long…

Why do they give it an orange flavor?!?

My favorite book was Albert Camus’ “The Stranger,” wherein he shoots a man on the beach instead of killing himself. I grew up angry and hurt, but for some reason, I just never did flip the ultimate switch.

The evening of this post I laid down on my bed, thinking about all these things, while listening to “Voodoo Child (Slight Return).” Jimi must have loved life to write and perform such incredible songs. I know it was hard for him to make it in the US music scene because he was a Black man. He had to leave the US and perform in Europe for years, until he broke through in England with the British Wave of white groups like the Stones and the Beatles. Once England loved him, he could finally come back to the US and have a career here. He must have reeled from our hypocrisies; like all these racist middle-age men rooting for the "home team" full of black and brown players... 

Now I’m going to England, and I’m thinking of Jimi. Too weird! I just googled Jimi’s death to add a few facts to my post and found the following:

“Jimi said, "When I die, I want people to play my music, go wild, and freak out an' do anything they wanna do." This musical genius died at 27 years old, leaving behind only 4 completed albums. Although he was staying in a London hotel at the time, on September 18^th, 1970 Jimi was sleeping in his girlfriend Monika Danneman's flat, in Notting Hill, London.”

RIP, Jimi Hendrix...

I had NO conscious idea that Jimi’s death-iversary was upon me, nor did I recall that he had died in London! I do remember than Jim Morrison died in Paris (grave photo way above), which is where I’m going after the Oxford Workshop! Now I need to find out where Janis Joplin died, and tie that into all this other happenstance… Meanwhile, rest in peace all you hipsters and revolutionaries! I think that a new generation is arising, and maybe THEY will carry on the work of making this world a slightly better place.

Janis with her Southern Comfort (the only booze to ever make me puke all night long!)... Cheers!

[Update (9-19-2011): drugs now cause more deaths than traffic accidents in the USA... However, marijuana, other hallucinogens, and all other "illegal" drugs combined are NOT the culprits, so what is described above is NOT an endorsement of suicide-by-drug-use; for THAT pitch, contact the "adult beverage" industry, and big pharma's sales reps and their best buddies, your families' doctors!]