Progressives for Obama

The Nation has published a call for action by a group that calls themselves Progressives for Obama. The four co-authors includeTom Hayden, Danny Glover, Barbara Ehrenreich, and Bill Fletcher, Jr. They lay out their case for those of us who identify as progressive (rather than liberal or Democratic Party followers) to support the Obama campaign as our best hope for achieving our political goals because they believe he will be most responsive to organized pressure from the left. They point out that the social movement that has sprung up around his campaign (not to be confused with the Democratic party insiders) can be a powerful lobby for moving Obama to solidify his support of a progressive rather than a centrist agenda:

However, the fact that Barack Obama openly defines himself as a centrist invites the formation of this progressive force within his coalition. Anything less could allow his eventual drift towards the right as the general election approaches. It was the industrial strikes and radical organizers in the 1930s who pushed Roosevelt to support the New Deal. It was the civil rights and student movements that brought about voting rights legislation under Lyndon Johnson and propelled Eugene McCarthy and Bobby Kennedy's antiwar campaigns. It was the original Earth Day that led Richard Nixon to sign environmental laws. And it will be the Obama movement that will make it necessary and possible to end the war in Iraq, renew our economy with a populist emphasis, and confront the challenge of global warming.

We should not only keep the pressure on but also connect the issues that Barack Obama has made central to his campaign into an overarching progressive vision.

Their piece lays out an overarching vision not limited to the person of Obama. In particular it includes concrete ideas about our relations with Latin America, an area not being given much attention yet in the campaign. They have, of course, a blog. The most recent piece is a moving and heartfelt declaration by
Alice Walker.

I have always considered Barbara Ehrenreich to be one of the most astute analysts of how class works in the U.S. I have been reading her books since the early seventies. She was one of the earliest feminist writers about women on the global assembly line, and has been a consistent advocate for a politics that puts the needs of the poor and of working people first.

But hey! don't just listen to us old people. Listen to these kids talking in their class. Are they not awesome?

Thanks to the great Pam Spaulding, of Pandagon and Pam's House Blend, for turning me on to this wonderful video.

ETA: Profa Cero turned me on to the post over at Lumpenprofesoriat

Chicken soup? nah, I need something stronger

My daily dose of lolz, just what it takes to cheer me up from this cold.

"T R N A! Peptide bonds! woooo!"

Yesterday, I was unable to show my nifty multimedia presentation because the laptop connection to the projector was not working. Probably a contact is burned out by all those frustrated instructors bashing the button repeatedly. I had to revert to the ancient technology of showing a DVD. Tomorrow, I will probably be forced to bring in a boombox and play CDs!

This awesome video, via Kottke, shows what one could do to with a little imagination to create teaching aides, even when there was not wi-fi in the classroom.



"Protein syntheis: an epic on the cellular level." Something like this, well sort of like this, is going on all the time! in our bodies!

When I was in college, I thought of majoring in physiology. I took chemistry, biology, and all of the prerequisites, but then got sidelined by my other interests and ended up majoring in the humanities. I still remember my organic chemistry course, though. There were 700 students, and the stage of the auditorium rotated, so that the previous class's lab set-up would disappear, and our professor would appear along with his lab set-up, ready to demonstrate the latest concept! (I wish I could remember his name!) Just a few years earlier, before there was powerpoint, before there was Moodle and WebCT, this amazing film was created to illustrate the concept of protein synthesis. It starts with a blackboard, different colors of chalk, and an unsmiling chemistry professor. So far, very familiar. But it also has interpretive dance, people with balloons on their heads, one of those "96 tears" organs, flute, the Jabberwocky, and something that emits smoke. I sure hope my students come up with something half as imaginative when they present their group projects at the end of the semester.
"O frabjous day! caloo callay! the protein chain came streaming out!"
Oh, and don't forget to click on the video response to hear "The Dendrite of Spring"!

The bridge, again.

