Thursday, July 31, 2008

I guess centralized power is centralized power.

I was in DC last weekend, visiting the nation's capitol and other things. My lovely tour guide took me through two of the House Office Buildings, the Capitol building, and around other bits of the city. It was all very pretty, but after my visit to Rome last month, I couldn't help but notice that a fair share of the architecture is decidedly fascist, in the style of Mussolini's constructions. Huge slabs of smoot gray stone rising out of the ground with angular edges and harsh columns. Ferociously stylized statues and reliefs of symbolic figures of power (eagles, men with swords, etc.). The similarities are really striking.

It makes sense, I guess. The purpose of Fascist architecture is to convey the immense power of The State, its monolithic ability to crush you and its inherent right to everything you have. Washington basically does the same thing, but I suppose its architecture is more revealing than its rhetoric. When you go to DC, you don't see the seat of a nation of the people, by the people, for the people; you see a collection of stern white and gray buildings crawling with armed guards who inspect you and bureaucratize you before you even walk in the door. If I were a crazy libertarian, this stuff would probably scare me, but because I'm sympathetic to the idea of a centralized federal aristocracy, I'm generally OK.

Still, they must have known about the Fascist thing. Mussolini's Rome was built largely in the 20s, and I'm pretty sure that most of modern Washington was constructed after that. I guess if you want to send a message, you aren't going to let a few negative connotations of authoritarian dictatorship get in your way.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Fight the power, or don't.

The pus-filled sore of women and Union leadership has now been scratched by many, so I figure it's my turn to take a stab at it.

There appear to be a number of questions at hand. A few of them are:
1. Do women and men have different roles/purposes in leadership?
2. If so, is this appropriate?
3. What should the Union do about this?
etc.

Are women being relegated to weak administrative positions instead of being allowed to develop intellectually? I say no. There are many very fine female speakers in the Union, just as there are many fine female administrators in the Union. Indeed, they are often the same people. The former President, Ms. Homer, was a fine example. As is the former speaker, Ms. Rittelmeyer. As is the current speaker, Ms. Lee. There are plenty of other examples. Does this mean that the Union is not inherently structured as a masculine-styled "old boys club?" Not at all. In the sense that it is most commonly meant, the Union and its agressive style of debate and socialization is exceedingly masculine. What these and other women have shown is that an organization's "masculinity" does not mean that it is impenetrable to women.

Ah, but as Kate says, the real power lies in the parties. While I would dispute her on this point alone (the past election cycle has indicated to me that there is clearly ideology and inspiration in Union leadership), I will go down her path. In the past two semesters alone, during my time at Yale (and hers), there have been six female chairmen of parties. Out of 14, that isn't bad, especially considering the male majority in the membership. Were these women inspirational leaders? I think their parties would say so. Kate's party, the Party of the Right, which has not had a female chairman since the fall of 2006, has its own roadblocks to overcome (or not, if it so chooses). But this is indicative not of a general failure of the Union system, or even of women as a gender to fulfill the dominant role in an organization.

It seems that there are a number of people, regardless of gender, who seek leadership roles for whatever reason, and fight until they assume them. Some have a harder time than others, either because of personal or environmental setbacks. But I would add that we have the great fortune of residing in a microcosm of privilege where practically everything is voluntary. If you choose to take part in a system that keeps you down, be prepared to fight harder or accept your assigned role. While the world may be big and bad, Yale is small and pretty, and your narrative is one that you have a part in writing, if there is a narrative at all.

Leadership is a trait, or perhaps a number of traits. Some women possess it, others do not. Some men possess it, others do not. Associating this trait with the realm of masculinity may be informative, but it is not a rule. At this point, I am willing to say that gender roles exist as an anthropological observation, but not as a cultural imperative.

And so I say to the postmodern world: know the power structure. Learn it. Embrace it, reject it, do with it as you will. But if you feel nurturing, nurture. If you feel dominant, dominate. Only the reactionary nature of the culture you embrace, coupled with your own self-doubt might hold you back. For the rest of us, we will live the world as we see it, honoring the victors and forgetting the weak.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Paternalism at its most familial: that's not good for you!

