gawking at clouds

on the death of bin Laden

2011-05-04T20:54:00.006-04:00

On Sunday night, I received a text message with the news that Osama bin Laden was dead. My first thought was: well, this will be good for Obama's chances of reelection. Cynical and crass, I know. Afterwards, I had trouble falling asleep, as the apparent momentousness of the occasion began to set in. We've been hearing about this mission for so many years now.

Upon reflection, I think my initial reaction comes from a belief that while symbolically important, bin Laden's death hardly changes practical reality. The same risks abound-- iconic as we have made bin Laden, global terrorism is not a one man shop and people will continue to organize. The reduction of the problem to bin Laden's face has always been a gross simplification more suited to rhetoric than reality. Moreover, as many commentators have pointed out, the recent plethora of peaceful grassroots resistance movements across the near east have perhaps diminished the standing of al Qaeda and other similar groups and the appeal of their violent methods. There was much to be hopeful about before Sunday, and that remains the case today.

It's revealing to hear how people reacted and how they felt about the myriad public reactions. Conspiracy theorists questioned whether he was actually dead. These guys decided to get rich selling t-shirts. On Facebook, a friend noted the following:

It's weird to be joyous over someone's death. A bit unsettling.... but
that's how it is... how i felt..."

This sentiment was manifested at its most extreme by the crowds cheering in downtown Manhattan and at the White House. I count myself among many who found this deeply troubling. Some have used the term bloodlust to describe the frightening character of what were essentially pep rallies. It doesn't seem right to revel in death this way. I can understand that the 9/11 victims' families and friends must have felt a sense of closure upon hearing the news. I do not wish to belittle or deny their right to catharsis, and perhaps knowledge of this bit of justice will help them find some resolution. Nevertheless, these people must continue to live without their loved ones. While the world is certainly safer and better without Osama bin Laden in it, we cannot undo the damage he once wrought. Not even by killing him.

Fundamentally, I think it's important to acknowledge how fundamentally tragic this whole situation is. That we have even come to this moment is sad on the deepest level. Against this understanding, happiness seems wholly inappropriate and seems to miss the point entirely.

keeping it handsome

2011-05-03T18:10:00.008-04:00

California is a weird place. People like to surf and they wear flip flops year round. And apparently, they are also obsessed with Cory Booker.

My friend Reid (of Gonna Start Picklin' fame) and a few of his friends in LA have started a great new podcast called Handsome Afternoons. They describe it as "four men about town discussing all things handsome. Politics, arts, and culture, with good cheer and warm weather." They've managed to mention Cory Booker twice in just five episodes.

The bottom line: it's very funny and entertaining. I recommend you give it a listen.

[iTunes link]
[posterous link]

the trump card

2011-05-01T21:32:00.005-04:00

Donald Trump is an idiot and a fool. I'll assert that without argument and I'm happy to hear from those of you who disagree. Moreover, I'll anticipate his rebuttal and make it clear that I think he is an idiot and a fool even if he does have more money than Mitt Romney. His transparent sham of a presidential campaign ought to be laughable; unfortunately, it is deeply unnerving for all of the attention he has gotten. His high poll numbers probably say more about a lack of enthusiasm with the slate of Republican candidates so far than they do about voter interest in Trump himself. All the same, as someone who lives in the USA, I find it deeply depressing (if tantalizing as someone who wants the Democrats to win again in 2012).

Consequently, I was very disappointed when President Obama released his long form birth certificate, vindicating and legitimizing Trump and all the other crazy birthers he was riling up. It is hard for one to overstate how profoundly offensive this whole 'campaign' has been. Let's call a spade a spade: these absurd birther claims are awful and frighteningly vicious examples of racism. Trump reinforced the racial animus in his attacks when he bizarrely began to make claims that President Obama was somehow unqualified to attend Columbia and Harvard (read: affirmative action admit). Again, I will refrain from even making arguments here, because this is not a legitimate conversation or critique.

The point is this: what a low moment for a great democracy when the President has to sustain continued attacks on the legitimacy of his birth and citizenship, of all things! Have any past Presidents even come close to this kind of a blatant disrespect? In my view, the unnecessary release of this document was a surrender to lunacy. Trump doesn't deserve the time of day, let alone the satisfaction.

Arguably, there was some political gain in this release. I don't see it-- obviously the Democrats would love for Trump to be the Republican nominee, because he would be so easily defeated. Nonetheless, it's hard to believe there is any actual chance of this happening. Given this, I can't see what the political motive would be. On the other hand, President Obama has obviously proven himself to be politically masterful, and his strategists no doubt have better instincts than mine.

Speaking of which, President Obama went on to crush Trump at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. Check it out.

mad about mad men

2011-04-28T21:30:00.004-04:00

** Warning: this post contains spoilers about the finale of Mad Men Season 4.

The most captivating and heartwarming romance on Mad Men has been that of the audience slowly falling for Pete Campbell. Don Draper saw it before the rest of us did. As the third season drew to a close, Don warmed to Pete Campbell. In the final episode of the season, Don Draper singled out Pete to be a young partner at the new agency. With a start, I realized that I too had developed a soft spot for Pete Campbell. Without my knowledge, Pete had transitioned from being that whiny entitled brat to one of my favorite characters on the show. This transition was subtle, sneaky, and yet completely believable. It's a prime example of the kind of magic that Mad Men writers typically produce. Surprising, engaging and understandable.

Which brings us to the final episode of the last season: Tomorrowland. It was awful. Yes, after all these months, I'm still upset about how terrible this episode was. Maybe Don Draper is ahead of the curve again and I'm missing something, but until this proves to be the case, I'll remain frustrated and disappointed.

It wasn't just that we wanted to see Don stick it out with Faye. Television that always indulged our obvious desires and never surprised would be boring television. I didn't need things to go smoothly. I needed things to go believably. That Don would so abruptly convince himself that he was in love and propose to Megan was ridiculous and most importantly unsupported by the writing before that episode. Sure, we saw her come onto him clumsily in a prior episode. We saw him glancing at her in the penultimate episode, suddenly realizing that she was pretty. Still, what about the whole season with Faye? What about the laps in the swimming pool, getting past alcoholism? In short, why did the writers toss all of Don Draper's growth out the window, and why did they do it so clumsily?

Having said all that, do we really need to wait until 2012 for redemption?

West on Obama

2011-04-10T21:28:00.000-04:00

reading make believe

2011-04-03T21:06:00.008-04:00

When it comes to selecting books to read, I try to alternate between fiction and non-fiction. Of course I will occasionally break the rule if I become very engaged with an idea or with an author, but as much as possible, I try to stick to this heuristic. I like rules of thumbs and this one helps me to ensure that I am reading a good balance of fiction and non-fiction.

Some of my friends claim to only read non-fiction. This always strikes me as odd; my initial reaction is you're missing out on so much! When I ask why, people usually tell me that they feel like it would be wrong to waste time on fiction when there is so much out there for them to learn and become aware of. As the thinking goes, why read a made up story when there are real things to learn about. Surely our western revere for the liberal arts should leave us better off than to fall prey to this deeply flawed and illogical conclusion. To think that we don't learn from literature is deeply disrespectful to the world of art and betrays an arrogance in placing other fields of knowledge on a pedestal.

Fiction, and the fine arts generally, teach us things about humanity and emotion that we cannot always gleam from non-fiction. You won't learn as many facts. I can acknowledge this, but when did knowledge ever end (or even begin) with facts? Art gives us a better understanding of the peripheries. Fiction is a part of this tradition.

Oddly, I hear this sentiment most often from those friends who have some political and social awareness and engagement. Implicit in their reasoning is a haughty self righteousness: these people are too principled to waste time on fiction when there is a world to better. To this, I would respond: it is no coincidence that so many great thinkers have lauded the critical importance and indeed necessity of a vibrant arts community in any successful democracy. This is not just fluffy feel-good talk. Where else can we explore the boundaries of acceptability and possibility? In fiction and make believe, we can explore our potential. We can subtly dissent and ask questions of authority that in other forums may prove to be more uncomfortable. We can be provocative and say: "Oh that? It was just make believe." All the same, people will be thinking.

It seems to me that fiction is particularly important as an antidote to the worship we accord to free market capitalism in so many developed economies. In choosing to read fiction and partake in the arts, we acknowledge the inherent limits of the market-based analysis that so often consumes us. We acknowledge that not everything can be priced and that the best of an enlightened society means broadening our thinking beyond a cold and simplistic understanding of utility. Moreover, as I alluded to above, the arts provide a safe space where we can collectively challenge prevailing norms and explore our limits in a socially acceptable way.

I would love to hear from some of you who choose to only read non-fiction. From my vantage point, you are stunting your own personal development and also failing to engage fully as social and political beings. I'd welcome your arguments otherwise.

strength in numbers

2011-03-13T19:36:00.007-04:00

Enough is enough. I'm tired of all the hate being directed at labor unions.

The casual ease with which Americans now talk about outlawing unions and collective bargaining is breathtaking in its audacity. The normalcy accorded to this very radical idea is evidence of just how far right political discourse has moved in the USA. The state legislature in Wisconsin passed just such a law and despite some early press coverage, the story has turned out to be basically a non-event. Teachers have once again been made out to be villains in order to advance this agenda. We have an odious Supreme Court that is so cruel and dismissive of individuals that it effectively denied women the right to sue for any substantive back pay if they discover that their employer has been paying them less than a man with an identical job. Against this legal backdrop, unions are more important than ever!

Where is the moral wrong is forming an organization to represent collective interests? Though the very word 'union' has come to connote corruption and inefficiency, let's not forget that it's ultimately just a group of people coming together to negotiate from a position of greater strength. The owners are always organized: it's embedded into the very structure of a corporation. Management acts collectively on behalf of the owners. Similarly, in the case of public employees, government organizations act collectively on behalf of the taxpayers. To assume that unionized employees are somehow 'cheating' the companies that employ workers is either disingenuous or dangerously ignorant. If anything, the unfair situation is in preventing workers from organizing and leaving them to negotiate in isolation against an obviously organized ownership.

I am by no means trying to make the argument that unions have not made some bad decisions. Of course they have. Nevertheless, it takes a suspension of reason to leap from this fact to the conclusion that unions should not have the right to exist. Consider that most every type of organization has made mistakes; notably, corporations have routinely made devastating financial and environmental mistakes in only the past few years. Consider also that a union can only negotiate. Thus, every bad deal struck by unions has been a deal struck by bad management. Where are the calls for outlawing corporate organization? There haven't been, because that would be irrational. If one sets aside ugly politics and stops to think, it becomes evident that the same is true for unions.

wondering

2011-03-10T09:23:00.002-05:00

when did we start calling comic books graphic novels?

if you think this is over then you're wrong

2011-02-28T18:15:00.002-05:00

In a matter of weeks, a new Radiohead album was announced, talked about, released electronically and hotly debated. That all of this happened without a word on this blog shows how much I've neglected this writing. Writing is important and valuable to me, so I will humbly apologize and try to kick start this up again with my thoughts on the new album, The King of Limbs.

Many of you know me as a faithful and loyal fan of Radiohead. In high school, I sought out their 'secret' listening parties in obscure locations around Toronto so that I could hear the new albums just a few weeks before their wide release. I dutifully wore (wear) t-shirts with funny bears on them and smiled knowingly when other fans would subtly acknowledge my rock music credibility. I loved Hail to the Thief. I sincerely believed that Radiohead had not made a single misstep since Thom Yorke jumped into that pool on MTV in 1994. So maybe I was a little crazy. But not too crazy, and not without company in my opinions.

After winning reelection in 2004, George W. Bush memorably said "I've earned political capital and I intend to use it." In many respects, Radiohead have built a career out of attempting to do just this with the 'artistic' capital they've earned from a loyal base of fans. OK Computer was widely heralded as one of the greatest rock albums in a generation almost immediately after its release. From this point on, beginning with Kid A / Amnesiac a few years later, Radiohead went on a tear of repeated reinvention with each new album. Inevitably, rather than scare off fans or critics, the albums were (rightfully) met with wide acclaim. Try as they might, Radiohead couldn't shake off fame or relieve themselves of their accumulated capital. At some point along the way, we all began to take for granted that Radiohead was genius. Indeed, we expected new and illuminating genius each time.

My thoughts, then, should be viewed against these almost immeasurably high expectations.

And with that said.

...

I thing The King of Limbs is a misstep. Though many songs are growing on me each time I listen to it, I remain somewhat underwhelmed with the album as a whole. (You don't think the band will see this, do you?)

First off, the production on this album is really heavy and quite good. The songs are very layered but sound as though they have a sheen about them. Radiohead, over the years, have really developed superb technical skills in this department. The vertical layering is impressive.

Unfortunately, while the songs are vertically interesting, I think they are lacking somewhat in songwriting and line-- the 'horizontal' aspects of music. So many of the songs-- prominently Bloom and Give Up The Ghost-- are fascinating ideas and kernels of songs but just don't have the arc I'd hoped for. They feel more like snippets than full songs. The songs, and thus the album, generally feel underdeveloped to me. Moreover, on an album with only 8 songs (and their shortest album to date), it is a little frustrating to hear three minutes of Feral. While the instrumental experimental track has become a mainstay of Radiohead albums (Treefingers, Hunting Bears, etc.), it is easier to take on a fuller album. Here it comes across as the ultimate indicator of insufficiency.

With all this said, I want to reiterate that I do like this album, and there are some really strong and beautiful moments. Lotus Flower is rhythmic, exciting and uses Thom Yorke's fluid falsetto in wonderful ways. Codex is gentle and sweet, a Radiohead piano track, if a little simple. Separator is gorgeous in tone, vocals and melody: a really superb song and very strong closer. Unfortunately, placed at the very end of the album, the strength of this track paradoxically serves to heighten the sense that so much more was possible this time around.

