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| Yesterday, the US Senate had a contentious vote allowing for debate to deliberate health care reform. This capped off the weekend where the administration of this university system approved measures to increase tuition. Opponents to health care reform are incensed at the possible reality of government-run health care; students are fed up with tuition hikes outpacing inflation and the perceived unfairness of them carrying much of the burden of the budgetary shortfall. Common to both is the issue of financing: who will pay for these reforms? My concern about the general culture here is why is society not concerned with financial responsibility? If you have a surplus of money, why would you spend all of the surplus and not create a rainy-day fund? If you need more revenue, you either spend less or get a job to supplement your income, or even do both. If we deal with health care purely as an economic "problem," a nationalized health care program would be cheaper than the current system, according to countries that already have a national healthcare system. But for those who don't want to believe the empirical reality and insist (now) that we need to have a balanced budget (even though many of these people have no qualms about trimming the military budget), they are objectionable to raising taxes. For this university system, if the state government does not offer the same funds to finance the university, then the university should raise the enrollment of out-of-state students to offset the costs. If the state is truly concerned in making accessible to the underprivileged or underrepresented, it would raise taxes to cover these expenses. But how many graduates of this university system actually do stay in this state? Does it really matter when movement of capital and people are so facile? Raising taxes is virtually equated with cannibalism, but financial responsibility is not. That, together with with the infatuation with money being so central to people's well-being, I find extremely nauseating. | | |
| Bart Simpson sold his soul to his best friend, Milhouse, for five dollars. People sell organs, children, even themselves for cash. I believe that there are certain things that should not be commodified, even though they already may be in practice. This week's readings for my TA discussed the global flows in organ transplants and health care for immigrants among other things. Meanwhile, the university administration were meeting at one of our sister campuses to vote on a proposal to significantly increase tuition for next year, which would kick in immediately after winter break. Reading these articles and reading what has been happening with the university budget, I didn't know what to do for sections: I didn't want to strike since I really knew I wouldn't head out to protest, but I didn't want to cancel sections outright, cheating the eager and interested students from meeting. So instead, I didn't take attendance and made sections voluntary for this week. At minimum, if there were protesters among my students, they would not be penalized. Before dismissing early the students, I explained to the students the latest info I had about the budget cuts. I expected that most of the students would leave; only about two-thirds left in the first section, ten-percent in the second left, while only one-fifth stayed behind in the last section. I thought it was ironic for those who left to leave early, especially when they were cognizant of the value of their undergraduate education. Ideally, I hope they would go inform themselves, but realistically, they had time to go to lunch early. For many of these students, an undergraduate education is equated with the final grade one receives. I earnestly believe that an undergraduate diploma is a piece of parchment that certifies not only the successful passing of most classes, but also the social experiences that accompany the classes that one takes. But the grades are essentially irrelevant, along with the networks one develops. It is the realization that you truly don't know everything and that you cannot know everything there is to know, that is what a diploma truly means.
So with those students who chose to remain, very few of them actually read the articles, making this discussion section even less interactive. The perpetual problem I face every time I have sections is to not summarize the articles that the students have not read while trying to help out those dutiful students who have actually made an effort. I also decided that it would be morally hypocritical of me to expect them to read the measly articles they were assigned and not do my own readings for my own seminars. So, without discussing too many specific details, I tried to talk about the controversial subjects mentioned in the articles. Apparently, for most of these undergrads, the whole world is commodifiable: your body, your organs, you livelihood. Since it is your body, you have the ultimate say. Selling babies is where they drew the line. For some, there was a small conflict if a government had a right to sell an executed prisoner's organs after the execution and illegal immigrants having access to health care. I wanted someone to disagree and say, "I think there should be some things where you can't put a price tag on," but that imaginary student never spoke up. I tried staring at students who were simply free-loading on the other students' responses, but my staring did not for them to participate. But after hearing the discussions today and the developments occurring simultaneously up in the (Drive-Thru) City, nothing is sacred, nothing is really ever free from the market. Everything, and everyone, can be bought at a certain price. | | |
| I need that pressure, that deadline, that oh-so-close-but-just-in-the-nick-of-time feeling to get me motivated to do unpleasant academic business--namely, grant proposals and conference papers. Hard deadlines are not as numerous for me being in grad school, just mainly the big ones: qualifying papers and methods requirement. But even then, actual protocol in the department is generalizable in one simple gesture accompanied by a gutteral sound: a shurg and an "ehh" or "whatever." Ever since the wedding from last week, I've been playing this game of catch up with course work and the grant proposal that I haven't been writing but that I knew was lingering somewhere. For coursework, my seminars had me reading another difficult reading about theorizing culture and me presenting in the other seminar. The reading for the first seminar wasn't that bad, it just took me an eternity to finish the twenty-some odd pages. Basically, locating culture is difficult since it is in this liminal, in-between space between the observer/interpellator and the agent of focus. As for the presentation, that got placed on the backburner on the weekend since I had to fill out the grant application. It's a real long-shot, I proof read it once, shown it to no faculty or anyone else. I didn't know writing six pages of what I think I want to study and my own life would be so time consuming. I always find writing a self-relfecting story the most difficult because I don't want to sound like the pretentious prick who knows everything and deserves special privilege. But that's what the grant was about, privileging one segment of the population over others. The presentation was worst-case scenario: