another warm, late autumn day in sunny richmond, va. i'm sitting outside on a heavy, black chair watching them wander by, debating for an instant about whether to take the ride. a cyclone of smoke swirls behind me, asking whether or they'll just go in.
there's a woman clad in sneakers, jeans and a white top, pocketbook hugged to her side. a young girl weaves in between what i assume is her mom. there's a struggle for entry - mom has things to do, girl wants to try on new shoes. reluctantly, alleged mom agrees. so we rise from the chairs and head inside, too.
a disclaimer first. i have an 'in' with this store, because one of my best friends is the manager. i plop on the cushions adjacent to the young girl. she's a curious creature, standing high on the tips of her toes to see the slip-on shoe, decorated by sparkles and a pirate cat. it's the one she wants, but alleged mom is crooning over another corner. others circle through the space - a man in his 30s deciding on sneakers or boots, an older woman patiently waiting for her friend to decide if this shoe is the one, etc.
it's the strangest place to see that there's a new romance in the sole of america. yes, i just used the pun. i've never quite noticed the elaborate dance we play with shoes. we're meticulous and plotting - deciphering color, style, matchability, function, trend. we put more effort into what slips over our feet than most decisions in life. because our shoes represent goals, ambitions, priorities. right?
shoes tease us with new designs and value prices. there's a hierarchy - is it a monolo or is it a payless brand? it's a seduction between convincing you this shoe fulfills your needs. and it attaches a price tag to them. these shoes, these wily crafty shoes, create situations to wine and dine you, putting so many on display with informational cards. call it a new type of speed dating.
shoes, in my life, have been these functional beasts. until the day i found a pair of red steve madden shoes that redefined my life. do i have jeans to match? can i find a matching red color belt? i hope people notice them. i've only seen three people with this pair. the nearly maniacal process i went through to decide if i would take these shoes on a life-date became the foundation for every other purchase. and awakened my awareness to doing this with every aspect of my life.
what shoe took you on a date?
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
thoughts on religion.
put a face on the issue.
a simple statement that has been the heart of every civil rights movement in history - racial, political, social, economic, gender, etc.
put a face on the issue.
so how are we going to do that?
to be continued.
a simple statement that has been the heart of every civil rights movement in history - racial, political, social, economic, gender, etc.
put a face on the issue.
so how are we going to do that?
to be continued.
my culture map.
well, it's impossible to read. last week we presented our culture maps to the class. mine took various forms before it landed in this format. uncovering your cultures seems incredibly easy at first. i'm a lot of things, right? but which have meaning and relevance in my life?
i ask because of a few quirks in designing my map. first, i started to peel away the layers to the cultures i claim membership. for instance, i'm a syracuse university alumnus. but that ties me to university culture. but i've been three groups in that culture -- undergraduate student, staff member and alumnus. i've also been part of the culture within the division of student affairs. and i've been an out staff member within that division. do i roll that into one, or does it blow out to the threads of other cultural ties? i'm not quite sure yet.
in my cultural self-exploration, i noticed some confusing descriptions. because of my time in syracuse, i label myself a new yorker. i love the speed, aura and language of the empire state. but don't call me a virginian. i'm a richmonder and, more specifically, and midlothian boy. but labeling myself as a virginian seems out of place. and i'm not quite sure why.
i also left out a part which defined nearly four years of my life in syracuse. strange to leave out being gay. funny that. maybe it's because i hoisted that banner for so long, my dive into my social scene back in richmond has taken me out of the activist role i had before. my attraction and interaction with gay culture, well, isn't quite the same. just a facet of who i am. and, as my priorities switch, one that grows a little more distant with media plan deadlines and rent to pay.
i wonder how this will look in 2008.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
resting in peace.
i began studying cultures, truthfully, in my magic and religion class. i remember sitting in the auditorium talking about rituals tied to death, and how in some cultures death is the final gift in life. it shifts your soul into higher planes, making you revered as an ancestor to the generations that flow from your blood.
and, here, it's entirely different. death feels shameful, at times, in this american culture. it's an unspoken reality of life that we rarely speak of. it's tied to the unpleasantness of planning out our wills - trying to determine how our legacies will thrive and live after we are gone. death fascinates me because of the elaborate way we construct ourselves to exit the earth and the various ways in which we do so.
i guess it's been on my mind since june when my grandmother passed away. i watched how my family fractured over how to handle her passing. my grandpa refused to hold a funeral. she wanted to be cremated, and she didn't want a big fuss about her. which, in hindsight, is how she lived her life. perhaps a huge celebration of life would have embarrassed her. i guess i'll never know. so her ashes were split between the family so we could celebrate her in ways personal to us and reflective of the impact she had in our lives.
