I took Theories and Methods of Cultural Studies in grad school, so I have read Edward Said and Gayatri Spivak on the theoretical complications of first world writers "representing" colonial and postcolonial groups; these problems range from stereotypes and race/class-based assumptions and paternalism to simply projecting Western cultural emotions and motivations onto Others, just to name a few. My feeling on the subject back then was that it would be better for a writer not to try to speak for the Other at all, rather than to try but get it horribly wrong and come out looking like an elitist or racist.
"Little did she know," a narrator might say, since several years later I am an expat and legal resident in Malaysia, and I'm really starved for the company of other people interested in writing. I was excited then when I saw that the Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Center is inviting submissions for a short play festival. I have written several short plays, so I looked through my DRAMA file and found that my plays are all based on assumptions and cultural norms for the U.S. and particularly Louisiana where they were performed. I believe that good drama has the potential to speak beyond its own space and time, but I never claimed to be Shakespeare or even David Mamet. Besides, I think an event like this is a good impetus to write something new.
For the past two months I've been drafting a play in dialogue with Malaysian life and culture. Enter the concerns I listed in the above paragraph. Is it culturally sensitive? Are the characters authentic in terms of avoiding stereotype while presenting immediately recognizable personalities? Am I being so politically correct as to water down the aesthetics? I had a couple of Malaysian friends to read it for me, although even with them I wonder what the difference might be between how they represent themselves to expats, versus to each other. I get the feeling there's an entire other world I live in the middle of but am insulated from, and I am sure that's what causes some of the problems with representation listed in paragraph 1.
I'll have to wait a while to find out if my play is going to be performed, but it's been fascinating to write far, far outside my comfort zone. The hardest part has been considering my audience, mostly Malaysian with a few expats judging by the crowd at KLPAC events I have attended. What do you think about such a writerly cultural situation as mine?
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Reflection on Cinco de Mayo in Malaysia
For my husband and me Cinco de Mayo means margaritas and fajitas served under a pinata and flanked with paper mache flowers, and we decided to bring an evening of Mexican yummy goodness to Malaysia. We didn't even know what the holiday actually stands for until checking on Wikipedia when our first guest confirmed attendance and asked what Cinco de Mayo was about since she's Indian. As the confirmations and regretful declines poured in, so did the questions about our holiday which Malaysians, Australians, and the British had never enjoyed. In the parts of the U.S. I have lived, this holiday means less anything about the outnumbered Mexican army's defeat of the French and more about enjoying a contextless tribute to Bacchus in the form of tequila, jalapenos, and cheese on everything.
While party planning, the little devil on my left shoulder that spent a lot of time reading cultural studies theory in grad school whispered that I was appropriating culture and serving it up for consumption as though Mexico could be condensed to a playlist of Mariachi bands; shouldn't I use this opportunity to raise awareness about Mexican immigrants, drug cartels, or the missing women of Juarez? Or would my espousal of any activist sound bites be equally reductive, albeit with noble intent?
There is a weird multi-level of nostalgia wrapped in all this for me. My fifth of May is a bright, enjoyable picture of what Americans imagine of Mexico, and to bring the celebration to Malaysia I have to create the idea of Mexico for the guests while also creating the nostalgia. My interpretation becomes a double level of nostalgia for the way Americans celebrate nostalgia for Mexico, but I can only succeed in it if I make abject the pieces of Mexican culture that didn't fit into the party mold.
All my mental meandering isn't stopping us from hanging red, yellow, and green balloons from the ceiling and making quesadillas, Mexican cornbread, and 7-layer bean dip, but I don't think that means these aren't questions worth asking. What will you be thinking when you raise your Corona on Tuesday?
While party planning, the little devil on my left shoulder that spent a lot of time reading cultural studies theory in grad school whispered that I was appropriating culture and serving it up for consumption as though Mexico could be condensed to a playlist of Mariachi bands; shouldn't I use this opportunity to raise awareness about Mexican immigrants, drug cartels, or the missing women of Juarez? Or would my espousal of any activist sound bites be equally reductive, albeit with noble intent?
There is a weird multi-level of nostalgia wrapped in all this for me. My fifth of May is a bright, enjoyable picture of what Americans imagine of Mexico, and to bring the celebration to Malaysia I have to create the idea of Mexico for the guests while also creating the nostalgia. My interpretation becomes a double level of nostalgia for the way Americans celebrate nostalgia for Mexico, but I can only succeed in it if I make abject the pieces of Mexican culture that didn't fit into the party mold.
All my mental meandering isn't stopping us from hanging red, yellow, and green balloons from the ceiling and making quesadillas, Mexican cornbread, and 7-layer bean dip, but I don't think that means these aren't questions worth asking. What will you be thinking when you raise your Corona on Tuesday?
Monday, February 2, 2009
"Body Positive" Simpson and a Girl's Internalized Ideal
I can't name a single song Jessica Simpson sings, and I only saw her act once in The Dukes of Hazard film which some ex-boyfriend or other dragged me to see, but I've followed her life and beauty transformations via the continuous updates to the headlines on supermaket tabloids. When she lost weight after the divorce and emerged better than ever, I took note because her weight loss was accompanied with muscle tone; for that reason she's been a fitness icon for me along the same lines as Angelina Jolie (another fitness letdown since post-babies she's just ghastly thin) circa Lara Croft films.
But since last week pictures of a heavier Simpson have emerged, along with long lines of discussions about it that range from nasty and abusive to celebratory, or murmurs of publicity stunt. I stand somewhere in the middle of all these ideas. On one hand, yes, in the middle of a global economic crisis why is the media giving a celeb's weight gain this much press, and shame on all of us including me for giving the topic so many brain cells. And while she's not super-skinny she's not "fat," and if she walked into a bar just as she is, she'd find herself surrounded by admirers, some of whom are denouncing her weight gain at present. Really she should be applauded for not apologizing away her weight gain as depression-related and instead just saying she's happy with herself as she is.
