eateggs

Bovard sent me this link to a letter to the editor printed in Bozeman’s Daily Chronicle, quote in full below, which I felt compelled to respond to.

I was disgusted to see that the United States was sending aid to Pakistan for the earthquake recovery when here at home we have our own hurricane victims needing help. I have nothing against aiding other countries in times of need, but when we have our own disasters that need attending to, we need to prioritize.

At the moment it looks as if the reputation of the United States is more important to President Bush than helping his own people here at home. Although there were not as many to die in the hurricanes as the earthquakes, a major city needs rebuilt so people can return to their homes. Our oil refineries need rebuilt because gas is part of everyday life here in the U.S.

We have so many people jobless and with no money because of the hurricane, but yet the money sent to help Pakistan cannot be used to help these citizens of the United States of America. Something is wrong with this picture. Could it be that the United States is not prioritizing what is most important?

I would hope that each and every one of you would ponder this and think about what is most important. If enough of us can convince the government to take care of our fellow people, maybe we could make them see what a mistake they have made.

Laura Stoneberger

Bozeman

Response (ar! 300 words is IMPOSSIBLE!):

In response to Laura Stoneberger’s letter (Nov. 7th), I must also express my dismay at the United States’ response to the catastrophe of the October 8th earthquake in Pakistan, or lack thereof. It is not my intent to marginalize America’s tragic loss of over 1,000 lives, but I would like to try to place this number in perspective of the global community that we share with Pakistan, who, after Hurricane Rita, gave America $1.5 million dollars worth of aid supplies and money.

At present, the death toll in the earthquake’s wake is over 58,000 people. Worse, this number may more than double or triple during the coming winter if sufficient aid is not provided to the over three million Pakistani earthquake victims who are now without shelter to protect against the impending cold. Some two million of these are women and children. Pakistan is not a warm country; winter time in the mountainous, most affected northern region is exceptionally cold and harsh. Already, devastated mountain villages are being cut off from any and all aid by heavy winter snows, snows that will outlast people without shelter, food and medical supplies. While Americans contend with high gas prices, an estimated 2.3 million Pakistani earthquake victims don’t know where their next meal will come from.

And yet, in spite of the manifest and staggering need in Pakistan, the United States has only allocated $50 million dollars of aid: less than half of 1% of the estimated $200 billion dollars that President Bush has pledged to the reconstruction of New Orleans and surrounding areas. In New Orleans, the danger is passed, and people are in the process of moving back, rebuilding, and continuing to live their lives. In Pakistan, the gravest danger is yet to come.

Although Hurricane Katrina’s attack on New Orleans couldn’t have been prevented, the starvation and death by exposure of hundreds of thousands this winter can be, but only with the generous support of nations and individuals. Without, those who die in Pakistan this winter will not die from an unavoidable natural disaster: they’ll die from a failure of human agencies to adequately respond.

Respectfully submitted,
Mark Egge
Sophomore, MSU

O.A.R. (of a revolution) recently released their fifth studio album, Stories of a Stranger. I’ve included my thoughts below, as much for my sake as for the sake of anyone interested.

From the first words of the album’s first track, Heard the World, there is a marked departure from O.A.R’s previous studio releases. Most notably, Marc Roberge’s voice is strangely void of his characteristic, raspy intimacy which instantly enraptures the listener, and seems to add something of depth or humanity or passion to even the most mundane of lyrics. (In a random survey, one out of one music connoisseurs identified the lead singer of Stories of a Stranger as being a different singer than the lead singer of 34th & 8th.) I don’t know how to account for this sudden change in Roberge’s tonal quality, but it spans the entire album. Although at times hinting to that distinct vocal character so obvious on 34th & 8th, on balance Roberge’s lead vocals are smoother and more polished, –seemingly abandoning one of O.A.R’s greatest assets. And I did say lead vocals: Stories of a Stranger introduces female backup vocals to the mix, which does nothing to detract from the overall sound, but at the same time fails to add any appeal.

