Jillian C. York

Jillian C. York is a writer and activist.

Page 168 of 178

My Mac

My Mac, whom I’m not sure if I should name (would/have you? I name my cars), came into my life on Mother’s Day (hmm) when my parents and I met for lunch at the famous Kowloon in Saugus, on Route 1 somewhere in between their house and mine. Since that Sunday, I haven’t missed a day with it (not that I usually miss a day, what with my addiction and all). I love it. I love that someone can grab hold of my screen through theirs, from Trinidad, and take over my computer. I love that I can hear frogs chirping in the background. I love using the little remote control, and how everything is built in, and how the computer handles itself (rather than making me constantly run SpyBot and Ad-Aware and think about which anti-virus protection is the best, and having to download it and install it and pay for it) and how I’ve turned into such a nerd and I love that I can do shit like this:

Also, I love Global Voices – what a nice gesture to do that on my birthday!

Morocco’s very own Guantanamo

Although I tend to question the validity of articles such as the one I discovered today in the Thaindian News, I’m a little pleased to see this human rights question raised – all too often, Morocco is praised for its attitude toward terrorism, but in this case, its staggering similarity to the United States is alarming.

While I also question the validity of this Associated Press article, again I am a bit pleased to see the Polisario mentioned in this way. I often read articles which assert the Saharawi people’s right to autonomy, which I understand (whether or not I agree with it), but articles in which the Polisario is praised as fighting for the “freedom of the Saharawi people” sicken me.

A choice quote:

The Polisario seeks to portray Morocco’s control as a brutal occupation, and Morocco wants to discredit the Polisario as a washed up repressive revolutionary front that holds captive a refugee population in order to pursue its goals.

Birthday Blogging

I am one year older today. Twenty-six, to be precise. That’s another year closer to thirty, another year further away from whimsy and closer to wrinkles, I suppose (yeah, right, like I’ll ever stop being whimsical).

Given the wealth of stuff I did for my birthday weekend, I’m going to keep this short, sweet, and in list format. I present you with my birthday weekend:

    1. On Friday, my co-workers surprised me with a beautiful cake (which was photographed, but only on Priscilla’s iPhone – yes, Priscilla, I’m blogging about you!)
    2. On Friday night, I attended the Berkman@10 gala (would’ve taken pictures, but my battery was dead), which was both informative and entertaining and mostly made me wish I’d been able to attend the rest of the conference.
    3. On Saturday, I treated myself to a mani/pedi – and at $30, it was hardly treating myself!
    4. On Satuday evening, I had a party with Priscilla (there’s your name again, lovely) – Renata took the photos, and she’s still en route to Guatemala, so we’ll wait with bated breath for those.
    5. Then today, I hung out like a tourist around Fanueil Hall with Hamza and the fam. Some evidence:

      By the way, that second one was at Dick’s Last Resort – they made me wear the hat.  It had balloons at the top.

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