atlas(t)

things to do in panama city

i've been in Panama for almost two weeks now, on vacation, and posting about it over at atlas(t): galleon trade edition, where this is cross-posted. And I've been looking around since I got to Panama, but the internet has failed me: I haven't been able to find any blog posts telling me what to do in Panama City.

So in the interests of public service--I is a good netizen--here's a wrap-up of what I've been doing in Panama City since I got here: the good, the bad, the don't-bother, and the WTF? (I'm probably going to be too lazy to give you links to these resources, though, so deal with it. XO.)

To wit:

• Decameron Resort: this is a Pacific-side beach resort about an hour and half's drive west (i.e. up the isthmus towards North America) from Panama City. If you're spending any time in Panama, do go to the beach! Remember, this is an isthmus with beachfront on both the Caribbean and the Pacific. I can't find anything wrong with that scenario.

Decameron is decent, if resorty. The rooms are tile-floored and very clean; the restaurants aren't any good, but the food is abundant, self-serve, and included in the price; the beaches are spectacular, very clean, very comfortable, and not at all crowded (by my Californian estimation; my Panamanian cousin found the place very crowded.) There are: palm-frond shade structures on the high-tide line every few feet or so, with lounge chairs; a swimming pool that runs the length of the 2K-long beach, which draws off the kiddies and parents, leaving the beach to the less shrieky patrons; bars every 500 feet serving fruity drinks (also included in the price); a beach massage cabana; plus horseback-riding, jet-skiing, sailing, etc. etc. etc.

Did I mention that because of low season (it's rainy season so we got a storm every afternoon) we paid $110 per night, everything included (except the activities)? Insane. This is really relaxing and very silly, but so worth it if you need a vacay.

• Panama Viejo: the ruins of the old Spanish city. I didn't go with my family so I didn't get the run-down on what's what here. If you like ruins, these are majestic. But go with a tour guide, because otherwise, you'll go, look, and then want to go home again.

• Casco Viejo: not to be confused with Panama Viejo, this is the old town, not ruins, still functional. Apparently, it looks like Havana, and is the part that's being heavily, outrageously reconditioned and gentrified. Naturally, the streets are a warren and it's hard to find your way around, but there are a lot of sights here, so take a day or two for this part of town. And bring your camera.
  
  • The Presidential Palace is here, administrative center and intended residence of the president ('though the sitting prez doesn't live here). We got to tour because my cousin knows someone, but most people don't get to. It's pretty cool, if you get a chance, and if you don't, swing by anyway to stick your head in the gate. The place is called the Heron Palace--because of a couple of historical herons given as gifts--and it's guarded, they tell us though I'm not sure if they're there as guards or decoration, by a couple of humongous, live grey herons. Worth seeing but don't poke at them. They peck.
  • Cultural Institute is the government agency for managing museums and such. They have a small gallery of Panamanian art in a repurposed jailhouse, but it was between exhibitions when we swung by, so we didn't get to see it.
  •  There's shaved ice in the courtyard in front of the Cultural Institute. Get the limon flavor with condensed milk and malt. Yummy!
  • The State Theater is here and I wasn't terribly impressed. It's loudly decorated, like all state theaters. If you get a chance to see a performance here, though, go. Apparently, they do folk art performances and such. In fact, we saw part of a rehearsal of one here.
  • Church of the Golden Altar. Big tourist destination. As with everything, only go if you have a tour guide who can really explain what you're looking at. We didn't so all I did was take some pictures of an ornate altar that meant little to me.
  • Museum of the Inter-oceanic Canal is a terrific museum. You'll need two hours here at least. However, it's all in Spanish so if you don't speak it, and you don't have enough Latin, French, and native intelligence to figure stuff out, bring a tour guide or leave it alone. This is probably the closest Panama has to a museum of history.
  • I couldn't find the Museum of Religious Art! Most people simply didn't know where it was, and the directions I got from people who supposedly did, were bad. If you really want to see this, ask a proper tour guide.
  • Shopping: there are curio and crafts shops here. These are a bit more upscale than elsewhere, and more expensive, but you can still bargain, and if you want really good quality stuff, go here. I'm really glad I did because this was the only area I was able to find the really beautiful baskets, the high-quality version of the cheap-ass baskets you see everywhere and say to yourself, "Why would anyone buy stuff like that?"
  • Eating: there are a lot of restaurants around here to have lunch, catering to visitors. It's easy to find something decent to eat here so plan on having lunch.

• Mi Pueblito: this is a weird sort of amusement park, where an early 20th Century Afro-antillean village is simulated. It was open today, but just barely. I don't know if there are normally supposed to be people wandering around acting like villagers, but it was deserted today. I got there just in time for it to rain like crazy, trapping me in one of the buildings. There are crafts shops there, but nothing very good. I also only went to part of it. I couldn't make it across the street in the rain to the other part. Not recommended, unless you can find out that there's more to the experience than this. Maybe don't go on a Monday afternoon during rainy season.
  

