American Nomad

The lifetime education tax

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 15:07:00 +0000

To continue my New York Times link binge, I offer this article on student debt, "Placing the Blame as Students are Buried in Debt."

Debt, whether of the mortgage, credit card, or student loan variety, is a dicey issue to consider, if for no other reason that the fact that both parties had to agree to the loan. However, the rising costs of attending college are worth considering, as student loans are nearly impossible to get rid of, even in bankruptcy court, and for their effect on financial decisions later in life.

The subject of the article, Cortney Munna, is down nearly a hundred grand in student loans. That's a significant life setback, especially when it has no bearing on her future earning potential. I will admit, that when I read that her degree was "an interdisciplinary degree in religious and women's studies," my first thought was that was a pretty stupid choice, highly likely to consign her to a lifetime of low earnings. But reflecting further, the reality is that most jobs now require a college degree, but not one that is in any way relevant to the job at hand. It is simply a new benchmark for employment, used to weed people out. And if most office jobs require no special skills beyond what we could term "general competency" then why shouldn't a student study whatever he or she is interested in, given that the likelihood of actually needing degree-specific knowledge is low?

So I'm back to square one, and perhaps the central question: what should be done when the cost of a "good" degree far outstrips the earning potential of occupations that are accessible with that degree? This catch-22 is present in huge swaths of education: law, journalism, most liberal arts degrees, and is becoming true in medicine as well. I know at least one person who has chosen to study to be a Physicians' Assistant rather than a doctor because of the cost and time associated with medical school, relative to her expected salary. In short, there are relatively few degrees that don't have this problem, notably computer science, engineering, and finance. And I think we can all agree that American society needs as many more finance grads as we can find. . .

What's the solution? If nothing else, perhaps it's time to refine the definition of a good school, and determine exactly what a student is paying for when he or she matriculates. Is it later earning power, which is vague and really unenforceable? Is it "the experience" in which case state schools might start to look like a lot more fun? Or is it simply a body of knowledge that makes for a better person and citizen, with the added benefit of potentially higher earnings?

This paradox won't be solved while every white collar job requires at least a bachelors degree in something (even blue collar jobs often require extensive certification and training). And the spillover effect is already becoming evident - undergraduate degrees are on their way to becoming so devalued as to be meaningless, necessitating graduate study, and it's corresponding costs, for meaningful employment. I remember quite clearly an editorial cartoon in a local paper, a couple years ago. A recent college grad was moving home after commencement, carrying a huge laundry bag on his shoulders labeled "debt." His parents told him, disapprovingly, "When we were your age, we started out with nothing," to which he replied "I'd have loved to start out with nothing." Unfortunately, that scenario continues to be all too true.

Wealth Disparity on steroids

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Mon, 31 May 2010 17:09:00 +0000

"As of December 2009, median white wealth dipped 34 percent, to $94,600; median black wealth dropped 77 percent, to $2,100."

The above quote, from the most recent article in the New York Times series "The New Poor" is a staggering statistic. Now, while I'm sure a wealth disparity existed prior to the economic downturn, a median wealth figure of $2,100 is less than what even a starving recent college graduate possesses, if you count a car and a checking account. What ability does a black family with that median level of wealth have to weather any kind of hard time? And a median, by definition, means half the population has less than that. Living hand to mouth is not an enviable position, especially if you have a family to support and aspirations that are slowly being crushed. What will happen 5, 15, or 25 years from now to these people? Will they land on their feet, or be permanently and irreparably set back as decades of hard work have been wiped out in a blink?

Is this generation less brave?

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Fri, 28 May 2010 15:15:00 +0000

Looking back in history, especially with the aid of such books as Tom Brokaw's "The Greatest Generation" I find myself wondering if those that came before us really were cast in a different mold. I usually come to the conclusion that the difference in perception stems from a lack of opportunity, not a lack of mettle. While our grandparents no doubt wished they had been spared the horrors of World War II, there is a certain satisfaction they can take in knowing that they were willing to answer the call and "do the right thing" when it was required of them. I, for one, occasionally envy them that feeling, that knowledge of themselves.

However, those who serve in the military today do so at great cost to themselves, and often lack the respect and recognition given to earlier generations of veterans. The popular narrative is that the American military is made up of stupid, poor, ignorant Christians who have no other life prospects than military service. This storyline marginalizes what is still an important and necessary role in our society that should be respected. A magazine article today puts this issue in terms of the lack of Medals of Valor that have been awarded to American servicemen and women in recent conflicts, and begs the question, is this generation less brave, or simply less noticed?

Read Katherine Zoepf's article "Why so few medals of honor."

Thanks, Petraeus

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Wed, 26 May 2010 19:55:00 +0000

Now for the most part, I have no qualms with General Petraeus. I haven't kept an excessively close eye on the minutiae of his tenure, but this particular detail struck me this morning. Evidently, as part of a wider authorization of U.S. covert operations in countries around the world, Petraeus if focused on intelligence gathering by troops, as well as "academics, foreign business people, or others."

