What's Up with California?

Well since you asked, let me just make it plain. In my mind, California = the bomb! For the past four days we’ve been exploring the state and I am so much more knowledgeable of the Sunshine state.
We started in Los Angeles on Tuesday, and it was really interesting. We headed over to studio city and got a tour of CBS Studios from Canaan, one of the video journalists with Entertainment Tonight. As we walked around, I was so impressed by the size of the facilities. We actually got to walk through the Entertainment Tonight set and as we walked in Mary Hart was standing there with her family. It was her day off, but she specifically requested for the crew to light the stage for her family, and obviously the crew complied. So imagine walking in the Entertainment Tonight set, with the lights blaring and Mary Hart standing there... With the tour we also got to see glimpses of the news room, the control room, and even the city set that was once used by the cast and crew of Seinfeld, which was pretty satisfying. As we were leaving, I couldn’t help but appreciate how nice the people seemed to be. Too often I think do we always expect people in Hollywood and the Entertainment Industry to be really pretentious, but these guys were honest and I was grateful for that. Everyone that we talked to was genuinely excited about our trip, especially Canaan. We talked with him about possibly doing dinner but he had a flight for London the next day at 6 AM, so he was turning in early.
After we left Studio City we took a drive of the coast and got to see some of the different beaches of Los Angeles. First we did a scenic drive through the famous Malibu. I tried to be cool because I was in Malibu, but on a certain level I couldn’t contain myself because after all I was in Malibu. We got out of our van and took in the scene for a few minutes which I think we all enjoyed. It wasn’t until I saw the water hitting the sand on the beach that I knew I was in LA, one of the cities I had been waiting for. From there we headed off to Santa Monica. I would have to say that thus far Santa Monica is probably my favorite part of LA. With the Pier and the Promenade, and the overall level of diversity, Santa Monica makes me feel so comfortable that there’s no way it couldn’t be one of my favorite spots. Happily for me we spent a significant amount of time there, and I even got a chance to hang out with my friend Mia, who now lives in the area. Seeing someone that I knew living in Los Angeles, and surviving it was inspirational because it showed me that it wasn’t as hard as it seems sometimes.
From Santa Monica we continued South on our coastal drive. We hit Venice Beach then Redondo Beach then Long Beach and finally Huntington Beach. Though it was a beautiful ride for the most part, it was in this ride that I also began to get glimpses of the negative sides of California life. The first was the traffic. I’ve heard people make mention of gridlock, but I had no clue of what it was really like. A five lane highway with a mile of bumper to bumper traffic is unacceptable in my book, and unfortunately LA experiences it often. Also while experiencing traffic on the coastal drive to Huntington, I couldn’t help but notice the industrial districts located in the Redondo and Long Beach areas. Although the right side of the highway offered an aesthetically pleasing view of the beaches and the areas in between, the left side of the highway was often crude. There were huge oil refineries, eighteen wheeler trucks and loading areas that didn’t seem like they belonged in Los Angeles, or at least my idealized view of Los Angeles. Also, driving down the coast I got to see different cultural communities that seemed to be pretty separated, more separated than the diverse Santa Monica that I was so used to. Is it possible that even the city of Angels could be slightly segregated? I pondered this all the way to Huntington and luckily felt some relief when I got out and walked around the pier. Again I found myself immersed in diversity. I saw people of different colors, classes, subcultures (although most people seemed to prescribe to the skater/surfer community), and even ages walking around and enjoying the beautiful sunset that was taking place over the endless body of water to the left. There was a festival going on which probably brought out a much larger group than usual, but it was also obvious that this area had a consistent flow of patronage. Later on that night there was even a street show taking place, featuring five teenaged guys (of different races) who were doing acrobatics for money. For some reason this didn’t bother me as much as watching the little boy in Memphis do the same thing, and I’m not sure why. But I’ll come back to that later.
During our next day, we experienced Disneyland and Hollywood which were not that wonderful in my opinion. As I stood in line for the Indiana Jones Adventure ride, I couldn’t help but think about Jean Baudrillard and his theory on intentional architecture. The question that entered mind was why. Why is it that I have to stand in a line that swerves and curves outside, in order to go to a place further in line where I continue to swerve and curve, to go back outside where I am still standing in a line that swerves and curves even more, before I even get to a point where the ride that I’m standing in line for is even visible? Why the maze? Then I realized that the answer was because it is a maze. It seems like the elaborate line setup is strategically placed in a way that creates a sense of adventure in the rider before they even sit down to ride the Indiana Jones Adventure. Why else would someone wait fifty minutes in line for a ride that lasts only five minutes? Unless, they felt as if they were already being entertained…