When I got back from San Francisco, I went by the grocery store on the way home from the airport to stock up for the busy week ahead. I'm glad I did, because I also immediately came down with a cold. I picked up a copy of Minnesota Monthly, our public radio magazine, because they've hired my favorite food writer, the one whose reviews I really trust.

But the article that had me up to late last night was by Beth Hawkins, a local journalist whose work I've liked over the years. She wrote this story about the I-35 bridge collapse, telling some of the many stories of those 110 minutes between the collapse and the moment when the last living victim was rescued. The stories are amazing.
I have refused to look at the bridge since that day, even though I drive past the site on the way home. At first it was out of sorrow for those who were still in the water, before they could find all the bodies. Then it was because I didn't need to see it to feel it. Now it is habit. I know they are building the new bridge, but I don't want to look. I'm so angry at how the governor has been choking off money for transit, how there has been no accountability.

Congratulations to Johnny Weir!

Congratulations to Johnny Weir for his bronze medal in the 2008 Worlds Championship in Sweden! His discipline and hard work this year paid off. While other competitors were encountering the kind of woes that had afflicted him in the past, Johnny stuck to his program, skated through his nerves, and gave a clean strong performance. He already has the grace, imaginative choreography, preseence and athleticism he needed; this time he needed to focus on remaining strong and clean throughout, and he did. In addition to his personal best of the bronze medal at the Worlds, his success assures the US of an additional place for a competitor in next year's competition.

March in northern California

Tulips by the pool at Filoli.

The gardens are full of blossoming trees.

A field of daffodils.

Forsythia at Filoli.

Magnolias in Half Moon Bay.

Top Dog

It was fun to stomp around Berkeley with my nephew. We took pictures, hiked up the hill to the Greek Theater, bopped around campus, and sat for a while at the fountain in Sproul Plaza. Right on cue, a golden retriever trotted up with a tennis ball, jumped in the water and played until he was whistled away by his human buddy. A noble tradition!
During all the years I lived in Berkeley, I was probably never farther than 5-6 blocks from Top Dog on Durant. About once a week, I'd get a calabrese, a sausage that has fennel seeds and a mildly spicy flavor. With hot mustard, mmmm. They tasted best when we were coming back from seeing a band in SF: take Muni to the AC Transit station, catch the last bus back to Berkeley, then walk up toward home from Shattuck. The last stop of the night, at about 2:30 AM was Top Dog, open all night.

Obama's speech

Nezua has posted the text of Obama's speech as well as the video. Read it, watch it, http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifthink about what he is saying.


Some ideas and a great comment conversation on racism and sexism in the campaign from Theriomorph.

ETA: For the Onion's view, click

Two shows of Japanese art

Some years ago, the building that used to be San Francisco's Main Library was transformed into the Asian Art Museum, to house the collection that had been so cramped at the old De Young. We went to see an exhibit called "Drama and Desire"--two rooms of Japanese paintings from the 18th and 19th century "Floating World," the pleasure quarters of the Shogun's city Edo (Tokyo) where courtesans, geishas, and kabuki theater performers.


Apparently, in the 1880s, a rich doctor from Boston went to Japan where he bought a boatload of paintings. They went straight to the basement of the Fine Arts Museum, which didn't start to catalogue them until fifteen years ago. The colors are so vivid. This is my favorite: the energy of the musicians is palpable.

In one room, there was a parental advisory up because of the display of rolls with paintings of sexual cavorting, somewhat euphemistically called "suggestive pictures." In fact, they are casually explicit. Many of the subjects are kabuki performers, scenes from plays, images of people at the theater. When I get back home, I'll have to see the show at the MIA, the Weber collection of Japanese art.

Dr. John C. Weber, an avid New York collector, is lending more than 100 masterworks acquired during the last decade, when many important and rare objects entered the marketplace. The Weber collection premiered in 2006 at the Museum of East Asian Art, National Museums in Berlin, and was subsequently shown at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. As the exhibition’s final venue, the MIA offers museum-goers one final opportunity to savor these stunning works of art.


