After spending a few days preparing myself for what I had anticipated to be the worst Christmas ever, something happened. I spent much of Tuesday on hold on the phone with British Airways, waiting, occasionally even patiently, to speak to a representative; I went through the gamut of anger, tears, and acute loneliness. After about 3.5 hours, I was connected to a very kind service agent, who offered me a seat on the flight the next morning, carrying me and my angst from London Heathrow to ‘beautiful’ Newark, New Jersey, four days after my intended departure. I agreed to try one more time to come back stateside. I can’t tell you the relief I felt on Wednesday afternoon, crammed like a sardine under an itchy airline blanket when I felt that BA flight take off. Christmas was saved for this professed Grinch.
I just spent a week at my parents’ house in small-town Pennsylvania. I’m always reminded when I get a chance to be there for more than a few days how much it is still my “home,” even though I haven’t lived there in long time. When it came time to move away for college, I was ready to go. I know I would miss my family terribly (and I did) but I loved the change of scenery, and the chance to be on my own. After college, I didn’t move home, but to the big city in my part of the state, and then a few years later, I made the jump to New York City. Now, I get to call London my home for one glorious year. And yet, much as I love my adventures, and the freedom I have, every time I know I’m about to come home to my mom and dad’s house for a few days, I get unreasonably excited. There is something about being in that house with those people that will always mean “home” to me in the way that no place ever will.
I’m sitting on the train now, heading to New York City to spend time with my loves there, including my boyfriend. I just said a sniffly goodbye to my mom and dad on the train platform, and then, when comfortably in my Amtrak seat, had good long cry to the next station. We had a grand time together, carrying out all of our silly and wonderful holiday traditions (midnight mass, pancake breakfasts and underwear-on-the-head photos), which I realize I cling to more and more the further away I am. I couldn’t have asked for a more festive holiday. It’s a very tenuous feeling however, as my heart is so divided. I’m reminded of how comforting it was to be a kid, and, at Christmas time, to know that everyone you love will be in the same room at the same time to spend the holidays together. Being an adult involves an implicit challenge to go through life with a divided heart. Every time I move, I feel like a little more of me gets left someplace else. That feeling of contentment still washes over me, but in waves now, In the midst of all that however, it’s even more comforting to know that I always have a “home” to come back to, even for just a few days.
I can say with no hesitation at all that this is my favorite Christmas ever. I didn’t think I was going to make it home, and when I finally did, now I almost dread leaving. Spending Christmas Eve and Day dinners with both sides of my crazy family reminds how lucky I am. Lucky to have parents who love and have faith in me unconditionally, an extended family who may not understand my decisions, but is always interested in hearing about my adventures, and the love of my life who rearranged his work schedule 304567 times to always manage to meet me at the airport/train station/carrier pigeon house to be the first person to greet me on my way home. This Christmas, my favorite gift that I received (and there were a lot of them) was the reaffirmation that, while I may not have a lot of money or a lot of security in my life, I am loved so strongly by so many people. May bank account may be empty, but my heart is so very, very full. Like the Grinch I can be, my heart is three sizes too large. And that my friends has made this merriest Christmas of my 28 years.
Festive Wishes to You and Yours!
TGI
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
"That Girl" is Still in London... But Not for Lack of Trying!
Hmph.
By this time, I should be in New York City, hanging out with my boyfriend and my friends, enjoying a garlic bagel with cream cheese and a coffee mug with free refills. I should be able to stroll over to watch the overpriced iceskaters at Rockefeller and swing by Sardi's for a swanky glass of wine, per custom. But I'm not. After a trek to the airport yesterday which resulted in 12 hours spent sitting on waiting room floors, fighting with ticket agents and waiting hours for a lost suitcase (lost even though my flight never left the airport), I sadly had to struggle back home to my flat last night, as my flight (and every other departure) was cancelled due to weather.
