Archive for the 'Traveling' Category

Loving the whole earth, loving the single place: a long response to Gregory Rodriguez, quoting Abbey and Hauerwas

I normally like the perspective that L.A. Times’ columnist Gregory Rodriguez takes. But he wrote an op-ed eleven days ago that really irked me: Rootless to a Fault. Here’s a portion of it:

Here in the U.S., highly skilled workers and wealthy entrepreneurs from around the globe contribute mightily to this nation’s productivity and creativity. Their presence in our cities, and ours in theirs, has fostered a greater appreciation of global cultural diversity. It has spawned a vibrant cosmopolitanism that broadens our collective concern for people who live beyond our borders.

But this cosmopolitanism is not without its dark side. Increasingly, many of our big cities’ creative elites — both native and foreign-born — see themselves as citizens of the world. Our intellectuals are exploring the declining significance of place in the new globalized world order. And this brave new world cries out for an answer to the question: Does a person who swears loyalty to all cities and nations have any loyalties at all? I’ve always been struck by the fact that the same people who rightly criticize multinational corporations for having no sense of responsibility to place never seem to express the same concern about the equally “unplaced” creative elite.

A few years ago, I was at a fancy dinner party and found myself the only one at the table who held only one passport.

Rodriguez goes on to make a jarringly wrong premise: those who see themselves as “citizens of the world” are somehow dramatically less engaged in civic activity than those whose horizons are smaller and whose loyalties more narrowly defined. He opines:

Without denying the benefits of globalization, we should remember the beauty and strength of parochialism.

It’s all well and good to love the world, but real social solidarity is generally found on a smaller scale. And it’s not just the unskilled immigrants we should be concerned about. We need to find ways to encourage the highly skilled ones to form a sense of attachment and commitment to their new homes. On top of that, we natives must remember that there is no honor in escaping engagement by becoming a citizen of the world.

First off — and I could be wrong — I smell a tiny whiff in Rodriguez’s piece of an old anti-Semitic canard: the notion that the “wandering Jew”, cosmopolitan to a fault, undermines the stability of whatever society in which he finds himself, because his loyalties are eternally elsewhere. Though that is surely not Rodriguez’s intent, there’s no denying that jeremiads against “jet-setting elitists” who have no commitment to place are not new, and that in the past, many of those attacks have been aimed quite explicitly at Jews. Gregory ought to have known that.

But what I resent about the piece is the notion that loyalty to the world and all of its creatures is somehow incompatible with deep concern for the well-being of particular places. Rodriguez posits what is frankly a monstrously false dichotomy: parochial and engaged or cosmopolitan and unconcerned. Indeed, I assure Greg that there are those among his readers who are devoted to Los Angeles and its well-being without feeling any need to elevate the needs of L.A. above those of the entire planet!

I am a dual citizen, holding UK and US citizenship. My brother, his wife, and children hold a serious array of passports: Mexican, Austrian, British, and American. I have many friends who also have two nationalities, and I have a few acquaintances who have three. And no, we are not all part of some transnational global elite. I’ll be waiting a long time for my invite to rub elbows with the super-rich at the Davos Economic Forum. Of course, my dual citizenship is not without significance to me: it not only gives me and my family options about where to work and live, it reminds me that I do indeed have multiple loyalties and multiple commitments. But my devotion to any one place is not less because of a devotion to many. I have been fortunate to have been able to see much of the world, and am fortunate to have friends and family scattered across many continents. But that sense of belonging to the globe rather than to a country doesn’t mean I am any less passionately devoted to the well-being of Pasadena, or to my students, many of whom have never been on an airplane much less outside of the Western Hemisphere. Continue reading ‘Loving the whole earth, loving the single place: a long response to Gregory Rodriguez, quoting Abbey and Hauerwas’

Flying with Senator Scott, and a call for stories about the Pill

I’m home from a very quick trip up to Yuba City for our niece’s graduation last night. On the flight down from Sacramento to Burbank this morning, I got a chance to chat with the former Pasadena City College president, Jack Scott. Jack’s now a state senator and soon to be the chancellor of the California community college system; a fellow historian, he was very kind to me when I was first hired. I worked on his 1996 and 1998 assembly campaigns, and have always admired him for the decent, thoughtful way in which he blends his passionate faith (he’s an ordained Baptist minister) with strong progressive politics. When you fly on a Friday between Sacramento and Burbank, you’re guaranteed to have at least one state legislator on board; I’m glad that today it was my own state senator and former campus president.