The city of New York continues to force its citizens to be healthier. First the smoking ban, then the trans fats ban, and now fast food and "casual-dining" restaurants are required to post calorie counts on their menus.
Is this okay? Probably. My initial reaction was, "they can't do that!" But they I realized that not only can they legally do that, it might be a good idea. So long as the four-star upscale restaurant doesn't have to measure the energy of each escargot, I applaud the effort to make people at least be conscious of the shit they put into their bodies.
The article posted above quotes a couple people saying that they won't be affected by this, that they'll still eat a Big Mac because "people don't go to McDonald's for a healthy lunch. They go for a fast-food burger and fries." But I don't think so. Many people go to McDonald's because it's convenient and cheap and (they think) they know what it is. But if I were even remotely conscious of my health, I'd hesitate before supersizing it if I saw the calories.

This has been driven home to me more recently, as I've been on a diet. I started it on a whim, deciding that I weighed somewhat too much and that I wanted to lose about 11 pounds by the end of July. It's hard, actually. I've been surprised. After the first week, I had only lost two, and now my discipline is lagging. Especially since I love Taco Bell. Now, I know how bad Taco Bell is, but only because I spend a lot of time on their website (http://www.tacobell.com/ - check out their ad jingle mixes at the top right). I used to pretend to think it was healthy (it's got meat, cheese, vegetables, and bread. Sounds like a great sandwich, right?), and I can easily imagine New Yorkers at least underestimating, if not ignoring, the actual fat content of their Crunchwrap Supreme (sooooo delicious).

So, good job New York, I guess. But I'll admit I'm not thrilling for New Haven to follow suit.

Friday, July 18, 2008

"Wherever it is"

This is funny. I like it because it's amusing, and because it references Aliza Shvarts.
You have to be on your toes, because the next big repugnant masterpiece could happen anywhere, at any time. More and more I find myself traveling to Sweden, California, or wherever Yale University is just to get a glimpse of a duck being force fed pâté-filled Oreos.

I still maintain that the Shvarts piece was artistic, but I concede that when described, it sounds gratuitously silly.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Obama Phenomena

Tom Tomorrow (cartoonist extraordinaire, if you didn't know) has a rather clever strip this week about the varying perceptions of Obama. I probably fall in most closely with the "Obamanologists" who "strive to explain the difference between what Obama says and what he means." I have a feeling that most Democrats fall into one of these categories. Broockman is clearly a "disillusioned acolyte," and I know a couple folks would be fall in the "ubiquitous apostates" category.
Aside from being amusing, the strip also affirms Democrats' own perception of "I belong to no organized party, for I am a Democrat" (thanks, David). Obama's done a pretty good job of representing himself, but aside from the occasional email from Howard Dean, I haven't heard anything from other prominent Democrats since the primaries. The Party needs to revitalize its own clout and create a coherent image of its candidate that everybody can fall in with, instead of splintering off into their own incomplete ideas about him.

Monday, July 14, 2008

America outsources even its mediocrity

When I was in Rome, and felt nation-sick, I inaugurated America Day (to be held each June 28 hence) by going to the store and buying Pringles, Snickers, Coke, and a Budweiser. It was glorious, and I felt proud. And I'm glad I did it then, because Anheuser-Busch, that shining emblem of Americana, is being sold to the Belgians. I'm sad. Maybe even outraged. Next year I'll have to use Miller, or something. Is nothing sacred? Will the French buy back the Statue of Liberty? Will Ford move to Mexico? Will Arnold Schwarzenegger get to be President? These are sad times, my fellow Americans.
I'm not really opposed to these kinds of sales. Free markets often to work out in everybody's favor. But Budweiser really is an American icon, and whether or not you approve of the drinking culture of our great nation, you really have to be sad to see it go. Obviously they'll still serve it. Obviously it will still taste gloriously bland. But it won't be the same.

Two politicians walk into a bar

Apparently there's a stir about next week's New Yorker cover. It depicts Barack and Michelle Obama standing in the Oval Office in full terrorist regalia under a portrait of Osama bin Laden as a flag burns in the fireplace. Both the Obama and the McCain campaign have called it "tasteless and offensive," but I for one think it's time that everybody suck it up for satire.

I'm working backwards here, because my first instict is to defend everything the New Yorker does, and then figure out why it's okay. The cartoonist, Barry Blitt, defends his work by claiming that, "It seemed to me that depicting the concept would show it as the fear-mongering ridiculousness that it is." Sure, but he needn't be so diplomatic. One of my favorite things about this "new kind of politics" was that there weren't supposed to be any pulled punches. I want to see a cartoon of McCain cutting brush in a cowboy hat with Laura Bush (he's Bush III). I want to see Obama stubbing a cigarette out on the face of a helpless white man as he sips a fine red wine (he's an elitist who hates white people).

