American Paragon

Election Results: Good News, Bad News, and... it's Complicated

2008-11-05T12:26:00.000-08:00

This election was truly historic, and everyone has their own spin on the issues. Well, here's mine:

Presidential Race: Barack Obama's slam dunk victory! OMG, indeed. Obama's election represents a victory over racism and xenophobia, the extreme conservatism and failed policies of the last 8 years, and a vindication of the power of the people to rise up and demand change. Walking around Minneapolis last night, I've never felt anything so powerful. The hope and excitement in the air was tangible. People who woke up during this election season, people who got involved, who voted for the first time or volunteered for a political campaign for the first time, this victory will embolden them to continue to be involved and demand their enfranchisement in the future. As long as we continue to see voter turnout rates at 80% and this level of involvement among young people, I doubt we'll ever see an administration like the W. Bush regime ever again.

But. There's a but. I have serious doubts that this victory would have been possible without the current severe economic recession. Certainly, the Bush administration's policies have, to some extent, precipitated this crisis, but there is realistically only so much a president's policies can do to affect the economy. Had, by some strange twist of fate, the economy been stable these past few months, I don't think we would have seen an Obama victory. That said, there continues to be a powerful contingency in this country who will stop at nothing to oppose the kind of progressive politics that Obama stands for. We will have to remain vigilant if and when the economy rebounds to ensure that our gains are not lost as Americans return to their apathetic and consumption-driven ways. An Obama presidency is an opportunity to make change, it is not in and of itself the change that we have sought.

Strong Schools Strong City Referendum: Oh, yes! Minneapolitans once again proved that they are prepared to make sacrifices and do whatever is necessary to ensure that all our children have the best education to prepare them to be excellent neighbors and citizens, and that even in difficult times we are willing to pay whatever price to ensure our future. We also showed that we cannot be intimidated by outsiders who will use dirty, illegal tactics to try to destroy our public school system. Minneapolis residents have shown that they are proud of their schools, proud of their communities, and proud of their commitment to the future, and they are ready to stand together to defend what they value. Huzzah!

On the other hand, now I'm unemployed! (Or, as Zoe likes to say, "funemployed.") No worries, friends, I'm lining up jobs and should be gainfully employed soon!

Senate Race: Ugh. This race has been brutal, and it's far from over. It saddens me, and sort of befuddles me, too, to see Minnesotans join together to elect Obama, and then launch into the nastiest, dirtiest, most cutthroat competition over this senate seat that Coleman should never have held in the first place. (I still contend that, had Wellstone not been killed in 2002, Coleman would never have seen the inside of the U.S. Senate.) But, I'm not blaming Coleman -- I blame everyone. Franken has run a terrible campaign which has only heightened the negativity and frustrated Minnesotans who universally prefer never to speak a harsh utterance against anyone. Barkley's campaign wasn't any better, but was likely a protest vote candidate for folks who were sick of the back and forth between Franken and Coleman. This was the worst instance of nose-holding whilst voting I've ever witnessed in my (albeit short) time as an eligible voter. My one hope is that this experience will convince more Minnesotans that Instant Runoff Voting is a necessary reform.

At this point, my principal lingering frustration is that people -- the politicians, their campaigns, and even the pundits -- seem not to realize that it doesn't really matter who got the most votes. When the election is this close, nobody is getting a mandate, and whoever actually takes that senate seat is going to have a hard road ahead to convince the majority of Minnesotans that they legitimately represent them. I believe it is necessary to go through with the recount because I think there cannot be any doubt in anyone's mind that one of the candidates did not actually receive a majority of the votes legitimately cast, and I think it's utterly disgusting that Coleman has suggested that this recount is not only unnecessary but is a waste of the state's resources. He's probably correct in assuming that a recount will not change the outcome, but the legitimacy and transparency of this and every election is a cornerstone of the democratic process. Coleman's assertion is symptomatic of his entire world view and persona. For Coleman, the only rules that apply to him are the ones he chooses to follow. Still, Franken will need to give a concession speech not unlike the one given by McCain -- he will need to convince Minnesotans that Coleman is and will be their senator, and we will all have to work harder to ensure that Coleman does, in fact, do his duty to represent Minnesotans in the senate (and not just continue to do what is politically convenient). Coleman also needs to acknowledge that this has not been a victory for him, and he will have to work hard to get back into our good graces or be prepared to find a new job in 6 years (or less if we catch him or his wife with their hands in the cookie jar).

Constitutional Amendment: Surprise! When I went to bed last night I assumed that the amendment had failed, so when I woke up and heard the news I thought maybe I was still a little hammered from the night before. The good news is that Minnesotans have demonstrated their commitment to invest in the arts and our natural resources, and I think this victory represents both a tangible financial investment in our future as well as a signal to lawmakers that Minnesotans really do support policies that support good stewardship of the environment.

But. Yes, another but. Some people feel this was a misuse of the constitution. I'm not so sure I agree, but I do think that the use of the sales tax was wrong. The sales tax will now go up from 6.5% to 6.8ish%. Because a sales tax is not graduated based on income it disproportionately negatively impacts low and middle income folks. From an environmental justice perspective, this is actually a step backward. Environmental problems tend to affect low and middle income people to a greater degree for a variety of reasons -- if you're rich, you can move to a neighborhood with cleaner water, less pollution, or purchase water filtration systems or organic foods, etc. Now, with this constitutional amendment, poor and middle income people will be forced to bear a larger proportion of the costs of cleaning up the environment. Why did it have to be a tax applied to consumer products? Why not a business tax? Or, estate tax? Property tax? Any number of other funding mechanism could have been applied. This, to me, seems like a huge mistake.

Proposition 8: Oh dear. True, this is California, but it is said that how California goes, the rest of the nation follows, so I think it's worth a mention. The passage of Proposition 8 (in case you haven't heard) changes the definition of marriage in CA to be a union between "one man and one woman," and hence has made gay marriage illegal and possibly will delegitimize recent marriages of same-sex couples (something the courts will have to determine). While Obama's election was a blow against racism, Americans clearly still struggle with bigotry. I continue to hold out hope for a day when we can look back on our treatment of homosexuals as barbaric and ignorant, but that day is not this day.

All in all, I'm so full of hope and joy that I can hardly contain myself! I don't know how to be, I don't know what it's like to live under a political regime that I actually whole-heartedly support! Let's congratulate ourselves for a job well done, and get ready to work even harder to make the changes that this presidency will make possible. This is a revolution, and I think all revolutions need certain semantic changes, changes in the discourse among the citizenry. Like, I noticed Wonkette was calling Obama-philes "Hopeys." I sort of like that. I also think we could incorporate "yes" and "yes we can" into a lot more of our regular discourse. I think it would make a nice greeting to say "yes we can!" Or, imagine ordering at a coffee shop: "Yes we can! have a grande latte!" (Maybe the first person plural is a bit much, not sure.) Anyway, think about it.

Secession!

2008-10-30T07:29:00.000-07:00

[A good friend emailed this to me]

Dear Red States:
If you manage to steal this election, too, we've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us. In case you aren't aware, that includes California, Hawaii, Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches.
We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood.
We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom.
We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss.
We get 85% of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama.
We get two-thirds of the tax revenue, you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22% lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. You get a bunch of single moms.

Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals. They have kids they're apparently willing to send to their deaths for no purpose, and they don't care if you don't show pictures of their children's caskets coming home. We do wish you success in Iraq, and hope that the WMDs turn up, but we're not willing to spend our resources in Bush's Quagmire.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80% of the country's fresh water, more than 90% of the pineapple and lettuce, 92% of the nation's fresh fruit, 95% of America's quality wines, 90% of all cheese, 90% of the high tech industry, 95% of the corn and soybeans (thanks Iowa!), most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools plus Stanford, Cal Tech, UCLA, Berkeley and MIT.

With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88% of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92% of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100% of the tornadoes, 90% of the hurricanes, 99% of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100% of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia.

We get Hollywood and Yosemite, thank you.

Additionally, 38% of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62% believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the war, the death penalty or gun laws, 44% say that evolution is only a theory, 53% that Saddam was involved in
9/11 and 61% of you crazy bastards believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.

Finally, we're taking the good pot, too. You can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico.

Peace out,

--Blue States

Obama reads Michael Pollan!

2008-10-30T07:24:00.001-07:00

This quote was excerpted from a recent interview with Joe Klein:

I was just reading an article in the New York Times by Michael Pollen about food and the fact that our entire agricultural system is built on cheap oil. As a consequence, our agriculture sector actually is contributing more greenhouse gases than our transportation sector. And in the mean time, it's creating monocultures that are vulnerable to national security threats, are now vulnerable to sky-high food prices or crashes in food prices, huge swings in commodity prices, and are partly responsible for the explosion in our healthcare costs because they're contributing to type 2 diabetes, stroke and heart disease, obesity, all the things that are driving our huge explosion in healthcare costs. That's just one sector of the economy. You think about the same thing is true on transportation. The same thing is true on how we construct our buildings. The same is true across the board.

You can read the rest of the interview here.

American Stories, American Solutions

2008-10-29T20:24:00.001-07:00

Fireroast Mountain Cafe in Minneapolis

2008-10-25T14:57:00.000-07:00

http://www.fireroastmountaincafe.com/

I stumbled upon this little cafe in south Minneapolis today as I was delivering "Vote YES for Kids!" lawn signs in that neighborhood. It was very opportune, as I was extremely hungry and ready for a cozy place to sit and have a hearty lunch. This cafe is not only adorable, but also they've got great food, much of it organic, and books and other amusements. I snagged a paperback John Grisham novel to gear me up for a little work on my law school applications -- nothing like a little inspiration! I highly recommend you check this place out if you're in the area.

Strong Schools Referendum on KARE11

2008-10-25T07:34:00.000-07:00

This is a great spot on the referendum -- Courtney does a fantastic job getting the message out, and the classroom scenes are adorable! VOTE YES! And, hey, why not VOTE TODAY at your city hall!

A Tribute to Paul Wellstone

2008-10-24T07:37:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is the 6th anniversary of Paul Wellstone's death. This day always brings a certain sadness and a sense of great loss to my mind, but his memory and everything he stood for gives me hope. I see that reflected in Barack Obama -- our future president! Let's win this for Paul!

Michelle Bachman incites Powell's endorsement of Obama

2008-10-19T10:33:00.000-07:00

Ok, it wasn't ALL her -- but note the reference to a crazy republican in Minnesota -- that's GOT to be Bachman he's talking about!

Letter from Eve Ensler

2008-09-12T06:35:00.000-07:00

Eve Ensler, the American playwright, performer, feminist and activist best known for 'The Vagina Monologues', wrote the following about Sarah Palin:

Drill, Drill, Drill

I am having Sarah Palin nightmares. I dreamt last night that she was a member of a club where they rode snowmobiles and wore the claws of drowned and starved polar bears around their necks. I have a particular thing for Polar Bears. Maybe it's their snowy whiteness or their bigness or the fact that they live in the arctic or that I have never seen one in person or touched one. Maybe it is the fact that they live so comfortably on ice. Whatever it is, I need the polar bears.

I don't like raging at women. I am a Feminist and have spent my life trying to build community, help empower women and stop violence against them. It is hard to write about Sarah Palin. This is why the Sarah Palin choice was all the more insidious and cynical. The people who made this choice count on the goodness and solidarity of Feminists.

But everything Sarah Palin believes in and practices is antithetical to Feminism which for me is part of one story -- connected to saving the earth, ending racism, empowering women, giving young girls options, opening our minds, deepening tolerance, and ending violence and war.

I believe that the McCain/Palin ticket is one of the most dangerous choices of my lifetime, and should this country chose those candidates the fall-out may be so great, the destruction so vast in so many areas that America may never recover. But what is equally disturbing is the impact that duo would have on the rest of the world. Unfortunately, this is not a joke. In my lifetime I have seen the clownish, the inept, the bizarre be elected to the presidency with regularity.

Sarah Palin does not believe in evolution. I take this as a metaphor. In her world and the world of Fundamentalists nothing changes or gets better or evolves. She does not believe in global warming. The melting of the arctic, the storms that are destroying our cities, the pollution and rise of cancers, are all part of God's plan. She is fighting to take the polar bears off the endangered species list. The earth, in Palin's view, is here to be taken and plundered. The wolves and the bears are here to be shot and plundered. The oil is here to be taken and plundered. Iraq is here to be taken and plundered. As she said herself of the Iraqi war, 'It was a task from God.'

Sarah Palin does not believe in abortion. She does not believe women who are raped and incested and ripped open against their will
should have a right to determine whether they have their rapist's baby or not.

