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Just finished "garageband mastering" a new song that has taken me *months* to reach a certain level of satisfaction to release it into the public! Hope y'all enjoy!

But oil drilling there is about to be vastly expanded.

"Using a series of camera traps spread throughout the Tiputini Biodiversity Station's 6 square kilometer spot of pristine, virgin rainforest, researchers have been able to identify 21 different jaguars, which would put northeastern Ecuador far above anywhere else in the world."

Whoa. Yet another reason why drilling for oil in the Yasuni rainforest is just a counterproductive idea. 

Amigxs y compas del movimiento ciudadano que quiere defender al Yasuní y la Amazonía que nos queda (tanto como el Centro Sur que el Yasuní):

A la luz de las mobilizaciones de la sociedad civil, y de la violencia policial que pasó hoy de noche, les comparto con ustedes unos palabras del activista inspirador del Movimiento por los Derechos Civiles de los Estados Unidos, Martin Luther King Jr. Mañana es el 50to Aniversario de la Marcha Sobre Washington por el trabajo y la libertad, donde dió su discurso famoso "Yo Tengo un Sueño." Hablando del movimiento de la sociedad civil ecuatoriana e internacional que se está formando ahora, vivo y directo en Ecuador sobre el no explotar petróleo en el Yasuní y la Amazonía Centro Sur Ecuatoriana, creo que es importante compartir experiencias y sabidurías de otros movimientos históricos. Aquí comparto algunos palabras de su discurso "¿A Dónde Vamos De Aquí?" que he traducido para reflexionar y compartir (me perdonarán si hay errores en mi traducción. Abajo les dejaré el enlace original en inglés) :  “Ahora, tenemos que hacer esto de una manera correcta. Lo que se necesita es dares cuenta que el poder sin amor es imprudente y abusivo, y que el amor sin poder es sentimental y anémico. El poder, en su estado mejor, el poder en su estado mejor es el amor, que implementa los demandas de justicia, y la justicia en su estado mejor es el amor que corrige todo que se opone al amor. Y esto es lo que tenemos que ver cuando sigamos adelante.  […] Me preocupa mucho por un mundo mejor. Me preocupa por la justicia; me preocupa por la hermandad; me preocupa por la verdad. Y cuando alguien se preocupa sobre eso, el/ella nunca aboga por la violencia. Porque a través de la violencia, se puede asesinar un asesino, pero no se puede matar al asesinato. A través de la violencia, se puede asesinar un mentiroso, pero nunca se puede establecer la verdad. A través de la violencia, se puede matar a el que odia, pero no se puede matar al odio a través de la violencia. La oscuridad no se puede apagar la oscuridad; solo la luz puede apagarlo. […] Y les digo a ustedes, he decidido quedarme con el amor, porque se que el amor es la única respuesta a las problemas de la humanidad. Y voy a seguir hablándolo en todas las partes del mundo donde me voy. Yo se que no es muy común hablar de [amor] en varios grupos hoy. Y no estoy hablando de lo emocional cuando hablo del amor; estoy hablando de un amor fuerte y exigente. Porque yo también he visto mucho odio. He visto demasiado odio en las caras de la policía en el Sur. He visto demasiado oído en las caras de los del Ku Klux Klan y muchos ciudadanos concejales blancos en el sur, quienes quieren odiar. Cada vez que lo veo, yo se que el odio les hace algo en sus caras y sus personajes, y yo digo a mi mismo que el odio es una carga demasiada pesada para aguantar. He decidido amar. Si usted busca su propio bien, creo que lo puede encontrar a través del amor [… ] y debo confesar, mis amigos, que el camino hacia delante no siempre será fácil. Se va a encontrar lugares escabrosos y lugares de perplejidad. Habrán contratiempos inevitables. Y van a ver esos momentos cuando el optimismo de la esperanza será transformado al cansancio de desesperación. Nuestros sueños a veces estarán acabados y nuestras esperanzas etéreos estarán disparados. Es posible que otra vez, tendremos que pararnos enfrente del ataúd de una activista de los derechos civiles, cuya vida ha sido quitada por la violencia de las turbas sanguinarias. Pero lo mas difícil y doloroso que es, deberíamos caminar adelante en los días que sigan con una esperanza audaz por el futuro.  Hay que darnos cuenta que el arco del universo moral es largo, pero se inclina hacia la justicia. Hay que darnos cuenta que William Cullen Bryant tiene razón: "La verdad, machucado con la tierra, se levantará otra vez.” […] Esto es nuestra esperanza para el futuro, y con este fe, podremos cantar en el futuro tan distante, con un pretérito cósmico “Hemos vencido! Hemos Vencido! Desde la profundidad de mi corazón, yo si creí que venceríamos.”  De: “http://www-personal.umich.edu/~gmarkus/MLK_WhereDoWeGo.pdf"

When I was 8, I had a pretty good idea of how to cure writer's block. I only wish I could apply this now.

