In a country that is flooded for half of the year, soil is often stolen to build homes on low flat lands and old rice patties. Construction is a process that requires close supervision.

When you hire a company to move dirt in Cambodia, it is standard practice to have two pairs of supervisors at the site where the dirt is picked up and where it is dropped off. One pair is from the trucking company; one is from whatever organization hired them out. When a truck loads with dirt and prepares to drive to the dump-site, each pick-up site supervisor gives each truck a numbered ticket and keeps a matching ticket. When the driver drops off the load, he gives the ticket to the supervisor on that side. At lunch break and at day’s end, all the supervisors get together to compare records.

The other ticket-takers were Khmer. They spoke Khmer. I speaka the English. After the first day of gesturing, pointing, and shrugging, one of them said to me, “I know how speak English. This is Cambodia. You speak Cambodian.”

I understand that the few adults who survive in Cambodia have lived through hell. Why should they not hate a foreign caucasian? Still, I resolved to try to convey to them that I was at least not a terrible person.

I asked a friend how to say a few things in Khmer like, “How are you, Sir?” But, most importantly, I learned how to say, “I am only here in Cambodia for two weeks. Khmer, little bit.” That phrase was very disarming. I was willing to step out and botch a few tonal phrases, and it went a long way. By the end of the two weeks, we were talking, signing and writing to communicate.

Another thing that was helpful was language lessons from a whole gang of kids. They would quiz me daily on numbers from 1-300, which helped with the process of counting trucks. Their company made the hours seem like seconds.

This is Fin. It is an interesting thing to pass a 100-degree twelve-hour day that seems like an eternity with a kid whose name means “end” in Spanish. He is quite the fellow.

This is Bop. His name is the international sound effect that kids make when punching each other. You see here he is getting served according to his name.

I joined a gang. The land all around the construction site is inhabited by squatters. Their kids roam about and play in the mud and get in to trouble. This made for extremely good company.

Every day, like clockwork, the kids would roll in. We would sit in the dirt together and pass the time as big trucks rolled past hundreds of times, kicking up dust.

Sometimes, the kids would grab a slingshot and shoot down bananas or mangos from the trees near by. This helped to take the edge off the hunger. For me, it was a unique two weeks, for these people it is their life. The hunger that gnawed at me inside was a visitor. Maybe this hunger resides in these people.

It is an interesting thing to hang out with ten people that you can’t speak with. When the kids would gather daily moral was high, and verbal communication was low. I would bring a notebook, and between counting trucks, we’d scribble and scrawl pictures and make gestures, attempting to pronounce words in each other’s languages.

We played countless games, trying to explain them in pigeon sign language. The easiest games to gesture out were a thousand variations of throwing rocks. Dirt and trash are great ways to pass time.

One suggested caption for this photo that Bop snapped is, “Immense enjoyment of a meteor strike.”

The truck you see in the background is from Thailand. The driver’s side is opposite to the Cambodian trucks. It took a little while to remember which of the ten trucks were piloted from the right and which ones from the left. All the while, they were dumping and the bulldozers grading. The machines rumbled on, a soundtrack to our gang’s games.

One night, a big flatbed truck arrived from China, carrying a brand new ten million dollar grading machine. Bop took this picture, which is good enough to prompt the story.

For an entire afternoon the fancy people were arguing about road rights and passage fees, so the trucks were at a halt. The guy operating the grading machine waved me over. He gestured that I should drive. I am not the best at manual transmissions, but I was thrilled at the idea. When I had completed the first pass of the lot, I put in the clutch and tapped the brake near the pond and rolled to a stop. I shifted in to reverse–so i thought–and looked at the driver, who was perched to my left. He smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I released the break and the whole machine lurched forward. I stomped on the pedals and stopped the machine from plummeting in to the water. The driver exploded in laughter. He had known all along that I had selected the wrong gear. We laughed, I tried again. Once I had the hang of it, he jumped out and lounged in the shade of one of the three remaining trees while i graded the lot.

Each day, after the sun would complete its arc and slip down the sky at our backs, we would pedal our bikes back to town in various states of hunger and dehydration. Each day was an opportunity to easily waste twelve hours or sit shyly behind a language barrier; each day became a unique adventure.