But the point of this post is to pass along an announcement, sent to me by Courtney Martin.

Elaine May, who teaches history at Minnesota, is writing a book about the Pill. Here’s the announcement she sends out:

Dear Friends (and friends of friends…),

The Pill is often considered one of the most important innovations of the twentieth century. As I investigate this claim for a new book—set for release on the 50th anniversary of the Pill’s FDA approval (Basic Books, 2010)—I’m looking to include the voices and stories of real people. I hope yours will be one of them. I’m eager to hear from men as well as women, of all ages and backgrounds.

· Have you or any of your partners taken the Pill? Why or why not? How did it work for you—physically, emotionally, and ethically? How has it compared with other contraceptive methods you or your partners have used?

· What has been the impact of the Pill on your sex life, relationships, political or social attitudes, and beliefs about the medical or pharmaceutical establishments?

· Do you have opinions about public policies related to access, availability, approval or limitations on the development and distribution of the Pill and related contraceptive products (the patch, the “morning after pill,” long-term injections, etc.).

· Anything else you think I should know?

Send me your most richly detailed answers to any and all of these questions (and don’t forget to include your age, gender, where you live, occupation, ethnic/religious/racial background, sexual orientation, marital status, political party affiliation, or any other biographical info you think is important). If you would like to participate in my study but would prefer to respond to a questionnaire, please let me know and I will happily send you one.
I’m interested in hearing from men and women who have used the Pill and those who have not, those who used it briefly or a long time ago, or who use it now. I am also eager to hear from people who work in fields that relate to the use and availability of the Pill (such as medicine, public health, social work, education, etc.). You will remain anonymous. I will use your contact information only to respond to you directly and to let you know when the book will be available for purchase (at a discount to contributors!).

And just one more thing. I not only want to hear your voice, but the voices of those you love, teach, preach to, learn from, and work with. Please pass this request on! The more responses I receive, and the greater the diversity of respondents, the more the book will reflect the wide range of experiences and attitudes that have shaped the Pill’s history over the last half century.

I hope to hear from you. Please write to me at elainetylermay@gmail.com.

I’ll be blogging my own answers soon enough.

Tender-hearted in Tehama County: a weekend at Farm Sanctuary

My wife and I spent the weekend up in Northern California. (Parenthetically, we really were in Northern California this time, up in Butte, Glenn, and Tehama counties. Like most southlanders, I tend to refer to the Bay Area as “Northern” California when that region is, clearly, closer to the center. My childhood homes in coastal Monterey and rural Alameda counties are almost as close to Mexico as they are to the Oregon border.)

We went up north to attend the spring hoe-down at Farm Sanctuary, which has rapidly become one of our favorite charities. I’ll get pictures up tonight or tomorrow of some of the pigs, geese, goats, sheep, turkeys, rabbits and cows with whom we bonded. We also got to meet vegan animal activists from all across the West, enjoy some delicious food, and hear some inspiring and moving speeches about the next steps for both Farm Sanctuary in particular and the animal rights movement in general. Continue reading ‘Tender-hearted in Tehama County: a weekend at Farm Sanctuary’

Short Update from Miami

My beloved and I are in an unseasonably cool South Beach this morning. My poor wife, who craves the heat and humidity that reminds her of Colombia, was forced to wear a wrap as we ate a late pasta dinner on Ocean last night. I had a short run this morning on the boardwalk, and am now negotiating the dicey wireless and excellent coffee at the Tides Hotel.

I can’t recall a week where I’ve had more comments go into moderation! Unlike at the big, communal blogs, I have no one else to do the moderating for me, so I apologize if your comment gets stuck in limbo for hours and hours. Though I’ve closed commenting on the main post about the citation/stealing women-of-color controversy, my follow-up post remains open, as long as it is not used merely to continue the thread from the first one. And of course, personal attacks on anyone even tangentially involved in this sprawling controversy will be deleted.

