On September 14 the BBC reported on the protest by Haitans against MINUSTAH (the U.N. mission) in Port-au-Prince, saying:

The UN peacekeeping force was first deployed in Haiti in 2004 to restore order following the overthrow of President Jean-Bertrand Aristide.

Its mandate was extended after the devastating earthquake in January 2010, and its strength was increased to around 12,000.

Minustah has helped post-earthquake recovery efforts and supervised this year’s presidential election.

But it has also drawn controversy, including allegations of excessive use of force.

Some Haitians regard it as an occupying force.

No kidding. U.N. troops brought a cholera epidemic to Haiti, and recently it came to light that several of them gang-raped an 18 year old Haitian man in July. And that’s lately. This force has been installed in Haiti since 2004.

Police fired tear gas canisters, someone lit tyres. Footage by Ansel Herz.

Good that the BBC covered this story at all, but if you really want to know what’s going on with the U.N. in Haiti check out Ansel Herz’s Mediahacker or follow him on Twitter.

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6,807 innocent people arrested in three months

Tottenham is in the London borough of Haringey:

From April 2011 – June 2011, 6,894 people were stopped by the police in Haringey. 6,807 were innocent. Black people were 26 times more likely to be stopped than white people nationally, but no more likely to be guilty of a crime.

Then on Friday, August 5, 2011 the police shot and killed Mark Duggan, and said that he fired a gun at them when he didn’t. Duggan was a father of three, who had hoped to marry his partner Semone Wilson and move out of Tottenham with his family.

Mark Duggan

Not long after some residents started burning vehicles and buildings, and other residents allege that the police allowed this to happen without intervening. People’s homes were destroyed.

Tottenham burns. Watch it →

Prime Minister David Cameron addressed the British Parliament on August 11 saying:

It is simply preposterous for anyone to suggest that people looting in Tottenham at the weekend, still less three days later Salford, were in any way doing so because of the death of Mark Duggan.

But facts need to be joined together

The following week, Paul Gilroy talked about how dealing with these problems involves understanding the “interconnecting parts:”

When I talk about the poverty of the imagination, I mean that we are thinking like people who approach these things through the lens of a privatized world. We only think of these things as individuals, and we don’t see them as connected. The last week has been an amazing class, a primer, to give us the opportunity to understand how these things function today.

Here’s more.

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Writer Jennifer Mills was recently interviewed by Anita Barraud about her new book Gone (2011, University of Queensland Press) about a hitchhiker making his way through the outback on a journey of thousands of miles. One of her answers is a nearly perfect statement of how Australian settler culture projects its own anxieties onto the landscape:

Anita Barraud: “Some of us are meant for the desert,” says one of Frank’s rides, a tough woman with dyed black hair. Do you think that holds true?

Jennifer Mills: I don’t know. I think you do get a sense that places call you. And I’ve been in Alice [Springs] for five years now and I sort of… I feel like that’s maybe a little bit of a myth that people hold on to, that they’ve been called, or that they have some reason to be there, because when it comes down to it, it’s just rocks and dirt, really.

AB: Ah, so you’re a bit more pragmatic about it?

JM: Well, I don’t know. I’m kind of…

AB: Because part of it—the story here—there is quite a lot of discussion, and mainly from women, I think too, interestingly, that the rides he gets some of the women—“Out here, you change your mind about a lot of things,” says one woman that picks him up.

JM: I think the desert is transformative, and I don’t think that’s because of anything the desert’s doing. I think it’s because of what the desert represents to us, and what human culture says about the desert. And we have a very precarious and contested relationship with the Outback in Australia. It’s very large in the national pysche. We’re a very urbanised population and at the same time and yet we constantly refer to this great so-called emptiness at the heart of the country, which was never empty and isn’t really our heart. And so I think there’s an element in the book of trying to interrogate that kind of mentality in our culture, and I don’t think I have any answers for… what the truth of it is. A lot of questions, all bunched together.

The book goes on sale in Australia on Monday. See also…

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I’ve linked to Stuart McMillen’s work before, but I really enjoyed his new story about what happened to the reindeer on St. Matthew Island. Sincere, clear and to the point. See also Turbines.

