The Daily Word in New Mexico news highlights
A team from the New Mexico Department of Environment has completed its inspection of the facilities at WIPP. The results of said inspection are pending.
Layoffs due to budgetary shortfalls at the NM treasurer's office mean an end to state-sponsored financial literacy classes.
Questa, New Mexico has gone eight days without running water. That's about to change, reports the Albuquerque Journal.
Public backlash over an artist's depiction of colonial New Mexico has resulted in the whiting out of a looming sword.
On Saturday, Dec. 17, UNM's football Lobos square off against the University of Texas at San Antonio Roadrunners in the Gildan Bowl. Named after a brand of men's underwear, the game will take place at University Stadium in Albuquerque.
Albuquerque's National Museum of Nuclear Science & History is planning a series of winter day camps aimed at educating and entertaining holiday-break-bound local children.
Over at Duke City Fix, blogger Scot Key writes about the history of road construction in Albuquerque.
Meanwhile over at the Daily Lobo, Skylar Griego examines one student's experience at UNM's Department of Music.
Apparently, some pretty big rainbow trout reside in the Bob Gerding Catch and Release Pond at Tingley Beach.
"He Had a Far Out Decorator"
As 1991 began, I lived north the university. That year, it happened the weather did not get really cold until the end of January. There were patches of ice on the sidewalks near my house, also near the apartment of my friend, Kenneth W. Seward.
Seward was a lighting designer whom I worked with at the University of New Mexico. I had recently graduated from art school. I worked at Keller Hall, in the department of Music. Seward studied in the Theatre department and held a part-time job at the concert hall.
We were friends, collaborating on multi-media projects, discussing literature and music, generally encouraging the other’s reading and art-making. We were both Eagle Scouts; we both played the piano. But while I struggled with the instrument, he killed it–gracefully and courageously hammering out Beethoven while I kept getting lost after a dozen bars.
Listen: In those halcyon days, Ken was dying of a brain tumor. At the end of the previous summer, he had come into my office and complained of numbness in his hands, a dark circumstance for a manipulator of lights and electricity. Concerned, I suggested he go to the student health center.
One thing then led to another. By mid-autumn 1990, he had been diagnosed with glioblastoma multiforme, a deadly type of brain cancer.
By January he had lost the ability to walk and manipulate tools and therefore, to work. His parents were in California. He had become estranged from them for he was gay and they could not accept that fact.
But he had loads of friends in Burque. We pitched in to help him. We all took turns keeping him company, taking him to the UNM Cancer Center, feeding and bathing him while Bartok and Gilbert and Sullivan played in the background.
When his parents finally arrived to make their peace in February, I resignedly noted that his father looked more like Ken than Ken did.
Kenneth W. Seward died on March 6, 1991 while I was eating lunch at the New Chinatown with some deadhead buddies of mine. That day, beautiful puffy clouds filled the sky over dirt city and it rained and rained that night. The next week, the College of Fine Arts held a glorious memorial service for him in Rodey Theater.
I kept a picture of him on the crew bulletin board at Keller Hall. In the picture he looked young and brave and full of life, holding a crescent wrench in his hand, smiling up towards the bright lights that beckoned him.
Soon after Ken died, I broke up with my long-time girlfriend. She was a classical musician. I'd like to believe we drifted apart during Seward’s illness, but the truth was much simpler and profoundly more tragic. I was a hipster; she was L-7.
After all of that, spring came, anyway. It was warm again; the grass was greenly lush at the duck pond. I kept busy by painting large abstract, loathsomely bright pictures and managing the concert hall.
Sometime in late March, some news went around the Fine Arts Center. The Dalai Lama was going to be visiting the university and would be speaking at Popejoy Hall.
I knew little about the man. The organization Friends of Tibet had occasionally visited the college, had brought around a group of touring monks to entertain and perplex the patrons of art and music who haunted the foyer. These followers of the lama performed traditional dances and chants and were magically entrancing to those who had the privilege of attending.
Coincidentally, my roommate, a graduate student in art history, was a devout Buddhist. He filled me in on concepts and events related to Tibetan Buddhism and the preeminence of the fourteenth Dalai Lama.
Anyway, it came to pass the Dalai Lama and his entourage needed a place to camp out before his speaking engagement. These were in the days before UNM renovated the Fine Arts Center. Much of it was an unkempt old joint–that included the Popejoy Hall green room, which was mostly a place the technical crew hung out to smoke and nap.
Owing to the fact that Keller hall was a genteel venue where chamber music and avant-garde compositions were performed, its green room was chosen as a headquarters for the visitors. The Keller Hall Green Room was tastefully decorated, well furnished and looked out onto a small verdant garden.
When the day arrived, the Dalai Lama was driven to the loading dock in back of the UNM art museum. Advisers, a meteorologist with magical abilities, members of Friends of Tibet and a small press corps accompanied him. Though he had recently won the Nobel Prize, he was not nearly as famous as he is now; the issues surrounding Tibet had just begun to creep into the public’s consciousness.
His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso was immediately whisked to the Keller Hall green room, where different dignitaries, including the President of the University, came and went, presenting him with fresh fruit and prayer shawls.
Late in the afternoon, I noticed there was an empty space on the couch next to the lama, so I went over and sat down next to him.
He looked over and remarked, “You are brave!” He put his arm around me, said something in Tibetan to the monk sitting next to him and continued, “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “everything will be fine.” He laughed. It was a deep and happy laugh.