• Mercado de Buhonerias Y Artesanias: this place is a warren of small kiosks selling traditional crafts and souvenirs. These are the cheap versions, so don't expect very high quality stuff. But this is where you buy gifts for friends. I'd recommend you buy the molas here, the colorful cloth patterns sewn out of several layers of cotton, leather sandals, framed butterflies (if you like that sort of thing) and shirts and purses. There are also a lot of really cheap and tacky souvenir-type stuff, if you like that.

Come prepared to bargain. This stuff isn't worth much so decide what you want to pay for it and work up to that. Don't budge off of your price. If you do your job right, they'll get more than the stuff is worth and you'll pay less than you expected to. Everybody wins. Maybe bring along a native to bargain for you, if you can.

This a somewhat sketchy area, so take a taxi and have the taxi wait for you while you're there. Give yourself an hour or two and don't go on a Sunday, since most of the kiosks are closed then. Also, don't bring a wallet and be sure any purses or bags you bring have nothing valuable in them. Bring your cash in a pocket that buttons or put it in your jeans hip pocket where you can keep track of it. This place is close and crowded and full of pick-pockets, although, again, if you go on a Sunday, you'll be unmolested.

• Diablo Rosso: a hipster contemporary art gallery, cafe, and DIY clothing 'n' stuff shop. I posted about it here. If you want to connect to the young and cosmo, this might be the place to do it. In the San Francisco neighborhood.

• Calle Uruguay: my young cousin took me there during the day when there was nothing going on, but this is the nightlife capital. Along two or three square blocks there are more nightclubs than you can shake a booty at. I didn't go there the night my cousins went out (too tired), but you can find live and canned music. Just get in a taxi and tell them where you want to go. They all know it.

• Gaucho's: also on Calle Uruguay, it's the only really good restaurant I ate at in Panama City. Argentinian cuisine, fantastic steaks and very good Panamanian ceviche. A little pricey, but worth it.

• Radisson Decapolis Spa: apparently the only good spa in the city. I'm going for a massage with my cousin today. I'll report back later. ETA: fabulous. It's small, but really nice and relaxing. Get the deep tissue massage, though, because I got the "relaxing" Swedish and it was, well, relaxing, but they didn't dig into the knots. Give yourself a package deal (around $130 for a massage and facial or wrap, which includes sauna, steam room, whirlpool) and bring a bathing suit so you can go outside to the pool afterwards (inside is nekkid).
  

• Amador Causeway: a causeway built to connect several small islands out in Panama Bay and to serve as a breakwater at the head of the Canal so that the Canal opening doesn't ever need to be dredged. There's a restaurant out there called Mi Ranchito, which isn't fantastic, but has the best view, ever. Do lunch there. Then, in future years, you can visit the Frank Gehry-designed Museum of Biodiversity, which is still under construction right now. Also a good place to take a walk ... early in the morning or late at night.

• Partial Transit of the Panama Canal: this trip takes most of the day and I'd really only recommend it for people who are fascinated by the canal, and/or who have really fun company to go with. You take a bus from the causeway about 40 minutes up to a launch, ride down the canal through the Pedro Miguel lock, Lake Gatun, and the Miraflores Locks, and then finish up back where you started on the causeway. It's expensive (about $100), and rather boring, and very crowded. There's a lot of waiting around--waiting for the bus to take off, waiting for the boat to take off, waiting at the locks--and a lot of the canal is not very interesting to look at: just an unbroken wall of jungle. Also, the locks are much more interesting to observe from land, except for the going up and down inside the locks part. You get on the bus at 9 or 9:30 and get back to the causeway around 3:30.

If you don't want to do this--and I wouldn't recommend it to most people--I'd definitely recommend driving to the Miraflores Locks on land, and spending half a day there. There's a good, and comprehensive, museum at the locks in English and Spanish, where you can easily kill an hour or two. There's also a restaurant there that overlooks one set of locks, and you can get great pictures and video of the way the locks work and the ships that go through them. I'd recommend going in the morning, viewing the museum, having lunch there, and then taking your pics of the locks. This is really all you need of the canal.

If you really want to get on the canal, I'd recommend getting a group of people together--through a travel agent, maybe?--and renting a private trip through the canal with a tour guide, if possible.

