What the UP does to a girl

I left my Capitol Hill cave for a long weekend with Christensens, Facchinellos, and friends in the UP. How long it has been since I have been there! A place that, even though I have never lived there, and have always been a visitor, is still a place I know well. I would label myself transient, with no unshakable attachment to any one place, still searching for where I will eventually settle, but perhaps its my mother's love for the UP that makes me hold that land on a higher level.

I spent a great amount of time with a friend from my AHWH days, Christa. I was so happy to hike with her and sleep outdoors, that I reminded her how lovely of a place she lives, up in Marquette. She, like most of us, is prone to forgetting in the drone of day-in-day-out the beauty of her surroundings.

Now I am back in DC, with two more rejection letters to add to the pile, and an invitation to a second interview in NYC, and a revelation that my screening to be an organizer-in-training is in NYC. In light of the impossibility that seems to be finding a job in DC, it makes these opportunities in NYC, the city with the classic ideal of American opportunity, more appealing. And in the midst of hot DC summer days ("its been pretty mild this summer, Dana"), balancing solitude with loneliness, uncertainty with expectation, I have looked forward to the chance for change, to start somewhere new.

But neither DC or NYC are like what I felt this weekend. In neither city would I be able to walk into a forest when I wish, to get lost among trees or the waves. I will work 9 to 5, breathe in air tainted by gridlock, and play my cards right so I can escape for a rustic vacation once or twice a year. Such a divide of desires, wanting both to swim in civilization and crowds of strangers, but also float along in the absence of both.

I fear that I and the company I keep will forget how to be spontaneous, say the wrong but honest thing, and see recreation as limited only to the gym and other designated areas.

I am excited to have the chance to get the job I want, but am concerned about its location, which does not include my newly-signed lease or girlfriend.

But, as I type here on the couch I have spent so many hours trying to summarize myself into a cover letter, trying to start my life in this city, I am sure I can go to a new place, instead of fighting to be part of a place where I may just not belong. I cried this morning because my post-graduation plan has yet to run on schedule, that I could not see what I would be doing a month or more from now. That this inability to control aspects of my life or reach my intended goals are failures on my part. I have accepted that I can not predict my future, and the only reason I have been wanting to is out of fear of the unknown. I would not want to harness the sound of waves hitting rock with the limitations of Western musical notation in order to predict its rhythm. Same as I have concluded that it is futile to try and predict the timing of my life or the lives of others, for my wisdom will always be less than what chance will bring.

My mom told me of her favorite movie, Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, and shared with me her favorite line from it, delivered by Bob Dylan's character Alias:

"I can live anywhere, I can leave anywhere, too."

Repeat. Forever.

Thinking back on my earlier post, it comes to my attention that any working woman would tell me that I will have to pack the pumps, whip on the mascara, and make sure I am hairless everyday for most of my working life. No newsflash, and it ain't going to stop after someone decides to hire me.

I have been meaning to reflect publicly on the job hunt process and the state of unemployment I have been in for the past two months. It has been a series of emotional highs and lows, which I hope that I will be phasing out of soon. Applying for jobs is all part of the effort to break into the working world, where we are all expected to be as contributing adults to society.

But I sometimes wonder...

...would I be happier being a housewife?

Yes, I said it. Housewife. Well, I could do without the husband/breadwinner, even if that is unfeasible with our economy. So I guess housewife would be the wrong word in my case, and outdated, apparently. (I won't get into the linguistics of housewife vs. stay-at-home mom and how I prefer to use housewife in a non-feminist-critique way, mostly because it boils down to the fact that the term only started to become the norm after my mom stopped being a self-identified housewife and started to work when I was an older kid.)

While I wallow sometimes in the pit of my non-money-making status, I also take great pleasure in the domesticity it has allowed me. I have been able to tend to a magnificent garden, cook lovely meals, and clean spaces. I have been able to read as many books a month as some working stiffs read in a year. I have even been able to pursue movie watching, a passive activity I once deemed as too much of a time absorber to dabble in earnest with for years. Now, all I need is bon bons and a fuzzy bathrobe to fill out the roll of housewife, starring Dana May, with the setting being many a quiet evening with the DVD player.

