Thursday, September 27, 2007

May 26, 2007 - A Quiet Revolution in Algeria: Gains by Women

The New York Times
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ALGIERS, May 25 — In this tradition-bound nation scarred by a brutal Islamist-led civil war that killed more than 100,000, a quiet revolution is under way: women are emerging as an economic and political force unheard of in the rest of the Arab world.

Women make up 70 percent of Algeria’s lawyers and 60 percent of its judges. Women dominate medicine. Increasingly, women contribute more to household income than men. Sixty percent of university students are women, university researchers say.

In a region where women have a decidedly low public profile, Algerian women are visible everywhere. They are starting to drive buses and taxicabs. They pump gas and wait on tables.

Although men still hold all of the formal levers of power and women still make up only 20 percent of the work force, that is more than twice their share a generation ago, and they seem to be taking over the machinery of state as well.

“If such a trend continues,” said Daho Djerbal, editor and publisher of Naqd, a magazine of social criticism and analysis, “we will see a new phenomenon where our public administration will also be controlled by women.”

The change seems to have sneaked up on Algerians, who for years have focused more on the struggle between a governing party trying to stay in power and Islamists trying to take that power.

Those who study the region say they are taken aback by the data but suggest that an explanation may lie in the educational system and the labor market.

University studies are no longer viewed as a credible route toward a career or economic well-being, and so men may well opt out and try to find work or to simply leave the country, suggested Hugh Roberts, a historian and the North Africa project director of the International Crisis Group.

But for women, he added, university studies get them out of the house and allow them to position themselves better in society. “The dividend may be social rather than in terms of career,” he said.

This generation of Algerian women has navigated a path between the secular state and the pull of extremist Islam, the two poles of the national crisis of recent years.

The women are more religious than previous generations, and more modern, sociologists here said. Women cover their heads and drape their bodies with traditional Islamic coverings. They pray. They go to the mosque — and they work, often alongside men, once considered taboo.

Sociologists and many working women say that by adopting religion and wearing the Islamic head covering called the hijab, women here have in effect freed themselves from moral judgments and restrictions imposed by men. Uncovered women are rarely seen on the street late at night, but covered women can be seen strolling the city after attending the evening prayer at a mosque.

“They never criticize me, especially when they see I am wearing the hijab,” said Denni Fatiha, 44, the first woman to drive a large city bus through the narrow, winding roads of Algiers.

The impact has been far-reaching and profound.

In some neighborhoods, for example, birthrates appear to have fallen and class sizes in elementary schools have dropped by nearly half. It appears that women are delaying marriage to complete their studies, though delayed marriage is also a function of high unemployment. In the past, women typically married at 17 or 18 but now marry on average at 29, sociologists said.

And when they marry, it is often to men who are far less educated, creating an awkward social reality for many women.

Khalida Rahman is a lawyer. She is 33 and has been married to a night watchman for five months. Her husband was a friend of her brothers who showed up one day and proposed. She immediately said yes, she recalled.

She describes her life now this way: “Whenever I leave him it is just as if I am a man. But when I get home I become a woman.”

Fatima Oussedik, a sociologist, said, “We in the ’60s, we were progressive, but we did not achieve what is being achieved by this generation today.” Ms. Oussedik, who works for the Research Center for Applied Economics and Development in Algiers, does not wear the hijab and prefers to speak in French.

Researchers here say the change is not driven by demographics; women make up only a bit more than half of the population. They said it is driven by desire and opportunity.

Algeria’s young men reject school and try to earn money as traders in the informal sector, selling goods on the street, or they focus their efforts on leaving the country or just hanging out. There is a whole class of young men referred to as hittistes — the word is a combination of French and Arabic for people who hold up walls.

Increasingly, the people here have lost faith in their government, which draws its legitimacy from a revolution now more than five decades old, many political and social analysts said. In recent parliamentary elections, turnout was low and there were 970,000 protest votes — cast by people who intentionally destroyed their ballots — nearly as many as the 1.3 million votes cast in support of the governing party.

There are regular protests, and riots, all over the country, with people complaining about corruption, lack of services and economic disparities. There are violent attacks, too: bombings aimed at the police, officials and foreigners. A triple suicide bombing on April 11 against the prime minister’s office and the police left more than 30 people dead.

In that context, women may have emerged as Algeria’s most potent force for social change, with their presence in the bureaucracy and on the street having a potentially moderating and modernizing influence on society, sociologists said.

“Women, and the women’s movement, could be leading us to modernity,” said Abdel Nasser Djabi, a professor of sociology at the University of Algiers.

Not everyone is happy with those dynamics. Some political and social analysts say the recent resurgence in radical Islamist activity, including bombings, is driven partly by a desire to slow the social change the country is experiencing, especially regarding women’s role in society.

Others complain that the growing participation of women in society is a direct violation of the faith.

“I am against this,” said Esmail Ben Ibrahim, an imam at a neighborhood mosque near the center of the city. “It is all wrong from a religious point of view. Society has embarked on the wrong path.”

The quest for identity is a constant undercurrent in much of the Middle East. But it is arguably the most complicated question in Algeria, a nation whose borders were drawn by France and whose people speak Berber, Arabic and French.

After a bitter experience with French occupation and a seven-year revolutionary war that brought independence in 1962 at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives, the leaders here chose to adopt Islam and Arab identity as the force to unify the country. Arabic replaced French as the language of education, and the French secular curriculum was replaced with a curriculum heavy on religion.

At the same time, girls were encouraged to go to school.

Now, more than four decades later, Algeria’s youth — 70 percent of the population is under 30, researchers said — have grown up with Arabic and an orientation toward Middle Eastern issues. Arabic-language television networks like Al Jazeera have become the popular reference point, more so than French television, observers here said.

In the 1990s radical Islamist ideas gained popular support, and terrorism was widely accepted as a means to win power. More than 100,000 people died in years of civil conflict. Today most people say the experience has forced them to reject the most radical ideas. So although Algerians are more religious now than they were during the bloody 1990s, they are more likely to embrace modernity — a partial explanation for the emergence of women as a societal force, some analysts said.

That is not the case in more rural mountainous areas, where women continue to live by the code of tradition. But for the time being, most people say that for now the community’s collective consciousness is simply too raw from the years of civil war for Islamist terrorists or radical Islamic ideas to gain popular support.

There is a sense that the new room given to women may at least partly be a reflection of that general feeling. The population has largely rejected the most radical interpretation of Islam and has begun to return to the more North African, almost mystical, interpretation of the faith, sociologists and religious leaders said.

Whatever the underlying reason, women in the streets of the city are brimming with enthusiasm.

“I don’t think any of this contradicts Islam,” said Wahiba Nabti, 36, as she walked through the center of the city one day recently. “On the contrary, Islam gives freedom to work. Anyway, it is between you and God.”

Ms. Nabti wore a black scarf covering her head and a long black gown that hid the shape of her body. “I hope one day I can drive a crane, so I can really be financially independent,” she said. “You cannot always rely on a man.”

May 29, 2007 - Desperate Iraqi Refugees Turn to Sex Trade in Syria

The New York Times
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MARABA, Syria — Back home in Iraq, Umm Hiba’s daughter was a devout schoolgirl, modest in her dress and serious about her studies. Hiba, who is now 16, wore the hijab, or Islamic head scarf, and rose early each day to say the dawn prayer before classes.

But that was before militias began threatening their Baghdad neighborhood and Umm Hiba and her daughter fled to Syria last spring. There were no jobs, and Umm Hiba’s elderly father developed complications related to his diabetes.

Desperate, Umm Hiba followed the advice of an Iraqi acquaintance and took her daughter to work at a nightclub along a highway known for prostitution. “We Iraqis used to be a proud people,” she said over the frantic blare of the club’s speakers. She pointed out her daughter, dancing among about two dozen other girls on the stage, wearing a pink silk dress with spaghetti straps, her frail shoulders bathed in colored light.

As Umm Hiba watched, a middle-aged man climbed onto the platform and began to dance jerkily, arms flailing, among the girls.

“During the war we lost everything,” she said. “We even lost our honor.” She insisted on being identified by only part of her name — Umm Hiba means mother of Hiba.