I’ll be returning to what I hope will be thoughtful blogging a week from today; until the 22nd, I’ll be moderating comment threads and checking in regularly. I do appreciate both the traffic and the ongoing discussion.

For now, though, we’re going to enjoy a much-needed break here in South Beach and the surrounding area. Greater Miami both seduces and appalls, I find. After four visits out here in as many years, I’ve decided it’s very much the “nice place to visit, but wouldn’t want to live” experience. I would go absolutely mad in a world so utterly and indefensibly flat.

But hey, South Florida has its benefits. I’m going up to Boca Raton this afternoon to take a buddy of mine to lunch. Though he and I are both in our forties, knowing where we’re going to eat, we’ll be guaranteed to be the two youngest patrons in the place by at least a quarter century. I felt “old” a few weeks ago at the WAM conference; I feel positively coltish here.

Off to Boston

I’ll be red-eyeing it out to Boston tonight to attend the Women, Action, and the Media Conference 2008. I’m not presenting, just goin’ to meet and listen and connect and learn.

They promise wireless access, so look for some sort of blogging Friday or Saturday, but the TSP and the FRT will have to wait another week. Regular posting will resume Monday or Tuesday next.

A short trip report

The Thursday Short Poem will return in one more week.

We had a wonderful time on our South America/Antarctica trip.

Our first stop was Chile. The Antarctic tour group was to gather in Santiago, but we flew in a few days early to explore on our own. Though we enjoyed the Chilean capital immensely (some of my German ancestors worked in Santiago and Valparaiso in the 1840s), our real purpose in coming early was to visit the Chinchilla National Reserve a few hundred kilometers north of the capital. We’re devoted to chinchillas, of course, and most of the remaining wild chinchillas live in one of two Chilean reserves. (Chinchillas were once found throughout the Andes, from Chile all the way up into Colombia, but they were always most numerous in the south-central Andean region.) Continue reading ‘A short trip report’

Back from the Southern Cone: UPDATED

We’re home again. LAN Flight 602 from Santiago, Chile, to LAX touched down at 6:45 this morning, and my wife and I were just about the first two off the plane, so eager were we to be back on familiar ground.

We were gone for three weeks, spending six days in Chile, four in Argentina, and the rest on an adventure cruise down to Antarctica. More about the trip later, but for now, I’m working on editing photos and reading about Super Tuesday. I hope to have pictures up on Flickr in the next few hours.

UPDATE #1: Photos from the Chilean portion of our trip are up, including many from our visit to the Chinchilla National Reserve.

UPDATE #2: Photos from Ushuaia, Argentina, and from Carcass and New Islands in the Falklands are here.

UPDATE #3: And almost 100 photos from the Antarctic cruise are now up in this album.

UPDATE #4: And a fourth and final batch of a few photos from Buenos Aires.

On the road again…

… so I won’t be posting again until February 6 or 7. We’re off to various places to do various things; for at least part of the time, we’ll be out of range of modern communication. Whether I can handle such a withdrawal from news and the blogosphere in the middle of the most exciting primary season of my life is an open question at this point!

I’ll report on where we went and what we did when blogging resumes in three weeks or so.

Meanwhile, check out some of the blogs on my revolving blog roll. And go see “Michael Clayton”, a film that is not receiving its due.

And if you’re voting (I’m doing so absentee), consider voting for either one of the two very fine men named for the author of the final Gospel.

Land of reconciled contradictions: a note on loving the Philippines

Since I was a child, I’ve been fortunate to do a fair amount of traveling. One thing I’ve noticed is that certain places resonate with me much more than others. Most folks notice the same thing. Sometimes, even when one has no particular familial connection to a place, one feels at home; other times, that sensation of belonging is conspicuously absent.

I’m a Californian to my core. Wherever I go in the States or abroad, I am always reminded that my truest earthly home is on the gently rolling slopes of the California coastal range. But certain places touch me: Vienna, my father’s birthplace, always feels intensely familiar and welcoming. Austria enchants me and exasperates me and envelops me with smells and sensations that my soul knows. That makes sense, as it is the land of many of my ancestors. I also feel quite comfortably at home in England.

