Now, that's good organizer talk

“I realize that I am not the likeliest candidate for this office. I don’t fit the typical pedigree, and I haven’t spent my career in the halls of Washington. But I stand before you tonight because all across America something is stirring. What the naysayers don’t understand is that this election has never been about me. It’s about you.”

- Barack Obama, August 28, 2008

Maybe some McCain supporters are racist

I pondered it before.

But now I'm starting to think that they really are.




Chris Matthews Battles Full-On PUMA Inanity







"PUMAs -- women who love Hillary Clinton whilst simultaneously hating the policies for which Clinton has fought." c/o Huffington

Now I feel far away

I really don't have a formulated opinion on the Biden bid. Any thoughts from you all?

I hear Paris is turning into September already. Geneva is turning chilly, although next week promises to be back up in the sunny 77F-80F (25C-27C), just when I finish the internship. I'm keeping an eye on Cinque Terre weather for the last weekend in August to early September (hi, mom & dad, I'm going to Italy for a few days with my Russian friend, Dasha). It's supposed to stay in the same temperatures as Geneva next week. I'm not one to talk much to anyone about the weather, but I have noticed how tremendously much happier I am in the sun and heat. I guess I should find a job in Africa or Central America to keep the spirits up. (only somewhat kidding)

I have noted to a few people that I have been under the weather (hardy har har) of late. Not sick, but low in spirits and not just because of the change in weather. In self-analysis, I'm realizing it's because I miss my friend. Dasha left last week to go to summer school up in the Netherlands. I hadn't really spent that kind of time with anyone since I left Madison. Almost all of my colleagues in school in Paris were friends, but we were working so hard night and day (well, I was) that I didn't have one or two people with whom I spent much time. For nearly two months here I worked with Dasha, went out on the weekends with her, spent nights with her. It was very interesting how quickly we gravitated to each other. Her face in slight features kind of reminded me of photos of my sister when she was a kid - long straight hair, rounder face and warm eyes. We have so much in common, too.

So, when I went to bed the other night, after a nice meal with the flatmate and her friends, I laid there wondering what was wrong with me. I have felt so happy for weeks and weeks. All that surfaced was "Something is missing." I hadn't felt that longing, homesickness (for a person), or minor emptiness in a long time. It was good to feel this. Life is full and diverse and it's not realistic to be happy 24-7 (nor is it healthy to be dependent or sad or angry or whatnot 24-7). I'm lucky to feel it all.

......................

More new photos - mostly in request from the colleague interns that I get the photos online of them, for them, and asap - you can find them in the "UNOG and intern friends" folder. We've had weekly good-bye parties for interns as they depart their internship and go wherever next. I am so thrilled to have made good friends in such a short time. So proud to know such an amazing array of people from all over the world, who are ambitious, smart, funny, and kind people. I've never spent much time with people from Central Asia or Russia, especially during a critical period of international activity. We have discussed the culture of the USA (including the more patriotic side of things from the point of view of an intern who is Russian-born, American by choice versus my more critical point of view as someone who is American by birth, world-traveller by choice). We have taught each other new languages. We have suffered heartbreak, found new jobs, had interviews, shared food, met each others' friends, and laughed so much together. I think that this is the strongest point of the internship. I might not have networked myself to the perfect job after graduation, but I can rest assured that I have made good friends who might one day end up working with me - or me for them!

.................
oh, and there's a ton of new videos from Italy up on youtube/larauk05

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

(Janis Joplin)

I've enjoyed my bike immensely. Last Saturday, Dasha (who pointed out that her name is not spelled the German way with a C) and I took the train to Lausanne and then biked to Montreux with a couple of stops in Clarens, and a difficult, uphill, brief detour through some vineyards. Here's the bike path we did (22.65 miles, 36.5 km).

They call it the Swiss Riviera and it's listed on UNESCO's most beautiful places in the world. But it's no Cinque Terre, let me tell you. Far too many cars and not enough wild. Regardless, it was a great GREAT bike ride.

We stopped in Vevey and considered going to the photo museum there (since we're both photographers) but the day was too nice to hide inside. We had gigantic pizzas instead and pushed on to Clarens to pilgrimage to Vladimir Nabokov's grave. Some old lady, who thought she was being nice and knew a thing or two, told us (after we had climbed a steep hill to get to the cemetery) that he was actually buried in Vevey and wasn't it funny how so many people made this confusion, driving up here in their cars and driving back. Ha. Ha. Not funny.

We biked down the hill and off to Montreux, which someone likened to Florida and I'd agree. Lots of palm trees, old people, and slow walkers. It's a south-facing city and so it's sunny hot and really steamy hot in the afternoon. The tourist office informed us that Nabokov was indeed buried back in Clarens, along with 22 other famous people. I cursed that old lady with my fist in the air. Curses!!! We stopped by monument to Freddy Mercury and paid tribute to him, as well as a weird mime dressed in a glittery gold sheet. (I've never understood the fascination with them.)

Then, we had a coffee across the street from the casino (which sold Lagerfeld men's suits - to give you context versus the casinos on reservations in Wisconsin) and, since we weren't going to bike the extra miles to the Chateau de Chillon, I read Byron's "The Prisoner of Chillon" to her there, in the middle of hot boiling sun and weird bar music in the background.