At the same time, well Simpson at present is no fitness icon. When I pulled her picture up on my computer, I said to my husband "Oh, my goodness, Jessica Simpson is bigger than I am!" I felt betrayed. I work out for 2 hours 4-5 days a week to stay in my size 4-6 clothes, and when I do all that work, I have the vision that my life is resembling as closely as possible that of the rich and famous at least when we're all sweating at a pilates class. I don't do it for men to notice me. My husband wouldn't care if I wore a size 12, but I do it for the little girl inside of me who hasn't outgrown her dream to be revered on the red carpet, and it's important to me that the women who do "make it" appear as perfection I'll never achieve. That makes it feel fair to me that I'm at home eating peanuts while they wear ball gowns that cost more than my car. This is the same line of thinking that causes me to hold writing from writers my own age who've "made it" to an insanely high ideal.
Perhaps this is a publicity stunt from which Simpson will emerge triumphantly thin and touting some diet or exercise program. And if she is really here to stay as she is, well I say let's be body-positive and extend to her the same standard we give our girlfriends whom we love and find beautiful at whatever shape or size. But for myself, I'm staying on my exercise routine at present, just in case. I guess it will take more than one star crossing the divide between "them" and "us" for me to believe it's okay for me to also relax. Perhaps there are others I can look toward instead, like did you see the muscle tone on Anne Hathaway's thighs in Bride Wars?
But since last week pictures of a heavier Simpson have emerged, along with long lines of discussions about it that range from nasty and abusive to celebratory, or murmurs of publicity stunt. I stand somewhere in the middle of all these ideas. On one hand, yes, in the middle of a global economic crisis why is the media giving a celeb's weight gain this much press, and shame on all of us including me for giving the topic so many brain cells. And while she's not super-skinny she's not "fat," and if she walked into a bar just as she is, she'd find herself surrounded by admirers, some of whom are denouncing her weight gain at present. Really she should be applauded for not apologizing away her weight gain as depression-related and instead just saying she's happy with herself as she is.
At the same time, well Simpson at present is no fitness icon. When I pulled her picture up on my computer, I said to my husband "Oh, my goodness, Jessica Simpson is bigger than I am!" I felt betrayed. I work out for 2 hours 4-5 days a week to stay in my size 4-6 clothes, and when I do all that work, I have the vision that my life is resembling as closely as possible that of the rich and famous at least when we're all sweating at a pilates class. I don't do it for men to notice me. My husband wouldn't care if I wore a size 12, but I do it for the little girl inside of me who hasn't outgrown her dream to be revered on the red carpet, and it's important to me that the women who do "make it" appear as perfection I'll never achieve. That makes it feel fair to me that I'm at home eating peanuts while they wear ball gowns that cost more than my car. This is the same line of thinking that causes me to hold writing from writers my own age who've "made it" to an insanely high ideal.
Perhaps this is a publicity stunt from which Simpson will emerge triumphantly thin and touting some diet or exercise program. And if she is really here to stay as she is, well I say let's be body-positive and extend to her the same standard we give our girlfriends whom we love and find beautiful at whatever shape or size. But for myself, I'm staying on my exercise routine at present, just in case. I guess it will take more than one star crossing the divide between "them" and "us" for me to believe it's okay for me to also relax. Perhaps there are others I can look toward instead, like did you see the muscle tone on Anne Hathaway's thighs in Bride Wars?
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Relevance of Rexroth
Walking in Greenwich Village a few years ago, I saw a small historical plaque affixed to the building where Dylan Thomas died, having drank himself into oblivion. What was one poet's reaction? The poem "Thou Shalt Not Kill".
Has anything changed? Today Brooklyn, home to Whitman, is a bastion for writers. Denver, too, is home to writers and the magazines that promote them; no longer does it bear Ginsberg’s “Denver Doldrums.”
Chicago, too, is experiencing a renaissance--at least if one can measure it via the poets circulating through, orbiting poets like Joshua Marie Wilkinson whose Rabbit Light Movies film many of these poets passing through. Aside from Poetry magazine and Carl Sandberg, even beyond the Chicago Review and other presses, who knows the literary history of Chicago?
Read An Autobiographical Novel, a stunning text by Kenneth Rexroth and an invaluable document of the era just before the Depression in Chicago. Rexroth writes about the urban Midwest with so much detail, with such panache, it’s been said his book will make your own life seem morbidly dull.
In its heyday, Chicago was home to anarchists, communists, agitators, artists, and writers. Rexroth throws around names no one would recognize today. Sure, he lived in New York, too, and beneath Hart Crane’s apartment no less, where young “Rex” could hear Crane playing his blues records while writing White Buildings. But Chicago! Who would have known how much had happened there in theater, in painting, and in the response of labor movement crowds to poems read on street corners and soapboxes?
Jacket Magazine features a tribute issue to Rexroth, including an essay by Sam Hamill, a excellent introduction to a profound influence on an entire generation of poets, especially “the Beats” whom he had little patience for. Rexroth’s influence in San Francisco is what we generally attribute to him, especially acting as MC for the Six Gallery Reading, and also for his “basement readings” with Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
Aside from a recent issue of Chicago Review devoted to him, and the release of his collected poems by Copper Canyon Press (edited by Hamill and Bradford Morrow), and even a website, the Bureau of Public Secrets, featuring generous portions of his work, is his legacy somewhat neglected? Perhaps not.
Having read nearly all of his books—which include not only poems but his magnanimous essays—I’d like to suggest a return to a deeper study of his formidable intellect, his model of the life well-lived, his astounding recollections of American history, and the deep and compassionate understanding of the human condition.
Has anything changed? Today Brooklyn, home to Whitman, is a bastion for writers. Denver, too, is home to writers and the magazines that promote them; no longer does it bear Ginsberg’s “Denver Doldrums.”
Chicago, too, is experiencing a renaissance--at least if one can measure it via the poets circulating through, orbiting poets like Joshua Marie Wilkinson whose Rabbit Light Movies film many of these poets passing through. Aside from Poetry magazine and Carl Sandberg, even beyond the Chicago Review and other presses, who knows the literary history of Chicago?
Read An Autobiographical Novel, a stunning text by Kenneth Rexroth and an invaluable document of the era just before the Depression in Chicago. Rexroth writes about the urban Midwest with so much detail, with such panache, it’s been said his book will make your own life seem morbidly dull.