And yet there are other places to which I have little or no personal (or geneaological) connection, but which still manage to move me profoundly. Wales is one such place. As far as the Celtic fringe is concerned, I like Ireland and I like Scotland, but don’t feel “at home” in either; though I have virtually no Welsh ancestry, the first time I set foot in places like Carmarthen and Aberystwyth and Dolgellau, I felt a curious rush of excitement which I could not explain. I felt that same feeling in Stellenbosch, South Africa, but nowhere else outside the USA.

I felt this same feeling of happy familarity in the Philippines this past week. The only other places in East Asia that we’ve been are Thailand, Hong Kong, and Macao; though I enjoyed those visits, I felt no immediate sentimental attachment to any of those. But from the time we stepped off the plane at Aquino International early Monday morning until we left Thursday evening, I felt enveloped by warmth. It sounds hackneyed, probably because it is, and yet I have no other words with which to describe the sensation. Continue reading ‘Land of reconciled contradictions: a note on loving the Philippines’

Home and photos up

We got home from the Philippines earlier this evening. Tomorrow, I’ll explain more about the “Kabbalah and Christianity” lecture series I gave in Makati this week, but for now, simply note that pictures are up. Here are some of mine, and here are some taken by Anna Ledesma, a student of Kabbalah in the Philippines.

Home again: some preliminary reflections on Israel

It’s just before nine in the morning, and I’m back in the office on campus. Our flight from London left two hours late, and the baggage carousel was very slow at LAX yesterday afternoon — the upshot was that I just made it to PCC in time for my 6:00PM class wearing the same clothes I’d worn on the plane, unshowered, jet-lagged, and decidedly malodorous. I managed to teach for nearly three hours regardless, but I kept a greater-than-usual distance from my students.

I smell better this morning. Today is a “faculty FLEX” (inservice education) day. We’re given doughnuts, orange juice, and pep talks from the administration. Some glad-hander with the initials Ed.D after his or her name will address a plenary session of the faculty, offering us the latest pedagogical insights. Most of us, rude hypocrites that we are, will conduct ourselves all the while like the very students we dislike: we’ll doze, whisper, and play with our various electronic gadgets. Most of us will make disparaging remarks about those who pursue education degrees, or call themselves “educators” instead of “teachers” or “professors.”

I’d much rather be teaching today.

In any event, my wife and I had a fascinating time in Israel. As I’ve mentioned a few times before, we’ve both been affiliated with the Kabbalah Centre for many years. This year, the Centre chose to mark the High Holy Days in Israel, and we decided that represented the right time for us to make our first visit to that remarkable, challenging part of the world. Continue reading ‘Home again: some preliminary reflections on Israel’

Almost home

I’m sitting in a very familiar corner of terminal one at Heathrow, waiting for the long flight back home. We flew into London from Israel last night, spent a few hours in the uninspiring but thoroughly reliable Jurys Inn, and we’re now getting ready to hop on the 279 back to LAX.

I fully expect to be back in Pasadena in plenty of time to teach my night class tonight.

I haven’t shaved in over two weeks, haven’t been to the gym in longer, and have eaten more hummus than is decent. But we’ve had a marvelous and fascinating time in the Holy Land, and blogging will indeed return anon.

Even though we’re not home to the States yet, it’s nice to be back in a country where people speak with soft voices and stand obediently in queues. Israel was a bit shocking on both counts.

A note on being at home in Carmel

I’m back in the office, busy working up my fall syllabi. (And for those of you who have seen my office, it’s just been cleaned, top to bottom. You won’t recognize it.)

My wife and I spent the weekend visiting my mom in what I consider to be my hometown, Carmel by-the-Sea. I was born in Santa Barbara, but following my parents’ divorce, my mother, brother and I moved to Carmel. It was 1973, and I had just turned six. A lot happens to a person between the ages of six and eighteen (the age at which I graduated from Carmel High) and so it’s that community that I call my home.

