Category Archives: Reflections

Mental Juncture

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I’m entering a period of real oddness and contradiction now. Things are great and things suck. First off, what’s good. School – that is, my job is kinda moving more smoothly. I feel that we are getting more out of class, and that the trajectory there is positive. But, if we look at life outside of school, things just ain’t so hot. You are all probably sick of hearing the word Uzbekistan, but I really do miss what I had there. Here, my lifestyle is quite comfortable – that is, I have high speed internet at my apartment and hot water at the turn of a faucet. But that which makes one’s life really complete is missing. I miss not being a part of a family and I miss not having friends around. I don’t mean to bash the people here – indeed most of them have been quite nice – but as far as anything beyond that, I’m feeling cold. I just don’t feel like I’m in the Peace Corps… instead I feel like some American who is living here and doing a job. Though I know that quality relationships take time to form, I feel myself losing interest in doing so – and frankly, I don’t like that.

I have always been a person who is in a way contradictory. I am headstrong to a fault, but depend heavily on the support of those about whom I care – friends/family. Without getting too mushy, these things are the core of life. And though I’ve often felt like an outsider, many times in my life, here the feeling is simply more acute. Now, I talk with some of my friends here and other PCVs and find out this indeed is part of the whole experience, but I do feel, largely, disassociated from my own group even. Though perhaps it was partly my fault because of my extremely odd mental state when I first arrived here in RO this past summer, I can’t shake the feeling that – though it may be a comfortable place for me to be – it is not the right place for me to be.

And if I’m doing a job to pay the bills I guess that is one thing – but this is, or is supposed to be, much more. Although I enjoy the time I have to read and explore things I’d otherwise be too busy to do, part of me feels like something is not right. I don’t know where it all comes from; surely part of it is from myself – but in all honesty, one’s environment is crucial, and that just ain’t helping.

So what does it all mean. Am I being overly-sensitive? Giving up? Waiting for the magic bullet to just appear? Or, should I trust myself, and believe that what I feel at the gut level, though it may not be rational, is something to be respected? Is that irresponsibility or liberation? What I do believe is that it is hardly ever too late – what I’m not sure about is how it all translates.

Mid Hudson Crossing

Here I sit among the ghosts of livelihoods long lost. In this apartment building, ordinary, everywhere, anywhere, mothers, best friends, bitter ex-lovers. The edifice not far from here is a testament to past; built to last, it stands unused, shrouded in the fog of future’s night. Lonely tugs travel below it, bringing sleeping giants to new grounds. And though the streets thereby are dotted sporadically by festive reminders of the season, the plywood windows and metal shutters tell the true tale. 1880 the building reads, a placard on the side stubbornly states Redevelopment! Rejuvenation! but below that, For Lease. That which once vibrated life into the weathered walls of this and other workshops has left to far reaches of this world with obscure and outlandish names. Obsolete. And so to are gone the residents who once looked out from behind the plywood down to the street below. The street is still there, sure, but only furtive eyes ensconced in locked and alarmed automobiles see it and pray for green lights. And those who do not see the beauty that once was walk it, from the dollar store to the days spot where the cops won’t be. The sad sirens of forlorn firetrucks fill the air… and the fog rolls in.

If it’s not fresh…

When is pretention justified?

Here is my paradox. Tonight I dined with my father and some of his friends at the Legal Sea Foods in the Prudential Center. For those who don’t live around Boston, the Prudential Center is an upscale mall at the base of one of Boston’s 2 skyscrapers. It houses stores like Lacoste, Sacks Fifth and a Krisy Kreme outlet. As far as malls go, it’s rather upscale. But eating at Legal within the mall was a great dissapointment. The restaurant was too small, our table was too out in the open, the service was lousy and the food merely average. As I looked around, I realized that this Legal in particular was a postcard version of itself. That is, Legal can go either way in terms of fanciness. The one in Park Plaza is beautiful. The one out on Route 9 in a strip mall is less so. But this Legal, in the fancy mall, was probably the worst I’ve been to in the entire chain. Then I got to thinking about why this was the case, and that lead me back to my musings on malled life. This legal sea foods was in a giant mall, that is connected to another mall and various hotels by above and underground walkways. Here, one could come to Boston and sample some of what Boston had to offer all without leaving the mall. I admit, I brought Johannes here (but I also dragged him to Bunker Hill and took him to the top of the Customs House.)

What solidified my thinking about the problem with this restaurant was the store which occupied the space accross the aisle in the mall. It was a luggage store. Hardly extraordinary. But, the interior of the store was designed to look like an airport terminal. The way the celeing was designed and the particular style of lighting used all screamed, “You’re at the Airport!” And what better a place to think about getting that perfect piece of luggage than in the airport itself. But this was not the airport, rather is was a storefront that could be constructed and destructed within a matter of days. It was the image of the original, but far from it.

So when one buys a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, does that mean that they will be yachting off of the coast of Nantucket, or riding through the Hamptons? Hardly. Every schmuck seems to have a Ralph Lauren polo shirt these days. Yet, despite the fact that there are identical alternatives available (come on folks, a polo shirt is a polo shirt,) it is curious that Ralph gets away with selling his for 5 – 10 times the price. Polo is a good example of people paying a price premium for the image, rather than the original. Having the Polo logo signifies something – what exactaly that is differes from person to person. Now walk into the Ralph Lauren section of your local Macys and you will see that instead of the white walls which host other brands, Polo’s walls are of wood, and there are plaids thrown in for good measure. Now, Polo has been up to this for a while, but now the idea of selling the lifestyle (i.e. schmuck at mall as jet setter) has pervaded into almost every facet of American life.