In its heyday, Chicago was home to anarchists, communists, agitators, artists, and writers. Rexroth throws around names no one would recognize today. Sure, he lived in New York, too, and beneath Hart Crane’s apartment no less, where young “Rex” could hear Crane playing his blues records while writing White Buildings. But Chicago! Who would have known how much had happened there in theater, in painting, and in the response of labor movement crowds to poems read on street corners and soapboxes?
Jacket Magazine features a tribute issue to Rexroth, including an essay by Sam Hamill, a excellent introduction to a profound influence on an entire generation of poets, especially “the Beats” whom he had little patience for. Rexroth’s influence in San Francisco is what we generally attribute to him, especially acting as MC for the Six Gallery Reading, and also for his “basement readings” with Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
Aside from a recent issue of Chicago Review devoted to him, and the release of his collected poems by Copper Canyon Press (edited by Hamill and Bradford Morrow), and even a website, the Bureau of Public Secrets, featuring generous portions of his work, is his legacy somewhat neglected? Perhaps not.
Having read nearly all of his books—which include not only poems but his magnanimous essays—I’d like to suggest a return to a deeper study of his formidable intellect, his model of the life well-lived, his astounding recollections of American history, and the deep and compassionate understanding of the human condition.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Poetry in the Age of the Fellowship
Of the poets I know in Portland, Oregon, one is an adjunct at a local community college, another is an HR temp, and another was recently laid-off from an editing position. As for myself, I am a marginally-employed substitute teacher and hand-to-mouth freelance writer. Obviously, the economy is faltering for young writers.
Who doesn't lament the loss of programs like the Works Progress Administration? Howard Zinn, in his People’s History of the United States, says this short-lived project of massively funding artists in the Depression was never to be repeated. NEA aside, of course he is right.
Consider a less-widely known branch of the WPA: the Federal Writers’ Project. It was essential for hardscrabble wordsmiths. Poets employed by the program included Claude McKay, Kenneth Patchen, and Kenneth Rexroth. Writers like Saul Bellow, Studs Terkel, and Ralph Ellison contend that the WPA deeply influenced their later work.
But today it is with little surprise that I read a press release from Portland’s Regional Arts and Culture Council, announcing that poet and writer Kim Stafford had won the organization’s $20,000 fellowship, which he will use to take time away from his career at Lewis & Clark College to work on a project.
I find these “awards” troubling. How can I not notice that those who win grants, more likely than not, are artists already published, comfortably employed, and financially secure? The apparent purpose of “grants” and “fellowships” seems not to be in support of artists and writers with demonstrated financial need—those very creative-class types who tend to be young, trying to get their foot in the door of the writing community.
I am not begrudging Stafford, or any of the other writers who have won this award. I myself won a grant from RACC last year to attend a workshop with Marvin Bell, which paid for not only the $1103 tuition, but the experience and poems I gleaned.
Yet the granting of grants seems to closely resemble the structure of the rest of the economy: resources are allocated to those who already have resources. The rest of us are left to fend for ourselves not only artistically but fundamentally and economically. If the rich get richer, the poor take temp jobs, come home exhausted, and write poems about it.
What is the purpose of a grant? Is it to award accomplishment or to encourage new voices? With capitalism so firmly entrenched in literature, how are new writers to put out books (especially in a culture dominated by reading fees for first-book contests)?
Yeats said a poet should never get to comfortable. With this in mind, should young writers simply alienate ourselves entirely from the Arts Administrators? That is, is the best poetry to come from lack while lackluster poetry comes from "the best"?
Who doesn't lament the loss of programs like the Works Progress Administration? Howard Zinn, in his People’s History of the United States, says this short-lived project of massively funding artists in the Depression was never to be repeated. NEA aside, of course he is right.
Consider a less-widely known branch of the WPA: the Federal Writers’ Project. It was essential for hardscrabble wordsmiths. Poets employed by the program included Claude McKay, Kenneth Patchen, and Kenneth Rexroth. Writers like Saul Bellow, Studs Terkel, and Ralph Ellison contend that the WPA deeply influenced their later work.
But today it is with little surprise that I read a press release from Portland’s Regional Arts and Culture Council, announcing that poet and writer Kim Stafford had won the organization’s $20,000 fellowship, which he will use to take time away from his career at Lewis & Clark College to work on a project.
I find these “awards” troubling. How can I not notice that those who win grants, more likely than not, are artists already published, comfortably employed, and financially secure? The apparent purpose of “grants” and “fellowships” seems not to be in support of artists and writers with demonstrated financial need—those very creative-class types who tend to be young, trying to get their foot in the door of the writing community.
I am not begrudging Stafford, or any of the other writers who have won this award. I myself won a grant from RACC last year to attend a workshop with Marvin Bell, which paid for not only the $1103 tuition, but the experience and poems I gleaned.
Yet the granting of grants seems to closely resemble the structure of the rest of the economy: resources are allocated to those who already have resources. The rest of us are left to fend for ourselves not only artistically but fundamentally and economically. If the rich get richer, the poor take temp jobs, come home exhausted, and write poems about it.
What is the purpose of a grant? Is it to award accomplishment or to encourage new voices? With capitalism so firmly entrenched in literature, how are new writers to put out books (especially in a culture dominated by reading fees for first-book contests)?
Yeats said a poet should never get to comfortable. With this in mind, should young writers simply alienate ourselves entirely from the Arts Administrators? That is, is the best poetry to come from lack while lackluster poetry comes from "the best"?
Saturday, October 11, 2008
This Is Africa
Since living here in Africa we have adopted the fondly used acronym, TIA, This Is Africa. TIA is used to excuse some of the most absurd, ridiculous and uncanny things that will cross your path in this nation. Happenings that make you want to scream for an explanation, but alas, this is Africa, you most certainly won’t get one.
Explaining the concept, simply does not suffice, but let me allow you into a little of the notion here in South Africa, fondly coined “job creation”. The idea is developed to decrease unemployment, and encourages self-initiative and small businesses. It really is a brilliant ploy, and I believe it is working wonders, the out workings of which make a very interesting city for a foreigner to enjoy. Aside from the commonly seen jewellery and bead making, wire twisting and other colourful crafts, are the ‘street vendors’.
