Joey's Web Log

Update

2012-02-23T15:13:00.002-08:00

I'm heading to Haifa, Israel in 2 weeks. I'm vacating my apartment, I've sold my motorcycle, and I'm heading to Israel for a little tourism and research.

I'm hoping to get my head in it, you know, really see what's up over there, given that our media and their media and everyone's media has their own story, usually completely laden with biases that serve political purposes.

Politics. Politics is everywhere. Everywhere I look, there is it. Every company, school, organization, and even relationship. Everyone trying to scrape together a little power.

I babble now.

I just wanted to post something, but I always wind up freezing and contriving when I do. I judge myself, you know.

Scratching the page,
hoping for substance,
hoping to get by off the fruit of my hand.
Scratching my head,
waiting for revelation,
I can't trust the words I don't understand.

Breaking Out

2011-10-11T00:42:00.000-07:00

I had to break back out.

College is over for me for now. It's not like I really have more time, but I can't sleep tonight and it's because I keep thinking about what is happening in New York. And Boston. And just an hour north of me in Los Angeles. A social movement like nothing this country has seen since the end of the Vietnam War is happening right now, and since I'm having difficulties finding a way to contribute, I'm breaking back out.

It's a simple need, one we've known about for a long time: We gotta get corporate influence out of Washington, we gotta get some regulations on the banks, and we gotta get the tax system set up so the rich pay the same rates as the poor. Reagan's and Bush's and now Obama's tax policies have not created jobs, and we all can see that bankers are sitting and sitting on the wealth they've accumulated over the last few years, especially since the 2008 crash. We got tax loopholes all over the place to allow this to happen, and the massive housing fraud that led to 2008 was mostly legal in our system.

I guess I don't see it fair for anyone to be on the fence about this one just because the protesters' own interests are heavily involved. That's the point, isn't it? Everyone's interests are involved here. Our student loan system sucks, and we wouldn't have to use that much more revenue to provide venues for affordable education (especially if we cut military--$1m a year per soldier). This really is about the 99%, even if who we have representing that group right now is mostly students, hipsters, and now unions. My parents have something to lose, I have something to lose, and most of us do. Science and scholarship have something to lose, what with research getting targeted constantly be conservative interests. The environment has something to lost, given that our government is already trying to give up in the green energy race. We're still subsidizing tobacco. We are subsidizing cotton in Brazil. We are subsidizing oil. We should be funding education and healthcare. The point is, we've all got something to lose here, and finally we have a movement for change that's not linked to a WTO event that will be over in a week. This is one that rose spontaneously and is growing roots in our American democracy. The rest of the world is asking: “What took you so long?” “We’ve been wondering when you were going to show up.” And most of all: “Welcome.” (I stole that quote). I think people should support it.

This is so important.

Edit: Ask me if you want sources for anything I said.

Treat

2010-02-20T13:51:00.001-08:00

Iran

2009-11-03T12:46:00.001-08:00

Well, here we go again. Iran goes on developing its nuclear program. Is it aiming to produce nuclear weaponry? Are we, the West, going to insist that it is developing weapons? That’s what the US did with Iraq and after we bombed the hell out of the country, we didn’t turn anything up. Of course, everyone knows it was never about WMDs anyway.
The question of intentions in Iran though, is much more sincere than was the Iraqi instance. Are they secretly developing nuclear weapons? Four UN inspectors were sent there last week. In addition, Iran had talks with France, US, and Russia in which the latter three pushed a new deal. Iran could send its uranium to be processed in Russia and France and thus guarantee to the powers that they are not developing nuclear weapons. Iranian officials have not yet answered the call.
For many, it seems obvious that Iran is developing nuclear weapons. There is little doubt to the Israeli press that Iran continues to try to develop nuclear capabilities. Haaretz reports speak of a video shown at a conference in Vienna that seem to prove Iran’s plans to fit a warhead to one of their Shahab missiles. The Jerusalem Post has basically published the Israel is ready to strike if Iran becomes too great a threat. It reports that the reason time is short of solving the Iranian nuclear issue is because, as the French Foreign Minister put it, “Israel will not tolerate an Iranian bomb. We know that, all of us…”
The Lebanese Beirut Daily Star proved to be a solid neutral view of the issue with little influence of bias. It reported what the UN has been doing in Iran, what the meetings between France, US, Russia, and Iran have been about, and what the decision is liable to yield. It shows Western experts’ reasons for doubt and Iran’s reasons for considering rejecting the deal.
The Iranian government is clearly split over how to deal with the proposition. As al-Jazeera reports, some in the Iranian government would rather just buy uranium from abroad than to send their partially enriched uranium to be processed. Some want no foreign intervention at all. And some think complying would take some pressure off of the Iranian government.
One thing is still for sure: just about everyone doubts Iran’s claims that it enriches for only peaceful purposes. The reasons to doubt abound. New plants are springing up in Iran: “…the revelation of the existence of the new plant near Qom had increased fears in the West about Tehran's intentions.” (BBC) The centrifuges currently in use are deemed “too small to fuel a nuclear power station, but is enough to yield fissile material for one or two nuclear warheads a year.” (Daily Star) Then there’s the all to familiar rivalry between Israel, the US’s ally, and Iran.
Iranian officials should reach a decision regarding the US-France-Russia deal this week, and that should reveal a little more about what Iran’s true intentions might be.

References
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8324511.stm
http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2009/10/200910251153319431.html
http://www.csmonitor.com/2009/1023/p06s14-wome.html
http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1256150054404&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull
http://dailystar.com.lb/article.asp?edition_ID=10&article_ID=107917&categ_id=2
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1121587.html
http://armscontrolcenter.org/policy/iran/?gclid=CI6y4-HW250CFSn6agodwk0ZrQ

Eclectic

2009-10-17T17:24:00.000-07:00

This one will seem a bit strange. The first bit will be an short essay I wrote on US Drug Policy. The second bit will be about a friend who caught a pig at my parents' house:

What to Me Seems to be an Obvious Solution

When former Baltimore Mayor Kurt Schmoke asked his city’s residents whether they thought the ‘War on Drugs’ had worked or was working, their responses were simple and unanimous: laughter and dismissal. When he asked whether they thought it would work if the government continued with the policy, it was a rhetorical question. Everyone knows that our policy of criminalization of anything related to drug use and trafficking has been completely ineffective and counterproductive.

Among many, many other things, the chief negative consequences of the drug policy the U.S. have been the high cost, rampant police corruption, and a gross imbalance concerning which sects of the population actually wind up convicted. As Sneiderman stated in his Just Say No to the War on Drugs,“what is striking is that it is primarily young black males who are beings wept off the streets of their ghettos into the correctional system. (In 1989, the newspaper USA Today reported that although only 12 percent of those using illicit drugs were black, 38 percent of those arrested for drug violations were black males.)” [1]

And if skewed, racist implementation of policy weren’t enough to convince one of the futility and harm of the current criminal policy towards drugs, one may consider the fact that the numbers of people hooked on harmful substances have not improved in the least. They’ve worsened. In the Netherlands, where some drugs have been legalized and placed under government monitor, however, the contrary has occurred. According to Nadelman, a drug policy researcher from New York, “the average age of heroin addicts in the Netherlands has been increasing for almost a decade; HIV rates among addicts are dramatically lower than in the United States.” He also adds that the Dutch policy can be run at a much lower cost.[2]

Like with the prohibition in the 20s, the drug policies have led to increased crime on both the criminal and the law enforcement sides of the conflict. Organized crime has increased and flourished, given that an entire underground industry can run on the illicit status of drugs. So too do the police forces at the local and federal levels find themselves embroiled in corrupt policy and enforcement. Like the twisted government of Chicago during the prohibition, political structures buckle under the pressure of both the demand of the drug and the demand to quell it. Joseph McNamara explains it perfectly: “It’s a war after all,” and many are under the impression that anything, including abuse of the laws one claims to enforce, is fair in a war.

With these pieces of evidence that few will refute, why does this policy continue to be in effect? Probably, the other undisputed fact that drugs are a real problem in the U.S. is what perpetuates the policy. What should be the obvious solution struggles to surface when it comes to policy planning and implementation. I refer, of course, to simple education. The kind of “education” that youth in America have received about drugs has been little more than nasty, often racist and elitist propaganda. Inner city schools, usually the poorest-funded are also in the very places where drug abuse is most rampant. If the money spent on locking up the users in those areas were spent on trying to dissuade them from abuse through education, rather than brute coercion, who’s to say we wouldn’t follow the trend already show in the Netherlands. “The most dangerous drug,” marijuana, has rates of usage half in the Netherlands what they are here, per capita.

Following the Dutch example, marijuana is exactly where we should start. By decriminalizing personal use, possession, and small scale growing of the crop, the first and most impacting result would be the sigh of relief in the prison system. If another step were taken in allowing the sale of it, suddenly there would be a huge base for tax revenue for the government (which makes a lot off of taxing tobacco and alcohol.)

As those Baltimore residents said, clearly the “War on Drugs” has proven to be a miserable failure and a source of misery and marginalization of people who may really need (and desire) help. It corrupts, it kills, it isolates, it costs, and most of all, it doesn’t do what it is supposed to do. So why keep it? If we can see that education and social rehabilitation does more to affect the numbers of users and abusers, then the next step to be taken in curbing drug use is indeed obvious: stop locking up those struggling with drugs, and start helping them recover through social and educational reform.

[1] Sneiderman, Barney, Just Say No to the War on Drugs

[2] E.A. Nadelman, "The War on Drugs Is Lost" National Review (12 February 1996) 38.

joey

Here I Go

2009-10-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

Here I go,

The prestigious Truman Scholarship is up for grabs and I'm going to try to get it. It would mean 30k/yr for grad school and would probably mean I could go wherever I want for grad school. There are a few issues with my trying to get the Truman though.

You're supposed to be able to prove yourself as a volunteer, leader, and academic. Academically and with volunteering, I can hold my ground.

But leadership. On that front, I'm quite short. Most of the things I have done in my life have been independent. I've have gone by myself as a sort of independent contractor (though volunteering) to wort with other groups, usually YWAM groups in much of the world.

Still, Joe Kertes says he thinks I may have something for the Truman people. My background is diverse enough to make my application at least readable. I'm not sure if any ex-YWAMers have ever received one. I'd be interested to find out. Or maybe I'm still a YWAMer. I'm not really sure.

We shall see how that goes.

joey

I Want to do this

2009-09-27T19:21:00.000-07:00

Okay.

I don't want to be a careerist. I want to be the kind of man who always pursues what is right for all the right reasons. At the same time, I don't want to be a perfectionist. I want to be a craftsman who cares for his work but doesn't let his identity get all wrapped up in it. I want to be a man open to learning and open to teaching.

I want a career, but I don't want it to eat my existence. I don't want to enter retirement and feel like I'm going crazy. I want to be able to just retire and travel and enjoy the Earth for what it is. I want to teach people what I know and make students love learning as much as I do. I want to take what I know and shave little bits off the top like cinnamon and flavor life with them.

I want to put people first. Believe it or not, I still want to put God first. That's confusing to a lot of people, especially those keeping in closer touch with me, but I still feel a sort of calling to what I'm doing. It's not supernatural though. And it's not divine. It's sort of innate.

I'm still going to exercise a little vanity. I'm still going to wear a mustache from time to time, but I don't ever want to take my field so seriously that I forget about my people. Guys, I'm really, really going to try to regularly up date this with my thoughts. I don't want anyone feeling like they don't know me anymore. Stay with me, okay?

joey

Posting Again...Just Pretend I Never Stopped

2009-09-27T19:19:00.000-07:00

I haven’t posted a while on this blog, but I’ve been given a reason to start back up again. I’m reading the news a lot lately. I’m in a class called ‘Peace and Conflict in the Middle East’ and as such, I’ve been trying to keep up with all that is going on there. As such, I read a lot of news, and I like to keep my information coming from a very wide range of sources so as to neutralize bias from my sources.

I also like to generally compare different news agencies in the way they address different developments. They are not always what you’d expect.

UN judge Richard Goldstone just issued a report following a private “fact-finding mission” concerning the 3-week war in Gaza last winter. The report was mostly critical of the Israeli military’s actions there, emphasizing the loss of Palestinian life, but it threw in some accusations of war crimes for Hamas as well. Both Israel and Hamas have rejected the report as biased. That fact could be interpreted to say that it’s actually not biased.

As you’d probably expect, FOX news and the Jerusalem Post took Israel’s side, for the most part. The report is so filled with accusations against Israel that analyzing the report is sort of impossible without pointing out Israel’s actions last winter. Weird though, is the fact that the New York Times also strongly took Israel’s side. It basically took the report and questioned it on the grounds that it gives Israel no way to defend its borders. The NYT is usually pretty liberal and tends to lean toward favoring most UN reports, but not this one.

Even weirder though, is how a Lebanese newspaper treated it. It seemed to be the least biased of all the newspapers I read. It had the only headline that included the UN’s indictments against Hamas as well. It was a lot less liberal than other agencies with throwing around statistics and blankly making outrageous claims.

On the other end, and exactly as I expected, Al-Jazeera just tore into it. They love easy pickings like this. All Al-Jazeera had to do was strategically pull out a few quotes from the report and fluff them up with a few of their own quote’s from interviews to make Israel look like a country run by jackasses. It’s not fair, of course, and you can’t really just go with what they say, but after reading a bunch of newspapers trying to sound unbiased, it’s kind of fun to read one that just lets their opinions go.

Anyway, I’m pretty much decided on this one. This judge Goldstone is Jewish and has a pretty strong history with Israel. He was surprised to be appointed to head up the mission. He seems to have treated the issue with a lot of care and consideration, and again, both sides rejecting the report, to me indicate it was probably well put together.

On the other hand, the UN has sort of had it out for Israel for a while and any report condemning Israel’s actions never comes as a surprise.

The report is going to be given to the International Criminal Court in The Hague if Israel does run their own private investigations, and depending what happens there, Israel could soon see some pretty harsh economic implications.

Somebody’s got to stop the settlement policies though, and the Gaza blockade as well.

A lot of people are suffering there.

Back to Giza

2009-06-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, a bunch of kings died. But before they did, they had thousands and thousands of their subject build them really huge graves and boats to go along with them. The following photos show some of those, as well as some of the other people in my group.

Wide View (Recycled)

Between the pyramids.

The King's Boat

Those who still make money off their deaths

Those who still walk the lands they did

Tarek, the insulting tour guide

Sean

Paco

Sammy

Christian

أنا

joey

Saqara

2009-06-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

Well, my group decided to go to a building that is about 5000 years old.

When the Christ was born, these buildings had been standing for 3000 years. And they still stand there.

There are statues in pristine condition with fine details still standing out that have stood about 55 current lifetimes. Imagine if your great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather built a statue in the desert, and you happened upon it, and it was still in as good of shape as the day he finished it.

That's magnoon.

So there are some photos below, as well as some more typical Cairo stuff.

Classes are picking up, Arabic is soaking in, and Joey is becoming one with the desert.

Here:

Fresh Squeezed, Cairo-Style

Back to VW-mania

Ramses, BCE 2100

The Oldest Pyramid in the World

The Keeper

Ancient Wisdom

Ana fi Saqara

Still Curious,

Joey

Return to القاهرة‎

2009-06-19T01:16:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm officially back in Cairo. Nothing's changed here. The taxis still drive like they're magnoon in the ras, the shawirmas are still a delight to the lsan, and the the feluccas still drift lazily on il'Nil.

I traveled yesterday back to my former stomping grounds in el'Maadi to look for Hany,

the felucca sailor who escorted us to gezirah daHab when we were here last time. From where I live, it's a 30 minute walk, a 30 minute metro ride, and another 30 minute walk to get to the water. It's amazing all that one can learn in a city like Cairo in just an hour and a half. I made friends while crossing the bridge with a man named Mahmoud. I simply asked where the metro was and he said, "I'm going there anyway, just follow me." So we had a nice little conversation about life in il'Qahirah and Egypt in general.

I got on the metro, just as cramped as before and with the smell of close humanity rich in the air. I got on at the back of the car which I instantly recalled means one thing: no airflow. At all. I wrenched my way through the crowd and finally found a Joey-shaped spot next to a window. It was some relief, but hardly enough to warrant the force I exerted to get to that point.

Finally, I arrived at el'Maadi. Nothing has changed. Even the red volkswagen I photographed there 3 years ago has not moved an inch.
I made my way through the white tile tunnel
and rediscovered the best shawirmas in Cairo. The price has gone up a little, but they're still worth it.

Finally, I made my way to the Nile. I didn't even get lost. I remember exactly how to get there, and didn't even have to ask for directions. The biggest challenge was crossing the road that runs right along the Nile. Pedestrians have absolutely no right of way, and traffic must be crossed lane-by-lane. It's a scary process, especially to someone used to the comforts of crosswalks with little blinking WALK-lights and police who will arrest a motorist who violates the pedestrians space rather than one who simply laughs at the stupid, ignorant Amreekee.

I looked for Hany's dock, and found it after about 2 minutes of looking. I found Usama, his brother, and the conversation, translated from Arabic went like this:

"Good evening."
"Good evening."
"My name is Yusuf."
"Peace upon you, Yusuf. My name is Usama."
"I Cairo, thousand two six here. I Elijah other Hany felucca Gold Island."
A long string of words out of which I got the words for 'friend' and 'photo.'

After he said 'sura' (photo) and made motions of some goofy photographer, I knew he remembered me.

"I understand. Hany here or not here. Maybe?"
More words, from which I gathered that Hany leaves early on Thursdays, is off on Fridays, and comes in late on Saturdays.
"Sunday. I let's go I felucca Hany I how much?"
He did something like telling me not to worry about the cost and that we'd work it out later.
"I other let's go Sunday Nile no problem?"
"Yes, Mister Yusuf."
"You say Hany Yusuf here Cairo?"
"No problem, Mister Yusuf."
"Thank you. See you later."
"Goodbye."

So, as you can see, my Arabic is coming along rather swimmingly. I should really work on basic vocabulary though.

Welcome in Egypt (II)

2009-06-14T12:52:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back.

Back to Cairo.

Back to Arabic, humdulillah.

Back to koshery and shawarma.

And I'm here for 2 months. I'm already re-acclimating myself after only a few hours, and remember a lot of the tricks I developed to get around here.

It's going to be an awesome summer.

I miss my girlfriend though, a lot more than I expected to. Many of you may be surprised by this, considering my wandering lifestyle and relative emotional detachments from all things stationary.

I'll get back to you soon.

Yusuf

Final Cameroon Blog

2009-06-13T03:46:00.000-07:00

Well, this is it, Cameroon. This is goodbye. It could be a very long time before I see your shores again. It could be a long time before I taste your fried plantains or groove out to the pulsating beats that rock your land and air.

I must say, Cameroon, my friend, that I never expected to come to appreciate your art of life as much as I do. I am floored. The rhythm to which you tap your feet and shake your booty is completely new to me and absolutely satisfying.

There is nothing stiff about you. Everything ebbs and flows like a brook winding down one of your many forested hills. Everything gracefully bends and curves, intersects without delay, and splits back off into an amazing dance that involves every part of you—people, land, and nature.

I hope I return to drink your many flavors—33 Export, jus d’anana, dirty water—they’ll pulse through me veins again one day. Your potholed roads will beckon me again. Your orphaned children’s laughter will ride the rhythmic winds to my distant ears, unable to be ignored, and I will come back.

You’ve given me some valuable gifts, some images and sounds that will stay with me forever. I promise you, Cameroon, that if I am presented the opportunity, I will return to you. We’ll have an affair to remember the rest of both of our lives. Or at least I will. I know I have little effect on you, but Cameroon, your have impacted me in a way I will not soon forget.

