Thursday, April 9, 2009

$$$!!!$$$!!!$$$!!!$$$!!!$$$!!!$$$

A very obtusely worded e-mail arrived in my inbox today and from it I slowly deduced the news that I have won a grant for my dissertation research next year from the National Science Foundation. It is less money than the Fulbright but more social capital, and y'all know how I prize social capital over shekels any old day. 

HOORAY! I HAVE BEEN FUNDED!!! 

ADDENDUM:

On Monday I received word that I have also been granted a Fulbright. The news continues to be excellent though as a friend recently noted, if ATM machines start suddenly spitting out cash at me as I walk by I might start to wonder if that deal with the devil that I made didn't work a little too well.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

Guarding my precious outlet at the Newark airport

Well I didn't exactly wish for more time spent at airports, but after looking at the last 24 hours in light of my recent posting on my love of the places I'm feeling a wee bit superstitious.

Checking in at Newark yesterday afternoon I was informed by the computer that my flight had been cancelled and rescheduled for first thing the next morning. I sought out the help of an airline employee but nothing else was available. I made the quick decision to stick it out instead of heading back into the city, not wanting to bother my friends again and figuring it would be a huge hassle to make the trip back out again at 3:30am. I now feel that was a poor decision. I'm sure I could have worked something out that was superior to wandering around Terminal A from 1pm to 11pm, squeezing in a few hours of sleep on a large luggage trolley (the only place warm enough), spending a further 4 hours at Chicago/O'Hare on a layover this morning, then squeezing into the back row of a tiny 2-engine next to a morbidly obese man on the flight back to Indy. I tried to feel compassion for him, primarily to keep from feeling resentment, but he was asleep almost the whole flight and while I was squeezed as far against the wall as possible, his arm kept dropping into my space; elbow in my waist, weighty forearm pressing limply against mine, and hand brushing my thigh. I would try to push the offending limb away but it kept falling back as he fell straight back to sleep. Eventually I settled for a childish solution, building a defense composed of my book and an in-flight magazine. This at least limited actual contact.

Now I am back again at the Indianapolis airport, waiting for the next Bloomington shuttle bus. I'm really tired. New York was excellent but I spent too much money and slept too little and now my nerves are shot and I'm trying to remember what it is I like so much about travel. I went to the restroom right after my flight landed and promptly burst into sudden tears. I want to go home.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

NO ONE DOES IT LIKE YOU

Emmy sent me a link last night to this strange and wonderful video by one of my most favorite bands. I just watched it again in the Indianapolis airport, which is currently crowded with Army reservists in fatigues, crewcuts, and sand-colored boots eating breakfasts from McDonald's. I want to ask one of them where they are headed but I won't; I'll just worry about their fates from the steel and glass sterility of this shiny new airport.

I'm off to NYC today for Marybeth and Cy's wedding and wedding-associated activities. I've been looking forward to this for ages but right now I am so perfectly comfortable and calm that I feel little of the excitement I expected. Such is the effect airports have on me. Give me some cavernous lobbies with windows onto runways, bad art mixed with surprisingly good art, coffee, a scone, and a few minutes to browse the magazines, and I'm happy as a clam. At least I am until I get on one of those infernal flying machines.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

HAIKUS ABOUT LOS ANGELES

Inspired by the magnificent Laura Etling and her happy hour haikus, I have composed a few poetic descriptions of my spring break experience in Los Angeles. Several were collaborations between my father and I, composed during our many hours in the car.

On St. Patrick's Day
Dive bar Guinness tap is broke
Hark, a repairman!

Sorry dear papa
You had bacon in your lunch
No more for today

Cars gleam in hot sun
Wisteria in the air
Who walks in L.A.?

Go slow go fast stop
Signaling is for pussies
Obey the freeway

In thrall to mammon
And on the hunt for vintage
Father, to Melrose!

