I don’t think you can write about something unless at the moment. The instant breathes. I sit in seat 30F on a flight from chicago to milan that connects I at jfk in nyc. I switched my seat to be able to press my child eyes against the window. The airplane’s windows are small but I can see the world. The bursting, gorgeous white clouds. And now new york crowded onto a point. I cannot see the twin towers. The clouds race across the sky as ocean waves or dashing armies. The neighborhoods surrounding nyc are geometrical. An ocean of clouds stretches further than my eyes can see. The bitchy stewardess forced me to turn off my cell phone, but she cannot stop me from dreaming my body out the window and writing later…We dip into the foam cloud bath. We dance in the clouds. They must be from God. I wonder what da vinci or shakespeare would write of flying if we could instantly transport them to seat 30F. None of their physical experiences were as alien to the frail human body as flying in a jumbo silver plane with its line of windows into imagination.

Many hours later…

Every time I see the wing of a plane from inside a plane, I think of that one Twilight Zone episode and worry about the possibility. (Hilariously, it stars William Shatner. I have posted that classic episode at the end. I recall my father introducing me to this episode and I also remembered the monster being a lot scarier than that cuddly warm bear.).

I am flying at dark night over europe. The ground is lit in hazy warm blankets of orange and in pinpoints of orange in others. The whole of the scene pretends to be the constellations and galaxies of the universe. Human constellations, with God’s constellations dangling in clear above the horizon. I spot rare towers of twirling white light on the ground.

A few hours later…

I am flying over the Swiss Alps at dawn. White snow covers them but patches of black break through. The horizon is from top to bottom light blue,yellow, orange, rose, purple, blue. The Alps shouldn’t be real. This can only be God saying good morning. The dawning sun grants pink crowns to the tallest heads of the Swiss. From afar I wonder whether the Alps are God saying to us, “But you can’t do this.”

Nightmare at 20,000 Feet

While on vacation in Florida, I spotted this casket company truck and found its note of caution curiously self-defeating.  Maybe it’s a testament to the strength of the Batesville Casket Company: “Go ahead, take your time.  We can wait.”  Maybe their Florida customer base is so old they figure it wont make much difference.  I’d like to think Batesville Casket Company operates one county over, and they want to promote defensive driving until the enter the local market, then they will paint over “Please Drive Safely” with “Time is Running Out!” or “You Haven’t Got All Day!”

1. David Bowie
2. The Rolling Stones
3. The Sex Pistols
4. The Clash
5. Queen

Honorable mentions: Elvis Costello, the Kinks, Bloc Party, the Who

Anyway, I’ve started up a travel blog, which is located here. It will probably be mostly personal stuff where I post pictures of places I visit in London and around Europe, but if I write something travel-related that a broader audience might be interested in, I’ll cross-post it here. Just a heads up for those interested.

A very crude personal illustration:

I was walking in Central Park with my German friend, when I found myself suffering from a wedgie. I asked him if we could stop a moment so I could pick it. Puzzled, he asked what a wedgie was. My explanation began, “Well, a wedgie is when your underwear gets shoved up your ass—and it usually happens while you are walking.” He paused a moment and then a lightbulb went off: “Oh, you mean, ‘Arsch frisst Hose!’” I then paused a moment, and said, “Yes, yes. ‘Ass eats pants.’” What was really astounding to me was that my whole life I considered the underwear as the “actor” in the wedgie process—the underwear shoves itself up the ass—, whereas my German friend saw the ass as the cause of the wedgie, while the underwear passively shoved by…

Moral of the story: the word “wedgie” is very limiting to explain the phenomenon of underwear being eaten by your ass.

**Shoutout to Billy Joe—who is finally getting his passport stamped for the first time this winter. I’m so happy for you!

]]> http://www.urbanagora.com/2008/11/wedgies-and-words.html/feed 4 http://www.urbanagora.com/2008/10/death-of-a-salesman.html http://www.urbanagora.com/2008/10/death-of-a-salesman.html#comments Wed, 15 Oct 2008 16:31:26 +0000 Brenda Kay http://www.urbanagora.com/?p=1435 Author’s Note: I’ve moved to Vienna, Austria for the year and started a travel blog, omnia vincit amor [also linked on the right side of the page under Brenda Kay]. I’ll be cross-posting quite a bit and here’s my first attempt, some observations about current Austrian politics.

I am so sick of this American election season. Save for a couple weeks in September after the VP announcements, I have basically been disengaged since February. With every passing week I have less affinity for those involved and grow increasingly frustrated with how our system works.

This is why I was so pleased to arrive in Austria when I did, a week and a half before their national elections. An entirely different system, more than two parties from which to choose, and a new cast of national characters to embrace or revile, to admire or disdain

Now news of Austrian politics rarely reaches the shores of America. Archduke Franz Ferdinand aside, on an international scale they have made few waves and produced even fewer memorable figures in the last 100 years. This is why I was surprised when I recognized one of the candidates running for Bundeschancellor, one Joerg Haider.