Yesterday was the most frustrating day of my life, bar none... and I've worked with lawyers professionally, so that's saying something. I left early for the airport because Heathrow's website warned of delays. I had reconfirmed my flight with Delta however, and although delayed by 30 minutes, everything was looking good. I got to the airport three hours before my flight, waited on check-in and security queues, and finally got into the airport proper. After grabbing some brekkies and coffee, I began what was to be a tedious day of waiting. I was never given a gate for my flight, so had to sit on the floor in the airport, just beyond the security area. At least once every five minutes, an employee would come past and inform us we "were not allowed to sit there." Interestingly, there was nowhere we were allowed to sit. The first hitch in an unpleasant day.
Then, my flight was repeatedly delayed. First by one, then two, then five hours. We still didn't have a gate, so I was still stuck squatting in the general lobby and being frequently admonished by staff for my choice of seat. Additionally, because I was not assigned to a gate, I had no airline agent to speak to. So the wait continued. I'd like to note at this point that I had previously signed up with Heathrow's status alert text message scheme, which at least every half hour, persisted in sending me mocking text messages informing me that my flight was boarding or on time etc. Finally, at 4pm, over four hours after my flight should have departed, it was cancelled. And how did I find out? Not via the airline or the airport, but from another stranded girl in the terminal who's mother saw it online (back in the States) and called her.
Once I heard about the cancellation, I hightailed to Delta's inquiry desk, where I was informed that no food, accomodation or travel vouchers would be issued, as the cancellation resulted from extraordinary circumstances. Here, I'd like to state once and for all that I will never fly with Delta again, as other airlines, including my preferred Continental, were giving compensation. Not only that, but I was refused rebooking at the inquiry desk, and told that I had to reclaim my bag, exit departures, go through baggage claim and speak to a Delta representative at the ticket esk in the landside terminal.
At this point, other flights were still slated to leave. I decided to speak to a Continental rep to try to get on the Newark flight leaving in the evening, should it be able to get offground. I've done this at other airports numerous times. In my experience, when weather is a concern, it is easy to switch a ticket from one airline to another airline if a suitable flight is found. Continental however sent me to speak with Delta. Who sent me to speak with Continental. Lather, rinse, repeat. Finally, I got a different Continental rep (after three tries at this desk) who quietly told me that I was being given the runaround because no one wanted to handle rebookings at the time. Awesome. While I was angry at my previous treatment, I was glad that at least someone felt it prudent to tell me the truth.
At this point, I went down to bagge claim to get my bag. I figured this would be easy, as my plane never left. But alas, I had to wait for two hours for bags from my flight to appear, and then, when they did, mine was not among them. The airline lost my bag. I never left the airport, but my bag was lost. Awesome. While waiting an additional hour for it to surface, and after hassling with no less than three baggage handling employees, I decided to try to call Delta. I was offered a rebooking for, wait for it, December 26th. The day after Christmas. The earliest flight they could offer me. At this point, it must be noted that I had had enough. I cried like a small inconsolable child in front of baggage carousel eight.
I finally left baggage claim and then had to wait to go through passport control and customs (again, even though I never left), got told by an immigration official to "cheer up" and finally made it to the Delta desk. Which had closed at 5pm. In the middle of weather emergency in which the airline had cancelled EVERY in and outbound flight, they still closed at 5pm. After another phone call to bookings, I cancelled my flight and started the refund process, fully depressed that i would not make it back to the States for the holiday. Defeated and still teary, I decided to go home. I picked up all of my crap again and headed for the underground station.... where the story gets even worse.
The Picadilly, the only Underground line servicing Heathrow, was closed. Closed. Because by this point the airport had for all intents and purposes closed, it was a swarm of people. The landside terminal was so packed that people couldn't roll suitcases through the crowd. This also means that the taxi queue stretched the length of the airport. So that option was out. My only choice was to pay nearly 20 pounds for the luxury of waiting 45 minutes for the Heathrow Express, which dropped me off at Paddington Station, on the other side of the city from where I live. I then had to drag self and belongings through two tube transfers before finally making it back to my neighborhood. On the walk home, trudging through the three inches of snow, I sobbed. I was feeling so sorry for myself, and was so distracted, that, not watching where I was going, I tripped over the curb, slipped and fell, and wound up with ripped pants, a fat lip and bruise on my face. Brilliant.