I was not entertained or even satisfied when I first reached Hollywood however. For whatever reason, when I stepped onto Hollywood Boulevard I was immediately over it. I just wasn’t “feeling it” anymore. This attitude could have been caused by the fact that I had a throbbing headache and had just been traveling in the back of a fifteen passenger van for two hours. So given the situation, I think it’s pretty understandable as to why I chose to find food and medicine with the hour of free time I had in Hollywood. With the time I did have to explore, the impression that I got of Hollywood was that it was commonplace. By commonplace, what I mean is that it was like a luxury car that has been driven far too much on streets that are much too undeserving. There were so many tourists and Batman Impersonators that I couldn’t even fully appreciate the Walk of Fame. I got so frustrated with a woman who kept blocking my view from all of the star squares in front of me that I finally shoved my camera in my pocket like a spoiled child, because she was “ruining my experience”. But then I realized that I was a tourist just like she was and we both were really trying to have the same experience. I wasn’t above these tourists at all, in fact I was on the same level as them. So I pulled out my camera and got in line to grab a shot of the Kodak Theatre.
The next day our group headed to San Francisco, and when I woke up the next day we were still headed for San Francisco. It turns out that our bus had a bit of a hiccup the night before as we were driving, and our bus driver Rueben had to turn around and go back to East LA to get the bus checked out. So we didn’t get to San Francisco until one o’clock in the afternoon, but I think we made the best of the situation. We took the BART towards to the Castro district which is known as San Fran’s GLBT District—and also the largest GLBT in the United States— and I could tell there were some mixed feelings in the group. Some people were sociologically ecstatic about it, while others were silently petrified. I would have to say that I was somewhere in the middle. All I had ever heard about San Fran was that it was heavy populated with gays and lesbians, and we were headed towards the heart of that culture…I was a little uncomfortable.
But when we got there, I was surprised to find that it was a normal neighborhood, just with rainbow flags posted everywhere. It was not what I was expecting to see, which I supposed is a good thing. For some strange reason I was expecting to walk around some town with huge penises and dildos on display everywhere and there weren’t—at least not everywhere. There were a few adult stores with some adult videos and toys in the window displays here and there, but you can find adult stores displaying sex toys and videos in any city—they just won’t be for homosexuals. So I think if people have a problem with the “homo” sex on display in the Castro District, then they also should be uncomfortable with the “hetero” sex on display everywhere else in the world. I feel bad that I was surprised at how normal the community was. I feel bad that I’m even using the word “normal,” but that’s where I am right now. I hate that society has programmed me to have these expectations for the gay community overall. Nobody hit on me, nobody tried to turn me over to the “dark side”. I had no reason to be uncomfortable except for the fact that society has put these ridiculous stereotypes in my mind about gay culture. Granted the Castro District would not be the first place that I would go to kick it in San Fran, it no where near as weird and freaky as I expected it to be. After visiting the community twice in one day (because I had to go back after leaving my debit card at the Chinese place where I ate lunch) I felt ready to experience anything else that San Fran had to offer me.
Walking through downtown, I couldn’t help but notice how much San Francisco reminded me of Chicago. With its grid system, tall buildings, water front chill, and public transportation running every five minutes I felt right at home. As I looked around I saw that the streets were pretty diverse as well. I was beginning to like San Francisco a little bit. Also, Dr. Spring took our class on a walking lecture-tour of the Beat Generation that was thoroughly enjoyable. His sharing the history of the Beats was one of the main times for me where I could see the two classes that we are taking come together thus far. Dr. Spring elaborated on how the Beats were influenced by jazz music and the Harlem Renaissance and also how they in turn helped to influence what would later become Bebop music. For me as an artist I was motivated, because they did what seems to be part of every artist’s goal: to observe life in such a way that you can later affect it. And apparently the Beats not only influenced the shapers of bebop music, but also other artists like James Dean and Bob Dylan, and even entire movements such as the hippie movement of the 60’s. As we walked into the City Lights Bookstore, I was more than ready to find a copy of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and make it mine, but that was when I realized that I left my debit card at lunch. So while the rest of my class headed for the Beats Museum, Dr. Stepnick and I headed back to the Castro to get my plastic. I was really disappointed that I didn’t get a chance to finish the tour, but I suppose now that I’m aware who the Beats are, I need to research them for myself. That sort of is what college is all about.
As I walked through the Castro (both times), the Financial District, Chinatown, the North Beach Area and even Fisherman’s Wharf I was constantly stunned at how much San Francisco was similar to Chicago, but also very different. I liked the similarity but I also liked the difference. It’s funny because I wasn’t really expecting much from San Francisco and it seems as if I got glimpses of a lot. I learned early on in this experience not to discount any city, and San Francisco definitely helped to reiterate that point for me.
Our last day in California was spent relaxing in the Redwood Forest. It was great for everyone to take some personal time to themselves and away from technology for a while. Since this was personal time, I’ll keep it personal, because it should be (and I would imagine that those of you still reading are getting pretty tired). However, I will say that we got a chance to talk as an entire group without the academics for a while which was really nice for all of us. We all are very different people taking this trip for very different reasons, but I can honestly say that despite our differences we get along very well. And more than that, I think that we understand each other on a certain level and that we allow a significant amount of grace for everyone as well.
And as I think about some of the cities that we already visited on this trip, I can’t help but wonder what our country would be like if we gave every American citizen that same grace...
So that’s what’s up with California!