She obviously does not believe in sex education or birth control. I imagine her daughter was practicing abstinence and we know how many babies that makes.

Sarah Palin does not much believe in thinking.

From what I gather she has tried to ban books from the library, has a tendency to dispense with people who think independently. She cannot tolerate an environment of ambiguity and difference. This is a woman who could and might very well be the next president of the United States. She would govern one of the most diverse populations on the earth.

Sarah believes in guns. She has her own custom Austrian hunting rifle. She has been known to kill 40 caribou at a clip. She has shot hundreds of wolves from the air.

Sarah believes in God. That is of course her right, her private right. But when God and Guns come together in the public sector, when
war is declared in God's name, when the rights of women are denied in his name, that is the end of separation of church and state and the undoing of everything America has ever tried to be.

I write to my sisters. I write because I believe we hold this election in our hands. This vote is a vote that will determine the future not just of the U.S., but of the planet. It will determine whether we create policies to save the earth or make it forever uninhabitable for humans. It will determine whether we move towards dialogue and diplomacy in the world or whether we escalate violence through invasion, undermining and attack. It will determine whether we go for oil, strip mining, coal burning or invest our money in alternatives that will free us from dependency and destruction. It will determine if money gets spent on education and healthcare or whether we build more and more methods of killing. It will determine whether America is a free open tolerant society or a closed place of fear, fundamentalism and aggression.

If the Polar Bears don't move you to go and do everything in your power to get Obama elected then consider the chant that filled the hall after Palin spoke at the RNC, 'Drill Drill Drill.' I think of teeth when I think of drills. I think of rape. I think of destruction. I think of domination. I think of military exercises that force mindless repetition, emptying the brain of analysis, doubt, ambiguity or dissent. I think of pain.

Do we want a future of drilling? More holes in the ozone, in the floor of the sea, more holes in our thinking, in the trust between nations and peoples, more holes in the fabric of this precious thing we call life?

Eve Ensler
September 5,
2008

Wendell Berry article from Harpers

2008-08-05T13:06:00.000-07:00

http://harpers.org/archive/2008/05/0082022

At last, the full text of the article is now available for free online! "Faustian Economics" is a marvelous essay -- classic material from W.B. As always, it's about far more than it's title encompasses.

This man will save the world!

2008-08-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

Did I mention he also invented the Segway? (Ok, not a "world saving" device by comparison, but instigator of hilarious comedy [see also, "Arrested Development"].)

It's funny because it's true...

2008-07-25T12:07:00.000-07:00

Obama Leads in... Soda?

2008-07-07T07:07:00.000-07:00

At www.campaigncola.com you can vote with your wallet, and land some tasty, "micro-brewed" soda pop (or just plain "coke" if you're from the south). Best part, it's made with pure cane sugar, none of that factory farm byproduct high fructose corn syrup. Oh, and Obama is wayyyy ahead. Psst... my birthday's coming up, ya'll!

Indecision 2008: The Update

2008-07-05T16:13:00.000-07:00

As you may recall, I had been trying to make a big decision about my future recently. I was debating about taking a another volunteer position, this time with the Lutheran or Jesuit Volunteer Corps. As some of you already know, I have decided not to take either position, and I may not be going to San Francisco after all. What I have decided is that I'm going to take a much needed break after the completion of my VISTA year on August 10 (36 days to go... but who's counting?). I'm going to spend at least a month working on my law school applications and figuring out what I'm going to do for the remaining time I have before I start law school next fall. So, that means I'll be in the Twin Cities between at least the month of August and the end of September. From there, who knows? Maybe San Francisco, maybe Minneapolis, maybe some other totally random location. As long as I can get a job and an affordable place to live and be around friends (or people who would fast become my friends), anyplace sounds good to me.

Also, I got my LSAT scores back... I won't say what I got, but I will say that it's ok. Not great, but ok. I'm thinking about shelling out (or, rather, letting my mom shell out) several hundred dollars for a prep course this fall so that I can retake the LSAT in October and raise my score. I guess if I do that, I'll definitely be staying in the Twin Cities through October, so I don't know. It also seems kind of silly to me to spend that kind of money on preparing for an exam that I've already taken and done well enough on. I mean, the point of trying to get a better score would be to try to get into a more "elite" school, which is really about making more money when I get out of law school, which is fine but sort of conflicts with my ideas about "living simply" and my sense of class consciousness. The point of going to law school is not about walking away with some elite credentials to blow away prospective employers; the point is to learn the law so I can serve the under-served. Not to mention the inherit disparity in a system that rewards people who can afford to attend expensive preparatory classes to improve their scores on high stakes exams. Is this a system I want to perpetuate? On the other hand, maybe this is an opportunity to fight the system from within. I take the course, I score better, I get into a "better" school, and my enhanced credentials improve my credibility as I argue for social justice. That would be money well spent. After all, I just let my mom shell out $1500 to fix my car, which only serves me and my work site, and leaves me with a gargantuan environmental footprint (not to mention my gas expenses). And, there's one other minor detail: do I even want to take this course? It's going to be hard. Each classroom session is four hours long, adding up to 80 classroom hours in only a handful of weeks. Sheesh. Well, maybe it's good to prime the pump a little before law school -- see if I can still hack the academic rigor...

Stay tuned as Indecision 2008 continues...

Amy Sedaris + Bunnies = Love!

2008-06-22T10:49:00.000-07:00

See Amy Sedaris and Office 2007 in Rabbit Rescue

This is actually a commercial for Microsoft Office, but it is adorable nonetheless. Kudos to Microsoft for making a truly great product -- this video!

Indecision 2008: What's Next for Ms. Kay-Z???

2008-05-18T10:25:00.000-07:00

As some of you know, my current job is set to expire officially in mid-August, at which point I will have to find gainful employment (or gainful free-loading) elsewhere. What's the plan? Well, I don't rightly know, but I'm investigating a few options:

Plan A: Service Corps job with the Lutheran Volunteer Service or the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. Basically, this would be very similar to what I've been doing, only I'd be doing it while living in a intentional community based on Lutheran or Jesuit spirituality (depending on which program I get accepted into). What's the upshot? I can live and eat in San Francisco for FREE! And, if I get my first choice job placement I could be working in legal aid, which might even help me get into law school next fall. Plus, it fits perfectly into the academic year, freeing me up to start law school in '09.

Plan B: Farm internship in California. A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the porch at WEI, drinking a beer and watching the clouds in the east turn from white to pink to grey as the sun set behind me and the songbirds sang their final notes and the bats began their noiseless insect hunt in the hastening twilight of evening, and I thought to myself, "damn, I love this." What more could I possibly want? So, I'm looking into doing another farm internship, this time in California, as close to San Francisco as possible. I might not be able to start work until next spring, but I could take a few months off to be a freeloader at home, which would give me a chance to study for the LSATs, work on law school applications and scholarship applications, and just generally reflect on my life. There's nothing sexy about living at home, or spending another winter in Minnesota, but still I'm liking this plan more and more -- I'm tempted to call this Plan A.

Plan C: Get a regular job in San Francisco. (See a theme? Yeah, I really want to go to San Francisco. Maybe I'll change my mind after I visit SF next week... but, I doubt it.) I'm considering a job as a campus organizer or administrator with U.S. Public Interest Research Group (PIRG). It's 40 hours a week, decent pay, an option to buy into their health insurance plan, and it's only for the academic year. I'm not sure I'm crazy about another community organizer job, but I'd be working on college campuses with people who are mostly my peers (read: potential friends -- omg, I could have friend again! and, a social life! wow.) And, I have lots of experience, and I'd probably be good at it. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I sort of like this. I'm anxious about not having the chance to play in the dirt for a whole year, but maybe I could volunteer somewhere, or I'm sure they have community gardens in SF, right??? If I can't get the PIRG job, there are lots of other food service or administrative assistant type jobs, the type that wouldn't make me ecstatically happy, but that wouldn't suck up all my energy for living, either.

Other ideas...
- I applied for a VISTA Leader job in St. Paul, and they offered me the position, and I haven't officially turned them down yet, but I think I'm probably going to. When I applied, I was thinking it would be sort of a "backup" option. First obvious flaw -- not in SF. Second, it only pays $1100 a month, and I'd basically be doing what I'm already doing (and I'm not real fond of that anymore). It was a confidence-booster, though, to get the job offer, but now I feel lousy for having to say "no thanks."
- Living at home at temping. The living-at-home part is loathsome, and doing temp jobs would probably be loathsome, too, but there's nothing like the offer of free room and board, and let's face it, I really like the T. C. I could do a lot of volunteering with my favorite orgs, like LSP, IATP, WEI, RTC, and that would more than make up for having a crappy part time job, and it might even make up for indignity of moving back with my mom... maybe. (Nothing personal, Mom. I love you. But, I'm turning 25 in August, and that's just embarrassing.) I also had this harebrained idea that I could spend more time on my fiber arts hobby, spin more, design some patterns, set up an Etsy.com store... A lady can dream, right? Well, probably this is what I would be doing during the winter if I go with Plan B, anyway.

So, there you go. There are pros and cons to all my plans, and I have to admit that I'm not really in control of what happens next. A lot of things will have to fall in place if any of my plans are to work out. C'est la vie.

Agriculture Bridge

2008-04-04T12:51:00.000-07:00

Online Videos by Veoh.com

Wish this could have been around when I was a student! This short video talks about a new program linking agricultural researchers in the field with students to disseminate information about sustainable agriculture and encourage collaboration. Cool!

Spotlight on Lighthouse Farm

2008-03-31T09:23:00.000-07:00

I received a lovely email from Lighthouse Farm in Princeton, MN updating me on spring happenings on the Mesko family's farm. They recently purchased two milk cows which they intend to milk by hand (I presume primarily for the family's consumption). One of the cows, Valery, has a damaged utter from when she slipped and fell at the commercial dairy from which she was sold. She could no longer be milked on commercial milking machinery, so they were going to send poor Valery to slaughter! Instead, the Mesko's are nursing her back to health, taking her off her diet of corn and putting her on a more natural diet of 100% grass, and they are still getting plenty of milk by milking her by hand. This is something that could only happen on a small family farm, and it is just a wonderful example of the kind of compassion that small family farms engender. (The photo above shows Valery -- on the left -- being milked.)

Please check out their website: www.lighthousefarm.com

Recession Impacts Americans, While Oil Companies Make Off Like Bandits!

2008-03-31T07:01:00.001-07:00

Since 2001, the top five oil companies have increased their annual profits by an average of 500%!!!

Here are some good tips from the OCA on how to increase your vehicle's fuel efficiency:

1. Don't be a jerky driver: Jumpy starts and fast getaways can burn over 50 percent more gasoline than normal acceleration. Use cruise control once accelerated. (And, let's be honest, slamming on the gas doesn't really get you there any faster!)
2. Drive slower: According to the U.S. Department of Energy, most automobiles get about 20 percent more miles per gallon on the highway at 55 miles per hour than they do at 70 miles per hour.
3. A well maintained car (oil change, fuel filters, tire pressure, alignment) gets an average of 10 percent better fuel efficiency.
4. Turn off your engine if you stop for more than one minute. (This does not apply if you are in traffic.) Restarting the automobile will use less gasoline than idling for more than one minute. (That's one I never knew -- I always thought it would be better to let the car idle...)
5. Decrease the number of short trips you make. Short trips drastically reduce gas mileage. If an automobile gets 20 miles per gallon in general, it may get only 4 miles per gallon on a short trip of 5 miles or less.

OCA Guide to Bodycare Products

2008-03-31T06:50:00.000-07:00

When it comes to organics, what you put ON your body is just as important as what you put IN your body. (Remember, your body's largest organ is your skin!) Unfortunately, deciphering labels on body care products is much more difficult than reading food labels, and with all the strange chemical names it's difficult to keep straight what's safe and what's not. The Environmental Working Group has an excellent website that lists hundreds of brand-name products and rates them for safety, but when you're out shopping you can't exactly access that information. So, I was pleased to discover that the Organic Consumers' Association (OCA) has a one-page fact sheet to help customers figure out what to steer clear from. Next time I go shopping, I'll be sure to print this out and bring it with me. It's not just about your health, it's also about the environmental impact of chemical intensive farming to produce the "herbal extracts" that go into supposedly natural body care products.

