Rrose Selavy

Prepare yourself for a totally un-related to PC rant.

I had an unfortunate run-in with this yesterday. At an exhibition entitled 'Inside/Out' held by SHOP at SHOWstudio.com, Lady Gaga decided it was her place to contribute an original piece to an exhibition that focused on 'the idea of seeing inside ourselves, using body parts and internal organs as visual imagery'. By simple description of this show's expectations, it seemed appropriate enough Gaga could contribute some wack-a-doodle something-or-other with enough shock value to satisfy the press. However, she decided to tread on dangerous territory, one close to my heart.

Gaga took it upon herself to mimic and/or mock my favourite artist of the 20th century, a one Marcel Duchamp. Duchamp was a driving force behind the Dada movement, which thrived around the time of the first World War, roughly 1916-1922. An artistic, social, and cultural phenomena which was mostly labelled as irrational, illogical, and anti-art, was in my opinion, largely underestimated in it's intelligence and wit, Duchamp displaying both these qualities at their finest.

Though The Fountain of 1917 was never my favourite Duchamp piece ('The Bride Stripped Bare of Her Bachelors, Even' of 1915-23 (one which he wrote an extraordinary book analyzing) and 'Etant Donnes' of 1946-66 would hold that honour), the role it played in identifying what made art art, was crucial to what would come after it. By taking an everyday urinal, turning it on it's side and choosing to have it serve a different purpose, gave it it's freedom to become something else entirely. In his own words:

"Whether Mr Mutt made the fountain with his own hands or not has no importance. He CHOSE it. He took an article of life, placed it so that its useful significance disappeared under the new title and point of view – created a new thought for that object." - Marcel Duchamp, 1917

The historical importance of it's creation was the most significant definition of art qualification until Brancusi's 'Golden Bird' of 1926. In short, Brancusi's sculpture had been sent to a buyer in America and was highly taxed due to it being deemed an import of raw material rather than a tax-free import of art. Thus, igniting a further dialogue of what qualifies art as being art. A mission Duchamp fought for the duration of his career.

So, as long winded as my point may be, for Lady Gaga to have the self-righteous arrogance to write 'I'm not fucking Duchamp but I love pissing with you' on the side of rotated urinal is just ridiculous. What's more frustrating is to think that if it had been someone else, anyone else really, Duchamp may have gotten a kick out of it himself. He was a fan of manipulating other's work after all -L.H.O.O.Q of 1919 - but this dumb pop-star I'm sure knows nothing of his career besides this single shocker, which I'm sure she's only seen on a postcard in a gift shop somewhere. I'll refer you to a few posts back when I displayed another one of her 'inspired' references.

Anyway, listen here Gaga, stick to your music. Keep dancing around in malleable pvc, making out with Alexander Skarsgard, and dying your hair until most of it seeps into your brain. I'm down with that. Just leave physical art out of it. It's not your forte. Leave my Marcel alone. Thank you.

Gaga's poor interpretation

Duchamp's The Fountain - 1917

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

I don't know how to pin-point it exactly, but I am one happy camper today. Could have something to do with this spectactular iced latte I've made myself (thank you Miss Allison Moss for the fantabulous suggestion), or maybe the couple of beers I had poolside yesterday? Fresh laundry on the roof drying? Hot but breezy weather whooshing in my bedroom window? Whatever the cause, it is a welcome change from the gloomsville mood I was in last week. Mrhaba crazy grin.

One thing that has put in me in this joyous mood is the state of all of my close friends' relationships. As a bit of background, starting around February, it seemed as if everyone I knew was getting engaged. Mind you, this is not an exaggeration. Literally all but one of my flatmates from University had rings on their fingers within weeks of each other. Then others slowly followed the trend, and before I knew it, as of today... nine of my uni friends are engaged. Not to mentioned the few that are already married, a couple that have kids, and some who've been together as long as I've known them. Just recently a friend shared with me she's picking up and moving country, making the good old grand gesture to be with her fella. Others just returning from a Filipino engagement extravaganza. And even though I live as far away as Africa, they continue to make the effort to keep me in the loop and involved in all of their romantic life-changing bliss. Which, by the way, this girl needs when her closest male companion is a dumbass, albeit goodlooking, kitten named Jeter. I'm so genuinely happy for all of you. Despite the initial questioning of my life choices (what the balls am I doing in a rural village in Africa? My friends have real jobs and fiances! I need to shower more...) I couldn't be more grateful to have what little involvement I do in my friends' happiness.

Another endorphin stimulator can be attributed to the brewing vacation plans I have for the rest of my service. Given I've only taken one out of country trip (6 days in London) and one in-country stint (3 days at Gnaoua), that leaves me with... 15 days for this year and all 24 for next. That's 39 days of awesome to look forward to. 20 of those are going to my Christmas trip home. Well, technically 13 will as I'm spending a few days before and a few days after (through New Year) in London. Yay! I had contemplated not going home, and then only going for a short while. But as it's recently been decided my folks won't be heading out here next year, I decided to spend more time with them now. Plus, the brother will be in Iraq starting September, so I think a good dose of their daughter will do them good.

As for next Spring, I'll be heading to East Africa! After almost being wooed into a West Africa trip with Felicie (which I would have loved to do) an old friend from London told me he got a placement doing economic development work in Ethiopia starting this September. Ding, ding! We have a winner. So slowly but surely, I'll be convincing Ravi to not only let me visit (luckily the invitation was there as soon as he found out), but to accompany me through Kenya to Uganda and Rwanda, ending up in Burundi where his friend also has a placement. Let the plotting begin. I couldn't be more excited to cross some of my 'top 10 countries to visit' qualifiers off my list. Long has this little girl dreamed of going to Uganda and Rwanda, so if any of you have contacts, friends, or know other PCVs there, let me know! I'd be more than grateful.

