Everglade's blog

I sat on the dusted ground, cold like an outdoor bench in the chilliest winter day. The difference was I could heat the bench after ten minutes, but not these tiny square inches under my body. The huge cement monster was sucking all my warmth. I liked the silence, though. It let me feel the texture of the wall, watch the skylight’s dramatic effect on the tiny hair on my skin, and think about thoughts in my head. I wanted to sing, but it would be embarrassing with the presence of two cellmates. So I sang inside my head. The voice was not mine, but a darker and more ethereal version of the singer’s, seeping into me along with the coldness. I may have unconsciously opened my mouth and made a sound, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

It is very much the same; it is harsh and unforgiving. These wall that used to be crisp white are falling down, the whole structure of the building is decaying. It has all passed. A place of aesthetic beauty from outside. A place of silence and regret from inside. A faint vibe, reminiscent of the true horrific conditions of this institution.

I see a complete disregard for the humanity of the prisoners. Eastern State Penitentiary is the humane and right way to reform criminals. In such a place of fear and loneliness, nothing could evoke their morality when they’re in torture. It's easy for one to think over and reform and contemplate. Conditions for their brains to be warped, and emerge with hatred, anger, and frustration toward the world. Disappointment. Flawed from the start. Unrealistic goals. I am bored this doesn't hold my attention either.

What does a middle-class white kid need to go to college? GPA, SAT, and extracurricular activities. What else does a poorer kid need? Financial aid. What more does a poor, marginalized, minority kid need? Incentive, a convincing reason to “waste” four years, and parents’ consent. For middle-class white kids, going to college is unquestionable, predestined, and natural as eating and drinking; for minority kids, it’s out of the question, an option of life that never crossed their minds—why waste money and time? Just find a trivial job, get married, have kids and live on government aid. When a minority kid meets all these prerequisites and goes to college, there’s still one essential thing that he needs to deal with: his background.

Tierney concludes two sorts of scholar opinions on regard of minority background. Some claims cultural suicide, indicating that minority students must abandon their cultural/family/neighborhood/economic backgrounds and accept the college notion, because their uneducated families, violent neighborhoods, and different cultures do them no good in academics or future success. Others advocate cultural integrity, holding that backgrounds are not harmful hindrance but to be valued and respected, and if made good use of, can help those students excel.

Last week I didn't use a lens in my paper. I wanted to but couldn't find a lens, because relationships are a quite abstract topic.

So I'll change my focus to Natalie's upward social climb, and maybe mention a little about Michel as I write. Anne recommended an article called "Models of Minority College-going and Retention: Cultural Integrity versus Cultural Suicide" as my lens. That article talks about factors that allow a minority person to acquire further education, and discusses the pros and cons of the influence on that person.

That Leah and Keisha became best friends seems a result of some accidents: Keisha saved Leah from drowning in the pool, and later “a dramatic event” when they confronted Nathan Bogle together. Would they become good friends if these didn’t happen? I guess so. Caldwell is a small community. If not these two exact things, there’s still a great chance that something else dramatic might happen between them. Bought the same dresses and wore them to school on the same day. Or ran into each other on the street and one fell really bad and another accompanied her to the hospital. A lot of things that can possibly bond them as life-long best friends. On the other hand, they must’ve had this sort of interesting encounters with many other people as well. But they became best friends with each other, Leah and Keisha, so that’s not a coincidence, but a choice.

Their childhood friendship was “based on verb rather than nouns”. They liked each other because they spent plenty of time together and did fun things. That’s more like playmates. To me, true friends like each other not because they do fun things together, but because they appreciate each other, the person’s personalities and intelligence and passions. And even when they do boring things like waiting for a bus for an hour or studying all day, they don’t feel dull because each one is a delight to the other.

I’ve lived in Hangzhou, a city that is clean, beautiful and cozy, like a paradise to live in. I’ve also lived in Shanghai, a city that is exciting, intense and ideal for ambitious youths. Now I’m in a new city. Upon my arrival, I was unarmed, and given a pair of glasses and a scribble board.