Environmental Working Group website: www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/

OCA's fact sheet on body care: http://www.organicconsumers.org/bodycare/CCad05.pdf

US Government Subsidizing GMO Corn in Minnesota

2008-03-31T06:32:00.000-07:00

The federal government has struck a deal with the Monsanto Corporation, and for the first time in history, the U.S. Department of Agriculture is endorsing a specific company's seeds. In fact, U.S. farmers in four states, including Minnesota, will be given taxpayer subsidized price breaks on insurance premiums if they buy Monsanto's genetically engineered corn this year as opposed to other biotech, conventional, or organic seeds. According to Monsanto's New Business Development Manager, Tim Hennessy, the federal government's new openness to promoting and advertising Monsanto "opens the door for a lot of future opportunity". Learn more and take action: http://www.organicconsumers.org/articles/article_11198.cfm

Racism and Politics -- an interesting new perspective...

2008-03-14T07:28:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading this article in the New York Times Magazine:

"What's the Real Racial Divide?" by Matt Bai

Here's an interesting quote from the article:

"As Erica Goode wrote in these pages last year, Robert Putnam and other sociologists have, in fact, found that people living in more diverse areas evince less trust for others — no matter what their race."

What do you think?

My two cents: Since I've been living in rural areas for a while, I've begun to notice that for most folks out here, racial diversity is pure abstraction. I can sort of see how (were they inclined to vote Democratic, which most around these parts are not) they would vote for Obama irrespective of his race since race has little relevance to them. I wouldn't say this makes them less racist, or xenophobic. It's not uncommon to hear a rural person make a statement like "Africans are so violent" or "it's those Asians that are the problem at the farmers markets," but for them these seem like obvious statements that come more from lack of experience than animosity.

And, having lived in a very racially diverse city in France, I can also see the perspective of urbanites inclined toward racist thoughts and behaviors. Perhaps it's just human nature to scapegoat the racial or ethnic "Other" when resources are limited or scarce.

I'd love to get your comments on this interesting article!

Local Foods Website

2008-03-10T15:30:00.000-07:00

I just discovered a new source of information about finding locally produced foods in Minnesota! It's call the Local Foods Partnership and it appears to be a project of the Regional Sustainable Development Partnerships which is part of the U of MN. You can find all different kinds of products and it also links to the Buy Fresh Buy Local chapters. And, it's searchable!

Go to http://www.localfoods.umn.edu

Oprah Hosts Eckhart Tolle in Online Webcast

2008-03-10T14:51:00.000-07:00

I recently read Eckhart Tolle's (pronounced TOLL-eh) popular book The Power of Now which has sparked a process of re-awakening to my spiritual journey. So, I was excited, and a bit surprised when I discovered that Oprah selected Tolle's newest book A New Earth for her book club. Not only that, she is also hosting Tolle on her website for a series of interactive webcasts to be held every Monday evening for 10 weeks. I missed the first live broadcast, but I was able to watch it on Oprah's website, and I found that I really enjoyed it. I don't think any of the ideas expressed during the webcast were particularly original, but Oprah and the audience tended to ask very practical questions that helped my own understanding of the concepts Tolle talks about in his books. Many of the questions were about how to fit Tolle's ideas into a more traditional Christian framework, which for me was useful in thinking about how to translate these spiritual and philosophical ideas into concepts that can be more easily understood by friends and family with more traditional religious backgrounds.

I'll be watching the next webcast TONIGHT at 8pm central. If you want to join me, you'll want to be logged in by around 7:40pm central. To participate, go to Oprah's Bookclub Website: http://event.oprah.com/videochannel/event/event_landing_2.html

Farm to School: Willmar, MN Makes the News

2008-03-07T14:12:00.001-08:00

Props to the news team at KSAX for airing a story on the Farm to School program in Willmar, MN!

Watch the clip here.

Eveything I Want to Do is Illegal, Too

2008-03-07T13:59:00.000-08:00

This is an excellent op-ed piece that come out in the NY Times a few days ago, written by a farmer from Rushford, MN. His is an excellent example of why the farm bill in its current incarnation is so darn screwy.

"My Forbidden Fruits (and Vegetables)" by Jack Hedin

Farm Bill: Where are YOUR tax dollars going?

2008-03-07T13:43:00.000-08:00

This fantastic website was recently brought to my attention (thanks Mom!) that allows you to browse through the entire database of farm subsidies without slogging through reams of fine print. You can search by state, county, region and congressional district and you can view the top recipients of farm subsidy monies (yep, their names are right there!). So, snoop on your neighbors and notice who's getting the big bucks. Is it ma and pa farmer down the road? Nope. More like big corn and big beef. You can also see total funds received from various programs for the region, and they also supply some other interesting demographic data like how many children in that region are living below the poverty line.

Check it out!

UCC v. IRS

2008-03-07T13:29:00.000-08:00

Though I'm no longer a regular church go-er I still keep in touch with my faith community at Falcon Heights United Church of Christ. This is a community that has a long history of supporting justice and equality for all people, so I believe they are deserving of our support at this time.

The United Church of Christ needs your help by taking a stand for freedom of speech.

As you no doubt have heard through media reports, the Internal Revenue Service has launched an investigation of the United Church of Christ, based on our invitation to U.S. Sen. Barack Obama - a longtime member of the UCC - to speak at our 50th Anniversary General Synod in Hartford, Connecticut this past June.

The UCC took great care to ensure that Senator Obama's appearance met appropriate legal and moral standards. We are confident that, in the end, the IRS investigation will confirm that no laws were violated.

However, in order to adequately defend ourselves as well as protect the broader principle of the freedom of religious communities to entertain questions of faith and public life, we will need to secure expert legal counsel, and the cost of this defense, we are told, could approach or exceed six figures. This is troubling news. That's why we are turning to you - our members and supporters - to ask for your financial support to help offset these unforeseen legal expenses.

Each year, generous UCC members contribute faithfully to "Our Church's Wider Mission," our shared fund for mission and ministry in our conferences, nationally, and globally. We seek your contributions to ensure that money given for mission will not be needed to pay legal bills, instead of ministry needs. Thus the reason we've created a new UCC Legal Fund to help keep to a minimum the impact of this investigation on OCWM funds.

Read more about the allegations from the IRS on the UCC website.

Contribute to the UCC legal defense fund online.

Great Lakes Study Suppressed

2008-03-07T13:22:00.000-08:00

This study was recently brought to my attention via prwatch.org:

"For more than seven months, the nation's top public health agency has blocked the publication of an exhaustive federal study of environmental hazards in the eight Great Lakes states, reportedly because it contains such potentially 'alarming information' as evidence of elevated infant mortality and cancer rates," reports Sheila Kaplan. The 400-page study, undertaken by a division of the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in cooperation with the government of Canada, "warns that more than nine million people who live in the more than two dozen 'areas of concern' -- including such major metropolitan areas as Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, and Milwaukee -- may face elevated health risks from being exposed to dioxin, PCBs, pesticides, lead, mercury, or six other hazardous pollutants." Canadian biologist Michael Gilbertson, who was involved in reviewing the study, said it has been suppressed because it suggests that vulnerable populations have been harmed by industrial pollutants. "It's not good because it's inconvenient," Gilbertson said. "The whole problem with all this kind of work is wrapped up in that word 'injury.' If you have injury, that implies liability. Liability, of course, implies damages, legal processes, and costs of remedial action. The governments, frankly, in both countries are so heavily aligned with, particularly, the chemical industry, that the word amongst the bureaucracies is that they really do not want any evidence of effect or injury to be allowed out there."

Learn more about the study at the Center for Public Integrity.

Conferences, Conferences, Conferences!

2008-03-06T12:33:00.000-08:00

You can almost see me in this photo -- I'm waaaaay over on the left, with the short short hair (I cut it recently -- you can see the new "do" better in my Cuba photos). To my right is my lovely travel companion (we've been to TWO conferences together already!), Miss Caroline. This photo was taken at the Urban Agriculture Conference in Milwaukee last weekend. I've been soooo busy with work and everything else that I'm just now getting a chance to sort through my experiences and tell you all about them.

I think the Milwaukee conference will be the last in my series of farming conferences this year. We kicked things off in January with the "Garden Goddess Greenhouse" conference in Milan, MN (for those of you non-natives, that's pronounced MY-lan, not to be confused with the fashion capitol of the world in Italy). For those of you who haven't heard about what they're doing with passive solar technology, you should definitely check them out. Chuck Weibel and Carol Ford have put together this amazing winter CSA using a lean-to style greenhouse that operates all winter long with virtually no heat added from fossil-fuel sources -- it's all sun! They grow micro-greens and cool weather crops like kale, broccoli, cabbage, etc., and CSA members also get stored squashes, carrots, etc. Incredibly innovative! Check out their Yahoo Group and look at their photos: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/gardengoddessnetwork/

The next big conference was the MOSES Organic Farming Conference two weekends ago in La Crosse, WI. It used to be called the Upper Midwest Organic Farming Conference, but since they realized they're the biggest deal in the country, they're just calling it the "Organic Farming Conference" from now on! It was huge indeed! 2400 people attended the conference this year! It was exciting and totally overwhelming for me to have all those organic farmers and organic supporters all in one place! I'm used to having to defend my preference for local, organic, sustainable foods and fibers, but for once I was not in the minority on that account. I think anyone who aspires to farm nowadays generally feels like an oddball, but at MOSES I definitely found "my people."

And then, I found them all again next weekend in Milwaukee! Ok, not all 2400 of them, this conference was much smaller, which was a bit easier to digest for me. I felt like I got more out of the workshops, too, since the smaller size gave more folks a chance to get their questions answered. The highlight of that conference for me (aside from the amazing food!), was the SPIN farming workshop. SPIN stands for Small Plot INtensive, and was developed by a couple cannuks in Saskatchewan. They've figured out how to make $50,000 on a half acre of land by growing and strategically marketing vegetables! If you don't believe me, check out their website at www.spinfarming.com. I've been so jazzed up about farming since that workshop that I'm ready to run out and buy a farm! But, no... I'm restraining myself for now (my monthly visits from Sallie Mae are a helpful reminder that I'm in no position to invest in land). Also, I discovered that Milwaukee is a really fun place to hang out. The first time I visited there when I was in high school I pretty much just went to see a band play, and spent most of the time at an outlying KOA. Also, I wasn't yet of age to enjoy Milwaukee's greatest tourist attraction -- the beer! So much irresistible microbrews! We went to the Milwaukee Ale House, and then at the conference we were served Capital Brewery beer and liquor from Death's Door (both made from wheat and juniper grown on Washington Island in Door County). Finally, to round out my blue collar experience of Milwaukee, I went to see the Drive By Truckers at the Pabst Theater! The concert was great, and the beer flowed like... ok, there was just a lot of beer drinking going on! Also, thanks to Caroline's friend Christy for putting us up (and putting up with us!) the whole time!

So, that's my little update. More servings of tasty local food stories from around the web coming up soon!

Is there a dentist in the house?

2008-03-04T08:38:00.001-08:00

Watch this 5 minute video on the negative health effects of water fluoridation.

True Majority: Watch this and join the movement!

2008-03-04T08:29:00.001-08:00

"Gerontocracy" -- Something else we share with Cuba

2008-02-27T07:47:00.000-08:00

The Lede: Gerontocracy Alerts Issued for U.S. and Cuba
By Mike Nizza
Published: February 26, 2008
The two countries choose their leaders very differently, but from the same demographic.

Action Alert: Farm Bill Deadline March 15

2008-02-25T13:36:00.000-08:00

Debate on the 2007 Farm Bill is STILL underway, which means we need to keep pressing for a fair farm bill that supports small, family, organic, and sustainable farmers!

If your senator or representative serves on the agriculture committee, please contact him/her before the March 15th deadline. Please ask your representative to fully fund these critical priorities:
$2 billion in additional mandatory funding over the next five years for the Conservation Security Program (CSP)
$15 million in annual mandatory funding for the Beginning Farmer and Rancher Development Program and $5 million in annual mandatory funding for the Beginning Farmer and Rancher Individual Development Account Program
$40 million in annual mandatory funding for the Value-Added Producer Grant
$16 million in annual mandatory funding for the Organic Agriculture Research and Extension Initiative

Not sure if your senator or representative serves on an ag committee? Here's the list for the Midwest region:
SENATE
Tom Harkin (D-IA)
Debbie Stabenow (D-MI)
Max Baucus (D-MT)
Kent Conrad (R-ND)
Charles Grassley (R-IA)

HOUSE
Collin Peterson (MN-7th)
Leonard Boswell (IA-3rd)
Stephanie Herseth-Sandlin (SD)
Earl Pomeroy (ND)

CALL TODAY: Capitol Switchboard 202.224.3121
Ask for your senator or representative.