With a dazzling display of hanging scrolls, folding screens, sculpture, lacquers, textiles, and ceramics, Arts of Japan encompasses more than 900 years of technical and artistic innovation by Japanese artists. From opulent to quietly sublime, each object is distinguished by its exceptional artistry and breathtaking design.

But you look just fine!

Good news: I can raise both arms over my head again, after a year and a half of physical therapy; the frozen shoulder and rotator cuff injuries are almost healed. But yesterday I started to get a fibromyaogia flare-up and it's really annoying me. This one is: migraine, tender/trigger points along the left side on my skull, jaw, neck, shoulder and back (ie: painful knots in muscles), inability to concetrate, irritability, bad digestion, sensitivity to all stimuli (light, touch, sound, cold) and fatigue, fatigue. Like having the flu after having been struck repeatedly with a stick.
It's hard to talk about fibromyalgia because it's an invisible chronic illness. I tend to function fairly well in spite of the symptoms, so people assume I'm OK. And if I talk about the symptoms, I've often been seen as a whiner. Sometimes this makes me really mad. This song really gets to me for that reason, and the video text is a good summary of how I feel sometimes as well.


A somewhat less emotional take that shows a good discussion about fibro by two people who have made a documentary Living with Fibromyalgia. It gets to the hopeful side, and talks about how we manage. More women are affected than men, but I think some men have a harder time getting a diagnosis because they are supposed to ignore pain.

Bound for California!

When I was a kid, I'd listen to my parents' records of the Clancy Brother and Tommy Makem, over and over. One of my favorites was The Rising of the Moon. YouTube is amazing: here is some film footage and stills the 1916 Easter Rising in Dublin Rising ,although the ballad itself is about an earlier rebellion, in 1798. But as well as their republican songs, I loved their sea shanties and songs about sailing: emigration, whaling, "bound for California"!

I clearly remember the chorus of one song as "Heave away, haul away, we're bound for California." But when I went to look for it, I find that it's really "bound for South Australia!" Huh? a good example of a Mondegreen.

Maybe there's another version floating around there with California in it, but here it is: I'm bound for California for the next little while.

A tribute to Ray Hoppe from his son-in-law and granddaughter

I want to share a message from those who could not be with us at Ray's funeral, but who love him dearly. This is the message they sent to Loren:

"Since that first Thanksgiving in 1995 when Loren brought me to Linda and Jim’s home to be part of the celebration and meet his family till last October when Ray and Jean came to see the new farmhouse in Northfield, Ray’s inquisitive eyes and quiet smile always made me feel welcome and part of the family. I have many fond memories of times spent at the dinner table or in the living room talking about the little I knew about farming or comparing how it was done in Spain and in Minnesota. He was always keen to know my opinions on the changing weather and climate, on geology or environment. He always found something happening in Crookston he thought it would be interesting to me. Once, it was a woodcarving project, another time the new prairie restoration project up in the ridge or a visit to the Polk county museum with Rosemary. I am also a farmer’s son and I enjoyed listening to what was happening with the harvest, or how crop prices were going up or down.

I was coming from a foreign land and culture and I never felt anything else than being at home whenever I was with Ray and Jean. And I could see the same “feeling at home and with the family” expression our daughter’s eyes. I particularly treasure the time my parents traveled from Spain to Minnesota and came up here to meet Loren’s family. My father Daniel and Ray, two farmers from two very different worlds met. They could not speak the same language, and I wondered how many hours could have they talked about their experiences?. They have had the same worries about how to make a living from a harsh and unforgiving environment, how to raise a family with love and respect, in a changing world. I guess they did not need to talk with words to understand and respect each other. Both transcended words and speak with their actions.

In that very first day before I met Ray, many years ago, Loren advised me not to talk religion or politics with his father. And it may seem I had followed his advice all these years. But I realized I did not … and neither Ray did. Loud and clear, without words, he made me feel at home in his world, he included me and my family, without hesitation, always respectful, welcoming and inquisitive…and … is not that what religion and politics are all about?. Thanks, Ray; you knew how to make unnecessary those talks. I am very fortunate and proud to be part of your family."