Traffic light intersections are more like a mobile shopping mart. From the comfort of your driver’s seat you can view any array of objects from phone chargers to magazines, belt buckles to lamp shades, all at the convenience of your car window. They are avid salesmen too, very convincingly pleading you to buy these random contraptions you never dreamed of purchasing. Stay here a while though, and your bound to adopt the head down, eyes in the opposite direction avoidance mechanism.
If you ever have trouble finding, or manoeuvring into a car park then South Africa is the place for you. Each public parking area comes complete with car guards, who will not only guide you into a space, but will stay watch over your vehicle until you return, without you even having to ask. All this for a small price of 2- 5rand. Simply because, This Is Africa.
And my personal favourite, the ‘taxi’ ride. Here, the taxi operates much like a bus, travelling between one set location to another. However, the taxi is in fact a small combi-van which can squeeze any number of people inside, and wont move until it is filled above capacity. Despite the seats looking a little worse for wear, many are installed with elaborate sound systems pumping self-recorded African music. The drivers have a destination sign sitting on the dash board, although more often they will cruise around yelling out the open windows. It’s a very lively and claustrophobic experience, not for the faint hearted, but certainly a very popular and effective mode of public transport. When you see where you want to hop out, simply signal to the driver and he will swerve to the side for you.
The weird and wonderful continues in this intriguingly beautiful nation. But, I’ll save the rest till next time.
Explaining the concept, simply does not suffice, but let me allow you into a little of the notion here in South Africa, fondly coined “job creation”. The idea is developed to decrease unemployment, and encourages self-initiative and small businesses. It really is a brilliant ploy, and I believe it is working wonders, the out workings of which make a very interesting city for a foreigner to enjoy. Aside from the commonly seen jewellery and bead making, wire twisting and other colourful crafts, are the ‘street vendors’.
Traffic light intersections are more like a mobile shopping mart. From the comfort of your driver’s seat you can view any array of objects from phone chargers to magazines, belt buckles to lamp shades, all at the convenience of your car window. They are avid salesmen too, very convincingly pleading you to buy these random contraptions you never dreamed of purchasing. Stay here a while though, and your bound to adopt the head down, eyes in the opposite direction avoidance mechanism.
If you ever have trouble finding, or manoeuvring into a car park then South Africa is the place for you. Each public parking area comes complete with car guards, who will not only guide you into a space, but will stay watch over your vehicle until you return, without you even having to ask. All this for a small price of 2- 5rand. Simply because, This Is Africa.
And my personal favourite, the ‘taxi’ ride. Here, the taxi operates much like a bus, travelling between one set location to another. However, the taxi is in fact a small combi-van which can squeeze any number of people inside, and wont move until it is filled above capacity. Despite the seats looking a little worse for wear, many are installed with elaborate sound systems pumping self-recorded African music. The drivers have a destination sign sitting on the dash board, although more often they will cruise around yelling out the open windows. It’s a very lively and claustrophobic experience, not for the faint hearted, but certainly a very popular and effective mode of public transport. When you see where you want to hop out, simply signal to the driver and he will swerve to the side for you.
The weird and wonderful continues in this intriguingly beautiful nation. But, I’ll save the rest till next time.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Blog is the New Black
Every time I blink these days, it seems a friend or acquaintance has created a blog. Whether it be a blog about meat, a blog about a summer in Ghana, or a blog about fashion, everyone's got something to say. And this isn't a phenomenon striking a small literary group in Boston--no, this new craze is spreading across the globe.
Celebrities like Kanye West and Michael Ian Black update their blogs daily, while writers like Tao Lin and Felicia Sullivan have built a strong reader base thanks to blogging. This somewhat indulgent NY Times Magazine piece attempts to break down the public's fascination with the lives and musings of complete strangers.
Is it that we're a generation obsessed with...ourselves? Or is it just that we're so excited to have a platform where we can broadcast our opinions to the world (ostensibly), no rejections or censors or boundaries to hold us back?
We breached the blogging discussion at a party I attended several weeks ago. A few friends expressed the sentiment that they wanted to start blogs of their own, but were "afraid people would read it." One friend even went so far as to start a blog, and then delete it when she thought too many people were reading it. I found this fascinating. I can understand fearing the implications if you were to blog about your personal life à la Emily Gould, but I think that as long as you're savvy enough to know where to draw the line, a blog about yourself can actually be pretty interesting. I myself subscribe to several blogs written by people I have never met because I am intrigued by what they have to say. In fact, I would love to start my own blog, but the reason I don't is I'm afraid people WON'T want to read what I have to say. So for now, I'll stick to the illustrious Fringe blog.
Oh, and Vernacular, a new blog written by Emerson students and alumni (myself included) about the Boston literary scene and beyond. Be sure to check it out. And, as always, thanks for reading.
Celebrities like Kanye West and Michael Ian Black update their blogs daily, while writers like Tao Lin and Felicia Sullivan have built a strong reader base thanks to blogging. This somewhat indulgent NY Times Magazine piece attempts to break down the public's fascination with the lives and musings of complete strangers.
Is it that we're a generation obsessed with...ourselves? Or is it just that we're so excited to have a platform where we can broadcast our opinions to the world (ostensibly), no rejections or censors or boundaries to hold us back?
We breached the blogging discussion at a party I attended several weeks ago. A few friends expressed the sentiment that they wanted to start blogs of their own, but were "afraid people would read it." One friend even went so far as to start a blog, and then delete it when she thought too many people were reading it. I found this fascinating. I can understand fearing the implications if you were to blog about your personal life à la Emily Gould, but I think that as long as you're savvy enough to know where to draw the line, a blog about yourself can actually be pretty interesting. I myself subscribe to several blogs written by people I have never met because I am intrigued by what they have to say. In fact, I would love to start my own blog, but the reason I don't is I'm afraid people WON'T want to read what I have to say. So for now, I'll stick to the illustrious Fringe blog.
Oh, and Vernacular, a new blog written by Emerson students and alumni (myself included) about the Boston literary scene and beyond. Be sure to check it out. And, as always, thanks for reading.
Friday, April 18, 2008
I Heart Pickles!
My master's project, City Picklers, is finally ready to meet the world. The site, produced with Lisa Biagiotti, tells the story of how homemade pickles are invigorating the local food movement.