Tell Joe Soucheray to "Cluck" Off!

2008-02-25T10:07:00.000-08:00

This article was in Saturday's paper:

Joe Soucheray: Dumb clucks coming to Midway
JOE SOUCHERAY
Article Last Updated: 02/23/2008 08:21:05 PM CST

Jinny Kolar lives in the 1200 block of Seminary Avenue in the Midway, next
door to a woman named Faith Krogstad, who intends to raise chickens in her
back yard and hopes that her neighbors will raise chickens, too.

In fact, her group is called Midway Chickens, which sounds like the name of
a band that should be playing at the Turf Club.

Phyllis Kahn raises chickens on what she believes to be her private
Nicollet
Island, but even there, despite the presence of a significant high school,
Phyllis, who is daffy anyway, has a bit of room to raise chickens, and the
prospect of Phyllis chasing them is almost charming.

And in other neighborhoods in Minneapolis, I guess people raise chickens in
their back yards. It is probably happening all over the country, as the
closer you get to the country's tallest buildings, the more likely you are
to find the kinds of people who want to play farm, among their other
delusions.

I tried to reach Faith, but she is out of town. Faith is a coordinator at
something called Eco Education, a nonprofit environmental education
organization in St. Paul. Kathy Kinzig, who answered the phone at Eco
Education, said raising chickens is something Faith is doing on her own and
urban chicken farming is not necessarily under the purview of Eco
Education.

I have that sinking feeling that we are somehow paying for Eco Education,
just as we pay for the Hamline Midway Coalition District 11 Council, one of
17 district councils in St. Paul, which is neither here nor there except
that the Midway, the once mighty Midway, is virtually a petri dish of New
Urbanism, trains, co-ops, councils, community gardening and now chickens.

Chickens. Chickens on 40-foot lots.

Faith Krogstad believes, according to an e-mail that she sent to
prospective
chicken farmers, that raising chickens is somehow environmentally
responsible and good for the soil and that it teaches children where their
food comes from, even though from many back yards in the Midway you can see
a big Cub store or the new SuperTarget.

Because raising chickens to benefit the environment is not even plausible,
there really is only one reason to raise chickens in your back yard: to
assign to yourself a kind of progressiveness, or enlightenment. Nevermind
that raising chickens in your urban yard is going backward, not forward; it
is the illusion of self-sufficiency that confers the virtue.

No, I haven't forgotten Jinny Kolar, 65, who has lived in her Midway
neighborhood for 40 years. She does not intend to raise chickens. Kolar
understands that Krogstad acquired enough names on a petition to get
excused
from zoning regulations and that the Health Department, which you would
think might have a position here, apparently will intervene only if a
problem is reported. Those who oppose the idea, like Kolar, appear to be
out
of luck.

Also, Kolar understands that the chicken farmers will share the chickens
and
that the chickens will wander around on their own chicken bleep, that part
being good for the soil, I guess.

But Kolar, who is apparently sane, is worried that most of her neighbors,
who do not meet at coffeeshops to seek the pretend burdens of Third World
status, are not going to be prepared for what is coming: the smell, the
noise, the filth.

"One of the so-called chicken farms is next door to the playground at
Central Lutheran Elementary School,'' Kolar said. "Will that affect the
kids
on the playground? I don't know. In the absence of a chicken coop I guess
people have been advised to just cut holes in their garages. This could
affect our property values. I've been here a long time and I like the
prettiness and stability. But that will all change once the chicken farming
idea takes hold. And I feel that we, as a community, should think long and
hard before we let that happen.''

It sounds to me like Kolar and her like-minded neighbors better hurry up
and
find their own coffeeshop. Kolar is the true progressive here, not the
Midway Chickens.

Joe Soucheray can be reached at jsoucheray@pioneerpress.com or
651-228-5474.
Soucheray is heard from 2 to 5:30 p.m. weekdays on KSTP-AM 1500.

Jesus Loves Porn? Really?

2008-02-25T08:01:00.000-08:00

I read about this website (xxxchurch.com) in Katherine Kersten's column in the Star Tribune this weekend, and I just checked it out briefly. From what I understand, the website represents an attempt by a group of Christians to challenge the prevalence of pornography in American culture, and they're fighting fire with fire, using the "sexiness" of porn to sell their message. They've got t-shirts and posters with hipster-ish graphics and catchy messages like "Jesus Loves Porn" and "Porn is Bipartisan." They also have programs to rehabilitate "porn stars" and porn users, and they sponsor debates on porn at college campuses, and other programs. At the heart of their message is definitely a bit of the old evangelical "have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior" stuff, but they're clearly not afraid to shake things up. If they're really all the appear to be, this might be the first serious challenge to the porn epidemic in this country and an opportunity to reveal the insidiousness of its misogynistic influence.

Kitchen Gardeners International

2008-02-25T07:48:00.001-08:00

This is a cool non-profit I came across today that promotes backyard veg gardens. Kitchen Gardeners International also has their own holiday: International Kitchen Garden Day! Also, check out their "10 Steps to Planning Your Organic Garden."

Kitchen Gardeners International

Local Food Hero Radio Show: Saturdays 1-2pm (Central)

2008-02-19T19:03:00.000-08:00

Minnesota-based non-profit Renewing the Countryside is now hosting their own radio show on Air America Minnesota AM 950. The show is called "Local Food Hero" and airs from 1-2pm every Saturday afternoon. For those out of radio broadcast range you can listen online by going to www.airamericaminnesota.com. I haven't listened yet, so I can't vouch for the quality, but the folks at Renewing the Countryside are top notch!

Total Lunar Eclipse Tomorrow (and you don't even have to stay up late!)

2008-02-19T18:27:00.000-08:00

Around 9pm tomorrow night (central time) a full-lunar eclipse will commence! The partial eclipse will begin around 7:43pm. Everybody keep your fingers crossed for clear skies! For more info or to see what time to check the skies in your area, go here

The Fidel Castro Whom I Know -- Gabriel Garcia Marquez

2008-02-19T11:57:00.001-08:00

This article, written by world-renowned author Gabriel Garcia Marquez was brought to my attention via a very contentious debate raging on the Facebook discussion page. Not everyone will appreciate Marquez's viewpoint (Marquez and Castro are friends), but I think it's refreshing to at least hear the other side of things once in a while.

Farewell, Commandante!

2008-02-19T05:31:00.000-08:00

It seems like a special privilege to have been one of perhaps only a small group of Americans who got to see Cuba in its final day's of Castro's presidency. According to Castro's letter in the Granma, he has decided not to be considered as a candidate for president when Cuba's newly elected parliament chooses the president in the coming weeks. Of course, Castro will still be a powerful force in Cuban politics and he is planning to continue writing his column for the paper. Probably, his younger brother, Raul Castro, will be chosen as president in his stead. Raul has demonstrated that he is interested in negotiating with the U.S. as well as liberalizing Cuba's economy, and with the American regime change imminent as well, there could be big changes on the horizon. It would be exciting to see an amelioration of the relationship between the U.S. and Cuba, but personally I hope that Cuba doesn't give up any of its revolutionary principles!

We'll see what the Cuban reaction will be -- most Cubans don't have access to the internet, so many of them haven't heard the news yet!

Largest Beef Recall in History

2008-02-17T18:40:00.000-08:00

A mind-boggling 143 million pounds of beef has just been recalled by the USDA. Evidently the slaughter house was slaughtering downer cows, which is illegal, and rightly so (although, one would think it should be illegal to PRODUCE a downer cow, not simply to try to feed that cow to a human being). (Downer cows are animals that can no longer stand on their own because they have been too abused and/or malnourished to do so.) Guess where most of this meat went? That's right, straight into the mouths of America's children thanks to our government's policy of feeding school children the lowest grade beef available. How many children have already eaten this contaminated beef? There's no way of knowing. For more details, check out the article in the New York Times. The Times leaves out one calculation, which is how many cattle are we talking about when we're talking about 143 million pounds of beef. Here's my estimate: around 286,000 head (assuming each steer yields around 500 lbs of beef). A veritable city of cattle.

Victor's 1959 Cafe

2008-02-16T20:15:00.000-08:00

Mom and I were already missing Cuba so much that we decided to check out this Cuban restaurant in South Minneapolis! We had their delicious fried yuca with mojo, salmon with a mango glaze, and truly authentic tostones (twice-fried plantains). It felt just like being in Cuba -- until we stepped foot outside! Chilly chicas!

They're open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. So, if you're living in the T.C., I'm taking you with me!

Hasta siempre, Cuba!

2008-02-16T19:42:00.000-08:00

My trip to Cuba was an unbelievable experience! I am so grateful for all that I learned and experienced and the wonderful people that I met! Here are the photos I took from that trip, and I will continue to update you all on more of the details of my experience as my ideas continue to coalesce. Ciao!

Two Great Resources: Blue Thumb and Natural Step

2008-01-29T17:26:00.000-08:00

I heard about these two resources from folks at the Buy Fresh Buy Local St. Croix Valley Steering Committee meeting, and I thought I would pass them on.

Natural Step is an international organization as well as an approach to problem solving for organizations, governments, and businesses. The "steps" are really a framework for transforming the way we do everything so as to make what we do more sustainable. I also think the steps themselves form a good definition of sustainability. The organization has resources to assist with the implementation of these steps. Many companies, including Smith and Hawken, Nike, and Ikea (to name just a few) are working with Natural Step. For now they seem to be only on the west coast in the U.S., but hopefully they'll make their way inland soon.

Blue Thumb is a project of the Rice Creek Watershed District, and it's a program to encourage people to garden with the preservation of our water resources in mind. They have great information about how to plant rain gardens to filter water that eventually cycles back into our homes, as well as how to garden with native plant varieties and to protect shorelines. This site is for every backyard gardener!

Livestock: The New Oil?

2008-01-29T17:12:00.000-08:00

Caroline sent me this great article from the NY Times, and it couldn't have come at a more perfect time for me as I am just about to finish Ruth L. Ozeki's My Year of Meats. Ozeki's novel tells the story of two women struggling to find their voice in the face of male domination and violence which is a story that becomes mirrored in their relationship to meat and meat production. It's really brilliant -- it reminds me of The Sexual Politics of Meat by Carol Adams which very accurately documents the relationship between the sexualization and commodification of women's bodies and the bodies of animals.

Anyhoo. The article in the Times points out all the myriad reasons why the average American's consumption of meat is wholly unsustainable and ultimately barbaric in a world where so many are dying of hunger and malnutrition and the Earth's resources are running on empty. So, you should read it.

Two Buck Chuck: Grapes of Wrath

2008-01-26T19:03:00.000-08:00

As I sit at my computer, enjoying a lovely glass of shiraz, I couldn't help but wonder, where did this come from? And, how could it possibly cost a mere $2.99? Generally, if I think something is too good to be true, I'm usually right. And, it looks like I'm right again.

Wine produced under the Charles Shaw label from Trader Joe's, more commonly known as "Two Buck Chuck" is less the divine miracle that it appears to be. It is produced cheaply through the exploitation of illegal immigrant farm laborers and neighboring farms that overproduced wine in the '90s -- a sort of wine "bubble" not unlike the "tech bubble" and our more recent "housing bubble." So, the bubble burst, the value of wine and land in the San Joaquin Valley dropped, and Fred Franzia (that's right, of Franzia boxed wine fame -- actually, that was his father, but same family) swooped in and bought it all up. The reason the wine is so cheap is through the miracle of vertical integration -- he owns everything, even the porta-johns. At "Domaine Franzia" it is literally all about money -- the quality of wine is a mere afterthought. They grow what consumers will drink, and that is all. (The articles I found don't give much of an impression of what the San Joaquin Valley now resembles, but for those who are readers of John Steinbeck, I think you can use your imagination.)

To read more about Fred Franzia and his pithy witticisms (like, "terroir don't mean shit"), go here.

To read about vineyard workers in Napa and the San Joaquin Valleys, go here.

To fall in love with the San Joaquin Valley, and then lament what it has recently become, read "East of Eden."

St. Paul may be the capitol of Minnesota, but Minneapolis is the capitol of...

2008-01-26T11:24:00.000-08:00

Ever since "locavore" was declared the word of the year by the writers of the Oxford English Dictionary, the word seems to be turning up everywhere! I was so excited when my dad (thanks Dad!) forwarded me an email from MPR announcing a new project called "Locavore Nation." Here's how it works: 15 people have sworn to eat at least 80% of their diet from all local sources (within 150 miles of their home). The people are from all across the U.S. The participants all write blog entries, and every week Lynne Rossetto Kasper checks in with some of them on her radio program, The Splendid Table. That's right, Minneapolis, MN is the capitol of Locavore Nation! (I would expect no less!)

