eh.

I've been reading here for a bit, I suppose perhaps I should add to the content.

It used to be, Livejournal was about prognosticating, describing, telling and hoping. Now it's so much more reflective. I don't come to lj to let people know what's going on, or what will go on, but to see what happened. The source itself has become the archive.

What, then, remains to be said?

I'm going to Mexico again this summer. From the first week of June until mid-July. I'm supposed to be writing out grant proposals as we speak, ah yes lj, still perfect for periods of procrastination.

My first week will be spent brushing up on my Spanish... I definitely need that. I'll be in Piste again, near the site of Chichen Itza. After that, I'll be travelling in the Yucatan peninsula, checking out other sites of Maya ruins, probably Coba and Tulum, and the villages and towns nearby.

Anthropology, as an academic discipline, has a variety of methodologies. Current buzzwords are power, agency, and positionality. People have a general idea of what 'power' is (although explaining it outright is another thing entirely). Agency refers to the capacity of an individual to act independently, often in contrast to structures (policies, gender constructs, religion). Positionality is the idea that one must position themselves within the work that they produce.

Tourism, globalization, and development are buzzwords within Anthropology and most of the social sciences and humanities. What is interesting to me is the ways in which indigenous populations (what exactly that means is another complex discussion) relate to the commercial development of tourism in and near their hometowns.

It's difficult to place myself within that study, and this is one of my current struggles with the idea of anthropological fieldwork. I'm a middle-class white guy from Michigan, and the notion of me using my racial and class advantages to pursue a study of those in areas that are less "advanced" or "developed" or what have you, seems entirely colonial - very much a problem of early anthropology.

However, through spending time with people, my identity grows to include more than simply middle-class white guy from Michigan. I have become friends with people in Piste, and that goes far beyond the generality of acquaintance oriented research. The tools of anthropology will (hopefully) make one ready to understand the systematicity of a culture in a broad, overarching sense, both through removed observation of the parts, and also with careful consideration of the individual.

People discuss important issues much differently with a friend than they do in formal interviews. Is there something more "real" or "authentic" or "significant" in this type of language and interaction? I would certainly argue that so much is true.

I suppose what I'm really after than, is a more complete, if not truer understanding of the way in which sites of important cultural heritage are transferred to national patrimony and later to world tourism, and what that means for those who may more closely interpret the sites at a basic level.

Ohhhhhhhhh livejournal. My old stomping grounds. Things have definitely changed around here, but I still recognize the place. I can definitely find my way around, but the landmarks are different. It's striking at first, but it comes back.

Livejournal is kinda like Owosso. or Holt. or Mt. Pleasant even.
It's still here. I can come and visit if I like... but every year I'm there less and less, and each time I return it's more different than the last time.


I live in facebook now. Sorry livejournal.


It's tough for me to post vaguely.
Here's what's happening:

I sent in my application to be an assistant for OSEA 2011. This is the program I participated in this past summer in Pisté, Mexico. I love the community of Pisté, and I'm excited to return. I also feel like this is a great chance to get a foothold on some actual graduate level research.

I've been e-mailing professors at prospective graduate schools recently. Most of the responses have been dry and short, but one in particular stood out. The professor responded to each topic I addressed, and answered a lot of questions I have. He gave me more information than I even asked for.

I'm just really not sure how I feel about my chances of getting into these graduate schools. Do I only apply to those that will offer full funding? Do I pay for my own graduate school? I have to realize, in all honesty, most programs that won't offer full funding, also won't net me a job afterwards. If I don't get into grad school then... is that where this hits the wall? Do I get a job and settle down? Do I try again next year? Another year removed from academia in general, although involved in SELT 2011 again hopefully... would that summer assistantship be enough to boost my status for the next year?

Does anyone care?

No. That's why I can't livejournal anymore. In the lj days, everyone was pretty much in the same boat. people's boats have changed. unless i can relearn to address things vaguely and generally, the importance will be lost. because it really is all relative.

damn.

