I never took that media and society course...

I'm a gal who loves the movies.

I can't help but pay outrageous ticket prices for a Friday night flick (what's it up to now? $14.95?), so long as it's something I think is worth seeing. I refuse to attend any more Will Ferrel movies, forced action blockbusters, sappy romantic comedies which boast no plot or originality (or real looking people in roles other than the token friend), or anything where there might be too many children present. So basically the season between Oscar time and the summer blockbusters is just dead time to me; I can save up some dough. But there's one movie that's been catching my eye lately: Funny Games.

Granted, that title could probably suit any of the aforementioned genres, but it turns out to be a movie that's quite the intense hour and a half. My friend Essie pointed it out to me in a New York Times article because it's a remake, and I hate remakes (I can't seem to find an article online, only a review, whose title seems to indicate distaste). But it's not just any remake. The original is only about ten years old, it's the same director, and it's shot frame by frame identically (btw, the top of my hated remakes list is the frame-by-frame re-shoot of Hitchcock's classic Psycho.). She ribbingly asked me what I thought about it (because of my overreaction to King Kong a few years ago), but since I knew little, and the circumstances were so weird, I didn't know what to say.

But for some reason I can't get away from this movie and have been furiously researching it in the office (don't judge me, everyone is gone, I have no guidance or direction and no motivation to do anything else). I've looked at the wikipedia page on the original movie, which I wouldn't recommend looking at if you don't want the movie to be fully revealed ("spoiler alert," as it were). The more I read, the more intrigued I am. When I first read about Haneke's intention of addressing the issues of violence in the media, a big red "PRETENTIOUS" sign flashed in my head. I think we all have opinions about violence in the media, or at least know of someone who does (like maybe Christine Chubbuck). After all, in the article I read from the New York Times, it seemed like Haneke has a bit of an ego issue, insisting that he intended for this important message to reach Americans (and I can't imagine why he thinks the American population is a prime nomination for needing to hear such a message), and when that didn't happen, and really couldn't happen the way he wanted it to with his Austrian version, he decided to take it upon himself to remake the film. But after reading his essay (which can be found on the movie's website, but only after some 'playing along') I like to think there's something in his movie. And while I haven't seen it, it appears to have the potential to be considered an important work of art and commentary.

Now granted, I may be giving him far more credit than he deserves. After all, the intention and concept could be solid, but the execution poor. It is quite arrogant to attempt teach what Haneke claims. He could be claiming to incite more self-reflection that he actually does. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The movie starts out with two boys dropping by the vacation home of a family (two parents and a child in tow) to borrow some eggs. Innocent enough? Well of course since I'm talking about violence, there has to be a change in pace. The boys take the family hostage and start out a series of forcefully played sadistic games with a bet: we bet you will be dead by 9 a.m. tomorrow. The family is encouraged to bet, but warned they probably won't be successful. And then something strange happens. One of the boys turns to address the camera and encourages the audience to take part in the little betting game. And of course, what are you to think? Isn't this the same game we play every time we watch slashers or thrillers? That some redeemable character, with whom we are meant to develop sympathy, will get out alive, and hopefully the vicious monsters of the screen will be left either incarcerated or dead. From reading a synopsis (which I didn't intend to do but from which I didn't stop myself reading) this fourth wall deterioration runs throughout the movie, with little smirks or asides from one of the soulless tormentors. And this is apparently where the "message" comes from (anyone ever read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead?). His character has a self awareness that is maybe even a challenge to the audience: do we have any self-awareness when we watch gratuitous violence?

It's almost a challenge to the viewer. As if to say "do you realize what you're doing?" Potentially the intention is to make us feel bad or remorseful for sadistically taking pleasure in watching such brutality. After all, with whom are we supposed to "identify" in a thriller such as this? We can't necessarily put ourselves in the shoes of the family. When have we ever been victims of such torture (besides watching American Idol)? Really we're forced to identify with the killers, and not in a sympathetic or empathetic way. The boys are soulless, bereft of conscience in their acts. But hey, we're watching too right? We're enjoying it, aren't we? Haneke, I think, is trying to convince us of our desensitized moral compass.

Interestingly enough, the movie never really features any on-screen violence; the action happens just off screen, the action viewed through the expressions of an onlooker, but is supposed to be "felt" by the audience (this seems to be an out of place thought, but I felt it should be included).

I think with the movie review aside now (which wasn't intended to be a movie review, but a set up, and how am I to write a review of something I haven't seen?), I'll include the writer/director's essay and a response from IGN's Todd Gilchrist. (Sorry this isn't in a link, but I'm saving you the trouble of trying to find it on the website, and didn't feel like searching for a transcript online.)

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Violence + Media
From an Essay by Michael Haneke

It is often difficult for audiences to distinguish what is real from what is shown on the movie screen. The fascination of film lies in this very dichotomy. These genres have been born of the fine balance between the anguished sensation of experiencing something real and the reassuring certitude that one is watching an artificial or alternate reality. Violence is defused by film, which makes it easy to watch watered-down version of horror. Exorcised by being shown on-screen, evil seemed more manageable in real life.

With the advent of television, everything changed. Where the documentary approach gained dominance, it had quickly given way to fiction in the cinematic world, at least for the general public.

The immediacy and availability of film has had a profound impact on the public's way of seeing things. The violent, but limited, impressions conveyed on the big screen were ultimately replaced by a daily dose of televised impressions. Television, founded on the dramatic and aesthetic forms of the cinema, radically changed the meaning of these forms so that they could be watched constantly.

Faced with the omnipresence of television, film ramped up with an overabundance of effects, which television wasted no time in co-opting to its own advantage.

This endless oneupmanship led to a sustained frenzy, a feverish intensity that has resulted in growing confusion between reality and fiction. (Vying with real life, fictional violence is doomed to overstatement. In this battle, journalism has sacrificed the most basic respect for the victims it parades before the public.) The spiral is nowhere near an end - its' just beginning, fed by the constant fight for market share and rating that gobble up artistic and technological innovation.

The form of the medium affects how it's received by the audience. In a striking compression, the players in the great media war have, through a formalized attempt to outdo each other, removed all meaning from content, in portrayals of violence as much as in the representation of normal life, from the victim of war to the soap-opera star, from toothpaste to cars. The complete interchangeability of content devoid of all reality ensures that everything that is portrayed will be utterly fictitious, giving the audience a pleasant sense of security. The classic aesthetic link between form and content seems to have been eliminated. And the logic of the marketplace is hardly compatible with the social contract.

The problem seems to be far from being solved. But wouldn't it be worthwhile at least to try?

Starting form the premise that every art form, at least in our societies carries within itself the conditions for its acceptance, not only at the economic level of the dissemination of the work but also at the level of human dialogue, what conclusions should we draw about what the media have produced?

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Watching a great movie in a genre you are tired of feels a little bit like Al Pacino's infamous line from "The Godfather: Part III", "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in." Despite a wealth of articles to the contrary, including IGN's own well-researched look at the phenomenon, "torture porn" never really evolved into anything more than a collection of movies disguising gratuitous violence as halfhearted social commentary; notwithstanding the "Hostel" films, which were really only guilty by association (neither as stupid or graphic as people thought), the remakes and films series that rose to commercial success essentially brought about the supposed subgenre's downfall by being unrelenting, crude and just plain unentertaining.

