"City is part of the ecology. People build cities just like any other animals build their habitats." During class last Tuesday, Sarah's comment on city left me a deep impression. City is the most complex form of human habitat, yet the fact that this complicated structure is a habitat, which people build to shelter themselves, makes me think about the vulnerability of mankind. Hurricane Sandy came in time for this meditation of mine. Through media, I could see how nervous people were when faced with the unparallel natural force. Yes we were prepared, but no one was absolutely out of fear. This is real humanity. We are not the ruler of the planet. Intelligence is not yet enough for us to combat unforeseen destiny designated by _______ . I leave this blank. Human force is so dominant in changing the "chemistry" of the planet in recent years, as Thomas Berry pointed out. We are probably contributing to our own destiny. On the other hand, the planet itself keeps challenging us now and then. Whether human civilization is developed to become aggression or self-defense to the natural forces really puzzles me. Or there may not be a clear border at all. Last night our customs group sticked together in darkness. The hearsay that Erdman was on fire (<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 />Baldwin, actually) made us panic. At that point, I realized the need of reliance on each other individuals have. I could barely imagine me alone in such a dark windy cold night, uninformed and actionless.

“Wow, Time Square looks different from what I’ve seen on TV!” I overheard some familiar Chinese talking among crowds of tourists in Time Square as I was running to Penn station to catch a train. Finally, I found my seat. I wondered why that sentence was still stuck in my head. Right, I said exactly same thing three years ago when I finally arrived at that symbolic site.

In just four years, I am doing everything I could never think of before by myself, travelling, dealing with complicated visa issues, negotiating with different people and so on. All the excitement of discovering new things on this continent seems to decline over time because I just have tons of other things to deal with and worried about. I become indifferent for many things which sound so exciting and tempting before. During the time I spend here, I acquire all kinds of new skills not because I am smart but because I have to learn to survive.

So much has changed and so much is about to. I made the decision to come here purely to have opportunities to receive the best high education in the world. At least, that’s my initial attention at that time. The moment I stepped in this continent, the journey full of mixtures of conflicts between of two cultures and assimilations of the two has begun. Some of the conflicts were expected before while some just went beyond my imaginations. Going back and forth between here and home, I am constantly trying to find a spot where I belong.

Last night while I was waiting out the most intense part of Hurricane Sandy (thus far) with my fellow dormmates our discussions led us down many paths, but inevitably towards the hurricane. And even more specifically to the question of, "why does it seem like the most destructive hurricanes have female names?" The friendly discussion turned to anger and could be summed up in one of Bryn Mawr's favorite sayings, "Death to the Patriarchy!" So I had the intention today of starting my post as a rant that would take a similar route of the discussion I had last night, that is, talking about the seemingly sexist nature of the hurricane naming system. However, I was proved wrong. Upon further investigation and according to Time.com (http://nation.time.com/2012/08/24/the-most-destructive-u-s-hurricanes-of-all-time/) the most destructive US hurricanes seem to be fairly evenly named. The list cited hurricanes Ike, Floyd, Hugo, Charley, Ivan and Andrew as the most destructive hurricanes with masculine names and hurricanes Opal, Jeanne, Frances, Camille, Besty, Agnes, Rita, Katrina, and Wilma. According to this list, 6 out of the 15 most destructive hurricanes have masculine names, or 40%. Feminine named hurricanes make up the other 60%. While these numbers are skewed towards the feminine named hurricanes it still does not show the huge gap that I was anticipating. Add Sandy to that list and the ratio is more like 37.5% male and 62.5% female, which widens the gap, but by much.

In light of this recent weather event, I have been reflecting on the tragic v comic duality we discussed some classes ago. Many I know attended hurricane "parties" or had mini campouts in their rooms with friends to ride out the storm. Is this a tragic or comic reaction? Were they grouping together in the unlikely event that we all met our untimely demise, to band together in a time of crisis (in the tragic view)? Or was it a comic impulse to make the most of a free night off school and make light of the potential severity of the storm? I am inclined to think the latter, but this meterological tradegy caused the impulse. Do most people find that they have comic reactions to tragic events? Alison Bechdel certainly did, when she was aware of the death of her father. Is this normal? What reaction did you have to the storm? Panic? Calm? What did you notice about other or group behavior in the light of potential injury or death? 