The vocals, however, are where the album’s consistencies end. Heard the World opens the album with O.A.R’s typical genre spanning style, also present in the third track, Wonderful Day (previously released in live format on 34th & 8th) and the album’s final, reggae sounding 52-50. The tracks in between, however, are as diverse as O.A.R. has ever produced. Not unlike Dispatch’s Four Day Trials album, Stories of a Stranger seems to explore a number of distinctly different musical genres. The album’s title track, The Stranger, strikes the listener as sounding overtly like a pop song. Lay Down and One Shot belong to yesteryear’s Ska genre. Program Director reflects a strong reggae influence, in both its Caribbean beat and its rhythmic lyrics, “program director / on the radio / won’t play my record / ’till a caller tell him so.” Perhaps the most surprising track on the album, Nasin Joon invokes a distinctive blues style, fitting for a laid-back coffee house, but not O.A.R’s familiar frat-house scene. The album’s ninth track, Daylight the Dog, calls to mind classic American rock’s distinctive electric guitar and vocals; O.A.R. is “ready to roll,” employing the verbiage of a decade long past. Finally, with Dakota, O.A.R. affects a style reminiscent of Sean Mullins’: quiet, intimate lyrics interplaying with the simple acoustic accompaniment.

In terms of lyrical content, I find Stories of a Stranger to be lacking, but perhaps appropriately so. The songs that are most similar to O.A.R’s typical style are also the songs that conform most closely to O.A.R’s previous themes of home, steady friendship and strength of character. For the other tracks, however, O.A.R. seems to have adopted the typical motifs of each successive genre they explored through the album, with all the convincing of an outsider attempting to imitate a natural grown style– O.A.R’s Nasim Joon is to Barry Manilow as a Mannerist print to that of a Renaissance master. Not that I’m opposed to this: even Picasso made his own renditions of the greats who came before him, but these themed paintings certainly aren’t remembered as being among his best. With this exploration of genres, I’m not surprised that the lyrics are less than compelling.

My initial reaction to the album was, honestly, abhorrence– finding it a rejection of the themes and styles that I’ve come to love and appreciate O.A.R. for. In fact, Roberge’s vocals and lyrics were, at times, were so markedly different that I found myself wondering if Roberge had been replaced by a lesser musician. After a second and a third listen, however, I’ve found the album to grow on me, although I doubt that even a thousand listens will place this album among my favorites. I’m hopeful, however, for future releases. Now eight years old, it seems that O.A.R. is exploring and questioning their style and direction as a band. Just as Four Day Trials preceded Bang Bang, I’m expecting a more confident and well defined O.A.R. with the band’s next release.

Today is Tuesday, November 1st, 2005. It is now, officially, the “cool season.” Most interestingly, it seems to be slightly cooler– I swear that, when I walked out of the internet cafe around 1:00 this morning, it was noticeably cooler than when I went in, as though someone in marketing said “all right! sweater season! turn off the furnace!” Of course, by cooler, I mean that it was so cold that I was able to walk all the way back to my apartment without breaking a sweat. Probably 75 degrees or so. Freaking freezing, I tell ya what.

On this particular Tuesday, Willy Wonka seems to have brought his magic to Thailand– his ice cream, at the very least. I’ve mentioned before that I often buy ice cream from the street vendor outside of the Thammasat gate area, but I’ve failed to discuss its mystical quality that 1) keeps it cold and 2) prevents it from melting. Thailand is hot, yeah (even though, supposedly, the cool season is … here?), but somehow I can buy ice cream and eat it at a leisurely pace without having it melt. Even more amazing is that I typically buy the ice cream late in the afternoon, after the street vendor has been scooping it four hours out of her cooler-on-wheels. It’s not refrigerated– at least in a mechanical manner. And yet… Mmm. It still manages to be cold and oh-so-tasty.

Here’s a picture of the ice cream in the “Thai” style– a more literal sort of ice cream sandwich, with sticky rice (which is god’s gift to asia!).

The Thais also have quite an … interesting array of toppings (which are put on the bottom, UNDER the ice cream… not really TOPPINGS, then, are they?) such as something that looks like soggy popcorn kernels, various fruits, sweet potato…

Today is Tuesday, November 1st, 2005. And everyone’s topic of conversation has, as if by some memo that I failed to receive, become going home. There’s always “that” conversation topic– “how were mid-terms,” “how ’bout them white-sox…” the sort of disinterested conversation starter that everyone uses with every other international student. It’s not that we care. It’s that we… what? Want to speak English? Want to feel some connection with that other white person who is riding the ferry, who shares a common language, heritage, cultural background? I don’t know. All I know is that the semester ends in four weeks, and a topic that, until today, had yet to be mentioned, managed to bring itself up in every conversation I had with an American today.

Of course, it’s heavy in our minds. Finals are coming up. Then home. In two of my three classes today, my profs gave an overview of what we’ll be covering from now until the end of the course. In my third class, that overview was last week. It’s suddenly become that thought in the back of everyone’s mind. That looming specter. That easy topic of conversation. Going home. –and that amazing past tense. How can the words “has been” be so turbulent, unsettling?