• Canal Zone: again, get a tour guide or a taxi driver and drive up to the canal zone area near the city. Not a lot of USians have been to an actual US colony, so here's your chance (assuming you aren't so politically situated that you think the entire country is a US colony. There's an argument to be made for that). I was surprised how much the place looked like the Presidio in San Francisco, although I suppose I shouldn't have been. You don't need to spend much time there, just drive through and get a glimpse of what US imperialism looks like. There's also a school there where some Panamanian students staged a protest in 1964, insisting on raising a Panamanian flag alongside the US flag. They started a riot that lasted several days and spread throughout the Zone, and four people were killed, but it was a milestone along the way to true Panamanian self-determination.

• Day Trips: talk to travel agents and tour guides about these. I didn't do any day trips but there's a rainforest about 45 minutes away where you can fly through the canopy and see monkeys and toucans. There's also an Indian tribe on the Chagres River you can canoe to who show you around their village.

My Entertainment Blog!

Well, I was all excited about getting into atlas(t) again, and then, boom, I stopped.

Why?

Well, I got a gig writing a daily entertainment blog, and I'm really enjoying it. It's called "EnterBrainment" and is my usual long-winded and heady treatment of various subjects, except this time, I'm dealing with pop trash.

I gotta say, I never realized it, but I was just looking for an excuse to grapple with this matter.

In any case, the blog is a featured A & E blog on a new blogging website called PNN or Personal News Network. The software innovation here is that the blogs can be laid out like newspapers, and the blogger can pursue multiple topic tracks at once. I haven't, frankly, seen anything else like it and, although it has its limitations, it also allows a kind blogging that is more difficult using traditional blogging software.

In any case, for the time being, EnterBrainment is going to be taking up a lot of my blogging energy and I'm afraid atlas(t) will suffer for it. I'm going to try to work this out--maybe I'll work on  atlas(t) on the weekends or something--but in the meantime, please go check out the new blog and let me know what you think.

week-long hiatus

yes, atlas(t) is definitely back.

I quit my job at the end of March and have been freelancing ever since, thus the sudden renewed energy and interest in blogging (funny how getting your brain sucked out your ear working 9 to 5 as a database administrator doesn't conduce to inquisitiveness or creativity.) In fact, I'm being paid for blogging now (not this), and might unveil my very own paid blog soon. We'll see.

In any case, I'm going to a convention this week/weekend and will be taking a brief hiatus. And yes, I'm still reading Jane Jacobs at the rate of about one chapter per week. I plan on finishing that damned book on the plane and getting started on the next one, which I may blog about from my hotel room ... or not. We'll see.

Back in a week or two.

views from distances

the internet doesn't have everything.

I'm working on my novel right now and trying to figure out how much detail of someone else's actions a character with 20/20 eyesight could see at the distance of a quarter mile.

So I went online to see if any random genius had posted photographs of what things look like at various distances: 100 feet, 100 yards, a mile, etc.

Couldn't find anything like that.

Does anyone know of such a resource ... or would anyone like to create such a resource? ;) Seems like a good project for a student studying landscape, land use or surveying.

Just a suggestions.

Cross-posted at seelight.

atlas(t): the galleon trade edition

yes, darlings and darlingettes! Our precious atlas(t) is all growed up! S/he is now popping out puppies!

If that's too cryptic, what I mean to say is that the long bloglessness is finally over. I'm going to half time at my job in July and will celebrate that fact by going on vacation in the Philippines.

But it's not just any vacation in the Philippines. I will be traveling with a group of fartists involved in the project Galleon Trade, an international artists exchange along the route of the old Spanish galleon trade: Philippines, California, and Mexico. July/August 2007 Bay Area artists will be showing work at three galleries in Manila. In 2008 Filipino and Mexican artists will be showing work at the Luggage Store gallery in San Francisco. And then in 2008/9 Cali and Philippine artists will go to Mexico.

It just sounds like a project, doesn't it? Oh, but, my dears, think of the urbanness, the cityscapes and infrastructures, the books, ideas, histories and arts that will pass before my eyes as I travel along. Think of the atlas(t)iness. Yeah, I thought of it too. And got very excited. So excited, in fact, that I wanted to redesign atlas(t) specifically for this occasion. Such things have been done before.

But then I thought: no, it is wrong. atlas(t) is s/heself and must not be tampered with (much). So instead, atlas(t) had a baby blog, atlas(t): the galleon trade edition, which will be the atlas(t) of choice for the duration.

What does this mean, gentle reader? I'm not sure yet. I do know that, for a while, I will be spending all my time bringing up baby. All my atlas(t)ian insight will be filtered through galleon-shaped frames. But as time moves on, I suspect I'll have things to say and do that are clearly shiplike and things that aren't. And perhaps I'll be sorting posts into atlas(t) proper and atlas(t): galleon days. Who knows?

I hope this new project sounds interesting to you and that you'll transfer your attention over there. Here's the link again.