For anyone living in Damascus these days, the fact that some Iraqi refugees are selling sex or working in sex clubs is difficult to ignore.

Even in central Damascus, men freely talk of being approached by pimps trawling for customers outside juice shops and shawarma sandwich stalls, and of women walking up to passing men, an act unthinkable in Arab culture, and asking in Iraqi-accented Arabic if the men would like to “have a cup of tea.”

By day the road that leads from Damascus to the historic convent at Saidnaya is often choked with Christian and Muslim pilgrims hoping for one of the miracles attributed to a portrait of the Virgin Mary at the convent. But as any Damascene taxi driver can tell you, the Maraba section of this fabled pilgrim road is fast becoming better known for its brisk trade in Iraqi prostitutes.

Many of these women and girls, including some barely in their teens, are recent refugees. Some are tricked or forced into prostitution, but most say they have no other means of supporting their families. As a group they represent one of the most visible symptoms of an Iraqi refugee crisis that has exploded in Syria in recent months.

According to the United Nations high commissioner for refugees, about 1.2 million Iraqi refugees now live in Syria; the Syrian government puts the figure even higher.

Given the deteriorating economic situation of those refugees, a United Nations report found last year, many girls and women in “severe need” turn to prostitution, in secret or even with the knowledge or involvement of family members. In many cases, the report added, “the head of the family brings clients to the house.”

Aid workers say thousands of Iraqi women work as prostitutes in Syria, and point out that as violence in Iraq has increased, the refugee population has come to include more female-headed households and unaccompanied women.

“So many of the Iraqi women arriving now are living on their own with their children because the men in their families were killed or kidnapped,” said Sister Marie-Claude Naddaf, a Syrian nun at the Good Shepherd convent in Damascus, which helps Iraqi refugees.

She said the convent had surveyed Iraqi refugees living in Masaken Barzeh, on the outskirts of Damascus, and found 119 female-headed households in one small neighborhood. Some of the women, seeking work outside the home for the first time and living in a country with high unemployment, find that their only marketable asset is their bodies.

“I met three sisters-in-law recently who were living together and all prostituting themselves,” Sister Marie-Claude said. “They would go out on alternate nights — each woman took her turn — and then divide the money to feed all the children.”

For more than three years after the American-led invasion of Iraq in 2003, Iraqi prostitution in Syria, like any prostitution, was a forbidden topic for Syria’s government. Like drug abuse, the sex trade tends to be referred to in the local news media as acts against public decency. But Dietrun Günther, an official at the United Nations refugee agency’s Damascus office, said the government was finally breaking its silence.

“We’re especially concerned that there are young girls involved, and that they’re being forced, even smuggled into Syria in some cases,” Ms. Günther said. “We’ve had special talks with the Syrian government about prostitution.” She called the officials’ new openness “a great step.”

Mouna Asaad, a Syrian women’s rights lawyer, said the government had been blindsided by the scale of the arriving Iraqi refugee population. Syria does not require visas for citizens of Arab countries, and its government had pledged to assist needy Iraqis. But this country of 19 million was ill equipped to cope with the sudden arrival of hundreds of thousands of them, Ms. Asaad said.

“Sometimes you see whole families living this way, the girls pimped by the mother or aunt,” she said. “But prostitution isn’t the only problem. Our schools are overcrowded, and the prices of services, food and transportation have all risen. We don’t have the proper infrastructure to deal with this. We don’t have shelters or health centers that these women can go to. And because of the situation in Iraq, Syria is careful not to deport these women.”

Most of the semi-organized prostitution takes place on the outskirts of the capital, in nightclubs known as casinos — a local euphemism, because no gambling occurs.

At Al Rawabi, an expensive nightclub in Al Hami, there is even a floor show with an Iraqi theme. One recent evening, waiters brought out trays of snacks: French fries and grilled chicken hearts wrapped in foil folded into diamond shapes. A 10-piece band warmed up, and an M.C. gave the traditionally overwrought introduction in Arabic: “I give you the honey of all stages, the stealer of all hearts, the most golden throat, the glamorous artist: Maria!”

Maria, a buxom young woman, climbed onto the stage and began an anguished-sounding ballad. “After Iraq I have no homeland,” she sang. “I’m ready to go crawling on my knees back to Iraq.” Four other women, all wearing variations on leopard print, gyrated on stage, swinging their hair in wild circles. The stage lights had been fitted with colored gel filters that lent the women’s skin a greenish cast.

Al Rawabi’s customers watched Maria calmly, leaning back in their chairs and drinking Johnnie Walker Black. The large room smelled strongly of sweat mingled with the apple tobacco from scores of water pipes. When Maria finished singing, no one clapped.

She picked up the microphone again and began what she called a salute to Iraq, naming many of the Iraqi women in the club and, indicating one of the women in leopard print who had danced with her, “most especially my best friend, Sahar.”

After the dancers filed offstage and scattered around the room to talk to customers, Sahar told a visitor she was from the Dora district of Baghdad but had left “because of the troubles.” Now, she said she would leave the club with him for $200.

Aid workers say $50 to $70 is considered a good night’s wage for an Iraqi prostitute working in Damascus. And some of the Iraqi dancers in the crowded casinos of Damascus suburbs earn much less.

In Maraba, Umm Hiba would not say how much money her daughter took home at the end of a night. Noticing her reluctance, the club’s manager, who introduced himself as Hassan, broke in proudly.

“We make sure that each girl has a minimum of 500 lira at the end of each night, no matter how bad business is,” he said, mentioning a sum of about $10. “We are sympathetic to the situation of the Iraqi people. And we try to give some extra help to the girls whose families are in special difficulties.”

Umm Hiba shook her head. “It’s true that the managers here are good, that they’re helping us and not stealing the girls’ money,” she said. “But I’m so angry.

“Do you think we’re happy that these men from the gulf are seeing our daughters’ naked bodies?”

Most so-called casinos do not appear to directly broker arrangements between prostitutes and their customers. Zafer, a waiter at the club where Hiba works, said that the club earned money through sales of food and alcohol and that the dancers were encouraged to sit with male customers and order drinks to increase revenues.

Zafer, who spoke on condition that only his first name be used, refused to discuss specific women and girls at the club, but said that most of them did sell sexual favors. “They have an hourly rate,” he said. “And they have regular customers.”

Inexpensive Iraqi prostitutes have helped to make Syria a popular destination for sex tourists from wealthier countries in the Middle East. In the club’s parking lot, nearly half of the cars had Saudi license plates.

From Damascus it is only about six hours by car, passing through Jordan, to the Saudi border. Syria, where it is relatively easy to buy alcohol and dance with women, is popular as a low-cost weekend destination for groups of Saudi men.

And though some women of other nationalities, including Russians and Moroccans, still work as prostitutes in Damascus, Abeer, a 23-year-old from Baghdad working at the same club as Hiba, explained that the arriving Iraqis had pushed many of them out of business.

“From what I’ve seen, 70 percent to 80 percent of the girls working this business in Damascus today are Iraqis,” she said. “The rents here in Syria are too expensive for their families. If they go back to Iraq they’ll be slaughtered, and this is the only work available.”

May 29, 2007 - Design That Solves Problems for the World’s Poor

The New York Times
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“A billion customers in the world,” Dr. Paul Polak told a crowd of inventors recently, “are waiting for a $2 pair of eyeglasses, a $10 solar lantern and a $100 house.”

The world’s cleverest designers, said Dr. Polak, a former psychiatrist who now runs an organization helping poor farmers become entrepreneurs, cater to the globe’s richest 10 percent, creating items like wine labels, couture and Maseratis.

“We need a revolution to reverse that silly ratio,” he said.

To that end, the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum, which is housed in Andrew Carnegie’s 64-room mansion on Fifth Avenue and offers a $250 red chrome piggy bank in its gift shop, is honoring inventors dedicated to “the other 90 percent,” particularly the billions of people living on less than $2 a day.

Their creations, on display in the museum garden until Sept. 23, have a sort of forehead-thumping “Why didn’t someone think of that before?” quality.

For example, one of the simplest and yet most elegant designs tackles a job that millions of women and girls spend many hours doing each year — fetching water. Balancing heavy jerry cans on the head may lead to elegant posture, but it is backbreaking work and sometimes causes crippling injuries. The Q-Drum, a circular jerry can, holds 20 gallons, and it rolls smoothly enough for a child to tow it on a rope.