The fact that Michael Haneke's "Funny Games" was first made ten years ago in Austria precludes its inclusion in the torture porn canon, since at that time (not to mention in that country) the term hadn't yet been invented. But newly remade for U.S. audiences by Haneke himself, and debuting in the somewhat fortunately-timed wake of the genre's commercial demise, his film takes on greater artistic proportions than likely the director or the film's distributor, Warner Independent, ever intended. In fact, it's safe to say that in creating a work of art that effectively takes all of the hallmarks of torture porn and turns them on their (severed) ear, Haneke has not only made a gripping and terrifying work of art, but on that effectively revives the horror genre by completely deconstructing it. - Todd Gilchrist, IGN Movies

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I have to admit that I'm completely fascinated by certain "thriller" genres of movie. Not so much these "torture porn" movies, to which I have never been able to bring myself to watch, but movies about serial killers and other psychological thrillers (especially of the Hitchcock variety) attract me. I can't say what this fascination is or from where it comes. I think Haneke addresses it in talking about the fine line that brings us close to an experience without actually being a part of it. But why are we so drawn to being so close to these violent acts? What appeal is there in bringing oneself into a home where serial killers are torturing an innocent family we are undoubtedly rooting for?

Let me clarify that my interest lies in this essay and response rather than with the movie (because I repeat, I haven't seen it, it might not be up to the hype).

My favorite part of Haneke's essay was the articulation in his criticism of the real danger of such violent media. He pointed out that when you watch such detached presentational media of violence where the market is out for "blood and guts", we attribute a fictitious nature to everything we watch. It's how we can be so unmoved by images in the media of violence occurring elsewhere. When we aren't living that reality, anything displayed on a screen is immediately filed away with all the other things that we receive that way, real or not. Does it keep us from being able to have compassion for injustices in the world? Or from being affected by accounts of war and violence in other countries and in other neighborhoods? And along those lines, what does this mean for people in other countries who experience this violence as reality? Do they have a different concept of media violence? And what is that saying or what are we to say to the real victims?

I was also struck by Haneke's assessment of the treatment of victims as casualties of the war for ratings. With the anniversary of the Virginia Tech shootings approaching, I'm reminded of something a friend of mine said during the events. She is a resident of Blacksburg, and was the closest I got to understanding how people were really affected by the incident. Her main struggle and her biggest hope for recovery lay with the media. She was very upset by the way the media would forever portray Blacksburg, how her town could never be the same again, how it would always be connected with the shootings by those who didn't know better, because of the face it was given by reporters and news shows. More than anything, even a semblance of normalcy wasn't possible without the vans and crews leaving. The media's sheer presence was a hindrance on moving forward. Granted, we are given great, heart-breaking, real life (!) accounts of victims, meant to tear at our heartstrings, but we never think about the effects the presence of a camera in someone's home can have on the mourning process. Bystanders of events are jerked around for the media's usage, sound bites and clips for tomorrow's broadcasts.

What can we say about Haneke's questions? I can only assume he's asking them, not just in the rhetorical, so that we might intentionally ask ourselves. I also don't mean for this to sound like a mere add-on, but what should the "Christian response" to this be?

I think of Congressional hearings on violence in the media, or of censorship for music and movies, but I don't think this is the angle at which I'm approaching the issue. Some Christians would argue that violence in the movies is a violation of common decency and should be thrown out with the trash. I for one think freedom of speech is a right informed and supported by my faith. But what do we do with senseless violence, especially when it weakens our compassion for others and our ability to recognize injustice in the world? Does is desensitize our call to action? And if so, what do we do with that? Haneke says the problem is far from being solved, but that we should at least try. But he doesn't give any suggestions. And I can only speculate that he's addressing the issue of helping the media gain a social conscience. But who writes the rules? Where is the compromise? What should the moral code be?

There are certainly many cases where presenting violence on-screen, in documentaries, news, even fictitious art, can be supported. I won't make a list here. And also to be truthful, I'm not sure violence in the media is something huge on my radar. In fact if it weren't for this movie cropping up everywhere, then I wouldn't even be thinking on it right now, but I guess that's Haneke's intention.

I'm not sure his movie can really function the way he wants it to. He sets out to make us feel ashamed for "voyeurism." I mean, if we know his intentions before we go to watch it, isn't there the potential of us becoming complacent in thinking that, even though we're watching such brutality, at least we're supposed to be "learning something." In other words, we have an excuse for enjoying it. But then again, I don't know.

It's not stopping me from watching entertaining movies, or from possibly seeing this one.

Other topics of interest that relate to this (mostly movies):

"Network"

Leopold and Loeb (also, "Rope")

"Dog Day Afternoon"

First Class from Boston

Whenever I'm in airports, I tend to do the same things. Sometimes I'll wander around aimlessly, looking people, at things, at the design and structure of the terminal. Sometimes I'm noticing things familiar, I go almost on autopilot because I've been there so many times, although, no matter how I try when I'm in my frequented airports, I never can remember which gates I've left from. The numbers are meaningless, save for the one I must find if I'm ever going to get to where I need to go, or where I'm supposed to go. Sometimes I'm looking for food in the brief time I have during a layover. I never want to just stop in the fast food lines with the quick and greasey psuedo-food. Instead I always end up finding a sushi restaurant and convincing myself that, even though a lite meal here is expensive, my per diem for my meal is twice that. I always end up feeling remorseful, though, since nine times out of ten I've already felt I've spent too much of the PC(USA)'s money on a trip that I don't feel I've really committed myself to. When I have a lot of free time, I wander in and out of interesting looking shops. Today I'm in Detroit, so I already know there's nothing really of interest. A month ago, though, I was in Salt Lake City. I walked past art from all sectors, unique turns of the concourse, interesting architerture, innovatively designed shops, carvings of bears, fountains, and a great store that sold recycled novelties. There were purses and cd holders made of license plates, coasters made from the inner parts of old records, unique wire sculptures, and bottle cap, belt-buckle belts. A Russian sales-lady asks me if I have children because I'm looking at everything, including the potentially-recycled material Beanie Baby rip-offs on a shelf. I start to wonder if this is all really a recycling endeavor, or just a novel idea and money driven scheme, since everything except for the coasters and buttons are far too pricey for my wallet. The woman continues to talk to me about children and what will happen when I have them, how they will act, how I will feel, as if she knows, as if she thinks I'm ever going to have them. Every once in a while, I'm running like mad, or at least like crazy since I must look so awkward to the people around me. I'm always lugging my huge tote with my heavy laptop, documents for the trip like googlemap directions, Enterprise confirmation numbers and the three pounds of Splenda packets I've stolen from various Starbucks and Peet's coffees. So I always lean to one side and more bounce than I do run. My pants always seem to be falling off me and I can only imagine my fellow people-watchers are silently thinking, "there goes another one, poor kid." No matter what, even if I'm in a jog, I'm always shopping. Not necessarily the stores, but the gates. I guess that's why I don't remember gate numbers, because I'm busy looking at the destinations. It seems like it would be so easy to jump on any one of them, just pick a destination and take off. Today I could go to West Palm Beach, Florida. There are three terminals going to Chicago now, I could even pick which airport. Cities keep jumping out at me and I can hear commercials and advertisements with their cheery voices trying to tell me how great the midwest or New England is this time of year. And they're always using that old pharse "get away". The terminals always seem to sense my mood (or maybe it's the other way around and I just notice what I want) because there's always a theme to my choices for the day. Sometimes they're fantastic vacation getaways like Maui or Vegas, beaches and those types of trips they give away on games shows. Sometimes they're stops of Americana, and sometimes there's a flight to every place I love and every place I miss (A23 flight to Asheville, A30 flight to RDU, A34 flight to Roanoke, A48 to Greenville-Spartanburg, Charlotte, Atlanta...). I start to imagine flights to Montreat, to Chapel Hill, to Avery Co., to Clinton, places they could never go, but anywhere but here.