See ya on the dark side. The shizzle begins after June 30.

Octavia E. Butler Memorial Scholarship Fundraiser

I know this isn't mappy, but this is one of the reasons I've been a little too preoccupied to post lately.

Come shake off the winter blues and get inspired this Sunday with a terrific reading event supporting a great cause! I'm co-organizing this with Charlie Anders and it's gonna be a great time. Check it out.

The Carl Brandon Society presents an

Octavia E. Butler Memorial Scholarship Fundraiser

with readings by

Nalo Hopkinson
Jewelle Gomez
Susie Bright
Marta Acosta
Jennifer de Guzman
and
Guillermo Gomez-Peña

A fundraiser reading to benefit the Octavia E. Butler Memorial Scholarship.
Fabulous fabulists honor one of our great writers and raise funds for the next generation.

Sunday, March 4, 5 - 7 pm

The Starry Plough
3101 Shattuck Avenue
Berkeley, CA.
510-841-2082
http://www.starryploughpub.com/

$5-20 sliding scale.

The Octavia E. Butler Memorial Scholarship will enable writers of color to attend one of the Clarion writing workshops, where Octavia got her start. It is meant to cement Octavia's legacy by providing the same experience/opportunity that Octavia had to future generations of new writers of color. In addition to her stint as a student at the original Clarion Writers Workshop in Pennsylvania in 1970, Octavia taught several times for Clarion West in Seattle, Washington, and Clarion in East Lansing, Michigan, giving generously of her time to a cause she believed in.

oakland

you know you're no longer in San Francisco when ...

... there's a Taco Bell right on the corner. I don't know why this of all things should be what lets me into Oakland, but it was a huge moment. I was moving, and hungry, and had no food, and walked to the corner to see if there was a grocery or something, and there was a Taco Smell. Good Lord, I thought, I've re-entered America!

It's more about realizing what an experiment--and a privileged space--San Francisco is. It takes money, and urban planning education, and leisure time to nimbyfy, to turn fast, cheap food away at the door.

More on my new home later.

urban exploration, privacy, and privilege

Photo and caption from "Infiltration" site, from a hospital invasion.

through a link on placekraft about neogeography, I came to this urban exploration website.

Urban exploration is the increasingly popular practice of trespassing on limited access urban spaces and exploring them for the exploration's own sake. The practice often involves documenting the foray and displaying the documentation in some public manner, akin to a trophy display. This can be further subdivided into a variety of explorations of abandoned or public sites, as well as trespassing on "active" sites, or buildings still in use, which is known as "infiltration."

The abovementioned site is called "Infiltration," thereby declaring it a site for trespasses on buildings in use. The site's "ethics" rubrik contains this essay called No Disclaimer, in which the author explains why you should "do this at home" and feel free to trespass ... as long as you aren't actively harming anything.

(Note: my emphases):

I don't think there is anything wrong with urban exploration, at least not the type described here and on 95 percent of the other sites on the Internet, and I can't pretend I do. Genuine urban explorers never vandalize, steal or damage anything — we don't even litter. We're in it for the thrill of discovery and a few nice pictures, and probably have more respect for and appreciation of our cities' hidden spaces than most of the people who think we're naughty.

... While it's true that some aspects of the hobby happen to be illegal, it's important not to confuse the words "illegal" and "immoral". Laws against trespassing are like laws against being out after curfew: people get into trouble not for actually doing anything harmful, but simply because the powers that be are worried that they might.

... I find it sad that most people go through life oblivious to the countless — free — wonders around them. ... Urban explorers strive to actually earn their experiences, by making discoveries that allow them to get in on the secret workings of cities and structures, and to appreciate fantastic, obscure spaces that might otherwise go completely neglected.

When you step away from the TV and think about it, humans are naturally curious creatures. We can't help but want to see the world around us; we're designed to explore and to play, and these instincts haven't disappeared just because most of us now live in large cities.

First, my caveat: I am a person whose gender, race, physical appearance, and a number of other unusual characteristics and circumstances, when they become apparent, nearly always confound, confuse and bewilder "normal" people. As a result, when people see me and/or encounter those aspects of me which are confounding to them, they lose their manners and freely invade my personal space: both the physical space that is culturally mine, and the psychological privacy that in our culture is mine to patrol.

What I'm saying is: I acknowledge that I'm hypersensitive to invasions of privacy.

That said, I do think that issues of privacy are not merely issues of property, labor, and who owns society on a left wing/right wing level. These are also issues that speak directly to racial, class-based, gender-based, and first world/third world privilege flow. This disclaimerlessness, this non-disclaim, is actually a claim. It's a claim on a privilege that most people simply don't have.

What I'm saying is: invasion of privacy is a white, middle+ class, male, first world privilege.