Cars in front, behind
On and on and on and on
Hypnotic taillights

Gucci sunglasses
On latino landscaper
Rhinestones = caliente

In Los Angeles
I learned a life lesson
From the movie "Heat"

Returning from L.A. is always a little strange. It certainly isn't home, nor will it ever be, but having been there more than a dozen times over the last several decades it does have a certain familiarity and holds more than a few good memories. It is also an awkward transition going back to normal interactions after hanging out with my dad all week (if you've ever had the honor to meet him this will make perfect sense). I find myself insulting strangers (albeit playfully), wondering why no one is laughing at my Daffy Duck impersonation, and asking myself the kind of questions one is faced with over the course of a reasonably bad hangover: what did I do? did I really eat that? did I embarrass myself? why is "meatballs" written in sharpie on my hand? (okay, maybe I DO know the answer to that one) why was that guy wearing a joker costume? why am I so thirsty?


and yet, I know I'll do it all over again - not next weekend, but soon. I'll never learn my lesson.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

SINK THE BIZ! (AN ETHNOGRAPHIC ANALYSIS OF A BLOOMINGTON TRADITION)

I haven't been posting much lately (thank you, Brian, for so helpfully pointing that out) primarily because I haven't thought my day-to-day life interesting enough to share. In fact, I have been blind to the simple parallelism that while the more "exotic" and foreign worlds I occasionally inhabit are fascinating to me, my own world is filled with things which may well be seen as foreign and exotic when viewed by "other" eyes.

This has opened up a new world of auto-ethnographic possibilities. For my first analysis, I have chosen to explore Bloomington's famous collegiate tradition: "sinking the biz." By engaging in that anthropological stalwart, participant observation, I have been able to bring into relief the most salient characteristics of this storied drinking game, and in so doing, to create a richly textured portrait of group dynamics among adult beerhounds in the context of contemporary capitalist America.

The setting

Established in 1927, Nick's English Hut, or "Nick's," as it is referred to by locals of Bloomington, Indiana, is reputedly the oldest bar in town. Having provided respite and inspiration for generations of scholars, Nick's remains a popular destination for both students and alumni. Serving generous, midwest-style dinners and an assortment of fine domestic beers, Nick's offers its patrons a finely-tuned co-ed fantasy of youth, health, and plenty. A visit to Nick's is a visit to a historical monument, and thus is a source of social capital for its guests, who, through their patronage index a level of taste and distinction superior to that of just any aspiring Hoosier.

The game


Sink the biz is a drinking game popularly engaged in by Nick's patrons. The game requires an initial investment in equipment (beer filled bucket, narrow glass cup, generous supply of napkins) and a steady supply of overpriced lager, needs which can be accommodated by the helpful waitstaff.

Game play is as follows: Each participant, sitting or standing around a table, receives a plastic cup to fill with beer. At the start of the game, a narrow, empty glass (hereafter referred to as 'the biz') is placed gingerly in the bucket of beer so that it floats. Participants then proceed, in turn, to pour beer from their own cups into the biz. An illustration is below:

When the amount of beer in 'the biz' causes it to sink to the bottom of the bucket, the last gameplayer to have poured is required to retrieve 'the biz' and consume its contents. Beer is added to the bucket as it is depleted. Issues of hygiene or "purity and danger" are rarely discussed, but may be reflected upon in uncomfortable silence by participants. Strategies and sabotage are discussed in detail later in the analysis.

Players 

There is no minimum or maximum number of individual players in a game of sink the biz, however, when groups become so large that not all participants can access 'the biz', a second bucket is often added. This is the size of an average "two bucket" group.

Sink the biz as celebratory ritual

The decision to visit Nick's on a biz sinking mission is often made on the occasion of a ritual of celebration, examples being the completion of a semester or program, the anniversary of one's birth, and the departure or return of a comrade.

This particular visit was planned and announced by one Sarah M., a graduate student in anthropology who recently finished a harrowing, unwashed week of writing qualifying exams. Below, Sarah M., carefully pours from the height specified by the game's rules, rules which were reviewed at various times in the evening with varying levels of coherence.