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More than 1,400 Haitians have died from cholera in the past five weeks, and additional medical help is urgently needed:

The real death toll may be closer to 2,000, U.N. officials say. Hundreds of thousands of Haitians are likely to catch the disease, they say, and the epidemic could last a year, complicating an arduous recovery from the January 12 earthquake.

It can be hard to determine the best way to help. I’ve done a little digging and found that GiveWell’s charity rating system is thoroughly researched so it can provide you with a good handle on which charities to support and how to make your dollar stretch as far as possible.

GiveWell lists Partners in Health and Doctors Without Borders as charities with distinctions for their work globally, and they recommend Partners in Health specifically for their work in Haiti.

Please remember Haiti now, and help if you can.

PS: This Sunday is the Haitian general election.

Aural Wes recently posted about the 1999 film Instrument by Wesleyan alum Jem Cohen ’84. I’ve had the soundtrack for years thanks to my much-cooler-than-me wife, and enjoyed it immensely. Except that I didn’t know that there was a film. There are three words on the album cover: Fugazi, Instrument, and Soundtrack… No? Nothing? I suppose I thought that “Instrument Soundtrack” had some kind of inside meaning. This is why I like psychoanalysis so much—an underdeveloped sense of the literal. Now I know. Netflixed it to the top, bumping out Blackadder, at least for now.

Update: I enjoyed this movie so much. Fugazi appear to walk the thinnest line between standing for something and not taking themselves too seriously. We listened to punk all weekend on the stereo after watching Instrument, and every time a Fugazi track came on it was so clear how far above the rest of the pack they stand.

The film is shot in a raw, understated style (on Super-8 film), without exposition. It chronicles ten years in the band’s history, 1987–1998. Occasional lines from Fugazi’s songs, printed on screen at the beginning of some scenes, are the only didactic narrative gestures from Cohen. Ultimately it’s a document of the band, written by someone who knows and loves them.

And here is your money quote. It’s Ian MacKaye talking between songs to an audience member who was being aggressive:

I saw you two guys earlier at the Good Humor truck, and you were eating your ice cream like little boys, and I thought, ‘Those guys aren’t so tough! They’re eating ice cream, what a bunch of swell guys.’ Oh don’t you deny it, you were eating an icecream cone. You were eating an icecream cone. Oh you’re bad now, you’re bad now, but you were eating an icecream cone, and I saw you. That’s the shit you can’t hide. You eat iceceam. Everybody knows it. The whole place knows it. Icecream eating motherfucker. That’s what you are.

Watch it.

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Last weekend Genie and I walked a small section of the Mattabesset trail and took in the view. She is a real climber, my girl. The hill kind, not the social kind. It’s fun to watch her tail during the hike, a reliable indicator of her comfort level. Afraid of no animal except the human, no vegetable, no mineral, and no heights, my girl is the mountain goat of dogs, the ferret of the woods, and the outdoorsy one in the family.

Enhance it!

This white expanse of ice is known as Black Pond. I don’t know how it came by that name. It is simply what you get when you type your question into the Internet. People were out on the pond that day. There were still a few souls traipsing over it when Genie and I went home, and you could see the tracks of many more. It reminded me of a sad story I had heard a few days earlier of a man in the U.K. who died trying to save his two dogs who had fallen through some ice. I drove home especially carefully.

Enhance it!

Water can reveal the de facto porousness of apparently solid rock, but frozen water does it so much better. While we were up on top we met a guy who spontaneously shared his personal geological Wikipedia article on the hills. They are filled with volcano-spawned trap rock, and you can follow the Mattabesset trail into Massachusetts. And that tower in the distance is the test facility of the Otis elevator company, and I know we need the materials but it’s such a shame how that open cut mine scars the land.

I couldn’t disagree.

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My brother Lockie recently got himself a serious person’s camera and a tripod. (Lyds has been urging me for ages to get a good camera. I hem and haw, evaluate, etc. and finally, thanks to Elena, I now have a great little point and shoot. My little bro, on the other hand is a doer.) Anyhoo… after much nagging on the part of Yours Truly, with assists from other players, he now has his very own Flickr account and I urge you to check it out to get a taste of southeast Queensland in the summertime.

