This article was originally posted on PopAnth under the title “Snow goggles and rotten pears: finding public records of anthropology online.” Anthropologists have written about why we believe in extraterrestrials, how your coffee habits affect farmers, and why archaeologists want to study your trash. But how is such research made? Famous researchers…
In my early twenties, I found an old journal. Wanting to preserve my past, I sat down to type each entry into the computer. But I was jolted out of myself when the phone rang: my teenage brother was in the hospital with significant injuries. By the time we got to the…
“…Before we were serious,” I admitted to my boyfriend, “I was scoping out dates using the census. And my odds weren’t good. There were only like 100 eligible guys in our area of Maine.” “Yeah, but my odds were even worse,” he laughed. I was astonished. “I thought it’s…
A few months ago, I took my bike in for repairs to a local business, where the friendly and tattooed owner began chatting me up. Filling out forms extremely slowly, he told me all about his businesses, his son’s private school, his plans for a custom-build house in Florida…
I still remember the day that my fellow student Joe Vohlers died. News spread quickly on campus, and we set aside textbooks to gather in cramped dorm rooms, televisions blaring. We were stunned. Joe had keeled over suddenly from heart trouble, gone from the popular crowd to — dead,…
I moved back from Kazakhstan last year, but I still have posts that never quite made it to the blog. Here’s one on the good life: Seven is a popular numbers among Kazakhs, as our language teacher reminded us the other day. First, you listing your seven grandfathers (jeti ata), telling you…
I wrote this a year ago as I was moving across the country. And yet I held it close, because it felt taboo. We’re supposed to get excited about what feels good in our bones, right? Instead, I felt the Wrong Emotion: grief, layered on expat grief.
I started this (too long!) essay about two years ago. Dear reader, feel no obligation. This is imperfect and at times inelegant, but I’m posting to refer to and build upon in the future. 1. Choosing to be a Homemaker I didn’t start out caring about gender, the chromosomes and cultures…
I’m not inherently fascinated by libraries and bookstores, the way that some people are. Yet, as in the rest of the human environment (parks, city streets, trees, cafes, the workplace), I enjoy exploring and seeing what’s there. Which usually means I walk home with a stack of books. Which usually means…
“Do you want seven children?” A few months ago, I stopped by my parents’ church and sipped a coffee while listening to a rather scattered sermon. (Not that I’m complaining—attention-deficit pastors are my *favorite*, because I love watching how their rabbit-trail sermons explore the whole territory of human life….