Ugliness and the city

The results are in, and Philly has the ugliest people out of 25 American cities in a CNN/Travel and Leisure poll. Second ugliest? Washington, D.C. Apparently I've been hanging out in the wrong cities if I'm looking for the beautiful people. Philly also ranks 23rd for a category called "People (overall)." What exactly this means I'm not really sure. How can you possibly rank a city's population as a monolithic whole anyway?

Beyond the rather laughable methodology of this study (the rankings are based on people who have visited the city, but it doesn't appear that they asked how recently that visit was), I wonder if it's even possible to consider a city as one place in the way this study does. West Philly is vastly different from Center City, which in turn has little in common with South Philly. Tourist areas of a city are one thing, but large cities in America are so diverse--and, in turn, segregated--that it's often hard to make generalizations.

A kind of disturbing post on Gawker (a NYC blog) basically argued that what makes a city ugly is how many poor people live there. Wow. Another blogger suggests that people are just prejudiced towards blonds and Philly doesn't have enough. Maybe it's all the time I spend doing criticism for school, but I think this study should be taken with a giant spoonful of salt.

Why do history?

Pretty much since I started college, I've been concerned about doing something that mattered. Maybe it was because 9/11 happened my second week in college, or because many of my friends went into politics, advocacy work, or teaching, but whatever the reason, I've always been uneasy about being in the ivory tower. It doesn't help that the usual response from people when they hear I'm going for a PhD in history is some variation on a sarcastic "wow, that's useful..."

Last week, at the annual American Studies Association conference (held, conveniently enough, in Philadelphia), I attended a panel about the role of American Studies in informing public policy. There was clearly a lot of interest in the topic, because the room was so packed that people were standing the doorway (and believe me, this is not common at this kind of conference!). What emerged from what all of the scholars there were saying was that studying the past doesn't have to create analogies, but rather possibilities, for the present. Possibilities of other ways of doing things based on how we have done things in the past.

GW named one of its new dorms Ivory Tower, embodying the concept of the detached university (particularly apt here, since this was built over the neighborhood's objections)

To be honest, I'd never really thought about it that way. Certain topics lend themselves to this approach better than others: one scholar on immigration explained how her research shows past laws and policies that have been abandoned but could be useful today. An expert from a think tank explained that he reads articles by historians looking for answers to questions he approaches today when advising lobbyists. I asked about what a scholar who doesn't work on something that's currently a hot topic can do, and they insisted that being an activist can be an important role for somebody already trained in critical thinking and formulating arguments. True, but less compelling, I think.

Then I read, at a professor's suggestion, the incoming president of Harvard's inaugural address. The new president there, Drew Faust, is an historian. She echoed the concerns of a lot of historians I've talked to in school this year who worry about "presentism," or trying too hard to make historical research respond to present questions (although I think this is different from the possibility suggested by the panel about looking to the past for ideas--they weren't suggesting that the past try to answer current questions). Here's her answer to why we study fields like history and classics:

"We pursue them in part 'for their own sake,' because they define what has over centuries made us human, not because they can enhance our global competitiveness. We pursue them because they offer us as individuals and as societies a depth and breadth of vision we cannot find in the inevitably myopic present. We pursue them too because just as we need food and shelter to survive, just as we need jobs and seek education to better our lot, so too we as human beings search for meaning. We strive to understand who we are, where we came from, where we are going and why."

I guess her "depth and breadth of vision" is kind of like the panel's idea of alternative possibilities. I'll agree that the pursuit of knowledge is part of what makes us human, but as much as I know I'm in this for a search for meaning, that is a selfish pursuit. A lot of people in the ivory tower are appeased by the noble nature of the pursuit, but I will continue to stubbornly insist that there should be something more.

Strolling to the market

Last weekend, I walked down to the Italian Market via South Street. Most people think of this street as it is on the eastern end of it--an alternative, edgy bordering on scuzzy, street lined with bars. But the middle section of the street seems to be in transition. There are cute cafes and boarded up houses, ethnic restaurants and outsider art. The art scene--and an agent of that transition--on the street is dominated by an abandoned lot that has been turned into a bricolage of ceramics, glass, iron, and mirrors. I use the word "bricolage" here because it's how the artist, Isaiah Zagar, positions himself; he got the idea to do this sort of art when he saw similar work sharing walls at MoMA with Picasso and Gaudi.

Zagar began transforming empty lots and walls with his inventive work in the late 1960s, when South Street was slated to be ripped out to build an expressway. After that idea was scrapped and the real estate became more valuable, Zagar had to launch a campaign to save his grandest creation, the magic garden (the site refers to gardens, but there's one main garden, which is where my photos are from). It was closed when I walked by, but this creation is an entire three-dimensional wonderland of his mosaic work. His work is scattered through-out the neighborhood, and while it may not end up in a museum, it definitely causes people to stop, look, and marvel--as all great art should.

It was a nicer walk than I expected down to the market, and the first task there was to get lunch. I had an unbelievable panini at Di Bruno brothers and split a risotto ball (arancini) with Anne (the pic is her artistry; check out her photos).

We were so full it we passed by a gelato cart and continued shopping. We found a great pasta factory where we both bought ravioli and fresh-cut pasta. And then, for a finale, we discovered Isgro's pastries. It was pretty tough deciding between the cookies, tarts, cupcakes, and other pastries, but we both settled on cannoli. It's usually not my favorite, but this was good enough to make me want to go back for more.