Great. Do he have any idea how often Americans abroad are assumed to be agents of the CIA? How many times journalists and students are accused of being part of the Zionist conspiracy, or working for the government? It's hard enough for many people to do their jobs and live their lives without having official policy give weight to the conspiracy theories of extremists. Now they'll have decent reason to surmise that Americans are all CIA spies, and many times (the sad ending of Daniel Pearl comes to mind) that has real consequences.

Muslim women can take care of themselves. . .

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Wed, 26 May 2010 13:00:00 +0000

. . . and to prove that point, I'd like to present a witty and impassioned repudiation of France's ill-conceived "Burqa Ban" (which really isn't referring to a burqa for the most part anyway, but rather the niqab) The law was never about some vague notion of protecting women and French notions of equality, but rather about mandating conformity to social stereotypes and scoring points with a conservative base. The French and Belgian laws prohibiting such a manner of dress by women are the evil cousins of laws in Iran and Saudi Arabia mandating coverings for women. It's all about control.

That being said, check out Sheila Janmohamed's letter to President Sarkozy and enjoy a chuckle at politician being taken to task.

The Secret Muslim Agenda? . . . Total hotness

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Tue, 25 May 2010 20:23:00 +0000

The guys over at Salon were privy to a discussion of the inside machinations of the worldwide Muslim conspiracy. What they found out? We've been completely duped. . .

"How Miss USA will push the secret Muslim agenda"

Also, the satire's author, Wajahat Ali, has a decent play "The Domestic Crusaders" that's worth seeing if you get the chance.

A Fanatic with 'good intentions'

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Tue, 25 May 2010 19:37:00 +0000

The New York Times published an interview with Ayaan Hirsi Ali, the Somali former-Muslim-turned-crusader, and unfortunately, it was a huge disappointment.

"Questions for Ayaan Hirsi Ali" was anything but, as the writer was too busy prompting her subject to expound on her experience with genital mutilation and the murder of Theo Van Goh to actually speak about anything substantive. It was a major let-down from a paper that usually sets a high bar for quality, and generally attempts fairness.

Ali is nearly as bad as those she criticizes, but she disguises her contempt with a veil of moral improvement. She has suffered so much at the hands of those who use their religion to justify violence, that she can no longer conceive of Islam as anything but violent. More frustratingly, she is cast as a feminist, even as she demonizes the choices of millions of women, labeling their devotion to Islam as oppression and assuming they too must be beaten. Her attitude is paternalistic and offensive, and it's a travesty that her voice is given the microphone in public discourse. I'm ashamed of the New York Times for promoting this one-sided rant as a legitimate interview. It's pieces like this that are a barrier to understanding, especially when underwritten by credible institutions who should know better.

Rights and Wrongs

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 11:45:00 +0000

This morning, Reuters reported that the Israeli government showed no signs of scaling back its offensive, in spite of a UN resolution calling for an immediate ceasefire. In the article, Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni is quoted as saying in a statement that "Israel has acted, is acting, and will act only according to its considerations, the security needs of its citizens, and its right to self defense."

Now the exact details and order of truce-breaking are still fuzzy. Israel most definitely invaded Gaza in November, killing 6 Hamas gunmen, The Guardian reported. Israel has said repeatedly that Hamas has habitually broken the ceasefire by continuing to fire rockets into Southern Israel. And for its part, Hamas maintains that since Israel failed to lift the blockade of Gaza, as promised, they invalidated the ceasefire from the beginning, making Qassam rocket attacks justified.

Much has been written about the vast military and technological unevenness of the "war" between Israel and Hamas. Popular opinion here is that Hamas is firing nothing significantly more dangerous than hommemade fireworks, and in return entire blocks are obliterated in Gaza. While loss of human life should not be measured in some grim utilitarian math equation, the numbers do blow a hole in the Israeli narrative. Hamas rockets have killed 22 people in the past 8 years, whereas the Israeli military has killed over ten times that many children in the past two weeks. Thirty times as many Palestinians have died in the most recent Israeli offensive. As has been pointed out, Hamas' lesser scale of casualties is probably more attributable to lack of capable weaponry than lack of trying, but the numbers still seem horrendously lopsided. News accounts of attacks in Israel cite people being treated for shock, not buried.

Reading between the lines in recent news reports on the bombing of the UN school that killed over 40 has brought several disturbing questions to the fore - most of which remain unanswered. John Ging, director of the United Nations relief agency, was quoted in the New York Times as saying there were no militants inside the school. Those taking refuge there were monitored, he said, and presumably registered. Additionally, Ging also said that the Israeli army had been provided with the coordinates of all UN schools and compounds, and such places where identifiably marked. The assurances of caution and pinpoint accuracy also ring hollow from an army that has killed at least three of its own soldiers in friendly fire accidents. And on January 9, UN Relief and Works Agency suspended all aid distribution in Gaza after a driver was killed by tank fire from the IDF.

IDF spokespeople have said that rockets were fired from "inside the school compound" and countered that Hamas deliberately launches military operations from in and near residential and heavily populated areas. The above context brings me to the essential question of this post, what exactly is the right to self defense, and more importantly, what are its limits?

