Ensuing Hijinks: a little bit of knowledge will destroy you

For Hitchens, Torture is not Great

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 14:11:00 +0000

Christopher Hitchens once defiantly declared in a 2005 article for The Weekly Standard that "[p]rison conditions at Abu Ghraib have improved markedly and dramatically since the arrival of Coalition troops in Baghdad." I believe fully that he continues to stand by this statement, as consistency—never mind his minor shift from supporting left- to right-wing causes—is a hallmark of any good polemicist.

This past May, the author agreed to undergo waterboarding, the interrogation technique used on terrorist suspects by the US government that also became the focal point for what constitutes "torture." In light of yesterday's New York Times' story indicating that Guantánamo interrogation tactics mirrored Chinese Communist techniques described in a 1957 Air Force study, the evidence that we've unleashed an army of amoral (and ineffective) Jack Bauers on the world becomes harder to ignore.

While not conceding much in Vanity Fair's "Believe Me, It's Torture"—Hitchens cannot resist denigrating the "moral equivalence" of linking US "torture" techniques with those of the murderers of Daniel Pearl—he manages to convince himself that torture is not great through arguments of logic and that "ticking bomb" question: "once you assume that you are in the right, what will you not do?"

Word to the wise

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 21:57:00 +0000

Don't get hit by a car in Hartford, CT, or you could end up like this poor guy:

Don't you just love the guy crossing the street (probably to get a hot dog) or the Looky Lou on the scooter who makes a loop just to get a better view? Psychologists call it the "diffusion of responsibility" phenomenon, or the "bystander effect," explaining multi-witness paralysis in which people assume someone else will act. That's how a dozen witnesses failed to act during the infamous Kitty Genovese in New York in 1964.

FYI: 911 is a free call on mobile phones.

Another camera for lazy people

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Sat, 17 May 2008 16:59:00 +0000

Smile. Resistance is futile.

Sony, not to be outdone by HP's slimming effect camera, last year launched its Smile Shutter™ technology, a feature that automatically captures a smile without your having to even press the shutter!

Such technology creates a new class of digital camera vampires: folks whose dour images resist capture. Now Sony has teamed up with Reuters (great for journalistic integrity, eh?) in the "Everyday Smiles" contest, in which winning photographs will be displayed—larger than life—in Times Square.

At least this way you'll have a good look at whom to slap should you ever run into these folks in real life.

Please Appease Me

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Fri, 16 May 2008 17:34:00 +0000

A couple of my classes this semester have focused on political cynicism, and how news coverage contributes to antipolitics--a deliberate or passive distancing by citizens to politics due to discontent, despair, or indifference.

This "Hardball" clip illustrates well why many Americans want nothing to do with the asinine conversations that pass off as "debate" in the media. Kudos to Chris Matthews for stickin' it to this ignorant pundit, who should be sacked.

The Boys Are Back

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Fri, 16 May 2008 15:17:00 +0000

My favorite Kiwis have returned with another music video after winning a Grammy earlier this year. I dig the mustache.

Save the Planet, Look Like Stay Puft Marshmallow Man

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Thu, 15 May 2008 19:06:00 +0000

Jokes aside, this solution offers an entirely different way of tackling a problem. It shouldn't be necessary to cool an entire room in many cases (single people just hanging out at home, for example--I think of my ex-roommate who always complained about the temperature, thereby running the heat or AC all day whilst at work, resulting in exorbitant energy bills).

Leave it to the resourceful Japanese...they were thinking about this more than eight years ago, before it was cool (so to speak).

Crash

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Thu, 08 May 2008 21:50:00 +0000

Bicycle culture in Haarlem

Today I hit my first pedestrian. I’ve had numerous close calls, but this marks my real induction into Dutch society.

Poor timing placed me at a rising canal drawbridge just fifteen minutes prior to class. Pedaling my rusty bicycle over cobblestone streets, I raced against the clock to reach the lab, print out my paper, and get to the lecture hall in time to avoid scrutiny from our ornery German lecturer, who has glared meaningfully at every student who dares to arrive even a minute late (and in a class with many Asians and Africans, he’s glaring an awful lot these days).

Since returning from my trip to New York, the weather has transformed from April showers to sunny summer days. Pale Dutch people—like all denizens of suboptimal climates—never take good weather for granted; they flood the parks in droves, leaving nary a patch of visible grass at Vondelpark or Westerpark. It makes me wonder where they were all hiding when the weather was bad (as it often is).

But my beef is not with regular Amsterdammers. It’s with the tourists. Damrak and the Red Light District, the rough equivalent of Times Square in New York, have become infested with wide-eyed, fannypacked photographers, drunken, blustery Brits peering into windows—any windows—and hippies eager to part with their euros at central smart shops. They ignore the wide, demarcated lanes with painted white marks forming the shape of a bicycle. They find the narrow, cobblestone streets so irresistibly quaint that they walk smack dab down the center—their own Yellow Brick Road to a customizable-to-one debauchery.

Well, as I mentioned before: I hit one of these suckers earlier today. Actually, it was a she. I rang my bell. She walked in the center of the street, even though the sidewalks were clear. And lest you think me unduly impatient, consider that my bicycle makes noise—lots of it. It squeaks.

Or maybe it squawks. Daniel, one of my football mates, once suddenly started scanning the horizon as we strolled from the park one day after practice. He pondered the whereabouts of an “annoying goose.” As I walked my bicycle along the canal, I stopped to listen. The “goose” went silent. “That explains why the goose was both annoying and so bloody consistent,” Daniel said with a smirk.

Between the bell and the squawks, I figured this clueless pedestrian would just keep walking straight. But no, she exhibited that maddening aspect of slow pedestrians: shifting paths without any regard to surroundings. You know what I’m talking about: the laggard you try to overtake (be it on the freeway or Fifth Avenue, the result is the same) who constantly drifts into your path in a zigzag fashion. You alter your path to avoid her, and she also lamely matches your move, as if engaged in slow dance for dunces.