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In the no-man’s land between Malaysia ad Singapore, I was detained. I had no address where I was planing to stay, only my friend Ying’s phone number. “You cannot sleep at a phone number,” the guards were insisting. I could not call, because unlike everyone else in the century, I had no cell phone on me. My pockets jingled with no local currency to slot into the public phone.

For some time, I was interrogated. Then, a kind official came up with a brilliant plan. He gave me twenty cents to use the phone. After a hello, I whispered in to the mouth piece, “Please give me any address in Singapore.” We alse set up a meeting point. If that kind guard had not given me a coin, I would have turned up in the middle of a massive city in the dark with no local money tomake a call and no destination or place to stay.

Since this all took so long, the bus I had been riding abandoned me. The guard hailed another bus for me to jump on. All’s well that ends well. Ying and Aaron picked me up on Beach Road for the start of what turned out to be a great four-day adventure. If you want to hear about it, ask me sometime. Right now, I have a city to see with a friend from South Africa.

I just got off an overnight bus that traveled from Singapore, into Malaysia and finally in to Thailand. Last night is a blurr of dreams, smoggy rest-stops with fish as big as me swimming in murky tanks, smiles and border crossings. We’llsee what this week holds.

Pictured below is the Singapore skyline towering over Old Chiatown.

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A couple weeks ago, I snagged a 1995 Volvo station wagon off of Craigslist. What better way to test a new-old car than to drive to Maine and back? Evan and I packed up all my guitar gear and albums, his drum stuff and a few skate boards. Kyle, Josh and Drew (the other three guys in the band) drove another auto. The journey bagan.

Markets & Dwellers released their debut full-band EP, Morning Rabbit, Morning Cub, at an awesome basement showconcert at the Palk residence last Saturday. I was thrilled to be able to host them and join in the celebration of their new album. They mentioned that their vanplans had fallen through, and their week-long mini-tour was sure to follow suit.

Sunday night, after getting back from celebrating some excellant fathers in the Palk family, I called Evan, and we did some scheming and dreaming. The next afternoon we hit the road. That evening, we played our first show in Freehold, NJ.

I miss the music scene in New Jersey. When the Look Machine was playing out, we would often venture up to NJ. Jersians have three main things very right in my opinion: love of diners, devotion to Wawa and a kickin’ poppunk music scene. It was great to sing there.

After the show, Kevin, from a band called Batten Down the Hatches, kindly let us sleep in his family’s basement. They gave us much more than floorspace on which to sleep. His mom cooked us food around midnight when we showed up. They supplied us with fresh towels and left out food for breakfast. Such kindness!

The next night, we drove to Connecticut. We played with at a venue called The Space. It was awesome. Robert Borden, a local singer/songwriter with a pristine voice and awesome lyrical skills, opened the show. Markets & Dwellers sounded awesome. Love Out Loud, a band from Minnesota headlined. They were tight and upbeat.

I played an acoustic set, which was well-received. The sound and atmosphere were great. I sold enough CDs to keep gas in the Volvo’s thirsty tank. Some guys in the band called their friend, Alex, to see if we could crash in his basement. As it turned out, he had been to a basement showconcert at the Palk house in PA. We were very thankful for his hospitality.

The show at the Heirloom Arts Theatre was cancelled. Police had raided the day before. The officers found drunk minors on the premises, so the venue was shut down for a month as penalty.

So, we went to the beach. We rode longboards around town and went swimming at Milford Beach. Apparently, it is legal to drink on the beach in Connecticut. There were lots of drunk locals. Later on in the evening, one intoxicated woman was going into diabetic shock. Her inebriated friend was insisting that she take more shots, because alcohol is metabolized as sugar. It would save her life, right? I offered them some of our jelly instead.

The guys in the band and I had been eyeing a distant Island all day. By evening, the tide had pulled a lot of the water out of the Long Island Sound. A mile-long sand bar nearly connected the island to land. We judged the tide and made the dash. Josh cut his foot badly on some crushed shells and went back to land with Kyle and Drew. Evan and I went on, finding the island to be the nesting grounds for hundreds upon hundreds of herons and egrets. It was bird city.