Security concerns are often cited by governments as a reason for action. It's how the US ended up with the PATRIOT Act and Guantanamo, how Hosni Mubarak justifies imprisoning and torturing his own citizens, and how Israel is rationalizing an avalanche of military force against Gaza. While Benjamin Franklin criticizes those who would give up liberties for security, the issue also goes deeper. How many other rights can be trampled on in the name of security? When did that right become the single consideration that trumps all others? There have been times in the United States that I have thought that I would accept less nebulous "guarantees" of my security in exchange for rights of privacy, due process, and even just not having to take my shoes off in the airport (I assure you, there are plenty of such places where people keep their shoes on during security that are not bombed on a daily basis).

As the Red Crescent reports of half-starved children huddled next to the dead bodies of their mothers - 200 meters from an Israeli army checkpoint - and recovering survivors and decomposing corpses from rubble that it was denied access to for days, I wonder how much longer the world will tolerate Israel's inhumane and grotesque treatment of Gazans in the name of its own "self defense." At what point does someone (the UN ideally, but I'm not holding out hope) step in and defend the Palestinians? Will anyone say the because Israel has veritably imprisoned hundreds of thousands off people, and cut off their access to food, water, cooking oil, and medicine, its claim to a "right of self defense" is null and void. Rights are always in conflict, and these competing loyalties have been the subject of philosophers and ethics scholars for ages. But at some point, the world must realize that to bank everything on "security" is both cowardly and ineffective. There must be another way, and Israel, as the Goliath of the situation, must have the courage to seek it.

Spin Doctors

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 09:19:00 +0000

Today, sadly, I was not proud to be an American. Strong words, yes, but unfortunately applicable ones. The United States is a great country, as are its citizens, but I was appalled, and even ashamed at the recent conduct of our media and our politicians in regards to their attitude and coverage of the current situation in Gaza. Both were characterized by slant, bias, intolerance, oversimplification, unwillingness to compromise, and ignorance of history. Among the deplorably few bright spots are Foreign Policy magazine, and that bastion of commentary laced with dark humor The Daily Show.

John Stewart's opening monologue was so cutting that I felt guilty laughing. While it was refreshing to hear an American voice contradicting the monstrous tide of "Israeli national security" support, it's sad that it takes a fringe media outlet to do so. Stewart lampoons the one-sided commentary and political rhetoric broadcast endlessly on American news outlets.

Samuel Huntington's brainchild Foreign Policy Magazine features several blogs full of good analysis and thoughtful commentary. Daniel Levy's "Five Comments on the Gaza crisis and what to do", available on his blog Prospects for Peace also represents an actual moderate view of the conflict.

Aside from the refusal of Israel to allow foreign reporters into Gaza (though sites of Israeli civilian casualties are easily accessible) what has really struck me is the disparity in news coverage of the conflict, exemplified best by the morning news headlines from Al-Jazeera English, The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Guardian, and Haaretz.

Al-Jazeera English pulled no punches this morning, featuring a picture of a small girl held by an adult man, looking disoriented with blood covering half of her face, with the headline: "Israel Kills Dozens at Gaza School". In the article, the spokesperson for the Israeli prime minister is quoted as saying the explosions at the school were "out of proportion to the ordnance" that was used, and accused Hamas of "booby-trapping" locations in Gaza and Israel.

The New York Times homepage had no mention of the bombing of the UN school or an update on the current offensive. The only reference to Israel at all on the portal was an analysis of the lessons learned (or not learned) by Israeli leadership. To be fair, the main page of its World section was a photo of the conflict, with the headline "Israel Ponders Truce Plans as Conflict Enters Its 12th Day". The dozens of dead from the school bombings of the previous day are mentioned only in the lede.

The Washington Post fares little better. The headline "Israel hits school in Gaza camp" can be found after scrolling past two large photographs of t-shirts (the same photograph twice no less) at the MacWorld opening.

Its picture is not even of the aftermath at the school in Gaza, or even of Palestinians, but rather Israeli soldiers patrolling a border crossing, from a distance.

The UK also put American media outlets to shame. Aside from a chilling picture of a wounded policeman (a link to Avi Shlaim's biting editorial on the conduct of the Israeli government), its main article features a very strong headline as well: "Gaza's carnage - 40 dead as Israeli's bomb UN schools".

And lastly, what did Israel's major media outlet have to say about the deaths of at least 40 people, nearly all of them civilians, after its military fired upon a school in a refugee camp where people have fled in order to escape the possibility of death in their homes?

Practically nothing.

The most relevant headline was "IDF: Hamas militants fired shells from inside UN school in Gaza".

The truth is no doubt in the middle of the quagmire. And each of these organizations serves a particular audience, which no doubt influences the tone and extent of its coverage. However, historically, news media have been the gatekeepers of information, even if sometimes that meant they took a top down approach, speaking from on high and dictating "the news of the day". Those were considered to be the objectively important stories, that people should know about, even if they occurred far away.