That’s what happened. To make matters worse, we were right in front of a large café area, full of tourists enjoying kroketten, bitterballen, and vlaamse frites in the sun. As the moment began to unravel in slow motion, I could hear a collective gasp from the crowd as my front wheel collided with her ankle. I braked suddenly, the goose crying a desperate plea. I hopped off my bike. She looked shocked. No damage was done, but a nasty look registered on her face. I shot one right back and resisted my New York urge to flip her the bird and shout obscenities.

I shook my head visibly in disgust and biked quickly to class, where another glare awaited me.

Game Theory Explains the Dating Disparity?

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 16:06:00 +0000

A couple of articles focused on dating and the single woman’s dilemma have surfaced recently on several prominent Web sites. I wrote a critique of Mark Gimein's game theory article on Slate that alters my initial position on a Salon.com piece from 2005.

Originally part of my internship app, my critique goes to waste as they’ve already finished hiring for the summer (in that case, maybe update the Web site, eh?). Anyhow, enjoy:

In “The Eligible-Bachelor Paradox,” Mark Gimein begins with a fitting allusion to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, referring to what he calls one of “the great riddles of social life”: the lack of single, eligible men in the dating pool. It has become an unquestionable part of conventional wisdom—indeed, a recurring theme in contemporary commentary on gender relations —that a surfeit of appealing, eligible women overwhelms an effete, flawed male population. Gimein offers an explanation for such an imbalance: because of a “women choose” model for marriage, females enter into an auction scenario in which “strong bidders,” realizing they have fine prospects for a mate, stubbornly hold out for Mr. Right. Meanwhile, the “weak bidders,” their less appealing sisters, bid early and aggressively, thereby securing husbands while simultaneously draining the dating pool of quality, one man at a time.

As a woman who has dated extensively in New York City—arguably the nation’s dating disparity capital (if one is to use social statistics and pop culture references like Sex and the City as indicators)—I am in the awkward position of wanting very much to believe Gimein’s theory, personally, but finding it difficult to uphold, intellectually. While the author’s use of game theory and economics offers the comfort of academic rigor to illuminate the eligible-bachelor paradox, I challenge the basic premise that there are significantly more “attractive, eligible women” out there than “highly eligible and appealing men.” This underlying assumption also serves as the basis for Benjamin Kunkel’s commentary on Salon, as well as Lori Gottlieb’s “Buy It Now” argument posed in The Atlantic, referenced at the end of Gimein’s essay.

Perceptions of such an overwhelming disparity merit closer examination if they are to be used to advocate going on a massive sexual strike or settling for a loveless marriage, as the other two authors suggest. I use the word “perception” deliberately, because the flaw I see in Gimein’s argument rests with the definition of “strong bidders”—a perceived group of fantastic women who are underserved by the male population. Many of my single female friends possess the qualities generally associated with “strong bidders”: they are attractive, educated, and charming. During late-night chats with such friends, these traits are cited as evidence that men have it easier in the dating world because attractive, single women abound. I listened to and participated in such talks to the point that this dating gap—the eligible-bachelor paradox—registered in our collective consciousness as undisputed fact.

But I had to step back and take a closer look at my perennially single female friends. While each satisfies the loose definition of a “strong bidder,” they also tend to have various fundamental flaws that fall into a general category of emotional/personality issues, which disqualify them as the “great catches” so heavily advertised. This slippery quality—complex and specific to each woman, and therefore not easily generalizable to entire populations—is usually omitted from the criteria of “strong bidders,” despite the significant role it must play in the actual world of dating. And since such personality flaws are not as overtly apparent as height or underemployment (to borrow Gimein’s examples of male imperfection), they also manage to go undetected until much later in the dating game. Thus, where Gimein sees an abundance of single, attractive women, I see a number of single, attractive women who—although “strong bidders” by his definition—possess just as many deal breakers, although better concealed, as the men he calls “notably imperfect.” While I concede that a dating disparity exists, I believe it is on a much smaller scale than popularly imagined: many of the perceived “strong bidders” in this particular auction are simply bluffing.

Penn(itentiary) State

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 19:53:00 +0000

April has been a rough month, with back-to-back academic papers, a crash course on statistics and research methodology (I can now perform a simple regression analysis along with other helpful functions), and writing/reporting for my favorite local Amsterdam newspaper.

Last week, the editor in chief entrusted me to interview a Pulitzer Prize-winning author and investigative reporter for The New Yorker. Unfortunately, his schedule and our weekly deadline could not agree, and I worked on another piece instead. It's been a great learning experience, copyediting features in the British style, whilst getting some clips under the belt.

The gig is not without its fun moments. Listen to this amusing clip from an interview I had with a local professor about a Dutch social engineering project (I was giving him my email address). I should send it to Penn State's admissions/recruiting office.

Minority Report

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 23:07:00 +0000

I've been M.I.A., two-timing with another weblog for a group project and working at a local paper in Amsterdam. Here is the slide show we put together:

For a larger version, click here.

An Update

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 13:45:00 +0000

Two of my former Danish flatmates in Aarhus wrote to me last night about the resurgent cartoon controversy. One wrote: "I don't really think that's the correct solution in this situation, and we can't continue to enrage them like this." The other updated me on how the domestic media were handling the affair, along with his interpretations of the political landscape:

Yes I just read it on the news paper Politiken's homepage. Though making a fuss about it being printed in a newspaper seems strange since they are shown on TV each time they mention the cartoonist.

The three news papers are Berlingske Tidende, Politiken and Jyllandsposten (JP).

It is quite remarkable that Politiken prints them since its chief editor, Thøger Seidenfaden, led the criticism against JP back then. Also Berlingske Tidende have not printed them before.