Today I decide on Starbucks, against my better judgement. I order a decaf, tall, sugar free, soy, no whip mocha and sit next to a large, metallic flower pot with a tree rising from it. The spot is quaint. I watch the people around. The nice guy doing work, his mole skin journal sitting idly beside him. Theres's the charicatured old man with the thick eyebrows that are only connected at the bridge of his nose and curve up into a crotchity V. A couple sits and reads together, she's laying down, curled up next to his lap while he sits turned away. Another couple shares one of the large seats in the waiting area, noticeably people watching themselves. The girl next to me answers her cell phone. I can tell it's a boyfriend from her face and the way she says, "What are you doing?" Coy and airy. Is she really recounting what she had for lunch? Could that be the superficiality of her conversation? They're separated by a distance that requires air travel, why aren't they talking about things that matter, about who each other are? Or is that the way you're supposed to talk? I don't even know. I would probably talk about the game last night. What Boston was like, the movie I saw with a friend. I'd want to talk about a lot of things on my mind that would probably never come up. I'd just be waiting to be asked. Maybe this couple is on their way out, or maybe they're in love and lasting. There are actual birds flying around the trees, leaving their marks on the shiny pot. I wonder if I had gotten a bagle at the 'bucks if I could get one to come eat out of my hand. But that never happens. I depressingly wonder if one has been smashed by the windshield of the open rail shuttle that travels above the concourse. I certainly hope they know better and stay away from that train and anyone who might ride it. Inside the tree pot are rocks. About half of them are decorated with little notes saying things like "I'm off to Alabama!" or "Through me" (which I'm at first certain means 'throw', but I can't be sure), Lee and Corey with a heart, Sundae and Sparkey, Lexettes Rock, one that says "I was here", a powerful statement that says to me that they want to be known and heard and maybe they left it for us all, little scribble drawings, a man made of a countinous, wandering line. They're all like little Post Secrets, left sitting to commemorate a brief stay in Detroit, anxious or excited feelings before a flight, or apparently love. I wonder if they remember they're even here.

I've been left to wonder about the people in airports. It amazing and almost heartbreaking to know that so many people are in an airport, especially one this size, at any particular moment. And they're doing the things that I'm doing. At least some of them. Some are having different experiences that I can't have. They're flying with their families, or they're friends, or teams. Some are working. They come in here every day and wait patiently on the transients for a good eight hours and leave. It's so striking to think about all the lives that pass through here daily. At any one moment you can look up and see so many people walking the concourse, going who knows where. Is it an exciting destination today? A vacation? A work trip? Are they actually getting to go to one of those places they love? Or are they having to leave it? So many lives you brush by with stories and feelings and elations and hurts, just wandering by. They'll never get to know each other, they'll never get to know me. I'm always left to wonder if there's one person in this airport who could be a friend, or a soulmate. And if you don't trust in fate, in divine providence or intervention, then whenever you're in an airport, it's nothing but hours and thousands of missed chances.

Airports have been both a curse and a saving grace for me these past six months. At first they were a saving grace. I was getting time to myself, time to think, time to reflect, to watch people, to enjoy life. Now I dread them. I can't help but feel both surrounded and alone. Alone with my thoughts, which have been too many and too loud these days, and I'm forced to stay in my head. I've been so stressed out lately. With all the changes going on in world mission, I feel like I've been one of the people left straddling where I want to be and where I am. I've had to deal with the stress of everyone above me, having to shoulder the hurt feelings and be sensitive to transition. I've been put in a horrible place between an us vs. them war of the interns and my supervisors, who happen to be my friends. And of course I've chosen the path of speaking my mind and fighting for what I think is right, rather than travel the easy route of submission. Finance issues have suddenly crept out of nowhere, or at least seemed to. My roomate is passively-aggressively hating me, or is that just in my head? I've started to hate travelling and it's all I get to do. Sometimes I get lucky and I get to visit a friend. The time is always grand, provided they're free, but I always have to leave them to their busy lives and go back to Louisville when the time is over. Instead of feeling these days like I'm getting to visit people, I'm just left feeling like I've spent the past six months leaving people.

And I wonder if I'd still feel that way if it weren't for airports. Sometimes the antagonist isn't what or who you think it is. Sometimes it's something you haven't even explored yet. I think really, when it comes down to it, what's made me sad these days is the security checkpoint. Because no matter how many people I see, dropping off their loved ones, the ones who turn back in front of me in the line to keep glancing at their wife who's still waiting until she can't see him anymore, the little boy who's crying for his mother as she gets into the security line without him, the lover who is making a huge display of kissing their air traveler in a lingering way, there's no one there saying goodbye to me. And when I see all the people waiting just on the other side of security for arrivals, I don't bother to look because no one's waiting for me there either.

The only time I ever had anyone say goodbye or meet me off the plane was when I went to the Philippines. It's put this weird desire in my head to fly internationally again, just for the tough goodbye and the grand welcome home. Almost like Jack on LOST. I keep flying in hopes that I'll get back to something.

But I know someday it'll happen again. Or at least that soon I'll be able to stop flying.

Who told you you had to hate Valentine's Day? Kick 'em for me, will ya?

"I heard on the radio this morning some woman say she thought Valentine's Day was the most romantic day of the year".

I totally disagree with this statement for so many reasons. Well, actually on second thought, I agree with it. I don't doubt she totally heard that on the radio, and trying to refute it would not only be hard but a little ridiculous. But I digress.

Anyways, Valentine's Day isn't necessarily the most romantic day, unless of course that's just the way things have played out, and if that's the case, I feel bad for your relationship.

First off, this sense of "romanticism" that people associate with Valentines tends to carry a laundry list of "appropriate" or "expected" actions like chocolate, flowers, teddy bears, a good bottle of wine, and candlelight. And heaven forbid if anything on the list isn't met. Like, where the hell was my teddy bear, you rat bastard?!

First off, it's far too scripted and typical. There's no creative aspect, no sense of adventure or spontaneity, and in my mind, that's what real romance is about. People try to hard to be Casanova and stop being themselves. Chocolate and flowers is no way to woo me; that type of romance of pink and red make me wanna throw up a little. Anyways, it seems forced, and there always is some sense of entitlement associated with it. Like you deserve all of those things and if you don't get them, then the other party must not like you anymore. It's far too much drama to go into one day and usually ends in some sort of whining instead of wining (oh MAN, what a great pun).

So there's that side of Valentine's Day that just really irritates me. And there's another side too, but I'll get to that in a minute.

What really irritates me about the day is that it creates an internal conflict that really just isn't necessary. I have enough of them during the day for silly things like, what should I eat? or do I watch LOST or the Carolina game tonight? We're talking serious internal debates and stress here people. I really have little energy left to waste on a day about whether or not I like it, especially when it'll all be over soon enough. But then there's everyone you meet during the day, ready to throw in their two cents. And then you start ascribing points of views and feelings to people based on simple greetings, which gets frustrating in and of itself (and let's face it, it's only being frustrated with yourself).