I threw a tantrum the first time I came to America. With the amount of people that do the exact same thing, I doubt it's really at all relevant.

How many times does one have to hit rock bottom before they can produce something truly incredible? Probably none, but world's track record would like you to believe otherwise.

It's time to update. I'm not referring simply to your livejournal icon or your profile picture or your status. Overall, it's time to update.


With each day that passes I find myself missing Mexico more. Within my first week in Mexico I had learned that authenticity was a farce (at least, it's a farce within the Marxist theoretical framework). During the following six weeks I learned how authentic people could really be. Their intentions were sincere, and their emotions true. It seems that so much here is seen through a veil of hyperbole; it's distorted through the attempts of not only beautification, but also of atrociousness. Many people are afraid, or unaware of their own candor.



I should write a memoir; I've got stories to tell. Some are old, some are new, but they're all genuine, real tales of human experience. Who wants to listen?

Hello real milk. Hello cheetos sin extra picante. Hello cars. Goodbye open doors, goodbye community. Hello individuals.

It is my second full day back, and I feel that I need to write some things before I start forgetting things.

It is really difficult to convey my emotions for the town of Pisté. I feel that I can explain it, but I don't know that I can really capture the essence of what it was. This town of 5,000 was the most welcoming, caring community I have ever felt a part of. And after only seven weeks, I really did feel like a part of it.

I feel like the best way to express it is through a series of stories.

Our first Friday in Mexico happened to be Nichole's birthday. Nichole was one of the other 9 students in the program. After a small party at the treehouse (Quetzil, our professor's house, where we had class every day), we were informed of a party/concert in Vallodolid, about 30 minutes away by car. We had an acquaintance, Fernando, who would be there. Fernando was an on-the-side Spanish tutor basically. He arranged for his friend Carlos to pick us all up in his truck. We all piled in the back of his truck, and rode to Vallodolid. On the way there Marion (another student) told us terrible jokes, we were stopped at a military checkpoint and all had to get out of the truck, and we had some decent conversation despite the wind. The concert was held at a baseball field outside, with two huge stages. Probably a couple thousand people, children to adults, and lots of dancing. I don't dance... but in Vallodolid, I danced a bit. Everyone did... it's just what happened. After a long night of talking in Spanish, Maya, and meeting tons of people from Pisté who recognized us as the kids that went to Oxxo to buy ice cream every day, we truly realized how much we stuck out in Pisté, and how well everyone already knew us, simply from being there and being talked about. Regardless, around 4am we were ready to go. We had class at 8 in the morning, and we weren't used to partying like Pistélenos. Carlos told us that he was still too drunk, and he was gonna get a taxi home in the morning. He gave us the keys to the truck, and told us to just leave it parked at Quetzil's house. So on my first weekend in Mexico, I was driving home a truckful of drunk american students in a truck that belonged to someone that I met that night, who was a friend of an acquaintance. Carlos gave us his truck like it was a normal thing, no big deal. I just had to be trusted to drive 30 minutes in Mexico at 4 in the morning, and he met me that day... who cares.

One of my favorite experiences was my first time meeting Rodrigo. Rodrigo was Rickey's host dad, but he was only 28. He had three children, 2 boys (7 and 8 I believe), and one girl, Shassid (2-3ish). Rickey was always telling me that he would ask his dad if I could come over for dinner, and then maybe afterwards he could come over and use my internet or something. I felt like a third grader, but it was in a good way, it was fun. One day I was walking down a road that I thought Rickey's house was on, and I looked inside one of the houses thinking it might be his. Sure enough, I saw Rickey walk by the doorway, and I yelled his name. He didn't hear me, but soon after I saw Rodrigo look outside. When he saw me, he called me in. He speaks English very well, he was self-taught using basketball games and movies. He told me that Rickey had just asked if I could come over for dinner sometime, and they were about to have dinner right then, so I should eat with them. I had just eaten, but I agreed anyway, I figured it'd be a good way to meet people and forge connections. Rodrigo told me "We have a phrase in Mexico, it goes 'You eat in my house once, you eat in my house 17 times' Now you are a part of my family, and you are welcome to eat here, breakfast lunch or dinner, whenever you would like". Throughout the next 6 weeks I took him up on the offer several times. His wife, Andrea, made pancakes for me every chance she got. I ate plenty of flautas and hot dogs and pasta and pancakes, and always felt completely welcomed. I genuinely felt like they appreciated me as a part of their family.