(Yeah, I'm throwing out all the hot button words. If you can't stand the heat, getcher head out of the oven.)

This disclaimer basically states that private space should be made public to those who "earn" it. "Earning" the freedom of the space, however, is not a process of applying to the owners of the space for access or contributing to the purposes of the space by working in or on it. It is, rather, a process of stealth invasion in which "nothing" is harmed, no visible trace of the invasion is left, and the invader doesn't get caught. Basically, access to the space is "earned" by simply deciding that one wants access to the space and then taking it.

Why is this a problem? Well, apply this principle to private real estate: say ... your apartment. If some urban explorer saw something interesting about your apartment building and had to break into your apartment to see it, would it be a problem then?

Take it even farther and apply it to someone's person ... make it a man's person. If there was something about your body or appearance that fascinated an urban explorer, something about your shirt or the way you did your hair that would "allow them to get in on the secret workings of cities and structures, and to appreciate fantastic, obscure spaces that might otherwise go completely neglected," then would it be okay for them to touch your hair or put a hand inside your shirt without your permission to explore that space?

How about if they could do it without getting caught?

Yes, yes, I know, we're not talking about individual residences or people here. We're talking about corporativized spaces. And I'm not the sort of person who mourns when a corporation's legal rights appear to be abrogated. But neither am I the one to assume that simply because we're talking about a corporate body---a business or for-profit concern---it is automatically evil and has lost all moral rights. Many or even most of the urban spaces so invaded are owned by companies or corporative concerns, and are used commercially and/or industrially. This does not mean that the privacy invaded is nonexistent or morally suspect.

And I am not knee-jerk about authority the way this "Infiltrator" is. Automatically assuming that authority exists to be flouted is juvenile, and not in a good way. There are culture jammers (like the Billboard Liberation Front) and pranksters (like the Biotic Baking Brigade) and secret space uncoverers (like Trevor Paglen, about whom more later), who do silly, or dangerous, or illegal things, who flout authority specifically to aid a democratic society in limiting the abuses and extent of that authority.

That's not what's happening here. In this "urban exploration" world, the politics serves the pranks of the individual (and that just barely), not the reverse. This is about an extended, urban tantrum against authority, a long thumb of the nose at Daddy, for saying "no."

This particular invader ("infiltrator" as he puts it) trespasses on both abandoned and "live" sites, including hotels, hospitals, and office spaces. I have no problem with abandoned sites; if you wanna risk a fall---or more likely, tetanus---I'll be happy to watch you Darwin Award yourself out of the gene pool. But live sites, especially offices, hospitals, and hotels, are off limits for a reason.

I mean Jesus, what kind of asshole sneaks around a building where sick and hurt people go to be healed, for the sake of flouting authority? Access to hospitals is restricted because: 1) they can't have extra people underfoot when rushing around trying to save lives; 2) there are communicable diseases floating around, asshole; 3) people are trying to sleep; 4) sick and hurt people don't want strangers around with no business there looking at them and their things and their families and they have a right to their privacy; 5) there's tons of expensive, fragile equipment lying around that even the most "respectful" invader could accidentally damage; 6) there are tons of coveted drugs lying around that they have to protect from less innocuous invaders; 7) there are people in the hospital (often) who have been deliberately injured by someone else and have to be protected from further injury; 8) there are tons of sensitive medical records around that a whole variety of assholes might try to access and take advantage of and patients have a right to privacy; 9) etc.

Basically, there are a lot of reasons hospitals have to defend themselves, as a corporate body, from invasions by strangers who have no real business there. Invasions by urban explorers simply endanger hospital security and property, and increase the traffic that must be monitored, thereby increasing the danger of more harmful invasions.

Similar thing with hotels and offices. They are places where people, respectively, sleep and work. To make a crude point about it, they are places where women sleep and work, and where they expect to be safe doing so. (This is not to deny that men expect to be safe in hotels and offices as well.) These spaces must be patrolled and kept secure so that the people who use them can be (and not just feel) secure. Again, "innocuous" but pointless invasions endanger security and increase the traffic that must be monitored.

In addition, there's a severe racial and class advantage being taken here. In "Infiltrator's" description of how to sneak into hotel pools, he (I assume for obvious reasons that he's a he) speaks directly about how to handle hotel employees:

Hotel employees are a lot like bears: though they'll certainly attack you if you act scared or run from them, under normal circumstances they would really prefer to avoid a confrontation altogether. They know all too well that any sort of conflict with a hotel guest could result in serious punishment, so they're as scared of you as you are of them. ... Don't let hotel employees get away with weakly implying suspicion — force them to directly accuse you, and thereby risk their jobs, if they really want a confrontation.