It could seem Seidenfaden is afraid to end up looking like a bad guy defending the religious fanatics (in the Danish media at least) as he did the last time.

http://jp.dk/indland/article1263415.ece

http://politiken.dk/indland/article470475.ece

http://www.berlingske.dk/article/20080212/ledere/80212059/

And yeah the place the police raided was just where the 15 goes by.

***

The "15" to which he refers is the bus route we all took to and from central Aarhus from the lovely Skjoldhøj. It passes through what is often called the largest ghetto in Denmark, Gellerupparken, for its sizable immigrant population. After visiting the local DR TV and radio stations in Aarhus, I thought the opinions expressed by media personnel about Gellerupparken bordered on the paranoid.

The personal stories I had heard from ethnic Danes about interaction with minorities in Aarhus did not sound good, either. One flatmate, who looks as Viking and Nordic as possible with his pale blond hair, blue eyes, and almost bloodless skin, described a walk he took through a grassy area in Gellerupparken. He had just gone grocery shopping and decided to take a shortcut home. It was the middle of the afternoon, bright and sunny. As he walked through the park, some elementary school kids of minority descent started shouting at him "f*ckin' Dansker"—"f*ckin' Dane." In another incident, he was sitting at the back of the bus when a group of boisterous, minority teens boarded the bus (you board from the back in Denmark). They exhibited loud, intimidating male behavior and moved to the front of the bus, where a fellow classmate of his sat. He described this classmate as "about as harmless and dorky as you can get." Right before the teens exited the bus, one turned to the unassuming kid and spat in his face. They laughed and ran out. My flatmate, outraged, sat there stunned. Then, he looked behind him and noticed a big wad of spit oozing down the window behind his head. They had missed.

I noticed a bit of the tension in Denmark myself, as a minority "not of contentious origin"—there aren't many East Asians, and the ones there keep to their own communities. It is also disarming, I imagine, for a foreigner to hear me speak perfectly fluent English. So I found my situation different from those of my other international classmates. Almost all Danes I encountered were super friendly and helpful. I remember my first extensive contact with a Dane was with the bus driver who drove me from the airport to the city. He went out of his way to figure out my rendezvous site with my mentor, and took pains to drop me off at another location not really on the bus route.

The "contentious minorities" in Denmark mostly left me alone. One time I was walking to the #15 bus when a car slowed down and stopped. A dark-skinned man asked me which direction I was heading. Puzzled, I told him I was going to football practice. "Oh," he said, "I am going to the opposite side of town, otherwise I would drop you off." It was random and nice, and I don't think he had any ulterior motives except to help out.

Most forced social interaction happens on the bus. Public transport is sometimes the only way in which people experience the "other," which is why I like New York City so much, as opposed to Los Angeles. You're forced to encounter all kinds of people and behavior in daily life. And since you're practically living on top of your neighbor, squeezed up against some guy's bum on the subway, or dining with someone's elbow in your soup, most people eventually form many relationships they would not normally have elsewhere. Los Angeles, its polar opposite, facilitates strong cliques based on location and familiarity. People stay in their cars and communities and ethnic leanings, creating a relative—but separate—peace in the California sunshine.

Aarhus sits in a precarious spot between the extremes of New York and Los Angeles. There's enough interaction to increase prejudice, but not enough to forge relationships and understanding. Another time I sat on the bus with a classmate when a loud minority male got on the bus sporting a backwards baseball cap (a universal sign of "dunce"). He sat behind my classmate and proceeded to hit the back of her seat obnoxiously, completely aware of his actions. My soft-spoken African classmate endured the thumps. After several minutes of repetitive whacks, I turned deliberately and made eye contact. He carried on, in what I am sure he considered to be a defiant and cool attitude. Right at the moment I was about to say something loud and attention-gaining, he stopped. A group of school kids boarded the bus; they formed an animated mass of blond heads and cherubic cheeks rouged by the winter winds—except for one. A cute dark-haired, dark-skinned boy romped around with the other kids, laughing and talking in a scene typical of my multi-ethnic hometown, Cerritos, California. Mr. Knucklehead noticed this kid, too. And as he stood up to exit the bus—in sharp contrast to the disenfranchised, boorish demeanor with which he greeted the rest of the world—he tenderly tousled the boy's hair and went through a "got-your-nose" routine with him. The boy, puzzled and a bit disturbed, immediately went back to his friends.

I noticed The New York Times removed its characterization of Aarhus as a "quiet university town" today in the cartoon arrests story from last night. An experienced editor, no doubt, knew that such a simplistic characterization is almost never on the mark.

Cartoon Showtime?

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 22:07:00 +0000

The Dutch wires are reporting at this hour that in the wake of today’s arrests in Aarhus, Denmark for a plot to assassinate one of the cartoonists involved in the 2005 Prophet Mohammed caricature controversy, three of the largest Danish newspapers have decided to republish the cartoons.

Jyllands-Posten, the original perpetrator, already has a cartoon displayed prominently on their English Web site.

After examining media in Denmark last fall, many of my colleagues have grown weary of the whole Danish cartoons affair. In fact, two of the required readings from last week focused exclusively on the media’s role in the brouhaha and how minorities are portrayed in Denmark. One text published in 2000 by Mustafa Hussain analyzed Islam and minorities in Denmark, asserting that an “interdiscursivity of powerful societal institutions” promotes a negative public opinion, creating political intolerance (97-98).

On a comparative scale with other European nations, Denmark stands out. Hussain offers supporting evidence:

Only 17 percent of Danes reported they were absolutely non-racist, according to a 1997 European Commission survey on racism, qualifying as the lowest percentage of self-defined non-racists in the EU. For comparison, the average EU self-defined non-racist was 34 percent; fellow Scandinavian country (and place were all is sweetness and light) Sweden was even higher at 42 percent.
83 percent of replies in Denmark scored as having low to very high racist attitudes in the same study. Again, for comparison: Austria and Germany, both associated with neo-Nazi movements, both hovered around 70 percent.
Despite this, Denmark has one of the smallest percentages of immigration in the EU from countries outside the EU, Eastern Europe, and North America.
37 percent of Danes would not want to have a Muslim for a neighbor and 64 percent would not want a close family member to marry a Muslim. These figures drop considerably to 18 percent and 36 percent, respectively, when “Muslim” is replaced by “a person of another race,” according to a 1995 national survey by two political scientists from Aarhus University.
85 percent of ethnic Danes had no social interaction with minority individuals or groups, as cited in the previous study.