I have heard people here criticize Americans as not caring about the plight of the Palestinian people, but I disagree. While we have lost patience with foreign affairs as a result of a string of domestic crisis (most notably Katrina), I would say that the bigger problem is a lack of awareness. How can we expect to hold the American people accountable for information which they must jump through hoops to find? And why is that struggle for access necessary? If nearly every major news outlet in the world finds a story important enough to put on it's front page, why do our news outlets and politicians seem like broken records, repeating lines nearly the complete opposite of what everyone else is saying?

Defending the ignorance of America gets old quickly, especially in the face of seemingly blind support by the Bush administration of all Israeli actions. Indeed, it has been said by more than one analyst (in the US and abroad) that the Israeli government chose to launch its offensive now because they knew they would not face censure from their stalwart ally in the West.

We need a press and a polity who are both strong enough in their character and passionate about real solutions to stand up and hold everyone accountable. And that includes Israel, the United States, and Hamas, and will require concessions on all sides, and perhaps coming to terms with some ugly truths. Otherwise papers around the world will continue to feature photos of dead and disfigured children on their front pages. Everywhere, that is, except Tel Aviv, New York, and Washington, D.C.

All photos used in this post were taken from the news outlet referenced near them in the text. Thanks and credit goes to those organizations.

The Tel Aviv Twilight Zone

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 14:17:00 +0000

Every New Year's weekend, the SciFi Channel in the United States broadcasts a marathon of episodes of the Rod Serling masterpiece The Twilight Zone. For the uninitiated, The Twilight Zone is an old black and white science fiction television show, but it also has become much more of a cultural phenomenon. The series tackled old moral parables, society's obsessions and the way we thought of ourselves. Stories didn't always have a happy ending, often the episode would leave the viewer vaguely unsettled, as Serling's voice wrapped up the narrative and signed off.

Now, the term "Twilight Zone" has become ubiquitous for a place that isn't quite right, or all that it seems. It's used to describe discomfort you can't name, situations that seem backwards, yet logical, a sort of cultural or social "out of body experience". For a further definition, please visit Tel Aviv.

The cultural and political capital of Israel (or "Occupied Palestine" depending on where you're from) Tel Aviv comes off as a cross between New York and LA, with a hefty dose of the Mediterranean thrown in for good measure. The beaches are beautiful, the urban planning spectacular. The sidewalks are wide, trees provide shade, and large recycling bins are easy to find. Food is incredibly expensive (though to be fair, quite delicious), much like any Western capital. But there is a nagging insecurity about the place, that hangs on while you're walking around, and shows up in the people themselves.

For all of the "dangerous" cities I've been to, the real threat of terrorism has never crossed my mind, except in passing as something that you really can't waste time worrying about. I've never actually not felt safe. But in Tel Aviv, I was often nervous in crowded places, scanning crowds. I didn't take any public buses inside the city. No matter how comfortable I felt culturally, some part of me was still uncomfortable. On one hand I was ashamed of my fear, but on the other, it was a sign to me that something wasn't quite right.

The Israelis themselves had the same variation in temperament as you find among any people: some good, some bad. A friend of a friend of mine was nice enough to invite us to his home, and that experience ranks as one of the most touching acts of hospitality I have been given. Waiters in restaurants and taxi drivers nearly always had a story of a visit to the U.S. that they were eager to share.

However, there was a segment of the population that was snotty, arrogant, and condescending. Whenever I told them that I lived in Jordan, in response to their curiosity, I was met with "Why would you want to live there?" . . . "I hope they're paying you well.". . ."It's like a Third World Country over there" . . . and "Oh but you like Israel better right?" Such judgmental and ignorant people remind me, unfortunately, of a segment of Americans who express exactly the same sentiments toward other people and cultures. They are so enamored of their own limited sphere of existence that they refuse to entertain the possibility of something good occurring somewhere else. And in their opinions, those who do appreciate that potential are traitors.

And the need for acceptance I heard, the sort of craving to be reassured that Israel was "better" than everywhere else, seemed to belie a deep insecurity about international opinion.

It was shocking to find such ignorance in a country whose existence and daily life is so closely intertwined with and affected by that of its neighbors. While racism, stupidity, and close-mindedness are certainly not unique to any country or culture, it was disheartening to see it in a beautiful, modern, developed place such as Tel Aviv, whose potential is hidden by a conflict that remains gridlocked because of the stubborn prejudices of all parties involved.

Why we write?

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 13:54:00 +0000

There isn't much more imposing than a blank sheet of paper. Generally, it's best to subscribe to the wisdom that if you don't have anything interesting or useful to say, you should just be quiet and pay attention. Journalists, myself included would do well to do more of the last two activities.

However, how exactly do you know when you've observed something worth saying? Most writers spend their lives laboring away in obscurity, never read, only to be eventually forgotten. And with the advent of blogs and self publishing, many more people can put their thoughts and feelings into the public discourse, for better or worse. Even then, one could argue that little of value often comes from this seething mass of html code. Perhaps then, we write not because we really believe someone else cares what we have to say, but rather because we care what we have to say, and want to leave, if nothing else, a simple record of our existence.

Don't get smug, it never really gets easy. . .