Once inside a recreation area, if any attendants seem to be gazing your way, head straight up to them and ask where you should get changed, where you can find the towels, or some similarly direct question. This conveys confidence, and also obviates the need for the attendant to ask if they can help you or to inquire whether or not you are a guest of the hotel.

To protect his juvenile invasion, this "infiltrator" basically threatens hotel employees with job-threatening confrontations if they should challenge his right to be there. What he doesn't say is that:

1. his carefree invasion doesn't just risk legal repercussions to himself, but also serious economic repercussions to the hotel employees. If he gets caught the hotel may or may not press charges, but the employee who failed to stop him from coming in risks not just being fired, but getting no recommendation for further employment, or possibly being blackballed. Needless to say, the hotel employees who are "like bears," are mostly working class and often, or mostly, people of color and/or immigrants. The better educated and usually more white employees displayed at the front desks and concierge desks are generally avoided by invaders. Naturally, the employees whose jobs he is risking weren't asked beforehand for their consent to being put at risk.
2. he is taking advantage not merely of the employee's disinclination to confront what might be a customer, but also of the class and often racial differences between himself and the employee. Presumably by "social engineering" the "infiltrator" means that he can at least pass for, if he isn't already, a white middle or upper-middle class hotel guest. Just by making a fuss, someone who looks the part can get the benefit of the doubt while the lower class, lower race hotel employee, wearing the uniform of a server, automatically takes the blame.

It's ironic that this invader uses the language of egalitarianism to take advantage of his class and probably racial status. His fun is had at the expense of those of lower socioeconomic status; and his fun is enabled by his ability to appear to be of a higher socioeconomic status. Can you find a more succinct definition of privilege?

In addition to this is a set of assumptions that shout privilege, if not truth or thoughtfulness.

The fact that he thinks that he "probably [has] more respect for and appreciation of our cities' hidden spaces than most of the people who think we're naughty" assumes that the people who think he's naughty don't explore urban areas in less invasive ways, and don't think about cities' hidden spaces. In fact we do; in fact, this is almost the definition of an urban dweller: someone who seeks out and lives in spaces hidden by a city's surfaces. This is why urban cultures are so layered and fraught with subcultures. Just because there are hidden subcultures one doesn't have to break the law to access doesn't mean that these are less worth exploring.

His assumption that he and his compadres are more appreciative and that "most people go through life oblivious to the countless — free — wonders around them," is insulting and thoughtless and, frankly, a white, educated, middle+ class thing. How does he know that nobody but he and his friends is enjoying the wonders of city life around them? How does he know that the housepainter on 15th St. isn't pausing, two stories off the ground, on Tuesday, transfixed by the way the construction site on Guerrero is making a strange double echo out of a Fifty Cent record blasted briefly out of a car?

How does he know that the corner storekeeper doesn't see sparkles of glass embedded in the sidewalk outside his store at dusk, and think for a moment about how when the housing project was torn down, the concrete and glass of it was ground up into a pile of sand which was then carted off to be turned back into cement to be used for the new development; and then wonders if some of that debris made it into his sidewalk?

How does he know that the kids playing ball after school around traffic don't enjoy the way the ball "pocks" differently against different surfaces; or that a cleaning lady, on her way from one house to the next, doesn't see a hummingbird and stop for five minutes, watching it, wondering where it's finding sweet enough nectar to keep it fed; or that the neighborhood dogwalker watches the dogs rooting around in the imported soil at the base of a tree and thinks about how far down, and how many underground levels lie between her and the real ground?

How does he know what people are or are not thinking, enjoying, appreciating, noticing, exploring? It is the distinguishing characteristic of his (and my) socioeconomic class that we are those who keep record of these speculations, enjoyments, and explorations ... not that we are the only ones who have them.

Asshole.

And while I agree that "it's important not to confuse the words 'illegal' and 'immoral'," more often than not, laws are enacted not to apply a moral principle, but to protect persons and property from very specific harms. Laws against trespassing are not at all "like laws against being out after curfew," especially if you consider that the author of this thoughtless piece of drivel was probably only thinking about North American urban curfews directed against teens and not, say, the curfews imposed by military regimes under martial law, or the curfews imposed to counteract a rioting population. Those curfews are literally repressive measures taken to repress the kinds of violent and surreptitious (if just) actions that rebels and insurgents tend to take under cover of darkness.

And his assertion that "people get into trouble not for actually doing anything harmful, but simply because the powers that be are worried that they might" assumes that invading someone's private space isn't, in itself, harmful. I rather think it is. It is less so when you are talking about a business space as opposed to a residential space; a more public private space as opposed to an absolutely private space. Nevertheless, any restricted access space offers its inhabitants a certain amount and type of privacy which is violated when that space is invaded. It doesn't matter what the invader does.