These statistics seem damning, but it’s much more complicated than simply concluding that Danes are simply more racist. Hussain analyzes how the media influence public opinion through the use of repetitive headlines, negative minority topics (like crime, immigration, and other problems), and creating an us-versus-them framework for stories. Public service media were worse offenders than commercial media in this regard.

Hussain uses John Zaller's theory on the origin of and formation of mass opinion to support his idea on media influence. In a nutshell, Zaller's theory says that people's opinions depend on the "ideas and thoughts activated immediate" rather than a thorough evaluation on the subject in question (Ibid. 101). So whatever the dominant information flow is at the time—as perpetuated by the media—will also dominate public opinion. Given that most Danes have little to no experiential knowledge of minorities, this phenomenon is perhaps even stronger.

Another text, a book written after the cartoon controversy in 2007, analyzed the media’s handling of the controversy in 14 different countries. The authors claim that an editorial in The Economist sparked the initial idea for the project: to understand how “freedom of speech was defined, defended, and criticized,” under international scrutiny, both in and by the press (Kunelius and Eide 9). One of the researchers, in an essay called “The Right to Communicate,” took the moderate stance, weighing individual expression against duties towards society. “[T]he right to be understood,” he writes, should imply that others have a duty to try and understand the “other.” This requires society to “distance itself from egocentric acts of communication” (Ibid. 19).

Now that the controversy looms large once again, our project to interview minority media outlets here in the Netherlands might take a more interesting twist.

Stay tuned…

References
Hussain, Mustafa (2000). Islam, Media and Minorities in Denmark.
Current Sociology,48(4), 95-116.
Kunelius, Risto, & Eide, Elisabeth (2007). The Mohammed cartoons, journalism, free speech and globalization. In Risto Kunelius, Elisabeth Eide, Oliver Hahn & Roland Schroeder (Eds.), Reading the Mohammed cartoons controversy: an international analysis of press discourses on free speech and political spin (pp. 9-23). Bochum/Freiburg: ProjektVerlag. Available online at
http://ncom.nordicom.gu.se/ncom/research/the_mohammed_cartoons_journalism_free_speech_and_globalization(19166)/

Welcome to Amsterdam

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 20:06:00 +0000

Drugs: Use of soft drugs is only allowed in your room, as long as your roommate or unit mate does not object. Use or possession of hard drugs in the buildings is forbidden. Your contract will immediately be terminated if you are caught possessing hard drugs.

That’s an excerpt from my housing contract here in the Netherlands (no definition of “hard” or “soft” drugs is provided).

One of my main goals this spring is to learn multimedia equipment, recording, and software. To that end, I bring you my first project that I created today. Tot ziens!

For a larger version, click here.

R.I.P.

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 13:41:00 +0000

I am still alive, but my Web site flatlined for a couple of days.

Here is an homage to my final days in Denmark, which have drawn to a close. More to come on the Dutch experience.

Tombstone photo courtesy of Morten, translated from the Danish:
“We must not in the sorrow of his passing forget the joy of his disappearance.”

The Universality of Creepy

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 18:17:00 +0000

In New York I spent a considerable amount of time by myself at local cafés, bookstores, and parks. Lacking the protection of the pack or the deterrent posed by a male companion, I became familiar with all sorts of strange behavior of my fellow denizens; it gave me a warped perception that normalcy was something that existed elsewhere—that anywhere was better than New York City.

For people like me, the iPod is the greatest invention ever, creating a mobile, separate sphere of space and privacy to enshroud my daily commute. It also serves as a practical excuse to ignore others within the intimate proximity thrust upon us by urban life: the subway ride, busy sidewalks, and intrusive individuals. Pointless small talk, awkward silences, and shifty-eyed glances dissolve with the overwhelming need to switch to a new song at the very moment—coincidentally, of course—when interaction is pending.

In Denmark I do not spend much time by myself in public. I am either on a mission (groceries and class), with a companion, or at home. From what I have experienced thus far, most Danes tend to mind their own business. I like that.

But not today. After receiving the final exam questions at the end of class, I biked to the Statsbiblioteket to dispute a claim I had received in the post about an overdue book. My voice carries, and as I stood in the atrium of the second-floor lobby, I explained calmly that I had returned Down and Out in Paris and London on the very same day I returned Christopher Hitchens’ The Trial of Henry Kissinger back in October. The notice informed me that I would be charged 20 kroner per day until the library received the book back. “Will you please check your records again?” I asked the clerk. He excused himself to inspect the tower for the missing book.

I sat down at one of the computers. As I typed in my CPR number, I sensed the man to my right looking over. After a minute, he spoke. I ignored him. He spoke again:

“How do you have such a strong accent?”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard you speaking, and it is very intense.”
“I returned a book over a month ago, and they’re claiming they never received it. I personally handed it to the clerk last time. He’s going to check and see if the book is there.”
“That happened to me, too. They charge so much. You should always get a receipt because they don’t get it right all the time.”
“Yes, I’ve learned my lesson.”

I resumed typing. He continued:

“So where did you learn to speak English?”
“I’m American.”
“Oh, you grew up there? Where?”
“California, but most recently in New York City.”
“I have always wanted to visit. How do you like it here? How is it different?”