And this is from his granddaughter:

"Some of my favorite memories of Ray are during our meals in Crookston. Waking up every morning, climbing down from my room on the second floor, and eating a homemade breakfast of cinnamon rolls and scrambled eggs. Grandma and Grandpa always got up before me. At the table, we’d talk about our day, how we slept, when we’d be back to see them… It felt special and it was. Whenever Ray talked to me, he’d smile."

Music for this week

I have been thinking of this familiar and beloved music today, after singing some hymns with the same words earlier today.

Music is a comfort. Handel's Messiah is usually sung before Christmas, but it is really music for Holy Week.

"Oh death, where is thy sting? oh grave, where is thy victory? Sometimes this duet is sung by an alto and a tenor, but here the alto's part is sung by a counter-tenor.

"I know that my redeemer liveth" is here sung by Lynn Dawson. Lovely.

""Comfort ye" and "Every valley shall be exalted" with tenor Paul Elliott, and the Academy of Ancient Music, conducted by Christopher Hogwood. Compare his clear and pure tone to the warmer, more operatic Aksel Schiøtz, whose interpretation is also glorious.

Alistair Miles sings "The Trumpet shall sound" in which my favorite word is "incorruptible."

A revelation: Kathleen Ferrier's "He was despised" Listen to how she sings "A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief".

Finally, I dearly love Samuel Ramey's version of "Why do the nations rage so furiously togther?"

Leo says Hi

My giganto-cat.

Ray Hoppe, in loving memory

Ray Hoppe died yesterday, just a day after his son Loren arrived home to be with him.

When she was very little, my daughter met her grandparents Ray and Jean. Over the years, we have spent time with them here and also at their home in Crookston. We have been part of the family gatherings at Christmas and Thanksgiving, and they came down to see Loren's house last October. Their five children, their grandchildren and their great-grandchildren love and respect them. Over the years, I came to love and respect them as well, for their loving kindness.

This is what I will always remember about Ray, loving kindness. His smile was warm and sweet. He was always welcoming and loving to me and my child. He was quiet, but his care and love for his children and wife, for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren was always in evidence, as was theirs for him. It was a fact of life. I am not sure if his family knows how blessed they are by this. How can people who have always felt the sun shining on them know what life is like without it? I know I have thought often that my daughter has been fortunate to share in the life of the family that he and Jean made in their 64 years together, with their love and kindness. It has been my blessing as well.

Raymond Howard Hoppe, 89, of Crookston, Minnesota, died at his farm home, Wednesday, March 5, 2008. Ray was born in Kertsonville Township of Polk County, near Crookston, on October 2, 1918, the son of Otto and Alma (Wohlrabe) Hoppe. In 1936 his family moved to Fairfax Township. Ray attended country school and later graduated from Crookston's Northwest School of Agriculture in 1940. On May 19, 1944 he was united in marriage to Jean Johnson at Our Savior's Lutheran Church in Crookston. Ray was a faithful member of Our Savior's, and had served on the church board, as well as, teaching Sunday school and Adult Bible Classes for many years. He was also active in the community as a 4-H leader and board member for many organizations including Fairfax Township, Cenex, and the Climax Credit Union. Ray was always willing to volunteer his time, when and wherever help was needed. One of his favorite places to volunteer was the Polk County Museum. Even after "retiring" from farming in 1988, he always had an interest in how the crops were doing. He liked woodworking, photography and traveling: and he and Jean had enjoyed a wonderful "trip of a lifetime" to the Holy Land, Greece and Egypt in 1993. Even Though Ray has journeyed on, he will always be remembered by the many who shared his life and love.

