Solar Fuel

I have no scientific evidence on which to base this claim, but I had a superbly productive day and I attribute it to the sunshine and spring breeze. Pittsburgh has had some exceptionally beautiful weather this week--and I mean exceptional in the truest sense, this does not happen often--and I've been working outside on the stoop of my apartment building. For an hour this morning and for two this afternoon, I sat and reviewed the secondary literature I'm using to write the first section of my first chapter. It was warm enough to have my arms bare, and so even when my back and bottom began to ache from being pressed against the hard concrete steps I refused to get up and go inside. I just kept reading, leaning gingerly against the wrought iron banister that's come partially unmoored from the porch. 

The magnolia tree across the street is blooming. The playground down the block is filled with kids from the Catholic school. Everyone else is at work and so it's just me, reading, uninterrupted. 

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Resilience

This weekend was supposed to be my tropical Puerto Rican vacation, my reward for enduring February, my chance to see my parents for the first time since September... and it was foiled by a snowstorm. Standing there in JFK's Terminal 2, all I could think was, "(wo)man plans, God laughs." We were stranded in New York City until Saturday afternoon, which was not the worst fate, but our new itinerary created logistical problems. For starters, we were wearing short sleeved shirts under our light coats and it was 27 degrees outside. I spent Friday wearing a sundress over my jeans, adding an extra layer to my (already bizarre) ensemble. We also had no place to stay, no plans, and, frankly, no extra money in our budget. 

Somehow, despite all this disappointment and uncertainty, I remained incredibly calm. We booked a hotel room using Hotel Tonight (a great app that I highly recommend), got ourselves on the AirTrain, the E train, the D train, the 1 train, and checked ourselves into the hip Nylo on the Upper West Side. I began texting friends and family, trying to arrange a dinner for Friday night. I made a plan for the day, including a visit the archive, lunch at Lombardi's, and a walk to the Lower East Side to load up on sweets at Economy Candy. Even with the looming question of whether we would actually get back to Pittsburgh on Saturday, I tried to make the best of our little adventure. We had a great time, saw some of our siblings and siblings-in-loves, and eventually made it back to this Appalachian icebox with a bag of candy and two dozen bagels. 

I confess that I did tear up once, when we got to the hotel that first night and it hit me that I wasn't going to wake up in San Juan the next morning. Yet I never broke down sobbing. I did not shake my fist at the sky and protest the injustice of it all. Even more shockingly, I did not angst over our plans or lack thereof. I embraced the variables and the messiness and all of the potential logistical failures.

Even a year ago, it was unthinkable that I could hold it together in such a situation. When I called to tell my family that we would not be joining them in Puerto Rico, father praised my "mature" response. Although I was flattered by his compliment, I think it's more accurate to say I was "resigned." Graduate school, particularly working on the dissertation, has made me more resilient. The process is inherently uncertain. You tentatively propose a topic and an argument that you suspect will be fruitful, but could lead nowhere. You dig through boxes looking for documents that might have been archived, but that just as easily were thrown away. You apply for grants and fellowships that you may or may not win, that would facilitate or limit your ability to conduct your research. You travel to archives, live out of a bag for weeks at a time, and constantly find yourself at Walgreens buying items like Q-tips and postage stamps that you believed were non-essential. And that's on top of that omnipresent and oppressive question faced by every dissertator: "Will I actually manage to pull this off?"

Apparently I have learned to roll with the punches, to shrug off the unexpected and accept that things aren't always going to break my way. That's a pretty valuable life skill, and further evidence that getting a PhD, while a questionable career decision, is the best life decision I ever made. 

No Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

My enthusiasm for the the Mac operating system has been tempered since I last wrote on Tuesday. I actually had great blog posts planned for the past two days, but on Wednesday I realized that iPhoto wasn't loading the pictures from my iPhone that I planned to post. Trying to figure out why my iDevices weren't iConnecting turned into an "If you give a Mouse a Cookie"-type headache that lasted 24 hours. 

To make a long story short, I realized that I needed to upgrade my operating system to OS X Yosemite* if I wanted my photos to continue syncing to my MacBook Pro. In order to install the upgrade, however, I had to do a lot of maintenance and backup on my laptop. I do try to stay on top of these things, but I try to be extra cautious right before sending my hard drive under the knife. As a result I got no work done yesterday. My laptop was in a constant state of loading, downloading, or spinning the rainbow pinwheel of death.

One good thing did come out of the process. I now have a great app to recommend: Memory Clean. It's an unobtrusive little icon that sits at the top of your screen and monitors how much free memory you have. When it runs low, you can ask it to clean out file caches and app memory stuff (I don't really get what that is, to be honest) so your computer can process faster. For a free (!) app, it's stupid easy to use and I've been pleased with what its done for my tired old laptop. 

I'm choosing, resignedly, to think of yesterday's upgrades as an investment in the health and future well-being of my laptop. What's one day of work if it means that I have a more efficient system for the next few months? It's just been a strange week and an unproductive few days, between grant deadlines, events, and the computer situation.

For example, on Wednesday I co-coordinated a Tu B'svhat event for graduate students. We fed everyone a free falafel lunch and provided terra cotta pots and succulents so that grads could honor the holiday by planting a little aloe for their office. Most of grad students don't really have the space to plant a tree, which is the traditional observance, so we decided to be figurative and have some fun with it. Over 15 students came during their lunch hour and it was lovely to spend time with Carnegie Mellon's Jewish Masters and Doctoral candidates. 