Would I have given this album a second listen had some other band released it? Perhaps the question is moot-- a Radiohead album remains a special kind of experience.

the will to be vegetarian

2011-01-09T12:59:00.007-05:00

At the turn of 2011, I went to a local Thai restaurant and ordered a spicy noodle dish topped with grilled salmon. It was delicious. It also marked the very last time that I will eat fish. A little unceremonious, perhaps; it was certainly not the best fish I've ever eaten and this restaurant is not especially well-known for their fish. In some ways, fish's quiet shuffling off the stage of my life was fitting. While I have really enjoyed fish in recent years, it never really rose to a level of prominence or indeed obsession in the way that chicken has at various times.

For those of you who are unaware, I have been on a slow transition to vegetarianism, and I am quickly approaching the end. The only meat the remains in my diet is chicken and in just under a year, that too will come to a close. While I have made perfunctory efforts to reduce the amount of meat in my diet generally, I must confess that chicken still constitutes a substantial portion of my diet. Still, I feel good and confident about becoming vegetarian. The arguments for doing so still resonate within me and feel right. They are predominantly ethical, environmental, health-based and to a lesser degree, cultural.

I think it is important to acknowledge that my decision to become vegetarian is a choice, and as such is a manifestation of personal agency.

Consequently, I always say that I don't or won't eat certain things instead of saying that I can't. Often, I make a point of clarifying this when somebody says something like "Nitin can't eat turkey anymore." Of course I can eat turkey, but I won't. I don't make this correction to be a stickler for correct English usage. I actually think the distinction is important and has implications for the kind of person I want to be.

I grew up occasionally eating a small variety of meats like chicken, fish and lamb, but never ate beef or pork. This was the one place where my parents drew the line and it never really bothered me, so I never thought to push the line. If my friends were eating hamburgers, I would have told them I "can't eat beef." While it was strictly true that I could eat beef at that time (I didn't), it was appropriate to use the word can't because the reasons were exogenous to me.

Of course that is no longer the case. I am choosing to stop eating my favorite food in the world in just under a year. This decision does not come lightly, but I obviously believe it is the right thing to do. So I have made the decision to be better. I am empowered and am exercising informed human agency. I have the ability to do that. And I will.

resonance and representation on the telephone

2010-12-11T16:19:00.005-05:00

When people exchange text messages or chat on some instant messaging platform, the communication feels removed and abstract. We see the words pop up but there is a strong and present understanding that we are perceiving only a representation as opposed to the other person. On the other hand, talking on the telephone or over video-chat feels more real somehow. This should hardly be shocking to anybody reading.

Incidentally, I spend a significant amount of time on the telephone.

A few days ago, I began to think about just how abstract a telephone conversation really is. Of course the representation is far more multidimensional than the plain-text methods of communication mentioned above. Nevertheless, you're not really with the other person. Ultimately, you're engaged with a machine. On the other end, a machine has taken note of what the other person sounds like and your little machine is only following those instructions to coldly reproduce the sounds for you. It's a fine imitation, but an imitation all the same.

Another reason that physical presence is so important, I suppose. To actually feel the other person's resonance when they talk. That human energy, it seems, cannot be replicated by telephones or by ever-increasingly-fast Internet lines piping in video. This has implications for considering the relative capabilities of virtual communities and actual physical communities, right?

Paradoxically, traditional letters offer greater authenticity in many ways. Setting aside the old fashioned charm of receiving one (we all know the feeling), consider that it really comes with part of the writer. The paper and envelope has been touched and handled, breathed upon. The message you ultimately receive carries part of the other person in a way that your telephone never can.

a thanksgiving letter

2010-11-28T19:17:00.014-05:00

28 November 2010

Dear Professor Lee,

While reading the November 22 edition of The New Yorker, I came across your piece entitled Magical Dinners, exploring your own memories of an immigrant Thanksgiving. I wanted to write to let you know that your writing resonated with me on many levels and I really enjoyed reading it.

When I took your fiction workshop at Princeton (in fall 2004), you would often speak to the effectiveness of employing 'important' details; that is, including details in our writing that advanced the reader's understanding of the characters or narrative. In this regard, the peppering of your essays with the details of how you used to lick different objects for taste is so wonderfully done. The moments are simultaneously senseless and remarkably relatable. Who among us doesn't remember surreptitiously putting our tongue on the bumpy end of a battery and the like as children?

Your stories of asking your mother to make American food struck a chord with me. This phenomenon is, I think, nearly universal among immigrant children. I wonder what it is that causes us to inexplicably beg for Kraft dinner in place of our mothers' rich traditional cooking. You rightly observe the tremendous power that children have to hurt their parents: and given that they are just that-- children-- I suppose it is inevitable that we will hurt our parents from time to time.

When it comes to food, at least, I have been thinking that there is a sense in which our adult lives are given to repenting for the way we treat our parents in our youth. At some point while growing, up we realize with a shock what a culinary treasure we had in the kitchens of our childhoods. For me, moving away from home was what really helped me to appreciate my mother's Indian food more than ever before. Today, I take great pains trying (in vain) to replicate that kitchen alchemy. Beyond culinary matters, too, I think many of us in emerging adulthood try to undo pain we may have caused our parents in our youth.

Just some thoughts.

Incidentally, I also enjoyed reading your essay in anticipation of my first Thanksgiving in a Korean-American household. Among so much else, our dinner included turkey, tofurkey, jeon, and paneer makhani. Cultures came together and the food was almost as delicious as the company. It will be interesting to see how Thanksgiving traditions evolve as increasingly diverse groups of immigrants come of age and as different cultures continue to come together in America. In many respects, perhaps this was a quintessentially American Thanksgiving.

I hope that you are well. I think often of 185 Nassau.

Sincerely,

Nitin

PS - I hope you don't mind that I will likely publish this letter on my blog.

when right is wrong

2010-11-09T09:00:00.014-05:00

By now, one can safely assert that over the past few years, Canada has experienced a disconcerting drift towards the political right.

As a Canadian living in the USA, I frequently engage in the sport of contrasting inherent Canadian liberalism with US conservatism. At times, I even allow myself to feel smug, comfortable with the liberal 'cred' to which I am entitled simply by being Canadian. Recently, however, when I defend Canada's heritage of robust social support structures and multicultural tolerance, I feel like my parents must when they defend an India of their childhood that no longer exists. More frightening, perhaps it may never have existed-- my own flawed memory could be heavily coloured by romantic ideals.

When Martin turned into Harper and Bush turned into Obama, it seemed like the political differences that I (and other Canadians living in the USA) had been so fond of asserting were dissipating into nothing. Admittedly, this conclusion dramatically overstates the case. In spite of all the changes in Canada, our national consensus on issues like health care, gay rights and parental leave to name only a few, are far more progressive than anything currently imaginable here in the United States. Moreover, the recent midterm elections in the USA cast doubt on the staying power of the great Change of 2008. All the same, it saddens me to think we (Canadians) are losing our edge when it comes to progressivism.

The most recent manifestation is the astonishing election of Rob Ford as the next mayor of Toronto. I will take this moment to observe that when New York moved from being governed by Rudy Giulani to being governed by Michael Bloomberg, the city regained some of its lost dignity; Toronto seems to have moved in precisely the opposite direciton with this most recent election. Though one can hardly imagine a Canadian tea party, Ford seems to embody all of the ethos and positions so inarticulately advocated by these groups. For example, Ford bizarrely seems to be vigorously oppose bike lanes. This is a strange position to take in any major city but strikes one as particularly inappropriate given Toronto's historical problems with urban sprawl and with the usually strong Canadian respect for environmental initiatives. He opposed funding anti-AIDS initatives on the grounds that "if you are not doing needles and you are not gay, you wouldn't get AIDS probably." This is wrong and offensive in so many different ways! To round out ihs profile, he is concerned about "Oriental people taking over" and has suggested that Toronto stop allowing immigrants to arrive. That one of the most multicultural and progressive cities in the world could elect such an awful person to lead is beyond embarrassing and speaks very poorly to the direction of Canadian political sentiment.

Rob Ford seems so antithetical to everything that Toronto and Canada stands for. I want to write this off as the product of a tumultuous economy and a confusing mayoral race. Nevertheless, this has happened. I really cannot overstate how taken aback I still am by this news. I want to say that this will all be over in a few years, but then I never thought the federal Conservatives would win consecutive races. I continue to believe that Stephen Harper is one of the most uninspiring politicians I have ever seen and I resent that he represents Canada to the rest of the world.

Meanwhile, Canada happens to have had a remarkable few years economically, particularly when viewed in the midst of financial and economic collapses in other markets all over the world. Canada's economy has done quite well, and much of this has to do with relatively open trade policies.

Are Canadian social supports, healthcare, and our multicultural diversity standing in opposition to this economic success? Of course not. On the contrary, these are conditions that provided the human capital to drive this growth. Did the stability of our financial sector have anything to do with the conservative principle of keeping government out of the way? Absoutely not. Canada's financial sector was as robust and resilient as it was precisely because strong government regulations kept the institutions from taking on unmanageable and dangerous levels of risk.

Am I naive or nostalgic in my assessment of Canadian ideals, and am I misguided in observing this rightward drift? I cannot, for the life of me, reconcile my understanding of what Canada is with the fact that Toronto just elected Rob Ford to be their next mayor.

Other Canadians, can you help me out? Would love to hear your thoughts.

the diary of a young girl

2010-11-01T18:05:00.000-04:00

Yes, I cried. Yes, I laughed.

Last week, Ania and I took a trip on Metro North to see Molly perform in The Diary of Anne Frank at the Westport Country Playhouse. What a wonderful production! The theatre and its grounds, built in what looks like an old barn, is the sort of community space that channels the aesthetics of a small rural boarding school. Lately, I've been reading about John Cage's premiere of 4'33" at Woodstock, New York and when I picture the concert hall, it looks a lot like this Westport playhouse. As a pleasant surprise, there were free sandwiches, drinks and snacks laid out for all of the guests to eat and drink before the afternoon showing!

Oh, and the show. Wow. I came away shaken and moved. The cast was uniformly superb. The dramatic and emotional intensity that such a story demands was present without any sacrifices in portraying the honesty of Anne's adolescence. Perhaps one of the most psychologically daunting aspects of this story lies in the thought of prolonged and crowded confinement. To convey this from the stage effectively requires a dept feat of dramatic irony since a performance stage is so literally antithetical to the notion of a closed and secret space. This director and cast proved more than up to the challenge. The audience laughed but was far more often (as I think is appropriate) forward in their chairs, shocked and engaged, mouths slightly ajar. This really happened.

The story is, of course, one that is well-known to most in our society. Nevertheless, like all good stories, something new is revealed or discovered with each retelling. For me, what was most apparent watching the play was the sense that my life is a charmed one. At the risk of sounding cliche, we tend to take things like space and mobility for granted. Who among us has been so openly, callously and horrifically isolated for his race or for any other reason. Who among us has literally been selected for extermination. I say these things not from any profound insight, but because we have to say these things. We have to remember and art is one way we can do so.

When I was on a road trip last year, I was involved in a minor car accident. A friend of mine was upset by the accident for most of the trip; I tried to comfort him by reminding him that things "could be worse"-- nobody was hurt, for example. He bristled at my reasoning, noting correctly (to paraphrase) that I could use this logic to argue against feeling bad about most anything. At the time I thought "exactly: that's the point." Now, I wonder: maybe there are times when even this logic cannot stop one from feeling bad. We have the story of Anne Frank, trapped hiding in an attic against a regime that said Jews, you really should not exist. Silence and stillness during the day. Not even allowed to peer through the window. Exasperated, I kept asking myself in the theatre: can things get worse than this?

The wonder of her story is that in spite of all of this, Anne's voice does reflect a measure of optimism and even levity. Certainly, The Diary of Anne Frank teaches us about human resilience. About the nature of family.

But it's tragically about so much more.

And we ought to remember that this really did just happen.

Thank you to the spectacular cast and crew for a moving performance and for reminding me that my life is charmed.

Why do we need to lead?

2010-04-24T16:02:00.005-04:00

First off, many thanks to NKW for permitting this little experiment. I would have made my first post yesterday but I was out of the house all day to, among other things, watch the really excellent, but dark, Swedish detective movie 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.' Highly recommended.

A post by economist Dean Baker with regards to the dialogue over financial regulatory reform caught my eye recently. He criticized NPR for not presenting a free-trading perspective in a recent piece on the concerns of those who worry that increased regulation of financial derivatives will drive that industry abroad:

There is no more reason for people in the United States to be concerned about buying derivatives abroad than we are about buying shoes and clothes from abroad. If other countries choose to attract trade in derivatives with a more poorly regulated financial system -- implicitly having their taxpayers assume the risk of a meltdown (e.g. Iceland) -- then there is no reason that we should not simply buy our derivatives from these countries and concentrate our production on areas in which we enjoy a comparative advantage. NPR should have included the economist's position in this segment.

This insight struck me, partly because the general issue (the value of having a particular financial product brokered or sold domestically) seems to be present in some of NKW's reflections regarding the frequently proposed financial transaction tax (FTT or a 'Robin Hood Tax') and, indeed, in a lot of discussion regarding the impact of financial regulation in a globalized market. This is different than the, question of how much revenue a unilaterally imposed FTT could raise given the likely diversion of that business abroad. This capital flight factor strikes me as more important in setting the level of a FTT than whether or not to impose it; clearly there are reasons why many consumers of financial goods prefer to buy in hubs like London and NYC and there must be some appropriate level of taxation before deadweight losses and lost revenue eliminate those advantages and start to be counterproductive for society. I do not disagree with NKW that global implementation is preferable or that the taxation of financial goods is a complicated and delicate balancing act.