After a continued cry, I called Expedia, and spoke to my first kind employee of the day. He didn't dodge my questions, ignore me, tell to cheer up, or to get out of the way. He said he was sorry. Even though it wasn't his fault. And that made me feel better. A simple "I'm Sorry" is one of the kindest things one can hear on a terrible day. and then he helped me rebook myself for a flight on Tuesday. Which is even nicer. This is of course all weather permitting. Heathrow is still basically closed, and there are already cancellations for outgoing flights tomorrow. But I desperately clinging to the hope that I can get out on that flight, and be with my family on Tuesday night.
All in all, yesterday was highly unpleasant. And I didn't even have it the worst. I at least have somewhere to go back to in London. There were no hotel rooms to be found near the airport, and frankly, even if I found one, I couldn't have afforded it. The girl I was talking to in the waiting room had expressed the same concern, as she was going home from a semester abroad, and had nearly no money left. I really felt for her while we sat and talked for a few hours, and forced her to let me buy her lunch. I'm no moneybags, but I've been in her position a few times, and know precisely that terrible kind of panic. I lost track of her, but hope she is okay, and had someplace to stay last night. I saw parents with small children all over the terminal as well, and can only imagine the awful night they had. I do recognize that the treatment I received from airline and airport staff, which I perceive as rude, is merely a case of staff doing their best on a trying day. And yet, I still do not appreciate it, particularly when all any of us (staff and travellers alike) want to do is to go home. Don't bounce a person from desk to desk to desk simply because you don't want to give her the bad news.
At this point, I'm holding out hope for Tuesday. That's the best I can do. Best of luck to you all in your holiday travels!
By this time, I should be in New York City, hanging out with my boyfriend and my friends, enjoying a garlic bagel with cream cheese and a coffee mug with free refills. I should be able to stroll over to watch the overpriced iceskaters at Rockefeller and swing by Sardi's for a swanky glass of wine, per custom. But I'm not. After a trek to the airport yesterday which resulted in 12 hours spent sitting on waiting room floors, fighting with ticket agents and waiting hours for a lost suitcase (lost even though my flight never left the airport), I sadly had to struggle back home to my flat last night, as my flight (and every other departure) was cancelled due to weather.
Yesterday was the most frustrating day of my life, bar none... and I've worked with lawyers professionally, so that's saying something. I left early for the airport because Heathrow's website warned of delays. I had reconfirmed my flight with Delta however, and although delayed by 30 minutes, everything was looking good. I got to the airport three hours before my flight, waited on check-in and security queues, and finally got into the airport proper. After grabbing some brekkies and coffee, I began what was to be a tedious day of waiting. I was never given a gate for my flight, so had to sit on the floor in the airport, just beyond the security area. At least once every five minutes, an employee would come past and inform us we "were not allowed to sit there." Interestingly, there was nowhere we were allowed to sit. The first hitch in an unpleasant day.
Then, my flight was repeatedly delayed. First by one, then two, then five hours. We still didn't have a gate, so I was still stuck squatting in the general lobby and being frequently admonished by staff for my choice of seat. Additionally, because I was not assigned to a gate, I had no airline agent to speak to. So the wait continued. I'd like to note at this point that I had previously signed up with Heathrow's status alert text message scheme, which at least every half hour, persisted in sending me mocking text messages informing me that my flight was boarding or on time etc. Finally, at 4pm, over four hours after my flight should have departed, it was cancelled. And how did I find out? Not via the airline or the airport, but from another stranded girl in the terminal who's mother saw it online (back in the States) and called her.
Once I heard about the cancellation, I hightailed to Delta's inquiry desk, where I was informed that no food, accomodation or travel vouchers would be issued, as the cancellation resulted from extraordinary circumstances. Here, I'd like to state once and for all that I will never fly with Delta again, as other airlines, including my preferred Continental, were giving compensation. Not only that, but I was refused rebooking at the inquiry desk, and told that I had to reclaim my bag, exit departures, go through baggage claim and speak to a Delta representative at the ticket esk in the landside terminal.