I gave him the usual answers about Scandinavian design, New York multiculturalism, and Danish egalitarianism. After a few minutes, I stopped asking follow-up questions to signal my desire to end the conversation. But he blathered on at a desultory pace, like the overnight guest who—not taking the cue that minutes of silence and steady, deliberate breathing indicate a tacit agreement to sleep—violates the peace by asking an open-ended, complex question on a fresh topic in the middle of the night. After losing patience, I logged off and stood up. “Well, have a good night,” I said. He looked alarmed.

“Why don’t you stay longer?”
“I have a final exam to write. So I’ve got to get going now. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“But you could stay longer so we can...talk.”
“I really can’t. I just received this paper topic this afternoon and I have to get started.”
“When will you be back?”
“I probably won’t be back. I’m leaving Denmark soon. I’m returning to New York. So have a great night.”

He grabbed a white square of paper from the stack between our computers. I did not care for the deliberate way in which he shoved his black book bag away so there would be no barriers between us. By now, Danes at nearby tables were taking notice of the situation. He pointed to the paper.

“Let’s write to each other.”
“What? You want my e-mail address?”
“Yes.”

I paused. A brief flashback from my Paris days emerged from the depths of memory as I recalled the hassles that ensued when I had refused to give my phone number. Had it been worth it? I opted for the easy exit by writing down my spam e-mail address. “Write in big, clear letters,” he instructed cheerfully. I handed him the paper and picked up my bag. He read each letter very carefully aloud for confirmation. I turned to leave, but he scribbled something on another sheet of paper and handed it to me. I glanced at it quickly: his name appeared to be Henrik and there was a “DK” in the address. I stuffed it (too carelessly) into my bag. “Will you be back here tomorrow at 5 PM?” he wanted to know. I shook my head and said good night for the last time.

He mumbled about writing to me and something about dinner on Thursday. But I was already ten feet away after having spotted a classmate at a computer kiosk. “What was that all about?” she asked with an amused look. “Did you witness that entire thing?” I replied in disbelief. “No. Well, at first I heard you say ‘good night.’ Then I heard you say it about five more times.”

As I prepare to leave Denmark, it is a timely reminder to take a balanced view, even beyond New York. Alongside modernist, astonishing feats of Scandinavian architecture exist drab, Communist-era slabs of concrete that shelter and insult their inhabitants. And for every stimulating, Weltanschauung-altering individual encountered, there is also that bothersome—though painfully earnest—person sitting to your right at the computer lab.

Sincerity aside, one thing is certain: I will not be anywhere near the library around 5 PM for the rest of my stay in Denmark.

Through the Looking Glass

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Sun, 02 Dec 2007 23:58:00 +0000

The phone started ringing at 9:17 AM. Unknown caller. To be clear: I don’t have unknown callers in Denmark. In fact, I don’t really have any callers in Denmark. We all use e-mail, text message, and Facebook to communicate out of thrift and sheer laziness. Phone calls are reserved for emergencies; they rarely communicate good news.

I let it ring. And then, a moment later I received a text message: “Du har 1 ny besked i din telefonsvarer. Sidste besked er fra: ‘ukendt nummer.’ Læs mere om din telefonsvarer på vores hjemmeside.” In English: “You have 1 new message in your answering machine. Last message is from: ‘unknown number.’ Read more about your answering machine on our homepage.” The Web site, however, offered little assistance when it came to navigating through a Danish voice menu. This is why I do not check voicemail here.

The next day, my phone rang again. Not recognizing the number, I let it ring. It was the beginning of a crash course on Danish media, of which I was to become an unwitting participant this past Friday.

A month ago, the housing administration sent several of us notices in the mail that we were to vacate the premises by December 17^th—in blatant disregard of the contract’s stated terms that we have seven (7) business days prior to the lease’s end. This new move-out date also preceded our final examination deadline by two days. The university sent angry letters to the housing administration, which responded with detached legalese, reiterating its original position. Many of us changed flight dates or made alternative arrangements for the holidays. Our schedule hung in limbo as the deliberations proceeded.

And then someone decided to take matters into her own hands—that someone was not me. I secretly hoped for the earlier move-out date in my rush to return to the States. One of our peers had contacted the media, sparking a local groundswell of support. Jessica, a quiet yet composed Californian, was the first to answer the call. Her interview hit the Danish radio stations on Friday morning, followed by a front page story and portrait in the local Jyllands-Posten (publisher of the controversial Muhammad cartoons in 2005) detailing the plight of “homeless students.” A few other peers spoke to reporters.

By mid-afternoon, the story had leaked to television reporters. We were in class when a camera crew showed up for footage. They asked if they could follow one of us home for an interview. I loudly refused when I sensed a vague movement for my election. After biking to class (read: I was sweaty), getting very little sleep, and having not bathed in two days (read: I was sweaty), I had hit my nadir of personal hygiene for the semester. “You look fine, actually,” whispered a friend. She paused. “Just brush your hair a little,” she added quickly. Without any prompting, she then handed me a tube of lip balm with a look that vaguely indicated sympathy. After considerable debate and buck passing, I found myself in the back of cab on the way home with my bicycle strapped to the trunk.

The TV crew got lost and announced they would be late. This gave me enough time to warn Heidi and Morten. Heidi ran upstairs to change her pants and finish the dishes. Morten bolted. Upon arrival, the crew surveyed the common room looking for a good interview spot. After inspecting the cleaning schedule with marked curiosity, the reporter asked, “So does this common area see a lot of traffic?” “No, it’s actually very quiet,” I said matter-of-factly. Right at that moment the door swung open, revealing a rosy-cheeked Martin sporting reindeer antlers and bells followed by jovial friends carrying bags of candy. “This isn’t going to work out here; the microphone is too sensitive,” said the reporter.