Which I guess makes a good time to make an announcement: I will be returning home in April. I will be taking the spring semester off. I’m currently in the process of trying to figure out how, as an American, I apply for a visa to Pakistan, but that, after India in December, is where I believe I’ll be heading.

Recommended reading:
http://pakistan.wikicities.com/wiki/Hassun_Shareef_entry_1

In short: don’t believe hopeful, happy images coming from Pakistan. The country is suffering greatly, and any and all attempts at aid are falling pathetically short, especially with regards to the government’s involvement. The country needs your support, your donation dollars, your spare blankets and your light-weight tents.

Recommended viewing: Proof

I’ll not bother trying to write a better review than the one offered by FilmThreat. I’ll simply voice my wholehearted agreement.

Recommended drinks NOT to try: Pepsi Fire

I have, sitting in front of me, a bottle of Pepsi Fire. When younger, I always used to wonder why there wasn’t a “spicy” drink– I thought the concept could be quite interesting. Well, this “soda” pretty well answers that question. It tastes like a liquid Fireball. I’ve had all of one sip… and that’s all it takes.

God, I miss Mountain Dew.

–! I just knocked over a 2″ high stack of coins (which I stacked up earlier this morning). Heh. And then I restacked them into 2 1″ stacks. Small wonder I can’t manage my time. Have I mentioned? That’s how I spend my days. Stacking… destroying… stacking…

Apparently, cheating is a big problem here in Thailand. Talking to my History of Western Art prof yesterday gave me a little insight into why the profs here are such anal authoritarians when it comes to taking tests… they have to be. In my art class, apparently two students turned in surprisingly similar papers. My prof read the first one, thought “ah. This is a good paper,” gave the student an A, and went on to the next paper. A few papers later, however, he found himself saying “gee, I’ve read this before.” In fact, he had– some of the paragraphs were identical, word for word. Apparently, unbeknownst to each other, the two students had both approached the same student who took the class last year, and asked for a copy of his paper, and, well, you can imagine the rest.

From what I’m told, there’s a British expat here who makes her living by writing papers for university students. Sheesh.

Here’s something crazy: the requirements to get Thai citizenship. To start with you need twenty years of residency. *ahem* yes, twenty. And then– tell me if this makes any sense– you need to be able to show proof of an income of at least 30,000 baht per month. Er, rather, if you’re married and have children, you need an income of 30,000/month, but if you’re single you need to show an income of 80,000 baht per month. Yeah. How ’bout that. Why would someone want Thai citizenship? Well, for one, you can’t own property in Thailand unless you’re a Thai citizen, which means if you want a house… your options are 1) create a “ghost” company and imaginary shareholders (foreigners can own up to 41% of a Thai company), 2) get married and give your wife the money (yeah, and when the relationship goes to shit, you think that Thai divorce judge is going to give you a damn thing in the settlement? Psh. Forget about it.), or 3) hang out for twenty years and get a lucrative job. So yeah. It’s funny: it’s easier for a Thai to become an American than an American to become a Thai.

In other news… it looks like I’m getting another motherboard. The last one lasted about a week before the status indicator lights (caps lock, scroll lock, num lock and power) started making like Christmas lights– *blink!* ON! … OFF! … CAPS LOCK ON! … POWER ON! … OFF! *blink!* It’s rediculous. It doesn’t impair the funciton of my laptop any (yet), but when I tried to explain to the Thai tech support guy that I just wanted to document the case, and that it wasn’t worth replacing the motherboard (unless other things start screwing up, as has happened in the past…)… well, Yeah. How do you say that in Thai? So I’m getting another new motherboard. All I can say is that I’m glad I’m not invest in Dell. Here comes number… three? Four? God, I’ve lost count.

Anyhow. Life as normal in Bangkok. Mass transportation, class, mass transportation, food, mass transportation, guitar, sleep, repeat… knock over that stack of coins, stack it up again. “i gotta testify / come up on the spot, lookin’ extra fly / for the day i die, i’m g’na touch the sky.” and so it goes. Over and over again. Oh, sometimes I do laundry. That’s nice. The sun never rises. The sun never sets. It just gets lighter, and then darker, and then lighter… always the same, overcast sky, the same oppressive heat…

I crave seasons. Change. And mountains. And crisp, fresh, clean mountain air. Air “new-made from snowy mountains high beneath a dome of stars…” Snowy. Snow. A snow flake.