Loving family members include his wife, Jean: sons, Curtis (Norma) Hoppe of Crookston, MN, Loren (Blas) Hoppe of Northfield, MN and David (Ida) Hoppe of Crookston; daughters, Carolyn (Wayne) Schenck of Crookston and Linda (Jim) Erickson of Bemidji, MN; eleven grandchildren; eight great-grandchildren; a sister, Edna Dennistoun of Burnsville, MN; and many nieces, nephews and other relatives. Ray was preceded in death by his parents; and six brothers and sisters, Alice Jurchen, Irma Hoppe, Herb Hoppe, Laurence Hoppe, Vernon Hoppe and Mildred Hoppe.

Paco Ibañez singing a poem by Gabriel Celaya

Celaya's poem "La poesía es un arma cargada de futuro"

GABRIEL CELAYA
(Hernani, Guipúzcoa, 1911 – Madrid, 1991)

LA POESIA ES UN ARMA CARGADA DE FUTURO

Cuando ya nada se espera personalmente exaltante
mas se palpita y se sigue más acá de la conciencia,
fieramente existiendo, ciegamente afirmando,
como un pulso que golpea las tinieblas,
cuando se miran de frente
los vertiginosos ojos claros de la muerte,
se dicen las verdades:
las bárbaras, terribles, amorosas crueldades:
Se dicen los poemas
que ensanchan los pulmones de cuantos, asfixiados,
piden ser, piden ritmo,
piden ley para aquello que sienten excesivo.
Con la velocidad del instinto,
con el rayo del prodigio,
como mágica evidencia, lo real se nos convierte
en lo idéntico a sí mismo.
Poesía para el pobre, poesía necesaria
como el pan de cada día,
como el aire que exigimos trece veces por minuto,
para ser y en tanto somos dar un sí que glorifica.
Porque vivimos a golpes, porque apenas si nos dejan
decir que somos quienes somos,
nuestros cantares no pueden ser sin pecado un adorno.
Estamos tocando el fondo.
Maldigo la poesía concebida como un lujo
cultural por los neutrales
que, lavándose las manos, se desentienden y evaden.
Maldigo la poesía de quien no toma partido hasta mancharse.
Hago mías las faltas. Siento en mí a cuantos sufren
y canto respirando.
Canto, y canto, y cantando más allá de mis penas
personales, me ensancho.
Quisiera daros vida, provocar nuevos actos,
y calculo por eso con técnica, qué puedo.
Me siento un ingeniero del verso y un obrero
que trabaja con otros a España en sus aceros.
Tal es mi poesía: Poesía-herramienta
a la vez que latido de lo unánime y ciego.
Tal es, arma cargada de futuro expansivo
con que te apunto al pecho.
No es una poesía gota a gota pensada.
No es un bello producto. No es un fruto perfecto.
Es algo como el aire que todos respiramos
y es el canto que espacia cuanto dentro llevamos.
Son palabras que todos repetimos sintiendo
como nuestras, y vuelan. Son más que lo mentado.
Son lo más necesario: Lo que no tiene nombre.
Son gritos en el cielo, y en la tierra, son actos.

I will read the syllabus, I will read the syllabus...

Passive aggressive notes is a blog I like to visit instead of replying "Dear student, WTF?" to passive-aggressive student email.
"I will not be passive agressive to my students..."
Want your own Bart Simpson chalkboard image? Go here. Aren't the Internets wonderful?

Zaragoza Street Art

I took these photos last year in the Tubo, the oldest part of Zaragoza. In the last few years, graffiti had gone from sloppy tagging to some really incredible urban art. One street in particular seemed to be home territory. I did a little googling around, and whaddayaknow, it turns out that there's a great group of artists who've been working together for a while who have really transformed the graffiti culture in the city. Their "segundo asalto" (a group action of spraying, stenciling, stickering) is documented on a very cool site. Here are some of the first photos I took of their work.






I'm not sure if these images are up any more or not. Last year, the city decided to hop on their bandwagon and officially sponsor a "Tercer Asalto as an urban art event, and they painted over some walls to make room for new work, the paintings in the gold frames that were apparently done by some handicapped children.