At this point, other flights were still slated to leave. I decided to speak to a Continental rep to try to get on the Newark flight leaving in the evening, should it be able to get offground. I've done this at other airports numerous times. In my experience, when weather is a concern, it is easy to switch a ticket from one airline to another airline if a suitable flight is found. Continental however sent me to speak with Delta. Who sent me to speak with Continental. Lather, rinse, repeat. Finally, I got a different Continental rep (after three tries at this desk) who quietly told me that I was being given the runaround because no one wanted to handle rebookings at the time. Awesome. While I was angry at my previous treatment, I was glad that at least someone felt it prudent to tell me the truth.
At this point, I went down to bagge claim to get my bag. I figured this would be easy, as my plane never left. But alas, I had to wait for two hours for bags from my flight to appear, and then, when they did, mine was not among them. The airline lost my bag. I never left the airport, but my bag was lost. Awesome. While waiting an additional hour for it to surface, and after hassling with no less than three baggage handling employees, I decided to try to call Delta. I was offered a rebooking for, wait for it, December 26th. The day after Christmas. The earliest flight they could offer me. At this point, it must be noted that I had had enough. I cried like a small inconsolable child in front of baggage carousel eight.
I finally left baggage claim and then had to wait to go through passport control and customs (again, even though I never left), got told by an immigration official to "cheer up" and finally made it to the Delta desk. Which had closed at 5pm. In the middle of weather emergency in which the airline had cancelled EVERY in and outbound flight, they still closed at 5pm. After another phone call to bookings, I cancelled my flight and started the refund process, fully depressed that i would not make it back to the States for the holiday. Defeated and still teary, I decided to go home. I picked up all of my crap again and headed for the underground station.... where the story gets even worse.
The Picadilly, the only Underground line servicing Heathrow, was closed. Closed. Because by this point the airport had for all intents and purposes closed, it was a swarm of people. The landside terminal was so packed that people couldn't roll suitcases through the crowd. This also means that the taxi queue stretched the length of the airport. So that option was out. My only choice was to pay nearly 20 pounds for the luxury of waiting 45 minutes for the Heathrow Express, which dropped me off at Paddington Station, on the other side of the city from where I live. I then had to drag self and belongings through two tube transfers before finally making it back to my neighborhood. On the walk home, trudging through the three inches of snow, I sobbed. I was feeling so sorry for myself, and was so distracted, that, not watching where I was going, I tripped over the curb, slipped and fell, and wound up with ripped pants, a fat lip and bruise on my face. Brilliant.
After a continued cry, I called Expedia, and spoke to my first kind employee of the day. He didn't dodge my questions, ignore me, tell to cheer up, or to get out of the way. He said he was sorry. Even though it wasn't his fault. And that made me feel better. A simple "I'm Sorry" is one of the kindest things one can hear on a terrible day. and then he helped me rebook myself for a flight on Tuesday. Which is even nicer. This is of course all weather permitting. Heathrow is still basically closed, and there are already cancellations for outgoing flights tomorrow. But I desperately clinging to the hope that I can get out on that flight, and be with my family on Tuesday night.
All in all, yesterday was highly unpleasant. And I didn't even have it the worst. I at least have somewhere to go back to in London. There were no hotel rooms to be found near the airport, and frankly, even if I found one, I couldn't have afforded it. The girl I was talking to in the waiting room had expressed the same concern, as she was going home from a semester abroad, and had nearly no money left. I really felt for her while we sat and talked for a few hours, and forced her to let me buy her lunch. I'm no moneybags, but I've been in her position a few times, and know precisely that terrible kind of panic. I lost track of her, but hope she is okay, and had someplace to stay last night. I saw parents with small children all over the terminal as well, and can only imagine the awful night they had. I do recognize that the treatment I received from airline and airport staff, which I perceive as rude, is merely a case of staff doing their best on a trying day. And yet, I still do not appreciate it, particularly when all any of us (staff and travellers alike) want to do is to go home. Don't bounce a person from desk to desk to desk simply because you don't want to give her the bad news.
At this point, I'm holding out hope for Tuesday. That's the best I can do. Best of luck to you all in your holiday travels!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
"That Girl" is Educated. And Grateful.
I've been thinking a lot about the privilege and right of education over the past few weeks. Here in England, education funding is on the verge of tumultuous change, potentially raising fees for students, effecting future students as well as those currently enrolled in higher education. Outcry, protests and demonstrations have been part of the recent landscape here in London, and for good reason. It is very likely that higher education, once a given in the U.K., will now become a privilege available only to those who can pay for it, more akin to the American framework. Right now, thousands of people in London are marching to Parliament to protest and demonstrate to protect the availability of an education.