me trying to rehash the articles that I did not read as closely as I should have. Prof. Smiles helped me out with her her stories and her direction of how the presentation should have been structured, however somehow the clock ran out of time and that was over. Of the all the chaos, I did grasp her own article that she assigned and I offered no critiques of it whatsoever; surprisingly, she offered some shortcomings of her own work. Meanwhile, in applying for that grant and putting-in a half-assed effort, I had to ask for letters of recommendations from faculty. I hate that part: begging, waiting for confirmation/rejection, and then not knowing what they wrote. I asked my old undergrad advisor, she said yes and then suggested that I apply to a conference held next year in Texas and then mentioned to form a panel if possible. On top of contacting faculty, now I have to contact random strangers to see if our topics match or if they don't, how well one can bullsh*t the panel topic to somehow tie in all the panelists. I think I know why academics are (usually) comfortable talking about themselves: because they have to apply for these grants which probably demands personal statements and apply to conferences which force them to network and continually reintroduce and explain themselves. The sad part about that is what if you, the applicant for the grant or the conference, begin to the believe the garbage you submit. Then you might begin to believe in your written descriptions of your inflated-egoistic self. which I find most disturbing. | | |
| Plane ticket in hand, I was able to escape Pleasantville for the (extended) weekend. With wedding bells ringing for one of my cousins, I had to miss colloquium of the first mock job talk of the academic year. I wasn't able to see the end result of something that I had a small part in, but at least I got to leave home temporarily. Taking the red-eye flight, we arrived just before 6am. The flight was fine, I just couldn't sleep. For me, home is not a conducive place to work. Productivity escaped me, the readings for Prof Smiles and my other seminar were put on the back burner. The next day was the wedding in the 'burbs of the City. Maman being Maman, we were running late to the wedding ceremony. We just snuck in before the ceremony finished. The whole complex had a greenhouse-like ceiling, allowing sunlight even from a rainy day to permeate the room. The room was intimate where you can see everyone and everyone could see you. The minister, cracking jokes, proceeded and the couple was wed. Upon exiting, the wedding party followed. Then the family saw my family and then the problems of remembering who was who with what name began. Immediately after, hors d'oeurves were served next door. I remembered the bride's family (duh) and what they looked like and a few others, but everyone else either looked familiar or similar. Some of the uncles and aunties looked exactly the way I remembered them, unfortunately I could only remember a handful of their names. I had to pester one of my other cousins to ask what so-and-so's name was that I would later jumble up. They apparently remember my name, I had to go with a generic "uncle/auntie" title. Apparently, I have nephews and nieces, making me feel really old. Maman said that one of the uncles had extensive contacts in the motherland since he was a "big shot." I didn't know how to talk to him, so when the party ended, I talked to him to ask if he knew anyone back there and snuck in a business card. He was very reserved. However his wife was very open and optimistic and said yes, they knew people. Networking at a wedding, yuck. Meanwhile, Maman was looking to sneak over to the dance floor with the other aunties. The ceremony ended at 6, but saying goodbyes extended our stay at the reception. Leaving the reception in the torrential rain, sneaking out was a slow process with the flooding and the detours directed by the GPS. I'd fly out the next day, getting through security relatively fast, and eventually sneak in back to campus to quickly get back into work. Monday was fast approaching on me and little time to catch up. | | |
| In this society, mothers have a few special days to laud their existence and importance. Mothers' Day is a day to celebrate motherhood and is primarily dedicated to those women who are parents, naturally. This holiday in May is all their own, not shared with fathers (Fathers' Day) or grandparents (Grandparents' Day) or trees (Arbor Day). Additionally, many families celebrate the birthdays of these mothers. Birthdays, just like Mothers' Day, place the celebrant as the center of attention, to be praised, thanked, and celebrated. Birthdays are celebrations that typically you don't have to share with another person (unless you decide to have a joint-party). For those who celebrate an annual gift-giving holiday sometime in the winter, that is a holiday which often times the entire family celebrates. At least for my Mom, she has another day of celebration: my birthday. Why are birthdays in this society centered around the person born? I didn't do any of the work involved--from planning to execution. I see my birthday as the complement to Mothers' Day. Thus, my Mom has four holidays where I have to produce some sign of loveappitude (love, appreciation, and gratitude). If Mom was an egalitarian person, perhaps she would throw me a bone and "donate" one of her holidays to back to the calendar with the rest of the non-holiday bunch. But Mom isn't and her soft power--primarily nagging and inflicting guilt--are very effective. So, thank you, Hallmark, for making my wallet go on a diet; and thank you, materlialism, for equating gift-giving with loveappitude.
So, what do I give Mom? Each year, Mothers' Day happens in the middle of the year with the remaining three holidays scrunched together in the tail-end of the year. I'm running out of photos that I typically cobble together and repackage in various medium--albums, posters, collages. That's been done. But Mom's tastes are too expensive for my budget. When Mom visited me in France for Turkey Day on year, we went to the Galleries Layfayette to visit Louis Vuitton. Spending hours at the boutique and seeing the exorbitant prices and the hordes of tourists who were primarily from Eastern Europe and from Asia, our ideas of fun were not congruent. I can't afford that nor would I want to splurg on that. So what tangible item do I give a person that I can't afford? And how do I vary the gifts between now and Xmas? Blaming "culture" will not resolve my double problem of a lack of money and a lack of ideas; but blaming our skimpy salaries is very therapeutic.
[Sidenote: I decided to buy Mom a bouquet of flowers < http://products.proflowers.com/flowers/JoyfulBouquet-41213?viewpos=12&trackingpgroup=iri&ref=organicgglbrand&pagesplit= > and some perfume from Yves Saint Laurent < http://www.yslbeautyus.com/womens-fragrance/c36/index.html >. Apparently, there is a hierarchy of perfume: eau de toillette, eau de cologne, and eau de parfum. I opted for the more concentrated choice - eau de parfum. So I bought four different versions that I think she never tried before but I hope she'll like at least one of them: Opium, Elle (Her or She in English), Nu, and Cinema. Secretly, I'm hoping that she doesn't enjoy the Opium perfume too much for I'd be mortified if I got Mom hooked on Opium.]
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