From my murky recollections of PS 385, I remembered Haider as an infamous far-right figure, drawing equal parts love from his supporters and hate from his critics. A quick glance at his wikipedia entry will suffice to fill you in on his Nazi pedigree, his rise from law school hotshot to internationally sanctioned party leader, and a host of other fascinating tidbits about his life both personal and professional.

Because I had heard of Haider, and because I knew what a controversial figure he struck, I jumped on the chance to see him give a campaign rally in Stephensplatz, the heart of Vienna. As the capital city and metropolitan center of Austria, Vienna leans heavily liberal; thus Haider finds few friends here. So I had the distinct feeling at the rally that many of the people were there to glower rather than cheer.

Still though, there were plenty present whose faces completely lit up when he came on-stage. They clapped and cheered and listened in rapt attention as he laid out his dreams for a better Austria — largely dependent on reduced immigration and the deportation of many newly arrived immigrants. Though my sub-par German listening skills left my mind constantly racing to understand him, at one point I’m almost certain he said something along the lines of [and my friend who attended confirms], “If I could, I would put all the foreigners on a bus right out of Austria.” To which the crowd erupted in applause and adoration. To be completely fair, Haider and his allies aren’t talking about foreigners like myself. They take issue with eastern Europeans like Poles and Czechs, who since the recent European Union accessions may now freely move to Austria. They take equal [but, I was surprised to learn, no greater] issue with Turks and other Muslims. And of course, as a far-right party in Europe, Haider’s crowd quietly but surely harbors great animosity towards Jews.

As I watched Haider and observed the crowd, it was easy to see how this man had managed to convince so many people to believe in him. His charisma was incredible; just the way he would address the crowd, saying “Ladies and gentlemen,” bespoke complete control, absolute confidence, total certainty in self and philosophy. I did not fully understand his words, but I saw in every gesture, every facial expression, the look of a man who knew what he was doing. He breathed out power, and I watched the enticement of the crowd, a people fed-up with paying 50% of their wages in taxes to support people whom they felt did not deserve to even be citizens of their homeland, much less beneficiaries of the extremely generous social system.

In the elections last week Sunday, Haider’s party and the other far-right party together received nearly 30% of the vote. Nearly 1/3 of Austrians voted for the extreme right parties.

Early Saturday morning Joerg Haider died in a car crash, on his way to his mother’s 90th birthday party. As of now, no foul play is suspected. On the news I watched his supporters light candles and weep. “The sun has fallen from the sky,” Haider’s deputy said.

The question now is whether Haider’s death will cue the end of his extreme right-wing populism, or whether his supporters will rally together with ever more strength. I could argue both ways. No doubt Haider was the life force behind his party. Without him it will likely limp on for a few years, then be absorbed into the other far-right party.

However, the rise of far-right parties is a trend across much of Europe right now. As America has slowly shifted to the left the last decade, Europe has quietly shifted the other way. And quietly, quietly, the youth [who voted in great numbers for the far-right] grow up learning precious little about the destruction right-wing extremism once led to.

In Austria, it is illegal to own a copy of “Mein Kampf” or wear a swastika. But schoolchildren learn less about the Holocaust than their American counterparts. So “Never forget” is watered down — only remember you musn’t revere Hitler, you musn’t be a Nazi. And the more important message, indeed one of the most crucial messages anyone can learn, is lost. That you can never allow yourself, not even for a moment, to believe anyone is less of a human being than you are. That the second you see that person as having slightly less value than yourself, or those you love, you’ve taken the first step toward every awful thing humans have ever inflicted on each other. This is a message every generation has to learn for itself, and from my first month here I have no evidence to make me believe this one is learning it.

Berlin is one of the most “bombed” cities in the world. (“Bombed” meaning “covered with graffiti”). Almost every corner of Berlin is tagged—no matter if the neighborhood is rich or poor. The wealthy, posh neighborhood of Mitte is plastered with street art from artists like XOOOOX, while poor, immigrant neighborhoods like Kreuzberg are battle grounds for street gangs and also the preferred canvases of famous international graffiti artists like the Italian artist Blu and the French artist JR.

It was amazing to see so much graffiti in Berlin, especially considering that the prevailing stereotype of Germany is that it is a meticulously clean and orderly country. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the graffiti in Berlin, however, because of the rich history of graffiti on the Berlin Wall. The western side of the Berlin Wall was a gigantic slate for Berlin’s creative counterculture to express themselves for nearly three decades. When the wall fell, the graffiti artists sought new canvases to bomb on sides of buildings, subway seats, street signs, doorways, mailboxes, boats, and almost any other surface you can dream up.

Berlin is an ever-evolving city of culture. Streetscapes, architecture, and fashion are constantly changing. It was truly a pleasure to walk outside my DDR-style apartment building each morning to discover a freshly painted piece of art to ponder for the day.

For more information about Berlin’s street art, check out this New York Times video, the following books, or my online photo album.