More generally, what Baker has here challenged is the value we as Americans associate with being the leader in the global financial industry, even as this requires taking on higher levels of risk and, potentially, future bailout costs, all despite the fact Americans might regardless benefit from the financial products offered by a foreign market.

The U.S. perception of the value of a strong domestic financial industry is the subject of a recent post by Ezra Klein (himself ruminating on Tyler Cowen's post critiquing the book 13 Bankers) who hypothesizes that the limiting factor in financial regulatory reform is not the partisan disputes going on now but the degree to which the U.S. government believes it needs a powerful Wall Street (in order, according, to Cowen, to maintain the dominance of the dollar and finance U.S. debt)

I am very skeptical of the degree to which regulating derivatives, granting the feds resolution authority and the other main issues addressed in the current financial reform bills will compromise our ability to finance government operations or jeopardize the American economy. I do see, however, that stronger regulation would be figuratively akin to taking away the punch bowl at the Wall Street party at midnight. I wouldn't personally cry much over more staid domestic financial markets- the major effect might just be that a particular, and not terribly vulnerable, portion of the NYC and Chicago labor pool would have to reinvent themselves professionally. Perhaps the societal benefits to being the leader in the world's casino economy outweigh the opportunity costs and the risk or more thorough regulation (like what Canada has) is incompatible with being an economic powerhouse.? I am interested in other people's general thoughts: In a globalized economy need America have the most lively and innovative financial industry in the world in order to maintain our economic position or way of life? Is the cost of doing this taking on the risk of serious future financial crises that require the use of taxpayer money?

One possible objection to Baker's implicit 'export the risk' argument is that the U.S. could end up bearing the burden of offshore financial crises anyway, through IMF bailouts or domestic economic losses, with less control over the consequences.

surprise!

2010-04-22T22:25:00.004-04:00

We are going to try something new over the next few weeks on gawking at clouds. My good friend Robe will serve as a visiting guest contributor. I think this will be a really positive experience. You'll get to read more commentary and hear a different point of view from mine. Hopefully, Robe and I will try to engage in public discourse by going back and forth on a few things.

don't worry, chicken curry

2010-04-19T23:26:00.004-04:00

I have really enjoyed cooking lately. This is some chicken curry that I made last night.

that karma yoga

2010-04-19T21:05:00.008-04:00

Recently, I found myself washing a sink full of dishes for the first time in a long while. Over the past few years, I've grown accustomed to using the dishwasher. So it is that while I will occasionally hand wash a pot or pan after cooking, I load most of my dishes into the dishwasher and press a button. This is easy and it leaves me with time to do other things while the dishes wash. My laundry happens in much the same way. On Saturday mornings, I take my laundry bag out of the closet and walk down the street to the laundromat. I leave my laundry with Ming, leave to do other things (while my clothes are washed and folded), and pick my clothes up a few hours or a day later. When it comes to dishes and laundry, I seem to be coordinating more than doing. I was surprised, then, at how much I enjoyed doing the dishes. I've written before about the ways in which we feel human by doing things, and the extent to which this is lost in an increasingly information-based society. I felt very peaceful doing the dishes. It is one of the few times when I can suspend many of my thoughts and just be in the moment. Friends used to find it funny that I enjoy cleaning the bathroom as much as I do, but it's much the same effect.

Yoga and meditation is in large part about clearing your mind. The cessation of thinking. Stop for a minute and just be. I spend so much time thinking about what comes next, and wondering about big ideas. Meditation requires practice and focus. Perhaps the act of doing something with attention and without analysis begins to approach the same goal. When I am washing dishes, when I am scrubbing a counter, when I am sweeping the floor. These, like an autumn forest, are a chance to be alone with(out) my thoughts.

the story

2010-04-12T20:48:00.009-04:00

Call me a retrograde, but I find something very romantic about the idea of traditional journalism. While the world is undoubtedly changing quickly; a friend who is a reporter for Dow Jones tells me that a colleague recently remarked to her that "we are all wire reporters now", alluding to the increasing pace of reporting and publication. Still, the image of a gritty reporter chasing down a story, studying the issues meticulously, and reporting with an active sense of professional pride has salience to me. I read something recently espousing the idea that there is a sort of heroism in the notion that reporters do not merely report facts. In being physically present where the stories happen, they testify to the experience. This grants their reporting a special sort of credibility. We used to demand that our journalists not just know about something, but that they know something. Do we still?

This afternoon, I met a journalist from Mexico City named Jose, and we spoke about the notion of journalism as a craft. While this may seem obvious, it occurs to me that we sometimes lose sight of the extent to which the quality of writing matters. Much of this, it seems, has been supplanted with breaking news alerts, tweets, and the like. While I don't mean to suggest that carefully written stories have disappeared (they haven't), I do think we're paying less attention to them. Publications like the New Yorker help to remind us that writing can, and should be taken seriously.

One story that shocked me with its power is Fatal Distraction, for which Gene Weingarten was awarded a Pulitzer Prize last week. In it, he writes about parents who have accidentally killed their children by forgetting them in locked cars. This is profoundly tragic when it happens, and Weingarten handles the narratives with a stunning amount of sensitivity and grace. The story really sheds new light, emotionally and factually, on this occurrence. Outrage is easy, but Weingarten upends that automatic response and challenges us to engage with the issue in ways that may be uncomfortable. Simply, this is beautiful and moving writing. I really urge everybody to read it.

don't call it a comeback

2010-04-04T11:30:00.002-04:00

oof
snarf
erm

*back*

could robin hood do good?

2010-02-27T17:13:00.006-05:00

Last week, Syon sent me a link for a group called ‘The Robin Hood Tax’, advocating a financial transactions tax in the UK and globally. I have been thinking about it over the past week and decided to post some of my thoughts here. I hope some of you will respond, whether here or elsewhere, as we could all benefit from thoughtful dialogue.

To quote directly from the website, the pitch is broadly as follows:

The Robin Hood Tax is a tiny tax on bankers that would raise billions to tackle poverty and climate change, at home and abroad.
By taking an average of 0.05% from speculative banking transactions, hundreds of billions of pounds would be raised every year.
That’s easily enough to stop cuts in crucial public services in the UK, and to help fight global poverty and climate change.

There are a few implicit assumptions underlying the proponents’ line of reasoning. The first is that the volume of transaction in the financial services industry is unnecessarily large relative to the economic activity, and effectively just bloats the financial industry. As I will discuss below, I think there is some truth to this argument, although a tax as outlined must be globally adopted in order to address this. The second is that bankers and their speculative trading were largely to blame for the current crisis, and therefore it is appropriate that they should be punitively taxed. This argument, I think, oversimplifies the issue and has more to do with targeting misinformed public sentiment than in making a thoughtful claim.

Framing and the Fungible

While I believe there is merit in considering the implications of a financial transactions tax, I take exception with the campaign’s framing of the policy. Invoking Robin Hood alludes clearly to the idea of stealing from the rich to provide for the poor. The notion of the fortunate subsidizing the less fortunate in society is nothing new. Most developed nations, for example, have progressive income tax rates (the tax treatment of capital gains and dividends for US investors is a glaring counterexample). A tax on financial transactions may have substantive merit and should be defensible as a natural extension of this philosophy and through appeals to reason. Instead, the focus on vilifying bankers creates an adversarial scenario that appeals more to rage than to thoughtful consideration.

The other aspect that irks me is the false assertion that the revenues produced by the tax will solely serve to benefit domestic poverty programs, social services, and climate change initiatives. These are worthy causes, to be sure. While the framers may legitimately be advocating for this allocation, the reality is that existing commitments to these causes are likely to be reduced. Unfortunately, money is fungible. Governments have revenue and they have expenses. An increase in revenue will broadly impact the amount a government can spend, and is likely to do so across the board. While money from programs can be earmarked to a specific cause, there is always enough money to move around elsewhere in a budget to render this meaningless. Given the amount of discretion available to governments in setting budgets, it is at best naïve (and at worst misleading) to put forth the notion that these new revenues will be strictly additive to the intended programs.

Blaming Bankers

Are bankers solely responsible for the economic crisis, and are they fair targets of punitive measures? Without a doubt, bank share a role in the blame. On one hand, the banks in many cases took on irresponsible levels of risk in order to produce profits. Furthermore, their role in packaging huge amounts of risky loans surely contributed to a global decline in the quality of outstanding credit. When the banks were on the verge of collapse, governments around the world rescued them. Given this eventuality, should we be surprised that they were driven to take excessive risks? It may be unreasonable to expect corporations to act in socially responsible ways, which is why government is so critical to establishing boundaries and rules. In Canada, for example, banks are more heavily regulated than they are in the UK or the US. Consequently, these banks had few of the major problems that were happening elsewhere. Canadian authorities, on these grounds, have expressed skepticism about adopting a financial transactions tax in Canada.

In the case of the risky loans, I would argue that banks were trying earnestly to help society better manage risk. That the models underlying these efforts ended up being seriously flawed is hardly evidence of malicious intent. Moreover, many other agents were involved. Governments that irrationally and excessively encouraged home ownership, and most importantly that failed to adequately regulate the banks. Perhaps most significantly, the high frequency trading most likely to be affected by the proposed financial transactions tax is quite distinct from the securitization markets that were at the heart of the credit crisis. Thus, when the website claims “So it’s time for the people who caused this mess to pay to clean it up.”, it seems misguided.

My point here is that law and policy should prevent banks from being able to make a mess of the entire economy. To put in place a framework that motivates these institutions to act dangerously and to demonize them when they do so seems unreasonable.

Substantively Speaking

A financial transactions tax of .05%, while it may seem nominally small, would have tremendous effects on most traded markets. In particular, businesses that make profit through high frequency trading would be adversely affected. Keep in mind that .05% of the notional value of every transaction may represent a far more substantial share of the profit. With many trading strategies, this would probably eliminate all profit. So while the figure may appear small, the implications are huge. Those engaged in high frequency trading argue that they are providing a service by making markets more efficient and liquid, which benefits companies that use markets to finance themselves. I don’t find this argument terribly convincing. Primary market participants don’t typically have a need to transact at these speeds. The main beneficiaries turn out to be speculators who are involved in the markets to make money as secondary participants. To the extent that their businesses are harmed, this may not be socially problematic.

My substantive critique of the financial transactions tax is that these ends are only met if the policies are adopted globally and across asset classes. This is incredibly difficult to effect in practice. The Robin Hood website bizarrely cites a tax in the UK on stock transactions as evidence of why this idea could be successful. I say bizarrely because the consequences of this policy were a shift of stock trading from London to other markets, and a dramatic increase in the use of untaxed derivatives rather than stocks in London. Sophisticated investors were able to replicate the economics of a stock transaction through the derivatives, thus avoiding the tax. I entertain serious doubts about whether the proposed tax could be coordinated globally and across different types of financial transactions.

I think I’ve written just about enough for now! Thoughts?

food in my neighborhood

2010-02-26T14:05:00.004-05:00

fort greene / clinton hill

socks like me

2010-02-10T21:25:00.001-05:00

The owner pulled up in a Jaguar and came into the building. From where I was working, I could hear him speaking to one of the supervisors. Shortly, he came into our room, with a smile:

"Thought I'd come in and meet the summer hires."
He faced me. "So what are your plans after the summer?"
"I'm going to University."
"Oh, congratulations. Where will you be studying?"
"At Princeton."
A pause. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed a job, and I couldn't get one anywhere else."

On a quiet part of Power Dam Road, in Cornwall, there used to be a sock factory run by Richelieu Hosiery. I had a job working there the summer before I started college. Later, I would convince myself of a narrative that said I had taken the job in order to 'gain perspective' on things, but the truth is just what I told the owner: I took the job because I needed money and it was the best job I could find that summer in Cornwall. I'd been rejected by, among others, the City of Cornwall, a call center called Startek, McDonald's and KFC. This last one particularly stung, as I had been resubmitting my resume almost every two weeks. I'd heard rumors that the employees working the night shift got free chicken at closing time, and I wanted in. I told the local managers about how much I loved KFC, and about how I'd once even written to their head office, but to no avail. Maybe it was a problem with my cover letters, but I spent that summer working with socks.

I performed a variety of different functions relevant to the sock industry. Labeling socks. Sorting socks. Packaging socks. Counting socks. Moving socks from one package to a different package. I came to learn that any number of different sock 'brands' (Nautica, Polo, KMart, Osh Kosh B'Gosh) were exactly the same socks!

The task that I remember most vividly is stretching socks. Most people don't know this, but socks are very small when they are first sewn. They resemble baby socks. How do they reach their eventual adult size? Somebody has to stand in front of a large machine that with a conveyor belt carrying many feet-shaped metal casts. To his right is a board full of unstretched socks. As the belt moves, he has to take the unstretched socks and place them on the hot metal casts, taking care to line up the heel and toes. When the stretched sock comes back around, he has to remove it and place it on a second board for the stretched socks. I spent hours doing this, often burning my hands when I would accidentally touch one of metal casts. Sometimes, I'd put a sock on backwards, and share a conspiratorial laugh with the person working the machine next to me. Stretching socks is, to be frank, one of the most boring things I've ever done.