Free to Be

Yesterday our bus was late heading into Salt Lake City, which was great because it put our group in the position to be able to see the city we were headed towards, rather than just magically wake up there. It was interesting to watch as we rolled into Salt Lake because we were literally in the middle of nowhere for the longest time, and then all of sudden the landscape of a city came into view. It didn’t appear to be too big or too small, but just the right size with tall buildings, an oil refinery and billboards waiting for us in the distance. Noticing that the mountains were situated around the city, it occurred to me that Salt Lake City is as unique as the grand body of water that it is named after.

After showering at Westminster College our group headed to lunch at Tony Caputo’s Deli downtown. It too was just the right size for a Sunday afternoon. The rustic little restaurant was very welcoming as we ordered our various sandwiches and salads. I couldn’t help but feel like this restaurant, and even the entire block did not belong in Salt Lake City, at least not the preconceived image of Salt Lake that I had in my head. I wasn’t expecting Utah to have a grid system that was easily navigational, and I wasn’t expecting such progressive, cultural restaurants either. We later found out that this deli was rated America’s Outstanding Specialty Restaurant for 2009, and none of us were surprised at all. Inquiring more about the restaurant I stroke up a conversation with two employees by the names of Andrew and Evan. Andrew informed me on the Caputo’s history that goes back about ten years. According to Andrew, “You wouldn’t come to this side of town ten years ago.” But apparently Tony Caputo did come, and he built his restaurant here and because of his restaurant that the entire neighborhood began to improve. As Andrew and I talked, he pointed out Mr. Caputo as he entered the deli. I caught him headed towards the back of the store carrying a painting that was wider than his frame and I wasn’t surprised at all to see what seemed like a forward thinking man bringing value in the door with him. Lunch at Caputo’s was a nice way to start off the day because it put a good taste in my mouth (literally) concerning Salt Lake, especially with the chocolate. There was a specific section in the deli that served fresh gourmet chocolates (all made from Mr. Caputo’s recipes), and they were good. Several of us bought different pieces and I think we all enjoyed them. The restaurant also featured chocolate called Amedei, which is the #1 chocolate in the world. Supposedly only 14 places sell it, and we all tasted a piece. Let’s just say it was pretty awesome. It had a very rich chocolate flavor and because of that it was a little overwhelming, but completely enjoyable.