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 07:41:00 +0000

If I listen closely I can still hear the patter of water dripping onto my bathroom floor. That would be my slowly drying jeans and khakis hung over the shower rod. If I get lucky they’ll be wearable by the end of tomorrow.

Tonight I had a harrowing encounter with The Humbler. For the uninitiated, The Humbler is the thing that sneaks up on you whenever you have delusions of competence, efficiency or adjustment and contentment. It’s the snowboarding face plant the run after you mentioned that you hadn’t fallen yet today. It’s the homework assignment you remember you forgot just after you were about to relax after getting anything done. And when traveling, The Humbler is everything hard. I say everything because that’s how it seems. Nothing is easy, which is precisely why the situation is so demoralizing. Once you’ve put out Fire A, you turn around and three more have just started. Nothing can ever be simple or easy. And as soon as you think you’re on top of things, you’ll be viciously and forcefully knocked off your false pedestal.

My downfall was the laundry. After ten days in Amman, I was running out of clothes. Dryers are rare here, but most households just wash clothes in a washing machine and hang them out to dry. With sunny 60-degree weather during the day, things dry fast and it’s not really a problem. My washing machine was sitting unplugged on the balcony and when I first moved in I thought it was a stand-alone freezer (it’s the same shape).

This morning I dragged it to the corner of the balcony near the door, and ran an extension cord outside to plug it in. The machine wasn’t connected to a water source, and after consulting my landlord (who told me to “follow the directions”), I tracked down a hardware store and simply asked the employee whether I could manually pour water into the agitator to wash my clothes. Turns out I could. So five or six kitchen bowls of water later, I’ve loaded a towel into the machine.

The particular towel in question is navy blue and rather prone to covering its user in fuzz of the same color. Those of you who have ever washed a fuzzy sweater or an article of clothing that has bled understand why I decided to wash it by itself (and thank God I did, as the thing did bleed and turn the water blue).

At this point I was feeling rather proud of myself. I’d bought powder detergent (not bleach, which I did check for) and started it up. Much easier than rewiring an oven, which I’ve also had the privilege of learning how to do. However halfway through the wash cycle I realized I had a serious problem: rinsing.

With no water source connected the machine, how was I going to rinse the towel? And where was I going to drain the water to? The second question turned out to be the easier part, sort of. I turned on the drain, and like I’d feared, water started flooding the balcony. However the balcony has a drain, like most rooms in the house, in order to clean it. You scrub the balcony with soapy water, then squeegee it down the drain. I just appropriated the feature for laundry.

Unfortunately the extension cord and surge protector were on the balcony. For the record, Jordanian surge protectors float. I walked through the inside of the apartment to the other door on the balcony and unplugged it from the wall before any critical parts got wet.

Fast forward to coming home after work. I throw the towel in the bathtub to rinse it later, put a new load in the machine and cooked dinner. I stole the five-gallon jug off the top of the filtered water dispenser and filled it up in the bathtub in order to fill the washing machine. The spin cycle goes haywire if I try to use it, so I just wring out my pants before taking them into the bathroom to rinse. As I turn on the faucet I remember (3 seconds too late as I’m perched on the edge of the bathtub), that the pull switch is stuck and water will only come out the showerhead. So I just use that to rinse the two pairs of pants.

Here is the point when I became demoralized. Perched on the edge of the tub rinsing, realizing I had most of a load of laundry left to do and just desperately thinking there had to be a better way than this. I was (am) running out of clothes. I’m paying an exorbitant amount for an apartment that only I live in. The kitchen is a mess, the sink leaks in the other bathroom. There’s no central heat, and I can’t even catch a break on the damn laundry. Seriously?

Frustrated and near to tears, I did what any sensible adult would do: I called my mom. Moms can always tell when you’re close to your mental breaking point, no matter how well you try to cover it for the duration of the conversation. But helpful as ever, she told me to put the towel (which had been mucking up my ‘rinse cycle’ by running out blue) in the kitchen sink and then rinse everything else in the bathtub. I amended it by using one side of the kitchen sink for the towel and the other to rinse the rest of the clothes. Granted I had to do the dishes first but those needed to be tackled anyway.

As I was coming down to the wire and running out of spaces to hang clothing on my outdoor drying rack, my patience gone an hour ago and my sense of humor hanging by a thread, I had an epiphany. Sitting on a chair was an extra metal grated refrigerator shelf that I hadn’t had room for. It neatly fit over the width of the bathtub, and the spaces between the slats would allow whatever clothes I laid on it to drip into the bathtub and down the drain.

The shelf from the freezer and two more from the fridge were commandeered into service, and in the end, all clothes were set to dry and the washing machine is drained. And I’m taking the rest of my clothes to a friend’s tomorrow. They won’t get dried but they won’t be a nightmare either.

I sure hope the Browns beat the Eagles and Syracuse basketball pulled out a win. Given my luck lately I might be better off rooting for their opponents. But who knows, maybe I’ll catch a break at home. They’re rather scarce over here.