I expressed interest to Quetzil in returning to OSEA 2011, but that I would like to do so as an assistant, rather than a student. I couldn't afford to pay again what I paid the first time, but if I could actually receive a paycheck for doing what I did this summer, it would be a dream come true. He said it was definitely something we would be talking about, and he would love to have me return. I expressed this interest to Rodrigo as well, and he told me that if I want to come back next year, I could do so and live with his family completely free of charge.

One night, after our clausura (which I posted about in my last entry), I was very frustrated with Quetzil. After a party at Gabi's house for her host-grandmother, I made my way over to Rodrigo's. Rodrigo could tell I was frustrated, and made me tell him what had happened. He told me about another phrase they have in Mexico. "When a man tips his hat, and the hat belongs on the head of another, everyone knows". He did a lot to help calm me down that night, and we ended up taking family pictures basically, with his entire family and the 5 students that were at his house that night.

The following night, while eating dinner at his house for the last time, he told me that he and Andrea were thinking about not taking part in OSEA next year, they didn't want to take any more students for Quetzil after hearing about the things he had done, and the frustrations that we had. I told them that completely the opposite of what I wanted to happen. If anything can make the experience better for students, it is to have a family like that, to be involved with a family like theirs. Their entire family was so warm and compassionate and welcoming, I can't imagine what my time would've been like had I not known them. I told them that they needed to accept students next year, because if they didn't, where was I going to live? I told them that their house was my house next year, because they were my family. Andrea began to cry, but she had changed her mind. She said she really hoped that I would come back next year, but even if I couldn't, they would open their family again. She said it would be difficult, because it's always difficult when the students leave, but this year's group was the group that had formed the most, closest connections with all the families.

The very next night was the big program-ending party. Too much happened there to write it all down right now, but one of my personal highlights was a time when Rodrigo was talking to Rickey and I outside, while the party was still going on inside. He pulled two $2 dollar bills from his wallet. He told us that he had saved those since Andres was born, he'd had them for 7 years. He ripped each one in half, and handed half of one to Rickey, and half of the other to me. He told us that he didn't care when, soon he hoped, but it was just necessary that at some point we needed to bring his money back to him. This was one of the most touching, moving experiences I have ever been a part of. It wasn't about what he was giving away, it was about how much he meant it. Rodrigo is the perfect example of someone from Pisté, for me. He fully embraces the lifestyle. It is definitely much moreso a culture of community rather than individuals. There is no greed or corruption, there's enough of that in the politics. The entire community of Pisté is there to take care of the rest of the community. If someone is in need, there are 5 families reaching out to give.

Rodrigo told me that if I want to set up my own program in Pisté, if I want to come and stay for 1 month or 3 months, if I want to bring 2 people or 4 people or 6 people, if we can afford plane tickets, he can set us up with food, places to live, everything we might need while we're there. He said that he knows enough people that are willing to give, and from what I've seen in the past 7 weeks, it's definitely not difficult to make such connections.

I feel very strongly compelled to return to Pisté, and try the OSEA program again with Quetzil. If I can run SELT the way I think it could be run, and make it into the program that it can be, and get Quetzil more involved and active, then great. However, if I try next summer, and Quetzil still is not active or receptive, but still just looking for another way to make himself look good, then I plan on returning again for a 3rd summer, with the intention of beginning my own program with all the connections I have set up.
I really feel like I need to continue with the relationships I've formed, and I need to strengthen my ties to the community, and I cannot give up on the work that I have started in Pisté.