Come on, media, help us think more about the men who will run our country! Don't just give me soundbites, give me biting commentary. Don't give me scandals, scandalize me. Political discourse has the reputation of turning off millions of Americans who feel like it's such a dirty game that they can't get involved. But Americans love dirty games, let them participate! People know more Bush jokes than they know Bush policies. It's time to use that to everybody's advantage.
Q: How many Democrats does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Only three, but they need healthcare and a living wage.
Q: How many Republicans does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Let the market decide!
Those are just off the top of my head, but I feel confident that the more jokes we hear(constructive jokes, mind you, not Dennis Miller shit), the more invested we'll be. And so I applaud the New Yorker for spearheading what will hopefully be a trend of amusing understanding.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

The Yale Corporation is a collective douchebag.

About two weeks ago, from the YDN:
In February, when he first endorsed plans for expansion, Levin suggested the new colleges would allow for the Yale College enrollment to increase by about 650 to 700 students, or 12 or 13 percent of the existing student body. But Levin said the Corporation has decided to make the colleges slightly larger, allowing for an increase of about 800 students, or roughly 15 percent of the existing student body.

There goes the first promise they made: eliminating annex housing. Now they're just planning to "significantly reduce" it, which entirely defeats the purpose.
Mostly I'm pissed off about this because aside from going forward with an expansion we don't need that had very little student support, they're going back on their word about all the things that got them any support in the first place. Next they'll be saying that the enormous student center they promised with plenty of places for groups to meet will become office space, and that they won't be hiring that many new faculty after all.
Why do we need to expand anyway? The answer most commonly given is that Yale feels bad about rejecting so many qualified applicants. Aside from the fact that I don't give a shit, that's a pretty shallow answer. Admitting another 200 kids a year won't take us back to 1980 admissions levels, it will take us back to 2004 admissions levels. Maybe. And why do we care? Yale has prided itself for centuries for having an intimate student body with a compact campus that has the feel of a liberal arts college but the resources of a university. Now they're expanding our numbers, sprawling our campus, and straining our resources. Those motherfuckers. Somebody please try to justify this move to me. Please.

Salvation subject to availability

By popular demand, I'll start with the "near-conversion" story. It may not be quite as juicy as some of you were hoping, but it was still an experience. About three and a half weeks into my five week stay in Rome, two friends and I decided to check out St. Peter's basilica in the afternoon. We had been reading Mark Twain's The Innocents Abroad, and I had been particularly struck by this passage:

When we reached the door, and stood fairly within the church, it was impossible to comprehend that it was a very large building. I had to cipher a comprehension of it. I had to ransack my memory for some more similes. St. Peter's is bulky. Its height and size would represent two of the Washington capitol set one on top of the other--if the capitol were wider; or two blocks or two blocks and a half of ordinary buildings set one on top of the other. St. Peter's was that large, but it could and would not look so. The trouble was that every thing in it and about it was on such a scale of uniform vastness that there were no contrasts to judge by--none but the people, and I had not noticed them. They were insects. The statues of children holding vases of holy water were immense, according to the tables of figures, but so was every thing else around them. The mosaic pictures in the dome were huge, and were made of thousands and thousands of cubes of glass as large as the end of my little finger, but those pictures looked smooth, and gaudy of color, and in good proportion to the dome. Evidently they would not answer to measure by. Away down toward the far end of the church (I thought it was really clear at the far end, but discovered afterward that it was in the centre, under the dome,) stood the thing they call the baldacchino--a great bronze pyramidal frame-work like that which upholds a mosquito bar. It only looked like a considerably magnified bedstead--nothing more. Yet I knew it was a good deal more than half as high as Niagara Falls. It was overshadowed by a dome so mighty that its own height was snubbed. The four great square piers or pillars that stand equidistant from each other in the church, and support the roof, I could not work up to their real dimensions by any method of comparison. I knew that the faces of each were about the width of a very large dwelling-house front, (fifty or sixty feet,) and that they were twice as high as an ordinary three-story dwelling, but still they looked small. I tried all the different ways I could think of to compel myself to understand how large St. Peter's was, but with small success. The mosaic portrait of an Apostle who was writing with a pen six feet long seemed only an ordinary Apostle.