Why you should sleep in socks

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 13:23:00 +0000

I spent my first night in Amman, Jordan, cleaning mold out of my freezer. Evidently it's endemic here. Personally I'm convinced that it will overtake me one night as I sleep and I'll quietly expire a hushed fungus death. But forgive the melodrama.

Amman is a sprawling city, spread out over 20 hills, or jebels and there's one long road that runs all the way through it, punctuated by 8 circles (big roundabouts). You basically need a car to get around, or must take public transport. Mass transit, be it public buss or taxis really isn't all that expensive, provided you're not paying ten times the amount you owe, like I did for two days.

The apartment I'm living in for now is large and spacious, in truth too big for just one person. Aside from alleviating boredom and loneliness, I'll be glad when my roommate arrives in January so the place isn't so empty. The central heat isn't usually turned on, so instead I drag an old propane heater to whichever room I'm in and keep a window cracked. I have turn it off when I leave the room or at night when I sleep, so in order to stay warm I've just piled on the clothes and blankets.

I would say that Amman building are just really good at dissipating the summer heat, thus making them cold in the winter. However, I've been informed that this is false, and they're as miserably hot in the summer months as they are frosty in the winter. Hence, while I find sleeping in socks sort of morally repugnant, I've decided to make an exception. Principles seem rather expendable when faced with shivering and hypothermia. Since I, like many other women, can vie for the claim of most constantly cold person, it's going to be an interesting three months.

A wizard always arrives precisely when he means to. . .

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 23:39:00 +0000

The motto of Liverpool, an English club soccer team, is “You’ll never walk alone.”

It’s a good thought in terms of fostering team unity, but it strikes me as something even truer. The dark periods in life of stress, despair, anxiety and frustration are usually, in my experience, dispelled by the right person intervening at just the right time. Timing is everything. This is why we call our friends in the middle of the night struck by insomnia: because we know they’ll answer the phone. For this same reason, we reach out when we know someone who has been where we are. By their very existence, we know that our current situation is neither permanent nor world ending.

As I walked in the door of my apartment two days ago, my Christmas present from friends in England was sitting on the couch. I was pretty sure what it was -- I love my friend but she’s less than stellar at keeping secrets (well, unimportant ones anyway). But the fact of the matter was that right in front of me, at a time when I’d been needing it the most, was a tangible symbol that someone who cared about me was thinking of me.Experiences like this constantly reassure me that I’m never really alone.

Right now, another close friend is in the middle of the Peruvian Amazon Rainforest, doing geographic research with an indigenous tribe called the Maijuna. This will be the first time in seven years of friendship that we’ve gone more than a week or two without any kind of contact, even if that was just phone tag. But I couldn’t be happier for him, and his Bonsai tree is sitting on my nightstand, keeping me company until he comes back for it. And I know he will; no question about it. It’s just how we are. Gone and then back.

My yoga teacher this morning said that its important to pay attention to both sides of the body, because as we engage one, the other relaxes and stretches. If we never allowed the opposing side a chance to rest, the whole body would come out of balance. Relationships, she said are like this as well. Sometimes we are the strength our friends need to soften into; other times they provide the pillar that we lean on. Both roles are necessary, and neither exists without the other.

So as I know, I encountered a setback and failed to meet my first week’s deadline. However, looking back upon this day and this past week, I realized that until right now, everything I needed to come together wasn’t quite there. So now then, is exactly when I should be doing this.

Perfect timing.

4 Weeks. 4 Blogs. And go.

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 03:54:00 +0000

This personal bet was born of a few things:

1. I haven't written a new post in awhile and I've been meaning to.
2. For me, writing is a form of meditation, which I think I'll be able to do better than regular meditation because as much as I'd like to (and I do realize that this is the point) I don't have enough time in the day to sit still for any significant period.
3. Besides hopefully learning some amount of focus, forcing myself to write may actually mean that I put into words the things that are running around in my head, some of which may be worth remembering.

So here are the terms:

I will post one blog per week for the next month. There could be more than one (don't hold your breath) but at the minimum there will be a new post each seven-day period. The week will run from Monday morning to Sunday night, and posts may come any time within that particular week. Week one begins tomorrow, January 14th. Week four ends Sunday February 10th. There will be no cop-out posts containing lame excuses such as "I had nothing interesting to say this week." There is always something interesting and/or important to say. The challenge of a good and disciplined writer is to draw from his or her experiences regularly, not simply when the mood strikes.

Best of luck to me. I will endeavor to come up with something worth your valuable time.

Travel Photos

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 19:45:00 +0000

Photos from Cairo, Luxor, and Sinai Egypt and Granada, Spain

Keeping Watch

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 18:47:00 +0000

When I went to Egypt, I gave my mom a geography lesson. Here's where Egypt is. No, I'm not close to Israel even though it's only half an inch away on the map. If I tell you I'm in Cairo, and something happens in Luxor, that means I Wasn't There.

But I can't blame her for worrying. Or my grandma for wearing out hte church floor praying for my safety. Or my Dad for freaking out at home because I took a taxi by myself in the middle of the day.

