that was a question posed in an article on one of my favorite blogs, The Eastsider LA. Seems the city refurbished the lake but doesn't have money to maintain the new surroundings.
Seems some folks fear that by not being maintained it will lead to blight and the invitation to unsavory elements in our society to visit "our" pristine park. Words thrown about such as "camper people", "homeless", "taggers" and "gangs".
Damn folks, get a grip. As usual, the article itself isn't really inflammatory but the comments and attitude they bring are. The Eastsider LA actually presented a night of readings from the comment section of the blog at a local eatery. The rants about gentrification and hipsters wer so popular that they are doing it again.
You can read it all here.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
End of the semester
My citizenship classes have ended this week and the potlucks and parties are almost all complete, only one more. After each term I am always surprised by the generosity of my students who get together with a card and make a little colecta to stuff the envelope with some cash.
It gives me conflicted feelings to accept their gift because I know how hard they work and how little they are paid. I'm also grateful for their gesture because it's always nice to have a little walking around money at the end of the term. But in the end, when I open the card and see the folded and worn green paper I feel like it is such an unnecessary gift for me. But I don't know if it would be in really bad form or impolite not to accept it. So I thank my class profusely and remind them that their hard earned tax dollars have gone into my salary already. I know teachers don't get compensated for all the things we do outside the classroom to prepare but depending on the economy my students have been incredibly generous. Not rent generous, but fancy dinner generous which is more than I feel I merit in most cases.
It also makes me feel conflicted because money is such a crass way of showing gratitude, but it is the one we are left with. I'm really grateful for the students sharing their life and struggles with me in class. In most cases, the course I teach is a very simple one, pedagogically speaking, but it means so much to the persons life in terms of self esteem and staking their future in a new culture and country. They are the pioneers for their families, and for better or worse they have changed the destiny of their lives by enduring the road to the threshold of their new citizenship. Their children and grandchildren will grow up in this country as citizens and may one day point to them as the one who brought them to a better life, or one of even more struggle perhaps. Mostly, my class is about confidence building.
Immigrants, regardless of status, have felt the brunt of the last two decades of anti-immigrant sentiment which manifested itself into plethora of bad legislation starting with Proposition 187 here in California. My classes haven't been immune to the stings of this sentiment. I really admire the students who persevere and become citizens in light of all the negativity that surrounds them. It is quite noble of them. But a lot of them are scared to face the immigration official one more time, even though they really have little to fear. So my job is to help them overcome that fear to step through that final barrier and become citizens. My job is to make help them reveal their self-worth and to see the immigration official as merely human, like me or you. In a position of authority, yes, but merely human with a job to do. To see that humanity and to appeal to that nature of the person for ten short minutes to walk away with a lifetime prize. And it's a great job, and even if I won the lotto I would still probably teach it because it does make me pretty damn happy. And so when I look at the card filled with bits and pieces of wages from really hard work it makes me grateful and it makes me feel guilty for accepting something that really won't make a difference in my life as symbolic of the semester long relationship we have just ended. It is given generously and meaningfully but I still dread it.
It gives me conflicted feelings to accept their gift because I know how hard they work and how little they are paid. I'm also grateful for their gesture because it's always nice to have a little walking around money at the end of the term. But in the end, when I open the card and see the folded and worn green paper I feel like it is such an unnecessary gift for me. But I don't know if it would be in really bad form or impolite not to accept it. So I thank my class profusely and remind them that their hard earned tax dollars have gone into my salary already. I know teachers don't get compensated for all the things we do outside the classroom to prepare but depending on the economy my students have been incredibly generous. Not rent generous, but fancy dinner generous which is more than I feel I merit in most cases.
It also makes me feel conflicted because money is such a crass way of showing gratitude, but it is the one we are left with. I'm really grateful for the students sharing their life and struggles with me in class. In most cases, the course I teach is a very simple one, pedagogically speaking, but it means so much to the persons life in terms of self esteem and staking their future in a new culture and country. They are the pioneers for their families, and for better or worse they have changed the destiny of their lives by enduring the road to the threshold of their new citizenship. Their children and grandchildren will grow up in this country as citizens and may one day point to them as the one who brought them to a better life, or one of even more struggle perhaps. Mostly, my class is about confidence building.