Interestingly, most of the designers who spoke at the opening of the exhibition spurned the idea of charity.

“The No. 1 need that poor people have is a way to make more cash,” said Martin Fisher, an engineer who founded KickStart, an organization that says it has helped 230,000 people escape poverty. It sells human-powered pumps costing $35 to $95.

Pumping water can help a farmer grow grain in the dry season, when it fetches triple the normal price. Dr. Fisher described customers who had skipped meals for weeks to buy a pump and then earned $1,000 the next year selling vegetables.

“Most of the world’s poor are subsistence farmers, so they need a business model that lets them make money in three to six months, which is one growing season,” he said. KickStart accepts grants to support its advertising and find networks of sellers supplied with spare parts, for example. His prospective customers, Dr. Fisher explained, “don’t do market research.”

“Many of them have never left their villages,” he said

May 27, 2007 - The Many Tribes of YouTube

Seriously, I barely understand YouTube. Basically when alot of people get excited over something, a little voice in my head cautions me to be afraid, be very afraid...

The New York Times
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May 27, 2007
Television

By VIRGINIA HEFFERNAN

WHAT do you think of the latest video on YouTube? Wait. Don’t answer that, or at least don’t answer with words. Because almost the instant you start to talk about one of the beautiful, puzzling videos that pervade the site that Google acquired last fall for $1.65 billion, you reveal that you’re missing the point. Really the only authentic response to a YouTube video is another YouTube video — the so-called “video response.”

YouTube appeared in February 2005, when it was modestly billed as a site on which people could swap personal videos. Since then, however, its video-response feature, which essentially allows users to converse through video, has managed to convene partisans of almost every field of human endeavor, creating video clusters that begin with an opening video, and snowball as fans and detractors are moved to respond with videos of their own. In answer to a lousy, stammering video, say, a real YouTuber doesn’t just comment, “You idiot — I could do that blindfolded!” He blindfolds himself, gets out his video-capable Canon PowerShot and uploads the results.

There are music-making videos about music, dance videos about dance, and architecture videos about architecture. Music people respond to musical performances by filming a musical performance of their own. The same principle holds for dancers, athletes, pundits, pedants, comedians, film editors, poets, stunt people, propagandists and showoffs of every stripe.

What’s more, YouTube’s interface allows users to track the history of anything they watch, as well as to pursue video responses to it. As a further inducement to stay on the site, YouTube proposes a half-dozen works that might interest you whenever you’re streaming a video.

When you enter the site, then, be warned: before you know it, you’ve entered one of YouTube’s great unmarked communities — the shred guitarists, the torch singers, the Christopher Walken impersonators. Each community is filled with so many small obsessive pursuits colliding and colluding with one another that it’s awfully tempting to skip your lunch break — or take the day off — and watch them all.

What follows, then, is not a list of the top videos on YouTube. That would be too simple, too old-Web. Instead, here are five of the most fascinating worlds to get lost in on YouTube. Every single one of them is worth a detour.

1. PETER OAKLEY, A K A GERIATRIC1927

Last August Peter Oakley, a British pensioner, posted a video that he promised would contain grumbling and griping under the screen name geriatric1927. In fact, it was a love letter to YouTube, and an expression of hope that the video blogs he was planning to post regularly would interest users of the site. In record time the entries, which tell the story of a widower, blues fanatic and former radar technician in the British Army, inspired a tribute video from a hipster admirer, who dubbed Mr. Oakley “The OG of Blogging” — that’s original gangsta.

A grandpa who knows about radar? What techie kid doesn’t dream of that? Then came the imitators: Right, I’ll have a go myself, resolved jimsan1, another YouTuber who appeared close to Mr. Oakley’s own age. (Mr. Oakley turns 80 in August.) Before long, Mr. Oakley’s videos were attracting a million views and more, and his series of videos are among YouTube’s 10 most heavily subscribed to. Now the senior-citizenry of YouTube regularly posts video oral histories in serial form, talking straight into the camera without pyrotechnics or theatricality in tribute to the understated style of the master.

Mr. Oakley can now be heard singing with the Zimmers, a vast rock group formed of elderly retirees and overseen by Mike Hedges, the U2 producer. The band releases its first album, “My Generation,” on Monday, but its first music video — a performance of the Who’s “My Generation” with Pete Townshend — was uploaded to YouTube last month.

2. TIME-LAPSE PAINTING

Just as YouTube has made room for producers and consumers like Mr. Oakley who have been shut out of earlier pop-culture revolutions, it also accommodates art forms that other media have threatened for years to make obsolete; witness the many origami how-to videos on the site, as well as lute and gamelan recitals, polka dancing and happenings of the Dada-Yoko Ono kind.

It should come as no surprise, then, that the august art of portrait painting has made modest inroads into the consciousnesses of the MySpace generation. Of course, painting is typically appreciated face-to-face, but painters on YouTube have added drama by creating time-lapse films of themselves at their easels. The videos, which move too fast to be instructive, nonetheless address both the most childlike questions we have for realist painters (How did you do that?) and the most suspicious (Did you do it yourself?). They also exude infectious bravado, as the painter accomplishes a day’s work in three or four minutes, without anxiety or second thoughts.

Laura Karetzky, a figurative painter in New York, was drawn to the time-lapse portraits because she thought they might provide a window into the private agonies and ecstasies of other painters. They did. In one video, titled “Heather Paints Melissa,” a hobbyist paints and repaints a child’s face, each time unintentionally deepening the portrait’s flaws. “I find myself hanging on the edge of my seat clasping my hand to my forehead,” said Ms. Karetzky. “I’m actually rooting for her in the end not to make the same mistakes she just painted out three or four times earlier.”

3. PARKOUR

Speaking of performance art and mysterious spectacles, parkour — a form of extreme gymnastics invented in France — thrives on YouTube. What good, after all, is scaling buildings, leaping down staircases and jogging over cars if no one is around to see you pull it off? That’s where videos, and their international dissemination, come in.

Some parkour videos are professionally made programs about the art of movement, in which the whole world is an obstacle course and no structure is insurmountable. These gorgeous minifilms feature muscled figures, often shirtless, looking like jewel thieves or Spiderman, atop buildings where they skip and leap with such death-defiance and frank grace that it’s hard to keep from calling their sport dance.

But no: parkour is meant to be martial, efficient and tough. Amateurs from all over the world have also shared their stunts on YouTube. The homemade spinoffs mimic professional ones in that they strew together scenes from disparate places and times, cherry-picking only the players’ best stunts and supplying no clear course trajectories. But many of the participants in the amateur videos look like teenagers, their jangly movements plainly influenced by hip-hop and skateboarding as much as by dance, circus art and gymnastics. And unlike the pros — who really appear to risk their lives — the copycats wisely use jungle gyms and rubber surfaces for soft landings. After a pileup of decidedly self-serious parkour offerings, a comedy team called the Suggestibles posted a parody response, “Pour Quoi,” in which two Englishman (naturally) talk in phony French accents and struggle to get through a revolving door.

4. BLASPHEMY

Individual religious testimony abounds on YouTube, as do sermons from miscellaneous (and sometimes extinct) religious institutions, but these are posted to fire up discussion, not to lay down any laws. Versions of the last sermon of the prophet Muhammad are posted — one runs “Star Wars”-style with the words receding into outer space — as are Christian sermons on sexual purity and Palestinian sermons that contain anti-Semitic slurs.

Viewers are urged to discuss them, and they do. Curiously, the religious group that makes the most imaginative and despotic use of YouTube are atheists. The Rational Response Squad, a furtive organization devoted to curing theism, has challenged YouTubers to post videos of themselves denying the existence of the Holy Spirit and thereby — in the group’s reading of Mark 3:29 — damn themselves for eternity.

More than 1,200 people have posted blasphemy videos as of this writing. In each one, a single person speaks the line, “I deny the Holy Spirit.” Sometimes he or she adds more: a name, a speech, a further denial of Easter Bunny-like entities.