Check out their website, and maybe offer them a few supportive comments!

Film: "What a Way to Go"

2008-01-26T07:23:00.001-08:00

In case you're not already scared enough about the future of our planet, here's a new film for you!

Wilderness Connections is hosting a screening:
Saturday, February 2nd, 10:30 - 1:00 p.m. Merriam Park Library (room
in lower level), Corner Fairview and Marshall Aves., St. Paul, MN

Think you can get 50-60 mpg in your Honda Accord? This guy can!

2008-01-25T20:36:00.000-08:00

The average hybrid car driver gets around 40 miles per gallon, but Wayne Gerdes gets more than that in a regular ol' sedan! It's all in a technique called "hypermiling." Here's the article.

Also, the article talks about a guy called, simply "Hobbit." I'm pretty sure that's this guy. I could be wrong, but then again, how many men are there in the world that are obsessed with green technology and are named "hobbit?" (Nevermind -- I don't want to know!)

Go, Go Nancy Pelosi!

2008-01-25T19:56:00.000-08:00

I know it may come as a shock to you all, but a recent article in the New York Times (thanks, Caroline, I finally read this one!) indicates that Republicans are not only opposed to supporting small family farmers, they are also ardent supporters of trans fats, stuffing chickens in teeny tiny cages, and never ever eating vegetables that haven't spent time in a deep fat fryer. The good news -- something tells me us progressives are going to outlive their ilk!

Thank you, Nancy Pelosi, for making our representatives (even the Republicans) eat their brussel sprouts!

Here's the article.

Deconstructing Dinner Podcast

2008-01-25T19:37:00.000-08:00

Deconstructing Dinner is one of my new favorite podcasts. It's a product of Canada (eh?). Clearly our neighbors to the north are more enlightened than we (is it too late to redraw the borders a little to the south?). Check out their website!

On the last podcast I listened to, there was this great folk song that is really worth a listen. You can stream it, or download it for free. (I, silly girl that I am, paid 99 cents for it from iTunes, but you all are smarter than I!)

Hooray for progressive media!

“ In 25 years of working with farmers, these are the happiest, most optimistic, and best-paid farmers I have ever met.”

2008-01-25T16:56:00.001-08:00

For those of you interested in sustainable and urban agriculture, check out this article about Cuba's success in transitioning away from conventional agriculture:

http://www.i-sis.org.uk/OrganicCubawithoutFossilFuels.php

Here are just some highlights:

"By 1994, more than 8 000 city farms were created in Havana alone. Front lawns of municipal buildings were dug up to grow vegetables. Offices and schools cultivated their own food. "

"New biological products and organic gardening techniques were developed and produced by Cuba’s agricultural research sector, which had already begun exploring organic alternatives to chemical controls, enabling Cuba’s urban farms to become completely organic. In fact, a new law prohibited the use of any pesticides for agricultural purposes anywhere within city limits."

'According to Cuba’s Minsitry of Agriculture, some 150 000 acres of land is being cultivated in urban and suburban settings, in thousands of community farms, ranging from modest courtyards to production sites that fill entire city blocks. Organoponicos, as they are called, show how a combination of grassroots effort and official support can result in sweeping change, and how neighbours can come together and feed themselves. When the food crisis hit, the organoponicos were an ad hoc response by local communities to increase the amount of available food. But as the power of the community farming movement became obvious, the Cuban government stepped in to provide key infrastructure support and to assist with information dissemination and skills sharing."

Who REALLY wears the pants in this family?

2008-01-25T16:18:00.001-08:00

Obeythepurebreed.com knows the answer to this question if you're a pet owner. I [heart] the t-shirts and bumperstickers in a big way (darn, 11 months til xmas!).

Oddly, they don't offer any merch for pets themselves -- I guess the website mainly caters to the bourgeois, I mean, humans.

My new dream job: Foodscaping!

2008-01-24T09:46:00.000-08:00

Check out this article by Barbara Damrosch published in the Washington Post (of all places!!!):

"You Want Local? Try Your Backyard!"

FYI: Barbara Damrosch writes books and a website with Elliot Coleman (lucky her!)

Free and Fair Elections Amendment

2008-01-21T15:01:00.001-08:00

This video is a little long, but as another presidential election season approaches it's no waste of time to think about how to secure our votes. Also, if you're planning on going to caucus on Feb. 5 (in MN), then this information is definitely for you! (I'd go, but I'll be out of the country. What's your excuse?!)

Sustainable Farming Event in Fairmont, MN

2008-01-20T21:27:00.000-08:00

For those of you from my mom's hometown...

Rural Advantage 2008 3rd Crop Producer Meetings

February 11th & 25th, March 10th & 24th

Knights of Columbus Hall, Fairmont MN

Rural Advantage is hosting its annual series of 3rd Crop Producer Meetings in February and March. These informative meetings will cover a range of issues and opportunities emerging in the farm industry. This year’s topics include: 3rd crops, biomass markets, cover crops/carbon, and expanding markets for producers through ecological commodity payments. Meeting dates, topics, and times are below.

· Monday, February 11th - 3rd Crops 10 a.m. – 3:15

· Monday, February 25th – Biomass Markets 10 a.m. – 3:00

· Monday, March 10th – Cover Crops/Carbon 10 a.m. – 3:00

· Monday, March 24th – Getting Paid: Ecological Commodity Payments 10 a.m. – 3:15

3rd crops can provide multiple benefits in addition to the traditional food, fuel, and fiber. The very nature of growing some 3rd crops makes them valuable assets to the farming system. Please join us on Monday February 11th to learn more about a range of topics on 3rd crops; presentations include:

Miscanthus as a bioenergy crop
Woody agriculture
Placing perennial crops on the landscape
Establishing native grasses
Hybrid Hazelnuts
Small grains

The exploding bioeconomy is driving new markets for biomass beyond the traditional corn to ethanol and soybeans to biodiesel industries. New markets are being developed for products made from biomass. These include a host of renewable fuels, bio-products, composites & materials, chemicals, and more. Presentations on biomass markets include:

Pelleting opportunities with ag residues
Distributed energy with pyrolysis and gasification
Biomass to methanol
Alfalfa for fuel and feed

Managing healthy soils has long been a key management strategy to maintain yields in a world where pressure is being put on the agricultural system to provide ever increasing amounts of food, fiber, and fuel. This drive to produce more per acres has led to some interesting proposals for removing ag residues as a potential feedstock for renewable energy. Is this a sustainable option for maintaining healthy soils? If removing ag residues, could the use of cover crops mitigate some of the negatives? These questions as well as many more will be answered at this meeting on March 10th. Presentations that day include:

Aerial seeding rye as a cover crop
Integrating cover crops into Midwest farming systems
Cover crops and EQIP
Strategies for managing cover crops
Carbon cycling; biomass removal and bio-char
Soil conservation and biomass energy

3rd crops are known to provide multiple benefits to the farming system, yet their adoption by producers has been slow and challenging. An often repeated reason from farmers is that they do not compete economically with the traditional corn/soybean rotation. The answer is for farmers to get paid for the multiple benefits that growing 3rd crops provide to society as a whole. So in addition to getting paid for the crop grown, producers are also being compensated for things like carbon sequestered, nutrients reduced, water recharged back to the aquifer, as well as many more. This March 24th meeting will provide participants with some understanding knowledge on implementing ecological commodity payments through the following presentations:

Implementing ecological commodity payments
Water quality trading
Wildlife habitat payments
Carbon credit payments
MN Terrestrial Carbon Project
Innovations in Biorefining

All meetings are being offered free of charge by Rural Advantage and are held at the Knights of Columbus Hall located at 920 E 10th St. in Fairmont MN. Registration and coffee begin at 9:30 with presentations starting at 10:00. For a full agenda with all the meeting dates, speakers, topics, times, and locations please contact Jeff Jensen @ Rural Advantage for a brochure. 507-238-5449 or jeff@ruraladvantage.org

Jeff Jensen

Rural Advantage

1243 Lake Ave. Suite 222

Fairmont, MN 56031

507-238-5449 Fax: 507-238-4002

www.ruraladvantage.org

E-Mail: jeff@ruraladvantage.org

The Story of Stuff - Ch.1: Introduction

2008-01-20T21:14:00.001-08:00

Ever feel like your stuff is taking over your life? Well, you're probably right! This is and excellent overview of the mechanics of our consumer society. See this video in its entirety on www.storyofstuff.com. Free Range Studios also has lots of other great videos, by the way.

The Long-Awaited, Over-due Update

2007-08-25T18:17:00.000-07:00

Hi all! I feel a little sheepish about updating the blog at this point -- it has languished for so long without updates -- is it too late? Is it worth reviving at all? I feel like my life has taken a different turn, and perhaps a new blog, a fresh start, is warranted. We'll see.

So, here's the poop. I've been working at the Women's Environmental Institute all summer as a farm intern. Getting dirty, growing veggies, lots of female bonding. I briefly blogged with my farmer hat on at this url: www.weicsa.blogspot.com. My cohorts have taken over updating that blog, since, just a few weeks ago, I ceremoniously removed my farmer hat (not for good, I hope) and put on my Americorps VISTA hat, swearing my allegiance to my country, "so help me God." My current job is coordinator for the North Circle Project. You can find out more about it at the Women's Environmental Institute's website: www.w-e-i.org. Basically, I'm organizing farmers in the North Branch area to help them network, expand their markets, and maybe, if the winds of change blow just right, build a processing house and state certified kitchen to do value-added products. It's a big job, but I'm loving it so far. I get to talk to a lot of real good, downhome, country, salt-of-the-earth, and just plain salty folks. Spent my 24th birthday at the Wild River Bar, where a guy named Cobb made me an unforgettable drink out of ingredients he made me swear never to divulge. Just me and a few co-workers and a dollar for the juke-box -- what could be better? Yep, country living suits me just fine, and I'm in no hurry to return to city-living, though there's been some rumors about me applying to graduate school.

I do miss the friends I made in France -- Mieko, Tati, Sabrina... Got a message from the mom of a couple young kids I was teaching English to in Toulon. They finally made their big move to Pensacola, FL, and for those of you who know french, she's got a great blog: http://chasse-pensacola.over-blog.com. Reading her messages and seeing the photos reminded me of how much fun I had with them -- It's always the people you meet that make all the difference. Makes me feel a little of that wanderlust coming back. Don't know when I'll have the means to do another big trip, but hope it's soon.

The biggest, most exciting thing in my life, and in the lives of every Minnesotan, is the State Fair! I have finally been given the chance to realize my life-long dream of having a booth at the Great Minnesota Get-Together -- Ya'll can see me at the Eco-Experience on August 30 from 10am-2pm. I'll be working at the Minnesota Grown booth for their CSA day. Maybe I'll see you there! (And, if you need someone to come out to the fair with you, I'm always ready to go!)

Back in the U S of A!

2007-05-06T14:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, its true! I never thought I'd finally wind my way through all the red tape to get myself home, but I've finally done it! I must appologize for the long bout of silence, but it was all because lousy France Telecom cut off my service two weeks before I left France. I've just come back from a week-long wirlwind tour of Europe with my dad and my aunt, and I've only got one whole day to readjust to American customs and timezones before I start my new job on the farm, so I'm going to be brief for the moment. More to come, I assure you! Also, I understand that my old cell number is still functioning, so I hope to hear from you all soon!

You Had to Be There!

2007-04-05T11:21:00.001-07:00

So many times I find myself without my camera at an opportune moment for taking an unforgettable photo. Of course, every day in Toulon presents itself as the perfect inspiration for a Walker Evans wannabe. (This afternoon, I counted three passed-out drunks on one street corner – that’s a muckraker’s mother lode!) I’ve also been dying to snap a few shots of all the middle-aged women with Bozo the Clown hair-dos; yep, hair dyed bright red and sculpted into a nicely rounded poof, really brings out the jowls. But, today was really the crème de la crème!