Golden cane (Image: Lockie Cooke)

Lockie and Elena have the following trait very much in common: they both focus intently, obsessively even, on a particular interest for a period of time, sometimes returning to it, sometime not. E with her garden, her drawing and painting, and of course the baking. Lockie with boats and fishing, cars, his own garden and now his photography. I am hoping (and intend to back this up with practical action such as nagging) that this particular pursuit will stick as a kind of meta-interest that can be applied to all subsequent obsessions. Otherwise I will be hitting him up for his camera if he should ever lose the bug…

Magpie (Image: Lockie Cooke)

These images mean a lot to me, especially today, as gusts of wind through up snow around the house and street, coating everything like sand. My last few trips to Australia have been in the cooler months (“winter,” such as it is in Brisbane), but right now it is wet and stormy and very hot there. I will confess to you that I have never liked the heat, but I suppose I can appreciate it. The photos of Kondalilla Falls, Maleny and the Glasshouse Mountains, the storms over Moggill, the birds, the hibiscus flower—Elena says, “you have those there?”—are not only signs of home, they are memories.

Thanks Lockie.

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My awesome sister and her excellent fiancé visited for Christmas and we took them to the mall on, as we Australians like to say, “Boxing Day.” Let this be understood by my dear readers as a sign of our deep and abiding love for those two. Going to the mall the day before, or the day after Christmas is not our usual caper, but for those used to buying clothes on £, the American $ emits an irresistible siren call.

No. 2 (photo versions and details)

Elena was not completely enamoured of my photographic advances when I took these shots, and was fighting the urge to eat in the mall on account of being hungry and repulsed at the same time. But when the carousel started spinning behind her I couldn’t resist crouching in front of the passing throng to snap off a few more shots of my lady as she contemplated her predicament with mounting dread.

No. 3 (photo versions and details)

I’ve made more than my typical number of trips to consumer paradise recently, realising amongst other Important Things that Hollister and Aéropostale have completely taken over a certain chunk of the U.S. teen pre-frontal cortex.

But what surprised me most of all this time was the smell. It was horrific: a sordid amalgam of acrid Cinnabon cloud hanging over the carousel, gagging übermale cologne wafting out of Abercrombie in outrageous quantities, the sharp candy scent of various “autonomous mid-mall snacking units,” tendrils of Chanel No. 5 from JCPenney (least worst) and the unwelcome funk of occasional members of the General Public who somehow manage to represent Axe Body Spray Boy’s diametric opposite on the great wheel of masculine reek.

I’m marking it down: December 26, 2009—the day I finally understood, once and for all, Agent Smith’s aversion to the way we smell. It is completely out of control.

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Twelve/twelve 2009 involved Metro North, a trip to the City, a delicious brunch at “Sarabeth’s East” (you have to tilt your nose up just so and then peer down it at others to fully appreciate this), some shopping at Various, more coffee, etc. Cold, but not too, fine weather and a tomato omelette that shall not soon be forgotten. The last time I had the spinach omelette but I am forcing myself to branch out.

Sarabeth’s at Madison and East 92^nd

Sarabeth’s looks modest and unassuming from the outside, but open that little door on the left, go inside and you had best believe you will smash hard against the bulwark of queueing, ravenous, upper east-side bruncherati. This time I was prepared both mentally and physically (flanel-lined jeans, denim jacket, beanie and a certain cognisance) but as always the being seated at table and pouring of hot, black coffee into sturdy white cups came not a moment too soon. And naturally, to our left: a couple of Australians from Brisbane and one New Englander. We eat in packs, it would seem.

Shopping with Elena

It will never cease to amaze me, in the large cities of the world, just how much stuff can be packed into how little space. I’ve long known the privilege of taking room and space for granted and every time I visit New York I run smack into the intense proximity of just about everything, especially when following E from shop to shop. This little kitchenwares store was a marvel of practical consumption nestled in a broader context of material unnecessitude, and yet I was able to get my girl out of there for under ten American dollars owing to my formidable powers of persuasion.

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My first trip to an Athenian diner was with Elena a few days after we met. We were both living in New Haven and she had a car so she could drive us there. When I asked her how far away it was she said, and I will never forget it, “it’s farther than you can even imagine.” She was referring to 1426 Whalley Avenue, but late at night in a then-unfamiliar part of the city it could have been anywhere as far as I knew. E just called it Athenian, but I later came to understand that it was Athenian I: the first member of a regional diner quartet.