Narcisa Mashienta - "Leaving a Mark on the Communities of the Ecuadorian Amazon TEDxQuito", Local Coordinator of intercultural maternal health program, Jungle Mamas // Ikiama Nukuri speaks at a TEDxQuito talk about her work as an indigenous women's activist, protecting the Amazon Rainforest, indigenous social movements, and her work to assure the health and well-being of indigenous women of the Achuar Nation in Ecuador in the Jungle Mamas program of Fundación Pachamama. 

In light of President Correa's decision to drill for oil in the Yasuni-ITT National Park, due to the inability to raise the necessary $3.6 billion to keep the oil underground (wealthy countries and donors only raised $13 million of the proposed initiative), here are some alternatives to extraction. 

The form of production is still being defined by the primary products that we export, some are min...

This is what deforestation looks like, flying high above the Amazon Rainforest of Ecuador, in the province of Pastaza. Rainforest ecosystems are based on a complex competition for sunlight and moisture. Dense trees shade the forest floor to keep it a moist and proper habitat for flora and fauna that depend on the forest floor. Once trees are massively cut down, the sun dries up the soil and it permanently alters the ecosystem. Most areas are deforested, as pictured above, for agriculture/cattle grazing and roads. 

oigan gente!! Apoyarán este iniciativo!!!!!

DreamTown follows three impassioned Afro-Ecuadorian players as they pursue their dreams to make it professionally by learning to play barefoot in the dirt fields of their village to the heights of international soccer stardom. These players are not only hungry and passionate about the beautiful game but make great sacrifices along the way in hopes to save their families and uplift their community! DONATE HERE

  DreamTown has 8 days left to raise the funds that will bring this 6-year underdog true-life story to the world. It’s about bringing the underdog to the forefront and showing how when people believe in themselves they can reach their goals. Anyone that has ever been discounted knows what it’s like. Director Betty is an award winning filmmaker and this film has earned the NALAC, HBO/NALIP Documentary Award given to Latino Filmmakers who present issues of social change with uncompromising honesty and quality. Check out more information on the film and this innovative way to raise funds called Kickstarter: http://tinyurl.com/dreamtownfinalcut 

  We’re raising $35,000 to bring DreamTown to a final cut. We hope you’ll consider making a pledge! Whether it’s $5, $25, $100, $1000 or more, your contribution demonstrates to the world enthusiastic support for this project, in our case for the love & power of the game!  

Kickstarter operates on one main principle: lots of donations – big or small – from many people equal a big win! So we need to keep up the MOMENTUM!

This was an experiment in utilizing traditional Andean and costal dishes. Cevichochos is a common Andean ceviche dish made out of lupini beans, which are rich in protein and fiber. I also wanted to up the protein (this one’s for all you vegetarians and conscious omnivores!) by seeing if it...

I’m not Trayvon Martin. And while we are here for a mo(ve)ment, I’m not Cece McDonald. I’m not Sean Bell.  I’m not Jordan Davis.  I’m not Oscar Grant. I’m not Amadou Diallo, I’m not Brandy Martell.  And I’m not all my sisters and brothers and others known and not known who are living on the other side of race hatred.  I’m a queer, 41 year-old white cis-gendered man living in amazing Oakland, California working with art, food sovereignty, and LTBGQA communities. I work to be in feminist and anti-racist practice, in space and motion of queer liberation, invested in the idea of a just food, farming and restaurant system. My husband and I have spoken up and out and heard important lessons and stories in front of the Supreme Court, the GOP headquarters, in Oscar Grant Plaza, while unfolding the NAMES quilt, at peace movement gatherings, and at countless hearings, workshops, panel discussions, strategic planning sessions, Quaker Meeting, and more in an effort be part of change. To express solidarity as we seek to alter the system. My queerness some say is evident. I speak it and do not hide and have always had a streak of color in my hair, on my shirt, in my somewhat anemic effort at fabulous quasiartfagdom that has somewhat relaxed in recent years. For this, for my difference, I have been choked, hit, shoved, pinched, taunted, bullied, silenced, hidden and tolerated. I am not without fear for my life. I mention it because it is real. Because my queerness and my deep love for feminist practice and study has opened more doors to love and life than I could possibly imagine.