Motivation aside, working in the sock factory really did help my sense of perspective. It continues to remind me of just how fortunate I am to be in a situation where I can pursue almost any profession that interests me. It elucidates the mental resilience that people who work these jobs have. The thought of spending my days carrying out boring, menial tasks with no end in sight is a frightening one, but thanks to my summer at the sock factory, I can at least begin to imagine it.

hiatus

2009-11-29T20:32:00.002-05:00

I apologize for the dearth of posts as of late. The blog is on hiatus, but I will return with full force in early February.

mr. nation

2009-10-31T12:20:00.012-04:00

Imagine yourself at a dinner party, where everybody speaks English, but many are more comfortable in another language. There are enough people in the room to allow for several conversations to happen simultaneously. If three native speakers of Hindi are engaged in a conversation, should they feel a social obligation to carry on their conversation in English? I'm not sure where I fall on this question. Certainly, this action precludes the possibility that anybody at the table who doesn't speak Hindi can enter the conversation. Practically speaking, is this different from carrying on a conversation about a topic that certain members of the party can't speak to? I think it clearly is-- the feeling of not being able to meaningfully contribute to a conversation is surely different, and less isolating, from the inability to contribute in any way at all. Does the situation change if the majority of people at the table are conversational in Hindi? The sense of alienation for those who do not understand Hindi is stronger, I think. Perhaps we now have a stronger obligation to them, to attempt to carry our conversation on in English. While in this scenario, some may feel less comfortable in English, none will feel truly excluded.

On the other hand, when we convert the conversation to English, it is very likely that the quality of discourse will degrade. The bounds of conversation, in terms of ideas, concepts, and argument, is always constrained by the linguistic abilities of the speakers. One chooses which ideas to express from the range of available ideas, and this range is probably both broader and deeper in one's native tongue. Furthermore, while we make the English speakers more comfortable by switching to English, we are inevitably making the Hindi speakers less comfortable. Given that there are enough people for multiple conversations to be happening, should we really insist that they all happen in the shared language? Is it worth trading the quality of dialogue for a more complete sense of linguistic inclusiveness?

To make matters worse, the dialogue may be crippled because certain ideas do not translate. This has always been a fascinating (and humbling) idea to me. Culture and language are so closely intertwined; anybody who speaks multiple languages and has experienced multiple cultures has surely experienced that there are terms and phrases for which no suitable translation exists. The subtle meanings, implications and subtext in a phrase may be dependent on a cultural understanding generally only held by speakers of the language. This is a fascinating, if unnerving idea. Many areas of knowledge and ways of understanding are inaccessible without learning the relevant language.

At times I take for granted that English is, in some sense, the closest thing to a global language. All around the world, people grow up with the understanding that to be successful in a global sense, learning English is a near-necessity (at least so far). My Hindi and Punjabi, while conversationally adequate, are by no means strong. I'd have trouble carrying on a conversation of any depth in these languages. Despite having studied French and Spanish through school, I can't say that I speak either language very much. I opted out of studying them in college, and told myself that this was the right decision, since "I'm no good at learning languages." When I think about it now, it seems sort of obnoxious; arrogant, even. An luxury afforded to me by the fact that I speak the language of the conquerors. I think about when my mother first moved to Saskatchewan, and she would answer my father's white friends' questions with the word "yes" and a smile, regardless of what the question happened to be. I think about the fact that she overcame this with grace and persistence, and became a fluent speaker of English. She never had the option to decide that she wasn't very good with languages.

I have a friendly banter with Ming, the man who runs my neighborhod laundromat. "Mr Nee-teen!", he'll exclaim, when I walk in every Saturday morning. He is most comfortable speaking Mandarin, but he's made a life for himself here. His happiness and energy in this city of foreign tongues is inspiring to me. Whenever he takes my laundry, he writes down my name on a ticket and hands it to me. When I was first coming in, I'd tell him my name, and he'd write down "Mr. Nitin". Soon, as we began to recognize and know each other, he would take to writing it down without asking. One day he mistakenly wrote "Mr. Natin", and began writing my name this way for a few months. Most recently, this has morphed into "Mr. Nation." I chuckled at the irony the first time I saw this; perhaps I ought to brush up on my foreign language skills.

morning birds

2009-10-22T20:29:00.004-04:00

fort greene, 6:50 am.

a quartet for humanity

2009-10-13T21:07:00.023-04:00

A few days ago, I had the privilege of bearing witness to a beautiful experience. The C train was stopped at Hoyt-Schermerhorn station; four older gentlemen had a quick discussion on the platform, and decided to board the train together before the doors of the train closed. One man held a small paper bag. They surveyed the car, smiles on their faces, until one said to the others "Let's tell them about it. Let's talk about Him." With this, they began to sing a harmonious quartet; they sang a Christian hymn, and engaged people gently. It was a welcome change to the crowded isolation and social sterility that so often characterizes the anonymity of riding on a train. A good many people dropped money into the small paper bag. At the next stop, a homeless woman stepped onto the train, and stood by the door, withdrawn, while the men continued to sing. The lead singer approached her quietly, reached into the bag, and handed her some bills. She accepted the money without a word, signing the cross on her torso in gratitude. She seemed obviously hard up, and the scene was heartwarming (I use this word with the full knowledge of the cliche it normally carries).

Irrespective of my views on the accuracy and validity of their literal message, I felt as though I was seeing something fundamentally good. The men had visible warmth in their hearts, and nobody on the train seemed bothered-- on the contrary, most people I saw were smiling at the scene. These externalities of benevolence are, in my mind, some of the strongest reasons to view organized religion and communities of faith as a good thing. Examples abound, whether they are soup kitchens, free schools for the destitute, or the men lightening up so many days with their subway song. Put simply, people who profess to be religious often do great things, and in many cases, will assert that religion motivates them to act in the ways that they do.

On the other hand, if our measure is to be a utilitarian one built on tangible outcomes, then reason demands that we examine the full range of consequences. Now the picture is more muddled. What so often brings us together perhaps more often divides us. Think of the way certain major religious groups have sought to suppress the teaching and discovery of new and relevant scientific knowledge on global warming and on evolution. Consider the way Hindu fundamentalism has been used to galvanize large segments of the Indian population into tacitly and actively supporting the alienation and displacement of so many Indian Muslims. And this is only a start to the list. It is hard to think of any major community of faith whose name has not served at one point or another as cover for systematic killing and displacement.

There are some clear problems with my reasoning above. First, it could be argued that in each of the examples above, the behaviour of some small subset of a group is being used to describe the group as a whole. I take exception with this characterization. Those who choose a community, and then resort to complacency and a failure to actively tackle wrong behavior from within said community bear some of the responsibility. Furthermore, the sorts of division and communalism frequently engendered by fervent political movements seem to affect more than an insignificant minority. Perhaps more persuasively, my reasoning glosses over the fact that historically, religious and political systems have been so closely intertwined. Thus, attributing the actions to religious rather than political motivation can be seen as an arbitrary decision. To this, I would respond that many consider themselves more beholden to their religious convictions than to their political convictions. The fact that systems of political power may exploit this is hardly a defense of the negative impacts of religious communities of belief.

Ultimately, however, these arguments of consequentialism and of political and religious power are rendered moot by the 'truth card.' These contingent arguments are irrelevant if a religious philosophy espouses absolute truth (a claim confidently and impossibly made by most all religious groups). I remember one day when we were rehearsing Bach's St. Matthew Passion, our choir director said "this music makes you want to believe." I've fallen into this sort of thinking myself. How can something so beautiful not be divinely inspired? This sort of reasoning is flawed, and sells humanity short. Isn't a better explanation that the majority of composers at this time were working for some sort of religious institution? Has the last century, with its proliferation of secular artists, failed to produce beauty? We need to recognize the potential and ability of humanity itself to inspire, independent of the need to believe.

On consequences, there is no clear answer. If the question comes down to truth, then we are left in an intractable situation, for no amount of reasoning will lead to concensus. And critically, vast numbers of people are claiming ownership on absolute truths that are, to be plain, contradictory. Do I believe in God? Probably-- but I doubt that anybody knows very much about him, least of all those who profess most loudly to.

grimaldi's

2009-10-04T21:02:00.007-04:00

Grimaldi's is one of those legendary New York pizza places that you always hear about. One of the many establishments said to have the best pies in the city, the wait for a table is normally an hour or more. They don't sell slices (you have to order an entire pie), they won't take your credit card (cash only), and the menu is charmingly short. If you haven't come for the pizza or the calzone, you're in the wrong place.

I first heard about Grimaldi's when I was a summer intern living downtown Manhattan. This mysterious pizzeria in Brooklyn was said to be the perfect way to complement an afternoon walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. So one afternoon, I set off on a walk across the bridge, with the intention of going to Grimaldi's on the other side. Unfortunately, when we got off of the bridge in Brooklyn, we couldn't find Grimaldi's! Everybody had told us that it was "right on the other side of the bridge", but none of the people we now asked could tell us how to get there! Most claimed not to have even heard of Grimaldi's. In the end, we went back home without the pizza; it would have to stay a legend in our minds.

Today, about five years later, I finally made it to Grimaldi's. The pizza was mediocre at best. The sauce lacked depth, and the cheese to sauce ratio was too high; the crust was great, but the pizza generally lacked flavor. It tasted fairly bland. The experience was fun, but this pizza was not worth the wait. Lucali's will, for the moment, easily retain my #1 spot, followed closely by Lombardi's and John's.

It's odd, but I almost found it difficult to admit that the pizza wasn't great. In an attempt to counter the hype, I'd preemptively lowered my expectiations. I wanted Grimaldi's to have a fair chance, and I think it did. Nevertheless, there is no denying that the pizza disapointed. There is a sense in which I question my judgement, given how much my own conclusions differ from popularly held opinion. I remember that a few months ago when I saw The Class with a friend, I was underwhelmed. I thought the film was good, but not great, and I had a number of sound reasons and arguments for feeling the way I did. When I went home and saw that it had a staggering 98% on Rotten Tomatoes, I could almost feel my actual view on the movie changing. How could so many people be wrong? Such is the power of the crowd.

In both cases, though, I think my judgment was sound, contrary to mass public opinion. Certainly, in matters of taste, there doesn't always need to be an objective right answer. It also helped to have a friend present (in fact, the same friend in both cases!) to reaffirm that I wasn't crazy, and that every now and then, hype really is just hype.

girls

2009-09-26T18:12:00.005-04:00

Laura

Since last night, I've been listening to the new album by Girls, called Album, almost continuously. I like to listen to different types of music, and occasionally, I will get into rhythms where I spend weeks listening to old, comfortable music that I know, and that is 'pleasant.' Album is a nice album, in that it reminds me of what rock sounds like, and why I like it so much. This is a work that, to my ear, makes no pretenses about being groundbreaking, but is just very, very good. It sounds reminiscent of very aesthetically conscious efforts of the late 60s-- in particular, it really evokes The Velvet Underground and Nico to my ear. At times, the songs are simple variations on four bar blues.

The song above, Laura, is by far the poppiest song on the album; the rest of it has a grittier, darker edge to it. Laura makes me think of Sloan. Please give it a listen, and I think you'll want to hear the whole album afterwards. I highly recommend it.

zoo ambivalence

2009-09-14T21:48:00.012-04:00

As a child, I loved the zoo. At some point, like most children, I became intensely interested in learning as much as I could about different kinds of animals. This was probably also encouraged by a Canadian school system that was, at the time, very much focussed on educating students on issues around environmentalism. While green issues that have only recently become part the mainstream conversation in the USA, I was fortunate to have grown up with an active awareness of these important issues. Getting back to the point, though, I loved to learn about animals. For a period of a couple of years, I even collected wildlife cards, that my parents graciously funded. Every month I would get 20 new ones in the mail, and I would spend hours reading about them and then try to tell anybody who would listen that pandas weren't bears and about just how slowly sloths ate their food.

The zoo was, thus, incredible. Poring over a book, no matter how intently, simply fails to capture the beautiful majesty of seeing a tiger up close, in the flesh. Beyond that, the zoo is an environment where noise is ubiquitous, making it an ideal place for kids to cut loose. I think the big cats and the monkeys were my favorite animals at the zoo, but much of the appeal was in the mere presence of so many different types of animals in one place. Lately, though, my experiences have been more mixed. I remember visiting the Bronx Zoo when I was a summer intern in NYC and finding the whole thing inexplicably disappointing. I chalked it up to the Bronx Zoo being subpar, relative to others that I'd seen. Still, that didn't seem to fully explain it. As a friend recently noted-- "It's weird. The zoo seems like it should be so much fun, but it isn't."

A few years ago, I had an experience that brought clarity to my feelings. It happened while I was visiting Robe in DC, who at the time, was living very close to the zoo. On our way to meet a friend, we decided to walk through the zoo and see some of the animals. In the monkey house, I abruptly and unexpectedly experienced a strong sense of pathos when I saw the orangutan behind in a small white room behind glass. Looking at him, I saw not a wild animal, but an old man, kept unjustifiably captive. I saw intelligence in his eyes, and most troubling, I saw what seemed to be a tragic sense of resignation. Across the room, a gorilla threw himself at the glass with such force that the loud thud made people gasp. The whole thing really messed with my head, and the zoo suddenly became something barbaric and distasteful to me.

At various points since, I've described myself as anti-zoo. In truth, my feelings are more ambivalent. Zoos can and do serve important preservation and education functions. Ironically, many of those who crusade for the rights of animals may owe their love of animals to some seminal experience in a zoo. Still, I question whether the end justifies the means, and I lean towards concluding that it does not. In fairness, there is also a wide variance in animal treatment across different zoos. At the end of the day, however, they all still forcibly confine animals in unnatural habitats and put them on display for many thousands of gawkers each day.