Over the course of the project, I made more than five quarts of sauerkraut, plus pickled lemons, kimchi, cucumber pickles, fermented garlic, a failed attempt at pickled cauliflower (cruciferous veggies smell bad when fermented) and pickled fennel.
Our final week of work, which occurred during "spring break," was one of my most grueling as a student. A 120+ week that culminated in a 3-day labor spree where Lisa and I logged 65 hours. But it was totally worth it to see our pickles fly off the page and into the hearts (mouths?) of our viewers.
Here's our official synopsis:
CityPicklers.com is a website devoted to New York pickles--in all varieties, including vinegar, lacto-fermented, Jewish, Indian, Chinese, and so on. Every culture has its pickle, and we found that pickling still thrives in the historic pickle district on the Lower East Side, in ethnic enclaves of the outer boroughs, in farmer's markets and in pickling classes.
Through multimedia and text, CityPicklers.com tells the story of:
* new pickling businesses and the local food culture surrounding home and artisinal pickling, including interviews with Rick Field of Rick's Picks, and Al Kaufman of the Pickle Guys
* the benefits of pickling and ancient traditions of lacto-fermentation, including interviews with fermentation expert, Sandor Ellix Katz
* how-to make the crunchers, with instruction by hipster pickler Bob McClure of McClure's Pickles and Inside Park chef Matt Weingarten
The site is best viewed in the Firefox browser.
We'd like to thank the more than 70 chefs, cookbook authors, historians, purveyors and picklers we interviewed over the last six months.
Happy pickling!
Lisa Biagiotti and Lizzie Stark
CityPicklers@gmail.com
CityPicklers.com
Photo by Lisa Biagiotti.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Gandhi, Squatters, and Pickles
Admittedly, I've neglected this space a bit in the last few months, but I assure you it's for the best reasons: I've been out covering subcultures for my New Media class, and since subcultures are pretty Fringe, I'll give you one each day for the next few days.
First there was the complex story of Lower East Side Squatters. Six years ago the Urban Homestead Assistance board brokered a deal between the city and and squatters. UHAB bought eleven buildings that had squatters living in them for $1 each under the condition that UHAB would renovate the properties and make them into low-income coops.
The city gave UHAB two years to complete the renovations. Now, six years later, some of the buildings still lack heat and hot water, and only two of the original eleven are even close to becoming coops. On top of that, UHAB took out $5.5 million in mortgages on the buildings to make the repairs, and now the money is dwindling, some buildings are in disrepair, and residents fear that the bank will come knocking.
This piece was difficult to write because squatters are fairly suspicious of outsiders and of the media in particular. My reporting partner, Kenan Davis, and I spend a solid seven days doing extensive shoe leather reporting. We tracked down financial documents for each of the squats, talked to more than 10 squatters, but only succeeded in getting a handful to talk on the record, and dug up one squat's lawsuit against UHAB for alleged mismanagement of funds.
Check out the story on the NYC24.com site...because nothing says "Fringe" better than folks who appropriated their living spaces.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Culture Consumer
We live in a consumer culture. This is a problem. But what does it mean when you obsessively begin to consume culture? I love to read. I love to watch movies. I love music. I am one of those people who is obsessive about discovering new bands, reading as many books as possible, and watching any movies someone tells me I will like, in an attempt to somehow be aware of everything and anything that is...well, I hate to say it, but cool. I'm that guy. Which means that the I simultaneously love and loathe the Internet.
Every day, I am inundated with thousands of new articles, blog posts, and recommendations. I am constantly consuming, trying to organize this information for myself, and also to share it with those whom I think would also appreciate it. My Netflix queue is almost 200 movies long, and I've had the same two discs for over a month now because I just don't have time to devote two uninterrupted hours to a movie. But every time I read a movie review or hear someone talking about a new movie they've just seen, I click over and add it to my queue. It's the same with books--though my bookshelves at home are stuffed with books I have yet to read, not to mention the reading I've got to do for classes, I am compulsive about scanning book reviews and author blogs, adding books to my Goodreads "To-read" shelf. And don't even get me started on music. Since I can't listen to music on my computer at work, I have been starring the audio blogs I want to go back to download mp3's of new bands I want to hear--but do I ever go back and actually listen to them? Sadly, not very often. I also favorite songs and bands I like on Pandora, but am too poor to actually purchase new albums on iTunes.
Are all of these "to read", "to watch", "to listen" lists adding to stress of my already massive daily "to-do" list? Does my anxiety grow in proportion to the number of unread items in my Google reader (currently 611)? Maybe, but I can't seem to stop...it's a compulsion. And where would we be without our compulsions?
Every day, I am inundated with thousands of new articles, blog posts, and recommendations. I am constantly consuming, trying to organize this information for myself, and also to share it with those whom I think would also appreciate it. My Netflix queue is almost 200 movies long, and I've had the same two discs for over a month now because I just don't have time to devote two uninterrupted hours to a movie. But every time I read a movie review or hear someone talking about a new movie they've just seen, I click over and add it to my queue. It's the same with books--though my bookshelves at home are stuffed with books I have yet to read, not to mention the reading I've got to do for classes, I am compulsive about scanning book reviews and author blogs, adding books to my Goodreads "To-read" shelf. And don't even get me started on music. Since I can't listen to music on my computer at work, I have been starring the audio blogs I want to go back to download mp3's of new bands I want to hear--but do I ever go back and actually listen to them? Sadly, not very often. I also favorite songs and bands I like on Pandora, but am too poor to actually purchase new albums on iTunes.
Are all of these "to read", "to watch", "to listen" lists adding to stress of my already massive daily "to-do" list? Does my anxiety grow in proportion to the number of unread items in my Google reader (currently 611)? Maybe, but I can't seem to stop...it's a compulsion. And where would we be without our compulsions?
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Persepolis: A Review
This weekend, I made the journey to the Kendall Square Theater to see Persepolis.
Since Kendall is the only theater in Boston showing the movie right now, it was packed, forcing me to the second row, where I slumped as down low in my seat as I could and craned my neck to watch. Luckily, it's one of the best movies I've seen in a long, long time.