And I’m afraid I know all these shades of empathy and all the work and resistance we have invested in - it’s not enough.  Something is missing.  I’ve sat here for days working social media angles, talking to friends, listening to more friends, being shocked by some, and still know I lack those connections, that right tool or strategy that would make white folks like me find a way to be together and create strategic change ripples in the world.  Or, more importantly, to be part of an even larger adjustment in what white folks hear, discuss, engage about and grow through to develop a more humane connection to the painful history and current state of toxic discrimination and violence against people and communities of color in this country. I only know that there is still more work, more talking, more hearing people into voice and creating conditions for shared liberation. There’s digging in on the wisdom coming from people of many colors over the past week about what we can do.  I want to do that with the people who are posting here. I want to have some plans and strategies.  How do we love resistance enough to do it together more? How do I? I listened to juror B37 and sank further as I wrote this. What is the disconnect that allowed her to express so much sympathy for George?  George she calls him.  George who created the conditions of the altercation and then killed this boy.  I don’t care who threw the first punch.  And I’m not buying your stinking book.

B37, you would have let me walk out of that courthouse too (if I had ever even gone in).  

Because I AM GEORGE ZIMMERMAN. Fuck. I don’t wanna.   But I am.  

And yes, Zimmerman is not white or is white, etc.  What we are talking about here, and let’s stop getting this twisted - is that the ongoing demonization, criminalization, and evisceration of black boys and men means ya no longer have to be “a white man" to have it be assumed that the black boy or man you are near is either a predator or a criminal.

But I am white.  I am actually in the whiteness protection program.  You see I was born into it.  It’s a not-so-secret place of great visibility and easy motion. It’s comes with a trusty race card I play without ever having to touch it while others get called out for playing theirs when there is a target on their back, a gag over their mouth, and a fist in their gut.  It’s a little card in my pocket that gives me free access to move in and out of most places and to buy them when I have the cash.  

It says I belong where I say I belong.  I put my body where I want and the truth I speak is should be assumed to be the truth. 

I have been deferred to because I am the white guy in the room, assumed to be the one in charge, assumed to be above my job position, treated like I had the money at the dinner table when the check came, and been allowed to talk however loud I want to on the bus.  I’ve acted all these ways.  Spoken over, spoken for, represented people I’ve never met because I got paid to.  I’ve been let go for three speeding tickets, one by a Texas cop in a tiny town right out of the movie Footloose (the original, please).  I’ve been called on first.  I’ve almost always gotten the interview, and made it to the final round. And the apartment. And the loan.

Yeah, my whiteness does all that.  And as an added bonus, holy crap, it deflects bullets.  

Titanium force-field like laws pop up around me.  I can kill someone who is standing their ground on ground I pursued them on and people will think I am standing my ground and the ground I am entitled to control.  It’s that freaking powerful.

My whiteness has a massive Return On Investment, pays dividends. And one of the biggest dividends it pays is in the hours of my life I don’t have to spend resisting. Fighting. Organizing.  Creating social justice art displays, films, training manuals, survival guides. Praying for the safety of the boys and men I love.   My mama or daddy never had to spend time sitting me down to tell me what to do when the police were up on me, or a store clerk, or a teacher, or a neighborhood watchman in and with a complex.  Never had to have that talk.  It’s hours into days into weeks into years spent in race caution and resistance. My people never gathered in a circle to affirm me so I can be ready for the shit show I’m about to face for the next 70 years.  To affirm that despite a whole lot of messages otherwise, my blackness, my brownness, my otherness is ok, special, and loveable. I never had to sort that out if it wasn’t told to me.  My internalized oppression has nothing to do with my skin.  The Whiteness Protection Program took care of that for me.  .

And it’s the gift that keeps on giving. No one in my family was redlined from any neighborhood in any town in any way. None of us spent a moment fighting for our own voting rights, spending out thoughts on how to move our bodies, show our hands out of the car when pulled over. No one owned my people or acts like they own us today.  