Immigrants, regardless of status, have felt the brunt of the last two decades of anti-immigrant sentiment which manifested itself into plethora of bad legislation starting with Proposition 187 here in California. My classes haven't been immune to the stings of this sentiment. I really admire the students who persevere and become citizens in light of all the negativity that surrounds them. It is quite noble of them. But a lot of them are scared to face the immigration official one more time, even though they really have little to fear. So my job is to help them overcome that fear to step through that final barrier and become citizens. My job is to make help them reveal their self-worth and to see the immigration official as merely human, like me or you. In a position of authority, yes, but merely human with a job to do. To see that humanity and to appeal to that nature of the person for ten short minutes to walk away with a lifetime prize. And it's a great job, and even if I won the lotto I would still probably teach it because it does make me pretty damn happy. And so when I look at the card filled with bits and pieces of wages from really hard work it makes me grateful and it makes me feel guilty for accepting something that really won't make a difference in my life as symbolic of the semester long relationship we have just ended. It is given generously and meaningfully but I still dread it.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Urban Utility Vehicle
An interesting object dredged up from the murky depths of Echo Park lake during the renovation was not the expected murdered body like some predictable CSI episode, but the multitude of discarded shopping carts that made their way to the lake bottom. Before the lake was drained you could usually make out the algae ridden shadow of one or two shopping carts in the shallow muck near the shore as you walked around the lake so it isn't quite the surprise it was for the workers who cleaned the lake as for those who visited the lake on a regular basis.
(photo by Stephen Roullier/Flickr)
The ubiquitous shopping cart has become the urban socio-economic entry and exit utility vehicle of modern society. It is an entry vehicle for newcomers to the city without a car who need to get their groceries home or dirty clothes to the lavenderia, landromat. Sometimes shopping carts are repatriated by working men and women to fill with elotes, corn on the cob, or refrescos - fruit juices, tamales or any readily available street food for the foot traffic of crowded streets. It is a survival vehicle that brings food to the table in more ways than one. They are the poor people's lunch truck and not quite as fancy as the gentrified trucks with twitter followers you find along Sunset Blvd., art walks or after the clubs let out. These are literally hand to mouth operations and the shopping cart is the only four wheeled vehicle in the mix.
Used as an exit vehicle in society the shopping cart serves as a recycling vehicle for many folks who have been catapulted from the workforce, the daily grind, and/or the rat race of the new economy brought to us by the global-corporation-top-feeder-driven Raw Deal, as opposed to New Deal in days of yore. Old folks who may have faced a catastrophic loss of savings or a home, young folks chronically underemployed and running out of dreams, and the always marginalized folks who can not enter the workforce because of a disability, addiction or status all depend on the shopping cart as a utility carryall for the sum of their worldly possessions.
There are no down payments or monthly dues with these vehicles. Nevertheless, there is a vicious repo industry to snatch back the hijacked shopping carts and return them for a bounty to their conglomerate owners, leaving behind a pile of dumped goods if your lucky. Sometimes the cargo is confiscated with the cart in municipal sweeps leaving a poor soul or family agonizingly adrift with nothing. So what is the story behind the shopping carts at the bottom of the lake? Was it merely a wobbly wheel that rendered it useless and therefore discarded? Was it a new found hope or a good job that saved someone from spiraling poverty? Was it merely gravity at play that drew the cart, like a torrent of rain water run off, to the low lying lake from the surrounding hills? Each shopping cart probably carried the drama and burden of a hard life at one point and then, poof, it was let go.
(photo by Stephen Roullier/Flickr)
The ubiquitous shopping cart has become the urban socio-economic entry and exit utility vehicle of modern society. It is an entry vehicle for newcomers to the city without a car who need to get their groceries home or dirty clothes to the lavenderia, landromat. Sometimes shopping carts are repatriated by working men and women to fill with elotes, corn on the cob, or refrescos - fruit juices, tamales or any readily available street food for the foot traffic of crowded streets. It is a survival vehicle that brings food to the table in more ways than one. They are the poor people's lunch truck and not quite as fancy as the gentrified trucks with twitter followers you find along Sunset Blvd., art walks or after the clubs let out. These are literally hand to mouth operations and the shopping cart is the only four wheeled vehicle in the mix.
Used as an exit vehicle in society the shopping cart serves as a recycling vehicle for many folks who have been catapulted from the workforce, the daily grind, and/or the rat race of the new economy brought to us by the global-corporation-top-feeder-driven Raw Deal, as opposed to New Deal in days of yore. Old folks who may have faced a catastrophic loss of savings or a home, young folks chronically underemployed and running out of dreams, and the always marginalized folks who can not enter the workforce because of a disability, addiction or status all depend on the shopping cart as a utility carryall for the sum of their worldly possessions.
There are no down payments or monthly dues with these vehicles. Nevertheless, there is a vicious repo industry to snatch back the hijacked shopping carts and return them for a bounty to their conglomerate owners, leaving behind a pile of dumped goods if your lucky. Sometimes the cargo is confiscated with the cart in municipal sweeps leaving a poor soul or family agonizingly adrift with nothing. So what is the story behind the shopping carts at the bottom of the lake? Was it merely a wobbly wheel that rendered it useless and therefore discarded? Was it a new found hope or a good job that saved someone from spiraling poverty? Was it merely gravity at play that drew the cart, like a torrent of rain water run off, to the low lying lake from the surrounding hills? Each shopping cart probably carried the drama and burden of a hard life at one point and then, poof, it was let go.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Things that lurk in the night
Besides the hawk there are several natural predators at the oasis, which makes sense, since the prey depend on the water it provides.