Some blasphemers are jaunty, some are insolent, some are scary, some are nervous. But all of them (young and old, mostly English-speakers, but with a range of accents and ethnicities) seem to believe they are making a statement of some gravitas — issuing a reproof to doctrine, possibly risking their salvation. On the face of each participant is both a wonderful purity of purpose — the mandate is so simple, the one-line script so unforgettable — and a clear vulnerability.

Will anyone regret taking the so-called Blasphemy Challenge? If so, can they retract their videos?

5. FAT RANTS

Joy Nash became this spring’s latest YouTube star for her Fat Rant, in which she flaunted her plus size, bashed retail chains for not stocking XXL and ran down her fellow Americans for their hypocrisy about weight. Ms. Nash performed much of this rant in various costumes with a high-spirited stage manner that suggested self-confidence, humor and a refined sense of glamour.

Ms. Nash, who gave her weight at 224 pounds, said that she ate what she wanted, watched her health and had stopped considering her weight the prime mover of every event in her life. YouTubers loved it.

Watch “A Fat Rant” these days and thumbnail images from response videos run down the middle of the page. A typical one is called YES!!!!!!!!!!! Unlike the glossily produced original, the responses to “A Fat Rant” are ad-libbed solo soundoffs with minimal stagecraft.

They are new fat rants, then, delivered by Ms. Nashs fans and semi-fans, people with equally piquant opinions about obesity, appearance and American doublespeak about weight. Though each video pretends to particular clarity to on the subject, many run into versions of the same conundrum: being fat is O.K., except when its unhealthy. But when is that, again? And should fat people try to be skinny? Or be happy with how they are?

The video responders are less ideologically resolute than Ms. Nash, with some resolving to diet; still others manage to outdo Ms. Nash in fat-power-speak. In general, the video-responders are profoundly moved by “A Fat Rant,” and take Ms. Nash’s video as an occasion, paradoxically, to expose their bodies, as if inviting comment. This being YouTube, with its emphasis on responses, both taunts and catcalls arrive, ready for worldwide consumption, right on cue.

May 27, 2007 - Poland’s Second City Is First Choice for the Young

The New York Times
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Next Stop | Krakow

TO find Pauza, an artsy pub in the medieval heart of Krakow, slip past the rowdy British lads at the greasy kebab stands, step over the inebriated young woman splayed on the shiny cobblestones, and wait. A clique of trendy young Poles will clear a path to a soot-stained building on Ulica Florianska; follow them up a dark stairwell and open the unmarked wooden door.

The thumping electronic music may sound vaguely familiar, and the swirling psychedelic lights and photographic art are not exactly avant-garde. But if you came to Krakow — a compact city of 760,000 in southern Poland — expecting to run into boozy stag parties or old Polish men swigging rubbing-grade vodka in dank bars, you’ll be pleasantly disappointed.

On a cool night this past fall, the crowd was sexy and self-possessed, with enough bell-bottom jeans, clunky belts and gorgeous blondes to populate a runway. The men were stylishly disheveled, with hip-hop hoodies and chiseled good looks. The women were chic and funky, with impossibly high cheekbones and long legs.

“There’s a lot of creative energy here,” said Garrett Van Reed, 25, a writer from Pennsylvania, who is part of a growing expatriate community that is turning Krakow into Eastern Europe’s newest bohemian capital. “There’s tons of artists and street performers. And there’s always something going on in Rynek Glowny,” he said, referring to the picturesque main square. “You’re constantly stumbling upon something new.”

That’s easy to do when there are some 300 watering holes in Krakow’s Old Town, many of them former World War II hideouts that only the local intelligentsia seem to know about. But word is getting out. The airline service into Krakow has increased dramatically in recent years, especially among low-cost carriers like easyJet, which recently added more than a dozen weekly flights to Krakow from cities like London, Belfast and Newcastle.

And with the euro climbing against not only the dollar but other foreign currencies, too, younger travelers have another reason to flock to Poland’s second city. At about 2.9 Polish zloty to the dollar, Zywiec beers are still under $2, dinners rarely exceed $10 a person and a hostel bed goes for $15 a night.

“Krakow has exploded,” said Thymn Chase, 26, a musician and writer who moved to Krakow shortly after graduating from Skidmore College in 2003, and started Lost in Krakow, an English-language zine, which he first published in September to give voice to the growing expat community. A brooding man with a goatee and long hair, Mr. Chase embodies the backpacker-philosopher type who might have chain-smoked in Prague during the early 1990s. “Within a half-hour of arriving in Krakow, I knew this is where I wanted to be,” he said over a beer at Lokator, a new lounge on Ulica Krakowska. “Krakow has an incredible artistic atmosphere.”

In October, a dozen expats and Poles gathered at Mr. Chase’s grungy apartment in Old Town. Sprawled on beat-up couches and flea-market chairs, they were a motley crew — unemployed artists, Web designers, writers and musicians — eager to make their mark as cultural pioneers, colonizing a new frontier in Eastern Europe. “I’m in several bands here,” said Anna Spysz, 24, a pixieish guitarist from Austin, who wore a low-cut T-shirt, hip-hugging jeans and fake pearls. “It’s very easy to book a gig here. You don’t have the pressures of London, New York or Austin. And you don’t need two jobs to survive.”

The group chatted about their creative endeavors as they polished off six-packs of Tatra Pilsener, smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and, at one point, began scrawling existential messages on the walls. Then, at about midnight, they headed off to Kitsch, a multilevel pansexual club on Ulica Wielopole, where they danced until the wee hours.

Krakow’s pleasures, however, are not confined to after nightfall. Unlike in Warsaw, which was largely destroyed during World War II, Krakow’s stone churches and castles — some dating back to the 10th century — remain gorgeously intact. Older Poles still talk about how the occupying Nazis had apparently rigged the entire city with dynamite, but fled before detonating a single charge.

As a result, Rynek Glowny, which ranks among the largest medieval squares in Europe, looks pretty much the way it did in the Middle Ages. Dominated by the twin-towered St. Mary’s Basilica and the behemoth Cloth Hall, the market square is also surprisingly un-touristy, even when the stone-paved expanse is thronged with tourists. There are no Starbucks, no American Apparels.

On a Sunday afternoon, there were sharply dressed mothers sipping tea, elderly couples looking at an outdoor photography exhibit, and clusters of students — the nation’s top colleges, including Jagiellonian University, are in Krakow — pecking on their laptops under the 230-foot-tall and Wi-Fi-equipped Town Hall Tower.

“The city center is for real people,” said Mark Bradshaw, 38, an expatriate from Zimbabwe who runs Cracow-Life.com, a popular online city guide. “If you were in Venice, every place is taken over by some big business. Here, you find student spaces that haven’t been driven out by corporations.”

The same ethos holds true for Kazimierz, an old Jewish district southeast of Old Town. A tightly packed warren of crooked cobblestones and peeling facades, its hauntingly preserved streets came to attention in 1993 as the setting for Steven Spielberg’s film “Schindler’s List.”

While Kazimierz still evokes its Jewish past, it is estimated that fewer than 200 Jews are living in the whole of Krakow today. The Nazis had corralled some 17,000 of its residents into a nearby ghetto before shipping most of them off to Auschwitz and Birkenau, about 40 miles west of the city. About seven synagogues remain, but they serve more as cultural attractions than houses of worship.

As with other former Jewish districts throughout Europe, Kazimierz has emerged in recent years as the city’s alternative artistic center. After languishing for decades, its dingy tenements and wooden doors have been pried open and are slowly being converted into gritty pubs and sleek restaurants, with names like Le Scandale and Propaganda.

The coolest joint may be Alchemia, a dark and smoky bar with wobbly furniture, wood plank floors and faded photographs. Like other nearby lounges, its fin de siècle décor was meticulously stage-crafted to evoke a lost bohemia. Lurking in its shadows on a Saturday night were students studying by candlelight and moody artists nursing pilseners.

But then, around midnight, a gang of British louts stumbled in and ordered shots of krupnik, a honey-flavored vodka. Yes, the stag party has discovered Krakow, many of the revelers drawn by tour companies like Crazy Stag, run by Mike Ostrowski, a 29 -year-old Pole. Offerings include “Communism tours” of Nowa Huta, a bizarre socialist-realist suburb 20-minutes outside Krakow, and gatherings in Soviet-era apartments where the entertainment might be a stripper in a hot pink bikini and where guests may end the night by shedding their clothes and tossing their underwear out the window.