But the people attracted my attention after a while. To stand in the door of St. Peter's and look at men down toward its further extremity, two blocks away, has a diminishing effect on them; surrounded by the prodigious pictures and statues, and lost in the vast spaces, they look very much smaller than they would if they stood two blocks away in the open air. I "averaged" a man as he passed me and watched him as he drifted far down by the baldacchino and beyond--watched him dwindle to an insignificant school-boy, and then, in the midst of the silent throng of human pigmies gliding about him, I lost him. The church had lately been decorated, on the occasion of a great ceremony in honor of St. Peter, and men were engaged, now, in removing the flowers and gilt paper from the walls and pillars. As no ladders could reach the great heights, the men swung themselves down from balustrades and the capitals of pilasters by ropes, to do this work. The upper gallery which encircles the inner sweep of the dome is two hundred and forty feet above the floor of the church--very few steeples in America could reach up to it. Visitors always go up there to look down into the church because one gets the best idea of some of the heights and distances from that point. While we stood on the floor one of the workmen swung loose from that gallery at the end of a long rope. I had not supposed, before, that a man could look so much like a spider. He was insignificant in size, and his rope seemed only a thread. Seeing that he took up so little space, I could believe the story, then, that ten thousand troops went to St. Peter's, once, to hear mass, and their commanding officer came afterward, and not finding them, supposed they had not yet arrived. But they were in the church, nevertheless--they were in one of the
transepts. Nearly fifty thousand persons assembled in St. Peter's to hear the publishing of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception. It is estimated that the floor of the church affords standing room for--for a large number of people; I have forgotten the exact figures. But it is no matter--it is near enough.



Twain does not exaggerate. The place is immense, and, simultaneously, perfectly proportioned. It is easy to imagine that St. Peter's is God's house, and that God's house is decorated with hundreds of square feet of beautifully detailed mosaics, colossal statues of saints, and one of the most epic domes ever built. Epic, that is the right word to describe it. To walk through it was an odyssey, to turn a corner was to discover another church's worth of treasures, to look up is dizzying but hypnotizing. I spent four hours in this church. No particular ceremony was going on, no procession or mass. But it was not for a moment boring or tiring. After two hours or so of wandering through the arcades and apse and nave, we walked through the papal crypt, past the bodies of the politicians who really shaped the middle ages and the renaissance, past full-grown men crying like babies at the tomb of John-Paul II, and finally past the tomb of St. Peter himself. Here, I paused, and gave a short bow, a gesture I had purposely avoided at the altars of all other churches. Here was the rock, the foundation of Christianity and the Western world, the Godfather of civilization. A bow was appropriate.Next, we went up to the cupola, at the top of the dome of St. Peter's. The climb was grueling, but the view was monumental. The basilica, I believe by regulation, is the tallest building in Rome, by a very significant margin. The Pantheon which, when up close, looks like a giant structure, is barely visible among the streets and other monuments. Imagine marveling at the height of Harkness tower and then turning around to see the Empire State building. I believe the feeling is analogous. In any case, I was stunned by the whole ordeal. Tombs, views, and my goodness, the baldachino. What a structure that thing is. As I was walking out the church, and looked back at the gigantic nave with the gigantic altar and the rays of light coming through the gigantic windows, yes, I felt an impulse to belong. I've always said that if I were to join any religion, it would be Caltholicism or Congregationalism. Congregationalism for the apolstalic lovey-ness, and Catholicism for the grandeur. Several of us decided that we wanted to go to mass on Sunday: a 10:30 mass, in Latin, with full homily. It would have been... epic. Unfortunately, you have to get tickets in advance for a mass at St. Peter's, and we didn't come soon enough. Thus, I remained mass-less, and all possibilities of conversion were crushed beneath church bureaucracy. Ain't that always the way?

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Just you wait...

Hey, folks. Sorry I've been gone so long. I'll explain in a bit, but the good news (if you like me) is that I'll be back in a mere matter of days!
Coming up, on Alcibiades at Yale:
-The difference between Rome (where I am now) and America
-New developments in the 2008 election
-Maybe a bit on Roman Triumphs (what I'm studying)
-My near-conversion to Catholicism thwarted only by bureaucracy
-And I'll beat up on that William Deresiewicz article that everybody's sending around.

See you soon!