If the sociability enhancing functions of sink the biz are to be expressed to their utmost, it is necessary that at least one participant in the game act as "the enforcer." The role of the enforcer can be played by anyone, so long as they are are willing to monitor the progress of the game, ensure that 'the biz' is rapidly retrieved and emptied, and attend to citations and discipline for such shenanigans as table-shaking and sinking out of turn.

In this particular game, the role of enforcer was played by Duncan K., whose cries of "punctuate your talking with drinking woman!" and calls for greater efficiency in rotation were matched by his own deep regard for both playing by the rules and trying to get his girlfriend, Georgia M., tremendously drunk.  


Acting as the enforcer requires that a participant be willing to sacrifice the possibility of abandoning himself to casual and carefree gameplay. As seen below, his vigilance rests only when 'the biz' is in play.


The business of the biz: corporate bonding and rites of inclusion 

As Chelekis (2005) and Marion (2006) have elegantly argued, contemporary small-town American drinking games serve to reinforce inter-personal bonds, sanction otherwise unacceptable behavior among friends and colleagues, and create a social world parallel to the productive realm, showcasing a distinctly post-Fordist mode of regulation and extraction.

Here, I would like to put forth an additional function performed by American drinking games, and by sink the biz in particular. As an unofficial social space, Nick's is a place of equality and inclusion. Individuals with diverse backgrounds, varied status and class, and entangled sexual histories are able to participate in sink the biz as equals, and even as friends.

The evening of observation saw the highly structured induction and submersion of at least one individual into the group. Maggie L., pictured below with the ethnographer, is the newest roommate at BLAMMO headquarters on Henderson street.

While my interlocutors all agreed that Maggie was a welcome addition at HQ, conflicting schedules and the purported tendency of certain roommates to "stay in their room," had thus far prevented her from being fully included in most BLAMMO activities. 

Freed from normal constraints on self-expression and candid declarations during gameplay, the new roommates were able to loudly effuse their affection for each other, their mutual satisfaction with timely chore completion in their household, and their hope that Maggie would continue to join them in social activities, especially those frequently taking place in the living room. Nick's also provided a forum where Maggie could be brought up to speed on the history of BLAMMO HQ, learning of such significant episodes as "the dryer that didn't work for like 4 months despite repeated visits by the useless maintenance guys who I totally hate."

As you can see below, sink the biz fulfilled its function as a means of inducting a new member into the social group. Upon her departure, Maggie and Sarah engaged in friendly high fives, signifying her newly acquired ranking in the BLAMMO hierarchy.

Sink the biz can also engender that rare four-field sight: cross-cohort bonding. The evidence below shows that third-year Rob was welcomed and accepted by fourth-years Sarah and Georgia. 

How does one "win" a game of sink the biz?

Who are the winners and losers in a game of the sink the biz? To answer this question we must first define the goals of the game, both those stated and those operating at a deeper level of hegemonic, gendered sociability.

Insofar as the game reproduces the historical event "Sink the Bismarck," in which the Royal British Navy sought to find and sink a famous German battleship, the goal of gameplay is defined as the submerging of 'the biz.' Happily, this goal is easily and repeatedly achieved by participants, making them all "winners." Contradicting its historical connotations, however, many players take great satisfaction not only in avoiding a sinking, but in using carefully measured amounts of beer to cause others in the group to instead sink 'the biz.' A larger contradiction develops here. The broadly agreed upon function of a traditional drinking game is to inebriate all of its participants. Those who rarely sink 'the biz' thus fail not only to achieve its stated goal, but to reach the state of drunkenness assumed desirable by all those who willingly participate. Clearly there are more complicated power dynamics involved, an analysis of which merits careful and continued study. 

In terms of embodied experience, however, sinking the biz is evidently taken as a rare pleasure. Beer is good, beer shared with friends is even better.




Tuesday, February 17, 2009

DECEMBER PHOTOGRAPHICAL EXTRAVAGANZA

I forgot that I never got around to posting these pictures from my holidays in Seattle. The essential soundtrack is of course Jose Bold's "December City," available for free download here.

Snowy city.