I show up for my class of post-Bac students, they’re basically in a junior college type program to become profession business people, and they keep going on and on about one student who is late. Generally, the students are always late, but that’s usually because they’re loitering outside the school gates smoking cigarettes. This time, however, the buzz in the classroom was that one of the students was supposed to appear dressed as an Indian. Now, what that had to do with his tardiness, I couldn’t tell. Ten minutes later, though, the Chieftain arrived! To say that he was dressed as an Indian (which I now fully understood to mean Native American, and not Indian of the Origin of the Asian Subcontinent), is to drastically understate his case. The 22-year-old was dressed in nothing but a headdress, loincloth, and slippers, and at his waist he had a plastic toy hatchet and bow and arrow. I had to hand it to him, I did not see that coming! (Nor, did I expect him to have had quite so many tattoos; and, if I had known that he had them, I certainly did not expect to be in a position to see them.) And then, there we all were, one English teacher, one American, a handful of French youths dressed for what one could only guess would be a funeral from all the black they always wear, and one errant member of the Village People. Just when I thought the situation couldn’t become more ridiculous, they all turned to me as if I fully understood what the Indian thing was all about because I am from North America. Of course, the only thoughts running through my head was how incredibly un-PC this all was and how this would never ever happen in an American school and how it is most certainly inappropriate to even refer to someone as an Indian when they are in fact Native Americans and it is more inappropriate still to dress like one and parade around as such; that, mixed with uncontrollable blushing because here was a half-naked man in my classroom, and prudish American that I am, I am unaccustomed to such vulgarity. (Actually, I was starting to wonder how strippers collect tips. I mean, the smallest paper currency is 5 euros, and that’s like $6.50. Do European strippers wear little coin purses on their g-strings? Or, do they actually make more money? The cost of living is certainly greater here…) At any rate, I feigned ignorance, which was easy to do, because I really had no idea what was going on. When I inquired as to why this individual was dressed as an “Indian”, the only response I got was that it was for the North American Carnival, which, unless I’ve been kept in the dark about this all these years, and that every year at this time all of North America has been throwing a big party behind my back, I seriously doubt the existence of said carnival. But, man, you really had to be there!

Show Me Your Boutis!

2007-04-03T12:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, I will! Due to my ineptitude as a photographer, the above photo does not do justice to my recently commenced chef d'oeuvre in boutis (pronounced "booty", if you couldn't guess by my off-color pun). So, here is another, more masterfully realized photo of someone else's (more masterfully realized) boutis:

And, whence my boutis? Mieko and I signed up for an all-day boutis workshop in the small village of Calvisson, maybe 20 km or so from Nimes. I discovered the town, its Maison de Boutis (translation: boutis house), and its workshops while searching on the internet for the source of the provencal placemats my Mom and I had been eyeing while shopping for souvenirs in Nice. My interest in these simple quilted placemats sent me on a wild google chase through the ins and outs of French regional handicrafts. I discovered that most of what goes by the name of boutis is in fact "pique de Marseille," a simplified version of boutis that more closely resembles what we in America call quilting. Boutis is a much more elaborate and fascinating craft. It's made by sandwiching two pieces of white cotton fabric together, then embroidering a design over top so that small pockets are created in the layers of fabric. These pockets are then filled with cotton yarn by carefully attaching the yarn to a piece of thread and a needle and gently tugging the yarn through the underside of the design. The result is a quilt design with incredibly high relief in the areas filled-in with cotton, and a lovely tranparency in the spaces left empty. Traditionally, boutis was reserved for only the most precious garments or linens, like wedding gowns or baptismal bonnets, whereas the more common "pique de Marseille" was used throughout the home, and is probably why people associate it more with Provence and confuse it with the highfalutin boutis. For me, this workshop was an opportunity to experience more of the local culture, and learn a skill I could bring home with me.

The boutis workshop in Calvisson turned out to be a great experience. Unfortunately, the weather was crappy, so I wasn't inspired to take more photos, but in retrospect it struck me as a textbook French medieval village. On Saturday it was utterly dead, except for the die-hard drinkers, smokers, and gamblers loitering in the town's two cafes, yet, the narrow, winding streets and houses fronted with ancient and cock-eyed looking doorways were indeed charming. The country-side butted right up against the sleepy village so that under certain archways you could spot idle tractors and grazing poultry. At the workshop, we were joined by a handful of mostly middle-aged and older women, most of whom traveled no farther than Nimes to get there (Mieko and I might not have had the nicest boutis, but we won the distance contest hands-down). The other women were curious about us young Americans, but if they were suspicious of our intentions, they never let on. In fact, they seemed eager to learn more about fibre arts in the United States. Most of their vocabulary on this subject appeared to have been imported from the States as they talked about doing "le patch" (patchwork quilting) or things they want to "quilter" (verb: to quilt). They also talked about buying quilting thread from America and Canada over the internet, since evidently selection in France is limited, and not surprisingly, prices are too high. Even the thread we used in our workshop was Coats & Clark, made in the good ol' USofA. (As protectionist as the French are, it strikes me as funny that they are making their traditional handicrafts with imported materials.) We spent the whole day working on our boutis projects, with one break for lunch when we all went to the charming local creperie. At the end of the day we were given free admission to the town's boutis museum where we got a taste for what our newly minted skill could yield. The most impressive pieces were the largest ones, whole gowns or bedspreads covered in boutis. It boggled the mind imagining how long it must have taken to complete these when after 7 hours I had only completed one measly flower less than the size of my palm. The museum also displayed several exquisite examples of pique de Marseille using the traditional provencal cotton prints as well as others in silk.

So, good news: I did learn a new skill. Bad news: Mom, those placemats aren't going to be ready any time soon!

Our Story Takes an Explosive Turn...

2007-03-28T01:56:00.000-07:00

Car explosion at 174 bd. Robespierre. Sure didn't see that one coming.

I was on my way home for a spot of lunch and some coffee, when I began to notice an unusually foul smell in the air. Toulon is almost always smelly, and because they often burn their garbage, the smell of smoke isn't all that uncommon. Yet, this smell was so acrid that I couldn't help but think it out of the ordinary. A few blocks from my apartment I began to see clouds of smoke rising in the distance, and in jest I asked myself, what if my apartment building were on fire? Did I leave the burner on? The heater? No, definitely not. What if my good-for-nothing neighbor set the place ablaze, maybe exploding a speaker while listening to Dido at full blast, as he is often wont. And, if my building were on fire, would I run in and try to save any of my belongings. I had to admit, I don't have a lot of valuable stuff. Nothing worth risking my neck on. Well, maybe my computer, my external hard-drive with all my music on it. When I turned the corner up my street and saw the firetrucks parked directly in front of my building, I felt like I was going to faint or puke or both. Just by imagining it (I imagined), I had made it true! Agast, I continued up the boulevard, and with great relief, I realized that my apartment was not on fire, but that a car parked directly in front of my building was. As you can see from the photos, the little sedan had been so engulfed by the flames that all that was left was a charred skeleton. Fortunately, no one was hurt, and word on the street was that the car "a pris feu" spontaneously. Ever wonder why you don't see French cars for sale in the U.S.? Not anymore, eh?

New Feature -- Music Sidebar

2007-03-26T09:09:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my good pal Dana, I've just been turned on to the world of music "scrobbling." I find this a most onerous term, like most of the recent crop of technolingo like googling, podcasting, ripping, digging, burning, blogging, etc., but this really is quite an ingenious service. Go to Last.fm to check it out. Once you download the software, it keeps track of what you listen to and shares it with your friends. You can find other people who are into the same stuff you're into, and it makes it really easy to find new music you might be interested. Also, it has all these radio stations that it tailors directly to your interests. Perfect for someone feeling a bit detached from popular culture by, say, the span of the Atlantic Ocean. So, if you want to digg what I'm into (yo), check out the sidebar. (I'm only mildly embarassed by the noticeable preponderance of tracks by NPR.)

The French Say the Darndest Things

2007-03-18T13:01:00.000-07:00

On the occasion of this lazy Sunday, I thought I would take advantage of one of my very rare moments of repose (as if I never pass an entire day in my pajamas ever) to catch you all up on the highlights of recent events in my irresistibly fascinating life in Toulon. To begin with, you should know that around these parts, the French have a familiar saying that they use to demarcate something they find especially foolish. The phrase is : n’importe quoi. Here’s how they might use it: Avec Segolene Royal, c’est vraiment n’importe quoi. Literally translated, that means, “with Segolene Royal, it is truly anything.” Figuratively, however, it means that the speaker thinks Segolene Royal is so crazy and stupid that she is totally unpredictable and will do anything no matter how ridiculous it seems (which is actually how most southerners of France feel about the leftist presidential candidate). Last night, a friend and I went out to a bar to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, a holiday that in fact few French people (if any) celebrate at all, but feeling staunchly true to our red American blood, we felt obliged to carry on the tradition even in hostile territory. Arriving at the bar dressed in ridiculous green garb, we immediately attracted attention as conspicuous Americans. After a short time, we fell in with a group of young people, some of whom we had met previously on another night. Even though we already knew some of these people, I felt like I was having a difficult time interacting with them in anything other than a very awkward way. We exchanged a few pleasantries amongst those of us packed tightly around one rectangular table, but after barely opening my mouth one young man felt obligated to tell me that his English was much better than my French, which had the double effect of both insulting me and convincing me to keep my mouth shut (he said this, of course, in barely intelligible English). I finally found what I thought to be a suitable “in” to a conversation going on next to me when a couple who had moments before been necking furiously joked that they were, in fact, brother and sister (oh, the sparkling French wit, always so charming and sophisticated!), to which I responded (I thought cleverly), that with the French it is truly “n’importe quoi.” Everyone laughed, which I took initially to mean that I had both effectively used a common phrase and made a good joke, but it didn’t take me long to realize that they were not laughing with me, but at me. For the rest of the evening, I was the simple American girl who said that “avec les français, c’est vraiment n’importe quoi.” The joke was repeated for everyone who passed by the table and even for distant friends who were eagerly lured over to hear what foolish thing the American girl said. And, after a while, it wasn’t so much what I said that seemed to matter, but that I had said anything. I was a novelty to them, and American who spoke not only French, but their own patois. I was no more interesting than a talking parrot, and there was really no convincing them otherwise since when I spoke they were so astonished by the words coming out of my mouth they couldn’t even pause to hear the content of what I was saying.

Incidents like these are particularly frustrating given the amount of time I spend at my job patiently trying to decipher pitiful attempts on the part of French young people to communicate to me in English, and overlooking the ridiculous things that they say. Just the other day, in fact, I had a real doozie. The topic of my lesson was what the students did during their most recent vacation. I had just asked if anyone in the class had a funny story about something that happened on vacation, when everyone pointed to one young man, we’ll call him Jean, saying that Jean had a funny story. Jean squirmed a little in his seat, reluctant to be in the spotlight, but finally he confessed that over the vacation he had eaten a bus. Yes, that’s right, he ate a bus. Here’s roughly the dialogue that ensued:

Me: I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you. You ate a bus?
Jean: Yes, yes. I ate a bus.
Me: But, you couldn’t possibly have eaten a bus. (I made the hand-to-mouth motion to indicate the meaning of “eaten.”)
Jean: Yes! I ate a bus! (He mirrors my miming motions.)
Me: Please explain.
Jean: I was on my cycle, and I ate a bus.
Me: Oh, you mean you HIT a bus. Or, rather, a bus hit you?
Jean: No, not HIT, ATE. I ate a bus. (I now think one of us is crazy. Jean continues.) It is… how do you say? A figure of speech. You say, ate a bus.

The discovery of this strange idiomatic phrase leaves me speechless. It is just too weird. I’m also not sure that Jean is a reliable source, although his classmates confirmed that it is a figure of speech that the French use to describe a collision. The reason I don’t trust Jean is that, first, Jean appeared to me to be unharmed. Had he hit a bus, I would expect to see at least a moderate amount of physical damage to his person. Second, it would seem more logical too me if it was the other way around, that the bus ATE him, not that he ATE the bus. But, then again, the French have all kinds of these ridiculous idioms. For example, to say that you’ve stood someone up, in French you say, literally, you left a rabbit. Or, if you have a hangover, you say you have a face made of wood. (There’s a great book on this, by the way, called “Ciel! Blake!”)

And, one more thing. There is a talking parrot in my neighborhood. He lives on the balcony of an apartment overlooking the main street, and most of the time he’s too preoccupied to say much of anything (it is a busy life, isn’t it, that of the talking parrot), but when he is feeling a bit loquacious, he says “merci” (thank you) and “ta gueule” (shut up) alternately and at random. Kind of has the effect of making the poor bird appear a bit unstable. And, have a bird shouting down at me from two stories above my head while I’m walking down the street has the effect of making me feel a bit unstable as well. So, I’m sticking to my guns on this one. With the French, it is truly “n’importe quoi.”

Heroes Are Eating My Brains!