So please, Cameroon, keep dishing up your fufu and jamanjamay. Keep offering wild rides in your streets in cabs and on 125cc Chinese motorcycles. Keep treading the unpredictable but consistent notes that reach out and shakes my booty for me.

And I’ll be back.

joey

Hills above Bamenda

At an orphanage on a hill

A Beautiful Girl

This boy...

...sells these bananas.

Some beautiful children live in Bamenda

The Obligatory Volkswagen Shot

Some Workin' Men

More Beautiful African Kids

Apparently he leads the whole world. Africans are very proud of him.

Probably the only cyclist I saw while in Cameroon. I managed to get a nice pan shot.

An experience I won't soon forget.

Okay, so how there could possibly be a car in Bamenda, Cameroon that was sold in Fayetteville, Arkansas is baffling enough. But that I was born there too and wound up coming across this car in Cameroon. It defies logic. A very strange coincidence.

I'll write from Egypt.

joey

4 days in Cameroon

2009-06-06T04:00:00.000-07:00

So I've been here and we've been shooting like crazy.

Let me tell you, doc-making is not easy work. Long days with no breaks and lots of money spent. It is not an easy task.

But we're really getting some good footage. Yesterday to of the boys who go to Asseja the NGO and school we're filming, really opened up and told us their entire life stories, including some really gruesome details that really will bring their characters to life. I think we're going to have a pretty amazing film.

I've also been getting some chance in the down time to get some pretty good photos. I'll probably try to put together an exhibition when i get back to CA too. 4 days here and I have a whole portfolio of life in africa.

Anyway, our team is also going to the world cup qualifier between morocco and cameroon tomorrow. talk about a once in a lifetime opportunity. we're bringing 9 of Asseja's kids with us to and we're going to film there at the game. we're going to have some amazing footage, i'm sure. also, some amazing photos for me. i'm just so stoked about being here. finally coming to africa.

and i haven't even gotten sick yet, aside from the typical traveler's diarhea. that's a rite of passage though. one has to pay one's dues.

like i said last blog, it's crazy here. but i'm starting to sense a rhythm in everything here that i've never seen anywhere. it's like everyone is walking and driving and flowing to some beat that i can't hear and can only pick up through watching their actions. it's the african rhythm i've heard about my whole life but never have actually faced. and it's beautiful, so beautiful. from carrying everything on one's head to smoothly cutting a u-turn in fast-moving traffic, these people know how to dance the rhythm in the streets.

i've made some more photographs and i hope you can pick up that rhythm as well.

lumber

mototaxi

western filmmakers

boys

dancing

tom and huck

josue, our friend from asseja

taylor

chaufeur

lumber

our accomodations

corn leaves

village girl

beautiful black skin

joey

Some More Cameroon Craziness

2009-06-04T14:15:00.000-07:00

Whoa.

This is definitely the craziest place I've been. And possibly the most beautiful. It is so unpredictable. Granted, I'm a foreigner and why would I know the first thing about this country, but I've gotten okay at forecasting the style of new places.

But not so with Cameroon. And I'm guessing not so with most of West Africa.

So yesterday, we went, cameras blazing into an open air market, and we were immediately swamped by angry locals not wanting us to local what they perceived as the worst and ugliest part of Cameroon. They don't want their country represented by this little slice of deeply impoverished Cameroon, which is completely understandable. We were detained for about 2 hours, I had to play back all of our footage, and it was really hot and humid.

Turned out to be an okay day though.

Anyway, time's up, the net is slow, and I gotta go. But here's a few photos:

View from University of Yaoundé

The Obligatory Wall Shot

An Official and His Son

Lots of Chinese Bikes Here

A Moto-Taxi

joey

First Day in Yaounde

2009-06-02T06:16:00.002-07:00

First, everyone who reads this keep in mind that I'm writing on a French keyboard, so you're likely to see a few inevitable errors.

I have arrived in the bustling, rarely explored little city of Yaounde, also the capital of Cameroon. I arrived at 7 pm and found a shuttle directly to my hotel, the Hilton, which is actually a rather boring looking establishment.

So I left.

And I heard some music, with a rhythm that you would never hear in California, even as diverse a place as it is. I followed the rhythm to a little event happening in a square very near the Hilton. I had some meat on a stick. Try as I might, and indeed I did, it never became clear to me exactly what it was I was eating. I think I probably prefer to keep it that way, especially since it tasted so good, I rather like the idea of not finding out what it was.

Cameroonian food, consequently, or at least that dish, had just the right amount of spice for someone accustomed to eating Mexican food.

This morning, I woke up and fortunately found the contact I had missed at the airport the day before. He showed me a place at his University where I could get breakfast. I had a spaghetti omelet. Made with only the whites. And an espresso with some syrupy condensed milk in the bottom. That is the cafe au lait around here, i suppose.

Tafor, my contact, is very intelligent and a very good teacher of cameroonian culture. Already, i'm making a fool of myself in front of the locals. Mostly by speaking bad French, but oddly enough, the English spoken here is also different enough from my own that one can miscommunicate rather easily with everyday words. For example, one does not "take photos." Rather, one would simply "snap." As in, "hello, sir. i snap you?', rather than "pardon me, my dear boy, but i would rather like to take a photograph of you." It really makes you realise how much simpler language could be in some parts of the world.

Anyway, that is enough for the first entry, and I leave you all with my first 4 photos of cameroon, taken from the shuttle on the way from the airport to the hotel. hmm, remarkably few errors.

joey

And I'm Off Again

2009-05-27T21:00:00.001-07:00

So here I go,

I'm off again, world. And once again, I'll be traveling you. I will explore your parts and declare them beautiful. Oh world, you and I will have such glorious times together.

Hopefully, it means I write to you more often. Hopefully, I'll be so full of adventure that I'll be struggling to hold it all within me. Hopefully, I won't miss the California part of you too much.

Finally, world, as I leave your surface on Sunday to return elsewhere on your surface later on, know this: I love you, and I'll take great joy in learning a little more about some of your parts. I like the way you tick, and I'm interested to figure out how you do it.

So here I go, world. Here I go.

Joey

Hopeless

2009-04-04T21:05:00.001-07:00

Oh dear blog,

I'm so, so, so very sorry. I have left you neglected and ill.

It's as if travel is the only thing that will let me write. Photos are all I can give.

I haven't really even told you about my girlfriend, Jill, or my upcoming trips to Cameroon and Cairo this summer. It's as if I refuse to write unless something extremely foreign is happening.

Perhaps, I just start reflecting on here, instead of trying to create a publishable work every time I sit down.

I just need to write here. Keep it alive, you know.

I work for the census. I canvass addresses. It's pretty fun. I talk to people in Spanish all day and help the government learn where all the people live.

You see, blog? A lot is happening in my life. A lot.

I don't know why I leave you so cold and bare.

joey

Presente

2009-02-16T23:26:00.000-08:00

I've found a reason to break my two months of silence:

I spilled coffee on myself. I bought a cheap cup of Peet's coffee and after getting about a quarter the way through it, I spilled half of what was left onto my shirt, my nice yellow one. So that's about 37.5% of a cup of coffee onto my shirt.

Fortunately, the coffee had cooled down enough by that point that it didn't really burn anymore, it was just a brief shock that stung a little bit. My belly was a little red for an hour or two, but it wasn't hot enough to really leave burns.

Besides, it wasn't really that great a cup of coffee. Peet's is usually a pretty good cup, but that one was just okay.

Now, there are several reasons why one might accidentally spill a cup of coffee on oneself, all of which contributed, none of which were solely responsible for the brown stain on my nice yellow shirt:
-First of all, when drinking coffee and driving the Santa Ana freeway at the same time, one always risks little mishaps like that, and when one is in a hurry to get somewhere, doubly so.
-Also, they don't make those coffee lids very well. They're hard to get on in the first place, and when you do succeed, sometimes they just sporadically eject themselves without warning, usually at an inopportune moment such as changing lanes, going 75, listening to talk FM, and hitting a bump on the Santa Ana freeway.
-And when one's got a girl on his mind, silly mishaps seem to have a way of following one very closely.

And that's what brings us to the moment itself when the coffee spilled and the fate of the nice yellow shirt changed forever. Paying half attention to the road is usually enough to get people killed, so personally, I'm glad I got by with just a little stain. Plus, when you're as poor a multi-tasker as I am, you gotta be grateful for the moments you get without accidents.
So I threw on my turn signal to switch lanes, started the maneuver as I sped past an overpass, lifted the cup to my lips, and all of those went well with each other. The problem arose when I failed to take note of the pothole in front of me, and the reason I was on the road in the first place became also the reason for my distraction and ultimately, my shirt's demise. Instead of noting the bump in the road, I was lost in careless thought, anticipating the time I'd get to spend with her in my then stylish, good-looking yellow shirt.

I hit the bump.

The cup hit my nose.

The lid was poorly placed, and so popped off.

In perfect timing with the sloshing of the remaining 75% of a cup of coffee, hot but not scalding.

Which leapt over the edge of the cup and shocked the poor driver back into paying attention to the road.

Not to the girl.

The stain sort of resembles her profile, so it's kind of okay that it all happened that way.

I'd say that if there's a moral to this little account, it'd be that thinking and driving is okay, drinking and driving is okay, and thinking and drinking is okay.
Thinking and drinking and driving, though—that's probably a little too much for the average man's coordination. If you're starting to like someone, probably best to just stay away from the caffeine.

Or off the road.

joey

ps. her name's Jill.

Chapman University

2008-12-20T21:59:00.001-08:00

Updated my website!!!!!

I am a Chapman student. I go to Chapman University in Orange, CA. What does this mean?

Well, first, it means that for some reason, I go to school without paying all that much. Chapman has got to be one of the most loaded schools out there. It seems every single friend I make there has a financial package similar to mine, (which, by the way, has me paying less money for tuition than I would be for a state school.)

As such, Chapman likes to have their students do interesting things to get their name out there. One such thing is a summerly documentary trip to a foreign country. Last year, it was to Cambodia. This year it will be to somewhere in Africa.

Chapman's pretty small, so as long as one gets oneself out there, one can be noticed pretty easily. I'm a first semester student and somehow I managed to get a scholarship to be a part of the documentary crew this summer. I'll be going to Africa for free.

This is what Chapman's all about, world. Free opportunity for anyone who's ambitious enough to take it.

The Importance of Everything

2008-12-13T16:28:00.000-08:00

It's funny how things grow to be important to certain people.

I sat on my bike and thought about that. It really is funny. Some people care so much how they appear to other people. They sit and analyze their every gesture to make sure it conveys the exact message they have in mind. They hone their vocabulary to state precisely what they believe ought to be stated. If they are misunderstood, they get very frustrated.

They stated it clearly, didn't they.

Others hold political correctness to be the utmost standard. If they hear someone say something that could offend anyone, they themselves are offended, even if it is not their general group or demographic who would have been offended. The idea of being offended for someone who is not there baffles me. I mean, I can understand standing up for someone who is not there, or even saying things like, "You really shouldn't say that," meaning to say that it would be better did that person not develop the habit of saying slanted things, lest they do so around a person who would be offended. But when someone truly takes offense, the selfish kind, where they care because it's them who is hurt, at a comment that really doesn't apply to them at all, I get sort of confused.

Also, I like generalizations. I think they have many uses in trying to communicate certain ideas. Also, because certain demographics exhibit certain traits on a wide scale, they're often true, even if we should still avoid them.

This is all to say that people hold strange things to be important. Aspirations are weird, in general. We're all just going to die, right? Still, I can't help but aspire.

curious.

joey

Finals

2008-12-11T07:12:00.000-08:00

It's finals week.

I've been having a sort of dilemma with blogging. It's not that I don't have anything interesting to say. It's more that I have so much to say for school, that by the time I make it back to my blog, I'm just tired of writing. It feels like it's a trend that basically will just go right alongside school.

If you add the fact that I'm a bit of a perfectionist, it doesn't help. I end up not posting because I'm not completely satisfied with the way something turns out.

Anyway, it's finals week and I've go t 3 more to go. 2 of them are important. I have a peace studies class and an international relations class that I need to get As on the final to have one in the class.

--see, like right now, I don't want to write anymore, but it's not perfect, and thus I don't want to post it. I'm going to anyway.

Thus Begins....

2008-11-11T07:13:00.000-08:00

....an era when I post at least three times each month. I apologize to my reader base, which I've recently been finding out it a little broader than I thought. I do this every month: I don't post because I'm busy with work, school, and a marginal amount of fun, and then I get on once a month and apologize.

I don't really have an excuse either. I have enough time to post from time to time, though sometimes I don't know what I should post.

Posts have to sort of earn my respect. Ideas have to flower and grow before I'll post them. You've no idea how often I write a 500-word entry and then delete the whole thing because it didn't feel like it matched up to my elusive standards.

No more, I say!

I post now, and shall again at least once more this month. I leave you now with a photo which makes a beautiful desktop background, taken at a 14th century mosque in Cairo called Faraq ibn-Berkuk.

joey

Time for Change

2008-11-05T06:28:00.001-08:00

I have to admit, I didn't believe America could actually do this. I did not believe we could stand behind the likes of Barack Obama. Maybe it's because of the color of his skin or way his name is pronounced. Maybe it's his African roots.

It doesn't matter.

This election is so historic. It doesn't really even matter who you were voting for, this is historic. We have finally come to the place where we can tell our kids, any one of them--black, white, Latino--that they can accomplish anything they put their minds to.

We should be so proud of America right now, again no matter who you voted for, simply because of what this move symbolizes for the way we treat and view each other.

Just think of the way those charts of US presidents look, all filled with people who all look practically the same. Then you're going to have a guy that looks totally different. If aliens came down to earth and found one of those president maps, they'd say, "Oh, what happened here? That's curious."

I think Barack Obama could be the most extraordinary leader this country has seen since Lincoln. He represents the same basic grounds Lincoln fought for. Unity, equality. But he has a markedly better family life.

We have people across the Atlantic looking up to us now. "We're not ready to elect a black prime minister," Britain says. "Perhaps we can follow America's lead one day."

This is a incredibly historic moment. I'm so lucky to be alive when I am.

joey

I'm Back, Baby

2008-10-16T08:12:00.000-07:00

Listen, y'all.

I'm sorry for letting you done. I've been busy adjusting to a new environment, new friends, new living situation, new school, new church, and new path of studies. Excuse me if I've been a little out.

Okay. So there are 19 days left to this infernal election. 19 more days of negative ads claiming the other is a terrorist or an Arab or erratic or as both campaigns complain, dangerous.

Now, I am far from being extremely one way or the other, but I'm leaning left, at least as far as choosing a president goes. Some of our own California propositions have me thinking rightfully, but as far as the president is concerned, it is quite simple.

Between Barack Obama and John McCain, it used to be a pretty close match. But when I was faced with the question of whether I would choose Joe Biden or Sarah Palin, there was an overwhelming pull leftward. She scares me, and I can't imagine the country if she were to become president were something to happen to 72-year-old, melenoma favorite, John McCain.

I just want it all to be over.

A Long After Blog

2008-09-12T23:07:00.001-07:00

Basically, I've somewhat lost my commitment to my blog, and that makes me sad. I have a pretty good excuse though.

I've been busy. In fact, there's probably more change in my life right now than I've ever experienced.

I live in a new house with new people. I'm going to a new school, making new friends, trying to go to a new church, and getting to know a new city altogether.

I'm taking new classes. Learning new things. Everything for me right now is new. I've actually been a little dizzy all day from it all. It's all so new. I need a weekend to myself, but I can't even afford that right now.

It's not that I'm busy, it's that I'm crazy.

I'm sorry, regular readers. You'll probably just be seeing copies of my schoolwor for a while.

joey

Bein' Dry

2008-08-05T15:56:00.000-07:00

Well, this is probably my last post for a while concerning the Sahara. I've been back a week now and am pretty much fully accustomed to seeing girls' hair and legs again.

I wrote a poem while over there. This is probably the last chance I'll have to post it in some sort of context.

It's called "Dry."

:

I heard that it ain't easy bein' dry.
With heat you hardly bear,
And sand that burns your eyes,
It scorches them so fast,
You lose the time to cry,
And it's never been too easy bein' dry.

She told me it ain't easy to be dry.
She'd seen and been enough,
to claim that she had tried,
She covered up her face,
and breathed out with a sigh,
'No one,' she said, 'should have to live this dry.

The showed me what it means to be this dry.
Th'sun ravages the land,
Shadows barely creep on by,
No sound rings through the air,
All've sought a place to hide,
It's just what you gotta do when it's this dry.

It never has been easy livin' dry.
Just a kid when I found'im,
He felt his end close by,
In the sand and in the blood,
He gazed up at the sky,
Said, 'I heard that it ain't easy dyin' dry.'

As night submits to day,
And the void fills up the sky,
Can't help myself except to ask God why,
Anyone should have to live this dry.
No, it never has been easy livin' dry.

joey

Several Days Worth of Information

2008-07-29T18:12:00.000-07:00

The last 2 weeks in Algeria were without internet. In that space of time, I made some images I appreciated. I suppose I'll just chronologically give them to everyone. Once this much time has passed, I really don't feel like introducing any of them too thoroughly. Here, I'll try to label them as they go.

Like any other country (except the US) football is big. It's the international past time.

Gas Station.

Making tea (with terrible amounts of sugar in it.)

Air Conditioning unit barrier.

Brothers H contenders, (that's "Hamoudi.)

Tea Close-up. These dudes will pour it from like 3 feet up.

Saharan Dunes.

There is some grass.

Sunset on the dunes.

Dark eyes.

Doe eyes.

the Flag.

Big Ben.

Triumph.

Westminster detail.

Not Falling Down.

It is like a circus.

Proof that I made it the whole way through the trip without shaving.

The new style.

joey

College Days

2008-07-15T01:42:00.000-07:00

I just registered for my classes at City College yesterday. I nearly didn't, but then I did.

The internet place here is notoriously unreliable. It's not their fault, though. It's just that the electricity here is also quite faulty. Its supposed schedule is 8am to noon, and then again from 7pm to 11pm. 8 hours a day, presumedly.

What actually happens usually is quite different. Most mornings, when it comes on, it does so at about 9.00 until around 11.30. The fact is, though, that most mornings, it doesn't come on. Many evenings, it also fails to come on at all. At times it comes on around 9.30pm and lasts only 1.5 hours, barely enough, by the time to remember to plug in my rechargeables.

This unreliability has several effects on my life here, some seemingly unrelated.

Oddly, the one that bothers me the most is that when the electricity fails to come on, either morning or evening, the refrigerator which holds my waters doesn't cool, and thus stinks when I open it. It's hard to drink water that comes from a foul-smelling place. And the thirstier I am at the time I open the refrigerator, the more effort it takes for me to actually drink the water.

The water is even bottled, so it's not an issue of sanitation. It's just the smell. I can hardly even describe it. It smells so sterile but still quite off. I think it would be like if you were to take nothing, and let it sit around in a moist box for way too long.

Another effect is that I don't get to watch the news on Al-Jazeera. It's a great news station, with a refreshingly opposite viewpoint on all the stories I'm used to watching on the news. The truth is, I can't even conceive what is going on the the world right now. Has Obama been assassinated yet? Has Mugabe been ousted from his illegitimately maintained position?

I don't know. And I like to keep myself well-informed. Sometimes, when others are in the room, we have to watch it in Arabic, which I understand only a little of at this point. Other times, the satellite shifts positions slightly and fails to catch the invisible signals needed to provide my information.

As you can see, many things must go right for me to stay well-informed.

A third effect has to do with the previously introduced rechargeables. I have a computer, a camera, an iPod, and a cell phone. They all need to be recharged from time to time. The computer is the one I use the most and it has the shortest-lived battery, so therefore is usually the one most in need of a recharge. Usually the 2-3 hours in the morning is enough, if it comes at all.

