Let’s see , midterms are coming up. It seems half they exchange students have been talking about them since a couple of weeks back now, with fear in  their eyes. Is it just coincidence that Halloween and Midterms are so close together? Maybe they are really they same thing>? Like Halloween for the lil’uns and Midterm for the fuckers who chose to go to college. All the same, WE’LL SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!! And then you’ll walk cow legged til Christmas break. Welcome to America.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Anyways, I should have a bunch produced by then, but I doubt ceramics is this only class where I actually doubt I will have half of it done. Anyways, since I still can’t be on the wheel and I’m getting bored, I sorta worked it out to be a 50-50 hand building (which I cans till manage!) and wheel throwing class. Either way, I hope to get more time…!

Anyways, I started reading Ian Frazier’s book ‘On the Rez’ this week. It seems so far that I like his self ironic way of telling things. The book is about his experiences and friendships he’s had on the Pine Ridge Reservation among the modern day Oglala Sioux. Frazier himself is very much “white people”, and he acknowledges that with such a self ironic touch I can’t but admire him. He admits he’s a wannabe with his long ponytail and his coming from New Jersey to the west.

I especially enjoyed this caption:

“I kind of recent the term ‘wannabe’ – what’s wrong with wanting to be something, anyway? – but in my case there’s some truth to it. I don’t want to participate in traditional Indian ceremonies, dance in a Sun Dance or pray in a sweat lodge or go on  a vision quest with the help of a medicine man. The power of these ceremonies has an appeal, but I’m content with what religion I already have. I think Indians dress better than anyone, but I don’t want to imitate more than a detail or two; I prefer my clothes humdrum and inconspicuous, and a cowboy hat just doesn’t work for me. I don’t want to collect Indian art, although pots and beadwork and blankets made by Indians remain the most beautiful art objects in the American West, in my opinion. I don’t want to be adopted into a tribe, be wrapped in a star quilt and given a new name, honor though that would be. I don’t want to stand in the dimness of a shelter at the powwow grounds in the group around the circle of men beating their drums and singing ancient songs and lose myself in that moment when all the breaths and all the heartbeats become one.

What I want is just as “Indian”, just as traditional, but harder to pin down”

this might just be somewhat close to how i feel about indians myself....