I have a weird relationship with the U.K. situation because, although I am a student here in London, I am an American. I was raised in the US, and never had a doubt that the expectation of me was that I would attend attend college (university to the Brits among you). There was never a question of this. From the time I was in junior high school, I was working to 'get into a good college.' I come from a financially average, middle-class family. My parents didn't have huge stockpiles of money set aside for my tuition. Implicit in the knowledge that I would attend university was the imperative that somehow we would struggle to pay for it. And yet, even though school would be a large financial burden on my family, it was accepted that regardless, I would be going. I went to a private liberal arts school, with a very very hefty price-tag. I had worked hard and was very lucky to receive scholarships from the school and from outside entities that shouldered some of the burden, but, nonetheless, I will still be paying off my undergraduate education in the years to come, as well as the graduate degree I've embarked on this year. In the United States, although education is almost certainly a requirement for most people, it is not at all a right. We "have" to have to degrees, and we have to pay for them.
I'm not saying that this is good. In fact, I'm saying the quite the opposite. In my professional life, I don't work in a field where I make the big bucks. As such, I monthly only the pay the minimum on my loans. At this rate, I'll be paying the government a monthly pittance for the next 20-odd years for five years of school, and two pieces of paper listing my credentials. Education, just like healthcare, I believe, should be givens. One should have access to the tools one needs to better themselves. To me, I find it appalling that institutions of higher learning in the US are predicated on profit margin, not academic prowess and availability. I greatly admire the UK system currently under imminent threat because it makes higher education a reality for anyone who dreams of it. If you have the desire to get a college/advanced education, it's yours. At least currently. Parliament is voting on the funding increase in less than two hours. This vote could change the dreams of some young people, and alter the courses of their lives.
To me, that's the real tragedy of this funding nightmare. I think about the 18 and 19 year olds who have just started their university lives. I remember my own freshman year of college and what a formative experience it was for me in my life. Through my parents' determination to see me through my four years (and the help of some amazing scholarship money) I got a stellar education that I could not have paid for. Had I been in my freshman year, in love with my newfound independence and academic confidence, I would have been devastated to not be able to move onto my sophomore year because I couldn't pay for it. There are young people in university across the country for whom this may be their last year of higher education, by no fault of their own. Having to shell out the money for own tuition is fine I suppose, when you have the appropriate amount of time at your disposal to save up that money. But, for those students already in school or just getting ready to start, the very dire threat is that they will suddenly be derailed because of a 9000 pound bill.
As an American, I am in some ways used to be 'ignored' by my government. Even though I worked 50+ hours a week most weeks in the US, I spent the vast majority of my 20s without health insurance. There was no public recourse available to me to look after my health. A broken arm or hospital stay would have bankrupted me. Literally. I'm an artist, and although structures like the National Endowment for the Arts etc. dole out money for art-making, I will never qualify as a recipient unless I become a machinated arts entity appealing to the mass public. I'm a social liberal, and see, on a regular basis, rights I hold dear threatened, revoked and ignored. Because of this governmental marginalization, i suppose I feel a lot of empathy and solidarity with my UK student counterparts. They've been raised in a culture that values higher education, and now that it is their turn to reap those benefits, they're having the door slammed in their faces. That is not a kind situation to be in. In current economic times, it seems to me that the last resource a government should threaten is the education of its people. That kind of shortsightedness ill impact the nation and the world for years to come. The foibles of political mismanagement should not bring further punishment on the students of a country.