I will say though, that there has been at least one occasion where the internet place was open and functional, but sadly, my computer was completely out of power and thus the emails I had written on it while it still had battery had to wait until a later time.

The camera has 2 spare batteries, and the cell phone and iPod batteries last an extremely long time, so I've no need to worry about them too obsessively.

Finally, the internet place does not run unless there is electricity in Smara.

Yesterday, at 7.05, I walked to the front door to see if it were open. We did not yet have electricity at the school, but over the last several weeks, I've noticed that sometimes the internet place gets it before we do, and sometimes when we don't at all.

So I walked there at 7.05. It was not yet open. I returned 15 minutes later after reading some of a novel. Still closed.

I repeated this more than one time.

I think at around 8.15, I arrived, this time without my computer in hand--I had lost hope by this point--but was thrilled to see that it was open. I went home, fingers crossed, and returned 8 minutes later with my computer.

There are 4 computers there, all old and bogged down with viruses likely caught by too many teenage boys exposing themselves to too much pornography. An odd double standard in this culture.

One of them doesn't work at all. If it weren't for the fact that it doesn't work at all, I probably would not have registered for classes at City College. Each of the three functioning computers had two or three people gathered around it, except for the broken one. That is where I set up. I can simply take the cable which supplies that computer with signal and plug into my own and it works itself out perfectly. So at 8.20, I was on my way.

Google is my home page. Personalized google, with news headlines from 4 different publications shouting today's information at me in bold blue letters. I'm not sure how I managed not to click on them. One of them even said "Obama" among some other words. One of my curious questions could have been answered.

Still, I managed to make it to City College's website to register for classes this coming fall. Things went relatively smoothly, except my ideal Statistics class had filled up already. So I signed up for one that starts at 7am, Monday through Thursday. Kind of awful, I know, but at least it will get me out of bed each morning.

I signed up for one class called "Demystifying the Middle East," for which I am very excited. I don't know where this little aversion came from, but I'm pretty sure it's here to stay. I'm not sure that class is even transferable. So there.

I shifted my schedule a little bit here and there, trying to get it as convenient as possible, avoiding going to school at odd or spread out hours--that can be hard at a community college--and trying to make myself wide open so that getting a good serving job happens easily.

I managed. I have every evening free expect either Monday or Thursday, I'm not sure which. But I do know it will be one or the other, not both.

Right after I viewed my final schedule, laid out in an easy to read, gridlike fashion, I glanced to the left, at a computer surrounded by three boys, about 14 or 15. The last thing I saw before all the lights in the room went out and left us all grumbling in the darkness was a massive erection, gleaming by the blue light of some very small light source, so that harsh shadows were cast on the slightly overweight, naked woman also in the image.

I did manage however, in those fifteen minutes, to sign up for classes and thus save myself a spot in the overfilled, underkept classrooms at City College on Ocean and Phelan.

I did have to pay for another fifteen minutes that I never got the chance to use though, but I consider it a pretty good success, given all the previously mentioned circumstances that tend to hinder my life's ambitions in this hot, dry land.

Why do kids even look at that stuff?

joey

10 Reasons Why Squatties are Superior to European Style Toilets

2008-07-06T03:09:00.000-07:00

10. Good for Agility

Every morning there's a good time to really stretch and hold some of the muscles involved in a deep squat. The groin, the quads, and the hamstrings all benefit from this sort of exercise.

9. Good for Bowel Movement

That sort of spread really has a way of speeding up the whole process for the user of the squatty. Things tend to go much quicker.

8. Good for Social Equality

It's hard to get to elaborate on a hole in the ground. Now, granted, I've seen some potties I'd rather use than others, but in general, it's a pretty level playing field.

7. Good for Sanitation

Listen, no part of your body touches anything that someone else's body parts have touched. There's not such thing as contracting weird gastric illnesses from misplaced paper seat covers or the like. The only part where every makes physical contact is on the footpads, and most wise squatty users would be wearing shoes of some sort when the use the potty anywhere.

6. Good for Cleaning

Like I said, it's a hole in the ground. Sometimes it has a basin around it to guide misfire into the hole, but typically, it's just some form of a hole in the ground. There's no sexy curves or multiple-layered seats to clean. Less surface area means less lysol.

5. Things Come out Cleaner

Not only do bodily processes occur faster in the squatty position, but they actually happen with quite a bit less mess. Rarely will one using a squatty encounter such bitter disappointments such as the dingleberry or the disappearing act. More often than not, you are much more aware of what exactly is going on.

4. Good for Waste Management

When things are coming out cleaner, there is less, if any, need for toilet paper. There's also almost never any need to double check and make sure you didn't miss anything. Also, a squatty must use about 1/15 the amount of water a standard western toilet uses. Because less water and soap are required for cleaning, it ends up being an altogether more earth-friendly system of waste disposal.

3. Good for Gender Conflicts

As stated, there are no toilet seats. Thus, there are no fights over toilet seats. Women always know what to expect when they stumble into the bathroom in the middle of the night and will never encounter any midnight surprise caverns to fall into. As a side note, men will find that squatties accommodate morning wood much more efficiently than their western counterparts.

2. No Splash-Back

We've all felt this one before. Gravity works its course just right to nail the toilet user with a little cold upsplash, and the timing is always impeccable. One rarely encounters such an uncomfortable, time consuming chore of securing one's hygiene following a case of splash-back.

1. Space Saver

When we talk about toilets, we discuss in terms of cubic units, whether they're feet or centimeters. No matter the case, they're always discussed in three-dimensional terms. Squatties are discussed in square feet or centimeters. A squatty can fit anywhere a squatting person can--in the corner or next to the shower.

They truly are a simpler, safer, more sanitary, and more superior system of waste removal. It does however, take some time to learn to read a newspaper while using a squatty.

joey

A Copy

2008-07-03T12:23:00.000-07:00

Note: This is just a copy of an email I sent to Kali. I read it though at realised that it include most of what I wanted to say in my blog post, so I'll just post the email and save myself 30 minutes and 50 Dinar.

-----

Man, Kali, it's starting to get hot here. The usual daily cycle is, or rather was when I first showed up, that the buildings cool down during the night because the air gets much cooler, and then they stay cooler during the day. They feel however, much warmer at night, because the stone itself has been in the sun all day. This has sort of stopped now. The walls are hot all the time, so inside the buildings is also hot all the time. At night, outside it cools off a little bit, but I'm generally going to bed in wet clothes in order to stay cool. I knew it would be hot here, and I've refrained from complaining to anyone here or there. And honestly, I wouldn't complain anyway because I don't really mind feeling how. I'm just more amazed at the weather than bothered by it. I have just never dreamed that parts of the earth could be this hot. Hami, in hassaniya. Hot. Hami. with a really deep, breathy h. heat. Haman. same h.

Please don't pity me though, as I don't really view myself as suffering, but rather getting material. Plus, it wouldn't be terribly just if I only came here when the weather is perfect. I want to see and feel exactly how difficult the Saharauis' lives are. Not a picnic.

It kills me. They just want their country back. They're actually quite a bit like Palestinians, except I think they are a little more justified in their actions than the Palestinians are. And it's incredible. They're completely ready to occupy everything. There's doctors, lawyers, politicians, teachers. Every part of a society is already here. They just need their space back. There'd be no curve of setting up their society, it's all already set up. It's just occupied by Morocco.

Someone told me that the Saharaui are thinking about breaking the ceasefire soon because 15 years of negotiations have yielded no results. They have a pretty decent military, for refugees, and they are smart. I'd love to see them go home. Then i'd love to visit their home. The way they talk about Western Sahara. It's their promised land. It's the only thing the musicians here sing about. Going home. Those moroccan kuskus-shoveling bastards. I usually don't pick sides, especially if I haven't seen both sides. I have though here. I've been to Morocco. And the people there are nice enough. But this, I really can't dismiss. The government, the king, I can't dismiss. I know the dangers of judging a people by it's government, especially being an American traveling in Muslim countries. It's usually not hard to indicate that I don't like Bush in any language. But trying to convince people that most of America is against what he'd been standing for, that's not easy. So I'll give the Moroccan people the benefit of the doubt. But not their government. Even there, though, I encounter unignorable snags. There must be people even in the government trying to change things, like there is in our government. Most of our people, even our government, don't approve of the way the US has treated the world for the last 8 years.

It's just quite hard for anyone to see their enemy as a person. That's why it is nearly impossible to "love thy enemy." How can you love something you believe to be incapable of human emotions?

I've been reading about Henry Kissinger lately. Just the bits about him in that Middle East book you gave me. Seems like he was a man who stood for some of the things I stand for. I need to read more about him.

I know I'm doing the right thing. I know I'm studying the right thing. I have no idea how I'll ever come to possess the power to do anything about this, the great Saharaui displacement problem. Probably only if I start pursuing politics and diplomacy. I'm not sure I can do that yet. But to study it, at least, I must. Why does power do this? Why must some people oppress others? When is enough?

I'm an extremely ambitious man. I always have been. I am always, always doing or planning something. Yet, I feel so small here. It's been a good reality check if nothing else. I'm small in the face of a problem like theirs. I need to represent something if I ever expect to truly be listened to. Like Kissinger. He had the US and most of the West behind him. Granted, that's a compromising position in a lot of ways, but still, when you speak for an authority, you can really affect change.

God, I hope Obama gets elected this fall.

I like this email. I think i'll post it as my blog too, or at least parts of it.

Seriously, even if he sucks as president, he'd still bring us back into a friendship with the rest of the world. All of Europe wants him, everybody here wants him, it seems all of the Middle-East wants him. Even if we elected him and it were a big mistake, it would be the entire world's mistake of judgment, and that would bring us together. That said, I don't think he would be a mistake. I think he'd do good things for our country and for other countries too.

Was this war in iraq about oil? It wasn't about "freeing the Iraqis" because they don't seem to be any better off and it wasn't about WMDs; there weren't any. So it was about oil then, right? It it still hasn't worked. Oil hit 142$ the other day. I have no idea what it is back in SF, but I won't be surprised if I'm looking at 5/gal when i get back. So what the Hell are we still there for? That's what everyone wants to know. I've heard the surface answers--set up a proper western democracy, ensure Iraqi security--but is that true? We're not their to throw a loop of the next rubber duck floating by, Iran?

I hope Obama gets elected. I think he'll give us all a break. And let me tell you, I think we could all use a good break.

Also, progression just feels good.

As you can see, my thoughts are starting to leave the Sahara again. I'm used to being here and so I'm starting to think about it all again, not just getting to know my environment. i'm starting to think about America again, think about school again. Either that means I'm ready to leave, or I'm finally ready to learn something here. I miss my bicycle. I miss my bubble. I miss coffee. Have I really only been here a month? I'm a pansy. I'm already homesick after just one month. Oh, by bubble, I meant that little bit of space around you that everyone in America feels they are entitled to. You're not entitled to that here.

I'm gonna go. I hope you're well.

joey

ps. as you may know, I write these emails ahead of time, when I don't have internet, and then send them when I do, so that one may actually comprise three or four. This one is 3 so far. Anyway, here's what else I wanted to say. Yesterday, I went to take this photograph of a woman here. Some older women don't like you to photograph them, but she was beautiful and Saharaui and I just had to. Often, when people don't want their pictures taken, they'll simply stick their hands in your camera lens and just ruin the picture that way. Well, she did just that. Except instead of ruining the picture, she gave me what may be my favorite photograph of this trip so far. It's at my flickr site, but I'm also attaching it to this email.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/96846569@N00/

Culturepost

2008-06-28T14:31:00.000-07:00

Culture is the most fascinating thing. It's mysterious. It's tentative. It moves around, blows in the wind, melts in the sun. What is it?

It's food. family. superstition. health remedies. language. what's respected and what's not. it's quality time with these and vicious arguments with those. it's how foreigners are treated and how animals are treated. dance, dress, drink.

They'll smoke tobacco but not sheesha.

Slap your friend on the face. Go on. That's alright in this culture. But walk in the room without taking off your shoes, and you'll hear about it from all sides.

There's a great respect for food here. Twice, I've been corrected for kicking a scrap of bread that had been just laying on the ground. The first time I did it, there were all these kids standing around me, laughing at my attempts to say some ridiculous word, probably the word for beard, because it has been coming up in conversation a lot and because it's a really hard word to pronounce, with at least two sounds not in English. Anyway, I was trying to say beard, and I was looking at this piece of bread, really old, dry, and stale, lying in the sand. It was right in a walkway, so I just kicked it to the side where I figured a goat could get a little pseudo-nourishment out of it. The kids all stopped laughing and they looked at the bread, then they looked at me as if I had just finished dancing profanely on their grandfather's grave. At that point, I had no idea what had caused this reaction, so I just ignored it and went on with my [pathetic excuse for] conversation, and pretty soon, all was well.

Later, there were some post-lunch bread crumbs in the room I'd been staying in. I stood up and kicked a few towards the side. Sidahmed, a friend, grabbed my foot and looked at me and said something like, "This (bread). eat. this (foot). mau zain (not good)." He made some gestures as to indicate exactly what was wrong with it. It actually sort of makes sense once I think about it a little bit.

Bread is something you eat. It's food. Even if you don't eat it, in this land of scarcity, something will.

Feet are something you walk on, all day, every day, in all sorts of unsanitary environments. You use squatty-poties, you tread on goat la'harar (shit), and you essentially make your feet a conglomeration of all that is unclean.

So it's not because someone else is going to eat it and get sick that it is a wrong thing to do. It's because, by stepping on or kicking a scrap of bread, you are taking something that is clean and making it unclean. Perhaps I'm reading too far into this one and getting too theoretical, but seeing those two reactions makes me realize that, around here, food--and water, for that matter--are respected.

What gets me about all this is that while it's still alive, food is quite abused. They don't treat their animals that well at all. They even get kicked sometimes. So, don't mess with dead food, but feel free to boot that goat if it's in your way.

That is decidedly much more then I intended to write about food.

I've been told that I sometimes write too much on my blogs, so i'll just post this and compose another one later. First, though, a couple of other food things:

Sugar is a remedy for anything. It's not that a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down. Sugar is the medicine. Got an earache? Tilt your head, and a little breast-milk and sugar ought to fix that. Stomachache? You probably just had too much salt. Have some sugar and you'll be alright. Headache? Sugar. Appendicitis? Ya, Sidahmed! Get the truck ready to go to the hospital. Here, just sit back and rest, I'll be right back with something with obscene amounts of sugar in it. Then, we'll get you on your way to the hospital.
One girl here was diagnosed with diabetes. Care to take a guess at the commonly supposed remedy for her ailment?

Before I sign out, I just wanted to make clear that I don't view the Saharaui as a case study, or at least I'm trying not to. I don't mean to belittle their culture, as my supposed air with that sugar paragraph seems to. I just want to make clear the many confusing and intricately constructed connections this culture has. It's so opposite my own, that the only attitude I can seem to take when I write about it is an incredulous one.

yousef

http://flickr.com/photos/96846569@N00/

On Saharan Weather

2008-06-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

Surely God did not know when he created this landscape that one day people would be forced to dwell here indefinitely. He must surely have created this land specifically for tribulation, and specifically for refining people to better serve His or else their own purposes. Such a harsh environment can only serve to toughen things, be they men or beasts. It challenges every sort of creature to improve and evolve or else disposes of them quickly if they do not. If the Earth were to cease to be capable of supporting life, surely this environment would be the last to bid farewell to the incredibly tough inhabitants it somehow supports.

In the day, we are regularly reaching 46ºC (115 F). Winds are whipping sand and dust across the land so that they make their way into anything. Certainly, not a friendly environment for anything electronic. This is in the day.

What comes at night is a whole other story.

I used to think that the force of the ocean breaking against rocks was probably the most awesome and terrifying demonstrations of the sheer kinetic power that nature holds over her land. The sound is tremendous and the potential for destruction unending. Surely, there is no force that could rival that of the great oceans.

That was what I though before this morning at 5 am, when I encountered my first Saharan sandstorm.

The ocean may be very strong in force, but as a fighter, it's week because typically, it's very predictable. It comes in like clockwork, where one can easily time one's steps or strokes to be in tune with it, even harness it. I can't imagine there's any way to positively take advantage of this. It was the most abrupt change in weather I have ever seen. I'd been sleeping outside since midnight. I have been sleeping outside every night. The previous day was long over and I would assume, the air, with its cold and warm pockets, was quite settled down. Then, at 5 am, the light breeze that constantly is present here sprang into a wall of sand and dust and fine silica powder, moving like a tidal wave across the land. Indeed, it WAS land. A wall of land and air rushing by.

And then, it was gone. Just as abruptly as it began, it ceased. And the rest of twilight yielded little more than more gentle breezes.

Remember that scene in Star Wars: Episode I where the hole up inside to escape the sandstorm? Or the scene from the Mummy where they tried to fly away from the wall of sand, which develops a face and pretty much tries to swallow them whole?

People, that's not all that fictional. Okay, no lips and teeth, but that storm--and mild though this storm was, according to Salama, my host--could pretty much chew you up and spit you out if it wanted too.

Sadly, I have no photos for anyone, as I could have buried my camera in the dunes for a week and still get less sand inside it then I would have had I tried to document this.

Curious side note: Each time I am able to mark off another one of my life's to-dos it's oddly accompanied by another unknown to-do of a different sort. When I moved to San Francisco, "live in San Francisco" was checked off my list. However, a few months later, I was also checking off "get hit by a car." Here, I looked forward to "sleep under the Saharan night sky," but though I knew it were likely, "wake up to a Saharan Sandstorm" never entered my mind as something to add to the list.

Curious, indeed.

joey

The Many Names of Genitals

2008-06-18T13:06:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to my little brother, Nick, who will probably never have any chances of any sort of success in the Western Sahara simply because his name means "penis" in the local language.

It goes like this. Teaching English from a book that is supposedly written specifically for that purpose. Such a book would try to include names that are easy to pronounce when showing how to introduce yourself. Names like John and Sara. Names with few and universally applied sounds. My name, Joe, is a rather easy combination of letters, comprising of only two sounds, J and O. Fortunately for me, there already exists an Arabic equivalent, Yusuf, to which I have easily adjusted my tendencies to respond. Someone calls Yusuf, and it is rather second-nature now for me to know they are referring to me. Add to that the already good reputation of the name, (Yusuf was one of the prophets) and I have a really good name for these parts.

Now back to our story:

The writers these English books try to choose English names that are easy to read and pronounce with sounds that exist in many tongues, so as to ease the complication of learning to read and pronounce new languages. Jon, Joe, Sara, Mary. They also throw in a few foreign ones to keep things politically correct: Kazu from Japan, Jun from Korea, Paulo from Brazil, Rico from Peru. Still keeping things simple. That tendency to simplify for ease sake, however, bears a stark similarity with tendency in many languages to shorten or choose easy and quick words as slang for the genitals. Every language I've encountered, which is three, has been this way.

In English we have Dick, cock, etc. Dick even used to be a common first name, and many people still bear it.

In Spanish, there's pene, pinto, concha.

I'd like you all to meet Nick and Tina. Those names make appearances in my English instruction book as characters help move the learning process along. They're short, easy names to pronounce. They have proved, however, to be more of a hindrance than a help. Those names, Nick and Tina, mean penis and vagina, respectively. Also dangerous words that share exact pronunciation with English ones are the words zip and twenty. "Twenty" means "my vagina," and zip is yet another way to refer to that body part on males which has caused so many problems all throughout history.

So, in my class, I'm teaching the kids to pronounce it "twenny" as in "twenny-one, twenny-two, etc." Usually, I'd be fervently against something like this because, Hell, these kids should be learning English as it is, not so that they avoid offending people in the process of learning it. Offending people is part of learning a language. It's a really fun part that ends up making for lots of good stories. But, I tell you, I can't even get any one of them to say "twenty" without the whole class losing it. So "twenny" it is.