I think they are all overreacting a bit but I do understand and sympathize. For the most part, I let them off the hook. Now that I'm the one with friends far away, I'm guilty as well.

I Facebook stalk Marium in Karachi just in case. Jess' Word On Wales blog is bookmarked. I keep track of my friends to make myself feel better. I can't help them if for some reason they were to need me.

Perusing the headlines on Sunday, I saw that a man had been shot by the police in an incident of soccer violence in Italy. I took a deep breath, I thought my friend Marshall was in the area.

Odds are, if an American college student had been shot in Italy, I'd have heard about it already. But then again maybe not.

Marshall wasn't the headline. I talked to him today and remembered he was in Prague all weekend, nowhere close. My condolences to the family of the young Italian. May he rest in peace.

The real shock of the day came at 1 am after coming home from a night out. I don't know how I happened on the Facebook group "In Memory of Brian Volkerding" but I didn't want to see the page. Titles like that mean only one thing.

The only information provided was that Brian had died unexpectedly on October 27th at Ohio State University. His obituary was equally uninformative. Not that cause of death is relevant to the fact of death.

I hadn't talked to Brian in a couple years but I did know him. We played on an intramural coed soccer team for a year in high school. I remember him as quiet and funny, very nice.

I have no deep value judgments to make on these events. Simply the fact that people I know shouldn't be dying.

My magazine writing textbook had a chapter on leads and endings. For endings dealing with death it had this to say:

"Nothing more needs to be said. Nothing more should be said. End of a life; end of an article."

End of a blog.

Sangria Nights: Sleepless in Spain and Elsewhere

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Sun, 11 Nov 2007 15:23:00 +0000

College is about three things: homework, fun, and sleep. But you can only choose two.

Traveling has made me an insomniac. Not simply because of jet lag, time changes, overnight flights and six hour layovers. I run myself ragged while abroad (and at home) because I just don’t want to miss anything.

I’m not sure that I ever saw the Cairenes sleep. Or even go to bed. They were always still out, at restaurants and ahwas, coffee houses, all over the city. Even children would be out until 2 or 3 in the morning playing soccer in the streets because it was so much cooler than during the day. My friend Gouda put it best – “nothing even starts until midnight.”

Spain represented for me a week-long true vacation. While Cairo was fun and exotic, I had gone there to work and study, not be a tourist, and there were responsibilities that I had to attend to. Spain had none of those.

I flew into Madrid, and met my friend Nick, who had been studying in Pamplona. My flight was two hours late leaving Amsterdam, which meant there was no way we’d be able to catch the bus tickets Nick had already purchased. Of course.

The plan was to take a week and see Andalusia, the southern region of Spain, visiting Seville, Granada, and Valencia, in that order, then jump back to Madrid for a night to catch our flights home the next morning. We only had a day or two in each city, so compromises needed to be made; sleep went first.

After arriving in Seville at 10:30 at night, we found our hostel, checked in, took showers, and promptly went out. We went to be around two, and got up at eight for a full day of sightseeing, walking around the whole city until dinnertime, about 8:30. Then we went back out.

The logic here is simple and deadly: we have to leave in the morning, and it’s a five-hour bus ride, so why sleep now? Sleep on the bus.

Brilliant.

In fairness to my traveling companion, I would like to make clear that we did significant amounts of sightseeing, and our exploits were in no way confined to the nightlife of Andalusia. We had a delicate balance. It was probably good we only kept it up for a week.

The quote at the top of this post is true in more arenas of life than school. It’s the rationalization I give to myself when I go see a 14th century Spanish palace over sleeping in. It’s also my justification for when I ate churros con chocolate and relaxed in the park instead of going to a museum.

Generally, my go-to sacrifice is sleep, the theory being I can sleep all I want when I’m dead. However what I have learned from this summer and fall is that not seeing one more famous painting will ultimately pale in comparison to the night smoking shisha and drinking Turkish coffee with my friends. People too, can be missed just as fiercely as places, and I have come to rely and value the relationships I have forged much more that I appreciated visiting the Sphinx.

The solution: sleep on the bus while planning the next adventure.

Bokra, In-sha-allah

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 21:27:00 +0000

In the grand tradition of the Egyptians, where everything is "tomorrow, god-willing" my complete blog post will be up tomorrow. I felt it appropriate to channel the procrastinating spirit of foreign lands because that legitimizes my own slacking, and it ties in (loosely) with my blog subject.

Two things prevented my lack of a well-developed essay for today: I haven't been particularly inspired this week, and more immediately, I was caught up with a friend. He and I were chatting about culture and foreign travel (again a relevant tangent) and I made a value judgment to focus for the afternoon to focus on the person rather than the computer.

Check back tomorrow, there will be a more comprehensively written commentary on life and wandering.

Short Fuse? Fly to Africa. . .or make an omlet

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 17:47:00 +0000

I am the second-most patient person in my immediate family. I am outdone in that department by my mom, who, with a large amount of grace and dignity, is almost always able to keep a level head. And when I've been on the wrong side of her finally losing it, I deserve it.