What about open air preserves and protected park areas? These serve some of the same positive purposes, and do so in a way that is not cruel to the animals. Are these problematic as well? Would be interested to hear others' thoughts on the zoo issue.

new moon

2009-09-01T23:55:00.003-04:00

Taken from my roof. I could really stand to benefit from a tripod.

food, family and the freshman

2009-08-31T23:14:00.005-04:00

One evening, during my freshman year of college, I decided to eat alone at an empty table in the corner of the dining hall. Some of my friends, sitting at a nearby table, looked at me curiously, trying to determine, I suspect, whether I was perhaps angry or upset about something. I had no books, no homework, and really nothing to make myself look busy. After a few minutes, a friend approached me:

Nitin, what’s the matter? Why are you sitting all alone?

Then another—

Is everything okay? Are you upset about something?

The truth is nothing was the matter. I thought it would be an interesting personal experiment to just focus on my food for a meal. I wanted to see what choosing to eat alone felt like. Turns out I hated it. I still find it very difficult to eat alone, although I’ve made some strides recently.

When I was growing up, eating dinner together as a family was a part of our daily routine. I consider myself very fortunate to have been raised by a mother who cooked fantastic food almost daily, and by a father who was active and present in a way that few others can claim. As a result, the five of us ate together most days between 5:30 and 6:00. This was when, clichéd as it may sound, we would talk about our days, about things that were coming up in our lives, and sometimes about general issues of interest or concern. It was in this context that I was first introduced to meals.

When I went away to boarding school, I began to eat with tables full of friends. Here, obviously, the dynamic was very different from eating at home with my family. Mischievousness and a more playful, as we adjusted to ‘independence’ and plotted our next set of pranks. And perhaps a little more guarded—everybody trying quietly to portray the person they wanted to be. Still, I treasured these times, and had some truly memorable experiences. Through four years of college, as well, I participated in meal plans and ate in dining halls with my friends. I’ve formed some of my closest friendships in these settings, and have grown with my family this way as well. It is for these reasons of precedent, possibly, that the social aspects of meals are so inextricably linked to the gastronomical ones.

The first period of my life where I was regularly eating dinner alone was when I lived in London in 2007. I remember feeling to odd-- I would fidget, sometimes even getting up and walking around the apartment between bites. I’d play music on my stereo or listen to the radio. I’d read a book or a magazine; anything to distract myself from the isolating quiet. This drew into focus just how much wrapped up I was in the social aspects of mealtimes.

Recently, as well, I have found myself eating alone more frequently. One of the main reasons for this is that I’ve really come to enjoy cooking at home. Further, I’ve tried to think more actively about food, as I eat. In doing so, I’ve sought to give thanks and also to appreciate the sensory experience of eating.

Still, I’ve found it difficult. Anybody up for pancakes?

"this must be what mechanics feel like"

2009-08-26T22:33:00.018-04:00

In the (partial) spirit of Gaboworld, I am writing this post with no advance roadmap in mind. As a change of pace, there will likely be little to no thematic coherence, but I'm in a mood to ramble. Apologies to Gabo, but I will inevitably still self-censor as I write. Baby steps, I suppose, on the way to complete, unrestrained, stream of consciousness.

Over the past month or so, I've proven myself remarkably adept at taking things that were working just fine, and breaking them. In this week alone, I've broken my backpack (which, admittedly, had been terminal for some time), my headphones and my cell phone! This is frustrating, to say the least. My phone will occasionally receive calls, but all text messaging is completely gone, and I've been generally unable to place outgoing calls. In a way, the breakdown has been sort of liberating-- its nice to be forcefully disconnected for a time. I've been thinking about finally succumbing and getting myself an iPhone (because they're oh-so-pretty), but the recent quiet has me rethinking this move.

Today, as I engaged in conversation with colleagues at work, I fidgeted with a trinket I’ve had for a year. The device (pictured above) is much like a sand timer, only it’s filled, instead, with light sweet crude oil. Needless to say, I’ve spent a substantial amount of time watching the sludge drop slowly from the upper to the lower chamber. Today, unfortunately, I continued my recent trend of breaking things. I felt the weight in my hand grow lighter, and I looked towards the floor, only to see that the top had come off of my trinket, and black Texas oil was sliding over my shirt, chair, pants and shoes on its way to the ground. Awkwardly, I immediately shouted out “Oh my god, I got light sweet crude all over me!” My two coworkers laughed at me. Meanwhile, I took delivery of light sweet crude all over my pants. My clothes, my chair, and the carpet in my office are all damaged, perhaps irreparably.

The spill got me thinking about the disconnect between the functional and physical realities of my professional life. On a daily basis, I enter transactions to buy and sell many thousands of barrels of crude oil. Yet, when confronted with scarcely a litre of the substance, I was completely caught off guard, with no idea quite what to do. In an information-driven economy, this disconnect is increasingly prevalent and normal. Still, it is jarring to be made so acutely aware that I'm wholly unfamiliar with a substance that I transact in on a daily basis.

It occurs to me that my ability and competence with the manifest is quite limited. A few weeks ago, a neighbour helped me take the lock out of my mailbox, as I'd lost my keys. To date, my mailbox remains without a lock, though I've purchased a new one! Why? I haven't a clue how to install the lock. A close friend and I have recently been talking about 'the trades' and the value of skilled physical labour. Matthew Crawford, in Shop as Soulcraft: An Inquiry Into The Value of Work, examines this very topic. There is honour, and arguably, there are metaphysical benefits to be gained, from crafting things with one's hands. I've been meaning to pick this book up, and my recent experiences with my lock. backpack, and crude oil just may prove to be the final incentive I need. In any case, I have tremendous respect for craftsmen and tradesmen, and recent episodes only serve to heighten this sentiment.

So I've broken some things, and have been forced to think critically as a result. Perhaps, now that all is said and done, I might just find a way to put these things back together.

doubt

2009-08-11T21:06:00.015-04:00

Academically and professionally, I have been taught to understand the world as fundamentally stochastic. People often underestimate the amount of randomness that drives nearly every human process, be it physical or social. We make decisions under uncertainty every day, and this is something that most people are intuitively comfortable with. At times, we can convince ourselves that some situation is effectively deterministic, by ignoring a small probability to the contrary. Perhaps most confounding: in situations where our sample consists of only a single observation of the event in question, who is to say?

I have been thinking recently about the feuding cousins called doubt and faith. Doubt seems a natural consequence of an uncertain world, and I've found faith to be an elusive way to deny probabilistic realities. The truth is, for all my textbook exhortations, I often struggle to live under uncertainty. To make decisions and take steps that, given what I know, should be obvious. I've found it difficult to overcome doubt. This in spite of a firm intellectual understanding that one never has perfect information with which to move forward. Enter faith. I bristled the other day when somebody advised me about a problem I'd been having, to "have faith and it will turn out fine in the end." What gives strength to this kind of a phrase, and on what authority can this really ease my worries? We all know that things don't always turn out fine in the end. Some situations go well, and others go poorly. I can't reasonably take solace here.

Yet this is hardly an argument for paralysis in the face of doubt and uncertainty. Rather, the very sense of reason that causes me to reject the 'faith formulation,' should itself instruct against any tendency to seize up. Ultimately, we have to live and confront challenges with the understanding that while uncertainty and doubt will persist, the best we can do is to act in accordance with the best information we have. Sometimes this means using reason and common sense to mount a violent rejection of one's own irrational tendencies. At other times, quieting the voices that amplify deep-seated fears that threaten to debilitate. We have to move on.

baby fever

2009-08-09T21:35:00.001-04:00

"It's not something that I like to tell people, but yeah, I definitely want babies."

Growing up, I usually had cousins or cousins' children who were still babies, and I have fond memories of playing with them. I've always loved babies. A few weeks ago, a male friend spoke the opening quote to me in confidence. It's a funny feeling, reaching an age where babies suddenly become a realistic possibility. Now, suddenly, uttering the phrase 'I love babies' feels like a supercharged game of chicken against fate. The plausibility of the scenario draws the inevitable consequences into focus. In recent years, against the pressures implied by the opening quote, I've becoming increasingly open about my own sense of baby fever. Where does this impulse come from, and why are so many men so uncomfortable admitting to it?

I will comfortably assert that the impulse does not come from an intellectual place. We understand the consequences. Having a baby is (or should be) the single biggest shift in most peoples' lives. Your carefree life of thinking only of yourself is over. This is an incredibly dramatic shift in perspective for people. A few weeks ago, a friend described our car accident while on a road trip to Rhode Island as "the accidental baby of our trip." His point was that nothing was the same after the accident, and an air of seriousness had fallen upon the trip. His wit was funny, but nonetheless, it sheds some light on the way that many young people think about babies. The consequences are a focal point, and we are acutely aware of them.

In spite of all this, in spite of occasionally saying things like "once you have a baby, it's game over," I want a baby. Badly. Do I want the consequences? On the surface, no, but I am willing to take it all for a baby. This is an irrational sort of position to take, and seems to diminish the seriousness of having a baby. Maybe I just find babies cute and fun. But then, cats, dogs and turtles are cute and fun, and require notably less than a baby in terms of committment and responsibility. If I can hardly keep my own life together and running smoothly, what business do I have thinking about a baby? On the other hand, maybe the changes that come with having a baby are so big that it's not really possible to grapple with them until they actually happen. Does anybody ever 'want' the things that come with having a baby independently? Perhaps not, but that doesn't mean they won't be well worth it.

Someone close to me once suggested that 'baby fever', both for me and generally, is driven by a natural biological urge to procreate. I don't think this is the case, but my inability to explain it any other way makes me wonder. If it is true, however, that baby fever has something to do with masculine identity, it seems odd that so many men feel the need to be secretive about it. In any case, baby fever is alive and well, and hopefully a good thing in the end.

harry patch (in memory of)

2009-08-06T21:16:00.009-04:00

radiohead have released a new song called 'harry patch (in memory of).' it's a beautiful piece with moving lyrics, and i recommend you give it a listen. you can read about it and check out lyrics in the august 5 entry at radiohead.com. here is the link to purchase the song. enjoy--

rude in rhode island

2009-07-28T21:14:00.017-04:00

Recently, a friend from Tennessee told me that at times he finds it difficult living in New York, because people tend to lack the graciousness he is accustomed to. I have to admit, I was a little taken aback by the notion. I've always found New Yorker's to be helpful and friendly people. Still, southern notions of manners are something else altogether, and so I can understand where he is coming from. These things are conditioned, I suppose.

A couple of weeks ago, I took a road trip to Connecticut and Rhode Island. The landscape was beautiful, the company delightful, and my hosts were phenomenal. I was completely flabbergasted, however, by how rude so many strangers were over the course of the weekend. The experience certainly gave me a greater appreciation for what the aforementioned friend probably feels like from time to time. It started when our rental car accidentally gave the pickup truck in front of us what can only be described as a love tap. Below, see some excerpts of the conversation:

Crazy Old Rude Man: What the f*ck? Call 911. You just ran into my truck.
Us: Sir, I'm so sorry about running into your truck. This was completely our fault. We will call the
police.
...
Us: Sir, we called the police and-
Crazy Old Rude Man: I already called them! What is wrong with you? Get me your insurance
papers.
*to his wife* Get their license plate number down, I don't want a hit and run with these punks.
Us: I think we should move our cars onto the shoulder
Crazy Old Rude Man: Don't you move your car until the police gets here.
Us: We are on the highway. This is a serious safety hazard. Sir, this is clearly our fault, and we've admitted this to you plainly and repeatedly.
Crazy Old Rude Man: You know what else is a safety hazard? Running into someone's f*cking rear end.

For the rest of the ordeal, the man basically stood at his car and literally stared us down. Eventually, it became too much to bear, and we stared back aggressively, giving up any hope of an agreeable end to the encounter. This was the first and most memorable of a number of shockingly rude encounters over a two day period. It was really sort of infuriating, because our initial inclination was to be polite, apologetic, and generally reasonable.

I never know quite how to react when confronted with inexplicable rudeness. My instinct is often to ignore the other person's hostility and to respond with politeness. The hope is that the other person will see my commitment to calm dialogue and respond by adjusting his own tone or manners. All too often, however, this fails to happen. In these situations, this approach can begin to feel almost ingratiating; a form of defeat. The truth is that I somtimes get angry. Why should I indulge that kind of behaviour for even a minute? If I approach a situation with manners, and one proceeds to disrespect me and himself with unprovoked rudeness, he should be made aware of just how unreasonable his behaviour is. Maybe by reacting more actively and assertively, I can reduce the likelihood of other people having to deal with the same garbage.

I find it difficult, sometimes, being in Rhode Island.

the blue notebook

2009-07-08T21:42:00.004-04:00

Recently, I read a new novel by James Levine called The Blue Notebook. The story is told from the perspective of Batuk, a fifteen year old child prostitute living in Bombay. Specifically, the novel is comprised of her notebooks. The narrative technique is very powerful, as it affords the author the opportunity to push traditional topical limits. In the novel, Levine goes further in description and exploration than most would, and creates scenes that he certainly could not through other (particularly visual) media.

Thematically, the novel exposes an important social issue. Child prostitution is a massive problem globally, is rampant, and is one of the more vile activities of the human race. Given the general lack of awareness and attention to the issue, it is admirable for Levine to bring it so much to the fore. Incidentally, all US proceeds from the novel are being donated to the International and National Centers for Missing and Exploited Children (http://www.icmec.org/). Further, since Levine has interacted with child prostitutes as a doctor and researcher, he can more credibly take on the narrative perspective of Batuk. In short, the book is socially important, and comes from a good place.

Nevertheless, reading the novel was a viscerally difficult experience. Levine's writing is believable, at times beautiful and touching in simple ways. What I found difficult were the frequent and graphic descriptions of violence, and in particular, of sexual violence against children. I found myself, variously, cringing, gasping, shuddering, and nearly became physically ill during in a particularly difficult passage. Reflecting on the novel, I have been questioning whether the graphic violence is necessary. As evidenced by my continued thought, and by this post, I was affected by my reading. At times I felt uncomfortable, as though I were reading Lolita without Nabokov's lyricality (and without the implicit social approval that one is given to read Lolita). It obviously moved me in some way, it challenged me, and it encroached upon my own personal boundaries. This is no small part of what good literature should do.