To an out-of-his-element Australian there’s nothing like the American diner. It’s one of this country’s best and most important institutions. It’s at Athenian that I finally learned how to order food in America. Know how your eggs will be cooked, know your toast options, know your salad dressings, and most importantly, ask for coffee. You only need to ask once and it will keep getting refilled as long as your arse is parked in that booth. This amazing social technology has not reached my homeland, as far as I know.

So imagine my delight when we upped and moved from New Haven to Middletown, only to discover that Athenian II is right here in Our Town. (I had dined at Athenian III in Milford a few times, on Christmas shopping excursions to the mall in years gone by, without ever knowing where II was.) Now I’m sure that others will disagree with me on this, and so be it: New Haven has The Pantry, Middletown has O’Rourke’s, up the road is the excellent Cromwell Diner, but to me the best diner in central Connecticut is Athenian. Because it’s my local, because the staff are so friendly, and because of the chrome and pink neon.

The day that I took the photo of the dessert bar I was flying solo, ordering my favourite (a Greek salad, coffee), and reading a book. It was a little hard to concentrate on the words because two old timers were sitting at the counter, one a self-identified Republican, the other a self-identified Democrat. They were jabbing each other (and the Republican guy briefly scored some cheap shots against one of the waitresses who quickly tore him a new one) and I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, punctuated as it was by long pauses and outlandish proclamations.

“We’re all Americans, we all hate the Taliban.”

“I don’t hate anyone. I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me.”

“You Democrats like the Taliban?”

“Hey, you saying that because I’m a Democrat I’m un-American?”

“This is a blue state, buddy.”

…back and forth, et cetera.

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Hot, black coffee, crisp apple slices, cheddar and mushroom omelette, and thick, buttered toast from a loaf she baked herself. It’s not often that I think of last Sunday’s breakfast four days after the fact; but today I am. Respect.

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One is now keeping another weblog for the recording of Various.

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Every year the owners dress their house and yard in this garb. The place is well situated for passersby, most of whom are speeding drivers. But not me and Genie. We pass it on our walks.

Front of the house, which is more like the side

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First up we have a machine that might be used in the tearing down and/or building up of bridges, or perhaps in the installation and/or removal of telegraph poles—both are happening right now, and yes, our neighbourhood is a hotbed of activity, you had better believe.

The tracks

Next is a shot of the railway line taken by holding the camera high above my head to get above the fence that doesn’t look like it would save you if you leaned on it but nevertheless usually supplies the necessary psychological reassurance that one will probably get to the other side safely, at least this one time.

My favourite tree on campus

And finally we have a shot of what is probably most accurately described as my favourite tree/built environment combination on campus, some kind of oaky, elmy thing nestled amidst the brutalist CFA structures I walk between every day that remind me of QPAC which in turn is strangely comforting.

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Dec. 1 (Bloomberg) — “I just wrote my first reference for a gun permit,” said a friend, who told me of swearing to the good character of a Goldman Sachs Group Inc. banker who applied to the local police for a permit to buy a pistol. The banker had told this friend of mine that senior Goldman people have loaded up on firearms and are now equipped to defend themselves if there is a populist uprising against the bank.

via Arming Goldman With Pistols Against Public: Alice Schroeder – Bloomberg.com.

I’m reading this article on Goldman executives applying en masse for gun permits and I’m trying to decide exactly how funny it is on a scale of 1 to 10.

He gives it a 7. But that’s now, in 2009. Of course, it won’t truly be appreciated as a 10 until dramatised in the elevator conversation between male leads in 2045’s award-winning TV series Gold Men.

Today is World AIDS Day. The BBC News web site is carrying a narrated slideshow of HIV/AIDS awareness posters, whence I pilfered the image above. Two librarians from the Wellcome Library (London) assembled the collection and provide some history on the posters in the accompanying audio track.

For those in the U.S., aids.gov has much info about “Facing AIDS” and how to show your support. Check it out and spread the word, yo.

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“So I guess I have a little brother now… I’m cool with it.”

This is Jenny, wearing her stuff

Agent Cooper: “Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it, don’t wait for it, just… let it happen. Could be a new shirt at the men’s store, a catnap in your office chair, or two cups of good, hot, black coffee. Or an amazing scarf from Jenny Fields Fiber on Etsy.”

Update: see also…