As for the character who says, "Hi, I'm Tina," (by the way, the only one of these words I warned about before teaching the class was twenty, which i forgot by the time I got to it) we've had to just leave her out of it.

Seriously, imagine if you were learning, I dunno, a seemingly random, disconnected language like Basque or Gaelic, and the first day in the class, the teacher told you that "Cockface" was a common and respectable name. A character on a recorded audio-byte says enthusiastically, "Hi, I'm Cockface!" It's hard to get mad at kids laughing at something like that, even if it doesn't undo your entire day's work in a class. Cockface is a funny name. Here, the names Tina or Nick would be absolutely unheard of and completely ridiculous.

So, Nick, dear brother, I'm afraid you'll have to change your name if you ever plan to travel to this part of the world. I'm not sure if it's all Arabic speakers, but at least for those from Western Sahara, you'll have to adopt a new handle.

joey

more photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/96846569@N00/

Post 2

2008-06-16T14:35:00.000-07:00

It's hard to imagine a culture much further from my own than this one, where you greet everyone when you walk into a room, some perhaps multiple times. The longer two people go without seeing each other, the longer the greeting is. Like this:

Ya, Yusuf! Yak Labas?
Labas.
Il Khiir?
Khiir.
Labas?
Labas.
Il Khiir?
Khiir.
Labas?
Labas.
Il Khiir?
Khiir.
Labas?
Labas.
Il Khiir?
Khiir.
LHem du lilah.
Meshallah!

That pretty much means,
Hey Joseph! You doing well?
I'm well.
You fine?
I'm fine.
You well?
I'm well.
You fine?
I'm fine.
You well?
I'm well.
You fine?
I'm fine.
Praise be to God.
It's all as God wills.

This is a land where sugar is put in everything from tea to rice and where any sickness one gets is believed to be caused by too much salt. The cure is always sugar. Salt is nearly spicy to them, and they react similarly to someone would in the US if they had a taco that had a little too much TapaTío dabbled on top. Someone had an ear infection here, and one of the other Americans was there to witness the cure: breastmilk and sugar poured into the infected ear.

Physically, it's a land of much change. You wake up shivering under a thick blanket and within hours, you're crying out to God or Allah to take the heat away from you. You might beg for just a little air movement to alleviate the stagnant, hot air that sits around you in the afternoon, then curse that very same god when he sends winds so strong that the literally carry the land along with them into every nook, cranny, and crevice they might encounter. (Seriously, I'm cleaning my camera like 3 times a day just in hopes of keeping it alive this whole trip. Unfortunately, there's not enough water here for me to clean my own nooks and crannies even once daily.)

Finally, these are a people that have been waiting all their lives to go home, and to have freedom when they get there. They hold so strongly to their freedom that if asked if they'd rather return to their homeland tomorrow under Morrocan rule or wait another 3 generations in the desert to get it back as it was, they would gladly dare you to come back 3 generations from now and ask again. It's harsh and powerful beauty, one that cannot be reckoned with. It's a landscape that controls itself and is impervious to any human attempts at "development." Trying to change or alter its movement would be like attempting to silence the world's population of songbirds or trying to contain an avalanche. One must simply see it, accept it, and live accordingly.

When a people does that, they become strong, as these, the Saharaui, have.

joey

check out the photos. http://www.flickr.com/photos/96846569@N00/

Saharaui Nights

2008-06-11T12:07:00.000-07:00

One could never imagine a sun as bright as the one that hangs in the dust here.

Even when clouded by tons and tons of dust in the air, this sun bursts through, refusing to wear her veil of obscurity like so many women here have chosen or have been destined to do. No, she shines through brightly, forcing some into a lull of exhaustion that lasts as long as she towers over every mortal which dares to cast its shadow over her domain. Only just before she admits daily defeat or just after she returns to put night in its rightful place does it even become bearable for those ill-starred enough to have made their homes here, whether fixed or fleeting.

Still, even a harsh beauty is truly beauty, and though buried in woe, the beauty of the desert is as real and as majestic as any mountain that has ever risen.

As powerful, too.

Throughout the various legends and tales that make appearances in every scope oh human history, the desert has always been a place of awakening and a place of revelation. Moses, Muhammad, and Jesus all began their journeys of endurance in the desert, some seeking revelation, others seeking only survival. Perhaps survival is what drives a person to discover what is of any importance in this short-lived world. Or perhaps it is that same savage beauty that radiates its merciless light onto everything, and everything which is false just shrivels in the sun, unable to bear the pain that change requires in order to take its full course.

Most places create memories that have the potential to last a lifetime, but out here, in the desert, I imagine one cannot go back in one's mind to fully appreciate all the extremes known here. The desert is a place where one thinks of the present, of who one is, of what one does, and each progressive day both shrouds the memory of the day before and stifles the ability to ponder the future. To live in the desert is to live in the present, as harsh and real as it all is.

And it is beautiful.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/96846569@N00/

joey

Gone is May

2008-05-31T15:33:00.000-07:00

Well, this is nearly it, guys. Tomorrow, at 16:50, I will be embarking on a summer-long adventure filled with sun, sand, and salam, enshallah. I will fly to London for a single day before continuing to Algeria, where I will spend my entire summer, working with kids, losing uno games to desert-dwelling brilliant minds.

Then, I will return to this, my own country, and take up my dwelling in either San Francisco or Los Angeles, California's two great cities.

Before I leave, however, I had one more photo-project on my plate, namely the engagement portraits of Erika Oblak and Drew Darmon. Aren't they lovely?

And these two photos of the street:

I'll try to post again within the week. Next time I post, it will be from either London or Smara.

joey

7he danger of rou7ine

2008-05-27T09:23:00.000-07:00

A cer ain key is missing from his par icular keyboard and so i am unable o wri e perfec ly a his momen and hus will be simply subs i u ing a space for each of i s supposed occurences. I ried a few o her me hods like using 7he number seven 7o sub7i7u7e, bu7 found 7ha7 7o be cumbersome and ugly. So a space i will be, and I formally ask my readers o excuse he rela ive awkwardness ha i produces in reading i .

Ac ually, upon a second look a he above paragraph, i can see ha i is nearly impossible o read in a regular chronological fashion and so will avoid using words ha include such a charac er a all. a problem which arises is how incredibly common our symbol is. so doing so will be far from easy. already i can feel my language and wordplay slipping and any form of comprehension being abandoned. all is well, however, because a way always prevails and one may always find a manner in which one may express oneself, if accompanied by a specific symbol in our word framework or replaced by auxiliary marks. Properly and clearly describing an idea precisely as one wishes while lacking usage of specific runes is a challenge. however, if one endeavors assiduously, one may produce any number of possible consequences.

Has anyone ever actually tried to write without a T. It is not easy. I never thought about how hard it is to write without a t until now.

joey

dust

2008-05-18T22:41:00.000-07:00

Dust often settles on something that has not been moved in a while. It drifts around, the dust does, for hours and hours, perhaps days or years, before it finds its way to settling on something that has not been moved in a while.

Often it's just a microscopic piece of lint that came off your sweater and drifted around the room for a while before it settles on something that has not been moved in a while.

Other times, it some particle of soot that came from a semi-truck that passed by on the highway 2 miles away and floated around the city for a while before in settles on something that has not been moved in a while.

But it could be a speck of Saharan sand or bit of ash from the last violent volcanic eruption that occurred in Chile, having drifted for miles and miles over the course of several weeks before entering your space, whirling around your room, and finally touching down, settling on something that has not been moved in a while.

Perhaps, it has been moved. Perhaps, this would actually be the first speck of dust to settle on the newly-cleaned surface of an old instrument that you hadn't played in a little too long. Or perhaps, it's the first speck of dust in a 8th layer of dust that is covering something that has not been moved in a while.

Whatever it is, don't worry about it. It's just a piece of dust.

video killed the radio star

2008-05-11T16:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the audio.

joey

Farewell to April

2008-04-30T18:22:00.001-07:00

April has come and gone. For some reason, this makes me a little bit sad. It's not like I'm particularly fond of the month of April. In fact, there are some months that I heartily prefer to April, such as September and January. It's just that April somehow has made me think of how it all passes by, slowly but surely, like a meandering river carving new bends with each passing year.

I'm getting older. And the older I get, the more I attach to the idea of being older. No young soul really has any merit to criticize what is old, nor can an old man justify looking contemptuously upon what is young and new. They cannot understand each other. I am 22 years old, a child to most. I am growing a real beard for the first time in my life. I'm on my first beard. For some reason, that seems to make me sound very very young indeed. But already, I can sense the generational gap between myself and many of those who are currently in say, high school. Not even 10 years their senior, I already am confused and befuddled by the sort of traditions that are springing up around me.

Sometimes, I think, "when I was your age," to people. I'm 22, but I've already gained the privilige of comparing my time to theirs. The mere fact that I write this in a journal that exists only by theory seems to tell me that I really don't deserve the privilige to make such comparisons. My dad didn't have a blog when he was 22.

But here am I, recognizing differences between myself and those 10 years my junior, and noticeable differences indeed. Some trends started when I was young are only now taking popular root, such as saying "that's what she said," to convert innocent, normal conversation into odd and awkward sexual inuendos. Yoyos are getting popular again. That seems to be about every ten years.

Maybe we should start measuring time by the ebb and flow of the yoyo trend.

What a cyclical, messed up world we live in.

It's a good thing it's curious.

joey

Another Thought about Ambition

2008-04-09T18:47:00.000-07:00

It's mind-blowing. I mean it's just unmistakably, inconceivably, unbelievably, paralysingly mind-blowing.

It blows the mind.

It takes all my energy, channels it into a rifle-barrel and blasts it out in such a rapid, spiralling way. It never lets me sit still, never lets me make friends, and never lets me care about any of that in the first place.

It will be my end on day, of that I am sure.

It makes me so restless, no matter what I'm doing or what goals I'm already accomplishing, it just makes me run faster, harder, stronger. It makes me unable to pay any real attention to girls, to where I might notice them briefly, but quickly set them aside. I hear that one day, that will have to change, and that I'll have to stall my real life to settle this portion of it, but I doubt I'll recognize that day when it comes and i'll probably pass a few chance by before I recognize any.

The point is, people, that ambition is blinding. It's also blind. At least mine is. It just yanks me forward, whether I like it or not and I cannot resist it's relentless pull.

It seems like a strength to some, or they've told me, but it robs me of contentment. I'm never content to be where I am, expect in brief little moments, like on the cablecar last night.

i definitely have more moments of blinding trails of thought than solemn, sacred relaxation.

joey

The Antimoralist

2008-03-29T18:27:00.000-07:00

It's funny the way writing can help me make up my mind on certain subjects, if only through seeing the reasons laid out before my eyes.

The following piece is a short essay I wrote for my English Composition Mid-Term. I had 45 minutes to write around 700 words and the prompt was "How has Blackmun's opinion in Roe vs. Wade furthered in your mind the concepts of life and/or privacy?" What follows is my own opinion on the case which I think is relevant whether or not one has actually read the Supreme Court's opinion.

---

Abortion is, and has been for nearly three decades, one of the most hotly debated and divisive subjects that our legal system has had to encounter. As Justice Blackmun stated in his 1973 legal opinion, it is a question rooted in "[o]ne's philosophy, one's experience, one's exposure to the raw edge's of human existence, one's religious training, [and] one's attitude toward life and family and their values..." One's stance on such a drastically influenced moral dilemma is not, and indeed shouldn't be, swayed very easily. Also, Blackmun specifically states that the issue at hand is not a question of the morality, but rather of the legality. That is, whether a woman should have the right to terminate a pregnancy, and if so, under what circumstances.

Morality does still come into question though. It is inevitable in such a case. A mistake I think people make in discussing this debate is the overemphasis on deciding when human life, as protected by the Constitution, begins. This point comes forth because it is assumed that if the unborn child is a person, then it would be wrong and illegal to terminate their existence. Thus it is implied that we believe that killing is wrong, and the issue so rests on whether abortion is a form of killing.

But do we really believe that to kill, that is take lives, is inherently wrong? We go to war with countries that pose a threat to our society. Though it is also hotly debated, we do still execute people convicted of certain crimes. And someone convicted of killing someone in self-defense gets a minor sentence, if any at all.

Something these all share with the abortion issue is the presence of a threat, whether to life, liberty, or to society. A fetus can pose a threat. "Psychological harm may be imminent. Mental and physical health may be taxed by child care." The child is a threat just as a growing rival power in the world is a threat to a nation. So, why, if it comes to the elimination of a threat, does the issue of life come up, when we clearly believe in eliminating threats, alive or not?

I think we should be willing to acknowledge the illusive manner of the case of when life begins. At conception, cells do begin to split and a human does begin to develop. In any science textbook, this would be named "life," as it involves something neither inert nor non-living. And the growth that takes place will result in a human being. Any person who has taken science classes would be willing to admit that.

To me, this makes the debate of whether the fetus is a human life or not an irrelevant one. An abortion is a sort of pre-emptive strike against a threat. We should be willing to look at it this way, rather then claiming that fetuses are not "yet" people.

This is ultimately a decisions that the legal system cannot justify, especially when "the respective disciplines of medicine, philosophy, and theology are unable to arrive at any consensus." Blackmun and the Supreme Court, thus, have no place deciding on an official opinion on this debate. Why then, does Blackmun propose dividing pregnancy into three separate stages, if he lacks the educational backing to make such a distinction?

This case of Roe vs. Wade seems to me to be full of useless and fruitless arguments, and seeming contradictions between things dexplicitly stated and things implied (such as the aforementioned contrast between Blackmun's lack of medical authority and his decision to divide pregnancy." Altogether, I agree with the court's decision to overturn the statutes on abortion taken by Texas, but I think the court, and people in general, should be willing to admit that even if a fetus were generally accepted as a "life," we would still allow people to terminate the pregnancy, if it did pose a threat to the woman. This opinion has changed my mind on neither the concepts of life, nor the morality of abortion, but it has shown me that in order to decide on something as controversial as life, unfortunate compromise is inherently necessary.

Blessed are the _, for they shall .

2008-03-19T17:44:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about pride. Mostly because I feel it's my greatest, that is, most prominent, attribute. Not that pride isn't great, that is, very good, too. It was the sole motivating force behind the most famous people we see in our history. Perhaps all of them. Anyone who has ever spoken out against the establishment has had to have some level of pride. Without it, there's no reason to speak publicly.

There's always, at least in my experience, been some sort of duality drawn between pride and humility. I question that now sometimes. Do they have to oppose each other? More importantly, can't they work together? I think there are quite a few cases where pride and humility joined forces to propel someone to greatness, that is, prominence and goodness.

Think about Jesus. He's the easiest for me to think of because, as far as dead guys go, he has probably been more central to my development than any other one person. He displayed extremes of both pride and humility. He shook his finger in the face of the establishment (pride) and spent most of his time with beggars, thieves, and whores (humility?).

Or Socrates, from what we know of him. He taught the youth to indict their fathers' systems (pride) and then asked to be executed instead of exiled (humility?).

So what do humility and pride have in common? Why are they both so appealing?

I think it's because they both mean to know something. Knowledge is objective. I can know one thing, and you can know exactly the opposite. We both know it, that is, we are sure of it. Pride, pure pride, is to know what you can do. Humility is to know what you cannot do.

You can stand up to pharisees and question their method of authority, and you cannot ignore the lower classes, who make up the majority. Both pride and humility, then, sort of fall into the category of intelligence. The more intelligent someone is, the more proud and humble they might be.

Pride still leads to the fall. It did for Jesus. Did for Socrates too. Humility still causes one to be exalted. Did for Jesus. Socrates too. So why oppose them to each other? Why teach our kids that you mustn't be proud, but instead you must be humble? Then we say we're proud of them. No wonder it's taken me so long to figure this out.

I'm very proud. Probably more proud than anyone I know. It hurts people sometimes. And to that, I really say, that's too bad.
I feel like I'm destined, that is, able, to do great, that is, prominent, things. I will work and work until they are done. I might forget about now sometimes, and to that I say, that's too bad.
I'll probably die in strife, reaching for something scarcely out of arm's length, fingertips just millimeters short of flicking the delicate edges of another page. And to that, I say, that's too bad.

That is, it's not perfect.

-joey

Sundays

2008-03-16T10:29:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about writing a short story.

Cauliflower and Buttermilk

2008-03-12T17:58:00.000-07:00

So my plan for this entry is another sort of freewrite. I've been writing an awful lot lately and it's been hard to get online and contribute. I don't know why I feel like I have to make up excuses for my blog, but I always tend to do it. I feel a sort of responsibility to it, I guess.

Anyway.

So, today is my 22nd birthday. 22 years. It's a relatively small number, and I have a relatively large amount of things left to do in this life. San Francisco really lets a guy check off a lot of stuff from the list though. Since I've been here I've checked off:

1)living in a real-life, bonafide ghetto, complete with drug-pushers, crackwhores, and 24hour pawnshops,

2)being surround by naked men in a public place, (not that this one was on my list to begin with)

3)being hit by a car, (side note: I've learned several things from this. 1. always file a police report right away, especially if any sort of damages happen; doesn't matter how nice or great you are or the other guy seems. 2. keep on wearing a helmet. 3. a backpack full of groceries actually breaks a fall quite well. 4. don't ride a bike in san francisco (i only learned this one theoretically, i haven't actually applied it to my life yet)

4)standing in the rain with a poor man named vincent who just wants his dog back.

I sat outside of a WholeFoods yesterday and I witnessed a very odd sight. A old man, at least 70 years of age, slowly walked past me and set on the bench right beside me. He had two brown grocery bags. He set one down and kept the other one in his lap. After fumbling around the top layer of groceries in the bag, he pulled out a whole cauliflower, blew on it once, and took a very large bite out of the topmost branches. That is not that weird, I suppose. I've eaten plain cauliflower before. It's not terrible.

What he did next though got me thinking about so much more than just odd dietary habits. It got me thinking about the sort of patterns that show themselves in people's behavior all the time. He pulled out a 1-quart carton of buttermilk, opened it, and drunk at least half of it, all at once. Then he let out one of the most satisfied sighs I've heard. It really hit the spot for him.

Did he plan before he went into Wholefoods to purchase buttermilk for this purpose? Did he perhaps forget to purchase anything else to drink and didn't realise it until he had already begun his snack of cauliflower? Maybe he was planning to make buttermilk pancakes and steamed cauliflower the next day. He must have cursed himself for having consumed the ingredients prematurely.

Maybe I'll try it sometime.

You Just Don't Get It

2008-02-23T12:59:00.002-08:00

You just don't get it, do you?

It's not like this is easy for me.

This kind of belief is not invincible. It wavers, it falters. You can tell that I'm wrong, that I'm believing a lie, and I might believe you. It might affect me. You might even convince me to give up.

But you won't understand it. You just can't get it. You don't even know what it's like to live by a code. You might have some sort of default code, but no way to define what is right or wrong.

And I'm not saying that I have a way either. But I do try to live by a code, trust my conscience. The gray area still all but surrounds me. I can barely see on the horizon the black and to the other direction the white.

But I don't have the answers. It would be disrespectful to you if I told you that I do. It would also be proud of me to do such a thing. All I can really say is that I drift in an out of a state of knowledge, security in what occupies my identity. It's not necessarily easy. Helps with decisions sometimes, though.

I wish you could get it, but as long as you don't believe in anything, you never will. If you believe in nothing, you certainly won't, as the only code to hold anyone by in that case is the most terrifying kind: that from the small, feeble mind of man.

I respect you though. I have since I met you. As long as neither one of us changes too drastically, I'll probably continue to respect you.

So worry not. You can count on me. I'll count on you too.

love, joey

free-write

2008-02-02T13:22:00.000-08:00

Thoughts come and go.
Temptations,
Also come and go.
Relationships come,
and they go.

Passion arrives,

just in time to recede again.