We moved to my tiny room for the interview. I sweated under the lights but answered all questions easily. He tried to egg me on, asking “So, how do you feel about being evicted?” It lasted about ten minutes. I prayed that the package of toilet paper on my shelf didn’t show up in the background. We moved back to the common area where they wanted to film me going about my “daily routine.” And then it was over. Here is the result, called “Out before Christmas”:

My riveting report followed a breathalyzer story and a piece about a basketball family with a pet monkey. Our class had just finished reading about Jürgen Habermas’ notion of the public sphere as a space in which rational deliberation about politics and other socially relevant issues occurs. This firsthand lesson on Danish media taught us that critical, public discussion actually works in some countries—even for the most mundane causes. Private citizens contacted the paper, university, and TV station, opening up their homes to us. A local school offered free housing and meals through the holidays. And the very next day, the housing administration backed down from its stance, allowing all of us to remain until December 20^th.

As the apathetic and least invested member of the cause, I became its unofficial spokesperson. And while I am pleased to see that public discourse can force real change, I am happiest knowing that I will be on that plane come December 17^th—contracts be damned.

Out for Lunch

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Thu, 22 Nov 2007 00:01:00 +0000

The Island of Dr. Samsø

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Sat, 13 Oct 2007 21:39:00 +0000

At 5:44 in the morning, the sun isn’t shining in Denmark. Indeed, the sun has yet to rise. But I woke up at that ungodly hour on Thursday to catch a bus which would take us to the ferry, which would in turn deliver us to the renewable energy island of Samsø.

View from the ferry (yes, it was this gray)

In the summer, Samsø is known for its beautiful, white sand beaches, strawberry fields, and early potatoes. The island’s modest population of about 4,200 residents swells to more than 100,000 during the peak months of concerts, beach-going, and vegetable-picking. In the fall and winter, it is cold and dreary.

In 1997, Samsø won a national competition to establish an island community run entirely on renewable energy by 2008. The project, established through a governmental initiative in conjunction with the UN Conferences on Climate Change, would serve as a model for the rest of Denmark, which has a goal of 20 per cent renewable energy for the entire country by 2030. Samsø has since reduced its import of fossil fuels by 60 per cent with its eleven land turbines, which generate enough electricity for the entire island, and the development of biomass fuel (rapeseed oil) for tractors and other machinery. Many of its citizens have personally invested in solar panels and masonry heaters to improve energy usage and efficiency, thereby reducing their own energy costs. Running on biomass fuels, wind power, and solar power is cheaper than burning oil and gas.

The island now has a 140 per cent electricity output, meaning it can export 40 per cent of that energy for profit to be distributed amongst its citizens. While Samsø is 100 per cent carbon neutral, the technology for renewable energy for transportation (cars, buses, ferries, etc.) has yet to be developed, so it offsets those energy costs through ten offshore turbines that required an investment of 17 million Euros, or roughly 4,000 Euros per citizen. The offshore project, headed by the farmer we met during our field trip, has proved profitable, enabling the island to earmark 400,000 Euros for the development of its own Energy Academy where NGO representatives, government officials, and students can gather to learn about the technology involved.

The Energy Academy (and unideal conditions for solar panels)

The Energy Academy was our first stop. Frank, our guide, met us outside the eco-house, built about a foot off the ground for better energy efficiency (land temperature is so volatile that it saps the heat from the house). The gray zinc roof has both heat-retaining and solar panels to provide all the electricity and heating for the house. But I must confess: I was cold, keeping my jacket on throughout the entire visit. Even in cloudy Denmark, the house sees about 200 days of usable sunlight. Much of the heat generated inside the house is contained within another structure that slowly releases the heat to the rest of the house for better efficiency. During the summer, windows at the top and sides of the house open automatically to create a cooling wind current.

The simple, long-house style of the building was modeled after local Samsø homes by a Danish architecture firm to blend into its environment. The architects kept locality in mind for the design, wanting to construct this house using local materials by local workers. A large part of the renewable energy effort means sustainability in all aspects of the island, not just energy efficiency to hit certain benchmarks. If the island were energy efficient whilst jobs declined, the project would prove a failure for the rest of Denmark. So the house’s walls consist of small panels made of gypsum and insulated with paper wool. Gypsum is a byproduct of certain pollution, and therefore is readily available and cheap. It works just like plaster, and seals out water, making it an ideal material for an economical home. My only concern arose after learning that gypsum is “slightly more radioactive” as far as its isotopic instability. I felt that our guide slipped that fact into his speech a little too silkily.

The office

We met a photographer from National Geographic on assignment in Samsø for three weeks; the magazine will have a feature on climate change in April. I introduced myself to Andrew, asking him about life in Washington, D.C. He has only lived there for two months, and of that time he’s been on assignment for all but two weeks. So his apartment in Adams Morgan goes unused, and he has never been to Kramerbooks. I asked Andrew how he became a full-time photographer at the magazine, considering the competitive field. He had worked at a newspaper previously. “I never considered moving to New York,” he admitted, when I told him how many struggling photographers I’ve met in the Big Apple. “I always went to places where I knew I’d be the only guy and I’d get work. I built up my portfolio that way.” So far he’s been to Wales and London and will be going to China or India for the remainder of this story. One of five (I think) staff photographers, he contributes to story ideas and brainstorms. He now shoots with digital cameras exclusively. I asked him if he studied photography in school. “No, I was a history/liberal arts student,” he smiled.

After watching a film on Samsø’s story, Frank announced that fresh pots of coffee and tea were waiting for us in the lunch room. I talked with Ulla and Ar*ndh*ti about the scalability of the renewable energy initiative to Denmark and the rest of the world. Ulla, a Dane, explained the history of Denmark as one marked by cooperation (very much like Holland). Aru*dhu*i and I had our doubts. “Take India, for example,” she said. “We have a history of splintered groups that refuse to cooperate with one another. I can’t see this surviving there, not to mention the lack of public funds.” “And it’s not just the lack of funds,” I added. “In the US, we’d have so many oil and special interest groups lobbying to block any such progress. Heck, it took us until this year for our own government to admit that global warming is even happening.” Ulla explained that the Danish oil companies realize they have only about fifteen more years of oil reserves left, so they are now selling the oil abroad and investing money into alternative energy sources.