2007-03-14T14:23:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh! I'm addicted to Heroes! Seriously, is anyone else watching this show? Its popularity is spreading among the expat crowd like the plague around these parts. My intention was to write a nice update blogpost, recapping my two week vacation, etc., but all I can think about is this NBC network program that I have in fact only ever seen in grainy pirated versions scrounged off the internet! I've already blown through the first eleven episodes in the last four days. The show is just that good... Or, it makes for a great escape, which is what I think all the assistants and I are really hungry for right about now. Vacation was fun, nay, really really fun, but coming back to Toulon is like a bucket of cold water in the face, a truly cruel awakening. I can't instantly teleport back to Barcelona or Paris, but Hiro (a character in the show) sure could! (He could also stop time so that I could watch every episode back to back and not feel guilty about wasting time!)

All mental diarrhea aside, vacation was great! The new photos should be up, and I hope to have more photos soon from my fellow travelers as well. Spent the first week in Barcelona, staying in a really cool youth hostel called Gothic Point. Did some sightseeing during the daytime and saw a lot of really cool architecture by Gaudi and strolled along the 5 km shopping route, and then in the evenings we partied almost until sunrise! Seriously, half the clubs in Barcelona don't even open until 3am! I wasn't crazy about the tapas, the traditional Spanish food, but I was all over the falafel! That's right, Barcelona has a fantastic falafel chain called Maoz that features freshly made falafel and an all-you-can-eat salad bar including the really yummy (and artery clogging) deep-fried cauliflower, all for super cheap. As a vegetarian, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven! We left Barcelona just as it was starting to heat up, and got to spend at least one solid afternoon laying on the beach, where people actually walk around selling beers and offering back massages to the beach bums. Then, I flew to Paris where I met up with Zoe and her mom. We ate a Maoz there too, except for some reason (if you've been reading my blog for a while now, I'm sure you will share my utter lack of suprise) the Maoz in Paris was totally lame! They didn't have the deep-fried cauliflower or any of the really tasty sauces they had in Barcelona, it was twice as expensive and the portions were half the size. (Leitmotif = everything in France sucks more than anywhere else. Period.) But, the really cool part about Paris was I actually spent the first two nights there by myself. Readers may recall my initial hesitation about traveling alone, but I decided to go for it as it was only two days, and it was a city that I'm very familiar with at this point. You're never alone in Paris, anyhow (even if you want to be!). It turned out to be a very serendipitous choice. When I first arrived in Paris, I checked into my hotel, and then decided to take a stroll to grab a bite to eat and maybe check to see if there was a movie theatre nearby or some other way to wile away the evening alone. Not three blocks from my hotel, I stumbled upon a theatre advertising a concert being held that night featuring Lily Allen (if you don't know who she is, you need to listen to her album, its fantastic!). I inquired about tickets, and sure enough, the concert wasn't sold out yet. I went back to my room to freshen up, then stood in line for tickets with a couple of die-hard Lily fans from Limoges who graciously let me cut in line with them. It was a long wait, but totally worth it. The show was fantastic, and it was probably the best venue for the cheapest price I would ever have the chance to pay to see her since she's not too famous in France (she's English, afterall, a major cultural and linguistic stumbling block for the French). Being packed into a tiny theatre in and amongst a multicultural crowd of hipsters felt so... homey. Where were the slicked back black-dyed mullets and the lace-up pointy toed pirate boots? Nowhere, that's where. In Toulon, where they should stay. These were my people. This was the Europe I was hoping to find, one in which language barriers dissolve when met by an overarching global culture based upon a philosophy of really great music, art, fashion, and enlightened principles. Such a relief to know it may actually still exist outside the realm of my inner fantasies... And then, Zoe's mom came and went, and then it was just Zoe and me in Paris. She made me spend too much money as always (not my fault, I swear). Finally, we spent last weekend in Digne, staying up too late with the Digne assistants and doing a little hiking, and then POOF, I was back in Toulon like I'd never left.

So, there's my vacation in a nutshell. I left a few things out, of course, but maybe I'll get to those details at a later date. You never know, it could happen. I could squish up my face in this really cute way that makes me bend space and time. Watch Heroes. You'll get it.

Vacation Roundup

2007-02-19T11:15:00.000-08:00

The pictures from my Milan trip one week ago are finally on the web (and by this I am insinuating that you should see them, especially since I took great pains to write descriptive captions for each and everyone one). Since I've been back, I've done nothing besides work and pine for my next opportunity to escape the "Ville de Merde" (or the locals' nickname for Toulon). Fortunately for me, my next vacation starts this weekend! Starting Saturday, I have a full two weeks of paid vacation ahead of me. I am currently in travel guides up to my eye-balls (aparently all that time I spend brooding and pining was not, actually, productive). Two weeks may seem like a long time for you stationary, non-migratory types, but for the world traveler with a wad of euros burning a whole in her pocket (euros do so ressemble play money, don't they?), time is not on my side. At the moment, I have committed to a full week in Barcelona, traveling with four other language assistants, and then it's on to Paris to meet up with Zoe and then head... who knows? Only problem is, I've got a gap of about three or four days in between Barcelona and Paris. I am (understandably, I think) loathe to return to Toulon. The city will be even more miserable since everyone (and I mean literally everyone since anyone who works get's time off at the same time as everyone else. That's what the french call "equality." It doesn't literally mean, in the democratic sense of the word, that we are all endowed with the same inalienable rights. No, it means we all go on vacation at the same time, probably to go skiing in the Alps, where we will all wear the exact same thing, and try not to become confused about who is who exactly, because we are all so very "equal." But, I digress...). Yes, it would just be me, and people who don't get off work, probably because they don't HAVE work, i.e. the homeless. But, my only other alternative, it would seem, would be to travel... alone. [Cue dramatic music.] I avoided the soul-searching question -- am I constitutionally capable of being in a foreign city all by myself? -- by doing some research. Google "women traveling alone" and there are lots of helpful advice columns and message boards (bordering on support groups) for women venturing abroad solo. Their suggestions include what to pack, ways to occupy your companion-free hours, and of course, staying safe. I read their advice, and now I'm back to the soul-searching question, only now it's a bit more fleshed out. Am I constitutionally capable of packing light enough to always have at least one hand free -- just in case? Ok. What about staying in a hotel room alone -- always make sure the person who knocks on your door is actually hotel personnel! Alright. How would you feel if someone propositioned you for sex -- it's not unusual to expect that a woman alone is a prostitute. Well, it wouldn't be the first time, I guess. But, usually I at least have a companion to laugh off the incident with me. Am I prepared to act as though I am the next victim of every person I meet, whether it be theft, rape, murder, or all three? How do I know the consierge at the hotel isn't really the mastermind behind a ring of internal organ thieves? What's to stop the man from driving the taxing from taking me to an out-of-the-way location and having his way with me? No! Not alright! Fear is the number one reason that keeps women from traveling -- it's certainly mine. Coming on the heels of V-day, and I don't mean Valentine's day, I mean the "V" that brought each and every one of us into this world, a day that passed sadly into history without celebration or acknowledgement on the part of the French, chauvinist bastards as they (mostly) are, I want to stand up and grab my suitcase and liberties in hand, and go wherever my heart desires and show my male oppressors that they cannot hold me down! But, then, I am forced to confront reality... Even if all the horrible things that could happen NEVER happen, could I even enjoy myself knowing all the while that they might, and they have (to other women). I don't know, dear readers. Are my fears irrational? Or, would I be a real Pollyanna to venture out alone?

I'll await the advice of my readership, of course. but as it stands, I'll probably still have to spend one miserable weekend in Toulon, deadbolt and chain securely fastened. And, that's why God created books, and anxious, introverted women who love them!

The French Connection

2007-01-30T12:16:00.001-08:00

Last weekend, my friend Mieko (another assistant from Berkeley, CA) and I spent a day in Marseille. According to my guidebooks (and I have no reason to doubt them), Marseille is the oldest city in France, built in 600 BC by the ancient Greeks, who were then conquered by Romans, who were then conquered by the Franks (who had recently joined up with the Christians, a rather faddish thing to do at the time, which I think presages many French tendancies), and scattered through all these more historic conquerings were more minor ones, what with the constant influx of immigrants from all along the Mediterranean bringing with them disease and avarice, like one does. Marseille is more popularly known today for its bawdiness and mystery (which is a very nice way of saying gangs, drugs, and violent crime). Lots of crime novels, or "policiers" as they are known in France, are set here, as well as the famous film "The French Connection." In France, Marseille is considered the second most important city in the country after Paris, which to me goes to show exactly how arogant the parisiens actually are.

I didn't like Marseille at first, but I have to admit, its beginning to grow on me. The first time I saw the city, all that caught my eye was the apparent destitution of the people, the filthiness of the buildings and streets, and the way the roads having been destroyed in the process of reconstruction (I hope!) looked above all else like the gaping mouth of hell out of which the city seemed to be slowly oozing out! Of course, all that stuff was still there last weekend, but this time, and again, with my trusty guidebooks in hand, I got to see some of the really great parts of the city. For example, our first stop was L'abbaye St. Victor, a 5th century church which, like St. Peter, was built on the ruins of a pagan cemetery and currently houses the sarcophogi of several early Christian martyrs (though, none so famous as St. Peter). The church was especially remarkable since even though it housed all of these amazing early Christian and pagan artifacts, the place was not touristy at all. In fact, on a Saturday afternoon, we were the only ones there! The catacombes below the church where the most important artifacts were to be found, were very spacious (which meant I didn't get claustrophobic like at St. Peter's), and without the crowds we were able to wander around quite comfortably. The church also had a beautiful organ which was played while we weret there, adding a very authentic (and a bit creepy) ambience to the whole experience. Also, because the church is, like most ancient european churches, still in use, it was easy to feel as though one were being taken back in time, becoming swept up in the life and spirit of a living church community.

[Side note: right at this very moment, as I am typing these words, my next-door neighbor and his crew are apparently drunk and singing "Proud Mary" in slurred english at the top of their lungs and pounding on the floor. I just thought you'd all like to know that. Sailors.]

Anyway... L'abbaye St. Victor is located right next to the oldest bakery in Marseille, Le Fours aux Navettes, where they make, among other things, of course, the signature Marseille treat, the navette. Navettes are long, almost canoe shaped cookies that are so dry it is said that you can wait to eat them for up to one year after they are baked and they will still taste exactly the same. Mieko and I opted to eat ours right away. They were good, but as we say back home in MN, they were "different." Crispy on the outside, and just barely moist enough on the insight to not break your teeth, they taste strangely of almonds, vanilla, orange zest, anis, and something that tastes like Earl Grey tea, perhaps bergamot? According to legend, the navettes were created for the pilgrims who came to St. Victor (likely on hands and knees) to stave off hunger. And, since they last forever, I can imagine sailors smuggling a few onto the ship for an occassional treat during their long forays at sea.

[Good god! Will the pounding ever stop?!]

Ok... where was I? Right. So, after St. Victor and our navettes, we wander to the other side of the Old Port, the ancient heart of Marseille, to the opposite side to a neighborhood called the Panier, or Breadbasket. No bakeries on this side, though, mostly just residences tucked back into winding narrow streets at seemingly impossible angles. It was a nice place to escape the throngs of aggressive shoppers, moping smelly homeless folk, drug dealers, prostitutes, etc. It was there that we found a lovely and affordable place for lunch where we could soak up the southern sun and take a load off for, oh, two hours or so, since that's generally how long restaurant service takes in France. Around the corner was the apartment where Napolean actually lived (and not just took a nap or tripped over his shoe-laces, like most of the other monuments throughout France in the form of "Napoleon-was-here").

Finally, we joined the throngs of shoppers (if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!), and lightened the load in our wallets. Not a bad day.

I also bought a few postcards. Want one? Let's make this a little competition, shall we? Nothing like a prize to make things more interesting!

First 5 people to post comments to this blog-post will get a handwritten postcard from yours truly!

Say anything you want, just put your address in there somewhere's so's I can get the darn thing to ya.

Finding Hope in Bluegrass

2007-01-25T00:56:00.000-08:00

I don't usually post links to other stories like this -- I know my readers are busy people, and aren't likely to chase links all day -- but this one is truly special and deserving of your attention. It is a beautiful story, full of heart, the likes of which you don't often find in a newspaper anymore.

Bluegrass beats the cancer blues

Mark and Karyn Nelson mean a lot to my family, and their strength and creativity has greatly inspired me over the years. I don't pray much, but I'm praying for them.