On the other hand, authors bear a greater responsibility than to merely push our boundaries. While important literature should do this, it is hardly a sufficient condition for success. Ultimately, challenges to our boundaries should come from meaning. In this case, I wonder: was the graphic depiction necessary? How did it enhance the work? One answer is that by making the situation real, via description, the author forces the reader to confront a truly despicable (and widespread) practice. While I acknowledge this, isn't the notion of child prostitution repellent enough in and of itself? In other words, wasn't I already there as a reader, given plot descriptions alone?

I probably wouldn't be writing this blog post, though.

Further, who among us has really done anything to educate themselves about child prostitution. Who among us has been moved to take action to help end it? Intellectual awareness of the problem, and a detached recognition of its gravity may not be enough. In this light, I'm left thinking Levine did the right thing in writing a compelling, moving, painful and realistic novel about this unfortunate world.

warmth

2009-07-04T13:01:00.001-04:00

I think warmth is the character trait that I find most endearing.
How about you?

the need for discourse

2009-06-29T20:22:00.007-04:00

Recently, I found myself discussing with a third party a friendship that I have with somebody whose political views are very different from my own. I can't remember my exact phrasing, but after describing how much I liked this person, I added the caveat-- "... oh, but we don't discuss politics." Along these lines, an unabashedly liberal friend was recently explaining to me that she doesn't interact much with 'hard core conservatives', because it only serves to frustrate her. We were both, I suspect, employing exaggeration. Nevertheless, there is some truth behind these statements, and I find it troubling.

At a very basic level, surrounding ourselves with only like-minded people seems antithetical to personal growth and to having an open, evolving mind. Engaging, earnestly and sincerely, with those who disagree with us allows us to see things from different perspectives, learn about the limits and problems with our views, and occassionally change our opinions. In other cases, our views can be made richer and stronger by having actively worked through challenges to them.

It's hardly a contentious notion that one will have more thoughtful, well informed ideas if one interacts with people with whom one disagrees. Nor is it particularly contentious that our ideas are more likely to stagnate if we surround ourselves with people who share our points of view. This feels intellectually lazy and unproductive. In his new book, Going To Extremes, Cass Sunstein argues that the threat posed by intellectual self segregation is actually much worse than this. Drawing on real world examples, and on studies in behavioural and social psychology, he makes the following point: when a group of like minded people engage in discussion on an issue about which they generally agree, the group will usually end up coming to a stronger, more extreme view than the average individual came into the discussion with. This makes sense, when we consider that one is likely to hear new arguments that support the same basic view, and have his own arguments reinforced. In the absence of credible challenges to the group's prevailing point of view, indivuals are likely to get an inflated sense that their view is 'right', and this, I think, is a dangerous thing.

I first considered the notion of mob mentality studying To Kill a Mockingbird in high school English. While probably an extreme example, there is a parallel. It does feel like we're embracing an intellectual 'mob mentality' when we choose to close ourselves off from people with differing views. Lost in a crowd of the like-minded, we can dispense with the inconvenience of questioning our positions. Inevitably, this will cause us to make decisions that are not warranted on merit.

College facilitated this discourse in a unique way. First and foremost, I spent four years living in close quarters with people from a wide variety of backrounds and ideological perspectives. Many of these people became close friends, and inevitably, many of them were different from me. Beyond this, the notion of classwork explicitly encourages this kind of discourse. Students are made, formally and informally, to challenge their views and defend them with rigour. In a post-college life, it is much harder to facilitate this discourse. The classwork is gone, and we interact with far fewer people on a day to day basis. Moreover, we naturally tend to socialize with people with similar perspectives. Freed from assigned coursework, we choose to read books that reinforce our views.

So what are the solutions? Public spaces and public forums can help. It is an unfortunate paradox that developed societies like ours, with such emphasis on free speech, tend to be so fixated on private life. Some of it comes down to us as individuals. We need to make the decision to cultivate relationships with people who disagree with us, to read books that challenge our beliefs, to engage in active public intellectualism. We'll all benefit from leaving our comfort zones.

Easier said than done.

mj

2009-06-26T01:13:00.001-04:00

r.i.p.

doing good and doing well

2009-06-17T22:16:00.021-04:00

When I was in high school, our principal would often claim that the school intended to educate boys capable of "doing good and doing well." I always regarded the phrase cynically, as a sort of moral tax paid by an institution with a long history of privileged alumni doing well. In retrospect, the dedication of our faculty to instilling this notion clearer to me than it was at the time. In any case, we heard the phrase often enough to not ever give it serious thought, or consider its implications on our own lives.

Societal barometers for success seem heavily tilted towards the doing well, as opposed to doing good. Even the simple phrase "(s)he has been very successful" implies financial success. While we do often celebrate people who make major, public impacts in public service, we don't necessarily appreciate the people working in public service every day without making the news. In the US, the emphasis on doing well is made all the more salient by the fact that so many politicians come from business backgrounds, and are held fairly captive by corporate interests. There is often a subtext that a business background somehow makes a politician more credible on account of their 'real world experience.' Implicit here is the idea that working for the public good is less 'real.'

Is there an expectation that educated, intelligent people ought to use their ability to enrich themselves? From another perspective, when thoughtful people make the decision to 'earn a good living', are they falling short of a moral standard? Perhaps one's ambition should be to focus on contributing positively to the world, rather than on doing well for one's self. Cynics cite examples like those of Bill Gates and of Warren Buffett. These are people who, because of their vast financial success, have been able to do far more good than if they'd dedicated their lives initially to "doing good." Still, these are obvious outliers, and it seems dubious to build an argument from them. Ultimately, people need to make a choice about how to spend their lives, and it ought to be something that is personally meaningful.

I've wondered myself whether I should be doing more to improve the world I live in. On the other hand, while it may be an admirable thing for people to dedicate their lives to public service, maybe it's enough to engage with these issues as a citizen, even if it isn't the focus of your work and livelihood. The reality is that those working for most non-profit institutions, teachers, often struggle to make ends meet. The challenge is even more daunting when one thinks about having a family. So it could be unreasonable to expect everybody to think about doing good in their career-- certainly, I think it is a step too far to call it any kind of moral obligation.

Still, I think doing good ought to enter the decision process, and this demands that we change the way we think about success. Meaning and purpose are important, and I've been thinking about these issues with respect to my own career decisions, past and future. I'd encourage you to do the same--

melanin vignette

2009-06-10T22:50:00.000-04:00

Georgia Anne Muldrow is a neo-soul / r&b / hip hop artist from LA . She creates some very cool pieces that are on balance very dense and layered. Many of her songs are short and concentrated, rapidly introducing and exploring a single auditory theme or idea. Vignettes of songs.

LIsten to this one and let me know what you think--

the sound of silence

2009-06-10T22:13:00.000-04:00

Person A: “I love the Paris metro.”
NKW: “Paris METRO.”

Person B: “The UN building is one of my favorite places in the city.”
NKW: “Ah yes, the UN building.”

It is a peculiar habit of mine to repeat phrases and words when I hear them spoken to me. Recently, a friend pointed this bizarre habit out to me and thought it was funny. I’ve been vaguely aware of my tendency to do this, but haven’t really thought about where it might come from or what it might mean before. I have some ideas.

At a very basic (and mostly subconscious) level, I think I use this device as a way to fill perceived voids in conversation. When I am with most people, silence makes me uncomfortable, and I think this is a reaction to that discomfort. The action is akin to nervous rambling—another occasional tendency of mine. I think this discomfort stems from some very fundamental and important questions.

Am I connecting with this person?
Am I interesting?
Do I have anything meaningful to contribute to the dialogue?
Are we engaging one another?
…

The irony is that thoughtless repetition of a simple phrase is meaningless, and doesn't constitute any sort of engagement with or connection to the other person. While this is apparent on reflection, I think the tendency comes from a reflexive place rather than a thoughtful one, and is much like a nervous tic. In particular, I think this urge is strong when I am drawn to somebody on an instinctive, primal level that I may not fully grasp. In this case, there is a subconscious desire to justify this pull ex-post-facto on more traditionally 'rational' grounds such as an explicit intellectual connection or a shared interest.

This effort to synthesize meaning is itself probably misguided. Tangible connections to others cannot be fabricated, and even if they can be encouraged, the mindless repetition of a simple phrase certainly doesn't advance this goal. Obliquely, this also brings to mind the notion that we often listen to others with an intention of crafting our response. Instead, we should really try to hear the other person. In this way, accepting silence can enhance conversation.

It takes some fortitutde to acknowledge that one might simply have little to share with somebody on a given topic, and it takes faith to realize that this is OK. Perhaps we ought to simply enjoy being with people, and listening to people. After all, can language even begin to describe the nature of human connection?

the live show

2009-05-29T15:18:00.000-04:00

Last night, I had the pleasure of seeing Grizzly Bear live in concert at Town Hall. Wow. This was one of those special shows that reminds us why we need the performance arts. It was easily one of the best concerts I've ever seen; the band was phenomenally successful musically, visually and atmospherically. If anybody is thinking about seeing Grizzly Bear on this tour, do it. I promise you will not regret it.

What the band did really well was strike a balance between mixing up the presentation of some of their songs, and leaving others much closer to the recorded versions. Beyond that, they were technically mangnificent and the sounds left me breathless. Such beautiful voices! I literally got the chills. It was also neat to hear some of the songs accompanied by the live youth choir that sang with the band on Veckatimest. The lighting was also fantastic-- it complemented the songs effectively, and was not overbearing as concert lights sometimes are. This was a welcome change after I was nearly blinded by the strobe lights at the Roots' Highline Ballroom show last week.

Live music really is something special. This is sometimes lost, I think, as we now find ourselves overwhelmed with recorded material. Music is best enjoyed as a communal experience, as a connection between musicians and audience. I always get that happy nervous energy in the pit of my stomach while I'm waiting for a concert to start. A few minutes into the show, I feel a sort of warm bliss inside that no other experience can evoke. Last night was no exception.

Thank you, Grizzly Bear!

aesthetics of consumption

2009-05-21T22:05:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, a friend sent me a link to the video above. When I watched the video at home that night, I was struck by its beauty, and by the extent to which I was held captive to the power of effective advertisement. Porsche designs and builds breathtaking automobiles, and many people have spent time dreaming about owning or driving one. I count myself in this group. Still, the reality is that a 911 is prohibitively expensive and most people will never be able to own one. The advertisement glorifies an extreme, oppulent sort of materialism that will ultimately leave most people unsatisfied due to their inability to actually attain the dream. The gentle piano, the quiet confidence of the boy, and the friendliness of the sales agent all perpetuate a profoundly false sense of inevitability to the situation. We are asked to understand that the boy will buy a Porsche later in life. As if will and persistence are somehow all that it takes.

At the same time, we don't need to subscribe to any particular notion of socioeconomic reality to appreciate the quality of a Porsche 911. While it is clearly excessive to describe a car as "quite simply the purest expression of who we are", the company can hardly said to be doing wrong by celebrating their work. It would be difficult to argue that there is some moral shortcoming in trying to design a high end product. There are real and obvious problems in a society focussed to much on materialism. Nevertheless, few would try to make the claim that 'nice things' are inherently bad. So why do I feel ambivalent about the advertisement? Why as though I've been manipulated in an intimate way? Perhaps this speaks to my own personal internal struggles with the morality of materalism.

The elephant in the room is that substantive discussions aside, the video is beautiful. Like the automobile, the advertisement has been meticulously designed both aesthetically and functionally (it's pretty and it works). It works because it evokes passions, longings and memories that many can relate to. The friend who sent me the video says that it "captures all of the feelings I have for that car and my dreams." Such innocence! The writing, direction and production of the commercial are superb, and allow us to suspend notions of reality that could detract from the point: you want this car. And even if I decide that I don't want this car, I think I still want to watch the video.

At the end of the day, isn't the video itself a valuable work of art?

backgammon

2009-05-11T19:25:00.000-04:00

I first discovered Backgammon while traveling in Turkey and Greece with Rob, JB and Jamal after graduation. We would see people playing at all hours of the day while drinking coffee, smoking nargile, or just hanging out. Needless to say, it didn't take us long to start playing, and the game began a large part of our trip. The game is conducive to easy play peppered with the sort of conversation that brings people together, and seems somehow appropriate to the Mediterranean climate and aesthetic.

Since that trip I've always kept a board at home: currently two. Nevertheless, until a few days ago, I hadn't played in some time. I pulled out the board and played a few games with Nico on Sunday afternoon. It was a nice reminder of the reasons that I came to love the game originally. Nico aptly characterized the game as having the right balance of luck and skill for most people to enjoy it easily and quickly. Strategy plays a big role, and a strong player will usually beat a weaker player. Still, the luck of the dice is exciting (friends call me The Cooler), and in my experience, most players have at least a shot of winning against most other players.

While cerebral games like Go and Chess have gained cult popularity in recent years, casual board games are an institution that seem to have lost some prominence in our culture. I find this unfortunate. Backgammon, and games like it, serve as wonderful backdrops to conversation. Above all, I see them as a way to interact with people. A way to mute the occasional silences that can otherwise make conversation seem stilted or awkward. I've grown closer to my friends playing backgammon. I've also gotten over silly arguments with friends, and acknowledged as much implicitly with a simple "want to play a game of backgammon?" Games like backgammon let us relax and just be with people who matter to us.

