Famed anthropologist Ortner tracks down representative classmates from her mostly Jewish Newark, NJ high school class of '58 in order to examine class culture and ethnicity in America today.
The pioneering anthropologist Sherry B. Ortner combines her trademark ethnographic expertise with critical film interpretation to explore the independent film scene in New York and Los Angeles since the late 1980s. Not Hollywood is both a study of the lived experience of that scene and a critical examination of America as seen through the lenses of independent filmmakers. Based on interviews with scores of directors and producers, Ortner reveals the culture and practices of indie filmmaking, including the conviction of those involved that their films, unlike Hollywood movies, are "telling the truth" about American life. These films often illuminate the dark side of American society through narratives about the family, the economy, and politics in today's neoliberal era. Offering insightful interpretations of many of these films, Ortner argues that during the past three decades independent American cinema has functioned as a vital form of cultural critique.
American Dreaming chronicles in rich detail the struggles of immigrants who have fled troubled homelands in search of a better life in the United States, only to be marginalized by the society that they hoped would embrace them. Sarah Mahler draws from her experiences living among undocumented Salvadoran and South American immigrants in a Long Island suburb of Manhattan. In moving interviews they describe their disillusionment with life in the United States but blame themselves individually or as a whole for their lack of economic success and not the greater society. As she explores the reasons behind this outlook, the author argues that marginalization fosters antagonism within ethnic groups while undermining the ethnic solidarity emphasized by many scholars of immigration. Mahler's investigation leads to conditions that often bar immigrants from success and that they cannot control, such as residential segregation, job exploitation, language and legal barriers, prejudice and outright hostility from their suburban neighbors. Some immigrants earn surplus income by using private cars as taxis, subletting space in apartments to lower rent burdens, and filling out legal forms and applications--in essence generating institutions largely parallel to those of the mainstream society whereby only a small group of entrepreneurs can profit. By exacting a price for what used to be acts of reciprocal good will in the homeland, these entrepreneurs leave people who had expected to be exploited by "Americans" feeling victimized by their own.
Whether you want to be an astronaut or athlete or artist or are currently trying to deal with the ups and downs of school and making your way, the road can be scary sometimes. Penelope lets you know that there is greatness in the idea of trying, trying, and trying again and that the best parts of ourselves are often found when we "mess up."
Pretty Mess meets #Girlboss in this part memoir, part entrepreneurial manifesto from The Real Housewives of New Jersey’s “Powerhouse in Pigtails.” Margaret Josephs is a hustler. She’s a tough cookie. She speaks her mind. She never leaves the house without lipstick on. She’s also a devoted wife, mother, daughter, businesswoman, lifestyle expert, and fan-favorite star of the reality TV series The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Sounds pretty glamorous, right? Well, things are never exactly as they seem. Before she arrived where she is today, “The Marge” was born to young immigrant parents. Raised by a single party-girl mother who left her physically abusive father when she was one and a half, she was taught that it was more important to look good than to feel good. No structure. No rules. No blueprint for future success or stability. But like most people who struggle through atypical childhoods, destructive relationships, and career challenges, she forced herself to wake up every morning and put one high heel in front of the other, even if she didn’t know where she was going. Margaret took the cards she was dealt and eventually turned them into a winning hand, and she wants to arm fans with the ability to do the same. In Caviar Dreams, Tuna Fish Budget, she’ll talk about how to launch a lifestyle brand, how to work with family members, and how to be an uncompromising woman in a man’s world. She also spills stories from her personal life about the son Real Housewives viewers don’t know exists, the time Joan Rivers gave her the best advice she ever got, the rendezvous she had with a famous rock star, and the affair with her contractor that ended her marriage but gave her the happily ever after. Caviar Dreams, Tuna Fish Budget takes fans along Margaret’s wild, bumpy journey to entrepreneurial success and reality TV fame, written in her trademark no-nonsense, tongue-in-cheek voice with the perfect combination of grit and glitz.
Introduction: Archival dreams and Caribbean life writing -- 'Autobiography in a graveyard' : doors of no return and revolutionary failures -- Speculative autobiography : ghosts and feminist fugitivity -- Repicturing the picturesque : genealogical desire, archives, and descendant community autobiography -- Ashes to ashes, dust to dust : Indo-Caribbean archival impossibility -- "Put my mom in there" : Memorialization as Caribbean counter-archive -- Coda: Untelling history.