The last bit of my vaca time will be a week at the end of July in Scotland for my best friend's wedding. I couldn't be more ecstatic for something that is, well, almost exactly a year from today. I could get all gushy about how much I love them and how I'll be able to see all my uni friends as this will be a reunion of sorts, and what I'll be wearing and... but I'll save that as I'm sure they'll be many future posts including those details and emotions as the time gets closer. And though it is a whole year away, I've been in Morocco for almost a year now and that time has seriously flown, so I'm sure it'll be here before I know it.

So as thrilled as I am to be in this oven of a country right now, times do get tough, so I'm happy to have these check points to look forward to. It makes the isolation seem less lonely and the time here less infinite. Now all I have to do is get my friends to cement their plans to come out here. Though as of last night, my good friend Heather will be coming at the end of October, so three cheers to that!

Wedding Season

I'll have you know that while sitting on my bed typing this, I have sweat dripping from the back of knees down my thighs, from my neck down my what passes as cleavage, and from the small of my back down, well, just down. I have two frozen water bottles at my sides and a fan about 12 inches from my face. Hello 110 degree late afternoons in Sedona-miz. Which to be honest, isn't all that bad, I just need to wash my clothes (and sheets) way more often. However, it's the nights that are the real killer, it only gets down to about 90, mid-80s if we're lucky. Though, unfortunately, I don't have the worst of it. Those volunteers further south than I, over the Atlas, are at least 10 to 15 degrees hotter than we sort-of-south folks. Tip of the hat to their survival techniques.

Anyway this past roasting mid-July weekend was a whirlwind of activity that has now, alhamdulilah, come to an end and will be followed by about three weeks of pretty much nothing before camp begins. Las week I was invited along to my host-cousins wedding in a tiny, like 10 house village east of Marrakech. We arrived Friday morning welcomed buy numerous Aunts and small children all lounging around the house chatting and catching up on the latest gossip. After copious amounts of (mostly bread) eating the Henna application began, done by a special lady hired in for specifically 'Mrrakshi' henna - a more angular, detailed pattern than the traditional flowery, curvy design you typically see. We then napped, ate, and food prepped through the super toasty afternoon before heading out on a walk around the village.

A few of the children, my host brother, host aunt, and host cousin walked me around the property and to the various wells and water sources. It was a perfectly beautiful evening in the middle of nowhere and I thoroughly enjoyed the company. When we returned to the house I was hoping for a quick dinner and maybe sleepy-time as we'd woken up at 6am that morning in preparation to leave. No such luck as more arrivals would be coming through the night and dinner was to be had at midnight... or only 11pm old-time as that's what this particular village runs on. As you would expect, being tired, hungry, and sweaty, I had my grumpy pants on that evening and was slowly losing my ability to keep my game face on. As midnight approached the kind women were beckoning me to sleep on their laps outside on the floor as we waited, I politely declined and attempted the perma-smile until sleep.

Once the food was consumed and I was allowed to retire to the salon and a welcoming ponj, I realized I was not alone... not only was there a frog attempting to share my room with me, a black massive bug/scorpion/beetle thing was attempting to share my bra. I'm well aware there's room down there for the little guy, but a 1am freak out as I'm squealing and shoving my hand down my mumu isn't the kind of goal 3 cultural exchange I was planning on. Bleurgh.

As the sun rose on wedding day I awoke to 40 chickens being gutted and cleaned outside the window, assembly line style by the women of the family. I nudged my host brother, asleep at my feet, and we stumbled out of the sauna-esque room towards the coffee. Once awake and dressed I had the honour of accompanying the bride to be with a couple other lady family members to the coiffeurs to get their hair and makeup done. After a two-hour set back (another wedding party was already in there) and a quick nap at her aunts, we returned to the glory of Moroccan nuptial preparation.

Now here might come a controversial statement: I can't stand the traditional Moroccan wedding get-up. The Korean drag queen make-up, the alien bee-hive, the gold-painted (note: not gold-plated) plastic tiaras... it kills me. Moroccan women are some of the most beautiful women on the entire planet, my host cousin seriously one of the most beautiful among them, so to have her be slathered over with layers of whitening foundation and cheap tranny eyeshadow? Breaks my heart. This day should be about looking your most beautiful in front of all of your family and new husband to be, not looking like a paint-by-number sheet filled in by one of those 'talented' Asian painting elephants.

Anyway, after finishing up at the salon, we returned to the house to find at least a hundred more people there than when we left, and lots of getting ready happening every where. After a minor freak-wind-storm accident (orange-mocha-frappaccinos!), we got dressed, ate some deliiiiiiiiicious food (I LOVE Moroccan wedding food) and then we pretty much danced until dawn. Amidst at least five costume changes from the new couple (love that tradition), the family dragged my butt up to the dance floor, and much to the surprise of the locals, white girl has got some moves! After being mostly ignored for the first hour by the 300 some-ought guests there, this girl busted out some butt moving and shoulder shimmying and was swiftly passed around like the neighbourhood bicycle. Everyone wanted a piece. So, thus, by 5am I was ready to kill myself due to exhaustion and dehydration and was happy for the hour and a bit direct car ride home. A car that actually had seatbelts! Which I ignored so I could lay down and get some much needed shut-eye before arrival back in Sedona-miz. As, wouldn't you know, we had a soccer camp to hold that afternoon... Stay tuned for an update on that.

Official moment as he slips the ring on her finger

Host cousin, host sister, happy couple, myself, and host aunt during celebrations

Host brother strolling through the family land

Brother and I amongst the (not-so) wildlife

Hanging out around the house courtyard