The next day, we drove to Massachusetts. A guy named Dylan was hosting a show for us in his garage. Before the festivities began, he gave us freshly made American Chop Suey, a common New England dish. Then, we went swimming and canoeing in the lake behind his house. We caught a turtle. Some of us jumped off an old mill mechanism into the lake. This is a pretty bad picture of the beautiful lake, but it’s here for a reason.

The building you see across the lake is part of an old polymer factory complex. Christian, the singer from a band called The Hotel Year, has a beautifully nostalgic song about the place. It’s called, “An Ode to the Nite Ratz Club.” His music is truly amazing. It was a pleasure to meet such a kind and talented musician. We spent a good while talking at the concert.

I have played better shows by accident. Most of the kids there were drunkdunkers; they were drinking and swimming. It didn’t seem like most of them were too keen on listening to the music, however they were supportive. People bought lots of CDs from me and from Markets and Dwellers, giving generously saying to use the excess money for gas. It wasn’t a great show, but we felt supported; heard some good music and made some friends.

Before heading up to Maine, we stopped to tank up on coffee at my favorite diner in the world, The Boulevard Diner, in Worcester. The small, wooden dining car has been open 24 hours a day since 1936. Words fail to describe this magical experience. So, let’s just go there instead, okay?

We got to Maine around 3Am. I was too caffeinated. I could hear loons calling in the distance. I couldn’t sleep, in a good way. Watching the early morning sunlight tickle the bark of the white birch trees is not something I get to witness often. I had no complaints.

The next night, Kyle’s dad, Gary, threw a showconcertparty for us. After I played acoustic, the band played. Gary and his brother, Pat, and a couple friends had been in a band twenty years ago. Impromptu, they played a set. They were amazing. They asked me to join on electric guitar; I twiddled around on the strings and had a good ‘ol time. Later on, three generations of Trasks took the stage. Kyle, Gary and Poppy sang “Hang Down Your Head, Tom Duely.” It was beautiful.

Everything about the night was perfect. Even the lighting. We rigged up a nice light bar on top of a step ladder so that the singing and dancing could go late into the night.

There were short nights of sleep and tall cups of coffee. Before making the drive back to beautiful Pennsylvania, we explored an abandoned cabin and took a dip in a lake.

The guy behind the counter at Duncan Donuts thought it was hilarious that I have a Hannah Montana wallet. What the devil is a twenty-something-year-old doing carrying a pink wallet? His amusement scored me a bagel and a huge coffee.

On the way south, we passed Kennebunkport, where my parents went on their honeymoon so many happy years ago. Having pieces of history scattered all up and down the East Coast makes me remember how fortunate I really am. I was content as the boys and I drove on all day.

After saying goodbye to the Delaware portion of Markets and Dwellers at a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike, Evan and I steered the Volvo over the Commodore Barry Bridge. After dropping him off at his home in the mushroom-growing capital of the world, I pulled in to my driveway around four in the morning.

The moment I turned the doorknob, I was ambushed by Charlie and Kwali, who apparently had been snuggle-deprived all week. Charlie purred and cuttled up to my half-empty box of CDs as Kwali sneezed with happiness. It was great to tour; it is great to be home.

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Burning the candle at both ends–and in the middle–has left me with lithe free time. But, don’t pity me. I decided to take a second spring break in order to play in the sandbox with Sen. That was a good choice. So was camping with the brothers. So was releasing The Paper Janes album, Shadowboxing.

Now, I am so busy learning how to write, that I don’t have time to write (as extensively as I would like) on this blog.

Ironic.

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If a video is not enough of a blog entry, you can entertain yourself with a new post from the always-amusing Grand Master Science himself, Ian Palkovitz. Click here…

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Hunger in the Desert: Access to Proper Nutrition in American Cities

The term hunger is often accompanied by a mental image of a small child with bones jutting out, painfully visible under the skin. However, there are many faces to hunger. American Hunger is often disguised under roles upon roles of fat. Many of the most dense urban areas in the United States are inhabited by vulnerable populations of low socioeconomic statuses. Even if these populations were fully educated and informed with up to date nutritional information, they would still have great difficulty accessing healthy foods and gaining proper nutrition.