There's another, more personal impact of these proposed fee hikes as well. A lot of art is made possible through the agency of the education system. Many professors in the arts are also working artists, who's work is supported and enabled through the educational frame. Students have the opportunity to study, engage and immerse themselves in the arts through their university studies. Some of those students will become working artists. Others will use their education at university to move into theoretical discourse, shaping the intellectual landscape of my field. I fear that what happens in the US will begin to happen here. I have many talented artistic friends who were not "allowed" by their parents etc. to study the arts in college, because it wasn't financially worth it. These parents, concerned about shelling out huge sums of money for "worthless" art degrees funneled their kids into more profitable majors. In a framework where credits cost big bucks, this will happen. When an education is financed by family etc., it takes agency out of the hands of the student. Personal passions and interests aren't as crucial as the potential for return of investment on tuition fees. It happens a lot in the US, and I find it very sad. I know some very unhappy economics majors, who probably would have had very fulfilling college experiences had they been able to study drawing or singing or acting. But the choice was to a large degree made for them by their 'investors.'
Education has an innumerable number of benefits, only a few of which in my opinion are tied to bankrolls. We should take pride in academics as a beautiful condition of being rational thinking beings. Access to so many things in this world is controlled by money; let's try to protect education as something that can exist outside of that financial paradigm, something we have a right to because we long for it, not because we can afford.
I have a weird relationship with the U.K. situation because, although I am a student here in London, I am an American. I was raised in the US, and never had a doubt that the expectation of me was that I would attend attend college (university to the Brits among you). There was never a question of this. From the time I was in junior high school, I was working to 'get into a good college.' I come from a financially average, middle-class family. My parents didn't have huge stockpiles of money set aside for my tuition. Implicit in the knowledge that I would attend university was the imperative that somehow we would struggle to pay for it. And yet, even though school would be a large financial burden on my family, it was accepted that regardless, I would be going. I went to a private liberal arts school, with a very very hefty price-tag. I had worked hard and was very lucky to receive scholarships from the school and from outside entities that shouldered some of the burden, but, nonetheless, I will still be paying off my undergraduate education in the years to come, as well as the graduate degree I've embarked on this year. In the United States, although education is almost certainly a requirement for most people, it is not at all a right. We "have" to have to degrees, and we have to pay for them.
I'm not saying that this is good. In fact, I'm saying the quite the opposite. In my professional life, I don't work in a field where I make the big bucks. As such, I monthly only the pay the minimum on my loans. At this rate, I'll be paying the government a monthly pittance for the next 20-odd years for five years of school, and two pieces of paper listing my credentials. Education, just like healthcare, I believe, should be givens. One should have access to the tools one needs to better themselves. To me, I find it appalling that institutions of higher learning in the US are predicated on profit margin, not academic prowess and availability. I greatly admire the UK system currently under imminent threat because it makes higher education a reality for anyone who dreams of it. If you have the desire to get a college/advanced education, it's yours. At least currently. Parliament is voting on the funding increase in less than two hours. This vote could change the dreams of some young people, and alter the courses of their lives.
To me, that's the real tragedy of this funding nightmare. I think about the 18 and 19 year olds who have just started their university lives. I remember my own freshman year of college and what a formative experience it was for me in my life. Through my parents' determination to see me through my four years (and the help of some amazing scholarship money) I got a stellar education that I could not have paid for. Had I been in my freshman year, in love with my newfound independence and academic confidence, I would have been devastated to not be able to move onto my sophomore year because I couldn't pay for it. There are young people in university across the country for whom this may be their last year of higher education, by no fault of their own. Having to shell out the money for own tuition is fine I suppose, when you have the appropriate amount of time at your disposal to save up that money. But, for those students already in school or just getting ready to start, the very dire threat is that they will suddenly be derailed because of a 9000 pound bill.
As an American, I am in some ways used to be 'ignored' by my government. Even though I worked 50+ hours a week most weeks in the US, I spent the vast majority of my 20s without health insurance. There was no public recourse available to me to look after my health. A broken arm or hospital stay would have bankrupted me. Literally. I'm an artist, and although structures like the National Endowment for the Arts etc. dole out money for art-making, I will never qualify as a recipient unless I become a machinated arts entity appealing to the mass public. I'm a social liberal, and see, on a regular basis, rights I hold dear threatened, revoked and ignored. Because of this governmental marginalization, i suppose I feel a lot of empathy and solidarity with my UK student counterparts. They've been raised in a culture that values higher education, and now that it is their turn to reap those benefits, they're having the door slammed in their faces. That is not a kind situation to be in. In current economic times, it seems to me that the last resource a government should threaten is the education of its people. That kind of shortsightedness ill impact the nation and the world for years to come. The foibles of political mismanagement should not bring further punishment on the students of a country.