Persepolis, nominated for the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, tells the story of Marjane Satrapi, a young Iranian woman. Based on the graphic novel written by Satrapi, the film details Marji's coming of age as her country dissolves into revolution and war with Iraq. Marji's story doesn't need lush color or flashy animation--the film is almost entirely in black and white stark graphics, true to the graphic novel format. Though Marji is forced to wear a veil and cannot be seen consorting with men, drinking alcohol, or listening to music, she somehow manages to remain fiercely independent. The film is charged with humor (watch out for the Marji's rousing rendition of Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger") and grace, even while people are executed and the country is bombed. I don't know much about Middle Eastern history or culture, and I learned a great deal by just seeing this movie. I highly recommend giving it a watch, even if it means sitting in a crowded theater in a far away neighborhood.
Since Kendall is the only theater in Boston showing the movie right now, it was packed, forcing me to the second row, where I slumped as down low in my seat as I could and craned my neck to watch. Luckily, it's one of the best movies I've seen in a long, long time.
Persepolis, nominated for the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, tells the story of Marjane Satrapi, a young Iranian woman. Based on the graphic novel written by Satrapi, the film details Marji's coming of age as her country dissolves into revolution and war with Iraq. Marji's story doesn't need lush color or flashy animation--the film is almost entirely in black and white stark graphics, true to the graphic novel format. Though Marji is forced to wear a veil and cannot be seen consorting with men, drinking alcohol, or listening to music, she somehow manages to remain fiercely independent. The film is charged with humor (watch out for the Marji's rousing rendition of Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger") and grace, even while people are executed and the country is bombed. I don't know much about Middle Eastern history or culture, and I learned a great deal by just seeing this movie. I highly recommend giving it a watch, even if it means sitting in a crowded theater in a far away neighborhood.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Support the Small Stuff: Juno
Brook Busey-Hunt went from working in a cubicle to stripping a la stage name Diablo Cody to blogging on The Pussy Ranch to writing a memoir called Candy Girl: A Year in The Life of an Unlikely Stripper all by the age of 28. It isn't a traditional path for a screenwriter, but it's the way this particular Midwest girl got to Hollywood - and her first film Juno comes out this week.
Juno might be one of the best films out right now for a number of reasons.
1. It is not a war film
2. It is not begging for an Oscar (although it might get nominated for a couple)
3. It is an indie film! We love indie films!
4. Killer soundtrack
5. Great cast
6. Funny!
6. Funny!
But probably the best reasons are the lead actress, Ellen Page, and aforementioned Brook Busey-Hunt, who now goes by Diablo Cody, and who penned the script for this film. The premise of the film is pretty basic: high school girl gets pregnant, decides to keep the baby and then put it up for adoption. The boy who impregnates her is Michael Cera, from this summer's blockbuster Superbad, and the adoptive parents are played by Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman. It sounds simple, but Cody's script is fast paced and Page delivers the lines effortlessly. It is refreshing to see an actress and a film that can be smart and funny, and not in your face, especially at this time of year when the Oscars are right around the corner. And this film will certainly re-launch Page's acting career and grant her celebrity status; Diablo Cody's name will soon pop up in many opening credits. She is already working on her next projects, another book and a pilot for a Steven Spielberg inspired TV series for Showtime. She isn't pretentious - she knows she has a talent and shes putting it to good use.
Since this is an independent film, it is only on limited release this week, in NY and Los Angeles. When this movie finally is nationally released, go see it. Even if it is not in your nearby theater, find where it is playing and go see it - that's the only way to get other theaters to pick it up. And trust me, it's definitely worth the $10 ticket price.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
A Car Accident and a Baby
So it has been a while since I've posted, but when you hear my story, you'll forgive me.
I am pregnant with my first child (due April 30th), and though I am utterly thrilled, my husband and I didn't exactly plan the pregnancy. Being the crazy person that I am, I decided that I would get a second (third??) job and work as hard as I could for as long as I could to make some extra cash..afterall, we all know how expensive babies are! So I was happily working an extra 15 hours a week for TripAdvisor, bringing in some dough, and feeling proud and capable.
But these things catch up with a person...especially when the first trimester of pregnancy makes you extremely tired all the time. I was walking home from the subway, rushing to be home in time to start my second job. It was dusk. I was using the only 10 minutes I'd had free all day to call a friend, and...dun, dun, duuuuun...I was hit by a car while crossing the street.
I got a concussion, some stitches in my face, a bruise on my hip and some nasty swollen, strained knees, but the little one was fine...protected by my belly and by the amniotic fluid.
But all of this is just background for my amazing revelation...I just don't need to do everything by myself. I am looking at the last 6 months of my life where I'll have time just for myself, where I'll be able to lie on the couch all day watching movies on Sundays if I want to, where I'll be able to go out to a movie with my husband without finding a babysitter. So damned if I am going to waste it working 60+ hours a week for a few extra bucks.
If you need me during the next 6 months, you can find me reading (I am currently reading The Witch of Portobello by Paulo Coehlo, and it is fabulous), knitting (check out my newest endeavor, which I found on Knitty.com), catching up on my sleep, and enjoying alone time with my (existing) baby (a.k.a. my husband Andy).
Yay for selfish Julia. She deserves at LEAST 6 months of my life, right?
I am pregnant with my first child (due April 30th), and though I am utterly thrilled, my husband and I didn't exactly plan the pregnancy. Being the crazy person that I am, I decided that I would get a second (third??) job and work as hard as I could for as long as I could to make some extra cash..afterall, we all know how expensive babies are! So I was happily working an extra 15 hours a week for TripAdvisor, bringing in some dough, and feeling proud and capable.
But these things catch up with a person...especially when the first trimester of pregnancy makes you extremely tired all the time. I was walking home from the subway, rushing to be home in time to start my second job. It was dusk. I was using the only 10 minutes I'd had free all day to call a friend, and...dun, dun, duuuuun...I was hit by a car while crossing the street.
I got a concussion, some stitches in my face, a bruise on my hip and some nasty swollen, strained knees, but the little one was fine...protected by my belly and by the amniotic fluid.
But all of this is just background for my amazing revelation...I just don't need to do everything by myself. I am looking at the last 6 months of my life where I'll have time just for myself, where I'll be able to lie on the couch all day watching movies on Sundays if I want to, where I'll be able to go out to a movie with my husband without finding a babysitter. So damned if I am going to waste it working 60+ hours a week for a few extra bucks.