Lunch break

We climbed into our rented coach after lunch to meet Jørgen, the farmer who runs one of the eleven land windmills. As we walked up to the windmill’s base, we heard a rumble from behind as a large man with broad features driving an ATV sped up to us at an alarming pace in an unpredictable, zigzag pattern. A small white dog raced behind the vehicle, prancing in its wake. After a general Q&A, we learned that we’d be climbing the 70-meter-tall windmill. The climb is divided into sections with wooden platforms and ladders. Each platform can hold a maximum of eight people. With a group of eighteen, we had to pace the climb appropriately, ensuring that if one went up, another went down without overloading one level.

We climbed that first one, yes.

Chetna went first

Jørgen shut off the windmill and we began the ascent. I still have the calluses and sore muscles from this adventure, but it was worth it. The top of the windmill opened up, exposing the giant engine as we walked gingerly around the pod. The wind was fierce, but Andrew, the photographer, was unfazed. He stood up on top of the engine and took photographs. The rest of us were content to mimic Titanic poses and take in miles and miles of landscape and ocean. At one point, Jørgen had some fun and hit a button on his control panel. The entire windmill started turning to the right. We screamed as he laughed devilishly.

We made it to the top! Our hands are dirty and sore!

Ready to deploy a missile onto the Danish countryside (or: inside the turbine engine)

By the time we all made it down, we were giddy from the exercise and fresh, cold air. We raced over to a pumpkin patch near the bus and admired the bright greens mottled with orange and brown that was the field. Our hands were dirty from picking up pumpkins and climbing the ladder. We got back into the bus, which took us through several communities and then along a large stretch of white sand beach hemmed in by choppy blue water with white caps.

We arrived at a woodchip energy plant. A flock of curious sheep resting near some solar panels stopped to stare at us. The wood chips smelled fresh (a bit like menthol?). We went inside to inspect the factory we had just watched on film.

“Baaaaa!” said the sheep

Then it was time to visit the town of Nordby (NOT pronounced “Nord-BEE,” but more like “NOR-bu” with a very soft “oo” sound at the end), which was voted as the best preserved village in Europe a few years ago. It is a town in the north, as its name suggests, and has sea-faring roots. Samsø served as a gathering place for the Vikings, and it is believed to be the launching pad from which the Vikings set sail to conquer England and other distant lands. In Nordby, the inheritance pattern worked like this: the son received the ship or fleet, and the daughter received the farm. So the men would sail off to make their fortunes, and the women would stay home. This created a matriarchal society. In the south, where the economy wasn’t based on fishing and the sea, the men retained the farms and houses, thereby establishing a regular, patriarchal society. Perhaps this explains why Nordby remained the best-preserved village in all of Europe for so many years.

The quiet streets of Nordby

Nothing seemed to be open in Nordby except the public toilet next to the post office. We learned that Danes like to have little mirrors on their windows to see what is happening outside without having to get up. “So just because a house seems quiet, doesn’t mean they aren’t watching you,” Frank explained. We also wondered about miniature statues sitting on the window sills of almost all the homes. “If you see two dog statues facing outside, it means the master of the house is out to sea. If they’re faced inward, it means he’s home,” said Frank. Our walking tour, interrupted by rain, concluded at the Underground Café for a hot cocoa and ice cream break.

It was fun to spend the day in Samsø, a distinctly different part of Denmark. The idea expressed by the Samsø Energy Chairwoman about the energy island’s community can also be applied to Denmark in relation to the rest of the world: “In a time when bigger is better, it’s important to show that smaller entities can survive.”

For more photos, go here.

Days of Being Mild

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 23:29:00 +0000

Yes, I now realize I’m holding a Lazio scarf (and that it is upside down)

It’s been a rigorous social calendar lately...

Thursday: Dinner/Movie Night

I had cooking duty this time

Globalization gone awry: Martin applies wasabi to his quesadilla

I made crispy won tons and soft tacos (sharing my precious Cholula hot sauce imported from the States!) for our weekly dinner and movie night. Sigrid baked a traditional Danish cake, topped with crème fraiche. We watched Flags of our Fathers afterwards since Martin, the guy with horrible movie tastes, left early for a party.

Friday: Party at Nielsenhaus

A very special beverage from Belarus

It was the “Dress like your favorite dictator—just kidding” party at the Kiwi’s spacious flat. If you have a themed party, you can’t make it optional. Nobody dressed up. It’s too bad I chucked my Hugo Chávez costume. I thought, “Why would I need this in Denmark?”

Daniel’s wife, Sara, sporting an interesting shirt dress

Jessica, an American, chats with Fuchun

Chetna is a good sport (and this shot had some accidental lighting/exposure effect)

Thousands of miles away from W’burg and the East Village, hipsters flourish.

Saturday: The Tour des Chambres

A sober start: farmer Sigrid dines with football ref Martin

The much-anticipated Tour des Chambres did not disappoint.

To refresh your memory: the Tour des Chambres involves all members of the suite. Each person picks a theme for her room and decorates it accordingly (costume optional). She also picks an alcoholic beverage to go with that theme. Individuals are assigned cooking, cleaning, or grocery duties. We eat dinner together, and then draw room numbers out of a hat. When your number comes up, you go to your room, prepare the drinks for all members, and invite everyone in. The party continues until we’ve visited all rooms.

Heidi in her goth/cutter outfit; pasta for dinner

This year, we only had six participants (a relief for me; if you know my tolerance level, the thought of my consuming twelve drinks is frightening). Since I have instituted fiscal austerity measures, I opted for something easy: a Brooklyn artist/photographer’s minimalist Williamsburg studio. I wore all black.

Sigrid dressed like a traditional Danish farmer; Fuchun chose a Chinese moon festival theme, complete with moon cakes and Chinese alcohol; Morten had a yuppie, colorful ‘80s room, outfit, and cocktails; Heidi slashed up a shirt and wore leather pants to promote her S&M, goth room (which had knives, scissors, candles, and Marilyn Manson music); and my favorite: Martin’s football room.