On Sunday I'm heading back to New York for a longer research trip, and I'm looking forward to the quiet studiousness of the archive. 

*My current assessment of Yosemite: My first impression is that the only major difference between Yosemite and Maverick--besides the cartoonish design--is that Safari and iPhoto are now more connected to my iPad and iPhone and it's easier to continue browsing the web/photos from one device to another. I'm not experiencing WiFi connectivity issues (which are widely reported in the App store reviews). When I upgraded to Maverick I saw a dramatic decline in the speed at which my apps loaded, but so far Yosemite hasn't seemed to make it any worse. 

1969, or 2014?

“Today our nation is moving towards two societies - one black, one white - separate and unequal. Reaction to summer disorders have quickened the movement and deepened the division. What white Americans have never understood and what the Negro can never forget is that white society is deeply implicated in the ghetto. White institutions created it, white institutions maintain it and white society condones it. A study of the aftermath of disorder leaves disturbing conclusions. Despite the institution of some post-riot programs, little basic change in the conditions underlying the outbreak of disorder has taken place. In several cities, the principal official response has been to train and equip the police with more sophisticated weaponry. In several cities,increasing polarization is evident with continual breakdown of communication.”

— "Analysis of the Problems Encountered by Jewish Community Centers in Acting on the Urban Crisis," William Kahn (Executive Director, St. Louis JCCA)

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Downtown St. Louis in 1969.  Missouri History Museum.

It's depressing to read this and consider how little has changed in St. Louis over the past 45 years. I found this statement in the published transcript of William Kahn's keynote speech to the Jewish Community Center Action on the Urban Crisis Conference. The Jewish Welfare Board conducted a survey in 1968 to learn how JCCs were reacting to the urban crisis. Even after the results were published in December of '68, the organization still felt lost. Leaders wondered, how could they best guide agencies towards effective programming to address urban poverty and racial discrimination? The Public Affairs Committee of the JWB called a conference together on March 25-26th, 1969, and invited executives and representatives from urban JCCs to come to New York and discuss their successes and their struggles. 

William Kahn was incredibly progressive, and under his leadership the St. Louis JCCA mounted one of the most well-organized responses to the riots and disorder of the summers of '67 and '68. While no one expected him to change the world, or for the JCCA to single-handedly defeat racism in St. Louis, how can we not despair over this evidence? It's unfair to say they failed--in fact the JCCA did make a big impact on many black lives in St. Louis. I'm just left unsure about what to learn from this parallel. I've long believed that change happens at the margins, and that you have to believe in baby steps, but I've never been particularly idealistic either. It's so easy to swing towards cynicism when you see history repeating itself. 

Reflections on Patriotism on the Occasion of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

Yesterday I attended a professional sporting event in a large arena. As is customary, everyone stood before the game for the national anthem. I got up from my seat but didn't sing along. I stopped singing the Star Spangled Banner a few years ago because I dislike the mindlessness of the tradition. We sing the anthem before sporting events... why? What does our affirmation of citizenship have anything to do with the game about to be played? I get why it's meaningful before an international match, but this was a group of men from Pittsburgh trying to beat a group of men from New York. 

In addition to not really understanding the custom, my feelings about America, democracy, and freedom have been tense in recent years. In the abstract, they're all great--I'm proud to be a U.S. citizen, I wholeheartedly believe in democratic elections and representation, and who doesn't love freedom? I do find it hard, though, to ignore the shortcomings of our government and our society, especially when we do not grant the same freedoms to all of our citizens equally. I struggle to proudly vocalize my support of the United States when I know how many double standards persist....

Anyways, I bring this all up because yesterday, at this professional sporting event, the singer of the national anthem did something different. For the middle verse of the Star Spangled Banner, he lowered his mic so that the only sound in the arena was the collective singing of the crowd. It surprised and powerfully affected me. The crowd carried the anthem, steadily and quietly. Without the magnification of the leader's voice, I felt enveloped rather than blasted. It seemed more thoughtful, more committed, and less like a spectacle. 

I confess that I wasn't moved enough to join in the singing for the last verse, but it did make me re-interrogate my abstention. Appropriately, this is the weekend when we, as a nation, have collectively decided to remember a man who dedicated his life to exposing the shortcomings of American citizenship, democracy, and freedom. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was not just a radical advocate for racial equality, he also fought for economic quality and against American' overreach abroad (particularly the Vietnam War). Dr. King was deeply critical of the false promise of American citizenship and the "American Dream," and he ceaselessly worked to remedy the worst policies, programs, and practices that disenfranchised vulnerable populations. 

Reflecting on Dr. King's legacy today, I feel foolish to have taken my citizenship for granted--what a privilege. So many men and women have fought over the past 238 years to expand access to the protections of U.S. citizenship beyond white male landowners. In my effort to not be blind to the miscarriages of justice that occur regularly in the United States and to see the rampant hypocrisy in our promotion of democracy and freedom abroad, my vision of the meaning and importance of American citizenship became blurry. I'm still not interested in singing the Star Spangled Banner at sporting events, but I appreciate that I had this moment--especially this weekend--to reevaluate why and when to be critical and when to do the brutally hard work of upholding values like democracy and freedom.