WHILE such spectacles no longer raise an eyebrow in Prague and Budapest, they feel somehow out of place in Krakow, a proud and overwhelmingly Roman Catholic city, where the local airport is named after Pope John Paul II, who served as the city’s archbishop before becoming pope. Indeed, scandalized by their growing presence, city tourism officials recently announced a campaign to discourage stag parties with advertisements spotlighting the city’s rich heritage. (Whether church morality wins over the virtues of cheap booze remains to be seen.)

As evening fell on Rynek Glowny, the square was awash in a luminous golden glow, pigeons were replaced by swarms of young revelers, and the thumping of Polish electronic music echoed off the medieval stone walls.

VISITOR INFORMATION

HOW TO GET THERE

LOT Polish Airlines flies from Kennedy Airport in New York, with a connection in Warsaw, starting at about $950. Czech Airlines flies from Kennedy, with a plane change in Prague, starting at about $850.

WHERE TO STAY

Wielopole Guest Rooms (Ulica Wielopole 3, 48-12-4221475; www.wielopole.pl), just outside Old Town, was recently renovated and has clean, modern rooms. Doubles start at 320 zlotys, about $110 at 8.9 zlotys to the dollar.

For million-dollar views at backpacker rates, try the Rynek7 Hostel (Rynek Glowny 7/6; 48-12-431-16-98; www.hostelrynek7.com). In a 15th-century building overlooking the main square, it has bunks starting at 55 zlotys, and doubles with shared baths for 150 zlotys.

WHERE TO DRINK

Alchemia (Ulica Estery 5; 48-12-421-2200; www.alchemia.com.pl). A dark and folkloric hangout in Kazimierz with live music and art shows.

Kitsch (Ulica Wielopole 15; 48-12-4225299; www.kitsch.pl). A mixed, gay-friendly club that parties all night.

Pauza (Ulica Florianska 18/5; 48-602-637-833; www.pauza.pl). A hard-to-find bar in Old Town that draws musicians and art-school students.

Piekny Pies, an eclectic pub popular with expatriates, students and a few local drunks, has closed, but will reopen at Slawskowska 3A next month.

May 27, 2007 - Elite Colleges Open New Door to Low-Income Youths

The New York Times
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AMHERST, Mass. — The discussion in the States of Poverty seminar here at Amherst College was getting a little theoretical. Then Anthony Abraham Jack, a junior from Miami, asked pointedly, “Has anyone here ever actually seen a food stamp?”

To Mr. Jack, unlike many of his classmates, food stamps are not an abstraction. His family has had to use them in emergencies. His mother raised three children as a single parent and earns $26,000 a year as a school security guard. That is just a little more than half the cost of a year’s tuition, room and board, fees and other expenses at Amherst, which for Mr. Jack’s class was close to $48,000.

So when Mr. Jack, now 22 and a senior, graduated with honors here on Sunday, he was not just the first in his family to earn a college degree, but a success story in the effort by Amherst and a growing number of elite colleges to open their doors to talented low-income students.

Concerned that the barriers to elite institutions are being increasingly drawn along class lines, and wanting to maintain some role as engines of social mobility, about two dozen schools — Amherst, Harvard, Princeton, Stanford, the University of Virginia, Williams and the University of North Carolina, among them — have pushed in the past few years to diversify economically.

They are trying tactics like replacing loans with grants and curtailing early admission, which favors the well-to-do and savvy. But most important, Amherst, for instance, is doing more than giving money to low-income students; it is recruiting them and taking their socioeconomic background — defined by family income, parents’ education and occupation level — into account when making admissions decisions.

Amherst’s president, Anthony Marx, turns to stark numbers in a 2004 study by the Century Foundation, a policy institute in New York, to explain the effort: Three-quarters of students at top colleges come from the top socioeconomic quartile, with only one-tenth from the poorer half and 3 percent from the bottom quartile.

“We want talent from across all divides, wherever we can find it,” President Marx said. Amherst covered the full cost of Mr. Jack’s education beyond what he earned in work-study. The only debt he says he owes is the $41 it cost to make copies of his 107-page honors thesis.

Amherst also provides its low-income students important support, from $400 “start-up grants” for winter coats and sheets and blankets for their dorm rooms, to summer science and math tutoring. At the same time, low-income students are expected to put in at least seven hours a week at $8-an-hour work-study jobs.

But they get to use $200 a month in their work-study earnings as spending money to get a haircut, for instance, or go out for pizza with classmates so they don’t feel excluded.

Mr. Jack, who is black and had never been on a plane until he flew to Amherst for his first visit, arrived as an A student, and with a steely focus.

His mother, Marilyn, 53, had guided her son from Head Start to a gifted program in elementary school to a magnet middle school and, in his final year of high school, to the private Gulliver Preparatory School on a full scholarship. But she never had to push Tony, she said. “He was on a mission from Day 1,” she said.

Mr. Jack’s high grades and test scores — a respectable 1200 on the SAT — won him a full scholarship to the University of Florida. But the median score for his Amherst class was 1422, and he would have been excluded had the admissions office not considered his socioeconomic class, and the obstacles he had overcome.

“Tony Jack with his pure intelligence — had he been raised in Greenwich, he would have been a 1500 kid,” said Tom Parker, the dean of admission. “He would have been tutored by Kaplan or Princeton Review. He would have had The New Yorker magazine on the coffee table.”

“Tony Jack is not an anomaly,” he added.

Mr. Jack, Amherst officials say, would likely not have benefited under traditional affirmative action programs. In their groundbreaking 1998 study of 28 selective universities, William Bowen, the former president of Princeton, and Derek Bok, now the interim president of Harvard, found that 86 percent of blacks who enrolled were middle or upper middle class. (Amherst was not included in that study.) The white students were even wealthier.

“Universities have prided themselves on making strides in racial diversity, but for the most part they have avoided the larger issue of class inequality,” said Richard D. Kahlenberg, a senior fellow at the Century Foundation.

For Mr. Jack, there were adjustments at this college, where half the students are affluent enough that their parents pay tuition without any aid from Amherst.

He did not let it bother him, he said, when wealthier classmates blithely inquired about the best clubs in Miami — as if he would know, Mr. Jack said dryly — before flying off to his hometown for spring break. Mr. Jack could afford to go home only at Christmas, and the end of the year, when Amherst paid his plane fare.

Mr. Jack is 6 foot 7 and built like the football player he used to be. In his freshman year, he said, he was walking to his dorm one night when a police car seemed to be following him. He recalled showing the officer his Amherst ID and explaining, “I’m a student here.”

In Mr. Jack’s class of 413, 15 percent, or 61, students, are from families with incomes of less than $45,000 a year; about two-thirds of those are from families earning less than $30,000. He was amazed to discover how much preparation wealthier students had.

“People are groomed for the SAT,” Mr. Jack said. “They take Latin to help them with their vocabulary.”

He seized every opportunity Amherst offered — the pre-freshman summer program in science and math, help from the writing center and faculty office hours. “They didn’t just invite me in,” he said. “They prepared the way.”

For his freshman year, he chose the most challenging classes, including Chemical Principles, even though he had no chemistry in high school. “I didn’t feel like I was in over my head,” he said. “I just felt like I was being pushed to the boundaries of my ability.”

He got all A’s and B’s his first year, except for a C-plus in chemistry. Sophomore year he plunged in even deeper, taking Organic Chemistry I and II. He got a B the first semester, and an A-minus the second.

“Organic chemistry was the happiest time of my life,” said Mr. Jack, who tends to gush about Amherst. “Everything started clicking.”

David Hansen, who taught Organic Chemistry II, called Mr. Jack’s improvement remarkable: “He had the motivation and the desire and the discipline to take advantage of the support that was here.”

Mr. Jack, who is as gregarious as he is studious, found time to mentor other students, serve on committees — and earn an A-plus in calculus last year, one of only 10 A-pluses the professor, David Cox, said he has given out in calculus in 30 years of teaching. This year Mr. Jack was Amherst’s nominee to be a Rhodes scholar at Oxford.

