“Lowest Common Denominator”

Tagline: Low standards for high profits.

Symbol I sketched for a class project, aiming to illustrate the word “activism”:

I guess you could argue that Mercedes-Benz would benefit from a guerilla art campaign. However, I think I’ll file this incident under “Mortifying Moments”, along with the time I wondered aloud whether Whole Foods carries Diet Coke.

Finally, highlighting the the super-cool book Leaf gave me and the super-cool book Rosemary and Paul gave me:

If you live in Oakland, drop by Nature’s Best (Jackson and 15th) and tell him to stop grinning already. He’s gonna blind us with that smile.

The Bay Bridge is closed this weekend, so Sanjay, Lian and I took advantage of 24-hour public transportation.

A few random quotes from the wee hours at the very happening Powell station:

“Dude, there are no trash cans around here, you know, because of the terrorists. I was looking all over for a place to toss my beer bottle. I had to put it under one of those orange cones”.

“IS ANYONE HERE AN UNDERCOVER COP???”, followed by “Does anyone have anything to smoke this in?”

“I’ll give five bucks to anyone who can turn a cartwheel on one finger”, followed by:

Sanjay’s (and random tired guy’s) take on the scene:

There was a pretty serious bomb scare a block away from our apartment today, resulting in emergency personnel blowing up what they thought might be a pipe bomb. It later turned out that the “bomb” was actually a camera tripod, but things were quite interesting for a while. Our neighborhood played host to about two dozen police officers, six helicopters, several bomb-sniffing dogs and a couple of news stations for a few hours. Our street was closed to traffic, and when I asked a cop whether I could walk down it, he replied “you should be OK”, in a voice that insinuated he wouldn’t be held responsible if I exploded into a million pieces in front of my apartment.

Aside from this ominous encounter, the whole scene was very chill – people were out walking their dogs and buying groceries and such. Most stopped for a few minutes to watch the scene unfold. I decided the event would make a great chapter in our household photo album, so I took a bunch of pictures.

Here’s a woman trying to convince a cop to let her past the crime scene tape:

Their exchange, verbatim:

Woman: Please, Officer, I just need to get into my apartment for a minute.
Cop: Lady, there is a BOMB over there. I don’t have time for this.

I returned home by the time they set off the tripod/suspected explosive device. However, I heard it clearly enough to feel a panicky sensation born of the realization that I might have taken for granted the skills of the Alameda County Bomb Squad. As soon as I went outside, however, it was clear that all was well: the general theme of the onlookers’ conversation was “Oh my God, I have to call So-and-So. She’ll never believe this.

Word on the street (and from the San Francisco Chronicle, whose word is only slightly better than that from the street) is that the person they suspected of setting the nonexistent bomb is angry about being arrested earlier today. Apparently, he was intimidating witnesses at an ongoing murder trial. This makes perfect sense to me. After all, what better way to illustrate that one is not a threat than to leave an explosive device in your car?

My mom was a graduate student in Anthropology until I was ten. This means that, aside from my own peers, the people I socialized with were her fellow anthro folks. I sold my magic marker drawings to her advisor, hung out in her lab, and attended parties at which I talked to drunk intellectuals about fossils, Darwin, and demography.

At some point, I figured, “hey, if everyone else is writing a dissertation, maybe I’ll take a stab at it”. I settled on a study of the “Poligy People”, Poligy being a toddler pronunciation of Anthropology that stuck around.

Here’s the cover, written on a bank freebie memo pad:

My initial one-on-one interview, with a woman who focused on archaeology:

A burning question Robin sought to answer with her fieldwork:

The (plausible) explanation she came up with:

An illustration accompanying my second and final interview. Realistic, no?

I did not think to have my subjects sign consent forms authorizing the publication of this material. My mom, who has since completed her PhD and now advises researchers on human subjects-related ethics, will likely arrange it so that I’ll never be “published” again. However, I will argue that my work’s online presence is necessary for the good of humanity, which supercedes annoyances like informed consent. After all, the world needs to know how Egypt is really shaped.