If you need me during the next 6 months, you can find me reading (I am currently reading The Witch of Portobello by Paulo Coehlo, and it is fabulous), knitting (check out my newest endeavor, which I found on Knitty.com), catching up on my sleep, and enjoying alone time with my (existing) baby (a.k.a. my husband Andy).
Yay for selfish Julia. She deserves at LEAST 6 months of my life, right?
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Safe Sex, Indian Style
This video on safe sex and condom usage is from Nrityanjali Academy, Secunderabad, Andhra Pradesh, India.
I have to say, I wish Americans would let condoms be this friendly...
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Congratulations Doris Lessing!
Today Doris Lessing is the winner of the 2007 Nobel Prize in Literature. She’s the 11th woman to win this distinguished honor. Her extensive writing has confronted social issues such as feminism, race, and communism, yet her sophisticated literary style keeps her from being confined to a political writer. I’ve only read one of her many novels, The Summer Before the Dark, and was captivated by the main character's journey at a crucial point in her life to discover her true identity while old age lies waiting in the 'dark' future. Ms. Lessing’s first novel The Golden Notebook is next on my list to read: its historical impact on the feminist movement in the 60s is still important today.
So here’s a Fringe toast to this outstanding writer. We are thrilled that her literary achievements have been recognized and rewarded.
So here’s a Fringe toast to this outstanding writer. We are thrilled that her literary achievements have been recognized and rewarded.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
How Mainstream Media Broke Its Contract With Readers, part II
In my last post I discussed the way main stream media (MSM) inevitably ran the small press out of business, and now I'm going to finish up my critique through a discussion of how I think MSM actively broke its trust with readers.
The press should operate as the fourth estate -- a check on government power through the free exchange of ideas. (But whether the public actually wants this from MSM is another blog post). Impartiality is embedded in the concept of journalistic objectivity -- reporters are supposed to check their biases at the door. Also, ideally journalism should give us the facts. MSM has failed on all three accounts.
Somewhat reductive, I know, but is there any wonder that folks have turned to media on the Internet?
The press should operate as the fourth estate -- a check on government power through the free exchange of ideas. (But whether the public actually wants this from MSM is another blog post). Impartiality is embedded in the concept of journalistic objectivity -- reporters are supposed to check their biases at the door. Also, ideally journalism should give us the facts. MSM has failed on all three accounts.
- MSM has not provided the public with accurate information:
- Many journalists have recently been caught plagarizing. Jayson Blair is the obvious example.
- MSM has failed to operate adequately as a check on government power, particularly as applies to the Iraq war, which broke the contract in two ways:
- Because MSM didn't scuttle fast enough, we went to war. We didn't hear that there were no weapons of mass destruction, we didn't find out about torture soon enough to prevent it -- the Bush administration was not held up to scrutiny in the days surrounding 9/11. Journalists were sleeping on the job.
I understand that the Bush White House, and perhaps other White Houses as well, grant better access to and answer more questions from favorably inclined reporters, as opposed to ones who ask tough questions. This is a plainly unacceptable situation, and I would like to see reporters banding together to boycott substance-less press conferences where only the softball questions get answered. - Because reporters rolled over and accepted the administration's press conference rules, they lost the credibility that objectivity brings. Right-leaning news organizations got great access but weren't very critical, left-leaning organizations got bitter and preachy. In a sense, Bush polarized the media, although I'm sure earlier administrations helped.
- MSM has failed to operate impartially:
- In an ideal world, newspapers would disseminate information freely and reporters would not be paid. The absence of money would help ensure that reporters were in it for the truth, and not for cash. Obviously, we do not live in an ideal world and newspapers and reporters must be paid for their work, but MSM has taken things too far. My perception, which I believe others share, is that news corporations are owned by uber-conglomerates that hawk a wide variety of stuff, and I don't have time to parse these relations myself. I worry that this commercial bent is slanting news media, imbuing it with consumerism. The news is not the news, but PR information fed to me (and perhaps to reporters also) to get me to buy stuff.
- Newspapers have money, and are often run by white men. The lacking diversity of op-ed pages in the nation's newspapers has been widely lamented -- few women and writers of color figure into these pages, although this has been changing for the better. However, I think that many people perceive newspapers as old boy's clubs, where the old boys hire and pay people who are like them to produce the news, which makes newspapers sound suspiciously like the establishment they are supposed to be covering.
Somewhat reductive, I know, but is there any wonder that folks have turned to media on the Internet?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Right Hand Rings Pit Marriage Against Career
In the search for my own engagement ring and an ethical diamond, I came across a peculiar trend: the right hand ring. Ads and websites urge women to "celebrate your success" with a diamond ring worn on the right hand. (Now single women can join in the fun of owning a diamond and show their individuality and empowerment -- through blind commercialism! That supports slavery!)
Like Art Editor Julia, I loathe ad campaigns that encourage pamper-spending for women. And obviously, the promotions occasionally insult women's intelligence. This Generous Gems page actually tries to convince you that right hand rings are fitted differently from left-hand ones.
My personal annoyance aside, I think the most interesting part of this trend is the way that it equates marriage with a successful career. Right hand rings are supposed to showcase a woman's monetary success, while presumably left hand rings showcase her skill as a mantrap.
I find this distinctly unsettling. Marriage and engagement rings are part of the private sphere and of a tradition that extends back through time, while careers are part of the public sphere, and for women at least, a relatively new concept. By extension, the right hand ring suggests that career women are married to their careers, and as such unavailable/unable to engage in marriage. Reminds me of the horrifically-insulting-to-women-everywhere Forbes Article "Don't Marry Career Women."
Furthermore, I'm not sure we should celebrate when anyone becomes a workaholic, married to their jobs. Careers are not replacements for a rich private life, whether that life includes marriage or not. And yes, we should celebrate success, but why not do so with a plum 401(k) that sustains long after a person has lost the will to work?
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Trend: Keeping the baby
Before Harry Potter took over as Ultimate Hit of Summer 2007, there was a very popular movie called Knocked Up, comedically chronicling two young people deciding to keep the baby. All of a sudden, these stories are everywhere: Glamour has hired a 26-year-old single mom-to-be to blog about her experience (and here's what Gawker burped up), and the NYT recently ran a poignant Modern Love about journalist Ronda Kasen's decision to keep her unplanned baby.