Ask anyone whose house has been broken into what they mind more: the sense of being violated or the objects that were stolen. They will all say the sense of violation. They were violated and they weren't even present at the time. Only someone who is privileged with large amounts of inviolable space can possibly miss this connection.

People who live cheek-by-jowl with others understand the delicate nature of privacy. People who have little personal space, or whose presence in a country is always contested, or whose bodies and labor aren't necessarily considered theirs to do with as they please, understand how small and liminal personal space and privacy can be. The more invasive the privileged are, the smaller their plots of real estate become, and the more important it becomes to protect these from invasion and violation.

These private spaces are a far cry from the public commercial and industrial spaces being invaded here. But one essential thing does connect them and that is the thoughtless privilege with which urban explorers assume they have the right to invade at will. That "humans are naturally curious creatures" is true, but were we really "designed to explore and to play"? Isn't it really that the more wealth and education and free time your class affords you, the longer you can remain in the playfulness of infancy? Isn't it really simply that you have too much leisure time on your hands and you choose to spend that time sticking it to the man in a selfish manner, rather than, you know, resting up from work or spending quality time with the family you aren't ready to have yet?

If these overgrown children want to play silly buggers, I'm not going to waste any effort trying to stop them. But let's be clear: the whole enterprise is a disgusting display of decadence, yes, decadence, as in decay, as in decay of respect for others, decay of critical faculties, decay of the understanding of worthwhile endeavor. Exploring your city? Great. Understanding its underlying structures? Doubleplusgreat. Invading spaces other people are using just for the hell of it? You're an asshole.

writing and other distractions from blogging

so sorry for the disappeary!

I know I keep doing it, but my life is in flux and I cain't get regular (and no, I'm not talking about my bowel movements!) Well, maybe I am talking about bowel movements of a sort, because, you see, I've started a new novel.

I'd been wanting to do National Novel Writing Month, which is in November, for years, but never managed. In fact, I'm not really doing it now, because you have to start on Nov. 1 and register and everything, and I didn't get it together in time. However, I thought, why not just do an Individual Novel Writing Month? Which means: I write a novel in a month, by hacking out (and I do mean "hack") 1500 to 2000 words a day for thirty days (for a total of 50,000 words, which in itself constitutes novel length.)

So as not to shoot myself in the foot, I chose a Young Adult fantasy novel idea to pursue in my crazy month's pursuit of publishy goodness. Being a YA fantasy, it involves a hero's journey, which is manifested in a literal journey across the fantasy landscape. Today is my fourth day writing (I already have ten thousand words and am on Chapter Four), and I'm already getting confused as to where we are, and whether we are traveling east or west ... or what.

So I drew myself a map (above). Yay! My first map! This will not be the definitive map. This is just by way of notetaking so that I can keep track of my landscape. Ain't it cool? No?

In other news, I have several posts coming up (they've been coming up for awhile) whenever I can find the time away from my 2000 words a day:

1. a review of Trevor Paglen and A.C. Thompson's Torture Taxi
2. a further omnibus posting about the class hierarchy of transit vehicle types
3. a final omnibus posting about how I was attacked on MUNI (yes! again!)

Don't hold your breath, though.

omnibus indeed

so, I had an interesting ... eggsperience ... with San Francisco's infamous MUNI bus system last week, and I'm here to tell you aaaaaaall about it.

So I get onto the 14 Mission at 9th Street (bus number 7049, approx 9:15 pm). The driver, in some kind of hurry, waves us aboard, not caring whether we show our cards or not. I'm still putting my wallet back into my purse, halfway down the aisle, when the driver peels out, way too fast, and then slams on the brakes to avoid hitting someone.

Now, I have MUNI-legs. I've been surfing these badly-driven buses for eight years now (look, Ma! No hands!) and I can do both ac- and decleration. I can also gauge when I'm about to fall and grab hold of a pole in time. In eight years of at least twice daily bus rides on about half of the lines in the city, including the infamous 14 and 22 lines, I've never once fallen, though I've seen accidents almost weekly.

I can't, however, keep my feet when the bus is jerked forward and then immediately back about two feet. I feel my body approaching that event horizon, you know, where balance is no longer an option and I have to grab onto the nearest pole ... and then I wave at that moment as it passes, and I shoot on toward the lip of a fall. My back is to the driver, my back is to the forward direction, and I feel my shoulders broaden as my inner chest tries to exit out the back of my spine. Then I'm full length on the floor, hard.

As soon as I'm able to sit up, I half-turn and yell "Asshole!" over my shoulder at the driver. Apparently, he takes exception to this, but I can't hear because I'm wearing headphones, and INXS' "Falling Down A Mountain" (no shit) is obscuring dialogue. I'm shaken and can't find my hands (or my feet). While I scramble up and find a seat, he parks the bus across two lanes and comes back, apparently to yell at me.