For the past 6.5 weeks, I've been in Mexico.

The program is OSEA, the Open School of Ethnography and Anthropology. It's a great opportunity, as it's really quite difficult to find field schools in cultural anthropology. Most of the time you find a field school it's for archaeology, which is really something I've never been too interested in.

I'm actually a part of a more specific program within OSEA called SELT, the School of Experimental Language Training. What this means... is that we take on teaching free English classes to the community of Pisté, with an open mind about pedagogical theory and intercultural development, while also learning how to do ethnography, with the classroom setting as our research area. Some of the important ideas here are transculturation and double sensation.

Transculturation is a mixing and blending of cultures. For instance, classrooms here in Pisté are not the same as classrooms in Michigan. Kids do not sit in their seats all the time, they are not quiet, they do not raise their hands and wait to be called on. The focus here is not on the individual, but on the community. When the teacher writes things on the board, kids are all over the place, running around the classroom with friends, working on the assignment 3 desks over with someone else, etc. When the teacher asks a question, kids yell out the answer, there is no being quiet and raising their hand. Whoever is loudest gets the most attention, but the fact is most kids yell and try to answer, even if they don't yell loudly. Within our English classrooms, the kids tried to abide by our American classroom rules. They raised their hands, they didn't run around the room. They were still noisy, and they still shouted out answers, and that's something that I had to learn to deal with as time went on. Some of their culture worked its way into some of my culture, and we shared a collaborative classroom in which neither culture or set of ideas was the dominant force.

Double sensation is a sort of idea of teaching and being taught, observing and being observed. What we do as anthropologists, is also done to us. While we observe classrooms, the students also always have their eyes on us. It's impossible to be in a classroom, even as an observer instead of a teacher, and not have an effect on the class. Double sensation also occurs when during class, while teaching, other SELT teachers are taking pictures, jotting notes, etc, on us, along with the students. While teaching, you were observing the students and making notes for your ethnography, but at the same time another OSEA student is taking notes about you for their own ethnography. To feel that other side is to feel double sensation, and it definitely makes you choose your words and methods carefully.

I've attempted to make the most that I can out of the SELT program, but I feel that it could be done much better. This is the first time SELT has been around in 11 years, the last time it happened was 1999. Compared with the previous years of SELT, we have larger class sizes, fewer classes, and fewer teachers. This has made transculturation and double sensation difficult. Also, in previous years of SELT they had 3 weeks of teaching and pedagogical training, followed by 4 weeks of class. This time around, due to SELT being so small, we were lumped in with the rest of the anthropology school; we had 3 weeks of anthropology training, followed by 4 weeks of school. As such, we felt very underprepared - we were forced to dive headfirst into class on the first day without any sort of formal (or informal for that matter) training. We were walking blind.

It's been a great experience. Tonight was the clausura, the closing ceremony for the kids classes. They sang Old McDonald, Heads Shoulders Knees and Toes, and a few of the students read their "autobiography" encompassing most of what we learned in class over the past 4 weeks. The children loved it, the parents loved it, and it was a lot of fun overall. Many of the students wanted to take pictures with us afterward, and I snapped quite a few shots myself. At a party for one of the homestay grandmother's later tonight, before I left I told one of the boys that I was leaving for the United States on Sunday. He was kind of a pain in the ass the whole 4 weeks. He's a 12 year old boy, what can I expect, right? Tonight when I told him I was leaving, he said he'd miss me, gave me a hug, and asked if I was going to come back and do it again next summer. It's not the only experience I've had like that, and the people here are very welcoming and supportive, and it makes it very difficult to not want to come back. I do, and I want to make SELT into what I know it can be, and it can be much more than it was this year.