for my parents, her death became a signal to their mortality. it started the conversation of how they wanted to leave the world. no fuss, my mom said. bury me in a george strait t-shirt and all my favorite compact discs. 'i need something to listen to.' my dad fell silent. the only time we've talked about him is when he had his triple bypass. which was when wills were reviewed and tentative plans made just in case.
it's funny how we don't plan for the end. or think about how we want to exit the world despite spending hours, weeks and years comprising the life we want for ourselves. or how we dedicate thousands of dollars on clothes, electronics, homes, vacations, etc. we spend, i suppose, so much time grounded in the now that the meat of our legacy becomes one of accumulations, not acts. and, in death, all we have is our legacy - the memories that spin into stories, tales and fables. i wonder what mine will be. and what things will define my memory? what emotions? what stories?
beyond the actual physical death, how do we commemorate the life? do we hold massive funerals that become somber, sad occasions? does the moment morph into a celebration, ripe with song, life and energy? it's all so varied depending on family, religion, ethnicity, impact, planning, on and on and on. every moment, from the initial viewing to the photos, burial, flowers, song choices, and everything in between...tells a story of our culture and, more astutely, the culture of that family. which makes me question how the italian current of my family allowed my grandma to pass away virtually unnoticed. maybe it's a result of my grandpa's marine-discipline to not show emotion that led the charge. i just don't know.
what i do know is that i'm amazed at the lengths we go to keep life alive. my cousin, a victim of a motorcycle accident in 2003, has a cement bench over his resting place. the choice still intrigues me - since this tempts a moment to sit when he was a boy more likely to stay in motion. my grandma rests in a small urn. a family friend rests in a coffin. and my cat sits in a tiny brown box underneath my growing pine tree. i've heard stories of people released into the ocean, ashes turned to diamonds, ashes becoming pencil lead and massive parties to send people off in style. but my newest discovery is around richmond - bumper stickers. in the past week i've encountered two very different bumper stickers remembering two people whose lives i'm suddenly curious about. and i'm incredibly interested about the decisions that led to these bumper stickers. why this?
what do you think?
and, here, it's entirely different. death feels shameful, at times, in this american culture. it's an unspoken reality of life that we rarely speak of. it's tied to the unpleasantness of planning out our wills - trying to determine how our legacies will thrive and live after we are gone. death fascinates me because of the elaborate way we construct ourselves to exit the earth and the various ways in which we do so.
i guess it's been on my mind since june when my grandmother passed away. i watched how my family fractured over how to handle her passing. my grandpa refused to hold a funeral. she wanted to be cremated, and she didn't want a big fuss about her. which, in hindsight, is how she lived her life. perhaps a huge celebration of life would have embarrassed her. i guess i'll never know. so her ashes were split between the family so we could celebrate her in ways personal to us and reflective of the impact she had in our lives.
for my parents, her death became a signal to their mortality. it started the conversation of how they wanted to leave the world. no fuss, my mom said. bury me in a george strait t-shirt and all my favorite compact discs. 'i need something to listen to.' my dad fell silent. the only time we've talked about him is when he had his triple bypass. which was when wills were reviewed and tentative plans made just in case.
it's funny how we don't plan for the end. or think about how we want to exit the world despite spending hours, weeks and years comprising the life we want for ourselves. or how we dedicate thousands of dollars on clothes, electronics, homes, vacations, etc. we spend, i suppose, so much time grounded in the now that the meat of our legacy becomes one of accumulations, not acts. and, in death, all we have is our legacy - the memories that spin into stories, tales and fables. i wonder what mine will be. and what things will define my memory? what emotions? what stories?
beyond the actual physical death, how do we commemorate the life? do we hold massive funerals that become somber, sad occasions? does the moment morph into a celebration, ripe with song, life and energy? it's all so varied depending on family, religion, ethnicity, impact, planning, on and on and on. every moment, from the initial viewing to the photos, burial, flowers, song choices, and everything in between...tells a story of our culture and, more astutely, the culture of that family. which makes me question how the italian current of my family allowed my grandma to pass away virtually unnoticed. maybe it's a result of my grandpa's marine-discipline to not show emotion that led the charge. i just don't know.
what i do know is that i'm amazed at the lengths we go to keep life alive. my cousin, a victim of a motorcycle accident in 2003, has a cement bench over his resting place. the choice still intrigues me - since this tempts a moment to sit when he was a boy more likely to stay in motion. my grandma rests in a small urn. a family friend rests in a coffin. and my cat sits in a tiny brown box underneath my growing pine tree. i've heard stories of people released into the ocean, ashes turned to diamonds, ashes becoming pencil lead and massive parties to send people off in style. but my newest discovery is around richmond - bumper stickers. in the past week i've encountered two very different bumper stickers remembering two people whose lives i'm suddenly curious about. and i'm incredibly interested about the decisions that led to these bumper stickers. why this?
what do you think?
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