Then motioned to one of his advisers and the two got up from their seats. The lama needed some time alone, to eat and meditate, the adviser told everyone in the room.
The Dalai Lama waved at me, then retired to the downstairs lounge in Keller Hall. Later I was asked by one of his aides to join his procession over to Popejoy Hall. I didn’t have another opportunity to speak to him, though. He and his followers left soon after the event was over.
The rest of that spring and then the summer seemed to zip right on by. I finished a decent painting, figured out a tune by Bartok and then welded together a sculpture that held a bit of Ken’s ashes inside of it. When someone stole it from in front of the Art Building at the end of May, I felt the same pleasure Duchamp must have felt when workmen dropped and shattered Le Grand Verre.
In June, I got the only tattoo I would ever sport–from the legendary J.B. Jones, who decided to paint a picture of the Holy Spirit on my left shoulder. In August, my roommate and I decided to rent out a room in the old, rambling house we shared.
The ad we placed in the Daily Lobo was answered by a group of exchange students from Britain. They were young and brave and full of life. Two of them would end up living in the house and loudly introducing us to a thing called EDM.
The third was a long-haired wandering anthropologist from Wales. In the year that followed, she took me abroad. We traveled through Amazonia, basked on the beaches of lower Antilles, squatted in a shack in Middlesex and finally took a journey to the place where Nepal borders Tibet. In September 1996, we trekked up a river that followed a long, steep valley–into the kingdom of Mustang.
This was the place where lamas dwelt, walking amidst fields of buckwheat and dusty trails. They were in search of light, I remember thinking to myself as the straps from Ken’s old backpack dug into my shoulders and the mountains beckoned us.
The Daily Word in Groceries, Triple-A Beisbol, Kirko Bangz and Gigantic Bluegill
As of 6am this fine August morning, there is a grocery store in downtown Albuquerque and it is open.
The Albuquerque Isotopes went 12 innings against the El Paso Chihuahuas, but lost 4-2 after Chihuahuas' third baseman Carlos Asuage and shortstop Jóse Rondón came alive late in the game.
Members of the Kirtland Air Force Base 512th Rescue Squadron recently saved a couple of hikers who were lost in the mountains of Colorado. But they had to leave the llamas behind.
The Daily Lobo reports on violence at the Metropolitan Detention Center and the protests that have consequently ensued.
H-Town rapper Kirko Bangz caused some trouble in Hobbs.
New Mexico's Human Services Department will now be under the guidance of a special master.
At Shady Lakes, Northwest of town, "There are some gigantic bluegill hanging out at the trout gutting station."
The Daily Word in sexy censorship, groundhog amnesty and Star Trek/Lord of the Rings crossovers
CNM takes a bold stand against sex, award winning journalism and the first amendment.
The Daily Lobo suspends its print publication to protest CNM's dumb-assery.
Jane Goodall apparently let one of her chimp friends write her latest book. And it did a bad job.
And finally, Gandalf will marry Picard.
Raunch rock act’s flyer causes a commotion
If you read the Daily Lobo or watch KRQE News, you may have already heard about local rock outfit Glitter Dick’s release party flyer controversy at UNM. I take a deeper look at the situation in Queering Public Spaces. Check out sights and sounds by performing acts below. Launchpad • Glitter Dick album release party • CanyonLands • Black Maria • Terri Schiavo Dance Party • Fri Dec 14 • 9:30 pm • $5 • 21+ • launchpadrocks.com
Queering Public Spaces
Glitter Dick’s aesthetic causes kerfuffle at UNM
“Doing it” Isn’t Doing It
Imagine my surprise, when I opened up the Daily Lobo a few days ago and found this article: “’Period sex’ can relieve menstrual cramps and make showering more fun.’”
Come again- (no pun intended)? I had to read more to find out if this was a joke or not. What I learned is that the Daily Lobo, a paper written by students, for students, has organized a column that addresses all of our “sex questions” such as: safer anal sex, and the aforementioned how to have sex on your period. My issue with this is not the idea of helping students to have safer sexual encounters, but the content used to try to do that. In a state that has reported between 1990-2004 a teenage pregnancy rate of 23%; and being a state that is rated the fourth highest state in the country for teenage pregnancy rates between the ages of 15-19; I am fairly certain these girls are not getting pregnant through anal or period sex. Consider this; the Daily Lobo is a free paper. It is distributed not only on campus, but also in many local area shops and restaurants. This means that anyone, any age, can pick this paper up and see these articles. Ok, so the kids are having period sex- what’s the harm; what the article does not mention is that while seemingly safe and more pleasurable, it is also carries with it higher risk of transferring diseases like hepatitis, and H.I.V. There is also higher risk to the female in contracting yeast infections and bladder infections because of the location of the cervix during menstruation- this is briefly mentioned at the end of the article following the information that a woman can still get pregnant during menstruation; however, no mention of using a condom.
If we are going to leave our sexual safety in the hands of college students, perhaps we could leave it to the medical students? Instead of witty banter between “Isabel” and her boyfriend, maybe we could add the possible risks of sex- at any time of the month. Finally, if we insist on these types of articles, then let’s not leave the paper lying around in areas that kids of any age can pick them up. Then I have to explain what a “period” in “period sex” is to my son when I am still trying to get him to use them in sentences.