Österreichische HochschülerInnenschaft - ÖH Bundesvertretung: Machtwechsel in Kanada

For the first time since graduating, I wrote something that could be referred to as "philosophy". The series of observations about collective organizing in the broadest sense appeared in "What Makes Together," a zine edited by CASA kids Anna Feigenbaum and Adam Bobbette. The web layout mimicks the excellent choices made by Adam, who did the layout and fabrication of the beautiful print edition (which is to say, there is no web edition that I know of). Sylvia Nickerson, of course, did the illustrations.

I don't have much to say about the text, except that it started as a series of observations jotted down while reading a bunch of different things. The idea is to state the obvious, but in a way that isn't immediately recognizable as obvious, and which arises from observations and experience.

A friend, the multitalented Erin Brubacher, now has a web site. Her photography, dramatic productions, and cross-media work can be found there.

Mrs. Brubacher and I collaborated on the design (I on CSS and HTML, her on colour choice, spacing and font styles), which is strongly reminiscent of John Powers' site (for whom I have been doing some fun work in the forthcoming essays section -- a preview).

I've been doing a lot of trades for design work and hosting lately, which is a lot of fun. So far, I've got two photographs that I'm rather fond of. Next up: trades for food and fundraising expertise. And I've got my eye on more art.

The Fair Trade Media site isn't fully updated yet, but we're open for business in the barter economy. So if you need web design/hosting or print design and want to propose a trade, send us a note.

While working on the above poster for the Anarchist [Bookfair] Cabaret, I came across this bit of feminist errata. As it turns out, Emma Goldman never actually said the words most famously attributed to her: "If I can't dance, I don't want to be in your revolution". The link tells the story of how the version entered circulation.

I searched Emma's texts for the statement; it was nowhere to be found. But Jack was so pleased, the festival was so soon, Emma looked so lively printed in red and black on a variety of rich background colors, that I hadn't the heart to register an objection in the name of scholarship. After all, the apocrypha appeared on a mere gross or two of T-shirts, which surely could not require the same standards of accuracy as, say, book blurbs extracted from book reviews--and the sentiment expressed was pure Emma indeed.

But history (and fashion) exploded so quickly in those hungrily feminist days that the slogan on the original shirt-run was soon dispersed and copied and broadcast nationwide and abroad, underground and above, sometimes, absent a text to be checked against, changing along the way like a child's game of Telephone, until Jack's initial lighthearted liberties had taken wing as quotable lore and soared up into the realms of myth.

When all my shirts from the original batch had been given away to friends and my own worn to a rag, I decided to buy another. Only the new shirt, purchased in an uptown bookstore, sported a different picture of Emma--this time in a floppy hat--and a different version of the by now legendary legend, different still from the one I sometimes flaunt on a button. But, hey, if you can't wear what you like, who wants to be in your revolution?