This concept is known as the urban food desert (Walker, Fryer, Butler, Keane, Kriska, & Burke, 2011). Some of the most unfortunate people, economically speaking, have limited access to proper nutrition. This is a social problem: this exclusive new breed of hunger isclassist against the vulnerable populations living at low socioeconomic statuses in United States cities. Thos who feel the bite of this hunger most poignantly cannot speak out: the set of social conditions that exists today evolved slowly over time, and the origins of the trends are at the same time their perpetuators. There are not easily accessible supermarkets for people living in areas of low socioeconomic status because it would not make sense for business owners, financially speaking (2011). The people most affected cannot speak out. The nature of social problems is that those who are affected often do not possess the resources to petition for change (Blau & Abramovitz, 2004).

Many Americans cannot easily purchase foods that would properly nourish. The consequences of this unavailability are that many hold off their appetites by filling the void with what is accessible or affordable—unhealthy, processed foods. This trend has become more common in recent years. Many densely populated urban areas have sparse grocery store locations. This makes sense, taking into account the value of property and rent in urban centers. Also, due to the high cost of city life, those grocery stores that do in fact operate near urban centers charge higher prices for food (Walker et al., 2011). So, the millions of Americans that live at low economic status in American cities cannot afford to shop at the sparse grocery store locations that do offer foods with high nutritional values.

There are many neighborhoods in urban areas of the United States that do not have access to supermarkets. According to Walker et al. (2011), taxicabs will not enter certain areas of cities. In addition, the bus routes do not extend to many of the higher risk residential sectors. Sensibly, from a business and safety standpoint, these areas also lack grocery stores and restaurants that serve affordable, nutritious foods. Therefore, in addition to being a great distance from affordable nutrition, the residents of these areas are challenged with a lack of transportation (2011).

The fact that many low-income families living in poverty do not have access to proper nutrition simply adds insult to injury. In addition to not having the necessary financial resources to obtain food, many are too far from supermarkets. This leaves many low-income individuals hungry and improperly nourished. In this state of hunger combined with lack of monetary means, the small convenience stores and fast food joints of close proximity become the main providers of food by default. These sources of food do not provide proper nutrition.

Thus, the downward cycle continues. Poor nutrition leaves children unable to focus in school and adults agitated in the tasks of working and providing, which are already difficult enough in communities of low socioeconomic status. Additionally, cheap processed foods that are more readily available for consumption to residents of food deserts do not have the nutritional values or satiating qualities of finer foods. A thousand calories of potato chips and soda may be cheaper and more accessible than fresh juices, vegetables or protein sources, but they are empty calories (Whitney & Rolfes, 2002). Thus, individuals consume more calories than their bodies need, while not meeting all nutritional needs—all the while feeling hungry.

This sick cycle leads individuals to become overweight and unhealthy. The effects are far-reaching. In cases where populations are not able to access satiating and nutritious foods and therefore overeat foods high in empty calories, obesity occurs. Obesity is not a simple condition. There are numerous effects of being largely overweight. For instance, one study found that levels of leptin—a regulator associated with processing fat and normalizing intake of energy into the body—are significantly associated with depressed moods and sleep disturbances (Antonijevic, Murck, Frieboes, Horn, Brabant, & Steiger, 1998).

In a study of 7,108 noninstitutionalized randomly phone-selected adults from the 48 contiguous United States, metabolic syndrome was found to be linked to socioeconomic status (Miller, Lachman, Chen, Gruenewald, Karlamangla, & Seeman, 2011). About half of participants who had grown up in areas of low socioeconomic status had metabolic syndrome at midlife. The higher the socioeconomic status of the individual had been at childhood, the lower the risk of that individual having this cluster of risk factors for chronic diseases (2011). This condition, often brought about by obesity and related insulin complications is not only detrimental to individuals but to the society on a larger scale. If individuals are at risk for coronary artery disease, strokes and type-two diabetes—all of which are likely with the presence of metabolic syndrome—they are not only personally disadvantaged, but they influence their family and the society as well. In addition to not contributing at full potential to society, those who are sick also need medical attention. Often, people of lower socioeconomic statuses are treated at the expense of society at large. Living in poverty, individuals rarely have the financial means to foot excessive medical bills: if they are not assisted by some sort of government aid, then they may end up defaulting in the face of the exorbitant fees they have amassed. These cases have in common that they are financially burdensome for the society on a larger scale. In addition to the financial drudge caused by poor nutrition, the quality of life for those malnourished individuals decreases drastically.