For example, you walk into work and someone greets you with "Happy Valentine's Day!" and you automatically think, "what the hell is she/he so happy about? She must be one of those people that think you're required to enjoy the day and probably has a six o' clock dinner scheduled with mr./ms. significant other. Why can't they just keep their jubilee to them self?". Or you run across that person who looks like they could choke a guy with their stare alone. And maybe you even say something innocuous like "good morning" and they're already down your throat with "I hate this day." And you're left to think "lonely bastard. Poor guy/gal. Why can't they just let it be and enjoy the day for the day?"

When it comes down to it, I actually do enjoy Valentine's Day just as much as some other holidays. I very much see it's importance and the value of the day. I think it's a day where you can be reminded to be intentional about telling people you care about them, that they're important to you, and even if you don't say it everyday, you do think about them. It's why I've already made a list of people I need to talk to today to tell them I love them. And I get that I should be doing that everyday. Why make one day hold all that importance to itself, or why do you need a day to remind you? But the same thing happens with every other holiday. You are reminded to be intentional about making sacrifices during Lent, you are supposed to let your friend know how great they are on their birthday, remember family and what you're thankful for at Thanksgiving...remember that Irish people are awesome, beer is delicious, and almost everyone looks good in green on St. Patrick's Day (which let's face it is my real favorite holiday).

I did talk with my friend Stephen about it a lot this morning (after of course making my obligatory comment of Happy Valentine's Day, so he knows I care). We agreed that the day is far too commercialized. We ALSO agree it would be a lot more exciting if there were those cardboard Valentine's from the days of yore. Now let's not kid ourselves that those were awesome (like the Scooby Doo ones that said "I ruv roo" or "It's no mystery, you're my Valentine"). And I guess most people can't complain about the abundance of chocolate that people are willing to give out. I mean, I'm not too excited about it as I don't really like chocolate (stop the staring, you'll burn a hole in your monitor), but I can celebrate with everyone at least.

So there are problems with the day. I do dislike all of the people running around, rubbing it in your face. And I lament those couples that feel it necessary to celebrate. The ones who are probably headed on their way out if someone doesn't make the day just perfect. I promise they still care even if they don't want to get into "the spirit" of the day, just the same as your family loving you, even if they are scrooges on Christmas.

But then they'll do something I hate most of all...

Ok, wrong hoilday.

But what irritates me the most are people who lament the day; the ones who act like the whole world's against them on Valentine's Day. Like grouch number two from the earlier scenario. I say live and let live (or Live and Let Die, wasn't my favorite Bond movie, but it'll do). The point is everyone's entitled to their day if they want it. And people are gonna go around being disgustingly lovey on other days too, not just February 14th. I think what irritates me the most is that typically the people who are so hateful of the day are generally single by choice, or they have the possibility of being with someone if they wanted to, they just aren't for whatever reason, but it's still their own choice. I mean, there are benefits to being single. And being single doesn't mean being excluded from the day. You don't have to present a dating card at the door. I can understand those being regretful of the day who potentially have just been dumped or have ended a relationship or something to that extent, but those people who just happen to be single...You'll be single tomorrow too, that doesn't mean February 15th is a day to regret or dread or despise. And simply being mad at people who are happy, well that doesn't make much sense either.

Besides, think of all the money you're saving. And there's that laundry list you don't have to worry about.

I get it though, I do. It's everyone shoving it in YOUR face. Just try a little to be happy for them, it might be you one day.

So I enjoy the day as a day to say "I love you" to everyone I feel the need to say it to. Just don't be offended if I ignore the haters or the lovers today. That just aint how I roll, G.

Come on, there's someone you could be telling you love them. Go find them.

Live learn life love die dust gone

So my current love, which keeps cropping up in my life, just when I think I've grown up and out of it, is Hanson.

Yes, Hanson.

I just purchased their new CD "The Walk" to keep me company on my driving up and down I-81 here in Western VA. It's beautiful, I-81, by the way. God how I've missed the autumn. It's alive and well in Louisville, but beautiful Lord, how much more gorgeous is it along the Appalachian, in the Blue Ridge. The afternoon I got here I walked down to the bank and fully realized, for the first time this season, the crunch of autumn leaves. I smelled that long, lost, but familiar smell of the beautiful cycle of the seasons. I was heavenly. And isn't that strange? It's such a beautiful thing, but it's death. The smell of death, the colors of death. Can that be heavenly? Where there is no more death. I guess I should rethink that. It's not death, it's rebirth. Shedding of the old to make room for the new. How gorgeous is life?

Wow, I got lost there for a second.

Anyways. Hanson. I've basically fallen in love with this new album. I admit that listening to old albums, and increasingly as you go back in time, they sound somewhat juvenile. Sometimes my listening to them is due mostly to the sense of nostalgia for my teeny bopper days (committed entirely to Hanson and JTT). However, the great thing about Hanson that you really don't get with many other bands, is this sense of growing up with their music, growing up with them, and listening to them learn who they are through it. Sure, other bands evolve. I mean, the Beatles are certainly a testament to that, surviving the ages and always bringing something fresh and innovative. That's an extreme example, but what I'm trying to do is make a point. With Hanson you really can sense a growing, a learning, a transformation. There are still moments in their songs on this album that have little hints and remembrances of older songs that make me smile, both for my nostalgia and to remind me that they're not evolving their style and throwing out the old (mom, I don't do that anymore, I did that when I was 14, now I'm 15) and for the realization that, yes, they do have a style (and please don't just say "pop") which they've stayed true to (it's not just someone else writing for them, it's them).

This album really is grown up. I want to say they've finally got it, but I think they'll take it even further. I can't wait to see what they'll come out with next time.

It's funny to think they've made it this far at all. I mean, I think they could have a wider audience if they weren't always plagued by their MmmBop days (which I admit, I love and is my ring tone). I always love playing songs from their previous album for people and not telling my listeners what's playing until they've admitting it's catchy and they really like it (please go listen to Underneath's Don't Go, Crazy Beautiful, and especially Penny and Me). But anyways, all anyone will ever tell you or has told you from day one is that they're one hit wonders (wrong) and won't make it past [the current album]. But hey, they're still around and making great music.

I won't say their style is anything unique. It does have some current pop trends in it (there's actually an intro on one song that reminds me, regretfully, of Maroon 5, but they do redeem themselves seconds later). There are moments of Ben Folds piano riffs, a little hint of the 60s, some R&B, and even a little soul. As much as I hate country, there is a song that sounds to me like it could top the country charts, but let's face it, even Ryan has been classified country before, and I still love him.

Anyways, what gets me the most about this album is that there's a edge in about 50% of the songs of social activism. One of the things that's irritated me to no end in the current radio craze is this John Mayer generation anthem of "Waiting on the World to Change". Where's our parent's generation's cry of activism? Are we the apathetic (pathetic?) era? The ones who watch "An Inconvenient Truth" and write off not doing anything because rather than talk being cheap, it's everything, and action means very little ("I watched AIC and it was so amazing, it irritates me, it makes me want to do something, love and respect me for that"). I know tons of people who debate politics with you based off what John Stewart is saying, but don't really know what's going on in politics and honestly don't really care (save for seeming like an activist).

I was at a Hanson concert about a month ago and at the end Taylor (oh my love) gave a brief statement, not a speech, he wasn't on a soapbox, of saying (to use my words) forget the Paris Hilton's of our generation, we need to get out and be active, do things, see the world for what it is and what it could be. God I wish I could remember his exact words.