Yes, I have even enjoyed the unscheduled, decidedly unproductive evenings at home. I struggle with feelings of guilt over my periods lacking of productivity, but I justify my actions with, "if not now, when?" When else will I have so much time and so little responsibility to engage in so many simple and extravagant indulgences? Never.

Now, back to playing with the dog. With surprise, she is warming up to me.

Repeat.

I am off to another interview. At this point I should be finishing my granola and putting on a presentable skirt and shirt. I should check to see if my legs are shaved, which is always a challenge. I should print out the materials they want, and pack my pumps. Put on contacts and mascara.

I am looking forward to this being over.

Dont slap me, because I am not in the mood...

My roommate told me that I would not be disappointed when we went to visit Orpheus Records right off of the orange line in Virginia. They are going out of business, and judging from what they had and what the owner told me they use to have before they started putting crazy discounts on everything, it really is a loss and shame that they won't be around much longer. But, because of their discounts, it enabled me to obtain some nice finds that I would otherwise pass up due to their pretty penny worth. I want to take some time to highlight some of them. Lets begin!

Klymaxx-Meeting In The Ladies Room 1984, MCA Records

I first came across Klymaxx with a degree of mockery that often comes with ignorance. I was at a second hand store on H street, and feeling guilty for having forgotten Hyatt's birthday, I picked it out of a bowl of tapes without their cases, thinking it would suit his love of 80's r&b. I didn't know anything about it, but judging from the song titles, I thought it was a stupid boy band singing about "Man Size Love."
After sending him the tape, I soon found out how wrong I was. Klymaxx was the first mainstream all-woman, all-instrument playing funk/R&B band, and we would be pressed to find a similar band today. I was so excited to find Meeting in the Ladies Room, which is also an excellent song and music video, and escapes the typical "80s so bad its good" irony that seems to be fueling so much culture these days. Grant it, it was the initial tackiness of the name "Klymaxx" that drew me in, but after I got past the superficial, I am now "a BW, a basic woman," totally digging the girls of Klymaxx.

Zeitgeist-Translate Slowly 1985, DB RECS

DJing at WCBN has taught me a thing or two about judging a record by its cover. Like my former housemate and fellow WCBN DJ Ryan Hughes once told me, you can easily tell if a record sucks by the album art, and/or song/band names. We learn from trial and error, of course, and admit that there is always that diamond in the shabby suit that we must not look over. I tend to have my knee jerk reactions to what makes an album worth listening to, including female musicians, album art that suits my fancy, record labels, and particular years in music history. While Translate Slowly didn't fit perfectly into my usual filters, the price tipped me over into buying it. Much like its Atlanta label would suggest, it falls in line with 80s melodic rock a la REM, with guitar riffs that set a mood suitable for fall afternoons in flannel and bitter about the Reagan administration and lost love. The instrumental "She Digs Ornette" would fit in very well in a brat pack film, where the protagonist walks with slumped shoulders down a suburban high school football field. The replacements also come to mind.
Beyond the music, which I have only started to explore, is the uniqueness of the album. Zeitgeist was the original name of this band from Austin, but they had to change it to The Reivers due to a copyright violation with a music group that included hot shots like John Cage and Yoko Ono. David verses Goliath, what can you do? Now, I have a collectors item.

Hank Mizell-We're Gonna Bop Tonight 1958, 1979-1981, Baron

Continuing with the judge-by-the-cover strategy, I picked out Mizell from the painfully thinned-out rockabilly collection, but was pleased to have found a gem. "I'm Gonna Take My Guitar (and Go to Texas)" is an excellent tune, as is "Shig-A-Shag," and the whole album exemplifies the country elements of rock 'n' roll that are often ignored when talking about rock history (Don't be afraid of country, folks!). The album is a family affair, with his brothers as his backing band and his wife as the co-writer of nearly every song. It does not have his biggest hits "Jungle Rock" and "Kangaroo Rock," but it does have "When I'm in Your Arms." Although I prefer "Picture on the Mantle," as far as slow heartbreakers are concerned.
Hank Mizell is one of many who has benefited from reissues of his early work on revival collections. He gave up on rockabilly in 1962 to become a preacher in order to support Rosemary and the kids. Then in 1971, he was put on a collector LP and he found himself on the European charts! Can you imagine that, thinking that your life as a musician is over, that no one is interested in your sound, and to be able to support yourself and your family again with your talent, back in the studio doing more original, great stuff? One could just as easily imagine Klymaxx and Zeitgeist getting a second wind if put on the right compilation at the right time, but it especially makes sense for Mizell, who has an honest but mysterious delivery that makes one happy that he did not disappear into obscurity.