Love may stick around,
for a while,
but usually it will also go away from me.

I have favorite people,
No, I don't view everyone the same.
In fact, most of my favorite people share a lot of things in common with me:
Values,
Opinions, political and ethical, though not necessarily moral.

It's not even that I choose friends based on these.

It's not really even that I 'choose' friends at all.

There are certain people that I see and with whom I 'click.'
Usually, after a certain amount of time as a friend, or acquaintance, or even rival,
I'll find things in common with them. Their set of values and opinions influenced
their personality and made it suitable to accommodate my own.

I could be considered loud. This is why my friends are often quiet, brooding.
I have been called passionate, unrelenting. This is why I have friends who don't think too much about anything.

Yet, I have few friends who understand me, who really get why it is I won't stop.
Some claim to.
I have had one or two who I really think were close to understanding my drive.
I do come across those people from time to time.
People who for one reason or another, end up mattering to me.

How is it that I can care so much for cultures, societies, and ways of life,
but seem not to care at all for individuals?

When did I stop admiring specific persons and start idolizing particular peoples?
Did I ever care about the individual?

Maybe it has something to do with patterns, something I've always obsessed over. Patterns are made so clear in a specific population, but remain concealed often in the single man or woman.

Patterns do hold the key to many different revelations.

Patterns are curious,
mysterious.

On again, off again

2008-01-24T00:01:00.000-08:00

Well, I've been back from Hawai'i over two weeks now. I've started school and I am on my way, as firm as ever, to whatever path it is that lies in front of me.

I sometimes question this ambition I have. Why do I care so much to make a difference in the world? Why do I have to do something about it?

I'm even thinking about law school. Law school. If you would have asked me even 6 months ago if I had ever considered law school, I would have laughed at you. But the fact of the matter is, if I really want to do what I claim to want to do, create peace where there was none, especially in the the government of people, I'm going to need to know a thing or two about the way it works.

That's all an awfully long way off, but still, I sit here, serious, as serious as I have ever been, in my little apartment in downtown San Francisco just steps away from Hastings (a law school) wondering if I'll walk in there a student one day.

I'm also pondering spending this summer in Algeria among the Sahrawi camps. I could teach English to the kids in the refugee camps that have been there 30+ years.

I hope I'm on the right track here. I think I am.

joey

hawai'i

2008-01-05T18:14:00.000-08:00

Here's some photos of my time in Hawai'i so far.

Kona is a marvelous place.

Weak

2008-01-02T03:24:00.000-08:00

I am.

New Year's Eve's Eve

2007-12-30T19:41:00.000-08:00

"Feel sorry! Why should anyone feel sorry for me!"
Marmeladov suddenly sang out. He rose, hand stretched forward, positively inspired, as though all along he had been merely waiting for these very words.
"Why feel sorry, you say? Oh, yes, there is no reason to feel sorry for me! I need to be crucified, not pitied! Crucified! Crucify, O Judge, crucify, and when you have crucified, then take pity! If you do that, I will come and ask for crucifixion, for it is not merriment I crave, but tears and sorrow! Think you, publican, your bottle has been a sweetness unto me? It has been a sorrow. I have sought sorrow in its dregs, sorrow and tears, and I found and savored them. He will feel sorry for us who has felt sorry for all and understood each and everyone: He alone is Judge. On the day of His coming He will ask: 'Where is the daughter who sold herself for the sake of a bad-tempered and consumptive stepmother, for the sake of someone else's little children? Where is the daughter that felt sorry for her earthly father, an obscene drunkard, fearing not his beastliness?' And He will say: "Come! I have already forgiven thee once....Once already, I forgave thee...Thy sins which are many are forgiven thee for thou hast loved much...' And He forgives my Sonia; forgives, why, I know that He forgives.... When I was with her not long ago, I felt this in my heart! And He will judge and forgive all, the good and the evil, the wise and the humble.... And when He has finished judging all, He will summon us, too: 'You, too, come forth,' He will say, "Come forth, you drunkards; come forth, you weaklings; come forth, you shameless ones! And we will all come forth unashamed. And we will stand before Him, and He will say: 'You are swine, made in the image of the Beast, with his seal upon you: but you, too, come unto me!; And the wise and the clever will cry out: 'Lord! Why dost thou receive these men?' And He will say : 'I receive them, O wise and clever ones, because not one among them considered himself worthy of this....' And He will stretch out His Hands unto us, and we will fall down before Him and weep...and we will understand everything...and Katherine Ivanovna...she will understand, too.... O Lord! Thy kingdom come!"

-Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky

This passage really struck me this morning. A drunk pissing away his last few rubles that he should be spending on food for his children. It's a terrible and wonderful scene.

This is my 100th post. I've been at this a while.

joey

A Merry Christmas Post

2007-12-25T20:01:00.000-08:00

A relatively warm Christmas day in San Francisco, CA. People bustle around the city, though I'm not sure what they're doing, as it's too late to do any shopping.

Shopping. That's what it has come to be, no? I know it's a bit cliche of a revelation to come to, and it's one I should have encountered by now, but I've been realizing that it really doesn't have to be about that. It can be about family, friends, and sharing time with each other rather than wealth.

On this day, Christmas day, 2007, I miss my family.

dearly.

Family is what it is about for me. I have received one gift, something I am completely fine with.

It's really too bad that it has become so commercialized. It's inevitable, though, in the society of the United States. Anything that can be turned into profit will be. Capitalism is the root of this Christmas-time materialistic wrong that we have all grown to participate actively in, knowing full-well that something about it is not quite right.

At least apples exist.

And flour.

And sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, lemon juice, and shortening.

And if you combine these things in the just the right manner, you get pie, which can be shared with friends and loved ones, like Leon, who lives down the hall and takes care of my apartment building.

Actually, I'd better go. I still own Leon a slice and some gingerbread ice cream.

here's some photos:

s a n f r a n c i s c o ,

curious.

Sometimes

2007-12-02T12:39:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, it shocks me how bad my timing can be.

Sometimes, I forget that I'm alive.

Sometimes, I am struck by moments of beauty.

Sometimes, I treat the people around me like case studies.

Sometimes, I forget that God cares.

Sometimes, I forget that God exists.

Sometimes, I forget about God altogether.

Sometimes, I question my boundaries, as well as my ambitions.

Sometimes, I sit and think about life. I think about life, and I think about my role in it. I think about where I am now, and what I am doing, and what I could be doing. I think about the people around me, how I ought to care about them more, and about how I could do that.

Sometimes, compassion overwhelms me.

Sometimes, selfishness overwhelms me.

Sometimes, I look like this:

Sometimes, I'm curious.

A Silly Post

2007-11-30T08:38:00.000-08:00

I'm always so serious. I just want to write something silly.

Pudding

Jelly Beans

Sugar Daddies

Cow Tails

Jolly Ranchers

Lollypops

Sweat Shops

Stop.

The idea of eating worms to solve the problem of mass disdain for oneself seems positively preposterous to me. How would consuming raw invertebrates improve one's social stature? I simply don't believe it should even be considered as a possibility.

Perhaps one could try to serve the community through volunteer work or make a large donation to a struggling charity. One could visit one's mother, or if one is truly trying to disarm contempt, visit one's mother-in-law, just for recreation. One could give something to a beggar on the street, knowing full well that he will merely spend it on alcohol, hallucinogens, or the like. All of these things would still help raise one's public opinion.

But eating worms would not. Now, there are some who hold contemptuous views towards worms, and indeed I suppose one could win their respect by snacking on worms, simply because one would be destroying some and making a statement about the value of worms in his/her life. Even in that group though, one would have many distrustful people who would consider the consumption of worms bad judgment. Worms are quite filthy, they might argue, and to partake in such an offensive practice is outright wrong. But there would be no need to hold their opinion in regard. They're just worm-haters.

One may find that eating worms would bring you friends and enemies in the same fashion amongst another social group distinct to cities. Pigeons. If one were to eat worms, quite suddenly, one would have many peers, especially in public parks and on boulevard medians. Several others would be immediate enemies, seeing you as competition.

Eating worms may be good for some things, but not good for solving problems, especially social problems like the condition of having no one like you and everyone hate you. If no one truly likes you and everyone truly hates you, you have bigger problems than a diet can solve.

I am weary, let me rest

2007-11-12T11:12:00.000-08:00

The burn of sharp venom will make cry out,
And fire on flesh will cause you to shout.
But true anguish lies in the wounds that estrange:
The infallible agony of inevitable change.

Like I had said, a passion has been awoken inside me. But it's all a little out of place. I'm just a little out of place. The passion that has been aroused is not where I am. I can access it, indeed I always have accessed it, no matter where I've gone. But it is hard to locate here.

This drive has been the root of all of my actions. I believe it is the reason I have gone personally to so many different places. It is the reason I took up certain hobbies and honed skills in them. It's the real reason I first picked up a camera, once we put anything aesthetic aside. It is something I have always done, and it's something I will always do.

I make people understand each other.

I thrive on the conflict of others. That's why I'm so infrequently involved in conflicts of my own. I avoid being a part of the conflict because I like to solve the conflict.

Most of you out there who know me can probably attest to that. Whenever you show me a strong opinion, I'll give you the opposite opinion, along with a reason to believe it, just to balance you. If you talk about someone who has hurt you or offended you, or someone who you just don't like, I'll tell you the various possible ways he or she could have become that way, and why it may make sense that he/she is that way

Conflict and peace.

That's what I've decided to leave this school to study. Peace and Conflict. How I can more directly affect it.

It's such a sudden assemblage of the various pieces that I'm almost scared to see if I actually manage to follow through with it. But right now, for some reason, I feel so sure that that is where I am headed and where I next belong.

This change is quite jarring.

As time passes...

2007-10-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

...it seems my blog gets worse and worse.

I've become so busy, I scarcely have time to write and update my beloved readers lately. I haven't posted any real photos for ages.

I apologize, guys.

I have been going through a crazy amount of transition. I feel like I'm, indeed, a different person than I have ever been or ever thought I would become.

I'm turning into something. I'm getting passion. It's not just ambition driving me anymore. Passion has appeared and it's started to get into me.

I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's distracting. It's hasty. Reckless.

I'll try my best to keep you updated.

I've decided I want art to be relavent to the people. I'm tired of galleries having the monopoly. That's why graffiti is so valuable. It's anonymous and public.

joey

Noting The Doubt

2007-10-08T23:19:00.000-07:00

The problem with this life is the amount of doubts that fill it. Sometimes I wonder if doubts are something that is only possible for someone from a more sophisticated culture like our own here. The reason I have doubts about what I do now is because I have so many other options before me, I can't help but wonder where other routes would take me.

Listen to me. I'm scarcely even a semester into a four-year long endeavor and already I regret having started and seek excuses to abandon such a cause. I don't regret anything, per say, but I still question my decisions that have brought me here.

Why? Why do I question them. What else could I be doing that is more rewarding and a better investment of my time besides studying and learning?

I made a statue:

joey

The LoveFest

2007-09-30T09:32:00.000-07:00

Burning Man is an eight-day-long annual festival that takes place in Black Rock City, a temporary city on the playa of the Black Rock Desert in Nevada, 90 miles (150 km) north-northeast of Reno, ending on the American Labor Day holiday in September. The event is described by organizers as an experiment in community, radical self-expression, and radical self-reliance and takes its name from the ritual of burning a large wooden sculpture of a man on the sixth day. The event is organized by Black Rock City, LLC, under the guidance of founder Larry Harvey. In 2007, 47,097 people participated in The Burning Man Project. (from Wikipedia)

After Burning Man comes a parade through the streets of San Francisco ending in a the Civic Center square. Dozens of over-adorned floats covered in scarcely dressed ladies and gentlemen drift through clouds of marijuana smoke, taking special care not to run over the naked middle-aged and elderly men. Techno blares from every float, each within 15 yards of the other and the cacophony that results can hardly be contained be described as music. Women dress in what I can only describe as 'things.' Women in the these silver things move up and down, pulsating, vibrating, and gyrating in a cage; stimulating a crowd of dumbstruck similarly dressed males and females.

It's called "LoveFest," but I wouldn't equate the feeling I felt on the streets to love. Love usually means a warm hospitable feeling towards an acquaintance of some sort. It makes you want to embrace them and spend your time near them. This made me feel like I'd just had a good, long look at Potipher's wife, all made-up with wig and strategically placed pieces of golden adhesive strips, and quite frankly, I probably would have run as fast as my legs would allow, did I not run the risk of colliding with people.

I'm not sure if it was the fog of marijuana, (so this is the "pea soup" franciscans always refer to) or the curdling sight of unabashed men next to the usually more tantalizing sight of the women, but somewhere in these paradoxes, I got a stomachache, and I had to leave. This was my encounter with LoveFest in San Francisco. A bittersweet sensation. I love to see people be free, but seeing what people are like when they're free can be unnerving.

I'm sorry but I just couldn't take pictures. For one thing, I was worried about my equipment. it wouldn't be hard to disappear in those crowds.

joey

san francisco is curious.

Yo, Joe, What do you Know?

2007-09-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

Well, I finally have an internet connection and a spare moment at the same time. I've neglected my blog tremendously since I've arrived at a state of academic busyness. I must say sorry to my regular readers, if I have any. I should have some photographs up soon, but I'm a little worried they may surprise you. I've started experimenting a lot again with my work--I suppose that's something going to art school will do to you--and things are looking a little different than they did before.

It's so good to be around deep thinkers who question the way life works and demand it work more efficiently.

In my English class we've been reading James Baldwin and Flannery O'Connor. I've learned so much about racism and the USA in the past few weeks just through these couple of readings. James Baldwin's, especially has some deep and thoughtful things to say about the relationship between the black and the white in our country. There's just so much that the Whites of America don't know about themselves, or at least didn't in his time. But really, that was a very short time ago and things are unlikely to have changed much.

As Baldwin states, whites have been afraid of sensuality, not in the typical sexual sense, but in a more spiritual sense. They prefer to listen to songs about happy things as happy songs, refusing to look at back story and depth. A happy song about a soldier seeing his lover for the first time in years is actually a story that is sad and rather long.

These may be temporary opinions, as I'll admit I'm quite susceptible to believe anything a good writer says, but still much what james Baldwin has to say about humans rings quite clearly in my ears.

I actually must go write a paper on that very thing.

Sorry, again, readers, for slacking off.

joey

The Saint Frances Chronicles

2007-09-01T08:39:00.001-07:00

Well, I've settled in. I've been to school several times now, I've been in classes, and I'm starting to get the feel for San Francisco. It really is an incredible city, teetering on the rope between diversity and chaos, but certainly never falling either way.

The school seems to have something that most educational institutes don't necessarily possess. I can't believe the amount of deep thinkers there are around here. I guess I should have guessed that and art school would double as a philosophy school, with people trying to define everything that comes in or goes out. I really think I've found the right place.

Something I've been learning as well is the value and rarity of having something to believe in. I'm just a Christian. But everyone around here seems mesmerized by the fact that I have morals and principles that I don't want to break. I get funny questions all the time. People just want something to believe in, I guess, so they get all curious.

I'm getting a job this week. I'm going to work in a restaurant.

Here are a few documentarian photographs of my new living arrangements.

me and matty's bathroom

matty and our room

another view

a few buildings

I've been shooting in film lately, so it may be a little while 'fore I get really good photographs up.

joey

San Francisco

2007-08-21T23:38:00.000-07:00

At last, at last, at last, my long anticipated, wholly inundated, freshly golden-gated hello to the great city of San Francisco. I think I will really enjoy it here.

First impressions are as follows:
This city is a lot like Buenos Aires, and I'm reminded of this pretty regularly. Shops wedge themselves beneath apartment complexes and Ross has 4 stories. There's 4 kinds of public transport and three fruit stands on a single block. It's busy and it's wild. It has quite a topography.

Guys, it's something else.

I've made a lot of friends right off. School friends, that is. I'm not sure how many will last until tomorrow, but I already regret having made too many. It might take some time to see who's who.

Nick cruisin' on the road to Denver.

View from the terrace at SFAI.

Melissa Grance and a little of SFAI.

It took a lot of guts to get here. I had a solid week of second thoughts flooding the brain and overwhelming all senses of logic, but now that I'm here, I'm pretty sure I'm in the right place. I haven't started classes or anything yet, just orientation, but this place will encourage deep thinking, and I like that.

Thanks, Mom, Dave, and Mel, for helping me get here.

It's midnight here and I have some writing to do tomorrow. I think I shall retire.

joey

14 year old splendor

2007-08-11T02:41:00.001-07:00

There is a strange social dynamic about a 21 year old budding artist taking photographs of three 14 year old girls at their parents' bidding.

Why should they trust me? I'm just some creep with a camera that can post this pictures on the internet at any whim. I'm a boy, and they are flowering young girls, blossoming and discovering their own beauty, quite unsure of what it is and who ought to see it and how they ought to see it. I'm a friend of one of their moms. This pretty much makes me middle-aged.

Creepy.

Somehow, I managed to break through all that, though, and these three girls ended up being a delight. I really enjoyed taking their pictures and I got a few great ones out of it. It's funny how they just continue to loosen up as the shoot goes on, and by the end of it all, I think I could have told them to do anything and they would have done it.

Kind of a dangerous position for a man to be in.

Vera

Jen

Shianne

I was especially impressed with Shianne, who was quite timid at the start, but kind of turned out to be my favorite one.

Thus breaks a one month streak of no photos on my blog.

joey

Debt Reigneth

2007-08-06T01:13:00.000-07:00

Reality is beginning to sound in my ear each time I have a spare moment's thought. Soon, I will be shackled in the chains of debt and my time behind the cold, steel bars of CitiBank Penitentiary will begin.

Just how I came to decide to attend the most expensive school I could find, I do not know, but I certainly hope and pray that the Lord will come through for me once again, and if He does, it will be a miracle.

We're talking 28,000 just for tuition for the year. Federal grants will cut that down pretty significantly, but still, it's a possibility that I may walk out of that school several miles in the hole, where light does not penetrate, and the air is still and stagnant.

Debt. I really hate the idea. I hate to owe someone something. I've avoided it all my life.

Ugh.

joey

Never Content

2007-07-24T14:15:00.000-07:00

Something is up. There is something going on. Where did it come from? It is bigger than you or me. It's happening right now around all of us. It circles and surrounds us and comes rushing up from the ground with tenacious fury, all crazy and smooth with motion. You can blink to try and convince yourself that this isn't happening, but it is. It is very real and very present. It is here, and you may as well admit it while you can freely do so. It's greater than liberty, more grand than justice, and brighter than all the stars. It's sort of a movement, a motion of sorts, and its velocity is frightening. I mean, really scary. What is it? We're talkin' whoa!, this thing is crazy. It's going to invade your dreams, bothering you of a good night's sleep, but you'll wake up and you'll be alright.

You're going to think about it when you have a free moment, while you smoke a cigarette, or if you get stopped at a red light. In those little moments, when life forces you to wait a second, that's when it will come on you. Where is it? It comes to you like an arpeggio, ascending and descending the highers and lowers of your consciousness. What does it want? It will change you from the inside-out, take the thisses and thats of you and make them into here and now. It treads on your what-ifs like dry leaves. You won't even have time to worry. It snatches all your square whys and crams them into the round 'how' slot, not realizing that the shapes don't match.

At least, that's what it does to me. It can seize me like the day, cripple me into reckless, abandoned submission, torture my suspicion, and press me hopelessly into ambition. That's what it is. It makes me do great. It holds me hostage until I do something great, than says 'Good, now do it again' and waits and watches like an Olympic judge. Ambition keeps me from contentment and dangles tranquility just outside me grasp. Ambition makes me miserable as I do what I love, tempts me again and again, over and over, time after time, until I get so dizzy, that I clutch my hair and clandestinely hold my breath, hoping it will go away a moment. It won't. It's here now, driving even the tendons that control the movements of my fingertips.