Chang Laoshi and her husband Wang Junjie go sledding with the neighbors in my mother's south Seattle neighborhood.

Lunch at the Space Needle.

Chang and Wang build a 雪人 (snowman)

Jose Bold and I (plus Montana below) make merry in the snopocalypse.

Montana has this funny habit...

Ryan Dobosh at Easy Street Records, showing us all how it's done.

The Seattle Aquarium

Jose Bold performing with "Awesome"

Some materials from the archives that I dug out of storage: classic flyers from a house party at The Plant, a pictorial of his dog attack and subsequent recovery that Mark sent me from Australia, and some love notes exchanged by Ryan and Vanessa.

NYE at the Rendezvous, featuring Dave and Mark both wearing their groomsmen suits from Austin & Emily's wedding, and Dave and I enjoying our last moments of erotic entanglement before the heartbreaker went and got engaged.

New year, new look.

Friday, February 13, 2009

ARCHIE AND THE DOG DAYS OF WINTER

This is Archie, my advisor's miniature hairy dachsund. He comes to school every day with Rick and accompanies him to class. Trained to bark if alerted to any sleeping students, Archie spends most of the class time sitting in Rick's lap, sleeping in the corner (kicking and twitching as he dreams of chasing rabbits and squirrels), and occasionally making the rounds to see if anyone has any snacks. Archie isn't much for loyalty. The treasured pet of a prominent Economic Anthropologist, he is a classic pragmatist, interested in things only to the degree that they might be of utility to him. All the same, I've been making headway. I suspect this has much to do with my habit of buying Slim Jims in the grad student lounge before I teach on Tuesdays and Thursdays and presenting them to Archie as tribute. Not only have classes been going tremendously well but these days when I turn left at the second floor stairwell and Archie is hanging out in the hallway he immediately comes toward me and exposes his belly for scratching, whether I smell of jerky or not. My plan is to get him to sit in my lap before I graduate and it seems I'm on track thus far.

Some of you have inquired as to just when I will be finished with school and (gasp!) getting a real job. Unfortunately I have no idea. This semester I am taking my very last course and teaching a bunch of lively undergraduates everything I know about consumption in China. I'm planning to take my qualifying exams in the fall (summer will be devoted to preparation, which based on my colleagues' experience seems to involve reading 2-3 books/day for several months) which will give me a second Masters' degree and advance me to Ph.C. (Ph.D. candidacy), but right now my fate for next year is in the hands of several fund granting institutions.

The news so far is good. Of the four grants I've applied for I've made it to the second round for two (with no news yet on the others). I won't know the final decisions until April or possibly May. Waiting is no fun and I try not to let my mind wander into the unknown future or imagine the disappointment of rejection. Last Friday, after presenting a well-received conference paper on Chinese media coverage of the melamine-tainted milk scandal I received news of my rejection from a dissertation workshop I was really excited about. Self-flagellation and crises of faith ensued until my friends here talked some sense into me. My wise friend Sarah had the sage advise (passed on to her from an academic elder) that every time you get rejected for something you have to go out and buy yourself something nice - that way the bad news will be cushioned by triggering a hedonistic mission. I like this idea very much and figure that if I end up not getting any funding for my research next year I will at least end up with a bottle of expensive National Science Foundation Scotch, a pair of Social Science Research Council shoes, and some pretty Fulbright dresses.

Regardless of the grants, I've decided I will definitely be going back to China next year just to keep my Chinese in practice, make more connections, and learn more about the country and its people. That may very well mean getting a job, but I am prepared for such an eventuality. Graduate students work harder than just about anyone else I know so I imagine it would be a nice change of pace. This semester, with my light workload, I am less busy than I've been in years. I'm trying to figure out what to do with my sudden surfeit of free time, which is becoming easier now that the frost has finally broken and it is slowly warming up. Does anyone remember what I liked to do back in the days when I had a social life (aside, of course, from gin)?

Oh well, I'll figure it out soon enough. And even with free time I'll still be spending way too much time in the anthropology building, reading, making tea, and endlessly planning my lectures. Nice work if you can get it.