There are many coyotes that live and flourish in the area. They prey on small animals, even when the small fur balls are the companions of loving people who care deeply about their pets. Coyotes do not distinguish between domesticated and feral animals, they treat them equally as food. People gather around the water with their pets and so do the things that would like to eat them. The telephone and utility poles are littered with announcements of lost cat or dogs. Many showing an attentive pet, such as below, that certainly was adored by its owner. But there are not many feel good success stories. Most folks learn quickly to keep their pets indoors at night.
Yet, I have seen a coyote wait patiently for a traffic light in the late afternoon so he could cross a busy boulevard during rush hour. Coyotes, hawks and other predators adapt. Rabbits may be scarce in an urban environment but feral cats and lost puppies are fair play. A coyote doesn't even wait until dark but will brazenly enter a yard to snatch little Fido.
A cruel trick of the modern mindset is to think that humans have tamed nature with our grand edifices and organized structures. Nature adapts to us showing that while some rules may change, the game is still the same.
There are many coyotes that live and flourish in the area. They prey on small animals, even when the small fur balls are the companions of loving people who care deeply about their pets. Coyotes do not distinguish between domesticated and feral animals, they treat them equally as food. People gather around the water with their pets and so do the things that would like to eat them. The telephone and utility poles are littered with announcements of lost cat or dogs. Many showing an attentive pet, such as below, that certainly was adored by its owner. But there are not many feel good success stories. Most folks learn quickly to keep their pets indoors at night.
Yet, I have seen a coyote wait patiently for a traffic light in the late afternoon so he could cross a busy boulevard during rush hour. Coyotes, hawks and other predators adapt. Rabbits may be scarce in an urban environment but feral cats and lost puppies are fair play. A coyote doesn't even wait until dark but will brazenly enter a yard to snatch little Fido.
A cruel trick of the modern mindset is to think that humans have tamed nature with our grand edifices and organized structures. Nature adapts to us showing that while some rules may change, the game is still the same.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
This is Water
While traipsing around the inter web thingy I ran across an impressive vimeo. It is a commencement message for a recent graduating class. I believe in a few short minutes it captured the theme of my blog, at least for the moment. Please follow the link below and I hope you enjoy it, too. (Broken link: please enjoy the fountain instead).
This Is Water
This Is Water
 |
| Fenced in Fountain |
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Not quite ready
But I'm ready. I'm tired of the green plastic wrap that confronts me as I step out into my part of the world. Even the taggers wont claim it, as they rarely target the green tarp with their turf scrawls. Probably some sort of tagger hierarchy of target acquisition of which I'm unaware. My trash can, on the other hand, has been claimed by a mysterious someone. Fine, I say. Then you, mystery tagger, take the cans to the curb in the morning and bring them back to the sidewalk at night. I never liked that chore anyway.
In the morning, when the light first promises the new day, I'm now awakening to hear the geese flying overhead on their way to and from the oasis. I hadn't heard that sound for over a year as the water was completely drained while the bottom of the lake was lined with clay to make it impermeable, to avoid water loss. Now I'm hearing the honks regularly, mostly from the Canadian geese who populate the lake along with ducks and other water fowl. There used to be blue herons at the lake that would nest in a tall pine on the far side of the lake. During the day they would wade in the shallows while stalking small prey. I haven't seen the herons return yet.
One feathered friend that did not leave when they water receded was a red tail hawk who has hunted in the park for as long as I can remember. I often see him circling lazily, or being hounded by crows protecting their nests. Sometimes I see him perched on a tall limb dismembering his prey and it makes me think that we are merely interlopers on nature's blueprint.
In the morning, when the light first promises the new day, I'm now awakening to hear the geese flying overhead on their way to and from the oasis. I hadn't heard that sound for over a year as the water was completely drained while the bottom of the lake was lined with clay to make it impermeable, to avoid water loss. Now I'm hearing the honks regularly, mostly from the Canadian geese who populate the lake along with ducks and other water fowl. There used to be blue herons at the lake that would nest in a tall pine on the far side of the lake. During the day they would wade in the shallows while stalking small prey. I haven't seen the herons return yet.
One feathered friend that did not leave when they water receded was a red tail hawk who has hunted in the park for as long as I can remember. I often see him circling lazily, or being hounded by crows protecting their nests. Sometimes I see him perched on a tall limb dismembering his prey and it makes me think that we are merely interlopers on nature's blueprint.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Echo Park Lake set to reopen June 15
LA Times article on the opening of the lake and park next month. After two years I guess we have to wait just a bit more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)