Since I’m unarmed, I submit myself to all the possibilities. When facing different people, things, and ideas, I don’t attack them with my gun—the helpless human nature of opposing things different from us, the malicious criticism that bursts out as fast as a bullet and hurts much. On the contrary, I’m open to challenges. I let the homeless guy I met challenged my perception of my role in the city. During The Quiet Volume, I like how the artist seems to read my mind and control my emotions. I’m not ashamed of letting others into my head because I don’t consider it a weakness of determination, but just my way of appreciating and understanding an artwork—to let myself be immersed and savor my feelings.

“Smells good.” “Keep up! It’s too crowded here. We have to stick together.” “That’s 5 dollars. Spicy or mild?” Noises of people chatting in various languages. A Latin jazz band played at the end of the street. A girl gave out questionnaires and orange bracelets that said “Latin Jazz for All”. I had to carefully avoid food dripping on the ground when I struggled a way through the throng.

It was Night Market in Chinatown. I went with several Chinese friends, hoping to find some reminiscence of my life back in China. Among many Mexican food stalls there were some Chinese ones, though not run by Chinese people. And it was the first time that I saw people in such density in America, so that reminded me of China, too. But it was just different, not what I expected of a night market.

Night markets, originated in Asia, are street markets for people to stroll, shop, and eat, and are more leisure compared to more businesslike day markets. Vendors gather every night. Besides food, there are many other every-day life objects: in residence neighborhoods, they sell pajamas and plants; in tourist sights, there are cultural products like paintings, stamps, and Peking Opera performances; around schools, one can find jewelries, card games, and comic books. Food relieves the weariness of shopping and walking around, and shopping is an enjoyable thing to do while eating. For many people, going to a night market is a relaxing and entertaining choice for a walk after diner.

According to Flanagan, subversion is “a powerful means for marginalized groups to have a voice”. I try to think of an experience in Philadelphia that corresponds to this, and calls to mind my encounter with a homeless person.When I was exhausted after a walking tour and sat on the ground having a rest near city hall, a deranged straggly old man walked towards me and started murmuring. It was a total shock, as I’ve never encountered a homeless person before, and held a stereotypical fear of them, so I said I don’t understand English and left in a hurry. I wasn’t lying, because I really couldn’t understand a single word he said. But as I walked away I heard a sentence that I could catch, “I just wanna give you a compliment!” I was perplexed—this is the city center, the place on the postcard in airport stores for every newcomer to see, where skyscrapers and banks cluster and every tourist visit, where cleaners work at midnight to keep it spectacular, and yet he felt so at ease despite of the fact that he didn’t have a house and clean clothes. He even offered me a generous welcome as a host, a welcome to the city as his home, a welcome to his world.

1. In the newspaper the "marketplace" ads attracted me

2. I google "market philadelphia" and found this

http://www.farmtocity.org/FarmersMarkets.asp

3. In the list I found Bryn Mawr Farmer's Market, and remembered that I've actually wandered there.

http://brynmawrfarmersmarket.blogspot.com/

4. Good Spoon Seasonal Foods    http://www.goodspoonfoods.com/

5. In the side list I found Sunday atHeadhouse Farmers’ Market   

http://thefoodtrust.org/farmers-markets/market/headhouse

6. And there's this volunteer activity

http://thefoodtrust.org/contact/volunteer

The Food Trust

One Penn Center, Suite 900

1617 John F. Kennedy Blvd.

Her collection:

http://www.moma.org/collection/artist.php?artist_id=5777

video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvwFuwOdkzE

from wikipedia:

In 1915, at an exhibition at the Tanner Gallery, she met the Dada artist Jean Arp, with whom she was to collaborate on numerous joint projects until her death in 1943. They married in 1922 and she changed her last name to Taeuber-Arp.

...

During this period, she was involved in the Zürich Dada movement, which centered on the Cabaret Voltaire. She took part in Dada-inspired performances as a dancer, choreographer, and puppeteer; and she designed puppets, costumes, and sets for performances at the Cabaret Voltaire as well as for other Swiss and French theaters. At the opening of the Galerie Dada in 1917, she danced to poetry by Hugo Ball wearing a shamanic mask by Marcel Janco. A year later, she was a co-signer of the Zurich Dada Manifesto.