Room number 12

The ‘80s room (that blazer is even more horrible in person)

To create a little DIY fun with my lazy theme, I asked each person to use my point-and-shoot Canon to create MySpace-like self portraits. Then I had people pair up and asked them to “surprise me” with a photograph or series of photographs; we then left them alone in my room. The winning team would get some kind of prize. First, the self portraits (I forgot to do mine!):

Next, the team portrait competition:

Team 1: Sigrid & Heidi

Team 2: Fuchun and Martin

Team 3: Robin & Morten (the clear winners; I am wearing his blazer)

The evening’s unrelenting flow of booze pressed on, paused only by a brief midnight feeding frenzy. I almost lost it in the ‘80s room. The cream in the shots of the football room made me reel. I think I had close to nine drinks.

Unintended portrait of my neck

Danish beer

Soused

Welcome to the football room...

ARSENAL!!!!!!

Dancing to Danish music

In the last room (S&M), slurred speech filled the air as we crashed on the animal print blankets, dangerously placed near a tray of candles. Headbanger music raged on. I remember snapping some incriminating photographs of Heidi and Martin.

The final frontier

Playacting? You be the judge.

Martin kept removing my shoes and placing them near the candle flames. He muttered something about fire and velvet, and then stumbled into the hallway. That was his last appearance for the night. Fuchun passed out on the bed, his face obscured by a Dr. Seuss-like Silkeborg football hat. Heidi and Sigrid chatted in Danish.

You are getting veeerrrrrrry sleepy

Update: 6 October 2007
Faithful readers will notice I have removed the remaining portion of this post. It is a mea culpa to expunge from the public record any damning evidence that will surely be used against me for years to come about my already well-documented cluelessness. Much gratitude to the blog’s ombudsman, NP, for steering me straight. And, more importantly: apologies to the affected (and much adored) party, DL.

Ego Almost Full

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 13:14:00 +0000

The beauty of the EPL manager’s club just fell by 500 points

It’s curtains for the Chelsea FC drama starring José Mário dos Santos Mourinho Félix, or the man I like to call “The Hot One.”

The long-standing tension between Mourinho and Russian billionaire owner Roman Abramovich finally culminated in not a bang, but a whisper, on the horrid Chelsea FC Web site: “Chelsea Football Club and José Mourinho have agreed to part company today (Thursday) by mutual consent.”

The way the press has chronicled Abramovich’s lust for the Champions League title conjures up unflattering images of Golem pining away for his “precious.” The relationship survived whilst Mourinho delivered the silverware, but the demands for immediate gratification and the expectations of a feckless billionaire mobster can never be satisfied.

A favorite amongst many experts to reclaim the Premiership title this year, Chelsea FC now await a disruption much bigger than the departure of David Dein and Thierry Henry from Arsenal. How will new manager Avram Grant steer this off-course ship, full of egos big enough to fill ten Emirates stadiums? I look forward to seeing whether or not the age-old tale of blinding power, ego, and resulting hubris will return Chelsea FC to the ground on which it belongs.

Another Urban Chameleon

noreply@blogger.com (Robin) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 23:15:00 +0000

An impostor tries to challenge my authority!

During last night’s partner university reception, we enjoyed glasses of chilled cuvée with assorted appetizers whilst mingling with professors and administrators. There is a possibility I may spend two years in London instead of one (more on that much later).

Hungry students know how to turn appetizers into dinner

Professor Henrik immediately sought me out by the grand piano. He’s Danish, but completed part of his studies in northern California. The very first day of introductions several weeks ago, I asked a question about the professor-to-student ratio. Afterwards, he introduced himself to me, wanting to know where I grew up. We formed a Californian bond. He is the sort of cool professor you always dreamt about in undergrad: articulate, knowledgeable, suave, handsome (in that professorial way), and stylish. He has messy blond hair, wears cowboy boots and not-too-ironic tees, and speaks with a devilish accent courtesy of his time spent in America. I challenged him to pick out the other three Americans in the crowd. Aside from choosing a Canadian, he did pretty well.

I had two glasses of wine—the most I’ve had my entire stay in Denmark. Fuchun crossed the room and interrupted my conversation. “You are…very rosy,” he remarked. “Oh no!” I said. “It’s already too late. How red am I?” I frowned. “No, it looks very attractive,” he said in accented English. Fuchun and I are suitemates, if you haven’t already gathered that from previous posts. We talked about Amsterdam and the housing situation.

I looked up and made eye contact with Jigme, who was clearly talking about me with his guest across the room. I walked over. “We were just talking about football and wondering whether or not you are a professional,” he said. “Oh good grief no,” I said. And then I snapped the photo above to get Cristina’s lovely sweater against the green chair backdrop.

We have formed a football team. So far, I am the only woman on the team. Daniel, who is part Danish and part Kiwi, serves as team manager, but he has selected a horrible name: Global United (we are now petitioning a name change). Practice began today; I missed both sessions. So far, we’ve got a Bhutanese, a Salvadoran, a Dutch guy, Daniel, a Nigerian, two Americans, and a Belarusian. My soccer boots are still lost in the post, thanks to the Confederacy of Dunces, a.k.a. the United States Postal Service.

Your tax dollars at work: the USPS marked my package for SWEDEN, not DENMARK (the Dane with the green pen probably had a good laugh).

Oh, and three cheers for RvP, C.Fab, and Eduardo! I am enjoying watching Champions League games at night, as they ought to be watched.

And earlier this week we had a huge vegetarian potluck. These kids can cook.

My stomach was probably shocked from all the great food

Giulia brought a traditional Italian dish: aubergines (yes, they call them that here), tomato, and cheese

Larissa slices into a delicious spinach lasagna

One of three men present, Ricardo understands the new world order: men (who know what’s good for them) cook and clean!