And I’ll be targeted for being queer.  I’ll be shoved again, told I’m shit, tolerated, whispered about, voted on, and possibly worse. I’ll wait for people to come around and stop being homophobic, transphobic bigots and then have sweet heart-to-hearts about how its ok and we love each other and I’ll be sad and separate, and afraid. But, while I refuse to participate in the oppression Olympics because our intersections matter to me deeply, I do know this is different. 

My whiteness keeps me safer while driving any car down any street, safe from racist police violence in New York City where Sean Bell and Amadou Diallo were gunned down, safer on the streets of Oakland right down the road from where I am writing where Gary King Jr. was killed. I could walk there right now.  And i could blare my music sitting at the gas station that’s on the way like Jordan Davis was before he was murdered.  

Seriously. Sitting in the g-d car playing music.  And it’s not just because I am white.  It is because I am not black, or brown.    The Whiteness Protection Program comes with a special Not Black or Brown upgrade that’s an immediate add-on. 

And there is a conspiracy to keep the stories of those on the other side of this coin from me.  Where I grew up we were pretty segregated.  The history we learned in school was controlled and measured.  Not empty of race analysis, but thin on voices and hearing people in their own words.  It was Martin Luther King (but just the Dream and not the Promissory Note) and marches and hoses, not Black Panthers, daily police violence, redlining, and cultural appropriation.   I remember it as quick.

My whiteness is forgotten and erased and ignored all the time - It’s an easy fearless road with sunglasses, earplugs, driving over the speed limit, blaring what I want and wearing any damn hoodie I want to wear.  

Stop Killing Black Boys and Men.  

I didn’t read anything about Trayvon Martin until March 23rd a bit after the story came out about his murder.  I saw posts on social media, the headlines in the paper and flashing across the screen.  I didn’t tune in because I know it would crush my insides. But now I know and now I know this story.  I guess I mean I am knowing this story again.

Yeah. This is the story where another man with another gun decides a young black man is expendable.  Actually, that he owns the man’s life.  That he will control the black man’s body and freedom of movement. Why the fuck are you walking down the street?

He’s an Oakland cop, a BART cop. He’s New Orleans Parrish Prison.  

Sure, he’s George ZImmerman.  

But he is the border militia activist.  She is Shawna Forde. He’s another man that tries to control where and how brown and black men move.  He is Michael Dunn, and others..  

Your body goes here or your body goes down.

Your body does this on these terms at this moment or your body goes down.  

You don’t walk here dressed like that. Why are you out of your place?  

Why do you think you get to be in this place? 

I don’t like your music so I’m going to fuck you up.

Stop Killing Black Boys and Men.

And I want ZImmerman in jail.  And I know jail is a fortified capitalist murderous lie of its own.

I don’t trust its system of war profit any more than I do Zimmerman himself, but I want him away. I want him behind something where he has nothing to aim at.  Nothing to pursue and target.  I doubt jail is even that.  And I still want him there. And I want Michael Dunn there too.

Targeting young black men. I want better answers and I want better questions and I want better ears.  I want better pens, and I want better cops. I want better gun owners and I want less hate.

This is not some new story. But I don’t think many white folks listen.  We usually don’t have to. 

I don’t know how or what, but I know being crushed and caring a hell of a lot is not enough.  I know writing this is not enough. I know my slightly informed anger is not enough.

Stop Killing Black Boys and Men.

We have to re-envision what kind of behavior and whose existence is suspect.  

I want to figure out a path to be part of that.   I want to keep building on those who are doing that work, who are listening to black boys and men and those with stories.  I don’t want to use and I don’t want to save, but I have a voice that could be used in service better.

Thank you to the people I love who have pushed me to try to understand the history and challenges that relate here.  I have much to learn to be a decent ally, but it is time to take more steps on that journey.

Bless all the black and brown men who continue in strength, in resistance, and more.   I know you cannot live without your lives. I know we need you to not have to.

We can do and be better.  We can love more and love louder and love justice more.  We can love peace more.  

I love you all. 

Stop Killing Black Boys and Men.   And let’s keep listening, talking, connecting, and organizing.  We need each other. 

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I cannot do justice describing an Amazonian sunset. But to not try would be to do an even greater injustice.This array of color is so vibrant. Every ripple retracts light and color in the most contrasting of ways. Infinitesimal permutations of aquamarines blues oranges roses creams golds

The dark green trees in the back ground are fading to black, while the creamy foreground grows into a green gold.

There is a fire in the sky and it is fading.

Where there is light, it burns like spun gold.