Part of the problem with SELT, is that it doesn't get the support it needs or deserves. Quetzil, the professor here, didn't attend even one of our classes. He didn't come to registration. He held one meeting with SELT as a whole once the anthropology classes were over. However, tonight as the clausura was ending, after SELT had said our entire script, we said goodbye to the parents, we said thank you to the kids, everything was said and done. Quetzil stood up, thanked everyone for being there, thanked everyone for their support of OSEA and SELT, and made himself look really good throughout, without giving credit to the 4 of us teachers that set up everything SELT related. It was a huge pat on his own back, and it kind of made us all sick.

This was also the night I found out about something else related. Most years, Quetzil gets OSEA free passes into Chichen Itza. This year we ran into difficulty due to a new woman being in charge of INAH, an organization that regulates national heritage sites such as Chichen. While he was on the phone with INAH, he told them about the community service we're offering to Pisté, and told them how many students we had registered in our English classes. He didn't talk about any of the other students projects, he simply referred to this as a community service project. It seems that SELT is something that he brought back this year in order to redeem himself within the eyes of the community and INAH. This is all well and good, but if he wanted to make himself look good, he had every right to do so by being a part of the SELT program that he has ignored for the past 4 weeks.

I've been told by multiple host-families around town that if I want to come back, so long as I can afford a plane ticket, they can arrange a room, they can get me food, they can take care of anything I might need. I have solid connections here in Pisté should I ever want to come back. And I do, I love the community, I feel a part of it after less than two months here. I want to come back and work with the SELT program again, and show Quetzil that it is actually something that he should focus on, something that he should get the manpower to run properly, and something that can benefit everyone involved justly. But more importantly I want to do it because I'm completely enamored with the town of Pisté and the people here, and they seem to want to have me back to do this again next year.

I'm super excited to come back in 3 days, but it's going to be bittersweet to leave this place behind.

I worked tonight until 12:30. I'm due back tomorrow morning for an 8am meeting. After that I have class from 11-6:15.

Why am I still awake?

I don't know. But it seems like when I used to stay up way too late, I would post once or twice in the ol' LJ. So I figured I should at least stop by tonight and say hello.

I'm going to see the Get-Up Kids on the 24th, and then Third Eye Blind on the 26th, and I've gotta say, I'm super-stoked. Shaun and I have front center tickets for the 3eb show, so that will be amazing. And the get up kids is the day before Tristen leaves for Atlanta for the 2nd time this month, so it'll be nice to be able to see her a little bit in there. It's pretty tough to live an hour away, and we're both super-busy with school and work. We'll make it though, fo sho. But it's rough, also fo sho.

I'm not as good at wasting time by writing here as I used to be. I guess I'm just a bit rusty. But practice makes perfect, right? I feel like maybe I used to be perfect, and with a little bit of work, I'll be right back there.

Wish me luck.


There are WAY too many moods to choose from. Fuck that. I'm feelin' pretty decent, albeit tired and not looking forward to the morning. But I'm good.

And you should all pick up the new 3eb album. They're solid, just as before, I promise.

Peace.

Well well well... What have we here?

A little trip into memory lane never hurt anyone, too much.

Update:

I will be graduating with a BA and a BS in English and Anthropology and a minor in Philosophy. I was supposed to graduate in December but as it turns out, I'm 2 credits shy of that goal. Regardless, I'm out of undergrad in May, and then I'm looking into the future. Grad. School will either be somewhere in Michigan, or somewhere not in Michigan. If I stay in Michigan I'm looking into UofM, Western, or MSU, for a variety of different programs. I'm interested in studying anthropology; I'd like to focus my studies on indigenous cultures and sovereignty issues and anthropology of law. How will this help the world? I'd like to think I can make the world a more fair, just place. But I'm not going to kid myself, I know that in the end I'm just hoping to get by and enjoy myself, and do what I like to do.