What's going on? First question, is there a subversive anti-choice message going on here? As the trend grows, it's almost inevitably going to swing that way, unfortunately. But for all the backlash about the film Knocked Up being anti-choice propaganda, I don't think that's the case. I think we can thank the ultraconservative, sex-fearing MPAA for abortion and sexual issues' absence in contemporary American film (and if you haven't seen Kirby Dick's This Film Is Not Yet Rated, you oughta).
I think this trend elicits something different -- the bittersweet idealism of launching a baby into a crumbling world. I'm 25, and of all my friends and cousins, know no one having a kid. It's too awful out here. Even despite these troubled times, we're just too poor, too busy, have too many plans. So when we see other compassionate, intelligent, flawed people in those months before the little human lands, it's hard not to get sucked in, and put pessimism aside for a moment to nod to the potential of new life.
What's going on? First question, is there a subversive anti-choice message going on here? As the trend grows, it's almost inevitably going to swing that way, unfortunately. But for all the backlash about the film Knocked Up being anti-choice propaganda, I don't think that's the case. I think we can thank the ultraconservative, sex-fearing MPAA for abortion and sexual issues' absence in contemporary American film (and if you haven't seen Kirby Dick's This Film Is Not Yet Rated, you oughta).
I think this trend elicits something different -- the bittersweet idealism of launching a baby into a crumbling world. I'm 25, and of all my friends and cousins, know no one having a kid. It's too awful out here. Even despite these troubled times, we're just too poor, too busy, have too many plans. So when we see other compassionate, intelligent, flawed people in those months before the little human lands, it's hard not to get sucked in, and put pessimism aside for a moment to nod to the potential of new life.
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Girls Next Door, A Guilty Pleasure
In general, I'm not susceptible to reality TV (unless it involves cooking), but I have to admit that even though I don't make a point of watching E!'s show The Girls Next Door, I find myself flipping to it during commercials with shocking frequency.
The show is "reality" fare that follows Hugh Heffner's three girlfriends' lives in the Playboy mansion. Of course the reality presented does not resemble the reality I live in, but is strangely compelling nonetheless.
So why do I, a self-proclaimed strident feminist, get sucked in?
In a certain way, the very substance-less nature of the program appeals to me -- Kendra, Holly, and Bridget are doing exactly what popular culture tells our women to do:
To watch the girls on screen is to see my psyche as I might be if I bought in to the standards of beauty and consumption that our culture elevates. For this reason, the show both fascinates me and sickens me.
On the other hand, the girls have each made shrewd calculations and sacrifices to get where she they are -- these are not ditzy girls who lucked into the gig. In the episode "My Bare Lady", Kendra goes out to buy real estate, talking about how her boob job was her "first investment", noting that it's paid off. Holly starts an internship with Playboy, and we see her willingness to be involved in the production of porn, which she views as a creative act that finally puts her where she wants to be: in the director's seat, while Bridget uses the show's fame to jump start her second career as a voice actress.
I don't mean to suggest that the series' approach is either degrading or empowering -- it seems as though both sensibilities are mixed together. The girls are the perfect product of our consumer-oriented and sex-obsessed culture, but they are also real women trying to make money and build names for themselves.. This paradox is what makes me watch.
The show is "reality" fare that follows Hugh Heffner's three girlfriends' lives in the Playboy mansion. Of course the reality presented does not resemble the reality I live in, but is strangely compelling nonetheless.
So why do I, a self-proclaimed strident feminist, get sucked in?
In a certain way, the very substance-less nature of the program appeals to me -- Kendra, Holly, and Bridget are doing exactly what popular culture tells our women to do:
- Define their value in relation to men;
- Consume, consume, consume;
- Spend a lot of time exercising, waxing bikini lines, putting on makeup, and vamping for men.
To watch the girls on screen is to see my psyche as I might be if I bought in to the standards of beauty and consumption that our culture elevates. For this reason, the show both fascinates me and sickens me.
On the other hand, the girls have each made shrewd calculations and sacrifices to get where she they are -- these are not ditzy girls who lucked into the gig. In the episode "My Bare Lady", Kendra goes out to buy real estate, talking about how her boob job was her "first investment", noting that it's paid off. Holly starts an internship with Playboy, and we see her willingness to be involved in the production of porn, which she views as a creative act that finally puts her where she wants to be: in the director's seat, while Bridget uses the show's fame to jump start her second career as a voice actress.
I don't mean to suggest that the series' approach is either degrading or empowering -- it seems as though both sensibilities are mixed together. The girls are the perfect product of our consumer-oriented and sex-obsessed culture, but they are also real women trying to make money and build names for themselves.. This paradox is what makes me watch.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Kwik-E-Mart
As a promotion for the Simpsons Movie, 7-11s around the country have been turned into Kwik-E-Marts. My first thought was "how cool," but after reading both Angry Asian Man's and Ultrabrown's blogs about the promotion, I'm not so sure. Both bloggers think the character of Apu is racist, or at least that the promotion focuses on the racist aspects of his character (Too Sense applauded the Simpsons for complicating Apu's character, but noted that the Kwik-E-Mart promotion included none of this complexity). One particular objection was that actual desi owners of stores participating in the promotion are having this racist caricature thrown in their faces -- they have to dress up in a uniform modeled after Apu's.
Well, color-me educated! As a clueless white chick, I didn't realize that many South Asian folks were offended by Apu. For all the other clueless white folks, here's why Apu is/might be racist(please add reasons I may have missed in the comments):
- He has a poorly done Hindi accent, and is voiced by a white dude. Some have likened this to white dudes who put on blackface for minstral shows. Desidreaming has an interesting post on this -- the discussion in the comments is also intriguing.
- His catchphrase, "Thank you, come again" has evidently been used to taunt Indian convenience store workers across America.
- The broken english on the signs in Kwik-E-Mart stores, or for that matter, on the show, is condescending and ignores the fact that many immigrants speak English well. In short, it's a cheap shot.
- Apu is the stereotype of the hardworking immigrant business owner.
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