There are hundreds, thousands of little pieces of life floating down the river.

Why is light so beautiful? Today, I woke up to it, kissing my eyelashes and now I watch as it sinks deeper into its arborescent slumber.

There is a motor in the distance - it seems obtrusive, but its steady low hum is unassuming, almost humble against the picked chirping and sharp cracking of jungle creatures.

The brightest cloud is shaped like a little heart; its accidental poetic splendor is so completely innocent[insert sardonic sweet nothings and sweet longings here. In iambic pentameter of course]that I simultaneously roll my eyes with a deep chest sigh.

Parrots fly above us, in twos.

With a triumphant putter, the motor stops and all I hear is the river - the water constantly flowing over itself, the creatures. Gratuitous bloodsuckers sip at the ambrosia in my veins.

The river is a vast slick of water. From what point am I hearing this liquid serenata? Clouds move like the current of the river - at the speed of a century

Everything is moving.

Towards what? In what?

I see and be in this place. I love and desire to open up my hands - to reveal this magical pebble I have just found. I will not be able to show it to everyone; nor will they all be able to see it. But those who do, well, that will be quite special.

The light escapes and we will leave soon.

The river flows on - unmoved, undisturbed: "I am what home is and will always be. You can pour poison into me and I will still be."

River, for how many thousands of years have you been here? For how many more thousands of years will you stay?

There is nothing quite like the Amazon right before sunset. These pictures were taken right where virgin primary forest meets agriculture and deforestation in Morona-Santiago, Ecuador.  At the time, a road was being built to some of the most remote areas of this part of the Amazon. Wherever there are roads, there will be deforestation, agriculture, and environmental/socio-cultural/health-related impacts that we can't yet even begin to comprehend.

sooooo coooool

My new obsession: Frederic Edwin Church. Hudson River School painter. Founding trustee of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Inspired by Alexander von Humboldt, especially Cosmos. Visited Ecuador in the late 1850s; resulting works propelled him to fame, especially The Heart of the Andes, a ten-foot long study in Andean natural history and landscape and a demonstration of the region’s diversity of botanical life. It was first exhibited in a specially built room and window-like frame, dramatically illuminated by candles and skylights and surrounded by plants collected from his travels and viewed through opera glasses provided for the occasion. Apparently 12,000 people paid a quarter each to see it; they were ushered in small groups to benches set up in front of the curtained work.

Here are five of Church’s Ecuador paintings: The Heart of the Andes (at the Met), with details; The Andes of Ecuador (at the Reynolda House); Cotopaxi (at the Detroit Institute of Arts); Cayambe (at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston; and Chimborazo (at the Huntington Library).

I think I need to write something about Church, Humboldt, natural history, representation, and mountains.

Raw, fresh, homemade and easy sauerkraut! Just take a combination of your favorite cabbage (try a mix of green and red for a beautiful variety), and cut the head(s) into very thin slices. As you place the cut cabbage in a bowl, sprinkle it with a layer of salt (kosher or sea salt is the best, about 3T should do for a head or two), which will draw water out of the cabbage through osmosis. I added black sesame seeds, turnip, dicon, and fennel. As you go, you will want to smoosh the cabbage as the liquid that is produced will act as your brine. Once you are finished slicing up the cabbage and veggies, place into a large clean bucket (I improvised by using a large pot) and firmly pound and pack the cabbage mixture. There should already be a lot of liquid. I took a plate and put it over the mixture and then placed sealed jars filled with water to act as a weight. The idea is that the weights will keep the cabbage submerged in liquid. Cover with a clean cloth and place in a relatively cool and dark place. After a few hours, make sure there is liquid covering the plate - if not, make a mixture of salt and water to add to the mix. After a few days, your sauerkraut will have a great fermentation start - I usually like it best after about a week and a half or so. You can continue to add to it with new ingredients, just repeating the process. Sometimes a mold or a fur will grow on top of the plate, in which case, take care to scrape it off and continue on. Tastes delicious in sandwiches, on top of grains, salads, as a side to omeletts, a snack etc! Mmm que rrrico!

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Chucrut crudo, hecha en casa!