Squeamish about blood, Mr. Jack switched his major from pre-med to religion and gender studies. He said he intended to go to graduate school. For now, he loves Amherst so much, he is staying around as an “alumni fellow,” organizing events on campus. He says he thinks about teaching, or becoming a lawyer so that he can help his community. As for money, he says he just wants to be able to take care of his family.

At Amherst’s commencement on Sunday, Mr. Jack wept — and his classmates gave him a standing ovation — when President Marx awarded him the annual prize for the senior who has “shown by his or her own determination and accomplishment the greatest appreciation of and desire for a college education.”

Thanks to Amherst, Mr. Jack said, he has rewritten the narrative of his life. It isn’t about “a poor black student” going “from the bottom to the top,” as he once believed, he wrote in an essay about his family and all they have done for him. His mother, his older brother, his younger sister and his two nieces were here at graduation, having driven up in a rented van from Miami.

“Being a senior at Amherst is only one step along my journey through life,” he wrote. “You want to know Anthony Abraham Jack, then look behind the man you see walking around campus today. And you, in doing so, surely will never say that he came from the bottom and is now at the top.”

May 27, 2007 - They Came, They Toured, They Offended

The New York Times
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May 27, 2007
Ideas & Trends

EVERY summer, people all over the world become acquainted again with a deep truth spoken by the philosopher-tourist Steve Martin.

He was speaking for tourists everywhere, not just to France, when he said: “Boy, those French, they have a different word for everything!”

That people from different countries observe different customs — not only of speaking, but of eating, sleeping, gesturing, counting change, observing boundaries of personal space, tipping cab drivers, standing in lines, avoiding certain topics of conversation at dinnertime as unbearably disgusting — is a truism one probably can never be reminded of too often.

Especially this year, which according to statistics compiled by New York City, is likely to be a very big year for foreign tourists around here. The dollar is cheap. The shopping is endless. And about seven million foreign visitors are expected in the city — the highest number since before 9/11 — mainly from Britain, Ireland, France, Italy, Spain, Scandinavia and Germany.

This is good news for New York, of course. Foreigners who vacation in the United States spend about four times as much as American tourists do.

But it is bad news only in those isolated cases (which you hear about if you talk to cabbies, tour guides and certain sarcastic individuals in sales) where the awe of Mr. Martin’s revelation is supplanted by the ugly reality of a culture clash — a tip denied, a personal boundary violated, or a long line at a drug store counter jumped by a family of Italian-speaking people, who forever thereafter shall be remembered by the offended party present (an acquaintance of mine) as those “ugly Europeans.”

Let it be said that no group holds a monopoly on the title of “ugly.” Tip-stiffing, line-jumping, excessive price-haggling, sidewalk-blocking-when-stopping-suddenly-to-take-pictures-of-a-person-playing-the-steel-drums — none of these are unique to any national group.

Expedia, the online travel service, conducted a survey of tourist boards around the world that rated British tourists as the most obnoxious. Some people in the tourism world claim that the Chinese, the newest wave of world travelers, are even more so.

Whatever. Is it time, at least, for retiring the term “ugly American” from the dictionary of foreign phrases?

The answer, according to experts in the rarified field of tourism anthropology, is a possible yes.

“Ugly” behavior in tourists is almost always in the eye of the people being toured; and Americans are no longer the only, or even the dominant group of tourists out in the world. We are now as often toured as tour-ing.

And New Yorkers, it turns out, are just as likely to be exasperated being toured by tourists unfamiliar with their local mores about tipping or standing in check-out lines, say, as the Achuar tribesmen of Ecuador are to be offended by tourists who sit on certain sacred rocks.

“The Achuars have actually developed a list of rules for tourists,” said Sharon Gmelch, an anthropology professor at Union College in Schenectady, N.Y. “If you are a man, you are not to look directly at a woman, for example. You are not to sit in certain sacred places, or touch anyone’s person. You’re not to take pictures without asking permission. Some of these rules might work in New York, too, I would imagine.”

Nelson H. H. Graburn, a professor of anthropology at the University of California at Berkeley, said one of his graduate students recently asked tour guides in China to rate the tourists from various Western countries.

“They told her that Israeli, French and American tourists could be the most difficult,” Professor Graburn said, “but that what distinguished Americans was that they could be loud and demanding, and then would invariably apologize and give them big tips.”

To be an ugly tourist is to miss the fundamental truth in Mr. Martin’s statement. “It is to have an overall lack of understanding that there is such a thing as cultural difference,” wrote Prof. Inga Treitler, the secretary for the National Association for the Practice of Anthropology, in an e-mail message.

Valene Smith, an anthropology professor at California State University at Chico who pioneered the academic study of tourism and travel in the 1970s, said that the tourists most likely to be deplored by their hosts these days are not the euro-rich Europeans or the British or the standard ugly Americans but the Chinese.

“They have only been traveling widely in the last five years or so, but they are touring in numbers no one has seen before — by the thousands,” she said. “They behave as they would at home — there is a lot of pushing and shoving. Very few speak languages other than Chinese.”

Last summer, in an incident widely discussed among travel experts, she said, 40,000 Chinese tourists descended on the small German city of Trier to visit the birthplace of Karl Marx.

“It was quite a mess,” Professor Smith said. “No one was prepared ahead of time. The Germans were quite upset.”

And so, my fellow Americans, this summer let us host and be hosted as travelers in a world in which we are no longer alone; a world where we can venture forth with the unschooled of other nations, and join hand in hand in ignorance of all the different words those French have for everything!

Friday, September 21, 2007

In a Crowded Anime Dreamscape, a Mysterious Pixie - May 25, 2007

The New York Times




Movie Review

Paprika (2006)

Paprika

Megumi Hayashibara as Atsuko Chiba in "Paprika."

May 25, 2007

Published: May 25, 2007

In “Paprika,” a gorgeous riot of future-shock ideas and brightly animated imagery, the doors of perception never close. A mind-twisting, eye-tickling wonder, this anime from the Japanese director Satoshi Kon bears little relation to the greasy, sticky kid stuff that Hollywood churns out, those fatuous fables with wisecracking woodland creatures selling lessons in how to be a good child so you can grow up to be a good citizen. Model behavior isn’t on the menu in “Paprika,” and neither are dinky songs and visuals. Here, when a woman sprouts a pair of wings, she doesn’t only flit about like Tinker Bell; she’s also pinned captive to a table, a man’s hand slithering under her skin.

If this doesn’t sound like your childhood animated flick, it isn’t. But neither is it Ralph Bakshi, the guy who tried to make cartoon movies grow up in the 1970s by way of Fritz the Cat. It’s old news that the great Japanese director Hayao Miyazaki has done his part to steer animation away from Disney-influenced juvenilia, but in the past decade or so, directors like Mamoru Oshii (notably with the virtuosic “Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence”) and Mr. Kon have pushed animation film hard into more overtly adult realms. Like the “Ghost in the Shell” animes, “Paprika” explores that intersection between the human and the machine, including the lands of enchantment you can travel to when you plug in, boot up and drop out.

Based on a novel by the Japanese author Yasutaka Tsutsui, and written by Mr. Kon and Seishi Minakami, the dense, rather overly plotted story hinges on a nifty little gadget called the DC Mini, an experimental therapeutic device a psychiatric institute has developed to tap into patient dreams. This dream machine shows enormous promise — and obvious dangers — but several have gone missing, as has one institute employee. Most of “Paprika” concerns the search for the errant DC Minis and the employee, an endeavor that consumes the institute’s resident attraction, Dr. Atsuko Chiba (voiced by Megumi Hayashibara); her brainiac colleague Dr. Kosaku Tokita (Toru Furuya), a mountainous blob of a man and the inventor of the DC Mini; and the troll-like Dr. Torataro Shima, a k a the Chief (Katsunosuke Hori).

There’s more, including Toshimi Konakawa (Akio Ohtsuka), a detective with a comic-book flat-top and the kind of broad shoulders that tend to carry a world of troubles. Called in to investigate the scene by the Chief, an old friend, Konakawa comes equipped with his own alternative realities, namely a recurring nightmare set in a circus in which every performer and spectator resembles him, and a persistent dream that looks like a greatest-hits reel from big-screen entertainments. In this headily conceptual, gracefully edited interlude, Konakawa swings through a jungle on a vine like Tarzan, loincloth and all, only to end up tussling with a man in a genre thriller, inspiring one of the film’s most poignant philosophical riddles: Where do the movies end and our dreams begin?