But in terms of length of fuse on my temper, I generally do pretty well. Patience, however, is something I'm constantly trying to acquire and keep. So far, I've found two tried and tested ways of doing so: living in Egypt, and cooking.

Living and studying in Egypt taught me more things than I have fully realized. The experience put me under significant amounts of stress for a prolonged period of time. When I came home, I rightly judged that pretty much nothing could phase me. I had already gone through the same headache, frustration or annoyance, and it was probably worse. Actually, there's no debate that it wasn't worse. Anything is worse when you add in a nearly impregnable language barrier, hundred-degree heat and long sleeves and pants, and layers of bureaucracy and ineptitude.

For an anal-retentive control-freak perfectionist like me, there's not too much that's more horrible than being in an environment where next to nothing is under your power. Conversely, it's also downright awesome. If I'm stuck in a taxi and a million-car traffic jam half an hour away from the place I'm supposed to be at in fifteen minutes, well, too damn bad. I might as well relax, enjoy the minute to myself and read my book, which I brought expressly for this contingency. Sure I'd like to get to my interview on time, but the person I'm meeting will be late and I'll have been misinformed as to the practice time by the coach anyway and will then spend another hour sitting around until I can get to work. (Yes this is exactly what happened.)

So I quit worrying. My mom has told me hundreds of times not to worry about what I can't change, but it finally sunk in. That's been happening to me a lot lately, and I feel it's fair to call her with my tail between my legs when it happens and let her know she was right.

Cooking also works wonders for both my sanity and my stress level. There's also the added bonus of getting to eat. The laws of physics apply in my kitchen: it takes me 15 minutes to boil water (for grits or pasta) and scrambled eggs just need time.

You have to let the pancakes cook before you flip them, and no amount of cursing or checking with the spatula will speed up this process. What it will do is drive me nuts and ruin what was previously on track to be a perfect flapjack, but is now maimed and deformed.

Therefore, I tell myself to wait, and just let the scrambled eggs cook, the onions sautee, and the oil get nice and hot before I throw the popcorn in. Not quite as grueling a strategy as flying halfway around the world for self-betterment, but cheaper.

As my arab-imposed self-restraint starts to ebb away, I force myself to remember what I've learned as I fight the urge to eviscerate random passers-by when they do something stupid. And then I go home, and in the piece de resistance, check my email while I watch the pot.

An Athens County Almanac

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 20:57:00 +0000

Environmental Literature was a way to skip out on taking a science class my senior year in high school. It was the slacker option for seniors, frequented by those lacking the grades or the motivation to take something more difficult. However, it was while reading Aldo Leopold, Ed Abbey and Annie Dillard that I realized how important my environment and sense of place is to me.

And I have destroyed it.

Not in the sense of global warming or deforestation, or any of the other pressing problems that need to be dealt with by the world community. No, I destroyed my sense of place through work, college, and travel, and in the process became, in a way, homeless.

A nomad is someone who “wanders from place to place” according to the dictionary; a person who is lacking a permanent home.

I live in a three-bedroom apartment with two roommates. My lease will be up in June, when I’ll move into a three-bedroom house with the same two roommates. Our lease will again expire the next June as we graduate college and are thrown our different ways into the world.

My house in Dayton, where my family lives, is no longer my home. It hasn’t been since I left there in September of 2005 and moved into the dorms for the first time. It wasn’t simply that my parents knocked out the wall of my room and combined it with my younger sister’s, leaving me the guest bedroom in the basement, it was the awful foreboding sense that as soon as I walked out that door with my stuff packed, I would never be coming home in the same way again.

This summer, I spent two months living and working in Cairo, Egypt. It too, was a temporary home, one that I learned to love and hate as is common to every place. And then I left, to come back to the United States, back to Dayton, back to school.
And even now, when I am relatively settled, my work life and school life keeps me away from my apartment more hours than I am there. So it feels more like a convenient place to crash than a home.

I have heard from many people that Junior year of college is stressful, difficult, and hard. They haven’t being lying – more than once I’ve wanted to drop out of school and start working, if just for a change of pace. As a good friend of mine put it, by this point we’ve gotten good at school. We know how to handle the classes, how to study, how to write papers, how to procrastinate. Our classes may be hard, but school is no longer hard. In essence, we’re ready for a different kind of challenge.

The bottom line is that right now I don’t fit in. I’m happy to be back, but am also looking ahead to the next trip I’m planning. I hear my friends talk about graduation and jobs and the next step in their lives. And when I do I inwardly curse the extra year I have to flounder and feel frustrated.

The contemporary Bedouin of the Sinai bemoan the loss of their nomadic ways, having to settle in order to make lives for themselves and their families. I feel for them, because at the end of the day, after I work and I study and I sit down, there’s still something left. I’m still just restless.

Some world Graffiti

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Wed, 17 Oct 2007 18:08:00 +0000

"The old jokes are still the best

Who is playing with our children? by El Nino de las Pinturas

El Nino's House, covered in graf and street art

Inaugural Blog post

noreply@blogger.com (A. Hazlett) — Wed, 03 Oct 2007 17:40:00 +0000

Welcome to the American Nomad's home page