This is too much for a few of my fellow passengers. Two women immediately take up my cause. One in particular---tall and broad and just tired enough to need to dissipate the remains of the day's nervous energy in a public fight---stands up, the better to yell at the driver. I don't know if he's on drugs or overtired or what, but it takes a while for the fact to penetrate that he has made me fall. They pound on him verbally, my standing champion, and her handmaiden, like softening a steak before grilling. The meat finally gives.

He doesn't apologize, but the aggressive tone softens out of his voice and he asks me if I'm okay. I've turned off my iPod. I'm reluctant to answer, but have to confirm that, except for a sore ass, I'll probably be fine. He returns to his seat and starts the bus again, wisely dropping his threat to throw the more vocal of my champions off the bus. I, in turn, thank her and tell her not to get thrown off the bus for my sake.

It isn't about me, she says, which fact she affirms by keeping up a running, angry patter against the bus driver through the dregs of SOMA and all the way to Mission/16th St. BART station. At one point, another woman, seated in the front, joins the assault against the bus driver (a short, Latino-looking guy), by saying that it is racism. She doesn't specify what is racism ... something about a Latino bus driver knocking a hapa woman on her ass to the consternation of African American women is racist.

Whenever anything happens on the 14, race-as-an-issue is tried. The 14, however, is so omnibus that---in the welter of every combination of race, multirace, ethnicity, gender, age, class, exhaustion level, number of kids you have under your care, number of shopping bags you're carrying, and amount of change in your pocket that day, not to mention whether or not the coin-drop is working---it's hard to ride what's-my-oppression to any definitive standstill. My most vocal champion immediately corrects her: it isn't racism at all, it's just plain ignorance and she bets the driver hasn't even finished high school, if he's gone at all. Ignorant!

Some time is spent telling each other what the bus number is, and some more time soliciting paper and pens to write the bus number down from various members of the anti-bus-driver conclave, which now includes a Latino guy sitting next to my most vocal champion, whose uncle works for MUNI, and, shortly thereafter, an elderly African American man in a wheelchair, who gets on after the incident, has no idea what's going on but is ready to join any fight so long as there is one, and immediately begins to insist that "we have to stop this bus, now," although he can't seem to tell my most vocal champion why exactly. Then some more time is spent yelling at the bus driver that he is going to lose his job, at which he loses his temper again and begins trading blunt barbs with my most vocal champion.

When our driver finally steps over the line and calls my champion a "bitch", you can almost taste the triumph in the air. The word "bitch" is like a release, as if he has just anointed the argument; it lubricates everyone's tongues, lubricates the space between hands and gloves, so the latter are able to slip off. He realizes his mistake but, bantam cock that he is, won't back down. He slows the bus and threatens not to go on.

My champion, who's kept her physical place throughout, then moves to the front of the bus, the better to abuse him to his face. She allows herself to insult his mother. A young man sitting next to me, who wasn't truly following the dynamic, grumbles to himself, loud enough for me to hear, but not loud enough for my champions to hear, that there are other people on the bus. He has no point to make, really; he is not prepared to take on my now unstoppably angry champion. He is rightfully and roundly ignored.

When we arrive at the Mission/16th St. BART station, she seems almost sorry that she has to get off. If the quickly wising up bus driver had offered her any more flak, she probably would have stayed on until we hit the Mission/24th St. BART station. As it is, she stands at the door, preventing the crush of transfer riders from getting on until she has finished threatening his job and his manhood. After she leaves, dissent falls apart.

My second champion finally turns to me as if to deny that none of this is actually about me and recommends that I call MUNI that night. I assure her I will (I didn't, I emailed them the next day.) Then we spend some time telling each other and everyone who asks: 1) what had happened, 2) that if it had happened to my second champion, she would not have gotten up, her leg was that bad, and 3) if it had been an elder, they would have---must have---broken a hip and where would MUNI be then? Sued, that's where!

A young man standing above me explains that young people fall on the bus all the time because of their cell phones and also when it rains and is slippery. This is not really apropos of anything, it's simply all he has to contribute to the conversation. I agree with him, carefully. At Mission/24th St. wheelchair man and my second champion get off, relieving the bus of all of my backup, and smoothing over the ruffled surface of the water. I start up my iPod again and the rest of the ride is as usual: me in my bubble, right butt-cheek still smarting, everyone else in theirs.

Hmmm ...

And the moral is: all you need to bring people together is a common enemy.

Or: all you need is hate.

And my personal moral is: there are alphas out there who can top me, especially when I'm injured. --Uh, I mean ...