Dr. Chiba and Konakawa each chase the wayward DC Minis down different paths. The detective starts visiting an Internet site that leads him deep into curious dominions where he revisits scenes from his distant and recent past, while Dr. Chiba infiltrates other people’s dreams by way of a DC Mini. In one of these reveries, she visits a near-deserted amusement park where an encounter with a chubby-cheeked doll nearly ends with her death. In time, the barriers separating the real and the imaginary dissolve like paper in water, as Dr. Chiba, Konakawa and a spritelike woman called Paprika — who springs into view whenever Dr. Chiba happens to be around — slip deeper into their substitute realities.

That sounds complicated and it is, a bit. That said, if you keep your eye on the screen and don’t overworry the plot particulars, you will be rewarded with a cavalcade of charming, gently outré and beautiful hallucinations. In “Paprika,” Mr. Kon bombards us with popping visual delights, including a dementedly cheery parade of inanimate objects in which household appliances, drumming frogs, beckoning cats, grinning dolls and even a red Shinto gate march in lockstep, sucking up human passers-by along the way. It can take a moment to situate yourself amid this splendidly controlled chaos. But this superabundance works to one of the film’s themes, namely that our fantasies, including those opened up by the Internet, are pulling us away from the material world and, perhaps, more dangerously from one another.

There’s something sinister about the dreamscapes in “Paprika,” fluidly rendered in both hand-drawn and 3-D animation, which may seem peculiar for moviegoers used to more benign animated fantasies. For all its gaudy glories, the film buzzes with a sense of unease about the rapidly changing relationship between our physical selves and our machines, a topic that Mr. Kon engages with as much sophistication as writers like Neal Stephenson and Michel Houellebecq, if rather more brevity. This anxious hum doesn’t dilute the delight of watching Paprika jump from one representation to another — from a pane of glass into an image on a T-shirt — but it invests this film with a fascinating tension. Mr. Kon shows us the dark side of the imaginative world in “Paprika” that he himself has perceptively brightened.

“Paprika” is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). It contains a sexual assault, naked animated breasts, maniacally grinning dolls and various leaps into the void.

Adam and Eve in the Land of the Dinosaurs - May 24, 2007

The New York Times
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May 24, 2007
Museum Review | Creation Museum

PETERSBURG, Ky. — The entrance gates here are topped with metallic Stegosauruses. The grounds include a giant tyrannosaur standing amid the trees, and a stone-lined lobby sports varied sauropods. It could be like any other natural history museum, luring families with the promise of immense fossils and dinosaur adventures.

But step a little farther into the entrance hall, and you come upon a pastoral scene undreamt of by any natural history museum. Two prehistoric children play near a burbling waterfall, thoroughly at home in the natural world. Dinosaurs cavort nearby, their animatronic mechanisms turning them into alluring companions, their gaping mouths seeming not threatening, but almost welcoming, as an Apatosaurus munches on leaves a few yards away.

What is this, then? A reproduction of a childhood fantasy in which dinosaurs are friends of inquisitive youngsters? The kind of fantasy that doesn’t care that human beings and these prefossilized thunder-lizards are usually thought to have been separated by millions of years? No, this really is meant to be more like one of those literal dioramas of the traditional natural history museum, an imagining of a real habitat, with plant life and landscape reproduced in meticulous detail.

For here at the $27 million Creation Museum, which opens on May 28 (just a short drive from the Cincinnati-Northern Kentucky International Airport), this pastoral scene is a glimpse of the world just after the expulsion from the Garden of Eden, in which dinosaurs are still apparently as herbivorous as humans, and all are enjoying a little calm in the days after the fall.

It also serves as a vivid introduction to the sheer weirdness and daring of this museum created by the Answers in Genesis ministry that combines displays of extraordinary nautilus shell fossils and biblical tableaus, celebrations of natural wonders and allusions to human sin. Evolution gets its continual comeuppance, while biblical revelations are treated as gospel.

Outside the museum scientists may assert that the universe is billions of years old, that fossils are the remains of animals living hundreds of millions of years ago, and that life’s diversity is the result of evolution by natural selection. But inside the museum the Earth is barely 6,000 years old, dinosaurs were created on the sixth day, and Jesus is the savior who will one day repair the trauma of man’s fall.

It is a measure of the museum’s daring that dinosaurs and fossils — once considered major challenges to belief in the Bible’s creation story — are here so central, appearing not as tests of faith, as one religious authority once surmised, but as creatures no different from the giraffes and cats that still walk the earth. Fossils, the museum teaches, are no older than Noah’s flood; in fact dinosaurs were on the ark.

So dinosaur skeletons and brightly colored mineral crystals and images of the Grand Canyon are here, as are life-size dioramas showing paleontologists digging in mock earth, Moses and Paul teaching their doctrines, Martin Luther chastising the church to return to Scripture, Adam and Eve guiltily standing near skinned animals, covering their nakedness, and a supposedly full-size reproduction of a section of Noah’s ark.

There are 52 videos in the museum, one showing how the transformations wrought by the eruption of Mount St. Helens in 1980 reveal how plausible it is that the waters of Noah’s flood could have carved out the Grand Canyon within days. There is a special-effects theater complete with vibrating seats meant to evoke the flood, and a planetarium paying tribute to God’s glory while exploring the nature of galaxies.

Whether you are willing to grant the premises of this museum almost becomes irrelevant as you are drawn into its mixture of spectacle and narrative. Its 60,000 square feet of exhibits are often stunningly designed by Patrick Marsh, who, like the entire museum staff, declares adherence to the ministry’s views; he evidently also knows the lure of secular sensations, since he designed the “Jaws” and “King Kong” attractions at Universal Studios in Florida.

For the skeptic the wonder is at a strange universe shaped by elaborate arguments, strong convictions and intermittent invocations of scientific principle. For the believer, it seems, this museum provides a kind of relief: Finally the world is being shown as it really is, without the distortions of secularism and natural selection.

The Creation Museum actually stands the natural history museum on its head. Natural history museums developed out of the Enlightenment: encyclopedic collections of natural objects were made subject to ever more searching forms of inquiry and organization. The natural history museum gave order to the natural world, taming its seeming chaos with the principles of human reason. And Darwin’s theory — which gave life a compelling order in time as well as space — became central to its purpose. Put on display was the prehistory of civilization, seeming to allude not just to the evolution of species but also cultures (which is why “primitive” cultures were long part of its domain). The natural history museum is a hall of human origins.

The Creation Museum has a similar interest in dramatizing origins, but sees natural history as divine history. And now that many museums have also become temples to various American ethnic and sociological groups, why not a museum for the millions who believe that the Earth is less than 6,000 years old and was created in six days?

Mark Looy, a founder of Answers in Genesis with its president, Ken Ham, said the ministry expected perhaps 250,000 visitors during the museum’s first year. In preparation Mr. Ham for 13 years has been overseeing 350 seminars annually about the truths of Genesis, which have been drawing thousands of acolytes. The organization’s magazine has 50,000 subscribers. The museum also says that it has 9,000 charter members and international contributors who have left the institution free of debt.

But for a visitor steeped in the scientific world view, the impact of the museum is a disorienting mix of faith and reason, the exotic and the familiar. Nature here is not “red in tooth and claw,” as Tennyson asserted. In fact at first it seems almost as genteel as Eden’s dinosaurs. We learn that chameleons, for example, change colors not because that serves as a survival mechanism, but “to ‘talk’ to other chameleons, to show off their mood, and to adjust to heat and light.”

Meanwhile a remarkable fossil of a perch devouring a herring found in Wyoming offers “silent testimony to God’s worldwide judgment,” not because it shows a predator and prey, but because the two perished — somehow getting preserved in stone — during Noah’s flood. Nearly all fossils, the museum asserts, are relics of that divine retribution.

The heart of the museum is a series of catastrophes. The main one is the fall, with Adam and Eve eating of the tree of knowledge; after that tableau the viewer descends from the brightness of Eden into genuinely creepy cement hallways of urban slums. Photographs show the pain of war, childbirth, death — the wages of primal sin. Then come the biblical accounts of the fallen world, leading up to Noah’s ark and the flood, the source of all significant geological phenomena.