A few weeks ago, for class on October ninth, we read three essays by Ursula Le Guin. This was, I know, a frighteningly long time ago. Nevertheless, I am still going to insist on blogging about one of those essays, because I really wish I had brought it up in class.

The essay was “Science Fiction and the Future” (1985). It was, on the whole, a very interesting discussion about how different societies view time. There was a short paragraph relating American views of time (or maybe Western views of time-- Le Guin is a bit vague on whose view it is. She just assumes her reader is a part of the society that views time this way.) to a critique of imperialistic science fiction and a need to, essentially, go with the flow, and not try to conquer the future. Her commentary on these Western views is insightful, and I agree with them. But the way that Le Guin comes to a lot of her insights about Western views of time is through a comparison with the ideas of time that the Quechua-speaking peoples of the Andes,” and the way that she makes that comparison is problematic.

Because I'm interested in making a series of podcasts for my final activism project, I made a podcast for my final webevent.

Attaching the script may actually be the best because it actually holds more content within it than the podcast itself (there way a lottt of editing involved).

Here's the script:

When I first started off with this podcast, I was going to speak about the difference between the stage directions “pause” and “silence” in the play Wating for Godot, but as you can tell, I had a little trouble trying articulate anything meaningful.

I’ve made a couple of recordings and youtube videos in the past, and I want to be able to say that you eventually get used to it—but I can only partially partake in that that claim. 

To be sure, there are a couple of things on that list I’m used to: I’m no longer embarrassed by the way my voice sounds outside my own head, and I’m much more okay with making mistakes on the camera—after all, that’s what editing for.

But without fail, I still fall into the same trap that I think gets a lot of us: the one where you get caught up in each syllable you utter, the amount of air you take in through your lungs, and the weight of each word that leaves your lips.  The trap of being overwhelming self-consciousness about your own vocal speech patterns.

I didn't go into the woods this Monday morning, when I was spending the time curled up cozily in my apartment in Center City, watching the news of the "Frankenstorm," the "monster" Sandy, puzzling over the disconnect between my "hurrication" and the media description of the disaster swirling around me. Ever since mturer put the problematics of representation back on the table (naming hurricanes to make them less threatening?), and froggies315 provided that  "awesome" windmap for comparison with the wierd music videos the Weather channel was using for their live coverage, I've been thinking about ecological literacy (okay, well, just thinking about it more pointedly), wondering what more responsible reporting might look-and-sound like.

I may have found one example in this morning's NYTimes: it's about the enormous oyster beds, built up over 7000 years and now entirely depleted, that once formed underwater reefs around the shores of New York, creating "undulation and contour on the harbor bottom that broke up wave action before it could pound the shore with its full force. Beds closer to shore clarified the water through their assiduous filtration...this allowed marsh grasses to grow, which in turn held the shores together with their extensive root structure."

A portion of the White reading titled "Are you an Environmentalist, or do you work?" that seemed directly relevent to the idea of ecofeminism:

"A man did real work with "God-made animals"; a women could handle machines "with out maring her polished nails." Machines associated with women broke a male connection with female nature, thus creating an almost domestic drama. Clearly for Russell, machines broke the old connections forged by male labor." (181).

Thought this was relevent to our current discussion

5 p.m. Sun, Oct 30: Choose one "thread" to pursue w/ your classmates: How might we revise the remainder of the semester to reflect our shared interests? How do you understand/what questions do you have about the intersection of gender and the environment? (Or: what questions did Spretnak's article on ecofeminism answer or raise for you?) And/or what further conversation would you like to have about our other recent, under-discussed readings (Pollan on weeds, White on working for a living, Carson on pesiticide use)?