Although the food and the chocolate at Caputo’s was great the discussion that I had with Andrew and Evan was not so great because it revealed a side of Salt Lake that I had not noticed yet. They mentioned how the city and even the state government was so influenced by the Latter Day Saints culture that they felt like they were living in a “theocracy.” They elaborated on this sentiment by mentioning several laws and policies that I found to be quite absurd like the Not-a-Drop Law (where anyone under 21 caught driving with the slightest amount of alcohol in their system receives an automatic DUI), the fact that all liquor stores must be state run, limits on the amount of tickets for an R-rated movie that a person under 25 can purchase, banning certain films (like Brokeback Mountain) because they represent the LGBT community. There were even rumors that a certain LDS university in Salt Lake was known for treating gay and lesbian students with electro-shock therapy in order to “cure” them. To my knowledge, this rumor has not been confirmed but I think that it is still worth taking notice of. After talking to Andrew and Evan I didn’t leave Caputos Deli with the great taste of chocolate that I was hoping to leave with. It was more like intolerance.

As I walked through Gateway Mall later that day I couldn’t help but notice that there were no traces of the intolerance the guys at Caputo’s wised me up to. In fact the Gateway seemed to be just an extension of the hip environment that surrounded the deli. I saw more diversity than I was expecting. Interracial families, minorities (mostly of Latin descent), same sex couples, liberal individuals, and stereotypical majority Salt Lakers all walked around and shopped in the same mall. I also noticed that a lot of the stores were very familiar. This seemed like the type of mall that could be any where in America, and there were no traces of specifics that were unique to Salt Lake. In the Sociological world this McDonaldization is frowned upon usually. But in this situation, I wondered if the familiar was really that bad. If the familiar brought so many different types of people together, I questioned where the bad was in that. There was a fountain shooting water from the floor with children playing around it, and God Bless America was playing in the background. The scene was so nice that I wondered if the Caputo’s guys were wrong about Salt Lake City. Then the issue with the security guard happened.

Rashina, Chris and I were walking around the mall, and Chris was taking pictures as he always does when we were approached by a security guard with really cheap sunglasses. He asked Chris what he was taking pictures of. Chris replied that he was just capturing the scene. The security guard asked again what he was taking pictures of and then told Chris to put the camera away. Although we all felt awkward, Chris complied and began to walk away. The officer then called us back and told Chris that was to leave the mall now. We tried to explain to him that we were traveling in a group and that we couldn’t leave, but he proceeded to raise his voice, commanding us to exit the premises. So we walked towards the exit. After taking several steps we noticed that this same security guard was following us, and the one word that came to my mind was intolerance. It seemed like the guys at Caputo’s were right.

I kept thinking about this idea of tolerance as we continued throughout our day. As we walked around Temple Square and went on our guided tour, I couldn’t help notice not only the hidden intolerance but also the blatant attempts at socialization. All of the tour guides that we met seemed to lack personality. And I don’t mean that they were boring people, they just didn’t seem like people. Talking with these women put me in the mind set of Ira Levin’s Stepford Wives, which is unsettling to think about. In the North Center, the Christus that took up the second floor gave several people goose bumps. It was comprised of a twenty foot statue of the Christ, surrounded by a backdrop of walls painted like the galaxy, along with a recording of someone ominously reading several scriptures in attempts to sound like Christ. I think that this is a classic example of what most of the architecture is trying to do: put visitors in a place of vulnerability in order to win them over. As a Christian this bothers me, and that’s all that I will say about that…

