Ode to Bruno

Your networks
are like hammocks.
So comfortable,
and close to perfect
they almost
lull me to sleep.

NC2

An old friend told me that she thought we lived in a "post-literate" society. I rolled my eyes, told her she was a snob, laughed, and didn't think of it much again. Until recently. Perhaps, we are post-literate, perhaps we are differently literate. Whatever is going on, it scares me. It does. I should be more open minded. . .

In the past few months I have noticed, in horror, the ubiquity of text message spelling in daily life, far, far away from cell phones, twitter, or wherever else these codes are used. Here are a few examples. Please add your own.

1) On a midterm exam: NC2 rather than "in situ" (in place or in position. Used to describe tumors, artifacts, etc. .

2) In expression of emotion: Loddzzz. Not lots, loads.

3) In a professional email: "When will u get back to me?"


Linguistically, this is interesting. But, what is going on?

Osteoblasts

I'm working on a posting about osteoblasts (bone cells) and what their development can tell us about the way we function in the world.

As I work on writing that up, I'm posting a picture I found on the web of the lovely osteoblast.

Tessa

I'm not even going to pretend that this post has anything to do with anthropology except that creating this post is part of procrastinating from essay writer's block.

So, here's a picture of my new pup. She's 10 months old, 50 pounds of sweet, sweet, sweetness. She's so sweet, in fact, I can't imagine how she made it on the streets of Detroit for 8 months before the cops found her.

There is a field

In the middle of March this year, I woke up back in my apartment in Chicago at about 6:30 in the morning. I didn't know quite what had happened or why I was filled with dread.

Wendell Berry, a poet wrote:

"Out beyond rightdoing and wrongdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there."

That's what I want to say to the friend I wronged in March.

In each culture or even subculture, I suppose, there are written and un-written rules of what is a "rightdoing" and what is a "wrongdoing." When you travel between so many groups, or when you are a bit dull to subteltly (as I am), you break those rules. Perhaps, more often than not.

Sometimes, I can laugh hyterically at my "wrongdoings" and those are the good times. As a child of India and the United States, I have committed more than my fair share of these faux-pas.

However, back in the United States, the place where I am, theoretically to be in "my" culture, I am shocked at my wrongdoings; they can be silly and they can just as easily hit you with the stoney look of someone grief-stricken and at a loss for words.

As an anthropologist, I must come to recognize that I will committ them for the rest of my life; in fact, that's part of my job. And, one day Wendell Berry's poetic field will be filled with many people.

"Kapow!" and Duct Tape

What strikes me as odd is that even after long relationships and friendships with people, I find that despite hours of conversation, certain of their phrases continue to occupy a consistent, comfortable background in my mind and resurface from time to time.

As a good child of this generation, I've done my time in the therapist's office, rehashing what happened when and why and how. I remember many therapist's comments to me over the years, but one, who I just call "Kapow!" deserves a story here, not only for the humor, but for the link to anthropology (yes, I'll make a connection!)

I picked "Kapow!" from a list of "mental health providers" in my PPO network because her name sounded German and I like some of the German sensibility; this is based primarily on a friendship with a German Gestalt therapist.

"Kapow!" had no waiting room, so I stood in the hallway of her building for 20 minutes. When her previous client left, I opened the door and saw a woman sitting behind one of those tall receptionist-like desks. The door had a hinge so that it would close slowly, so I let it go only to hear it crash behind me.

She still did not look up or say hello. All she said as the door slammed shut and made me spill my coffee was "Kapow!" in a thick German accent. Still, she didn't look up.

For whatever reason, her response delighted me. It was eclectic and odd and I thought I might like this woman.

Once in her office, her cultural difference continued. Most therapists I've ever seen tell you to sit wherever you want, which can be unsettling - what does it mean if I pick that chair, or the couch or the other one? Not so with "Kapow!". She told me where to sit and we began from there.

A few sessions later, I was talking about something - perhaps the relationship I was in, who knows - and she looked me directly in the eye and said,

"Do you know what you need?"

She had a smile on her face, and I thrilled that a therapist might actually tell me what to do.

She pulled her hand across her mouth and said, "Duct tape." This was accompanied by the noise of tape being pulled off of the roll.

I was stunned. She was right, but I was stunned. She continued, "Blah, blah, blah, I've heard it all before," she continued.

I told me boss at the time (also a psychologist) about this and my boss was stunned.

The stories of my time with "Kapow!" are hysterical in hindsight and were somewhat illuminating and a bit disheartening at the time. She would alternately doze off in sessions, tell me that the "only" side effects of some medications were that they would make me "skinny and stupid"; and, my personal favorite, that my (now ex) "needs you (me) like they need a hole in the head." Again, this was accompanied by a gesture. Very German, I'm told.

While "Kapow!" did help me reach some insights into my own life and inner-workings, more than anything, she taught me about being an anthropologist in the field. She did not teach me to be skinny and stupid, but she did remind me of two crucial parts of being a good anthropologist (I think):

1.) Put duct tape over your mouth and listen.
2.) Don't fall asleep while people are telling you meaningful things about their lives.
3.) Never forget that however "objective" you might want to be, we , each of us, is ALWAYS a product of our own culture.

From Bed Bugs to Carpenter Ants and Coffee Shops

In the last few weeks, I've moved out of an apartment in Detroit, overrun with bedbugs, out of an apartment in Chicago overrun with tchotkes and books, slept on friends' couches, in motels, and finally moved into my apartment - a summer sublet.

Although my new apartment is quaint and just right for feeling like a geeky grad student (complete with shelves for books already installed), it came along with carpenter ants, a clogged sink and tub and toilet that moved precariously from side to side. Helps a girl feel fat, you know?

Now, I'm a bit more settled and have a lot I want to write, but for now, I'll leave this post with three pieces of moving wisdom (I have moved approximately 10 times in the past 3 1/2 years):

1. If someone else can/could make better use of it, let them do so.
2. If you've been lugging it around for a number of moves and keep thinking you'll post it on craigslist, put in the alley (esp. in Chicago and let the dumpster divers have at it)
3. When in doubt, live with less.