So how does this relate to Legal Sea Foods? Well, you go to Legal Sea Foods so that you can say you’ve been to Legal Sea Foods. It has cachet with those who have visited Boston. So, the restaurant need not be so much about the best food ever (i.e. a fine Etruscian silk polo shirt vs. a cotton one from Uzbekistan,) as the fact that it is indeed Legal Sea Foods. Therefore quality goes down, but the cachet remains, and an ordinary meal can be explained in conversation down the road as, “yes, I’ve been to Legal in Boston.” This statement, though rather banal, is a form of the Ralph Lauren polo shirt. It attempts to say, “yes, I have taste, and I know what’s the classy thing to do.” It attempts to ask, “have you been as well?” Much as the small but conspicuous polo pony asks where yours is. Thus the pretention value is disproportionately higher than the actual value of the experience. Now, I own a few Ralph Lauren polo shirts, and I fully realize the irony of the fact that they are status item available at the local mall. I could say the same about legal, but though I may buy another Polo shirt, I don’t forsee me chosing to go to Legal again.

So what’s the difference between the two? Well, frankly, maybe it’s just that I’m a Bostonian and therefore Legal is less important to me (I mean, we’ve all been there at least once.) But maybe its something else. Though I’m willing to accept the irony of buying the $80 shirt with horse versus the $14.99 shirt with no horse (both made in the same country a la day) I fail to be amused by the faux ambiance of the Mall Legal Sea Foods. Whereas the Polo shirt indulges my small pretention and does a darn good job keeping me warm, the Legal Sea Foods in the Mall caters to no whim and does not satisfy as a product.

Thus I think we have to ask ourselves:

1. What are the things for which we will give into for pretention’s sake?

followed by

2. Do such indulgences contradict our desire to extract the most comfortable or enjoyable experience from such things?”

If we answer nothing to the first question, we are liars. If we answer yes to the second question, then perhaps the pretention is not justified. If we answer no to the second question, and can answer no to the third question:

3. Does this indulgance harm others?

then, perhaps the indulgance is harmless and not worthy of criticism. So for me the shirt is a legitamate indulgance, just as would be an expensive dinner at one of the best restaurants in town – and best not just in the fact that the name is used to justify outrageous prices for mediocre fare – rather best as in great service and an equally impressive product. Wearing a Polo shirt to such a place? Now that may be venturing towards selfish hedonism, but I’ll leave such decisions to the Republicans.

8^)

Moonlight with Deer

It’s 1 AM on Sunday and I just got back from my job at the ___ Golf Club. Ya know, although working as function waiter may not sound like the best gig in the world, here it’s really not bad. I work with simply a great group of people. Half are young Americans like me, and the other half are Brazilians of all ages… some are waiters, some buspeople, others cooks. The thing is, everyone is good. Yeah, I know, good really isn’t the most descriptive word, but I think it’s the right one. These people are honest, hard working, and have a endless well of humor.

Just this night, the party, which was supposed to end at midnight, decided to keep going for another hour. There was a group of young ladies dancing and they didn’t want to stop. Despite the requisite grumbling among us about how we wanted to go home, I could sense that we were happy because our guests were happy (and very polite.) For the last two songs, my boss and two of the Brazilian waiters decided to join the guests on the dance floor. Me and the Vietnamese busman decided to watch…

And it got me thinking. Though these people had a working, but not completely fluent grasp of English, and would thus probably work service jobs for quite a while if not their entire lives, they are kind, they are good, and they enjoy a good 80’s song. Though I’m glad to be working here, I know that come January, I’ll be leaving for greener (or golden brown to be precise) pastures. Maybe that allows me the rose tinted glasses… But I’m glad I ended up here, rather than at some job stuck behind a computer. For all the good of the internet, there’s something irreplaceable about a good team.

Pink Bananna Boat Dream Mellons

I don’t particularly like Paul Simon, and of his work, “You Can Call Me Al,” is not my favorite. However, there is one line from that song that I really like:

Don’t wanna end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard…

Which leads me to the larger dilemma. Sometimes I feel like a modernist born into a post-modern world. My generation, we have no real feature. We are not a war generation, and we have not radicaly re-defined social customs in any great way. We weren’t even responsible for the birthing of the computer age. Sure, we benefit from all these previous generations’ contributions, but I’m hard pressed to put my finger on our contribution. We don’t even have an acceptable name… I mean, the Y Generation? Generation Next??

I think more than ever, our lives are an assemblage of other realities. Note the constant co-opting of other clothing styles. It was first the flare jeans and “That 70’s Show,” and it is now pastel polo shrits and “That 80’s Show.” Not that I’m averse to such or other trends, but what fun would “That 00’s Show” be if it was just of us watching its predecessors?

But TV is only a convenient metaphor. Take race relations, multi-culturalism. I think we (people my age) have had these terms, as abstractions, mushed down our throats more than any previous generation. But we don’t really talk about them because we are afraid to offend. Thus the entire concept becomes self-defeating; the fears are left to fester, but the politicaly correct sugarcoating sells. What’s scary about all this is that instead of fostering an appreciation for difference, we’re really just opening up the familiar to new consumers. We can have gay themed TV shows in primetime because enough auto companies will pay for 30 second spots between scriped situations.

More than ever we are defined by what we own. And as guilty as I am in liking my things, I am beginning to fear that our great need of Platinum and Premium is just a new way of buying that mental space for our “whites only” water fountains. And we are ALL guilty. Egalitarianism is a great concept, but if our worth must be measured tangibly, I see little possibility for a future more prosperous to all.

I love the cartoon graveyard. In it we find identities that help constitute ours.
I hate the cartoon graveyard. It is nothing as a whole but a graveyard.