There's another, more personal impact of these proposed fee hikes as well. A lot of art is made possible through the agency of the education system. Many professors in the arts are also working artists, who's work is supported and enabled through the educational frame. Students have the opportunity to study, engage and immerse themselves in the arts through their university studies. Some of those students will become working artists. Others will use their education at university to move into theoretical discourse, shaping the intellectual landscape of my field. I fear that what happens in the US will begin to happen here. I have many talented artistic friends who were not "allowed" by their parents etc. to study the arts in college, because it wasn't financially worth it. These parents, concerned about shelling out huge sums of money for "worthless" art degrees funneled their kids into more profitable majors. In a framework where credits cost big bucks, this will happen. When an education is financed by family etc., it takes agency out of the hands of the student. Personal passions and interests aren't as crucial as the potential for return of investment on tuition fees. It happens a lot in the US, and I find it very sad. I know some very unhappy economics majors, who probably would have had very fulfilling college experiences had they been able to study drawing or singing or acting. But the choice was to a large degree made for them by their 'investors.'
Education has an innumerable number of benefits, only a few of which in my opinion are tied to bankrolls. We should take pride in academics as a beautiful condition of being rational thinking beings. Access to so many things in this world is controlled by money; let's try to protect education as something that can exist outside of that financial paradigm, something we have a right to because we long for it, not because we can afford.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
"That Girl" Is Positively Fuming.
And I mean it. First, take a look at this article. Then, after you've finished throwing up your dinner, meet me back here. I'll wait.
Oh good. You're back. I find this situation so physically nauseating. I am tired of the phrase "American family" being used by narrow-minded politicians to defend the sanctity of the American family. Guess what? I'm a liberal minded, feminist artist, who makes work often dealing with, among other unsavory things, nudity and sexuality. I'm not very religious, although I'm quite faithful. My nearest and dearest friends are made up of circus freaks, strippers, live art practitioners and, yes, even gays. And you know what? I'm also a part of an American family. My progressive parents are observant Catholics, who have been married for over 30 years. They're also the warmest, most open and accepting people one could imagine. Some of their dearest friends are single parents, homosexuals and so on, the so-called enemies of the American family. Our family is built on foundations of open-mindedness, compassion and free artistic expression. In light of all that, we don't fit in John Boehner's conception of the uptight, malicious "American family" that protects itself behind the shield of a conception of Christianity that was never part of my (yes, my) Christian upbringing. I don't want to spoken for, under this disgusting umbrella, that preaches fear of anything that isn't familiar, and that isn't just like the grotesque examples of this hermetic so-called national identity. A large portion of my political and social life is under the control of these small-minded, big-mouthed jackasses. Stay out of my cultural life.
Museums and galleries are homes of culture, and dialogue. For all of their commercialization and commodification, these institutions still provide a place for artistic expression. The provide a haven and forum for expression that isn't welcome on the Congressional floors of my country. In any given museum, there will be pieces that bother me, trouble me, upset my thinking, perhaps even offend me (on very rare occassion). And to some degree, that is one major and important function of artistic expression. Monet's paintings are beautiful and artistically elevated, but they don't make you think critically, make you stand up and take notice of larger issue. And that's fine. That's one function of art. To astound and to beautify the world around us. And idiots like Boehner would have us believe (and have our tax money fund) only this type of work. This approach would in effrec silence any artist who disagreed with the current political and social climate. Goodbye, Jenny Saville. See ya, Tania Bruguera. And so on. By this reckoning, the only artistic work that is now to be consdered valid is the either the aesthetically beautiful or the politically and socially numb. Our politicans already speak for us. And now they want to be our eyes.