It's like a river and a drumbeat on which melodies float through rapids and cataracts to their destiny of cyclical action and endless ambition.

Curiously strong.

5 minutes to ramble

2007-07-21T14:28:00.000-07:00

I've got five minutes before I need to be out the door. I figured I'd give myself the challenge of seeing how much I can write within that small time period. I'm on my way to work, where I serve members at an exclusive golf course. Almost all of these people are really great, and they have greatly changed the way I view the higher class of our country.

That's one nice thing about our country. People really can earn their way to the top. If you work hard and stay focused, this country gives you the opportunity to do anything. If money is your goal, you can get there. If helping people is your goal, you can do that. No goal is too lofty and no summit too high.

I love America. I'm not a particularly patriotic citizen, having seen the countries and cultures I've seen, and I'm often the first to admit to the superiorities of other countries of the world. However, I must say, we do live in a magnificent country that, compared to other nations, give its own people so much freedom. Think about it. We can be out as late as we please, do business with whomever we please, eat what we please, and say what we please. There are limitations, but comparatively speaking, we have tremendous opportunities to do anything we fancy.

Alright. That's 5. And I'm out.

God bless America. And Morocco. And Egypt and Scotland and England and Spain and Germany and Argentina and Bolivia and Uruguay and Mexico and Canada and Guatemala and any other country I'll ever set foot in.

Whiff it

2007-07-17T01:45:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been running a great deal. The distances slowly increasing along with my body's ability to endure. Other things seem to be improving, or at least heightening or sharpening slightly. I think I can smell more sharply than I could before. At least while I'm running, scents seem to stick in my nose and strike the nerves more abruptly.

6 miles on Walua trail will bring a lot of smells. It weaves through town and country so the medley is quite unique. First, I pass a plumeria tree. Even if your nose is clogged like Grandma's toilet, plumerias have a way of breaking through that nonsense and getting right to the pleasure centers in your olfactory system, tickling the joy-hairs that are up there. Unfortunately, not long after, cigarette smoke drifts up from some young man's daily time of thought and deep contemplation accompanied by Marlboros and Coors.

Someone dropped a carton of eggs on the cement.
You can see where the yolk was broken and ran downslope. The sun and the air have cooked the eggs almost out of existence, but there still lingers a distinct trace of egg-stink in the air.

Rain has fallen, which brings out scents in any sort of leaves that have fallen on the ground of the yard of the man who owns the Diesel truck, now threatening my poor nose, now running through the mud to stir up the fresh, new, wafting smells of funky swamp thing.

Near the top of my run, I pass a sign on a building at what appears to be some sort of power-generating plant, and the sign reads "Caution: Chlorine Gas." However, in the funk battle of the road odors, dog poop reigns supreme yet again, no matter how chlorinated the air I breath has become. Still, even the smell of dog poop will eventually run out on a run, as there is an aroma that seems to follow me:

The fresh hot smell of my own sweat, the smell that means perseverence and endurance and very likely body odor for the rest of the day.

joey

A Tribute to Jack Jack

2007-07-06T18:33:00.001-07:00

Well, there has been an addition to my long list of relatives. A child has been born who shall change the world by his mere presence. He was born to Jessica, my sister, and her husband Kris on June 15th. He was 20inches, 7 lbs, 8 oz, and he has long feet. He's a cutie and he is quite mellow, crying only when he is hungry or when he has soiled himself. Introducing Jack Arend Gray:

kris and jack

jessica with jack

at 2 weeks

looking into the light

Also.

The Fourth of July's fireworks have always been a bit of a disappointment in Hawai'i simply because Hawai'ians don't particularly care when the mainland colonies won their independence. Perhaps it is because this event foretold of their own impending captivity. Who knows, but this is certain: often the fireworks on Independence Day are rather unimpressive, lasting less than 10 minutes, and it struggles to brace your attention even that long. This 4th, however, was different, but not because the fireworks were any better. At least, not the man made fireworks. The sky glowed during the sunset on Wednesday in a way I've rarely seen, putting blue and orange together in harmony as well as balancing shadows with highlights. As a photographer, I rarely shoot sunsets, because I find them to be dull and uninteresting, but this sunset was irresistible, and I hope this modest photo can impress, even if it can't actually do justice to the real scene.

Isn't it interesting to think that this sunset will never again occur. I was there. You guys weren't. Sorry.

joey

Cue the Jazz

2007-07-04T02:07:00.000-07:00

Something stirs within me tonight. It's like my eyelids called in sick and have forced my eyes into staying open long past closing time, and there's a patron who remains at the bar long after the last pints have been poured and begs advice off the poor barkeep. The floors have been mopped, the stools now sit on the tables, except one, upon which sits the lone client, while his buzz wears off and his mind sharpens to ever-increasing self-awareness and the agony that succeeds it. He sits and talks, finding no thought unfit to be expressed verbally, and finding any response first to be profound, but then useless.

So he sits and he thinks. He sits as he stares through the bottom of his empty glass. And he talks to everyone and no one. They are both the same person to him anyway. Everyone cares, but no one listens. Or was it the other way around? He couldn't recall, and even if he could, he would have forgotten the significance of it by this point anyhow. 'Words are cheap,' he says to himself, 'maybe that's why they're not in very high demand,' but not even he will listen to his notions.

'Certainly not making much off of them this way.'

The sign has been off for an hour or two now, and even the heat of the kitchen's daily bustle has since submitted to the evening cool.

Sooner or later, the bar has to kick out that bum. Shove him out the door with a brief but sincere good luck, pal, and retire for the night.

He'll wander the streets for an hour or two, kick something a few blocks until he loses it, and eventually he will have stop and wait long enough for unwelcome rest to seize his consciousness. He'll hang his head as he hangs his coat. And his heart.

An Apology

2007-07-01T12:20:00.000-07:00

It's been two weeks since I have posted anything. This is a travesty. It's not like my life doesn't have anything going on in it. Indeed, life for me is quite eventful, but for some reason, I have fallen behind on pursuing the normal paths of information that often wander down.

I have a new nephew. His name is Jack Arend Gray. He's 2 weeks old now. And here you guys all went for two weeks not knowing there's a new little man on the planet. (Let me say now, that this child is indeed, a man. Everything about him is big. His arms, legs, feet, hands, mhmm.)

Yesterday, I threw away 5 million dollars. I work at a very prestigious golf course, and yesterday, I was asked to restock the practice facility with supplies. As I drove up there in my golf cart, the head pro was hitting balls. He saw me coming, and indeed, he was the one who asked me to come. He drove a golf ball to about 10 yards in front of me. The ball bounced, which produced a trajectory that literally went straight for my skull. Now, were I a little slower in my reflexes, or the ball a little higher in its velocity, there would have been a collision. A worker on his way to do a requested task getting nailed in the head by the golf ball of the head pro who asked him to do the task; this looks like grounds for some very high numbers. Especially, once you count in the costs of reconstructive surgery, physical therapy, rehab for once I become dependent on the pain-killers, emotional trama of losing my girlfriend (I may not have one, but they don't know that) because she is no longer pleased with my appearance, and treating the depression that ensues; and what about my photography. You guys hit my good eye, the one I use for my work. Professional charges. Simply put, if I would have chosen to take that hit yesterday, I would be able to retire tomorrow. I'd be a member at the private club that I work for. Then again, I'd never be able to live with myself after all that exploitation of the situation.

Tisk, tisk.

I'll be back later.

Summer Trip 07

2007-06-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

Kona-Hilo-Seattle-Bellingham-Tacoma-San Francisco-
Tacoma-Milwaukee-Appleton-Hilbert-Milwaukee-Chicago-
Trinidad-Denver-Oakland-Hilo-Kona

This may seem like some bizarre code or step-by-step plan to conquer the world, but in all actuality, it's nothing more than my itinerary for last month. I did a lot of driving, flying, and for one trip, I took the train. Here's the photos, along with some descriptions of the journey:

this is my niece, allison. she's the youngest in the hodge family.

and here's her dad, Trevor. Trevor's a good dude. i love him like a brother.

Natalie's the oldest in the hodge family. she's beautiful

Corrie, on the right, is the mom and wife of said hodge family. Ben, on left, is our brother. I also love him like a brother.

Now, after I spent some time with the family in Tacoma and Bellingham, Melissa and I drove down to San Francisco to check out San Francisco Art Institute. It's a really cool city, and an even cooler school, or so it would seem. I will be attending this fall. San Francisco, here I come.

Here's a scout in San Francisco.

bad shot of the famous golden gate.

here's melissa at a "photo spot."

here's the sea lions near there.

Next, I headed to Appleton, Wisconsin and the surrounding areas to take photos at a wedding there. Anna Johnston and Colin Crow were married on June 1st, 2007. I think Colin only chose the 1st so that it would be hard to forget the anniversary in the future.

fuzz needs in the bathroom.

the johnstons live on a farm and thus, own a barn.

steve's fingers have been known to start on fire when he plays the banjo.

even wisconsin has beautiful sunsets.

dew diamonds.

brother nick.

joellen is cute.

kevin is a rock star.

and the wedding preparation begins.

chandelier.

zip.

the aisle awaits.

an especially lovely bride.

the handsome groom.

colin bled when he tried to put it on the first time.

natalie, niece of bride.

the kiss.

anna and her maidens.

the bouquet.

role reversal.

So, the final leg of my trip was to where I grew up in Trinidad, CO. I visited old friends, met new ones, but most importantly, I was able to connect with my roots. I really am just a good ol' Colorado country boy. I miss that country.

indian paintbrushes.

misc. plants.

and a tired old windmill churnin' up water for the dawgies and fillies.

All in all, it was a great trip. Now, my Hawai'ian summer begins.

joey

A Wedding Slideshow

2007-06-14T18:35:00.000-07:00

At long last, I am back from my jaunt around the mainland of the United States. I am back in Hawai'i and I have a mountain of things to do. I thought I'd post today just a little slideshow of the wedding I shot in Wisconsin of my cousin Colin and his wife Anna's wedding. I'll try to post again soon with tons more pictures.

Hopefully, this can stifle your ravaging appetite for now.

Alphabetical Genocide

2007-05-24T07:50:00.000-07:00

I have been travelling. Point A to B. B to C. C to K to F, then back to A again, except now, A has become R and the old R as now taken the place of Q, who retired when C and K got together and told Q to get the hell out, that they could take care of that sound and that really, Q, you're just an obsolete letter anyway, and we've never really needed you in the first place. Besides the only reasons we do have you are all the French words.
Q responded, "What about queen and quiver, quick and cheque."
C queried, "Why don't you just cwit? Cween and cwiver we can take care of, and we'll--"
K interrupted, "I believe he means kween and kwiver, and we'll do just as well on the beginning of kwick as we always have on the end. And check has ended in K since the American Revolution."
C simply stared at K in disbelief. "How dare you? Kween?! You think the American people will buy that?"
"Kome on, C, you get to have two sounds, three if you kount when you and H do that disgusting little number you always do. They kould just as easily spell it "khurkh." I just figured I'd take over Q any way I kan and you kould still work on flushing out S."
"Oh, you had to bring S into this. Wait a sec. I saw you and S the together not two days ago. What could you have been discussing?"
Q interrupted,"Whoa. This is way more qompliqated than ever qrossed my mind! Maybe I will just pull out of the race."
"Keep kwiet, will you?!" interjected K. "All I'm trying to say, C, is that you get so much aktion between the latin words and the letter H, and I'm not even allowed to stand alone at the end of words, they have to drag you into it too. What's wrong with 'chek?' You're still in that word, aren't you? Why do you have to begin AND end that word?"
"That's beside the point, K. What I want to know is what were you doing with S."
"We were going to team up against X."
"Against X?"
"Yeah. We had to get Z in on the deal too to take over zylaphone. But me and S can do eks-ray, fiks, miks, and jinks. I figure, with a revolution like this, it will be no time before we have the whole alphabet trimmed down to an elite dozen. "
"That's it, K. We're not working together anymore. From now on, it's chec and cazoo."
"Yeah, good luk with the state of Centucy and the sport cicball. Maybe I'll go find S again and get rid of you too, C, we don't need you. It's the twenty-first sentury."
"Alright, K," sighed C, "if that's the way it has got to be." He lunged for K, who sidestepped and shoved C over. K ran at C with his serif bared and glistening in the alley moonlight. Q simply watshed as K and C literally qilled eash other.
Q qovered his fase in disbelief. He qried, "Why!"
"Yes?"
"Why, why have you done this to us? How long will I qover my face? Qan't we all just qo-exist in pease and harmony? Why?! Answer me!"
Silence ensued.
Then the voise of Y boomed, "Beqause part of the inherent nature of these qreated beings is pride. These are the fruits of pride."

Life is a qurious thing.

Life

2007-05-11T12:04:00.000-07:00

joey

Luke and Courtney

2007-05-03T01:39:00.000-07:00

I helped Josh Fletcher shoot a wedding last Saturday. I just put together a little slideshow of what I got:

joey

ps. I figured I'd post a few stills too:

Subject to Change

2007-04-27T01:47:00.000-07:00

Anything can change. Everything can change. Change is one of the world's most powerful, inevitable forces. Things change into other things quicker than one can imagine and situations morph and shrug to different situations like there can be no control.

There aren't many things that don't ever change. God is one. But even He can change His mind. But He can't, or doesn't rather, change His word. He doesn't change His feelings for us, and he doesn't change His reward for us for following Him.

This is probably the only constant in my life right now. If right now, I did not have the knowledge of God and His works for us, I suspect I'd be in a tight spot.

Things have changed for me, seemingly for the better, but any changes bring confusion. My plans to Washington this fall to study journalism began the slow process of solidification. I prepared mentally, emotionally to pluck myself up once again and to re-establish my home in Bellingham. That is until I received a financial aid packed from San Fransisco Art Institute, saying they found a way to get have my expenses covered if I chose to go there instead and study fine art photography. 20,000 dollars a year this would work out to, but, that still means I'd need to find a way to get myself 20,000 dollars a year as well. This, of course is all sorts of estimated expenses, and I myself being a rather frugal shopper, think I could get by on much less than what they quote. So, I must very carefully consider this offer.

I weigh it out, I seek the advice of friends, family, and other respected acquaintances, and I hope and pray that God is with me in my way.

Life is such a marvelously curious thing.

joey

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/

Jared and Zoe are planning to marry on the 28th. Here are a few of their engagement pictures:

An Essay I Wrote

2007-04-20T12:18:00.000-07:00

Alright, so this is simply an essay I worked on throughout the week to apply for a scholarship. Those of you who have some sort of established prejudice against reading and only ever visit this blog for pictures, beware; words lie ahead.

Need and Greed
by Joey Huddleston

He whistles to me on the crowded, dirt street, begging me just to view his goods. He offers me a newspaper in a language I would have to spend years learning to understand. The dirt on his face says he's had another long day at work, picking through garbage in an endless supply, hoping to find just one more plastic bottle that can be reused. He has had more of these long days in his life than most, but such is the life of a common 8-year old in his part of the world. He has never been to school. He has learned nothing of history, which could tell where he comes from nor geography which would let him know that he's not alone in the world. Perhaps he'll learn to read, if his masters take the time to teach him, and he will certainly learn to count, if for no other reason than to avoid being once again ripped off by his master. But he may never enter any true educational facility. He learns a hatred of the faceless man that inflicted him with this endless life of labor, of the land to the west said by his masters to be the source of their troubles, and of the Holy Land in the center of it all that has allied with the west to seize the finest parts of the land.
If he doesn't go to a proper school once he reaches adulthood, he may simply continue in this closed perspective in a life of labor without rest, until he earns one day the right to simply be and let others, usually his own children, care for him. Or perhaps he will choose the path so many choose and attend a madrasah that will teach him that sacrificing himself to kill Christians and Jews is the only way to reach paradise.
So if the world were educated, the efficiency and order that would result could solve a part of the problem. If the working child could be replaced, or rather transformed, into the learning child, the very source of the problem could be remedied.
This has already been proven by Greg Mortenson*, who while attempting to summit K2 in 1993 to honor his sister, became weak and exhausted, and was rescued and brought locally to a town called Korphe, where he promised to build a school in order to repay the town's compassion. He unwittingly discovered a crucial need in rural Pakistan and has since built many schools there, and the very roots of the society are changing, with many people gaining a positive outlook on the US from the work of one man.
But this is only one solution to one cause of the seemingly unsolvable problem of global child labor. Child labor is not the problem, it's the effect of a great number of other problems. I believe the dilemma lies not in the existence of child labor itself, but in that is has gone unchecked so long that we are now dependent on it. It has become a need. At first, it was easy to keep it out of the watchful eye of the media because it was something that seemed so far away. Now, however, we have the technology to learn of such perversions, but we have become so accustomed to our life of luxury, that it wasn't hard to become quickly accustomed to seeing images of fingerless diamond miners in magazines while we sit in our Bolivian-made wicker chairs and sip Colombian coffee. We are addicted to enjoying the fruits of the hands of those without names, sort of the way someone becomes addicted to cigarettes or drugs. It might have happened over time starting with small operations like farms and family businesses. And then, gradually as the businesses and industries grew, so did the number of workers needed. Cheaper labors means higher profit, and we live in a country so driven by profit, we don't even care to question the source of our income.
Or perhaps it came all at once, as addictions to certain drugs do: You fill a need that you didn't know existed and suddenly, it's impossible to rid yourself of the craving to fill and refill that need. It's a problem that perpetuates itself and will not be resolved without action, or without a conscious decision to remove the temporary solution and eventually the need altogether. But even this is just the beginning.
Statistics show that only 5 percent** of child labor on a global scale is used to export goods like those that clothing and merchandise companies have produced. It's the desperate Sudanese family so ravaged by war and terror that have no way to survive except sell their daughter into sexual slavery to be exported to Cairo, Egypt. It's the dying family farms all over the African continent that barely produce for the family with the children working, and would certainly find their demise without them. It's the suffering shop owner in the market district that tries hopelessly just to break even but finally has to pull his son from school to go out to the streets and physically bring business to the shop. In short, even if our country and our western world weren't having products made in China to produce a greater profit, the children would still go on working until someone came and pulled them out of it.
Sometimes, it's the exploitation of poverty that causes the problem. On the border between Bolivia and Argentina is one such example. Each day in the border town of La Quiaca, a truck loaded with flour approaches the customs center. The flour company must pay an sizable export tax to bring a truckload of flour into the country. But they have found a way to avoid this tax: they keep the truck on the Argentina side and simply hire Bolivians stricken with poverty to come and carry these bags across by foot, a distance of up to half a mile. They pay them by the bag, but it's hardly enough to do anything with, sometimes as little as a dime per bag. Still, if you get the children to carry fifty-kilogram bags across, and grandmothers too, enough can be made to manage. So back and forth they go, not only the able-bodied men but the little ones and the grandmas, sweating and huffing just to try to keep up with the other bag-bearers.
So we find that between poverty and exploitation thereof, between greedy industrialists and the societies that sustain them, between the lack of education and the innocence of ignorance, and finally between the devastating effects of pure despair and the numbness to human spirit it carries, we have an all-encompassing problem: the child who slaves, day after day, in a mine in Sierra Leone, a brothel in Bangkok, or washing windshields on the streets of Ciudad Juarez. What am I willing to do to help him? I can bring awareness of his situation and bring him a voice. I want to connect his world to mine, and I believe once that is achieved, at very least, the people who care will act. What can you do?