But listen to this album and you'll see that they make some great points. Their first song (after the intro of 20 south African zulu children chanting "ngi ne themba" in isiZulu...which means "I find hope") is called "Great Divide". Maybe I'm making it out to be more than it is, but the words really do say something. They talk about the huge space between us and other worlds around us. This "great divide" also speaks to the amount of work we have to do, the challenges of what we have to overcome and how hard it will be and is to overcome. But it gives a great anthem of finding hope in the little things and finding strength instead of apathy. How the little moments, the small acts do more to conquer the "great divide" than the big things because they give hope. I appreciate that. It energizes me. And as, um, slightly embarrassing in some ways (because of my fear of your feelings on Hanson) as it is, it's moved me...(there's a link to the video at the bottom of this post, and yes, that especially has moved me near tears, not sure why, I think it's the music)

Here's a great quote from Taylor Hanson. It's not huge or original, but it's refreshing: "We want to inspire others to look for simple, tangible ways to make a difference. It is easy to be halted by the great hurdles of poverty and AIDS, but making an impact can begin [simply]."

Hanson also works with Toms Shoes on their current "The Walk" tour. Check out the site. They sell shoes for $40, which buys a pair a shoes and also donates another pair to children in impoverished areas overseas who are limited in their mobility because of their lack of shoes to get around. I have mixed feelings about groups like this, and am still a little hesitant of them, but I have to keep telling myself that having idealism in everything (and holding this insanely high standard) isn't always practical. Little things lead to big things. I was worried, to explain, that all they did was "drop" the shoes and leave, without the ministry of presence and without the aspect of "mutual mission" that I have come to love. But these groups take the shoes to these shanty towns and take the time to put the shoes on each child's feet. And they wear the shoes themselves, which they say seems to have an impact on the kids. They have a blog if you want to check it out. Anyways, with every date the boys play, they hold a walk. They invited concert goers waiting to be the first ones in the door to the concert, to take a two mile, barefoot walk around the city with them to raise awareness for those less fortunate. Unfortunately I didn't even hear about this until afterwards at the concert (not being as hard core a fan as others there), but I was at a mini-retreat "staff day" that day so I wouldn't have been able to attend. But this is me regretting it, and I digress...

Anyways, I have a habit of writing long blogs. And to sum up, I'm just pretty much in love with this album and with the band at this juncture. It's great to find celebrities who are doing something to make a difference and encouraging others to do the same. And especially not in the mega-star way. They're not trying to make activism trendy, or promote themselves as do-good-ers to promote their image. They're also not trying to do something so huge that we can't do ourselves. They're still under a lot of people's radars, and who knows, could be spending more time fighting their decade-old teeny-bopper image. But they're not.

Also check out their Fire on the Mountain lyrics and they're video for Great Divide if you want.

p.s. Gray was talking about some cross posting or biz like that...I'll just say, I at least posted a link to this post on this blog (which is a good one to check out and check up on, btw)...I don't know if that's what he meant, but oh well...

Quickly jumping back to an update

So where am I now?

Well that's a novel in itself.

I'm working for the PC(USA) in Louisville. That's right, the HQ, the GAC, the hub of Presbyterian activity (or is it). I never realized before how little I knew about the Presbyterian world, at least in a sense of the realities of said center. Turns out there's a lot of animosity towards the "bureaucrats" here, and it seems they're biggest antagonizer is the Layman itself. Everyone carries an edge of cynicism and distrust, or at least fear, since downsizing is a common practice (I feel like maybe I've known this and just never dwelt on it; it's still a very hard reality to face, working there). Recently there was a restructuring and there's been a new director appointed to the area in which I work. As far as I'm concerned he is a very genuine person with a true heart for mission and I wish him the best in staying that way. He hasn't lost his idealism and I pray he never does. There are a lot of great liberal minds here, and I love the diversity. I hate that so many people are distrusting of them and how many of them are distrusting of themselves.

Anyway, that makes me realize I haven't said what I'm actually doing. I'm the intern for the Mission Service Recruitment office which recruits for all types of mission work, nearest and dearest to my heart of which is the Young Adult Volunteers program. Yes, that amazing program I left hanging just this past year. It's an exciting job. I get to travel around and recruit at colleges, retreats, mission and job fairs, etc. It's a little stressful and I feel like I'm not doing as much as I should right now, but I'm dealing with it. This season is always a little slow and I'm waiting until next month when I'll be out of the office for most of the month of November. It's going to be tiring and stressful, I can't deny that I'm worried about that. But I think it will be healthy and it will give Thanksgiving a new meaning. And OH how I am looking forward to Thanksgiving (after having not so much missed it last year as just celebrated it in a much different way).

Anyways, the perks are grand. Lots of air travelling, which I, as an anomaly, am in love with. Airports are one of my favorite places. Raw emotions, people watching. It's a grand thing. Lots of introspective time. I swear there is not a place on Earth that can rival the inexplicable ability of an airport to give you alone time with so many people around. Some people call that "alone in a crowd" and generally associate it with something negative. But there is just something about it that I love having in small doses (granted, I don't want to live like that). I also get an office, business cards, and a laptop. Granted, the office is regularly invaded by freebie grazers, the business cards are, for now, the former intern's cards with her name whited-out and mine written in, and the laptop is really my office computer on a base. I can't complain though. I'm kind of in love with the people with whom I work. We all talk about our lives and make fun of one another in that way that says "I'm laughing with you not at you" (like the other day when I was supposedly 'dressed up' and Celia insisted I had a date that night or was trying to impress some guy; everyone had a great laugh at that). During the Halloween season, Marsha is racking up her score on how many times she can sneak up and scare the bejezus out of me while my back is turned. Having my friend Essie in the office is great, but she's always warning me to not ALWAYS act so childishly or people won't take me seriously (and she does that with a wink and a smile). We have fun in my office. I've gotten called out for skipping down the hall and there's always a dance party to be had. Oh and to jump back a minute in my scattered way, the freebies, or rather the giveaways I take on recruiting trips, are kind of a fun way to make new friends.

Still. The nature of the work has got me doing a lot of thinking on mission, call, social activism, all that jazz. My mind has been working non-stop these days. I have got to get out of my head. I'm worried, for one, about what I'm going to do with my life. I can't keep up this year-at-a-time lifestyle, even if I'm barely into the second year of it. I guess that's the way my college life and society has shaped me (oh dear God, did I call out society again? People have got to stop blaming that intangible thing). There's this idea that you have to be doing something by the time you're as old as I am (and for the love, 23 is so freakin' young). I have no idea, and I'm ok with that. But there's some other me, that somehow lives inside me, prodding me and poking me and freaking out about the fact that "we" have no clue what "we" love in this life. That's still the issue: I don't really "love" anything. I'm still the same old transient, restless girl that I always have been (that Mary Poppins without the nanny business). And I'm going to fret about that until I die I'm sure. But now I've somehow piled on top of that this intention that I need to be doing something that has an intention of social activism. This grand idea of "vocational discernment" which has an inherent necessity, in my mind, of not just having a job, but being called to something. And that calling carries with it the inherent necessity of working for others not just myself. It's not a novel idea, people. It's funny how I'm always looking back and realizing that maybe I always knew something but I never really "knew" it. Sometimes it takes naming. In other words, I'm sure I've always known and felt a need to have whatever I do have some element of social justice, but I've never really taken it to heart, or realized it fully and consciously.

Really that idea gets me nowhere new. It doesn't help in the quest.