We biked back to Clarens, and up that damn hill to the cemetery. Crept inside the church, which was decked out in strange pastel-colored stained glass, and found no guide to find Nabokov. We started walking and passed the newer graves heading to a building in the center of the cemetery, thinking it might have maps. As we were walking, I thought, this is just like the moment when my sister and I were driving into Modena, Italy, and couldn't find the damn hotel, driving in circles around the city. And just when my sister and I were entering the old town and were frantically looking for street signs amid busy pedestrians, she spotted the street name and led us to the hotel. And, then, just like that, Dasha spotted Vladimir and Vera's grave. Huzzah.

I had a bit of mental connection and for the first time in my life, watered someone's grave.

We cruised down the hill from the cemetery and turned to the train station and trained it back to Geneva.

It was a great day.

(Photos forthcoming)

Who is the man that would risk his neck for his brother man?

(Shaft!)

As a friend wrote, big props to Bernie Mac and Issac Hayes.

#############

What you don't know by yourself, you don't know.

--Socrates

#############

Things have been somber lately. I work in an office with four Russian women and down the hall, a Macedonian, a couple of French, an Argentine, a couple of Italians, and a Georgian. We have been watching so much different worldly news, and feeling so many conflicts.

One of my Russian friends commented that she was thinking about how biased the media in both of the countries are (Russia, Georgia). I replied "RE: media bias in both countries (all countries for that matter)...

Reading a book on Gilles de Rais. In 1420, a war between two families in France, '...it was decided that [the] immediate task was to raise an army of 50,000 men. This is an enormous figure for the period and probably represents wishful thinking rather than fact. It was common practice in the Chronicles of the time to exaggerate the number of soldiers involved in any engagement and to falsify casualty lists in in favour of whichever side one happened to be writing for. Everyone knew and nobody cared.'

Seems we haven't come very far in 600 years."

The Georgian colleague and I spoke at length and her family is living near one of the many places that has been bombed.

It seems we don't get very far at all in the history of days, and our histories are written by bias, and our memories fail us.

#############

I'm also having a fascinating debate on Facebook about the Edwards scandal. Some have called this an exceptional event, while I see no difference from any other sordid political/sex revelation. I'm not even very interested in retelling the commentary here. What I will note is that I'm terribly curious about the way different cultures view their political leaders and their private lives. Some holding them in high esteem close to messiahs, while others separate the leadership of constituents from the bedroom antics.

#############

A piece of a conversation with a friend today:

We should be our own best friends and we should find happiness through ourselves. It is a blessing to be able to share that with another person... To have strength and stability (as much as is possible in this difficult world), and then share that with someone, instead of feeding off of their contentment to boost ours.

Regarding being what we really are.. I was talking to someone about this recently. For the life of me, I cannot remember which philosopher or writer, but a guy I read while studying in Spain, wrote a poignant piece about the harmful effects of denying one's "calling." When we are supposed to be mechanics, we can only be bankers for so long before our misery drives us insane (insert whichever career or way of living or whatever). If we are close to our soul/spirit/energy/mind, we can hear our future calling to us. Suppressing that voice, repressing the core desires of our purpose on earth (in this body, at this time, in this country, with these talents) will only lead to our own suffering, not to mention an injustice to the world and to history. This is the ultimate fight of every person. To be aware of it, and to live as one should, the way that is written by you and not by society or family or church, that is the ultimate power and the biggest everyday challenge.

Socrates was very, very correct. And, even when you know it by yourself, the hard task is to recognize it every day.

#############

As for me, all I know is that I know nothing. - Socrates

MSN.com looks more and more like tabloid news

click to enlarge.. if you dare.

Stop, summer, stop

I just want this heat and sun and summer to last.

All of a sudden I feel homesick for my family.

I am editing and uploading photos from my sister trip to Italy and realize that I miss my family and, also, think my soul somehow connected with Cinque Terre very deeply. It is not only one of the most beautiful places on earth but really resonated inside me. Sure, the Taj Mahal is amazing, sure Antartica is incredible, and yes I'm sure the pyramids are a sight to behold, but something in the Cinque Terre area made me feel free, content, liberated, strong, at peace, and like I could chuck it all and go open a tarot card reader shop and be happy for the rest of my life. Or, maybe I could help the old guy at Due Gemelli run his hotel.

One of many dreams that inspired me to apply to grad school: It was me, retired to a flat on the 14th floor of an apartment building overlooking a park in Buenos Aires. I have a library, an ottoman, my crippled body shuffling to the window, my own books on the shelves behind me. Now, I wonder if I could put that overlooking the sea in Corniglia.

On our third day in Cinque, we hiked from Vernazza (which seemed like heaven on water the day before when we arrived after hiking for hours) to Corniglia. It was not the most beautiful town, and we followed the signs to the "beach" which was hundreds of stairs down from the hill (we thought of the return upwards and groaned). Almost to the end of the stairs at the rocky cliff "beach," we passed a two-story building. A man came out to his two dogs. I thought of Miller, Hemingway, every lighthouse man, every writer or painter by the sea. He, along with the memory of the man the day before, who stepped out onto his porch when we were mid-hike, mid-olive grove, mid-vineyard, he stepped out to tinker with a machine part in the sun. Was there a cigarette in the corner of his mouth? And when I tried in French-Spanish-Italian-English to tell him he was lucky to live here, he commented back in broken English that he was old, I was young. This form of solitude at the slowing down days. I want this.

....

Two years ago, I wrote somewhere that I wanted to be an intern at the UN.

Be careful what you wish for.

....

I wish to be in the hills of Cinque Terre. Before my hands are disabled by arthritis. Before I can no longer hike the hills. And after I know I can afford to mold myself into the hills and seas, rocks and cobblestones. My soul has so many houses on this planet. I have not returned to the most important yet. Some day I will.