From here our group headed over to the “Damn these Heels” Film Festival at the Tower Theatre. We watched OutRage, a new documentary about closeted politicians who were being “outed” because of their support of anti-gay rights. I thought that director Kirby Dick did a great job of displaying some of the hypocrisy that is hidden behind the white walls of the White house. Whether you agree with gay rights or not, I think there is something to be said about a government in which the politicians in it feel the need to closet their true identities. You would think that in a true democracy people would be able to honest about who they were and what they preferred whether it’s right or wrong, because it’s a personal choice to be right or wrong. When choices like that are stripped from you, I think it’s time to sit down and rethink the ideology behind democracy. It seems like Salt Lake City, more specifically some of its citizens may want to rethink some things.

Just Grand

On Saturday we visited one of America’s most famous landmarks, the Grand Canyon. As we first came upon the edge I think we all felt a certain level of pride and excitement, though varied among the experienced mountaineers and the inexperienced. Although it was a cool Saturday afternoon, there were a lot of people walking through the park. Not just Americans either, because I heard several different accents from groups that we past. As we walked around, I couldn’t help but ask why the Grand Canyon was such a celebrated landmark. I mean why were people from all over our country and even others like Denmark, France and Scotland coming to the Grand Canyon? I didn’t really get it until my group went for a hike on the Bright Angel Trail. It took about two hours to complete and by the end I understood why so many people flock to the Grand Canyon and why it is such an icon of American culture.

I think part of it is that it represents the frontier, and the ideals of Expansion and Progress. Since the founding of this country, we have been constantly expanding and moving west. And to a certain degree, the Grand Canyon is still uncharted territory and I think that there is a level of nostalgia that comes with that. When people look at the Canyon I think that it helps them to understand what the settlers and even the Native Americans before them had to endure in order to survive. I think that most people appreciate being a part of something bigger than themselves and the Canyon may serve as that point of contact. It certainly has a timeless quality that draws you in.

At the same time I think that the Great Canyon experience was at least for me an embodiment of the American Dream or what is started out as. You start out looking at this vast open space, completely tailored by nature, appearing to be almost untouched by human hands and you think about the opportunities that are possible. So you take the risk, and you hike. For a while it’s great because it’s new; the challenge invigorates you. You laugh and sing as you go along, embracing the romance of the journey. And then hard times set in, and the challenge is overwhelming. You struggle more than you ever anticipated to struggle. You wonder why you even came on this stupid “adventure”. You stop and re-evaluate and as you look around you get a glimpse of the beauty, the romance that urged you to go in the first place. When I looked at that hike, I knew without a doubt that I had to finish it, but I questioned my success as I hiked almost breathlessly up the incline. Slowly but surely you make some progress, and as you see people ahead of you move on and succeed you gain another burst of encouragement. And then you see the peak about thirty feet ahead. Then it’s twenty feet. And Ten Feet. You turn back to see if there’s anyone behind you, and offer a word of affirmation to those still plodding carefully and hopefully in your footsteps.

And as you take those final steps and think about the naïve expectations in the beginning, the raw reality coupled with the awe inspiring beauty in the middle, the bittersweet feelings of completion in the end, you realize that it all was worth it. Standing at the peak again you are changed. You’re stronger. You’re wiser. You know what it means to work for something. I think that’s what behind the American Dream, and that’s what you get when you hike the Grand Canyon.

Swimming Through Gumbo

It’s been four days since New Orleans—but I’m not slacking I swear! New Orleans has been on my mind everyday, it’s just taken me a while to gather my thoughts on “the Cajunland.” In my mind, it’s just like cooking or eating a good bowl of gumbo, it just takes a while. But after letting it marinate for some time, my thoughts on New Orleans seemed to boil down to the juxtaposition of the beautiful and the grotesque; the glorious and the decayed.