As of right now, I'm mostly just focused on passing my Spanish class and doing well in my Anthro classes, and I've been playing Aion. When I used to write here, I could write about WoW, but I played that game far too long and I've convinced myself that I'm never going back, so we will speak of that never again. I've played Aion for a couple weeks now, it seems fun, and that's good enough for me.


I think the reason I stopped writing here is because I stopped feeling like what I had to say was interesting to the rest of the world. I've written a couple solid paragraphs here, and I can definitely see why. Why was I so much more interesting in high school/early college? Shit, everyone cared about what I had to say about everything, because I talked about shit that mattered. You know... music, concerts, movies, shit like that.


I suppose when you start to grow up, the things that matter to you change. People broaden their horizons and everyone not excited about how the show was last night or who said what about something else.

Even if it doesn't matter, I hope I'm still interesting to some. And if I find myself to be interesting enough to me, perhaps this writing will continue. Otherwise, carry on.

May we meet again,
Tizz

I turn the water off, get out of the shower completely soaked, naked, and the first thing I see in front of me is a huge brown spider on the blinds.
I don't want to alarm it, I feel that I'm not in the state of mind to deal with this monster, I'm still dazed from the surprise and panicked, slightly. So I back away calmly, slip on boxers, jeans, and my bandanna
and I wander out to the kitchen, shirtless, confused and scared.


Enter Steve Crockett, Stage Left

"Steve, I need help, there's something you've got to see."

"Is it a spider? Is it another one of those fucking spiders? I hate those spiders."

I nodded, and we continued.

When we got there, Steve realized how big of an enemy we were really dealing with. It was about twice as large as the normal house spider, and he was all haunched up on his back legs, a clear warning signal. Being on the blinds, it's gonna be a tricky situation to deal with mind you. It would be a loss if he escaped through the blinds, you'd hate to break the blinds in the process of destroying the spider.

We've dealt with his kind before, a few weeks ago the Steeves had a vicious battle with a couple at their desk, with mixed results. The first spider met his death, but only after being trapped under a book and crushed several times, with the deathblow coming from a book smash including a Steev stomp on top. The second meeting came with a brave spider venturing out from his wall cavity. Steve attempted to book crush the bastard, but after just one miss the beast scurried home, never to be seen again.

Steve wants to think of a plan, and I decide to go straight for Steev. Crockett is telling Ancona about the spider while we're on our way, and Ancona sees the spider on the bathroom blinds from the kitchen/laundry room entrance. After inspecting a little further, he backs away, scratching his beard.

"We need a carton, something to scoop with, and some water. Go"
"This is why I wanted Steev, I knew he'd be able to handle this"

Steve began cutting the top off of a milk carton, for the scoop AND the carton. I grabbed a dish towel and turned the hot water on for Steve to start filling. Once filled, we head back into the bathroom.
Steve manned the bottom of the curtains, with Steev trying to scoop the spider into the milk carton flood.
Once done, Steve attempts to create a milk jug sized wave pool to end all wave pools by shaking the carton, panicked.

The ever-vigilant 8-legger hung steady to the walls, never failing, never falling.
I cover the top with the towel to ensure he stays in as Steve turns around, unsure of where to go.
"The water! The water!" Steev yells,and with the three of us in the tiny bathroom, it was loud.
Steve turns the bathroom faucet water on, and pushes the milk jug under the water, drowning the spider... hopefully.

Steve yells "I don't know what to do!"

"Flush him, Flush him!" - Steev

As I'm raising the toilet seat to be the spider's complete demise, I realize that in an effort to save myself from a cold shower, I forgot to flush my pre-shower poop, how embarassing.
Crockett backs away quickly, but remembers the task at hand.
"WHOAAAA!"
He eases back in, dumps the jug, careful not to spill, but aggressively enough to get out quick.
I flush the toilet, and the spider spins down along with everything else.

If you're going to do something, you might as well do it right.

Have some fucking passion.

Also, sticking car keys up people's noses does tickle, and that tickling causes funny faces.