It's curious to me that artistic work that brings focus into political marginalization (be it economic disparity, sexuality, race, gender etc.) is called subversive. That's a label I'm dealing with in my own practice right now as well. I don't think I'm subversive, necessarily. But, because people like Boehner decide the accpeted norms, a great deal of artists (myself include) must needs always be on the outside of that. And therefore, we are subversive. We don't agree with how we are spoken for, and therefore, we are the outsiders. I can accept that as an artist, I suppose, but I cannot stomach it as a viewer. How dare you, John Boehner. You're not protecting American families. You're suffocating those who don't agree with your tiny little vision of this world that you share with billions of other people. I'm sorry that homosexuality bothers you. I really am. I'm sorry that you can't accept that people fall in love in ways that you can't grasp. It must be hell inside your claustrophobic little mind. But don't presume that all of us Americans wear your blinders. You are not protecting my family. In fact, you're making life very difficult for members of my extended, adopted American family, by placing less value on their lives and their families than you do on your own "acceptable" one. My American family is no relation to yours, and I'd like to keep it that way. I don't pretend to understand how you can live your limited little life, so do not assume that you can speak on how I should live mine. Stick to pencil-pushing, and leave our art alone.
That Girl International
Oh good. You're back. I find this situation so physically nauseating. I am tired of the phrase "American family" being used by narrow-minded politicians to defend the sanctity of the American family. Guess what? I'm a liberal minded, feminist artist, who makes work often dealing with, among other unsavory things, nudity and sexuality. I'm not very religious, although I'm quite faithful. My nearest and dearest friends are made up of circus freaks, strippers, live art practitioners and, yes, even gays. And you know what? I'm also a part of an American family. My progressive parents are observant Catholics, who have been married for over 30 years. They're also the warmest, most open and accepting people one could imagine. Some of their dearest friends are single parents, homosexuals and so on, the so-called enemies of the American family. Our family is built on foundations of open-mindedness, compassion and free artistic expression. In light of all that, we don't fit in John Boehner's conception of the uptight, malicious "American family" that protects itself behind the shield of a conception of Christianity that was never part of my (yes, my) Christian upbringing. I don't want to spoken for, under this disgusting umbrella, that preaches fear of anything that isn't familiar, and that isn't just like the grotesque examples of this hermetic so-called national identity. A large portion of my political and social life is under the control of these small-minded, big-mouthed jackasses. Stay out of my cultural life.
Museums and galleries are homes of culture, and dialogue. For all of their commercialization and commodification, these institutions still provide a place for artistic expression. The provide a haven and forum for expression that isn't welcome on the Congressional floors of my country. In any given museum, there will be pieces that bother me, trouble me, upset my thinking, perhaps even offend me (on very rare occassion). And to some degree, that is one major and important function of artistic expression. Monet's paintings are beautiful and artistically elevated, but they don't make you think critically, make you stand up and take notice of larger issue. And that's fine. That's one function of art. To astound and to beautify the world around us. And idiots like Boehner would have us believe (and have our tax money fund) only this type of work. This approach would in effrec silence any artist who disagreed with the current political and social climate. Goodbye, Jenny Saville. See ya, Tania Bruguera. And so on. By this reckoning, the only artistic work that is now to be consdered valid is the either the aesthetically beautiful or the politically and socially numb. Our politicans already speak for us. And now they want to be our eyes.
It's curious to me that artistic work that brings focus into political marginalization (be it economic disparity, sexuality, race, gender etc.) is called subversive. That's a label I'm dealing with in my own practice right now as well. I don't think I'm subversive, necessarily. But, because people like Boehner decide the accpeted norms, a great deal of artists (myself include) must needs always be on the outside of that. And therefore, we are subversive. We don't agree with how we are spoken for, and therefore, we are the outsiders. I can accept that as an artist, I suppose, but I cannot stomach it as a viewer. How dare you, John Boehner. You're not protecting American families. You're suffocating those who don't agree with your tiny little vision of this world that you share with billions of other people. I'm sorry that homosexuality bothers you. I really am. I'm sorry that you can't accept that people fall in love in ways that you can't grasp. It must be hell inside your claustrophobic little mind. But don't presume that all of us Americans wear your blinders. You are not protecting my family. In fact, you're making life very difficult for members of my extended, adopted American family, by placing less value on their lives and their families than you do on your own "acceptable" one. My American family is no relation to yours, and I'd like to keep it that way. I don't pretend to understand how you can live your limited little life, so do not assume that you can speak on how I should live mine. Stick to pencil-pushing, and leave our art alone.
That Girl International
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