Gil Scott-Heron – The Revolution will not be Televised (1971)
Focus – Hocus Pocus – 1973
Grace Jones – La Vie En Rose – 1977
Tears for Fears – Head Over Heals – 1985
David Bowie – This is Not America – 1985 (2000)
Leonard Cohen – Democracy – 1992
Des’ree – You Gotta Be – 1994
They Might Be Giants – Dr. Worm – 1998
Soul Coughing – Circles – 1998
God is a Girl – Groove Coverage – 2002
The Departed: Idiotic Beyond Belief
Had a trip to Shakrisabz. On the way down we took the Registan, which is a European style luxury train. It was very odd to look out the window at houses with outhouses and wells – as if time had gone backwards beyond the rails… Shakrisabz was great, Amir Timur stuff everywhere… Strange experience there with a man who materialized speaking pretty good English. Invited us to Aquarium (not great, def. overcharge,) as his guests in 1 hour. We return and the guy is fucked up and much louder than before. Has us in, buys beers, vodka and soup. Brian and Ernie join me Josh and Doug. Guy begins with conversation material (i.e. how UZ used to be a more pluralistic society up until independence.) First bad sign was when the waiter drops a spook the guy goes, “fuck you,” to him, then, “just kidding…” Things get worse when he says almost at a shout, “Fuck Karimov.” Conversation continues and though he claims to love the United States he seems to hate everything about it. Asks if we are gay. Wife and kid materialize (we think they were called) and soon thereafter he asks me if I am a Jew along with a nasty stare. That’s when we decide to get up and leave. My gut was saying from the beginning that he was wrong somehow (govt spy, local thug??) Anyway, I hope to never see him again. Wasn’t all bad, though, visited a great tea house, bought pastries at the bazar and had a meal with the group consisting of pepsi and chicken. Another odd thing re. Shakrisabz. Gave the guy at the hotel front desk a tip and got note in return:
Phone #: 8 365 522 ## ##
loverstudio2004@#####.comPlease, Let me know how well have you arrived to Taskhent!
Administrator: A#### A Karimov
I’m not sure how to deal with this one.
A few things:
1. Pictures from my trip to Istanbul have been posted in the photo gallery. Find them in the Peace Corps Romania album… enjoy!
2. You may now select which skin/theme you prefer for this site. Look for “Select Theme” under “Search:” on the left hand side. This is not 100% yet, but the front page is all set.
3. Click here to read a pithy commentary about a broken social contract viewed in the context of the armed forces medical care scandal. The author, a Vietnam vet, states: “There is a social contract between a country and those it sends to war, and America’s social contract is broken… Less than half a percent of our population is being asked to bear the burden of this “long war.” Our all-volunteer military has allowed most of the country to remain oblivious to the horrors of our wars. We must begin to equitably distribute this sacrifice – not by sharing the burden of combat, but through the burden of political engagement.”
A commenter replies: “Sadly, the results you describe are inevitable when the ENTIRE burden of the war is carried by those serving and their families. As far as most Americans are concerned, this war has been outsourced. Too bad if a soldier gets hurt: he knew the job was dangerous when he took it. It is this attitude, varients of which exist all through American society, that is so shameful. People picking crops can’t make a decent wage? Too bad, it is simply supply and demand. Your job was sent to India? Too bad, but that is the way the new economy works now.”
I am particularly interested in the issue because it DOES appear that this entire war has been outsourced (or perhaps down-sourced to the most desperate members of our own society.) When I look at the maps showing where most of the dead have come from, I see few coming from priviliged areas. Though this is not new, past wars have called for shared sacrifice, such as rationing in WWII and the draft in Vietnam. Thus, if this GWOT is indeed the generational struggle that it is trumped up to be, ought not we all be asked to sacrifice? (and no, not our Constitutional liberties…)
4. Spring is beginning to show itself here. Though it’s raining and nasty out now, I’ll take some photos as soon as we see some blue skies. And, on that topic, have you heard the song “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO? It’s fantastic. I’m starting to feel this way for many things…
Yesterday I received a SMS from a former student of mine stating that he was bored and wanted to hang out and chat. Meeting him in the center, I had in mind a coffee somewhere, but since is was pretty nice out, we decided to just walk around. Heading in no particular direction, we talked about some of the difficulties he was experiencing at school and what he wanted to do after graduation.
We headed up by his school, (where I no longer teach,) and continued up a large hill that sits above the town. He mentioned a “fake tree” that I just had to see, and we started down a street I had never been on. Before we got to the fake tree we saw this old house, or haus. To preface, this town used to have a sizable German population. However, after the war most ethnic Germans decided to return home, a transaction that was facilitated by the German government. Although German is still a popular 2nd language at my school (a Hungarian school,) and some of the students have Germanic features, the percentage of Germans in town is in the single digits. Anyway, this old haus was set back about 50 ft. from the street and appeared to be in a state of disrepair. Unlike the other surrounding Romanian style houses, though, this one looked visibly different, almost like a Bavarian chalet. Near the peak of the roof was the date 1935 in large black letters. It was an amazing find, and led me to wonder who used to inhabit that house and what had happened to them.
But, as I’ve mentioned, the ostensible purpose behind heading up this direction was the fake tree. Now this former student of mine was really intrigued by the fake tree, speculating about secret underground bunkers, et. al. Of course, I was a bit skeptical, but I figured it was worth a look. After winding up a little unpaved road he said, “ok, do you see it?” I looked around, and replied, “no, where is it?” We walked up a little further and then he asked again. This time I did see it, and let me tell you, I was impressed! This was one of those transmitter/receiver contraptions set up to resemble a tree so as to not be jarring to the natural landscape. We’ve probably all seen them before, and if we looked closely enough, did a quick ‘what the heck!’ This one, though, was quite the model of perfection. In fact, it was the very perfection of its design which ultimately belied its true nature. The trunk was a dark and folksy brown, and the branches a vibrant green.
Although this site was to conclude our tour, I saw a strange looking building just a bit further up the hill and decided that we should, in the spirit of adventure, push on. As I got closer, I noticed that this old slightly decrepit building had many Stars of David on in. Peering around the side, I saw an old cemetery. I soon realized that we had stumbled across town’s Jewish cemetery. Although my companion didn’t want to go inside, fearing some retribution, I decided to head on in. Greeted by a few nasty looking dogs on chains and a weary and skeptical old woman, I conveyed my interest and she grudgingly let us have a look.
It was quite a find. The newest graves showed death dates within the past few years; most of these individuals born around 1920. These graves had polished granite headstones and were well tended. However, further towards the back end of the cemetery, the graves became older. At about the center of the graveyard were the memorial plots, some of them dedicated to multiple individuals, many of them with the word Auschwitz on them. At the very back were the graves that chronicled lives that began and ended before the War. Viewing the names was fascinating. There were gold-, -bergs, -steins, etc. Many of the names were a mix of German, Jewish, and Hungarian. Only a few of the headstones bore Romanian sounding names. It was a both a sad and poignant discovery. For while some of the graves were tended, most had been long forgotten, with weeds and snarled branches covering the grounds around them. It was a testament to a reality which no longer exists, and the few who are tasked with remembering.
As we strolled back to the center, the topic of our conversation moved on to the latest exploits of the school’s goofy English teacher and future dreams of travel and money. We had left the past behind, but discovered something new in our journey.