Back in Brooklyn

I have been finding myself in NYC a lot recently. This time around for an interview, although I unintentionally find myself having a vacation, as well. It is hard to have an official vacation, when so much of being unemployed is a vacation. I find myself at the Cocoa Bar, where I will make use of their wi-fi until I meet their five dollar credit card minimum.

With hopes of staying cool and relaxed, I will spend my time here doing things I have intended to do for a while, like write about American Apparel.

News of CEO Dov Charney's fourth sexual harassment suit provokes different reactions in people, judging from the commentary following this specific article. A large percentage of people-men and women-argue that it is fair to dismiss his behavior because he runs a sweatshop-free business. he may be worthy of douche-bag status perhaps, but there are no calls of organized boycott or pressure on shareholders, and little substantial critique of the sexist work environment he promotes.

Also of concern is the lack of discussion surrounding the anti-union status of American Apparel. Should we care? Is it enough to give employees $12.50 an hour and benefits and not make clothes in China? What is more relevant is why American Apparel is successful in the first place. Since its beginning, it has marketed itself as an ethical company, posing as an alternative for young, hip, progressives willing to pay $15 for a good-cause tshirt. As one can see from the fit of their clothes, American Apparel owes its fashion and following to counter-cultural tastes that love buying retro, second-hand clothes, for aesthetic and political reasons. AA's reputation in the small niche of American-made "fair" labor shirts grew, bands and activists began to screen print on their products, and pretty soon, everyone had some AA in our closet. I too bought a few AA items, thinking that I was making better consumption decisions, until I read more about the company and decided my money would be better spent elsewhere.

The question becomes, do we buy American Apparel because of its made-in-the-USA and pays its workers above minimum-wage, or because it has become synonymous with hipster fashion? Much like buying GAP (Red) clothing or purchasing a special edition cell phone that helps stop AIDS, corporate charitable marketing serves our need to feel good about our consumption choices, while benefiting corporations. When buying commercial products in hopes of supporting a cause, there tends to be little transparency of how much money actually goes to the proposed mission and how it is spent. One becomes part of a corporation's effort to make a profit over just donating the money spent on the product (or the small percentage that actually goes to the said charity) to an organization that specializes in that cause.

What happens when there is amble evidence that a company once promoted as "good" and "safe" to buy from turns out to not live up to its image? Yes, many Americans may be apathetic or disapproving of unions, but even among self-identified progressives, consciousness of economic justice and class divides tend to be lacking, on any issue, from the war to the discussion of race in our country. Perhaps this makes it easier for so many college-age middle class people to defend American Apparel as cool and "for the little people" and defend a former scab, avoiding a frank discussion of worker rights for the sake of maintaining a lifestyle.

Besides the ambiguity of whether AA is ethical or not, there is a whole other can of gender politics that should be discussed among the same hip, progressive, and I hope self-identified feminist community. With sex discrimination still a reality for most working women, it is worth wondering why there is not more said about the AA workplace and how it is based on Charney's conceived entitlement to act on his sexual exhibitionism with his employees. Bring on the post-feminist, free-love debate, but would you want your boss to have four sexual harassment suits under his belt?

I would hate to think that there is little feminist debate about AA because somebody declared it a Godly company a few years ago, protecting it from all criticism. Or it could be the black and white branding mentality of American politics that pushes us into directing all our loyalty into one name so that we can spend all our energies into attacking the other (I am talking about you, Democratic party). We can rant about the evils of sweatshop labor, but ignore the blaring failures of the most popular alternative. Arguing that the good of American Apparel outweighs its bad is a shabby argument that wishes to avoid discussing the short-falls of consumer activism and the co-opting of recent workers rights movements, and sweep the concerns of women under the rug by paying lip service to the status of AA's clothing makers.