The other catastrophe, in the museum’s view, is of more recent vintage: the abandonment of the Bible by church figures who began to treat the story of creation as if it were merely metaphorical, and by Enlightenment philosophers, who chipped away at biblical authority. The ministry believes this is a slippery slope.

Start accepting evolution or an ancient Earth, and the result is like the giant wrecking ball, labeled “Millions of Years,” that is shown smashing the ground at the foundation of a church, the cracks reaching across the gallery to a model of a home in which videos demonstrate the imminence of moral dissolution. A teenager is shown sitting at a computer; he is, we are told, looking at pornography.

But given the museum’s unwavering insistence on belief in the literal truth of biblical accounts, it is strange that so much energy is put into demonstrating their scientific coherence with discussions of erosion or interstellar space. Are such justifications required to convince the skeptical or reassure the believer?

In the museum’s portrayal, creationists and secularists view the same facts, but come up with differing interpretations, perhaps the way Ptolemaic astronomers in the 16th century saw the Earth at the center of the universe, where Copernicans began to place the sun. But one problem is that scientific activity presumes that the material world is organized according to unchanging laws, while biblical fundamentalism presumes that those laws are themselves subject to disruption and miracle. Is not that a slippery slope as well, even affecting these analyses?

But for debates, a visitor goes elsewhere. The Creation Museum offers an alternate world that has its fascinations, even for a skeptic wary of the effect of so many unanswered assertions. He leaves feeling a bit like Adam emerging from Eden, all the world before him, freshly amazed at its strangeness and extravagant peculiarities.

The Creation Museum opens Monday at 2800 Bullittsburg Church Road, Petersburg, Ky.; (888) 582-4253.

Everything and the Kitchen Sink: The Memoir of a Dishwasher - May 23, 2007

The New York Times
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May 23, 2007

Until just recently, Pete Jordan hadn’t washed a dish professionally in seven years. Now an author, Mr. Jordan used to be a paid dishwasher, following in the steps of literary plongeurs like Theodore Dreiser and George Orwell, who, recalling his time behind the sink in Paris, once wrote:

“This washing up was a thoroughly odious job — not hard, but boring and silly beyond words. It is dreadful to think that some people spend their whole decades at such occupations.”

Mr. Jordan, 40, spent more than a decade at such an occupation before finally turning in his towel and hanging up his apron. He now lives in Amsterdam, where he and his wife run a bike shop, and is working on a book about Dutch cycling.

But while he was in New York last week, promoting his just-published book, “Dishwasher: One Man’s Quest to Wash Dishes in All 50 States” (Harper Perennial), he did a washing-up stint at Union Picnic, a little Southern comfort-food place in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, owned by his friend Suzy O’Brien. She used to run a Mexican joint where Mr. Jordan worked occasionally in the ’90s, and lent him her rattan couch to sleep on.

Right away, Ms. O’Brien greeted him with bad news: her dishwashing machine was on the blink. “I’ve only had it for two months,” she said. “I bought it on eBay.”

Mr. Jordan was actually relieved after he discovered that the malfunctioning machine, a Hobart, was an under-the-counter model, which would have meant a lot of bending and stooping. Instead he stepped over to the sink, a stainless-steel three-tubber, cranked on the hot water, dumped in some Palmolive from an industrial-size jug and went to work by hand.

He noted approvingly that the Hobart is the professional dishwasher’s machine of choice these days, and explained: “It’s a direct heir to the Josephine Cochrane machine. Hobart bought her out in 1926.”

(Josephine Cochrane, readers of Mr. Jordan’s book will discover, is the patron saint of dishwashers. She was a wealthy socialite from Shelbyville, Ill., who invented the dishwashing machine in 1886 after she grew tired of her servants’ breaking the china.)

When addressing a tub of dishes, Mr. Jordan takes an extremely wide stance, with his feet well outside his shoulders, to bring himself closer to sink level. He holds the dish in his left hand and after swabbing the center, gives it a careful clockwise wipe around the rim. He scrubs pots with a giant wad of steel wool and a liberal application of spray from the overhead nozzle.

On this particular evening, he said, the cooks were making his job easy. “It’s pretty slow right now,” he explained. “So these guys have the luxury of not burning anything. It gets hectic, and then you never know what you’re going to find in the sink.”

The subtitle of Mr. Jordan’s book is a bit misleading. He came up with the notion of washing in all 50 states in February 1990, after a year or so of being a dishwashing vagabond, bouncing from job to job in Alaska and on the West Coast, but over the next decade or so he made it to only 33. One day, standing outside a Cracker Barrel restaurant in Myrtle Beach, S.C., he decided to sell his van and walk away, parting from his grand plan as easily and with as little regret as he had walked away from many of his jobs.

As it was, his career hardly lacked variety. Among the places where Mr. Jordan washed are a fish cannery; an offshore oil rig; a college cafeteria; a ski resort; a kosher nursing home (where there were twin dish rooms, one for dairy, one for meat); a commune; a hospital; the Lawrence Welk resort in Branson, Mo.; and a Rhode Island dinner train where someone had neglected to fill the water tanks.

His favorites, he said last week, were neighborhood places just like Suzy’s. “What I hated,” he added, “was places where you had to wear a uniform, where there were fluorescent lights and layers of management looking over your shoulder.”

Mr. Jordan grew up one of seven children in a San Francisco family that didn’t own a dishwashing machine. His father thought he should finish college, and for a while couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge his son’s profession, which in an opinion survey of job desirability, Mr. Jordan points out, then ranked 735th out of 740. Only envelope stuffer, prostitute, drug dealer, fortuneteller and beggar were lower.

Mr. Jordan got into dishwashing for the same reason so many others have: because he was broke and because it was an easy job to get. He quickly decided, though, that washing dishes was a more dignified calling than waiting on tables, which he recently called “panhandling for tips.”

He also liked the free food (courtesy of what he calls the Bus Tub Buffet — leftovers from people’s plates, in other words), the occasional free drink and the freedom afforded by a discovery he made at the end of his first week: “Upon awakening on a morning that I was due at work, I rolled over on the couch and went back to sleep. That was that.” The longest he ever stayed on a job was six months, and that was in a vain effort to prove himself mortgage-worthy; the shortest was 45 minutes.

Stretches of “Dishwasher” read like a slacker’s idyll. Mr. Jordan is seldom without a girlfriend, and there are countless couches where he is welcome to crash. But some of his slackerdom is notional, even though to this day he claims, “I obviously would prefer not to work, and I think I proved that on plenty of occasions.”

Most of the time he was a diligent dishwasher, seldom resorting to the old dodge of hiding the dirty plates. He maintained an extensive correspondence with fellow dish dogs and pearl divers (to use the professional jargon) and also published a dishwashing zine, full of dishwashing lore and dishwashing trivia. He discovered, for example, that both Presidents Ford and Reagan had scrubbed plates for money, as had Malcolm X and Little Richard.

The zine was offbeat and original enough that in time Mr. Jordan became known as a character, Dishwasher Pete. “People were always trying to ‘discover’ me,” he said while in New York. “I was supposed to be this wacky guy. It drove me crazy. I didn’t need discovering any more than America needed discovering by Columbus.”

In the late ’90s, David Letterman’s TV show got wind of him and sent a letter asking him to appear. Out of both modesty and impishness, Mr. Jordan sent out a friend, a Dishwasher Pete imposter, while he remained in the green room, scoring some more free food.

He is looking forward a bit more to his cross-country book tour because it means an opportunity to look up old friends and also to distribute the 16th and final issue of his zine, which he finished only recently — the last unfinished business of his dish dog days. Not long after moving to the Netherlands, he said while taking a break at the Union Picnic sink, he applied in a moment of financial panic for some dishwashing jobs in Amsterdam. He was told that, as someone older than 23, he would cost too much under the Dutch minimum wage law.

Several years later, though, literally on the day he finished “Dishwasher,” the phone rang with a call from a restaurant offering him a spot. His wife answered and deliberately neglected to take down the details. “She was like the wife of a junkie,” he said. “She just hung up.”