First Mate

Since I still haven't figured out, and refuse to learn, how to put an accent grave over my "e"s, I will simply hope that it can be deduced that I am refering to mate the drink and not mate the friend.

My new gourd is finally conditioned, so I broke it out last night and filled the little guy up with regular yerba mate. It was less than exciting, far more mate-y than I had thought it would be. In previous brews minus the gourd, I've simply used roughly equivalent tea measures. But a third of the gourd! Holy cow.

So after two infusions, I dumped it and tried out some mate chai, which is exactly what it sounds like, except this time I used a bit less. Same sorts of difficulties. I think one of the bigger problems is having bits of the stuff fly into my mouth. Perhaps I should try a new bombilla or something. Who knows? I still like the stuff.

Group Rights

Article 27 of the United Nations International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights reads:

In those States in which ethnic, religious or linguistic minorities exist, persons belonging to such minorities shall not be denied the right, in community with the other members of their group, to enjoy their own culture, to profess and practise their own religion, or to use their own language.

In Jack Donnelly's Universal Human Rights in Theory and Practice, 2nd ed., he mentions this article while pointing out that it is the people constituting these minorities and not the minorities as minorities that possess these rights.

Nothing particularly groundbreaking, just interesting. He addresses self-determination in a later chapter; I'll report on what I find there when I get there.

Je Recueille de Beaux Objets

Just watched The Science of Sleep.

Yeah, it was a bit difficult to work through, to be honest, but it was still one of those perfectly strangely wonderfully beautiful films that I like so well.

It occurs to me that a lot of my "art life" has been spent adoring films like this, or music like Edith Piaf, Bessie Smith and Cinematic Orchestra, or sculpture like Claudel's "Waltz" and paintings like Wyeth's "Christine's World." I suppose that these sorts of things inspire the quickest and deepest emotional responses; it's that odd love/sad thing that happens. Billie Holiday makes me want to climb a tree and cry while doing it. There must be a name for that emotion.

Let's call it "cry" + "love" = CROVE. Billie Holiday's music is crovely.

Sweet.

4000

4000 today in the Fertile Crescent

From Laurence Binyon's For the Fallen:

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

What is Poverty?

Scattering of Authority

My old discussion about the Empire Superstructure has come back to me during a presentation about heterarchy. Yes, it is what it sounds like. I am now quite enamored of the idea. What was not discussed during the lecture is how the nature of power shifts. Some actors have a monopoly on power or advice during only a few given points. These times of power can change by the day. I wonder if we can therefore conceive of the international system as being a half-ordered, constantly-shifting system of governance. We'd better hope so, because there are things that we need each other for.

At the end of the lecture on hetarchy, I wrote in my notebook that hetarchy was, quite simply, a quantum theory of non-power-endpoint (shifting) international organization with a focus on the absolute necessity of superordination. Let's be honest: There is probably someone or something that can do Job X better than I or my organization can. Perhaps we would be well off to apply the model to the micro scale, too, like in cities and stuff. Or families.

Or friends.

Sleeping In

The plan: Wake up at 3 a.m. MST. Get showered and finish packing the few things left outside my bags. Eat the rest of my bread, a banana, and some ricecakes. Spend 20 minutes worrying about what I'm leaving behind. Head out to the bus stop and catch the 15 - Billings at 4:28. Head to Billings and hop the AT to DIA at 5:23. Disembark and head to Airtran's counter, pick up my ticket, fly to Atlanta for a 4-hour layover, then continue on to Reagan International to land at 6 p.m. and hop the Metro to DC-NW.

The reality: Wake up at 3:54 a.m. MST. Scramble madly to get cleaned. Forgo the bread. Crumble the ricecakes and stuff them down the throat with banana. Scramble more madly. Pack everything in a rush and spend 3 minutes worrying about what I'm leaving behind. Catch the 4:28 bus. Catch the 5:23 bus. Try to retrieve my e-ticket. Nothing works. Just about to ask for help when I realize that I'm trying to check in at USAirways. Stomp down to Airtran and pick up my boarding pass and my transfer...to Dulles International. That's right, I bought a ticket to the wrong airport. Land in Atlanta, ask to fly standby and hop on the next one out, thus saving myself the layover in the tornado-prone capital of our peach-state and putting me on the Mall at 3:45 p.m., with enough time to visit the Hirshhorn Museum, grab some Indian food (way-overpriced), and still make it to Dupont Circle with many minutes to spare.

And so it is.