Walking down the streets of the French Quarter, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the architecture was. I had talked with Rashina earlier, and she told that there were certain parts of New Orleans that looked like Europe, but I didn’t really understand what she was trying to tell me until I saw it for myself. The buildings were tall and brightly colored, with big elegant windows and columns that ran across the front and the sides as well. The streets themselves were much narrower than I was used to and they seemed to go on forever, lined with canopies and official flags. In absorbing the environment I was completely on sensory overload—but I loved it.

However on the converse, I’m sad to say that there were several parts of New Orleans that were not so beautiful, like the more impoverished parts, which were almost grotesque. As our class drove to St. Bernard’s Community Center, we past so much desolation that it was almost unbelievable. I had heard that Katrina devastated New Orleans, but I could clearly see it with my own eyes as I looked at the blocks of houses that were boarded up and abandoned. Some of these houses bore the mark, the infamous “X” that belonged to National Guard, and some did not. These homes looked like they themselves could have once been architecturally interesting, but now they were ruined, and it seemed that even four years later no one was going to fix them. As we continued deeper into the Ninth Ward, we reached the cemeteries and to find that no one had fixed them either. In New Orleans, the land actually sits below sea level, so body caskets are not buried, because the water would cause them to float up, but they are buried above ground. This particular site seemed as if it may have once been beautiful, but because of water decay and basic neglect, I wondered if it ever would be beautiful again as we rolled on. And honestly, my first reaction of St. Bernard’s Community Center was that it would be the same way. As soon as we got there, we were greeted by some terrible odor that smelled like a mixture of dead crawfish and feces, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this smell was another ugly effect of Katrina’s violence. Based on first physical impressions, it should have been clear which environment I would most enjoyed, but then again, things aren’t always what they seem.


After looking the past the physicality St. Bernard’s Parish, I actually had a great experience working in the Community Center. I met several awesome people who engaged my colleagues and I in conversation about hope, loss, American life, and Katrina while we worked. There was Jason the supervisor. He was quiet, but he was also assertive when he needed to say “No” to a patron. And there was Steve, who lost everything he had including his house, his car, his cats, his dogs and his wife. Listening to his story was hard to hear at some points, but it was also has a happy ending. He informed my group of his recent news that his home was going to get rebuilt for a serious discounted price. And there was Thomas, the Scottish man who had volunteering at the center since Katrina’s aftermath. The three of these of guys were totally different but I think everyone in our group enjoyed talking to them. We also enjoyed working—I know I did. As I was restocking shelves in the grocery section the center, a feeling of satisfaction came over me. I thought about what I was doing and what I was doing it for, and I thought to myself I could do this all day.


However, I’m sure if I could spend a whole day in the French Quarter experiencing what I did that day. One of the main things that really bothered me was the blatant objectification of women. As I walked with my class (which is mostly young women) I heard men make all types of cat calls in their direction. And it bothered me. These women were great people. They are smart, funny, kind hearted, and have a lot of potential to do good things, but that didn’t matter to these men, because their focus was on a body. Bourbon Street itself was uglier to me than it was pretty. As we walked down street, I couldn’t help but notice that we passed through several districts on Bourbon Street: the honky tonk district, the urban district, the LGBT District, and the XXX District. As we walked through the XXX District I was shocked to find strippers standing outside of strip clubs asking guests to come in. I had never seen this before, and this wasn’t just one club. Every strip club had a stripper standing outside of it, and something about that didn’t seems quite right. I mean I haven’t been around too many strip clubs in my lifetime, but I do know that strippers are supposed to be inside of the club and not outside. I soon noticed that they weren’t alone either, as they were accompanied by an owner or a bouncer at times. This combination of the two reminded me a slave being sold on the auction block and I was immediately sick to my stomach. To make matters worse, as I was walking by one of the clubs with my class, one of the dancers grabbed my arm trying to entice me to come in. That sent me over the edge, because I was being objectified as well, however not for my body, but for my wallet, and it wasn’t fair. I wondered if that was how Rashina felt when the man dressed in gold reached to touch her chin remarking on how beautiful she was.