There are alternatives: not consuming, or consuming less, or consuming locally, etc. What is important to consider, after the rapid mainstreaming of the green movement, organic food, and other trends based in progressive ideas, is to not to stop thinking about our choices just because they have an ethical-sounding label or slogan attached. For example, you may be a bigger help by purchasing used clothes, or leaving a smaller carbon footprint by skipping organic foods that are shipped from Chile to you during the winter (you know what I am talking about, vegetarian co-ops of my not-so-distant-past), or generally being conscious of how much we consume and work on doing less of it. This I have found hardest to do, more so than throwing around more money for "green" things or sifting through other people's rejected stuff. Consumption is so much a part of our culture, identity, and everyday exposure. Buying something with an organic sticker or a shirt from a "good" company is not the only solution, it is only marketed as such. The power and breadth of consumer politics is grayer and more complex than what is presented at face value, and I hope for a lively debate as the years progress and the American consumption lifestyle is challenged by stronger factors of the environment, global economy, and human rights organizing.

Discuss, discuss.

The urge to kill

I have gotten pretty attached to my garden.

Perhaps because it has been such smooth sailing for it and I. I plant a few seeds, water it once a day, pull out a few weeds, and it grows greener each day. Already it yields greens and radishes.

Indeed, I have grown overprotective of this garden. I discovered an army of ants who had set up base in the middle of my two parsley plants. It looked like they had munched off some of it already. I then started to notice every crawling ant in the whole backyard. I could only assume that their intentions were to destroy, all for the sake of their queen. I have since been going back and forth between my garden and my laptop, reading every google hit for "ants garden" and having a go with every organic pest cure posted.

I read that ants run when they smell their dead, so I crushed a few ants with my fingers. When that soon proved futile, I poured a power-combination mixture of dish soup, garlic, vinegar, salt, hot pepper, and water on the area, and hovered in hopes of seeing the ants squirm with pain. They instead seemed undeterred and continued on with their business. My friend Lauren suggested putting a sugar bowl out there to distract them, but they don't seem interested in that. Today I poured boiling water into the newly developed holes outside of the garden and imagined it seeping deep into their earth hallways. I then made a circle of flour around the newest victim-bib lettuce-after reading that ants wont cross flour. I then dusted flour over other parts of the garden. This proved futile, as I watched ants carry bits of flour and feared that I only gave them fuel to multiply. I hope it expands in their bellies and destroys them.

This is all stalling measures to keep me from what I really want to do-pour pesticide on their whole operation. Yes, I admit it, I have fallen from organic dogma. It troubles me, how quickly I want to kill them all.

Post-talking to Lauren: I won't give up just yet. I will go to the store. I will buy borax, vinegar, peppers, and a spray bottle. I will not press the little red button, yet.

This whole experience has made me question why we value organic farming so much. Do we pay more for it because we think it is healthier, has more nutrients and less poison? Do we think it is a more ethical product? Do we think it is more aligned with nature? Indeed, I can imagine the horror and frustration of a farmer, who's livelihood depends on his crop, as he watches his time, money, and energy be destroyed by something so small but persistent. Why not take on a pesticide?

As Lauren said, there are so many other ways. I can kill the ants with borax, boil them, or set an anteater on them if I have to. Yes, I do have investment and meaning attached to these plants, but it is only an interpretation that they are my property. To these ants, my lettuce is completely up for grabs. I can't really blame them for that. Really, a pesticide would only be a more costly way for me to kill them (and whatever else that happens to be there, innocent or not) and be rid of worry. Borax is a less harsh compound than insecticides, and won't contaminate the plants. Pesicides then sound like an easy, cheating, cowardly way to go, no?

Alright, off to get some borax. Dine on that, ants!

Hey!

I had a few relatively important and interesting topics to discuss in this post, but I was caught off guard just now. The new season of A Shot of Love is out and making waves, and I haven't even felt a splash! Shucks, thats what happens when you have to choose internet over tv, Comcast!

I have grand goals to be super productive today, but stay tuned to read me rant about this.