The other thing that's bothering me is I'm still not paying attention to the world at large. I mean, can browsing the Bulatlat site from time to time count as keeping up with the Philippines? And ask me how many times I've checked out the news in the past few months. I'm a lazy lazy lady. You know what? I'm done with that thought, I'm not going to unpack it.

So I'm living in Louisville. I moved here, well I'm not sure WHEN I moved here.

I did the YAV Interpretation Team. That helped a lot in the processing of my Philippines voyage that was a long time coming. I developed a "story" to tell (which was really an adaptation of two of my posts from this blog). I went to...oh...ten colleges in TN and NC with another YAV who served in Ghana. It was quite the trek and let me tell you, it was EXHAUSTING. But I met so many collegiates who, although they haven't spent four months in another country, inspire me with their intention of seeing the world and not just seeing mission in a sense of "missioning" to others, but being "missioned" to. It makes me a little embarrassed of PC and what little it does to provide opportunities for service both nationally and internationally. I mean, maymesters do NOT count in my opinion, that's not really seeing the world or learning about other people (although I commend them for the recent study abroad program that was offered in Cuba, how fantastic). I wish I could boast the maturity and intelligence of some of the people I've met. I wish I could boast the number of places they've been. I wish I could boast being as comfortable with cultures as they are. Again, they inspire me.

So...really I moved to Louisville after that even though I was employed by the PC(USA) before then and had already had my new employee orientation (I don't know that I necessarily need a 403(b) plan at my age and for only being employed there for a year).

I'm living in an adorable apartment in the top of a carriage house. It's in Old Louisville, which is beautiful (and hosts the annual St. James Art Fair, right on my street in fact). The house we're behind is too cute. I live with another Young Adult Intern (oh yeah, did I mention my internship is a part of a larger program?) who is great. She just graduated from McCormick. I know with this set up I'll get on her nerves (and probably have) more than she'll get on mine. I'm not embarrassed to say I was scared of the set-up to begin with. Who wouldn't be scared of living with someone they'd never met? But it turns out that we've gotten into some amazing conversations, mostly about racism and sexuality, often times sparked by episodes of Scrubs (which I think I may have gotten her hooked on). Isn't that just too...whatever word I'm looking for...cute? funny? We admitted to each other a fear of sounding unintelligent around people (which maybe I shouldn't be confessing for her). I have that fear so often, I always want to have something profound and thought-provoking to say. But there was a comfort in that. And for what it's worth, she has already, in the few conversations we've had, made me question some of my own truths and things I've thought. And being the stubborn, shut off person that I am, that's a amazing accomplishment on her part.

Oh and my room is Carolina Blue. Could you even ask for anything better?!

I'm in love with Louisville as a city. I didn't think I liked cities really. I mean, I'll always love Charlotte for what it means to me. But Roanoke and Asheville, my loves, are rather small. Still, this city is more amazing every day. There are so many things going on, so many thoughts being had, so many people to meet. And still it's cozy. There are corners to get lost in (like this coffee shop) and open spaces to walk through.

I park every day next to the Louisville Slugger Field and start the day off content with my life. I walk down the edge of the park next to the river and revel in it. I can't believe how I haven't gotten over the water (since I get over things so quickly). There is something wonderful about bridges and I hope one day I'll figure out why I love them so much. When it rains I don't mind, and even a gloomy day outside is good. I don't think I've really been sad since I've been here, and if I have I don't remember it. Maybe it's because of other things going on my life right now, but even with so much on my mind, I can't say I'm not comfortable and satisfied daily. My job stresses me out. But I guess it's supposed to. I'm not used to or ok with being in an office. It's not for me, but there's learning something else about myself. I hate that there's the expectation to complain about your job, though. It's like, no matter how you really feel about your job, how much, when you really step back and think about it, you really like it, you're always supposed to answer with a scoff and a huff when someone asks you how it's going. Well I don't, and I'm not going to.

I'm worried these days when I say I'm happy with life. I've lied to myself before, over and over again until I believe it, that now that I just happen to believe something, I'm skeptical that I've just lied to myself until I've believed it. But no, I'll say it again, I'm happy.

What is my problem?

Yes, that's a great question to ask myself. Actually no. It's not. I'm tired of asking myself that, and I've asked it far too often in the past year.

It's 9:15 pm. I'm sitting in a coffee shop (and I do love the Heine Brothers) in Louisville and about to undertake something incredible...

update.

So the lesson I'm still learning is to stop blaming myself and stop piling on the guilt.

Let me explain. When last I left you all, I was in Cebu, getting ready for Christmas. Seeming very content and very healthy, the weight of the world on my shoulders, but still persevering. I guess that wasn't entirely true.

The funny thing is how well I remember it. I was about to have a meeting, a check-in if you will, with my site coordinator in Cebu, Ate Bet. I don't know why I was so scared to do it. I guess because there was talk of spending Christmas with Pastor Nory in the poor churches in the mountains, and the thought of that was and is terrifying. Terrifying for one because of what it is, and I don't think I have to explain that to anyone. But terrifying also because I still felt somehow entitled to a better Christmas than others in Cebu. That's a harsh judgement to put on myself. I can't be shocked that I am not the strongest person I can be, that four months is not going to break 22 years of inculcation. I'm still scared of keeping my eyes open. And that's what was terrifying. I was also terrified because for some reason, the youth of the jurisdiction thought I was qualified to teach an art class during their yearly Christmas Camp. I'm still on the hunt to find who convinced them of that. But I sat down with A-Bet and braced myself. How I must have sounded, trying my hardest to suggest without bluntly saying that I didn't want to spend Christmas with the poor (and how I still judge myself for that). So spoiled. I wonder if she picked up on it? I was scared who they were going to send me with for Christmas and the News Year. And then came the resolution...I would spend it with A-Bet. And I remember how...relieved I was...and how, happy I was. It almost shocked me how much I had grown to love her and trust her, and how honored and happy I felt being asked to spend the holidays with her. I left smiling.

And that's when things stopped making sense.

It's a long story. I can't really blog about it now. I was scared to then. Basically how it goes is that I was stricken with symptoms of something unknown. Ate Rose took me to visit VCMC where the resolution of the day was an appointment for an ultrasound because I probably had kidney stones. Freakin' PERFECT. So I went, by myself, the scariest thing in the world, and laid down and took it as the Filipino doctor told me that yes, I did have kidney stones, but that there was also something else, and he was recommending I see a specialist. And through all the talk and who knew what was going on, I ended up talking to an OB-GYN who was sending me to see someone for further testing to see if it was just a cyst or cancer that I had.

Lots of things happened. I ended up in Manila with Becca, leaving before our staff Christmas party was quite over to the words of the Bishop saying to hurry back so I could continue to help fight. A lot of arguing with Becca and one thing happening after another, I was suddenly on a plane to the states. Fifty-two hours after that I stepped back onto Roanoke soil, kissed the ground a little, shed a small tear and immediately went to see a doctor. January came and went and I ended up with three small scars from a surgery to remove a (thank God) non-cancerous, dermoid cyst.

But I blamed myself a lot because I didn't go back to Cebu. I couldn't bring myself to tell Becca either and I'm pretty sure that wound is still open. I never went back "to fight" and I'm not sure how my friends on my little island are doing. And I blame myself daily for that.