As I continued to walk throughout the French Quarter, I began to realize how different it was from St. Bernard’s Parish, and how much closer the two areas were physically to each other but financially far apart. It bothered me that there was such distinction between the two areas. It bothered me that the City of New Orleans would neglect the lower class of the Ninth Ward when they were in desperate need, in favor of the upper class and the French Quarter. I understand that money makes the world go round and that the French Quarter and Bourbon probably bring in a lot of revenue for the city, but what ever happened to the value and quality of human life? What happened to the pursuit of happiness? New Orleans has helped me to better realize the extent of which America is not an equal or a fair state.
More than this, what bothers me is the idea that New Orleans has such strong potential to be a great city. But because of the ignored poverty, the capitalism, the classism, and the objectification I doubt it will ever reach this potential.

The French Quarter is physically beautiful, but it’ ideologies are completely grotesque. St. Bernard’s Parish is physically decayed but the atmosphere created by the people is beautiful beyond words. This juxtaposition is complicated and frustrating; but it may also be why it is so culturally fascinating. Whatever the case, I left New Orleans with a bad taste in my mouth, and I’m not sure when I’ll go back.

It Never Dies...

Traveling in a foreign city is a difficult task on its own, but when you are traveling with eleven other people and you’re solely responsible for the day’s activities it can be quite daunting. As I sit in the back of our bus contemplating the day’s events Little Rock, I would like to think that I accomplished this task in to some extent.

While it’s still fresh on my mind, I can’t help but think about the evening worship service that we attended at Awareness Center International in the city. The music played during praise and worship was enough to evoke joy from the dullest congregation. At moments I questioned whether I was at church or a rock concert because of the energy, but the honesty in what the worship team was doing assured me that it shouldn’t be mistaken for a simple performance. One of the main things we all agreed on about the church was that it was clearly genuine and that people were very intentional about the type of community that they have developed. There were two separate parts of service where we stopped worship in order hug someone, and it was great because it reminded us of “what a real hug actually felt like,” according to someone in the group. Although there were moments that challenged us, we ultimately left service having observed a special type of community taking place there.

This reminds me of the community I found us building as we sat down to eat a meal at Kitchen Express early that day. In looking for the restaurant there were some concerns about the neighborhood that we were driving through because of the un-manicured lawns and boarded up homes, but Kitchen Express served as an oasis in the desert for us. Within minutes we were in line ordering the widest variety of soul food that most of us had ever seen: chicken (fried and baked), okra, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, banana pudding, and peach cobbler. And although the food looked as good as it tasted, the beauty of the moment was in our sharing of our food. We hadn’t even been together for three days yet, and we were already eating each other’s food and talking about our experiences from earlier that day. We briefly touched on Heifer International’s grand opening of its new educational building, and how we might apply our developing knowledge on social theory to understand its cultural significance in Little Rock. We also lighted on the Clinton Presidential Library, remarking how former President Clinton serves as an icon for Little Rock similar to how Elvis Presley and Graceland serve as icons for Memphis.

But I think that ultimately, the highlight of everyone’s day, especially mine, was our visit to the Central High School Museum and the actual school campus. There was so much to take in that several needed to take a break from time to time. The site does a great job on educating it’s patrons on why the Little Rock Nine of Central High School were so historically significant and also the importance of fighting for the rights of every marginalized group, and not just blacks. As I watched a video of Elizabeth Eckford walking to school while surrounded by an angry mob, I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to be berated for simply wanting to have a better life situation. When we walked around the actual campus later, I think we all were overwhelmed by the contrast between the physical beauty of the campus and the dark story that still haunts its past, like a monster lurking stealthily still throughout the corridors.