Tijuana Dreaming is an unprecedented introduction to the arts, culture, politics, and economics of contemporary Tijuana, featuring selections by prominent scholars, journalists, bloggers, novelists, poets, curators, and photographers from Tijuana and greater Mexico.
The Sherpas were dead, two more victims of an attempt to scale Mt. Everest. Members of a French climbing expedition, sensitive perhaps about leaving the bodies where they could not be recovered, rolled them off a steep mountain face. One body, however, crashed to a stop near Sherpas on a separate expedition far below. They stared at the frozen corpse, stunned. They said nothing, but an American climber observing the scene interpreted their thoughts: Nobody would throw the body of a white climber off Mt. Everest. For more than a century, climbers from around the world have journ-eyed to test themselves on Everest's treacherous slopes, enlisting the expert aid of the Sherpas who live in the area. Drawing on years of field research in the Himalayas, renowned anthropologist Sherry Ortner presents a compelling account of the evolving relationship between the mountaineers and the Sherpas, a relationship of mutual dependence and cultural conflict played out in an environment of mortal risk. Ortner explores this relationship partly through gripping accounts of expeditions--often in the climbers' own words--ranging from nineteenth-century forays by the British through the historic ascent of Hillary and Tenzing to the disasters described in Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air. She reveals the climbers, or "sahibs," to use the Sherpas' phrase, as countercultural romantics, seeking to transcend the vulgarity and materialism of modernity through the rigor and beauty of mountaineering. She shows how climbers' behavior toward the Sherpas has ranged from kindness to cruelty, from cultural sensitivity to derision. Ortner traces the political and economic factors that led the Sherpas to join expeditions and examines the impact of climbing on their traditional culture, religion, and identity. She examines Sherpas' attitude toward death, the implications of the shared masculinity of Sherpas and sahibs, and the relationship between Sherpas and the increasing number of women climbers. Ortner also tackles debates about whether the Sherpas have been "spoiled" by mountaineering and whether climbing itself has been spoiled by commercialism.
During the first half of the twentieth century, Atlantic City was the nation's most popular middle-class resort--the home of the famed Boardwalk, the Miss America Pageant, and the board game Monopoly. By the late 1960s, it had become a symbol of urban decay and blight, compared by journalists to bombed-out Dresden and war-torn Beirut. Several decades and a dozen casinos later, Atlantic City is again one of America's most popular tourist spots, with thirty-five million visitors a year. Yet most stay for a mere six hours, and the highway has replaced the Boardwalk as the city's most important thoroughfare. Today the city doesn't have a single movie theater and its one supermarket is a virtual fortress protected by metal detectors and security guards. In this wide-ranging book, Bryant Simon does far more than tell a nostalgic tale of Atlantic City's rise, near death, and reincarnation. He turns the depiction of middle-class vacationers into a revealing discussion of the boundaries of public space in urban America. In the past, he argues, the public was never really about democracy, but about exclusion. During Atlantic City's heyday, African Americans were kept off the Boardwalk and away from the beaches. The overly boisterous or improperly dressed were kept out of theaters and hotel lobbies by uniformed ushers and police. The creation of Atlantic City as the "Nation's Playground" was dependent on keeping undesirables out of view unless they were pushing tourists down the Boardwalk on rickshaw-like rolling chairs or shimmying in smoky nightclubs. Desegregation overturned this racial balance in the mid-1960s, making the city's public spaces more open and democratic, too open and democratic for many middle-class Americans, who fled to suburbs and suburban-style resorts like Disneyworld. With the opening of the first casino in 1978, the urban balance once again shifted, creating twelve separate, heavily guarded, glittering casinos worlds walled off from the dilapidated houses, boarded-up businesses, and lots razed for redevelopment that never came. Tourists are deliberately kept away from the city's grim reality and its predominantly poor African American residents. Despite ten of thousands of buses and cars rolling into every day, gambling has not saved Atlantic City or returned it to its glory days. Simon's moving narrative of Atlantic City's past points to the troubling fate of urban America and the nation's cultural trajectory in the twentieth century, with broad implications for those interested in urban studies, sociology, planning, architecture, and history.