But I'm slowly moving to a better place, where I can say it was a lot to deal with. I've been affirmed that everyone was at their lowest point in December, and that no one ever expected me to handle more than what I did, or to handle it any differently. Four other interns returned to the states early and I blamed myself for that too. I was always certain that if I hadn't set a precedent that everyone would have made a good year of it. And I can't blame myself for that either.

This probably still leaves a lot of questions open. I could write a novel on my thoughts and feelings on the subject as I've had a good long time to think about it, a lot of time alone with it while my fellow YAVs were dealing with their lives abroad still. I've had an amazing re-entry retreat recently to process a lot of those feelings. And I won't even attempt to write them all out here. For one it's arrogant to think you want to read that and thank God, for once, I don't need this blog to process and make you sit in on it.

The safe thing to say is that I'm in a good place with it all right now. I'm mostly at peace. There are still a lot of broken relationships that I'm not sure I can heal, but intend to attempt doing.

But that's what happened to the Philippines, and here's my first attempt at mending those relationships.

Forgive me for leaving you hanging.

Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland

So Happy Universal Declaration of Human Rights Day.

"How do you spend the whole day hearing that your country is the root of the world's problems?" - texted today to my friend Helen in Bohol.

What made me text this? I thought I'd share my time with you by taking you on a little trip. I'll go through my evening step by step.

Now at the start of the evening, I was in my room...I know because I was there.

Ok, I'm done with crazy movie references most people will never get, but alas.

So ok, really. Tonight has been a crazy night for thoughts and I guess my best way to detox and process them all is to come here and write in my blog.

....

I started the evening walking down Osmena Blvd. towards Fuente Osmena. Looking over to the opposite side of the street I saw it mostly deserted, dry, and dark. This was quite a staggering contrast to this morning. I remembered taking those same steps walking towards the center of the roundabout with my German fellow intern in tow, racing to meet who knew how many people from various human rights delegations to join in a rally in honor of UDHRD (my own acronym). I guess if news hasn't exactly circulated in the states then it's a good time to mention that the "beloved" ASEAN summit has been postponed. They say that it's because of the threat of yet another typhoon that's been scheduled to hit the Visayas region. The thing is that Cebu is rarely hit by typhoons and feels little more than extended rains as throw off from other locations. The real reason? Well the talk here is it's Gloria's increasing attempts, most of them illegal, at her Charter Change and Con-Ass attempts (I'll explain that later if need be). Anyway, the sky then was a lot lighter this morning, but not as much as it should have been. There were dark clouds off in the distance, just to remind us that the typhoon was at least nearby, and to warn us against trying anything outdoorsy. No one seemed to notice, however, and instead all the gathering groups, from the urban poor, student, youth, women's, workers, and any other assembly you could think of were busy readying their own parts of the rally. The urban poor youth had made masks, placards, and ponchos and learned a dance as their part. The artist group I've been working with dressed up one of the girls in the papier mache head of Gloria and two boys joined in painting their bodies white and writing "Stop the Political Killings" on their backs. Debo and I had been told to stand off to the side and observe because of the threats of deporting any internationals who dared join in street rallies, peaceful or not. Still, we were ushered into the crowd and even moved to the front as the rain suddenly turned on and tried to soak us all to our skin. White puddles from the painted boys ahead ran down the streets, and I struggled to keep my bag inside my jacket to keep my camera safe. Thankfully all of the hundreds of placards displaying different victims of political killings had been covered with plastic for just such an event and once the international solidarity group joined, we pressed on down Osmena.

On our way down the street, I noticed police cars with their lights flashing, trying desperately to idle inconspicuously on the side of the road (maybe they should have turned off their lights), reminding us all in some little way why we were there. It seemed that would be all we would see of them. No such luck. A mere two blocks from our arrival location, we were met with a line of policemen, adorned with helmets and shields, stretched across the length of the road to tell us that human rights had little value on this day to them, namely the right to assemble peacefully. You kind of go dumb when you meet police. You don't know whether to go towards them or hide. Especially when you stick out because of your blinding skin. Part of me just wanted to go up and stare one in the face, instead I decided taking a picture would be a good idea, I'm not sure why. A man with a microphone began screaming at the police, demanding that we, as peaceful protesters, be allowed to pass. Moments after saying we would not be allowed to pass, we were being ushered through the streets to our final destination, two blocks away. Is two blocks worth all that? Maybe not in practice, but in principal, it's an ocean. Of course another barricade kept us from the actual side of the street we were supposed to be on, but in my opinion, they actually gave us a safer and more workable space to have our program than we could have had had we asked them.

Speakers began screaming in Cebuano and before long I saw at least a few other white faces who were there to try in their own little way to help. I guess I mention this because it's so strange to see other white faces that aren't the other interns and aren't the nasty white men with their bought women. But white or no, we all stood together as the rain turned on and off, shouting and listening and shouting again.

So why was I looking back and thinking about all of this? Because it was so difficult. Try being only one of two Americans in a vast swarm of people. The whole time, walking down that road, they were screaming...

Kinsa? Kinsa? Kinsa Terrorista? (Who? Who? Who is the terrorist?)
Ang US, si Gloria, sila ang Terrorista! (The US, Gloria, They are the terrorists!)

How did it feel every time? Piercing. Judging. Damning. Truthful.

In some ways you feel like you never thought you could feel it just wasn't important to you. You feel like a traitor. I know deep inside that it's true. That the US is a greedy, imposing, imperialist country. I know that many of the ills of the Philippines come from places like the US, and mostly from the US itself. I know the US government has groomed Filipino leaders, I know it gives money to the Arroyo government for counter terrorism that instead gets spent on extra-judicial killings of priests and community leaders. And yet, still, I felt like somehow it was condemning the whole country, all of us. I felt more and more eyes staring at me, even though I know they weren't. They always say they don't blame the people, just the government, and they want us to understand that, but that's not how it feels when you hear chants like that.

When the international solidarity group was asked to speak, it was one man from Australia. I honestly have to plead ignorance when it comes to the Australian government and their policies. Still, I would consider them a western country of wealth, who is at least somewhat guilty of the imperialism of which the US is constantly accused and guilty. So it's hard to hear an Australian white man say that they are with the Filipino people against the US, and that they too want the US out of their country and to take their bases with them. I don't see Australia really suffering from the US so much as the Filipino people do. I guess he's really only guilty of wanting to stand with the people he hurts for and getting caught up in the moment.

This is the part that catches up with the story and why I was walking at night all the way past Fuente. Trying to find some sort of escape, I noticed two white faces that looked familiar. It was a Canadian couple that works with a film group out of Montreal whom we had met at the Sept. 21st observation of the declaration of martial law under the Marcos dictatorship. I thought it would be nice to at least say hello. It turns out their hosting a three night film festival in a hotel about a mile from CENDET and tonight was the second night. They handed me a flier and rushed off to the meeting they were late for.

So here I was, walking down Osmena, having the hardest battle with myself over the weight of the world that I had somehow propped on my shoulders.

I walked into McDonald's to grab a quick bite because the canteen is closed on Sundays, and thought that Morgan Spurlock really wasted his time in revealing the "villainy" of McDonald's when there are so many more important things in the world than what people chose to eat. How 'bout the people who don't get to eat? How did that Supersize Me obsession start anyway? Damn you, Spurlock, and your pointless documentary. Go to a third world country and better spend your time. But I guess we all have to champion some cause, otherwise some would get lost in the shuffle.