Standing right in front of Central with flights of stairs winding up on each side of me, I tried to summon the emotion that Ernest, Terrence, Elizabeth and the rest must have felt that day, and it was bittersweet to realize that I might never experience an event that was so dangerous in my life. I can’t help but appreciate their courage, because they helped to make a way for myself and every other black student in America. I appreciate them because they were true pioneers, traveling each of those days in familiar territory that was made unfamiliar by the mask of hatred. They were Academic Pioneers. And as I sat with my group of colleagues on the balcony area of the building posing for a picture, I realized that we too are pioneers. We too will be traveling in sometimes unfamiliar territory. We probably won’t ever be in as much danger on this trip as the Little Rock Nine were back then, but we are ready to stand up for the things we believe in, like this trip, and more importantly because of such august precedents, we have hope. Hope. Above all, we decided that the city of Little Rock is conveying a message of hope, and we’ll take it with us along the way.

Pride of Peabody

They say that whenever you are visiting Memphis, Tennessee for the first time you absolutely have to by the Peabody Hotel at 11 am. So we did, and found an interesting spectacle when we got there. We got there around 10:30 and found a complete pandemonium of people waiting in a huge crowd surrounding a red carpet that flowed from a set of double doors. Everyone was walking around with cameras and Starbucks coffee, and I almost forgot I was in Memphis until I heard a couple speak with that classic Southern drawl. Honestly, it was pretty ridiculous but at the same time the excitement that these people had was quite infectious. I felt myself growing giddy when I didn’t even know what exactly I was expecting to see. Soon a gentleman dressed in a maroon hotel uniform busted through the double doors armed with a cane. The audience grew silent because of his mere presence and I was intrigued…for a coupled seconds. He walked with authority and charm, but as soon as his microphone was turned on, disappointment began to set inside my head. His robotic voice made it clear that he had given this speech so much that he was past the point of caring about anything he was saying. Proud to introduce…Ringling Brothers…blah, blah, blah…He finished his apathetic speech and headed back through the double doors. After several minutes of more waiting a large voice recording filled the room announcing the arrival of the Hotel’s featured performers. People began positioning cameras before there was even anything to shoot. Then suddenly the double doors busted open and out came the stars. Cameras flashed everywhere, but that did not deter them at all. They kept their pace moving quickly in a single file line: one attractive male followed by four equally attractive females. The more they walked, the more the crowd cheered, and then suddenly something quite unusual happened. The male reached the end of the red carpet, climbed the flight of red stairs and jumped—into a body of water that was less than 2 feet deep. After him went each of the four females subsequently following in his footsteps. Before you knew it, the five were swimming happily in circles and that was it; it was time to go. As the crowd started to disburse I couldn’t help but feel cheated, because I had spent the last thirty minutes waiting for five DUCKS to jump into a fountain. Welcome to the Peabody Hotel.

Leap of Faith

The day is finally here. I applied, I interviewed, and I waited. Then I was selected. All of that was in 2008, when today seemed like a lifetime away. Even during the spring semester I was still waiting for this day to come, this day that I questioned would really even happen. And in less than 24 hours I will be on a bus sleeping, eating, talking, learning, and growing for the next 40 days. Now as time draws me closer to this event that once seemed more like a fantasy, I find myself losing my breath. However, this feeling isn’t anchored in fear completely. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little nervous or scared, because I am, but more than that I’m excited. Words can’t express the excitement in my heart. My head is full of so many questions. What will I see? Who will I meet? How will I react? What will I learn? Will I be able to process all these stimuli and be able to effectively communicate what I have just processed? Will there be surprises along the way? What will challenge me? Which city will I fall in love with? Which city will I hate? Will this trip live up to my expectations? Did I pack my toothbrush? Except for the last question (which can be answered by checking my bag), the only way to find out is to step out and walk. This is the leap of that will continue for the next 40 days. Let’s go!

Just a test

Just wanting to test,
the power of my blog site.
Are you reading yet?