Carmel, in my childhood, was much more socio-economically diverse than it is now. It began its life as an artists’ community, and in my childhood, was filled with more “mom n’ pop” grocery stores and gas stations than art galleries. There were certainly plenty of wealthy people around, but there was also a notable “bohemian element”, a fine group of “hippies”, and more than a few people in the middle class. Growing up, I wore Tuffskin jeans and my mother drove (for years) a ‘75 Ford Pinto. There were more Fords on the streets than Cadillacs or BMWs, and the streets were filled with children who actually lived in this fog-shrouded, woodsy paradise.

This weekend, with a car show in nearby Pebble Beach, I counted more than a dozen Bentleys. I saw no Ford Pintos, and very few Hyundais or battered old Toyotas. We’re down to two gas stations in town (from eleven thirty years ago), and we’ve got so many art galleries that my mother is convinced that they all serve as money-laundering fronts for the Mob. The high school today has 1/3rd fewer students than it did when I was a student. The streets are filled, as one wag put it to me recently, with “old people who’ve come to visit their parents.” There were very few children playing in the streets this weekend; the few children I did see were wearing Lacoste and Abercrombie rather than Sears, and they were all under the careful supervision of hovering parents.

On Sunday, we went through nearly a dozen “open houses”. Prices have come down a bit in recent months, but there’s nothing in my old neighborhood under $1.4 million (and that was for a 2 bedroom, 1 bath, 1000 square-foot board and batten cottage.) Most of the newer places were in the range of $2.5-$5.0 million, and were largely devoid of charm. It was more than a little depressing, though we took not a little pleasure in making loud and censorious remarks within earshot of all available realtors. (What’s with all these damned pillars everywhere? OKOP don’t put up pillars.)

I never go to Carmel without walking the half-mile from my childhood home to “Tor House”, the stunning stone cottage built by my beloved Robinson Jeffers. Though his place is now a protected monument, what was once his isolated little corner of Carmel Point is now surrounded by the homes of others eager to claim (for several million dollars) their spot of paradise. But how can I condemn others for wanting to do as my family did? Those who got here first have no particular moral claim. Nevertheless, I always say the lines of one of Jeffers’ most famous poems to myself as I walk away. This part in particular is always with me:

…people are a tide
That swells and in time will ebb, and all
Their works dissolve…

I find more comfort in that than perhaps I ought.

Home, and an initial marathon report

We’re home from a happy weekend in the Bay Area.

I ran the San Francisco Marathon yesterday morning, finishing in a pedestrian 3:52:44. I’d had a good season of training, but despite the pleas of my good running buddies, I hadn’t done a lick of “speed work” all spring or early summer. And yesterday’s run result reflected both the good and the bad of the last few months of work: I ran at a remarkably steady pace, hitting nearly perfectly even splits for the entire race. I ran the first half in 1:56:16, the second 13.1 miles in 1:56:28. In my thirteen previous marathons, I’d always run my second half at least two minutes slower than my first, so it was nice to show some consistency. (And I can account for those twelve second-half seconds: Hugo had to duck into a bush in Golden Gate park just past the half-way point. I know, far too much information…)

My last three road marathons have all seen me finish in the 3:50s, though I was faster yesterday than I was in my previous two (3:54 and 3:57). And I felt very strong at the finish, crossing the line with a sense that if I had had to do a few more miles, it would have been okay. The walk back to the hotel — a good mile and a half — was relatively easy, which was a relief. So, bottom line: I had a great time, particularly while running across the Golden Gate Bridge, and finished in a time that was consistent with my “heavy on long, slow distance; short on speed work” training regimen. My now eight-year old personal best of 3:13 is safe, assuredly forever.

I can highly recommend Millenium, the superb vegan restaurant we went to on Saturday night. A fine place to fuel up for a marathon; my wife and I shared a delicious tasting menu of plant-based foods that were all locally and organically produced. Millenium is worth a trip to the City.

Perhaps some more marathon reflections later.

Home

My plane landed at Burbank Airport at 2:35. I was in my office here at PCC by 3:35, and I am besieged by emails and students and papers.

The key today: give each student 100% of my attention. And combine affirmations and exhortations, and do so very, very fast.