Another issue that I've been thinking about lately is that of public spaces and community. In this sense, as well, games like Backgammon can aid in local engagement (particularly when the weather is nice). Backgammon provides a social means for spending long periods of time with a friend or friends in a public space. More to the point, playing in public spaces is a way to acknowledge the a shared sense of community with those around you. Seeing two people playing backgammon has a friendly aesthetic. The image is an inviting one, so playing in public spaces can also be a nice way to meet new people.

Anybody up for a game?

teachers

2009-05-10T20:28:00.001-04:00

A friend sent me this video, and I really enjoyed it--

food for thought

2009-05-03T21:08:00.001-04:00

I spent much of yesterday at the Brooklyn Food Conference in Park Slope. This was an event that I'd been looking forward to for some time, and it was fantastic. According to the New York Times, there may have been as many as three thousand people in attendance, and this gives credence to the credibility and momentum that the sustainable food movement is gaining. Food is a big issue, and one that I am spending an increasing amount of energy thinking about. We need to demand a food system that is environmentally sustainable, healthy and just. The unfortunate reality is that we have nothing of the sort right now. The wide variety of people showing interest in this issue gives much reason for hope.

I really enjoyed attending a workshop about milk, which had a panel consisting of an expert in the history of milk, a raw (unpasteurized) milk advocate, and some farmers. The woman from the raw milk advocacy group seemed blinded by bias, and betrayed little understanding of basic statistics. This, coupled with her unwillingness to consider challenges to her generally unsupported claims, unfortunately detracted from any credibility in her perspective. The other panelists, however, were quite good and I have actually decided to start drinking milk from local farms where the cows are predominantly grass-fed. The consensus also seemed to be that while milk is very good for you, it is not necessary in the way that many of us in North America have been led to believe. Another fact that surprised me was the uniform claim from the panelists that whole milk is healthier than skimmed milk. Nevertheless, I think I'll keep drinking skim, because whole milk is just too thick for me to drink!

Another great panel was "Race and the Food System," in which the panelists talked about the lack of access to healthy food in minority communities, and the epidemic of health problems that result from this. It was encouraging to see that there are concrete steps being taken at the grassroots level in New York to address these disparities. Karen Washington spoke about her experiences bringing a farmer's market to her community in the Bronx, and Bob Law was extremely eloquent, thoughtful and direct in linking the food system to broader issues of social justice. One idea of his that has really had me thinking is that our system of social support is focused on normalizing poverty and making (disproportionately minority) people comfortable with it. Instead, we should be focussed on programs that bring people out of poverty.

All in all, a wonderful day. I was encouraged by the number of people who seem committed to reforming our food systems, and really benefited from hearing quality discourse on important issues.

growing up the son of dogman

2009-04-28T20:55:00.000-04:00

My father has a gift when it comes to dogs. Over the course of his childhood in Punjab, he had no fewer than fourteen different dogs. Somehow dogs always seem to sense this, even though he hasn't had a dog since moving to Canada in 1972. I've always been envious of the way dogs are drawn to my father, and have always been amazed at the way they soften to his petting. In recent years, I've taken to referring to him as 'the dogman' when I tell people about his canine talent.

One unfortunate consequence of growing up in full knowledge of my father's former life with the dogs was that my brother, sister and I grew up with the constant (unfulfilled) hope that a new puppy was imminent. My mother has always been opposed to the idea of having a dog. She worried about the smell, the cleaning, and most of all that she'd grow too attached and lose the dog at some point. This typically ended any episode of dog-seeking on our part. Still, I can't count the number of times we convinced ourselves that it would happen. We'd visit the pet store and pick out a particular puppy we really liked. Following this, we'd have our father try to convince our mother while the three of us would have conversations that usually ended in phrases like "yeah, an electric fence is definitely the way to go", or "I'll do the walking, and you can handle the bathing." My parents always led us to the brink of belief; I think they believed it would happen too; but always, near the end, Mom would come in and call the plan off, and we'd all abandon hope. Until the next time. I think my father shared accutely in the sense of disappointment my brother, sister and I shared.

My father's dogman powers sometimes seem supernatural. When we walk down the street, I can almost see the way dogs are physically drawn to him. I have seen him subdue all manner of dogs, from German Sheppards to Labradors to Saint Bernards. All pant excitedly upon seeing him. Particularly telling is how my father interacts with my cousin's dog Buddy. Buddy is a strong, vicious, angry black guard dog in Panchkula. This is an animal that growls, barks and tugs its chain at the sight of most anybody but his owner. His name notwithstanding, Buddy is not a friendly dog. Within five minutes of setting foot in their house, my father was playfighting with Buddy, and a few minutes later, Buddy was anxiously lying on his back while my father pet his stomach. Everybody was amazed. Over the next few weeks, Buddy would bark happily at the sight of my father, and my father was always on hand to entertain.

When I arrived at the house a couple of weeks later, the dog growled at me ominously. Still, a few hours later, he semed quiet. I cautiously approached Buddy, hoping to convert his quietness into perhaps a nice pet on the head. I remember thinking "I'm the son of dogman, I'm meant for this", as I got closer and closer to Buddy. After all, my father had tamed Buddy, and I am very much my father's son. Surely, Buddy's sixth animal sense could tell that I was no ordinary stranger. His silence proved it! Suffice it to say, Buddy's mood abruptly changed and I jumped three feet back to avoid a sharp bite on my leg by only inches. I heard his teeth smack hard. I guess there's only room enough in this family for one dogman.

goodbye solo

2009-04-26T02:33:00.000-04:00

*** warning. if you intend to see this movie, and do not want any plot details revealed, please do not read this post. ***
Last night at the Angelika, I saw a beautiful film called Goodbye Solo. The movie follows a short-lived relationship between a taxi driver named Solo, and a man named William who has decided to take his own life (trailer here). For those of you considering the film, I highly recommend it.

When I stepped out of the theatre, I struggled over whether I thought the movie was uplifting or depressing. What I realized (with the help of some friends), is that the story is defined most of all by its realness, and that the quiet sense of the inevitable resolution and the inescapable motion of life make these “uplifting / depressing” dichotomies untenable. Solo was unable to change William’s mind, but should we take that to mean that no meaningful connection was forged between the two? On the contrary, I’m left with reinforcement of the notion that we don’t need to agree to coexist. Accepting other points of view and notions of personal circumstance is paramount. I think Solo ultimately came to the conclusion that conceding defeat in changing William’s mind was a way of respecting his humanity.

Again, I think what is most moving is the realism of the plot and the characters. The filmmaker, Ramin Bahrani, takes pains to steer clear of clichéd sentimentalism and presents layered, believable characters. Solo avoids falling prey to the “jolly African man” stereotype. While his relentless optimism is magnetic and profoundly lightening, there is pathos in seeing that he cannot always smile at the myriad ways that his life has failed him. In this respect, the extent to which Solo and William share similar circumstances but completely different ways of addressing them is illuminated. The dialogue, the problems, the interactions, all of this felt genuine and believable.

The cinematography was stunning as well. A friend compared the film to No Country For Old Men, and while I initially failed to see the connection, the aesthetic similarities have become more apparent to me. The slow, wide shots of landscape ground the film in the physical North Carolina terrain. I have little analysis to offer here, except to note that it was very beautiful to watch.

One aspect of the film that I find striking is the absence of a soundtrack. Here as well, the aesthetic is similar to that of No Country For Old Men, where (wonderfully mastered) sounds take a prominent role in developing atmosphere. The only music we hear in Goodbye Solo comes from the radio in the taxi and from the bar where William and Solo spend time. The decision not to include a score hearkens back to the idea that the movie is dedicated to realism, and that Bahrani clearly has an interest in avoiding formulaic or trite constructions; his is an approach that places a premium on authenticity. Music is used heavily in most films to guide the emotions of the viewer and create tension. Paradoxically, the absence of a score is tremendously effective in building tension in Goodbye Solo. As William and Solo confront mortality, we are left alone with the people, the issues and the sounds in their life: breathing, the engine of the car, a cell phone ringing. Rather than be comfortably guided into knowing how to feel about the scene at hand, we are forced to confront the issues and in their real complication. Aesthetically, perhaps the closest thing to a score is the sound of wind in the beautiful and moving penultimate scene where Solo stands at the cliff. The camera, shaky with the wind, its microphone completely distorted by the strong gusts of wind, perfectly captures the moment.

I think perhaps I would have liked to have learned more about William’s back story. While the interactions between him and Solo are telling and powerful in terms of thematic development, I was left with the feeling that his was potentially an interesting character about which I knew very little. I suppose this was part of the point—as an audience member, I could feel Solo’s frustration at being unable to crack William’s reclusive, resigned outer shell. Still, the fleeting glimpses into his notebook towards the end of the film made me think that we could have known more about him without detracting from the other elements of the film.

At the end of the film, I was inexplicably perplexed, and a little bit lost in my thoughts about what I’d just seen. Still, I was left with a very strong sense of beauty, and the more I’ve thought about it since, the more this has grown.

like two dories

2009-04-20T21:39:00.000-04:00

Dory. I've had a hard time getting this song out of my head lately. Grizzly Bear has a very distinctive, unique sound, and this track is no exception. What I like is that the song is musically adventurous and simultaneously an extremely listen. Remember to listen a few times :)

gentrification

2009-04-18T00:41:00.000-04:00

A friend pointed me to a nice piece in the Times recently entitled Strangers On His Street by Fort Greene resident Nelson George. This is a short, conversational article discussing his experiences with the gentrification of the neighborhood. There are some evocative bits about parts of Fort Greene serving as an enclave for young, black artists, and the writing is authentic without trite sentimenalism or nostalgia.

I moved to Fort Greene almost a year ago, and have completely fallen in love with the neighborhood. As a recent migrant to the area, I've been thinking about the issue of gentrification, and more specifically, about my role in the process. The term gentrification itself is poorly understood, I think, and I refer to the broader popular understanding of the word rather than a formal definition.

My sentiments are marked by ambivalence. One of the concerns often raised in this discussion is that gentrification can cause a neighborhood to lose its character. I've been resistant to conceptions of culture that view it as artefact; as something static. While there is value in passing tradition, the notion that culture is some historically enshrined collection of songs, dances, etiquette, clothing etc is one that I've bristled again. We define culture, and it constantly evolves as do our individual and societal circumstances. My point is that my views on neighborhood identity are analagous. Why should we expect that a neighborhood will stagnate and fail to change over time? It seems a kind of head-in-the-sand-romanticism to expect that things will always stay as they have been in a neighborhood. From this perspective, it seems natural and uncontroversial that a neighborhood's identity and characteristics will change over time.

On the other hand, George observes with rightful concern that "there seems to be surprisingly little interplay between the new white Fort Greene and the old-school black community." Viewed through this lens, the process begins to look less like evolution and more like plain and simple displacement. For a minority group that has been so extremely and systematically discriminated against, feared and mistreated by the majority, having strong physical communities (neighborhoods) is invaluable. Conversations about gentrification highlight how segregated North America remains, particularly outside of the professional realm (see Eric Holder).

As a new inhabitant to an established neighborhood, then, do I have an obligation to engage with the local community? I've certainly made efforts to be of the neighborhood, rather than simply in the neighborhood. I'm still thinking through the question of obligation, but from a personal perspective, there is no question that I want to be an engaged member of the Fort Greene community. I use local businesses often, have gotten to know some of my neighbors, and have been trying to attend local events. I could do more, without question. Still, I hope that my contribution to the neighborhood is mostly a positive one.

Oh, and I'm always on the lookout for new local friends...

different worlds

2009-04-15T18:09:00.000-04:00

I spent the past few days in the bay area, and had a really nice time. In an unusual turn, I showed up in San Francisco without having done any research ahead of the trip; not so much as a quick Google search to identify points of interest. In retrospect, given the atmosphere of the trip and the area, this seems appropriate. At the end of the day, I spent quality time with friends and family, and am fairly refreshed after the fact.

As an (undeveloped) aside, I was struck by how very different the place felt from what I am used to. Sometimes I forget the vast array of experiences that people live through. At times it seemed like the sun was drawn from a different palate of colours than I am used to, and the air felt and smelled differently. Top it off with different architecture, a different terrain, and a distinct aesthetic sensibility among the people, and I really got to thinking that this was a different world than I'd come from.

Of course I realize that from a global perspective, New York and the Bay Area are remarkably similar. This, I think, heightens the reminder that there is a great deal of human experience that is not shared.

a room of one's own

2009-04-06T21:15:00.001-04:00

I've had a great deal of trouble finding a roommate over the past few weeks. This morning, as I made myself breakfast in the morning peace, I thought about living alone. The quiet was nice.

Until I spent the first eight months of 2007 living alone in London, and since, I have always lived in groups. At home, I had siblings; at sixteen, I moved to boarding school; and I've always lived with roommates in college and in New York. I really like living with people, and the prospect of living alone has generally not appealed to me.

Still, I was reminded this morning that living alone, too, can be a positive experience. Certainly, I think it can mean more time spent on personal reflection, and I think this leads to meaningful growth. Furthemore, there is a sort of personal resilience that allows one to be free of social dependence on others, and this is forcibly developed when living alone. I've learned in recent years that it is a valuable skill to be alone without being lonely.

Living alone can also make things easier from a practical perspective. There are no arguments about standards of cleanliness, use of common space, or acceptable volumes at which to play music, for example. One can live how one wishes to, absolutely. On the other hand, to fall back on this as an argument strikes me as a little self indulgent. Shouldn't we be comfortable with the idea of compromise, and accustomed to living with rules that we can't set autonomously? When viewed this way, living alone could seem to prevent invaluable development in interpersonal skills.