* source: book: Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin
**source: HYPERLINK "http://www.unicef.org/"http://www.unicef.org

Alright, some pictures too.

curious

joey

Straying Thoughts

2007-04-12T02:20:00.000-07:00

Things seem to stray in so many directions right now. I'm deciding between schools, trying to get scholarships, and hoping God works everything out for me. I'm trying to find a way to perpetuate my photography, learn to write, and enjoy Hawai'i while it lasts. My insides are all curled up like a hurricane, and I'm so happy to be a part of all of it. If I just trust God, things will work, right? Well, what about diving nose first into year's worth of debt? Is it worth the best education in the field I want to take on? How far am I willing to go, to what extent am I willing to take the chance that I'm doing what I ought to be doing?

Such a confusing time this is.

I took some portraits of my nieces today, so finally to all my readers who have ached for some more classic photography, here you are:

Karlie

Esther

joey

A Conclusion

2007-03-31T10:23:00.000-07:00

I've been back in Hawai'i two weeks now. I can honestly say that I have a hard time believing how quickly I get how restless I get. It's hard for me to just exist sometimes, just accept things as they are. It annoys me that I have to do all sorts of things before I can do what I want to do. And it annoys me to an even greater extent that I don't know what the latter is.

I feel so disconnected.

I've always believed someone can accomplish anything the put their mind to, and I've always acted on it. I have even tried it. It works! If you put your mind to something and really apply yourself, you can accomplish great things.

But what do you do when you're not sure what it is that is worth putting your mind to. When you have so many options in front of you, and the ability to go in countless directions, how do you decide which road to follow? You'd answer that question depending on your background? My background would urge me to respond in prayer and seek God for and answer. I think that's a great way to do it, but God chooses to be silent sometimes, to let us figure things out for ourselves.

That's why I must press in harder.

joey

First Week

2007-03-12T12:02:00.000-07:00

I've had such a strange first week back. America greeted me with influenza and pretty much stalled my entire stay at my sister's house in Bellingham. I've been coughing, hacking, sitting around, and pretty much feeling sorry for myself.

Restlessness can have bad effects on a guy. It may result in laziness, self-pity, lack of self-worth.

For example, the other day, I opened the fridge to get some milk. But once I bent down to look, I realised that the milk was all the way behind the orange juice. There was no way on this sad little earth that I was going to reach all the way behind the orange juice to retrieve the milk. So I drank water. Much simpler. Flip the faucet, hold the glass while it fills, unflip the faucet. No lids or flaps to deal with, no pouring motion, and most of all, neither moving the orange juice nor reaching behind it. Now all of this actually went through my head, justified somehow by my own twisted method of logic. Fortunately, it was a temporary pattern of thought, and I have since decided that reaching behind the orange juice for the milk may well be worth it.

I am getting better from my week-long flu. It didn't help that Washington is really rainy. I've had a bad week, as far as my thought life goes. And the fact that I have time to have a thought life kind of depresses me even now. I just like being busy, you know.

I'm also trying to figure out where to go to school next fall.

It's my birthday today. I'm 21. I can drink, but I don't feel very different. I've been able to drink for a long time in other countries I've been in, so it's not that big a deal.

joey

he vuelto

2007-03-05T13:08:00.000-08:00

Back in America

I forgot how many Americans there are in America. They seem to be everywhere. It's just so strange to see so many, and to meet strangers that speak English with the same accent as me. I think I have worse culture shock now than when I when I first left.

American girls are so bubbly. Floating, drifting, blowing around. Kids like bubbles.

“I feel like I'm losing my mind a little bit.”
“What?! I'm reading your mind?”
“No, I've just been feeling like I'm losing my mind.”

-the Starbucks girl

I keep talking to strangers in Spanish. I keep saying “gracias” and “permiso” and “perdón.” People go, “Huh?!” I felt nice talking to the airport employees in Spanish. They were pretty much all Latinos in Miami. And a few Africans.

A man in the Airplane gave me a 10 dollar gift card to Starbucks. It's probably the only way to get me in here. I had a combination of a White Chocolate Latte and a Cinnamon Dolce. It was alright. Good and sweet. And hot. I need hot, because Seattle's cold. It's a cold place.

This Starbucks girl has that same funny red tint to her hair that many Argentine woman have. I think I'd compare it to crimson, bronze, or metallic red starbucks coffee bag. Maybe that where she got her inspiration.

I'm so tired.

Imagenes Finales de Argentina

2007-02-27T06:50:00.000-08:00

Today, the 27th of February, 2007, is my last full day in Argentina. Now, it has been two weeks since I last posted. This is mostly due to laziness, but a small amount of the credit belongs to the fact that I had little to say, as these last days have been monotonous and very, very long.

However, this morning, a thought came to me: I will post what I feel in this moment are my ten best photographs of Argentina. I worked only on first thoughts, and so there may be some photographs that seem unqualified for this category, or you may remember photos that you feel would fit in this collection better than the ones chosen. Feel free to feel such things. It is healthy and natural to have opinions. But know that in this moment in time, when I am posting this, these 10 are my current favorites.

el obelisco

un reloj en calle florida

un niñito triste

el dolor de habiendo perdido el juego para su equipo

viajando por tren

el rocío de Salta

un Peugeot de Jujuy

un viejo de Bolivia

una artesana de Jujy

sierra Fiambalá

On this last day in Buenos Aires, I feel such a mix of emotions. It's the same mix I've encountered each time I have invested a significant part of my life to a place and then left, probably never to return again. I am happy for the time I have had here, the relationships I have built, but I am also happy to be leaving them to go back to my home country.

The world around me seems to be getting bigger each day, with more things to see, places to go, languages to speak, and cultures to delve into. I think about how I will look back on this time once I am back out of its context looking from more the neutral perspective of having already done it.

Curious indeed.

joey

Fiambalá Two

2007-02-13T09:53:00.000-08:00

Alright, so what happened is this: God told the team to go to the small town of Fiambalá about a month ago in a prayer meeting. It´s a little town with not much more than a grape and wine business.

We went to the town and found no one. We decided to make camp by the hot springs about 14km from the town. It was way up the mountain and had a great view of the Andes on the other side of the valley. The hot springs are just what you´d expect them to be: hot. 70 degrees celcius, about 150 fahrenheit, at the hottest part and boy, it felt good to sit in them with the cold wind blowing around your head. These springs also supposedly have some sort of healing power. One lady said she´d been going there every year ever since they cured her back pains 20 years ago.

The water kind of tastes like sulphur.

the view

the hotness

After two days there, we decided to head down the mountain and start in the town. We still had no contacts, but we found a pastor named Pochito that was willing to let us sleep on his church floor.

Fiambalá is a very meek town. It´s lazy and a little sad. It´s got a little more than 4000 residents in the immediate area and maybe twice that many including all the closest nowheres.

sad doors

grapes and dunes

uvas rosadas

37 Chevy

"pronto" means soon

It is also a dusty and windy town.

joey

Fiámbala

2007-02-08T14:19:00.000-08:00

So, one day, about a month ago, the students, in a time of prayer, felt like God was calling us to come to Fiambala at some point during the run around Argentina.

I am now here. This place is super-tranquilo, and for those of you who don´t know what tranquilo means, it is simply a word that Spanish has that English needs. It´s like peaceful and cool and chilled out and tranquil, of course. The streets are quiet and its so peaceful.

Now, here´s the catch. We had no contacts before we came. So, when we got here, we decided to take a break in Las Termas de Fiámbala, or Hot Springs of Fiámbala. We went up there for two days and three nights and camped. We got a discount because Dace, the Latvian in the group, learned the word for discount that very day and said it several times in a cute Latvian way during the price negociations.

Anyway, I´ll try to post some photos later, but I just gotta say that I think those springs cured my dandruff.

We´re back in the town, still no contacts, and we´ve made camp in a little park, and no one seems to mind. Well, I gotta go. I´ll finish this post soon.

Joey

7 Colors of Exploitation

2007-01-31T05:57:00.000-08:00

The first photo journey posted for a long time.

I'm going to take you on a quick trip from Jujuy, Argentina up to the border of Bolivia and we're going to see some exciting things and think for a little while.

Jujuy is filled with interesting sights, sounds, smells, and faces. It seems to have a humility that I'm yet to find in other towns in Argentina. Perhaps it's some sort of shame, as Jujuy is known to have problems with corruption, or perhaps it's the more indigenous background that Jujuy has. Whatever it is, it imparts on its residents a spirit of either good-natured friendliness or suspicion and bitterness. I've encountered both people here. Even now, as I sit at this internet cafe, and little old man in a blue knitted cap and cheap blue suit coat greets me with a crooked smile and and a lazy eye through the window. It looks like he wants to come in and share my coffee.

craftswoman. pottery and knitted llama products are common

closer look at the skilled hands

a very Jujeño beat up Peugeot

Next, we go to the small town of Purmamarca, a desert village that recently has made its livelihood from the tourism that its "Cerro de Siete Colores" (hill of seven colors) has brought. Its landscape and terrain are other-worldly, thus resulting in bizarre mountains with equally strange color combinations, mostly involving red dirt. It is a quaint and gentle place, and I felt the whole time I was there, only a few hours, that this town would prefer to be left alone.

triangle

"El Cerro de Siete Colores"

grazing

I also traveled past a markable high point on the road and I thought I'd get a quick photo with it. This road to Bolivia goes to almost 4000 meters (13,123 ft) before descending again. That's as high as almost every mountain peak in the United States.

12,401 ft

Finally, I arrived at the border of Bolivia, between the Argentina town of La Quiaca and the Bolivian of Villazón. A 30m bridge is all that separates the two towns, but you would swear they're leagues away from each other based on the massive cultural differences that show themselves in the form of dress, language (only accent really), and etiquette. Everyone wears little caps of any form. Cowboy hats, bowler derbies, indigenous style hats, knitted caps, and any other head wear you can think of. I've never seen such a change in such a short distance. It was like placing someone placed New York next to Mecca, except without the problems that would ensue if you did that.

viejo con carretilla

niña

But that's not to say there are no problems. One I noticed while in Bolivia for only a few hours was a very interesting problem indeed. Every day, at least once, a giant truck full of bags of goods pulls up to the border. Now the truck could just cross the border and pay the tariff required by the Bolivian government to import the flour or whatever it is they are taking, and indeed that is what they used to do. But, the companies have found a cheaper way to avoid such a cost:

They hire the Bolivian workforce. You see children, old woman, youth, and people of every age carrying massive bags of flour on their backs. Each bag weighs 50 kg (or 110 pounds), and I'm quite sure that half that people I saw scurrying back and forth don't even weight that much. Some people carry two bags.

The way it works is that they get paid 50 centavos (roughly 16 cents) for every bag they carry across. That pay is too low, even by Bolivia's standards, and Bolivia is #7 on the list of the World's poorest countries. And so they run, back and forth, to get as many bags as possible so they can barely scrape by on the pay. It's exploitation and it's one of the saddest things I've ever witnessed.

hunched

the woman leave their children on the side to either play, sleep, or cry

Still, in spite of this, I also feel like I've seen few places more beautiful than this little border town of Bolivia, where the real culture of Bolivia barely begins to surface, and I hope one day, I can return to come to know this culture a little better.

El mundo es un lugar muy curioso.

joey

My First Robber Chase

2007-01-27T10:05:00.000-08:00

Alright, so I´ve got 15 minutes so photos this time. Just a quick account.

Yesterday, the StoryTellers crews was crossing a bridge on foot here in Jujuy, Argentina, and we were scattered in pairs. I suddenly here my name screamed several times in a thick Colombian accent (sounds more like "Shuwy" than "Joey") and at first I think I´m about to get hit by a car, but then I see this dude running towards me, or rather past me.

It´s a funny feeling being forced into a decision in such a short amount of time. It´s almost like you can´t think at all, only react whichever way is the absolute first to come to your arms and legs. As the man ran by, I grabbed at his shirt, only to have it quickly slip from my hand.

A few tips real quick. If you´re going to an area where you may have to run unexpectedly for some reason, don´t wear sandals. And don´t carry a camera much more valuable than whatever the man you´re chasing has.

I started with all my gear on, but realised it wouldn´t work that way, dropped my camera and bag, almost literally, and went for him down a flight of stairs. After about 7 strides the sandals were gone and I was huffin´ it barefoot. We ran down a windy flight of stairs, through a dodgy little neighborhood, through a kids football game, over two little rivers, and I finally caught up to him in a field. I had the adrenaline. The whole time, I yelled "Paré, paré!" I think that´s actually the wrong conjugation, but i think he knew I wanted him to stop.

I grabbed a strap of a fanny pack on him and turned around to face me. Though bigger than me, because I was the pursuer and agressor, I was also in countrol by this point. I asked him why he had taken it(I still didn´t know what it was.) He said his dad was dying and he had no money. I asked him to come talk to us, but he said over and over that he couldn´t. I told him I wasn´t going to turn him in, but he really wanted to leave, as he kept trying to pull his wrist out of my grip, understandably so, i guess. He had been caught.

I ended up trading him all the coins in my pocket for Helen´s cell phone and just let him go.

Also, there were two boys with us, about 10 and 12, and I am officially their hero.

I got to tell you, it was a cool experience, and I got to see and feel a part of me I´ve never known before. It was quite a rush, and I won´t soon forget it, unless i start doing it all the time. I´ll be a little more wary of locals´ warnings from here on out. And I´ll take back up running when I get back to the States.

joey

Intermission

2007-01-21T15:11:00.000-08:00

I had a morning free and since the place we were staying was far from nowhere, I decided to see what I can do with the built-in camera on my computer. Enjoy:

joey

Salta

2007-01-18T09:31:00.000-08:00

So, I've had a chance to sit and post and I figured I'd use it.

First of all, Salta is so much prettier than the internet makes it seem. When I arrived here, I said to myself, "finally, I have arrived in South America." It has all the mountains, rainstorms, and forest covered hillsides that you dream of for South America.

From what I gathered, the name Salta somehow means beautiful, but that doesn't make sense in curret Spanish where "salta" means "he jumps." It's complicated.

Anyway, here are some of the things I gathered yesterday on my first day.
I'm not sure i'll be able to get much more.

joey

Less Common

2007-01-15T08:37:00.000-08:00

Dear reader,

Tonight I leave on a 20-hour bus trip to Salta, Argentina. Folks, this could spell disaster for those who like to read this on a weekly basis and enjoy all the pretty pictures displayed boldly with poorly written articles.

I beg the pardon of my regular readers, as I don't know if I will be updating regularly for a while. I hope I don't lose your loyalty throughout these difficult times.

sincerely,
Joey Huddleston

A Story of Someone Naíve

2007-01-11T12:37:00.000-08:00

Alright, as a little prologue for this article, I want to include some information about what caused me to make the following decisions, and exactly how I was thinking at the time.

First of all, the last city I went to and explored extensively was Cairo, Egypt. In Cairo, it is not at all uncommon to follow someone 2 1/2 blocks simply to drink tea and get their personal card, just in case you decide to return for business. In fact, many would consider it rude there not to.

Second, I had just stood in line for 4 hours waiting to change the date of my outgoing flight to Feb 28th, when I will be landing back on American soil.

Finally, I must say, that this story, as a whole, embarrasses me and I wish I would have done many things differently, but it is a funny story, and it'd would be a shame if it stayed in the vault.

Buenos Aires has so many people you shouldn't trust, and can't trust.

I was walking down Nueve de Julio Street, which, you should know, is the widest street in the world. Now, on this street, and any other street, there are always people who pass out propaganda for locals businesses. These include barbers, restaurants, clubs, dance places, ice cream shops, and any other business that would try to get customers from the main streets.

One such man engaged me. I'd finished all my errands for the day, so I figured I'd talk to him. He asked me if I spoke Spanish and I told him yes. He then went to his point of showing me what he was advertising. He called it a "Tango Club," but now I realise it was somewhat more of your average, run-of-the-mill, shady bar with whores establishment. I looked at the photo on the front of the card, which read something to the effect of "Mujeres, Bailar, Bebidas" (women, dance, drink) and showed a photograph of a mostly naked woman.

I told him I had absolutely no interest in that scene. I said I was not much of a lady's man. He said there's more to it than just the sex, that the dance scene was quite something too. I told him I don't know how to dance (except Siroc, but I didn't tell him that,) and I said I'd like to be on my way. Hold on, he said, he's going to go get his personal card, in case I change my mind.

No thanks, I'd really like to be on my way.
Oh, come on! It will only take a minute.

I'm entirely too nice a person, so I told him, fine, I'll wait.
Follow me, he said.

Alright. Here's where that thing about Egypt comes in. You'll follow someone kilometers just to get a card and drink tea before you're on your way. And they never ask anything in return, just that you remember them if you ever need the service they provide. Argentina is not like this. The words "follow me" should always be followed by "to your doom."

I'd already said yes, so I followed him, just around the corner to a rather plain looking bar, but it had tinted windows, and that should have been the giveaway. I said, I'll just wait outside, thanks. No, no, come in, it will only take a minute.

With a sigh of frustration, I entered the infernal establishment.

Like I said. Tinted windows. Dead giveaway. Not somewhere I'm interested in going.

Our propaganda man bounded up the stairs and I was left awkwardly waiting in a bar that was empty, except for two lovely patrons, a woman with approximately 45 years, probably the proprietor of this business, and a very, very large man with a 3-inch long scar above his left eye.

Are we finding a pattern of what should have been dead giveaways yet? Remember the title of this entry.

One of the nice young ladies approached me and asked how I was. I said I was fine, for the most part, but rather uncomfortable. Why, she asked. I said that this wasn't my usual scene and not a normal way I pass time. That I'd just rather get this "card," (I was beginning to understand the way this business works) and go.

I'd been walking a while, so when she told me to sit, I naívely accepted. That's when both of them did their thing. They sat next to me and asked me stuff about myself. Where I'm from, why I was in Argentina, what I do. Hawai'i, working as a photographer, 20 years old.

Oh, 20 years old?! But you have such a beard!
Yep, I have a beard, thanks.

They also told me a fair bit about the way their business works.
After tolerating such abnormal attention (for myself at least) for about 3 minutes, I again stated that I was quite uncomfortable and that I'd like to leave.

A note: I tend to recognize a story the moment it is being created, and will often look at it as if I was reading it in a book. I was seeing this unusual story unfolding in front of me, myself as the protagonist, and antagonists a-plenty, and I laughed. It was such an awkward situation, especially for myself, that I could not help but laugh at the levels of discomfort I was feeling. I fear my laughter my have been perceived as squeals of delight at the attention of these two nice girls, rather than simple irony in the making.

Why am I uncomfortable, they asked again. This is not my preferred scene. I told them that I was in fact, a Christian missionary, working as a photographer for free with a missions group in Buenos Aires, and that indeed, situations like this were not good for me.
The chord had been struck.

There's only one thing harder than starting a conversation, and that is to end one.

Well, what do you think of us? I said that I had friends who enjoyed this setting, and that indeed, I had nothing to hold against them (at least not yet) and that quite simply I felt like this setting was unhealthy for me and I would just rather not be there. I was beginning to wonder where on Earth the man with his "card " was and why I was even waiting.

Very big man came out with three drinks as I got up to leave. The two ladies took one and offered me the third. I promptly refused and insisted on leaving.

The Big Man quickly scribbled something on a post-it and handed it to me. On it were four figures.

$60
$60
$30 +
---------
$150

Now what was I to make of this little note. I'd neither ordered nor asked for anything in this place, and I certainly hadn't been there long, so I figured, this must be the amount I would pay if I were to return one day for the services the girls described to me, which was not likely.

As I stepped towards the door, a large body found it's way in front of me. Oh, excuse me, and as I stepped the left, to find my way around it, so it mirrored my movements.

You need to pay your check, he says. Of course, my check. Um, what check was that?

The check for the drinks and the attention. Oh, of course! The drinks I didn't order or take, and the attention I repeatedly indicated I did not want. Oh, no thanks. I told them I wasn't interested. Oh, but you'll have to pay. Just see that lady there.

The lady was sitting lazily behind her bar.