The unavailability of foods in urban food deserts is a common form of hunger, rampant in the modern world. This unfair set of circumstances has been spreading as fast as cities have been built in the United States. The individuals most affected by the inequitable state of the distribution of supermarkets are the victims of the American free-market system of business. From a business standpoint, it does not make sense to build grocery stores in crowded urban hubs. So, businessmen fill their wallets with fat profits turned from building markets out of reach of underprivileged populations, while letting those people go hungry and fill their stomachs with the available, unhealthy foods.

Many issues that are not only personally damaging to individuals but that are also expensive on a national scale are spinoff effects of overeating on nutrient-sparse foods. The lack of access to healthy diets leaves many underprivileged individuals no choice but to overstuff themselves with the low-cost, high-calorie foods that are available in the few small corner stores and fast food joints that are within reach of the populations living in dense housing areas of American cities. This strange new brand of hunger is a major social problem facing the United States today.

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Q: Did you hear about the new corduroy pillows?

A: They’re making all the headlines. 

On wednesday, i turned in my thesis and then turned back into a person. I had not realized how consumed I have become by that work over the past year. In the next couple, I would sometimes crack up, out of the blue. Sitting alone, I would laugh. I took time to listen. Bike, instead of drive. Talk. Eat. Exist. It felt so good. One night, a huge dog interrupted a peaceful moonlight bicycle commute home from town. He snarled and ran after me in the road. I huffed, puffed, escaped and then had a good laugh.

There is a coffee shop in town that a few of us jokingly call “the office,” because we study there so much. Mike, the guy you see in the photo below, draws amazing pictures with paint markers. I had never had the time to look at them before. My friend Tony Lo took this photo.

One day, I went to Willytown–Wilmington that is. I used to spend a lot of time there, when time was freer. Now, I only go about once a week to play with kids in the park. It felt strange knocking on once-familiar doors and asking for old friends.

“Shane, you ain’t been here in a minute! Where you been at?” the mother a friend said sadly.

My friend was out somewhere, she didn’t know. We talked a little while. I asked why she seemed so sad. With tears in her eyes, she asked for help. It was serious. A few short minutes later, I was struggling to pull the naked body of a large man from the bathroom floor to the bedroom. He had collapsed, and could not move. This is relatively normal for him these days. Being willing to put your hands in somebody’s big, sweaty armpits says “I love you, I care” stronger than any words. Life is unfair. I am understanding more and more all the time that I am on the sunny side of this imbalance.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Jeremy from Gable Music Ventures came across the poster for The Paper Janes’ CD release concert in a kiosk on Market Street. It has long been a dream to play at the Grand. I remember staring up at the ceiling as a child, feeling so small.

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• One of my songs is featured on Graffiti Radio’s Songwriting Project. It is a strange feeling to hear yourself on the radio. I am thankful to the station for being so supportive of independent music. If you are interested, you can hear the track by clicking here.

• I am honored to announce that I am a finalist for the Taylor Award. I am humbled by all the kindness and support from many people that resulted in my nomination and consideration for this award.

But then again, saying what you are not going to say is just about the same thing as simply saying it. It is like a sinking censorship.

Okay, enough cheesy wordages for now. I’m off to the woods. The indigo buntings are back. So are some of the thrushes. I heard the geese leave a couple of weeks ago. But, I have barely been out there to appreciate all of this.

I’ll leave you with this absolutely beautiful video. I had nothing to do with its production. But I sure do appreciate it. The lyrical image of “tall buildings” is a strange contrast to the natural setting…

Hap: I have decided (more like been forced by my brother, ha) to update this here blog every tuesday.

Mishap: I waited until 10:30 this week.

Hap: Spring is here!

Mishap: Winter never came. It is like the world has had a fever and we were all enjoying it.

Hap: Keeping in touch with the West-coast Palkovitzenzes over Skype.

Mishap: Little miss had a ball-hop-mishap (mishop?) while video chatting.

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