I finally reached the hotel, a little early since most of the attendees are Filipino. So in other words, right on time. The Canadienne noticed me and came over. She gave me some reading material about the group in the Philippines that was sponsoring this event to read while I waited. The group is known as the Southern Tagalog Exposure and into which it is really worth looking. Then came the films.

The theme of the night was "'War on Terror' and US Military bases". Now, I don't know what these movies had to do with the US. They didn't mention the US once, something very unique to the night. I guess they wanted to throw a different light onto the countries where the US has military bases, but still, the theme of the films had nothing to do with the US, at all.

The first was "Game of Their Lives". "The story of how a group of hitherto unknown footballers performed one of the greatest upsets in World Cup history- and promptly vanished back into oblivion. The documentary tracks down North Korea's Cinderella 1966 World Cup team and is an exquisitely filmed exploration of pride, nationalism, friendship, aging, and life as the underdog. With myths exploded around every corner, much of North Korean society comes to resemble something we might even understand, or at least glimpse at its logic." Honestly, I saw little more than a story about football. I saw no myths exploded, maybe a simply blurb at the end that "dispelled" a rumor of them being imprisoned for drunken disorderly conduct, but that's about it. A good movie, but not much on North Korea itself. (The funny thing is they call this the biggest upset in world cup history, but there was a movie made of the same title about a US team in the 1950 World Cup in Brazil that claims the same thing...crazy, huh?)

The second film was "Singapore Rebel" (or here or here). "This documentary-like film on an opposition politician is a work Singapore's censorship board doesn't want people to see. The main protagonist, Chee Soon Juan, has twice been imprisoned for championing democratic change in the city state. The censor declared it a 'Party political film' and it was pulled form the Singapore International Film Festival line-up after the director was warned he could face two years in jail if the screening went ahead." This movie was actually really interesting. You don't really hear much about Singapore, and while it didn't do much in explaining the political situation there, it definitely got me interested in finding out.

The final film was about the Philippines and the Calibrated Pre-Emtive Response (CPR) which is in place for pre-meditated protests, as you could say. Is is called "Batas Busal" and "begins with the June 2005 revelation that seriously put into question the legitimacy of Gloria Macapagal Arroyo's Presidency. It examines how Arroyo impeded investigations, obstructed all legal processes and issued repressive orders such as the 'ccalibrated pre-emptive response', violently blocking all outlets for the legitimate protests of the Philippine people."

After the movies, there was a time for response. Little was said about the movies and more said about the evil US. Not the US government, the US. I have to admit that in my college-aged political activism, I myself have gained a bad taste for the US government that in all respects calls it close to the same things that the people I have heard it called today. I've turned the tables on their terrorism claims by calling it back to them myself, but there is just something sickening about sitting in a room and hearing nothing but bad things about the country. It's hard to hear that while N. Korea is wanting to run nuclear testings that they respect them for standing against the US for not disarming. They were borderline revered in this talk, and I have to say that I wish I knew more about the situation. Still, its more of an idea of if you're against the US, you're ok. And the problem is in each argument I can hear streams of truth and logic.

But since the topic of the movies wasn't stuck to, I'll try to give you the response that I didn't feel I could have given there.

The thing about all these movies is that they're about underdogs. Whether its the team from North Korea, or the opposition party, or the masses of people against a government, they're all somehow on the side you wouldn't expect to win. I, as an American, maybe as a women, but never as an American, will never be the underdog. I'll never be the one cheered for, and maybe I shouldn't ever be. The thing is that even I wouldn't cheer for me. I'm a huge fan of the underdog, and I'd be on their side long before my own. The only person who cheers for the other team is the one who wants to see the underdog lose, and who can be so cold as to do that. It's hard to sit in a room of other-worlders on a day such as today. Today is supposed to be a day when you celebrate an amazing act by a body that's great than you for a cause that's greater than you. That's something we all need to believe in. When we champion a government, and when we talk about nationalism, that's what we're all searching for. We want a government that is greater than us, because it's made up of all of our friends and families, things that are great. So it's so hard to want that from my own country which has more immediate potential to be such a place and instead to sit and hear how much we've failed at that. How even though there aren't the same ills in the US as there are in Singapore, and Northern Korea and the Philippines, we are still just as much the oppressors of human rights and as much guilty of violations because we let things happen. Sitting by and doing nothing makes you just as guilty, seeing things and not doing anything. So when we champion the underdog, let's always remember that it's not ourselves that we'll be cheering for. And sometimes that means letting people be angry with us, because we should be angry at ourselves.

I walked home and passed the Robinson's Mall, which by that time was closed. I realized that in a strangely cheesy, metaphorical way, the US is like a mall at night. I remember sitting in a mall after hours one night with my friend Eric Jones and just talking. No one was there, everyone had gone home. They had left the floor open to the night walkers for a few hours, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was like we owned the whole world, it was strangely exciting for something so stupid as the mall. The thing about a mall at night is there are so many things inside that are just sitting, doing nothing least of which is any good for anyone. All of these things that no one can get to, and no one's using. The US has all of this wealth inside it, most of which isn't being used. And it's just being locked up for no one's use but our own. I'm sorry, this sounded a lot more poignant and inspirational earlier tonight.

So this has been a really hard day and I'm surprised I'm planning on going back for a second dose tomorrow. The international solidarity meeting tomorrow is being held at CENDET at 8:00 am, and yet I'm getting up for it and saying bring it on. Sometimes I don't make sense to myself.

"I know you're not a conservative capitalist pig." - Helen's response

Sometimes it's more important that your friends like you than the rest of the world.

We Are the World

Happy Day 100!!! (ok, so that was actually on the 6th, but you get the point)

How did I celebrate?

Yeah, I heard a lot of really old music from some concert DVDs in the Bohol Sports Bar this weekend where Debo, Helen and I went to talk. A little strange. I saw Bob Dylan, Mic Jagger, Dione Warwick, Patti LaBelle, Kenny Loggins, and a lot of one hit wonders on the Live Aid concert and then got a nice dose of The Police, Eric Clapton, and even Robbie Williams (the only non-80s band) while there, it was crazy.

Oh wait, why was I in Bohol?

Well the Western Visayas Jurisdition of the UCCP church was having one of their meetings and Bohol was hosting. This meant two things for me:

1) Great trip
2) Fellow interns (Helen and Debo)

While most of the meeting mostly went over my head, we did have a great day of travelling aroudn teh south-western quarter of the island to see the main attractions that make Bohol one of the top tourist spots in the Philippines.

We went to see the famous Chocolate Hills, which are said to be coral deposits from millions of years ago when Bohol was completely under the water and are these almost perfectly rounded hills that turn brown in the summer, and the tarsiers, which are the smallest primates in the world.

It took mostly the whole day to vist three sites (two Chocolate Hills locations and one Tarsier habitat). The day culminated for me in sleeping for about three hours on the beach while I should have been swimming in the ocean. Tarsiers can really take it out of you.

We had an amazing dinner that night with the famous pork "lechon" for our "Christmas celebration". Lechon is basically this big pig that's been fried. Yes, the whole pig. I also ate some yummy bi-valves (I don't know exactly what kind) and some weird fish salad type thing. And let me say that where there's a party, there's karaoke, and Filipinos LOVE karaoke. It's more of those cheesey lounge songs, but its great fun to seen grown adults singing and dancing like wild things.

All in all the week was a blast and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I'm sorry there's not a lot more to report from it, but when you travel at night by boat, you don't get much sleep and you tend not be too coherent the next day. I'll try to do better next time.

Peace, I hope