El “chucrut” o col fermentado tiene altos beneficios de salud. Te ayuda a digerirse y restorar la flora natural en tu cuerpo para fortalecer el sistema immunologico. Se combina dos cabezas de col (morado y verde) y se cortan en pedazos chiquitos (como en la foto). Mientras que corta, ponga el col en un tazón de ensalada y añade un poco de sal, haciendo niveles. Se debe usar como 45 g de sal para todo el col mientras que corta. A mi me gusta tambien poner ajonjolí, nabo, zanahoria blanca, e hinojo. Mientras que cortes todo, el sal va sacando el agua a través de un proceso de ósmosis y esto se genera la salmuera que ayuda a generar el chucrut. Al rato que terminas cortando, pon toda la mezcla en una holla o balde grande. Luego, hay que machacar la mezcla para que se ponga compacto. Cúbrelo con un plato que entra bien, casi topándose con los lados de la holla, y pon algunos frascos llenos de agua y sellados encima del plato - para pesar el plato y sumergir el col.  Cubre la holla con una toalla o tela y ubica todo en un cuarto oscuro y fresco. En algunas horas, deberia ver la salmuera que más o menos cubre el plato. Si no cubre todo, ponga un poco de agua de sal para que no se expone el col al aire. Luego de algunos días, el chucrut estará mas o menos listo, pero a mi me gusta cuando se haya fermentado por lo menos una semana. Se puede poner más col fresco y seguir el proceso de fermentación. De vez en cuando, la salmuera tendrá moho pero no se preocupe - simplemente quitalo con una cuchara y ponga un poco mas agua de sal. Se acompaña deliciosamente en sánduches, con granos, ensaladas, tortillas de huevos, y para bocaditos! Mmm que rrrico!

Check out this delicious guayusa tea cocktail from gringuitas en la cocina!

Guayurefres[c]a.

This delicious summertime cocktail will have you feeling refreshed and rejuvenated with the wonders of Runa guayusa. As we have posted in an earlier entry of this blog, guayusa (pronounced why-you-suh) is an amazonian leaf traditionally brewed by many indigenous nationalities and consumed for its energy-restoring properties. Now, if you live in the US, you have the opportunity to partake in this deliciousity of focused energy (check out their website for a store location near you: http://runa.org/). First bring to boil about 1/3 of a cup of guayusa tea leaves with water. Let it get nice and dark as it boils, filling your kitchen with its cleansing earthy aroma. Slice up a bunch of strawberries and prepare a sort of simple syrup solution with honey (by mixing 2 T honey with 1 T hot water). Add the honey solution to the sliced strawberries and muddle them together, squeezing a half lemon (or lime) into each cup. Add rum (to your gusto) and ice and continue to muddle. Then, on top of the ice, pour the guayusa. Feel free to experiment by putting in different herbs! Mmm que rrrico!

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Este coctél de verano te va a refrescar con las maravillas del té de guayusa de Runa. Como hemos posteado aquí en el pasado, guayusa es una hoja amazónica utilizado por muchas nacionalidades indígenas por sus propiedades energéticas y curativas. En Ecuador, se puede conseguir el té de guayusa en el oriente mismo, o busca contactos con Runa aquí. Primero, hierve una 1/3 taza de guayusa con agua hasta que el té se ve biennn oscuro y fuerte. Deje que llene a tu cocina con su aroma limpiadora y de la tierra. Corte un montón de fresas (nosotros conseguimos orgánicos de nuestra cooperativa favorita de Zapallo Verde, en la floresta, El Arbolito x Lugo y Vizcaya) en rodajas. Prepara una solución de 2 cucharadas de miel de abeja con una cucharada de agua caliente. Mezcla la miel-agua con las fresas y ponga el jugo de una media lima (o limón). Agrega ron de abuelo (o cualquier a su gusto) con 3-4 hielos y siga mezclando. Ahí, ponga la guayusa y no tengas miedo de agregar varias hierbitas (menta, hierba luisa, hierba buena, etc). Mmm que rrrico!

YES!

La Musique 

Wagon Wheel by Eli, Ian, Dallas and some hippy they met on the ferry

Wide Mouth Masons. 

Reflections from Past to Present

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away (circa Reed College), I started a blog with blogspot. It was meant to update about the innerworkings of life in Ecuador (when I was doing fieldwork for my thesis, then when I moved down to Ecuador to work with a rad NGO). I don't update it frequently, because my engagement with the internet is weird and sporadic. And now everyone has a tumblr, so I feel like I'm overdoing it. It's about to get seriously meta as I reference a post I made on my other other blog. Check it out:

http://robinafink.blogspot.com/2012/04/reflections-from-past-to-present.html