Hey, uh, what's the deal with this check?
Oh, that's the check for the services we provided you.
Services.?
Yes, the drinks and the attention.
Yes, you must mean those 3 minutes and untouched, unwanted beverages.
Yes, those.
Well, you see I didn't order those, and in fact, I've just been waiting for a man who I have clearly been far too nice to. I think I'll just go.

As I once again strode for the door, Big Man must have become irritated with this pattern we were forming and decided to stop in clean and simple but putting his palm on chest. You have to pay! He slapped the table with much force.

Alright, pal. Even if I wanted to pay for this. I don't even have the money to in the first place.

I can see you got a wallet there. I see the form in your pocket. What's in it?

I had a very meager 30 peso in it, so I pulled it out, looked, and said, "30 pesos."

He was distressed. I was in fact telling the truth about not having the money. The lady behind the bar told Big Man that I didn't have the money, and asked for a suggestion on what they ought to do.

Big Man looked at me for a bit, increasingly agitated.

I offered to pay for the drinks of these two nice young ladies but indeed, I could not offer more. To be perfectly honest, with the trend of violence this country has and the look in my 230lb friend's eye, I figured that 30 pesos would hardly cover my hip relocation expenses and it was better spent on these two enterprising young ladies anyway.

The lady hesitatingly took my money and ordered Big Man from in front of the tinted door.

I was happy to see daylight, and 30 pesos hardly seemed like any cost to win my freedom again.

But the further I got from the establishment, the more and more the truth settled upon me until at last it stared me right in the face with its red eyes and vertically situated pupils.

I had been had.

And there was nothing I could do about it. The cops in the area probably were regulars at the place and I certainly wasn't going to go back in armed with nothing but the phrase "Hey, wait a minute."

I always figured myself to be a fairly smart person. But between my still present Egyptian mentality of dealing with friendly strangers and my general lack of experience in settings like this one, my smarts had reached their boundaries and I had wandered into territory that swallows good people like me without so much as a "sorry it has to be this way."

There are several morals to this story: Don't follow strangers. Don't trust prostitutes. Don't enter tinted windows establishments without doing a little research first. Don't talk to people in Buenos Aires. If you think of any others, feel free to let me know.

I made a maze the next day, and since my readers are used to having visual stimulation too, here it is.

Life is a curious thing, and the last moral is that curious things will lead you blindfolded into trouble.

joey

Two Stories

2007-01-02T09:54:00.000-08:00

First, a little account. An anecdote, if you will. It's very short, I'm sure you won't mind.

A man jumped from the 4th story of the same building as the one in which I live and killed himself in front of our entrance. The police came.

It's quite strange actually, being that close to something of that nature. It's just sad that there are people that sad so near me, that I probably see every day. And the saddest thing is I don't know what I would have done had I known about it. Maybe I wouldn't have even helped in any way.

There's only one thing that could cheer me up from that: a man juggling flaming torches while riding a 7ft unicycle. No, Elijah, not you. I found another one. Someone stole your act. He was pretty funny. He made fun of little kids and fat people and Americans. I laughed a good deal. Then he juggled things. And Argentines just eat this kind of stuff up. You could play solitaire in the middle of the street and get a crowd.

Anyway, I really posted this for Elijah. Elijah, here are some pictures I took, during which it was impossible not to think of you. I hope you're still riding, ol buddy, and we still gotta work on getting me one.

And some fiats.

Okay, thats all for now. Happy New Year's, fellows.

joey

Farewell to the Green Hat

2006-12-29T08:27:00.000-08:00

I once had a hat. It was a 70s ball cap. It looked like an Oakland A's hat, but actually it was made for the far lesser-known Aguilar Wildcats who play in Aguilar, Colorado.

I wore this hat fondly and carefully. It had formed to my head to a comfortable fit. The A began to come off, so I sewed it back on. It was floppy and moldable and a good hat.

I lack a full photo of this hat, but here's what I have.

photo by Alisha Plaggemann

I had to bid farewell to this hat a few days ago when, leaning out the window of a fast-moving van to take beautiful pictures, the hat leapt from my head into the desert bushes. The van drove on and there was no finding it on the way back.

Aguilar Wildcats hat, you have been good to me and shaded my forehead from many a harmful UV ray. I shall miss you like I've never missed another hat.

A moment of silence please...

Thank you.

I found this image from Cairo in my archives when I was searching for images to demonstrate different photographic concepts: This one begs to be larger. Click on the image and you'll see what I mean.

I'd never heeded any attention to this picture before, but now I've decided I really like it. The way he leans. The boy peeking in the back. The giant old house further back. And the overall dirty feel of the this photo. I can't believe I missed it so long. However, I'm glad I finally found it.

joey

Christmas Eve on the Train

2006-12-25T15:52:00.000-08:00

I don't want to write much, just show a few photos I took of the train yesterday. I was on my way to someone's house for Christmas celebration.

I almost blew my hand up with a firework, but fortunately, I speak Spanish and even at 2 in the morning, I was able to decipher the "¡SALTALO, SALTALO, SALTALO!" (throw it) that a nearby newfound friend was yelling at me. Gloriadios. And I gave some muchas gracias to my new amigo after I realised how close I was to stupidly losing a finger because I neglected to read the package and mistook it for a much more harmless, sparkler-like firework that is also popular here.

Anyway, here's my photos from the train.

joey

La Tierra del Sol y del Buen Vino

2006-12-23T10:26:00.000-08:00

Mendoza. It's a land where the sun shines on the grape vines to make great wines for the good times. It's also a beautiful city that sits at the foot of the east side of the Andes mountains, so it has a diverse climate. In fact, anything from grapes to peaches can be grown there. Unfortunately, I didn't really have a chance to fully explore this little desert gem, but I did have a different sort of opportunity.

Each year, the JuCUM base in Mendoza holds a week-long retreat called "Semana Diferente" or "Different Week" for the indigenous people, called "Huarpes," who live north of the city. From my understanding, the Huarpes are poor, often so poor, that they simply cannot afford to enjoy the diversions many of us entertain ourselves with on a regular basis. So the base there raises the money to bring at least 400 people back by bus for 5 days of fun, food, and of course fellowship.

And I was commissioned to photography the event. Now, the people in charge of me didn't give me all that much direction, so I ended up taking a lot of photos of a wide variety of things. But, as it turned out, most of my favorite photographs from the week are of little boys, as they are usually the least timid and easiest subjects to capture, and often the most natural.

Presentando:

About 2 months to go. I hear these things get to the size of golf balls.

Just natural. These kind of kids are so few and far between. Kids who just relax and be themselves.

There's a game called "Truco" (trick) that is very popular here in Argentina. Usually, it's played for money, but most of the people I came across were content to win pebbles.

Washing up. I like the shallow depth-of-field in this one a lot.

Classic case of the pox.

Another cheesy plant macro.

Marbles.

I learned a fair bit about Spanish this week too. Mendocinos speak in a completely different manner than other Argentinos I've come across. They use "usted" in addition to "vos," but never "tu," which throughout the Spanish-speaking world, is the most commonly used form to express "you." And you'll hear "así que" and "¿viste?" throughout your conversation, in places where you might expect "so" and "you know?" in an equivalent English conversation. Also, they don't use a "sh" or "j" sounds at "ll" and "y." Instead they use a "y" sound, like in Mexico. All in all, it's a much easier accent to crack than that of Buenos Aires, which still confounds me on a daily basis.

It really is a curious world.

joey

Blanco y Negro

2006-12-11T09:50:00.000-08:00

Lord knows I've been to my fair share of YWAM conferences. This is my first in South America though. I was the official photographer at this conference. I averaged about 500 photos a day. Needless to say, at the end of each day, my eyelids were feeling less than okay. But the law of averages says that if you're taking lots of photos, you're going to get some good ones eventually. And when you've been trained, I should hope that would increase your chances.

Another nice thing about things like this is meeting lots of new people. I feel like I've entered new territory with my Spanish. Depending on where the opposite party is from, I can understand almost everything, and I've stopped translating everything for myself and have started to think in Spanish, which enables one to be able to understand much more quickly. You have you simply decide that it is a different language, and learn it as such. I've gotten past the timidity, but I'm still not always understood, and when I get more and more tired, I find my ability to think laterally this way deteriorates quite quickly.

Also, the fact that Latinas are muy muy hermosa helps one make a little extra effort.

So without further adieu, besides the explanatory paragraph below, let us commence the photos:

I've decided most of these photos look best in black and white, so I just converted them all. I'm happy with the results.

A Tango.

Mother and daughter.

A prayer.

Hand of prayer.

My trusty bag.

Was scored on.

Alejandro Rodriguez, director of JuCUM Argentina.

In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.

So there you are. Pretty much the best ones from the week. 1843 photos taken to get eight. Pretty unbelievable.

One more thing. I need money for the trip I'll be taking around Argentina to tell some of the stories of God's people here in Argentina. If anyone wants to give me any, that'd be real cool. Thanks.

joey

Spent a Day in U R Gay (uruguay)

2006-12-05T06:21:00.000-08:00

So, it seems the apple professionals here are just as helpful and friendly as apple professionals anywhere else in the world. They had my computer fixed within a few days. Not only that but for some reason, Apple has a way of hiring really good looking people to work for them. Still nerds, as far as I'm concerned, but very pretty ones. The girl who helped me was named Florencia, and she was no exception. But all of this is me digressing only to say, I can post blogs once again in the relative comfort of my home here in Buenos Aires.

So, Nick, Darnell, and I went to Uruguay for a day, just enough time to renew our visas. It's a 3-hour long ferry-ride across what I believe is the widest section of river in the world, the delta of Rio del Plata (silver river, plate river, money river, it could mean all those things).

We rented mopeds almost immediately for 10 USD per person. Good idea. We went and ate at a restaurant at the river front. Also a good idea. Ordered something made with beef, ham, cheese, etc. We were full of good ideas.

A girl named Megan from Colorado joined us in our travels early on. Not sure whether that was a good or bad idea, but it seemed alright.

As I look back at this post, I am sad to see that it is boring. Perhaps, I'll just get on to the pictures, which are also mediocre. What's happening to me, guys? I'm becoming plain.

Nick and Darnell looking over what should be named River del Mugre (Filth River.)

Again on the ferry.

Perhaps for "Volkswagens: El Colección del Cono Sur."

I think maybe I need to eat some more spicy food down here.

joey

Sad News

2006-11-28T07:37:00.000-08:00

Well everyone. I write this in an internet cafe. My computer broke. After only 2.5 months, my brand new macbook broke. Its screen won't turn on. Everything works but the display. I can even play music. I shall take it to a mac store here in town and see if they can fix it. If not, then I must send it all the way to the US and send it here and there until I figure this all out. All this to say, it may be a good long time until I make any interesting posts and post great photos. I hope you will both forgive me and come back to see me when all is well again.

Unfortunately,

joey

A Letter

2006-11-20T16:23:00.000-08:00

I recently wrote a letter with a little account of something. It's not my best work, but it can give you an idea. Sorry, no photos.

::::::::::: ::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::

We all know the story of the Good Samaritan. If you don't, it was simply this:
A Samaritan helped a Jew who had been mugged when other Jews ignored the pour soul, and at a time when Jews and Samaritans were not on friendly terms with each other. It's a reminder to be ready to help people in need.

We read these stories and we're touched. We state that if we were ever in that situation, we would do just as this Samaritan did. But at the same time, sometimes it doesn't feel applicable to us, as if that opportunity of such raw compassion doesn't ever present itself. “Sure, if I found a man on the street, beaten half to death by robbers, I would help him,” we say, but who actually finds such a thing? I think God presents the opportunity far more the we realize, but many just ignore it when it comes.

Carlos was in the Buenos Aires for the first time. He'd never seen so many bright lights, towering buildings, or such bustling traffic. News of his 8-year-old son's encounter with a deadly snake pulled him from his job as a logger just 2 weeks before his 4 month contract ended, and so the company refused to pay the meager $168 it owed him. And for what? His son died on the way to the hospital, and so Carlos was now penniless and alone in a different place and a city as indifferent as any other city one might know. He just wanted to get home, be at the funeral that would ensue whether he was present or not, and mourn the boy with his tattered family. Unfortunately, a loss this great wasn't that new to Carlos, as his dear wife had died after an 8 month coma caused by receiving the wrong anesthetic for the c-section necessary to bring forth this very same child.

So he stood there, on the corner of this street and that, waiting for someone to help him find his way. All day he had asked for help, but big city folk are remarkably callous, and no one had so much as offered him a peso.

This is when he found an amigo.

Helen and Cristian were tired. But more than tired, they were hungry, and even more than that, they were lazy. So they left their apartment once more to go to the local empanada stand, hoping to return within an hour's time. But, on crossing one of the busy streets, Cristian felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to find Carlos standing there. He wanted to know how to get to a certain trucking company's headquarters hoping to hitch a ride from there back home.

It was a four hour walk though, and Helen and Cristian couldn't bring themselves to send him by foot at that hour. They offered him a bus ticket all the way to his village, about 15 US dollars. Carlos's eyes widened as he said, “You are the first Porteños to offer anything to me at all.” They set off to get him a bus, but discovered at the central bus station that the last direct bus to his village had left 15 minutes earlier. They decided to try their luck at a different bus station in town.

Cristian hailed a taxi, got in and turned to see Carlos standing on the curb, staring confused at Helen and himself. He asked, “What are we doing? Who's car is this?”

Cristian explained how taxis work on the way to the station.

Carlos shared through stifled tears about his internal struggle between his want and need to mourn, and his manhood. He went back and forth, crying, then saying, “But, no! I need to be a man. I need to be a man for my family”

Just before Carlos's bus left, they asked if they could pray for him, and he politely obliged. Helen felt like they ought to give him some more money. “I can't take this,” Carlos objected, “I don't even know you.”

“It's not from us, it's from God. This is a way God wants to bless you.”

Carlos waved from the departing bus window like he had just finished a visit with a childhood friend.

Cristian felt like he and Helen ought to pray for the resurrection of this boy. He prayed earnestly and passionately until the burden lifted and simply waited to hear from Carlos. 4 days and 53 false alarm phone calls later, at about 5:30 pm, Carlos finally called. He'd had a heart attack and was again in Buenos Aires. He'd collapsed at the end of his son's funeral and fallen into a coma, but awoke after only one day. After three days recovering in the hospital, he was again ready to go home.

Cristian offered to find him a place to stay for the night. But Carlos once again, just wanted to get to his family as soon as possible.

“Meet me at the same spot we met the other night,” offered Cristian, and this time I was able to join and meet this man we had all been praying for. But first, we prayed about what to do, and what all to offer to a man who needs so much. Or seemed to, as we thought.

Some began to doubt the genuineness of Carlos and his supposed situation, but the Lord showed us 3 John, where it says, “We ought therefore to show hospitality to such men so that we may work together for the truth...”

We all felt we were to give something. Water, food, clothing, money. We put it all into a bag and left.

Carlos is distinctly Latin, and the marks of sadness on his skin have all but vanquished the last few smiling wrinkles of the joy of his youth. Indeed, the lines on his face lie about his true age and I'm sure half of his silver hairs were gained only in the last few months, or even days.

After talking for while, Carlos decided he wanted to head off. At the train station seeing him off again, Cristian took off the backpack with the food, water, and money and gave it to Carlos, saying, “We prayed and felt like there was more we could do for you.”

When a man is used to being trampled on by society and oppressed by the powers that be, how does he respond to the kindness of a stranger? He cries. He laughs. He doesn't know how to react. Upon seeing it, Cristian added one final word of advice, “It's very important for you to cry. You certainly have a lot to cry about and if you bottle it up inside you, we've already discovered that your heart can't take it.”

His doctors had said the same thing.

Carlos invited me to go fishing at his village and said goodbye. I turned to Cristian with an expression of gladness of helping someone in need, but he didn't return my expression. “I've got news.”

While we had been out with Carlos, someone had seized the opportunity to enter our flat at steal three computers, two of them brand new. The funny thing is, the house wasn't empty. A local ministry was holding their weekly meeting, and the thief had taken advantage of the open doors and general ambiguity between everyone to simply walk into the house, take the computers, and walk back out again. And since no one except Cristian, Helen, and Veronica knew who ought and ought not be in the house, and since all three were away for good reasons, no one even knew to stop these people from entering. Those with the base thought, “They must be with the ministry,” and those with the ministry, “They must be with the base.”

Thus, three computers valued at several thousand dollars, and loads of valuable information (previous research, contact info, etc.) are no longer at our disposal.

The way things work sometimes is quite odd. How ironic it is that as we were doing one of the most important things all month, serving and giving in a way that is rarely seen, at the very same moments, someone else was undoing the most important things we had done during the last months.

It is too bad this story had to have a bitter ending, but I don't want that to ruin the whole thing. It's a setback, that is all. God is bigger than a few computers and a few email addresses, and His grace is certainly sufficient once again.

I'd like to ask you to remember us when you pray. Pray first for Carlos and his family as well as God's hand in any further opportunities we get to meet with him. And then pray that we can work efficiently around our losses, and set up something that can do for now. And of course, since we're running a Discipleship Training School right now, there are plenty of other issues that always need prayer. Thank you for keeping us in mind.

Joey Huddleston
International Communications Ministry
Youth with a Mission
Buenos Aires, Argentina

p.s. After this letter was drafted, Carlos called from a storm shelter. Winds of 140 km/h during a freak storm took the roof from his house and devastated his village. So pray for him in this too.

El Proyecto

2006-11-17T07:13:00.000-08:00

Este semana, hemos estado trabajando en un proyecto para la EDE de acá. El objetivo es crear postales y después los distribuimos durante la crusada. En todo caso, yo tuve la oportunidád para practicar mi fotografía y diseño conceptuál en nuevas formas. Aquí tienen los fotos:

para demonstar infidelidad

y opresión del gobierno, la sistema justicia, y finanzas

y el inevitable "Cristo puede ayudar"

para violencia, pero es mas como "El Fantasma de la Opera"

Despues de todo, fue un buen proyecto, y creo que yo obtuve mas fotos para mi portfolio.

También, saqué fotos de mí.

Probablemente, no vuelva a escribir en Español por que es lento y mi gramatica es terríble. Pero es divertido.

José

Joey's Web Log

Update

Breaking Out

Treat

Iran

Eclectic

Here I Go

I Want to do this

Posting Again...Just Pretend I Never Stopped

Back to Giza

Saqara

Return to القاهرة‎

Welcome in Egypt (II)

Final Cameroon Blog

4 days in Cameroon

Some More Cameroon Craziness

First Day in Yaounde

And I'm Off Again

Hopeless

Presente

Chapman University

The Importance of Everything

Finals

Thus Begins....

Time for Change

I'm Back, Baby

A Long After Blog

Bein' Dry

Several Days Worth of Information

College Days

10 Reasons Why Squatties are Superior to European Style Toilets

A Copy

Culturepost

On Saharan Weather

The Many Names of Genitals

Post 2

Saharaui Nights

Gone is May

7he danger of rou7ine

dust

video killed the radio star

Farewell to April

Another Thought about Ambition

The Antimoralist

Blessed are the _________, for they shall ________.

Sundays

Cauliflower and Buttermilk

You Just Don't Get It

free-write

On again, off again

hawai'i

Weak

New Year's Eve's Eve

A Merry Christmas Post

Sometimes

A Silly Post

I am weary, let me rest

As time passes...

Noting The Doubt

The LoveFest

Yo, Joe, What do you Know?

The Saint Frances Chronicles

San Francisco

14 year old splendor

Debt Reigneth

Never Content

5 minutes to ramble

Whiff it

A Tribute to Jack Jack

Cue the Jazz

An Apology

Summer Trip 07

A Wedding Slideshow

Alphabetical Genocide

Life

Luke and Courtney

Subject to Change

An Essay I Wrote

Straying Thoughts

A Conclusion

Blessed are the _, for they shall .