Of course, much of this is cultural as well. Friends from Toronto are often surprised to hear that I still live 'with roomates', and am not on my own, so many years out of school. In New York, it is assumed that most people will live with roommates, out of necessity. In more traditional south Asian households (as an example), people can easily go their entire lives without living alone. Many people will live with their parents until they are married. Personally, as much as I love to have people around, I am really glad to have lived at least semi-autonomously (read: not with my parents).

My only point is that there is a spectrum of expectations and experiences, and how we judge them comes down in large part to our individual biases and preferences. I think I'd get used to living alone, and may even enjoy it. Still, at this point, I really just enjoy being around people too much to make that leap.

gravitas

2009-03-31T22:56:00.000-04:00

I think I've gotten to a point in life where, though I'm happy, I've lost a sense of carefree lightness that used to characterize my state of being. Does this happen to everybody?

beards, b.o. and beats

2009-03-30T22:08:00.001-04:00

On Saturday, I headed into Williamsburg with a few friends, and checked out two new spots. The first stop was a soul and funk dance party at the Glasslands Gallery. This was a prototypical Williamsburg joint-- the exterior was a run down, grimy building with no sign but the street number scrawled in white paint. When we got there, around eleven, the place was mostly empty. The aesthetic inside was unkempt, and the self-aware hipsters with tight pants, beards and occasionally body odour were in full effect. We got there early because after a $3 cover, there was supposed to be free beer from 11 until 12. I knew it was going to be a good night when they handed us Colt 45. To be fair, the music was great, and I gave serious consideration to hanging around until 1 to compete in the funk dance competition.

Instead, a group of us left sometime around 1230 to fulfill Shival's longstanding dream (of at least four weeks) to party at another Williamsburg dance spot: Bembe. Despite having no coat check, and a painfully inadequate bathroom situation, Bembe was awesome. The music was a blend of South and Central American influences, and although I normally find it difficult to dance to these rhythms, I was really feeling the dancing choose on Saturday. The crowd was very chill, everybody was having a good time on the floor, and the drinks were cheap. And no cover! Will definitely head back here at some point. Who wants to dance?

friends, part 2

2009-03-27T20:39:00.000-04:00

Since writing the post on friendship a few days ago, I've been thinking about some additional dimensions.

Strong romantic relationships often share many characteristics with friendships. Often, when people are in love, they will describe their significant other as their best friend. The distinction I've been struggling with is whether being in love simply shares characteristics with friendship (and hence 'feels like it'), or whether there is a separable element of friendship that exists in parallel. This is an especially relevant question when thinking about how to move forward with relationships that have ended (I don't mean to be coy here-- I presume most readers of this blog will understand my motivations in discussing this topic). While I certainly hope for the latter, I sometimes fear that the former may be closer to the truth. Thoughts?

Another scenario I was thinking about is that of childhood friends who grow apart. How do we maintain friendships, if at all, when we've grown apart in terms of shared experiences, interests, and inclinations? Many of these dissipate, but some seem to stick around-- and I think there is value here. Value in having somebody who realizes how different you've become, but still cares for you, and will be there for you because of your shared past. These are the things that make us human.

the crying light

2009-03-23T22:27:00.000-04:00

beautiful new music.
credit to jing for the introduction.

nkw

"Ooo you make me live"

2009-03-23T20:31:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, I confided in somebody close to me that I was lonely; I felt that while I was friendly with a great many people, I didn't have many friends. The lines between acquaintances, friends, family and romantic interests, for example, often blur, and it can be difficult to compartmentalize relationships cleanly. Thinking about what it takes to sustain friendships is an interesting exercise, and I'd be interested to hear some of your thoughts. My intention here is just to express a few disconnected thoughts on the matter.

An old friend with whom I spent a summer in Norway some years ago recently left a message on my Facebook wall about letters that we used to exchange, and suggested we ought to meet up. The whole thing made me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. What makes it really fascinating is that aside from our month or so in Norway together, she and I have spent literally no time together. Yet this one experience was apparently enough for us to stay in touch and continue sharing experiences over distance and time.

The most challenging thing for me with friendships that are grounded in the past is the shortage of shared experiences-- there can occasionally be a tendency to reduce interactions to nostalgic retellings. Happily, I think I have many close friends from whom I've lived apart for 3 or more years. I often find myself chatting with or writing to one of these people, and I am abruptly and acutely struck by just how much I miss them, and how deeply his or her friendship has affected me.

Few things are as valuable in times of distress as a friend who knows you. A close friend, one whom you've given up trying to impress, one who knows your flaws and weaknesses, one who is willing to just listen is truly a blessing. I've never been somebody who particularly enjoys spending time by myself (being a middle child, I guess). I have a tendency as well, to be repetitive and self-indulgent when things are bothering me. Without the friends I have, unwitting and otherwise, I'd be some kind of mess.

I love my friends, old and new, near and far. Thanks for everything.

parting ways

2009-03-15T21:23:00.000-04:00

Last night, I sang in my fifth concert with the Young New Yorker's Chorus. We sang Rachmaninoff's All Night Vigil along with a few pieces by John Tavener. As always, it was a really wonderful experience for me. It was also very nice to have my parents in the audience! Thanks to those of you who were able to come hear us sing. It means a great deal to me.

Today I've had that sort of bittersweet feeling that always hits me after a concert. After weeks of engaging regularly and intensely with the music, I grow attached to the piece. The final days leading up to a concert are often when I find myself letting go and falling in love with the music. There is a sort of sadness, then, that ensues when the concert is over, and I realize that I won't be rehearsing the piece anymore. I like to keep the score and a good recording of the music. And every now and then, I get to sing an old piece that I know again; usually an exciting feeling.

Reluctantly on to the next thing, I suppose.

for the love of fort greene...

2009-03-07T11:14:00.000-05:00

this morning, as i was leaving the farmer's market, i walked past fellow neighborhood resident jhumpa lahiri. and so continues my love affair with fort greene.

is he about to emote?

2009-03-05T20:39:00.000-05:00

speaking of performance and emotion, check out jack white below on the conan finale

classifying creativity

2009-03-02T21:29:00.000-05:00

Recently, I have been thinking about the word creative. It struck me recently that the word is fairly ill-defined, or perhaps too broadly defined to be very meaningful. Most people seem to agree that creativity is something valuable, having vaguely to do with generating unique ideas and expressions.

Consider, however, creativity of the sort that a scientist uses in developing an effective study and how it compares to the creativity of a painter. We may call a stage actor creative, and also praise a business leader for her creative approach to structuring her division. Are we really describing a comparable attribute in these two examples? It feels to me like we've just given a single name to two completely different concepts.

One of the relationships that I've been thinking about lately is between author and performer. The act of writing a work (music, play, film, etc.) undeniably demands creativity. Anybody who performs seriously knows that the same can be said of performance. Performing a piece with committment requires a dedicated, personal knowledge of the work, and an intimate sense of ones self. Indeed, our task as performer's is to communicate that which the page alone cannot do, and this requires creative drive in a very real sense. Nevertheless, for the sake of argument, the performer is still ultimately interpreting. Can it be said that the author is ultimately engaging in a more creative task by creating something from nothing? We occassionally see a performance that shatters this notion, but on the whole, does it have some merit?

Creative or not, I'm just thankful for opportunities to perform. There really is nothing else like it.

As always, I'd love to hear some of your thoughts.

POST-racial

2009-02-18T23:50:00.000-05:00

The cartoon above appeared in the NY Post this morning. My initial reaction was to take offense, and I have been thinking about the extent to which this is a legitimate response. Clearly, the paper is well within its right to have published this. Nonetheless, I am surprised and disappointed that an editor saw fit to let this go to print.

To put the cartoon into context, let’s take a look at the relevant facts:

Yesterday, a domestic monkey in Connecticut went berserk, attacked somebody, and had to be killed by police.
Congress recently passed a large stimulus bill, considered by many to be inadequate to the task at hand. In some respects, this can be considered to be President Obama’s first major legislative success.

The benign interpretation is that the cartoon merely illustrates how attempts by the government to solve the economic crisis are qualitatively no different than those chimps would have come up with; that is, garbage. To be fair, this is not an altogether new image: think about the now trite idea of an infinite number of monkeys at an infinite number of keyboards. In this context, the shooting of the monkey is nothing more than an attempt to link the political activity with the bizarre topical story from (1).

Indeed, Col Allan, Editor in Chief of the Post, said (according to Gothamist):

"The cartoon is a clear parody of a current news event, to wit the shooting of a violent chimpanzee in Connecticut. It broadly mocks Washington's efforts to revive the economy"

Setting aside the poorly established link, and hence, the violence of that combined image, consider the more insidious racial implications.

Historically and presently, African Americans have often been degraded by being compared to monkeys (among many, many other forms of degradation). I find it hard to believe that the editors of even the NY Post would be unaware of this historical social context. Given the prominence of the Obama Administration in the development and passage of this legislation, it is not a very tenuous connection to link the image of the monkey to President Obama himself. This is racist and I believe inappropriate. Further, I find it completely implausible that the editors who allowed this to print would be unaware of this reading.

In my mind, this connects to a broader notion that Barack Obama’s historic election somehow moves us into a post-racial mode of interacting with each other. While few would explicitly suggest this, I sense an extent to which many believe his election has given them license to stop worrying about sensitivity in race relations.

I wonder, in other words, whether there are people who believe that the above cartoon is now ‘fair game.’

In my mind, of course, the answer is still a resounding NO.

I would love to hear some discourse on this topic--

in the flowers

2009-02-16T22:11:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I picked up the latest Animal Collective album, Merriweather Post Pavillion. When I've listened to this band in the past, I haven't responded very much, but I really love this new album. It resonates with me, and the soundscape is dense, novel and beautifully crafted.

I suggest you listen to the opening track, In The Flowers, as an example of song construction at its best. I love the way the acoustic tension builds to this powerful, exciting climax starting at around 2:30.

Thoughts?

"i never thought i'd be on a boat..."

2009-02-12T22:08:00.001-05:00

can you tell this apart from an actual t-pain song?

protectionism

2009-02-09T21:35:00.000-05:00

Watching the economic stimulus package chaotically come together here in the USA, I can't help but be troubled by the dramatic increase in protectionist rhetoric and activity as of late. The "Buy America" provisions seem archane and unhelpful, and the bizarre ammendments that seek to further reduce the availability of H-1B visas to foreign visas are in my mind, completely misguided.

So why restrict visas for skilled foreign workers?

Opponents typically attack the program on two fronts: firstly, that it is abused, and secondly, that it takes jobs away from American workers. The first argument seems to be flawed logically. If the H-1B program is being abused, the solution surely is to implement it better, not to attack a fundamentally sound program. I would note, for example, that as engaged, employed residents of this country stimulate the economy through their activity in the same way that an American would.

On the second point, as well, I would argue that systematically closing your society off from skilled foreign workers does a serious disservice. I have failed to have my H-1B application reviewed twice, because they quota has always run out before my application was evaluated. In neither case did this result in an extra American job. In the first case, my role was transferred to London, which took away from the US economy. In the second case, I was able to work under a different status. In recent years, in fact, both Microsoft and Google have opened up large new offices in Western Canada instead of the US West Coast simply because they've been unable to get the visas for the workers they need.

I am curious to hear what others think about the recent rash of protectionism in general, and the issue of skilled foreign worker visas in particular.

The Long Walk to Vegetarianism...

2009-02-01T21:17:00.001-05:00

I'm planning a slow, manageable transition to vegetarianism. I like cold turkey, and will continue to eat it until the end of this year. The idea here is to lay out my plans so that I have some sense of public accountability. I dropped seafood as of the beginning of this month, so I am down to chicken, turkey and fish. So, the plan is as follows:

1 January 2010 - No more turkey
1 January 2011 - No more fish
1 January 2012 - No more chicken

Thinking about 2012 terrifies me.

King of Pop Eternal?

2009-02-01T21:16:00.001-05:00

The video below is ten minutes long, but I promise you will be glad to have watched it.

Will anybody else ever be able to do this again?

Let's set aside the technical aspects of the question, because in this case, the answer is an unambiguous and resounding NO. The singing, dancing, presence on stage, and the extent to which he has captivated the audience are basically unmatched. All of this is especially impressive when you consider how minimal the set and light show are compared to modern acts. It's just him out there.

What I am trying to get at is that it seems unlikely that anybody today can have the kind of universal, cross-cultural, cross-demographic appeal or commercial success that Michael Jackson enjoyed in his heyday.

Commercially: MJ has sold literally hundreds of millions of records. Given the way that the music industry has transformed, and given how music sales have been steadily declining, how will anybody even come close to this?

More to the point, the social landscape has changed. As media channels have grown in number and diversity, the notion of 'popular music' has become increasingly fragmented. Simply put, there is more music out there, and no 'common music' that we share as a society. While MTV may dictate what many people listen to, people are also finding new music through independent radio and blogs, through online sharing, through services like pandora, and any number of alternative channels.

On the one hand, this seems to be a positive development, as far creating a broader, more diverse creative public space. It is nice that there are more avenues for performance and distribution of work that may not have wide, mainstream popularity. On the other hand, it's hard to shake the notion that we're missing out without these massive communal experiences. We don't have MJ to bring us together. The energy in the video above is vivid and exciting. As liberating as it is to have ready access to the kind of music that speaks to us, it is just a little more lonely now.

A thought: I think the closest thing I've experienced has been the shared sense of hope and excitement over the election of Barack Obama. I can't help but think that the video above reminds me more of being at the inauguration than it does of any concert that I've been to.

Anyway, Michael Jackson: King of Pop.
Good God, what a performer.

gawking at clouds

2009-02-01T21:15:00.001-05:00

Somebody has to lie there
in the grass that covers up
the causes and effects
with a cornstalk in his teeth
gawking at clouds.

--Szymborska