How I'm Paying for All This Bling (and by Bling, I mean Book-learning)

2007-01-23T07:33:00.000-08:00

Ok, so this has nothing whatsoever to do with my being in France (unless you consider that my increasing alienation has drawn me closer to my computer and the endless frontier of the information super-highway). I was just reading a random blog, and, like you do, I clicked a link and landed on another random blog, and another, and yet another, until I found myself at the home of Steve Pavlina. Mr. Pavlina -- oh hell, let's call him Steve, since I am certain we are soul-mates hence we can do without the formalities -- Steve has promised to give $1 million to anyone who joins him in his great endeavor. The catch? All you have to do is repeat the following phrase to yourself once every day:

" In an easy and relaxed manner, in a healthy and positive way, in its own perfect time, for the highest good of all, I intend $1,000,000 to come into my life and into the lives of everyone who holds this intention."

That's it! Steve calls it "passive manifestation." And, it works! How do we know? Because, Steve keeps track! If you join up with the team, he puts your name in a database and you tell him when you've made your million, and Steve records the data. So far, Steve's team has made a whopping $2,878,202.86! Granted, no one individual has actually made a million dollars yet -- that figure I just quoted is the sum total amount for the hundreds of people who so far have promised to passively manifest money with him -- and some folks haven't made a dime. (What? Not passively manifesting hard enough? Time to be more passive!) Not only is Steve the team bean-counter, he also works tech support. For example, you can download from his website wallpaper and screensavers that are designed to reinforce your passive manifesting. Is there anything Steve hasn't thought of? [Mom, please disregard the following paragraph.]

Maybe. Like, how do you know when you've actually made money off of this passive manifesting scheme? Will I get a check in the mail? Will Richy McRicherson call me and pay me a million dollars to give his poodle a bath? Will I have to report the income I make from passive manifestation on my tax returns? And, if hundreds more people become millionaires without doing any actual work, how will this affect the economy? I mean, the rich/poor gap is already as wide as its ever been. Plus, money doesn't just grow on trees -- might my riches obtained through passive manifestation come at the cost of labor exploitation, that is, people who are actively manifesting their dollars through work?

[Mom, you may continue reading.] Nope, Steve thought of everything! Soon I'll have my passive manifestation merch (screen-savers, t-shirts, and the like), and I'll be ready to fully commit all my energies to productive passivity. Time to put all those hours I wasted on work to good use -- ooh! The hit WB series "Charmed" featuring Shannon Doherty is almost on TV, dubbed in French! Now, that's entertainment. So, no worries about all that mounting debt, Mom. Me and Steve got it all figured out!

[My appologies to Mr. Steve Pavlina for the sarcastic tone I have taken in this blog post -- the truth is, I'm totally reading your entire blog and I'm embarassed to admit it. I especially like the stuff about subjective world view...]

Top Ten Reasons Toulon Is For the Dogs

2007-01-08T08:37:00.000-08:00

Does it ever happen to you that you're just walking down the street, minding your own business, when you are suddenly alerted to the presence of a disgruntled wino by virtue his incoherent shouting (to no one in particular, it seems)? Does it usually turn out that the wino also happens to be a bit of an exhibitionist, and is making all this comotion so that everyone has the pleasure of watching him pee on the street? I don't know about you, but this happens to me all the time! Though, today's incident had a special twist in that the wino decided to strip off most of his clothes to facilitate his peeing, which was much more theatrical than the usual "drop trow' and pee" routine. Granted, it was an unusually warm day. I'm sure he found it refreshing. Me, I wanted to cry. Which brings me to...

The Top Ten Reasons I Wish I Weren't In Toulon (and Why I Want to Go Home)
1. Winos. They're everywhere. They smell. They expose themselves and masturbate in public.
2. Dog shit. It's everywhere. It smells. I step in it, and I smell.
3. France Telecom. My phone doesn't work and I don't why. Is it worth the pain of trying to get customer service to get it fixed? Can I even afford to pay for customer service? No. Unequivically no.
4. French TV. I turned on the TV last night, and it was nothing but soft-core porn and the Maury Povich show. It was Sunday night. I'm not kidding.
5. Men who carry purses. Every time I look at my purse and wonder if it looks "too masculine," I want to cry.
6. Men with greasy mullets who leer at you and then spit on the street. This could really be three separate points, but I'm trying to limit myself to only ten reasons.
7. The post office. They send me the wrong mail, and I have to wait an hour in line just to try to give it back to them, which I am just not willing to do because my blood sugar is tanking, I have to pee, and it's like a million degrees in the post office like it is in every building here... I also need stamps, and the stamp machine is always busted. Why can't they fix the damn machine? Why can't I just buy stamps at an ATM like in America? Why?!
8. Having to pay for everything, including customer service and using the toilet. Every time I go out I have to plan my route based on my proximity to free and semi-hygenic toilets combined with a careful calculation of when I think I will next have the urge to go. There are certain places I just can't go, because, well, I just can't go there. I try to extend my territory by drinking fewer fluids, but then I'm just dehydrated all the time.
9. People who bump into you or refuse to get out of your way. Which is, like, everyone. They're rude, they don't care. I walk down the street, and I cease to exist.
10. French high school students. They don't want to learn, I don't want to teach them. They think they're too cool to waste their time with me, and they're probably right. They should be at home, styling their mullets.

and, oh, what the hell...

11. French food. All empty carbohydrates and crazy meats that you wouldn't eat even if you were the kind of person who eats meat, which I am decidedly not. Dry lumpy sausages, horse meat, fatty liver, giblets, intestines, and even testicles are some of their favorite delicacies. Why, lord, why? I would kill for some Smart Bacon or a veggie dog right now. Tofu, tempeh, seitan, even a little vegan cheez! Also, they won't castrate their dogs because they seem to think its cruel, and yet they'll eat the testicles off cattle? You know what's cruel? Forcing me to look at big ugly dog testicles!

Ugh.

I Knew It!, or, What Italy Taught Me About France

2007-01-06T06:06:00.000-08:00

I have but recently returned from my whirlwind tour of France and Italy with my mom for the Christmas Holiday. Soon, I will have photos posted on my sister photo site for you all to feast your eyes upon and share my journey vicariously. (I would have had these photos up sooner, but I've basically been asleep for the past 48 hours since I've been back in my Toulon pad.) Until that time, I have the above photo for you as a bit of a teaser. A picture is worth a thousand words, as they say, and as far as I'm concerned, this photo captures everything I could possibly want to say about France. I found this little shop on a random street in Paris, and I just couldn't help myself. I think it gives the viewer a good sense of the fact that Paris wants desperately to be, or at least, to be perceived as, an international city, but she finds herself foiled time and again by the foibles of her backwards and provincial citizens. The French incorporate English, the international language (for better or worse), into their own patois the way they litter their sidewalks with poodle poop, like haphazard little bombs for the consummate linguist to stumble into and either grimace or giggle (depending on whether or not one happens to be a glass half-full or half-empty sort). I think the photo also reflects a kind of decadence on the part of the French. The sign reads like a list of favorites for the average frenchman, first liquor and wine ("alcool and stranger wine", a poor attempt at translating the french "alcool et vin etranger" into English), followed by fruit, which could be read either as their "gourmand" disposition or a more tongue-in-cheek reference to their "fruity" behavior (no offense, but we all know that frenchmen are yellow-bellied turncoats who carry purses, which is absolutely true). I also get a whiff of xenophobia when I read "stranger wine," which is probably just my attempt at reading too much into the silly sign, but when it comes to the French, you just never know where a racist joke might weave its way into the most benign situations, so I always keep my guard up. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that France is not it's all cracked up to be -- but Italy is!

Please, if you have plans to go to Europe...
a) take me with you,
b) go to Italy
c) learn Italian or make sure that your children do.

Look, Italy has everything that France has, with none of the shitty parts (I mean that literally and figuratively, of course). Italy has great food, in fact, the food is better in Italy since all the good food that you get in France is Mediterranean anyway (unless you really really love to eat frogs legs and horse meat, and in that case, I don't think you should be my friend anymore). I mean, Italy is the home of the Slow Food movement, for crying out loud! France only got CSA's five years ago, and the STILL don't have co-ops (think about it, people, this is a 3rd world country!). Italy also has great cities. I know, I know, Paris is the most visited city in the world, but who wants to do what everyone else is doing? What, are you lemmings?! Rome is a million times better than Paris! 1st, there is no poop. The Romans keep adorable dogs, but, unlike the French, they actually pick up after them. Now, that's what I call civilization (well, the Romans did INVENT Western Civilization, afterall, remember?). 2nd, Rome is much more "walkable," in my opinion. Romans are just as maniacal behind the wheel as the French, and they will kill you if you try to cross a busy street without looking, but there are many more small streets where cars simply can't go. And, if you really want to leave the world of gas-guzzlers behind, go to Venice, where cars are not allowed! Heck, not only cars, but motorcycles, and bicycles as well! And, I promise, you cannot get hit by a gondola, try as you might. 3rd, Rome (though not Venice) is not nearly as touristy as Paris (remember that part about being the most visited city in the world? well, guess what, Paris is chock full of annoying and annoyed tourists). If you want to connect with real local people and culture, Italy is the place, and Italians are the people, since even if you go outside of Paris the French will still ignore you because you're not French (unless they are ripping you off or teasing you, both of which the French enjoy very much). Which brings me to the 4th reason to go to Italy, which is that the Italians are nice. Bump into an Italian, and you will hear, "Oh, mi scuzi!" Bump into a Frenchman, and you will hear.... nothing. Probably, you will just hear the sound of yourself saying, "ouch" because they've just whacked you with their enormous Chloe bag with the giant solid gold lock on the front of it. How about a 5th reason? Here's one for you history buffs: Italy practically invented Western history. Sure, France has history too, but basically all their history they just copy from Rome. You like churches? You could go see Sacre Coeur or Notre Dame, the two most famous churches in Paris OR you could go see St. Peter's church where Peter is actually buried. We're talking the birthplace of the Christian church, here! How about other kinds of monuments? The Pantheon? Yeah, France has one, but Rome has THE Pantheon! What about art? Well, Paris has some nice museums, but again, Italy invented the Renaissance (why it's a French word, I have no idea). Oh, and here's a 6th reason for you ladies: the Italian men are gorgeous. I mean, H O T, hot! And, charming.... sigh. Long story short, I am totally kicking myself for having learned French instead of Italian. Every time I see a French man in a track suit with gold chains around his neck, a mullet hair-do, and a fake Louis Vuitton purse over his shoulder I just want to throw up.

But, it's not all bad. Coming home to my little flat in Toulon was really nice. They turned off the Christmas lights, which was sort of too bad because it was really the only beautiful thing about Toulon this time of year. Still, the weather was warm and sunny, as always, which was a comfort after the cold, grey raininess of Paris. And, seeing the old gang of winos lounging around in the late afternoon sun after I finally got myself out of bed to get some groceries at the neighborhood store was almost comforting. They look so peaceful, really, all snuggled up with their plastic wine jugs, drooling and scratching themselves. With the holidays over, life is slowing down a bit, and I don't mind that at all. Hope your was as good as mine.

The Big Move

2006-12-15T03:49:00.000-08:00

Please forgive my delinquance, "chers" readers, for it has been too long since I have reported on my comings and goings for all of you. Indeed, it has already been a full week since I moved into my new apartment in Toulon. The explanation for the move is a bit complicated, but suffice it to say for now that it was simply too difficult to commute from Bandol to Toulon every day to go to work. Public transportation in these parts is not always as reliable or as convenient as is often necessary, and even in the best of times, when there is not strike or other "manifestation" to "perturbe" the traffic, it was still quite a long journey on foot or by bike to and from the train station. And so, I now have new digs in the city. Truth be told, it is quite a transition to come to terms with, and that is perhaps why it has taken me so long to write. I miss the beauty and the tranquility of the country side, but I can't help but revel in all the delights and attractions of city life!

First, there are all the lights! The Xmas lights in Toulon went up months ago, but they stayed dark until December 1st. All the locals complain that they are a waste of electricity and tax-payer euros, but at least I can tell that they truly adore them. The Xmas lights are everywhere, arching over the grand boulevard at each block, twining up palm trees, and sculpted into figures of animals and Santa sleighs at every "rond point." There are so many lights, in fact, that at night it is still bright as day! Excessive? Oh, yes. And, very tacky. The toulonais clearly adore Xmas, and they throw themselves with abandon into the spirit of the season, never stopping to wonder if their decor might not be in the best taste. Xmas carrols are being piped, as we speak, through loudspeakers installed at the tops of all the lamp-posts, and there is even an M.C. who announces all the Xmas sales and specials at every local shop and restaurant in between the songs. With the beaches closed for the season, there is little selse to do besides sipping "vin chaud" and wandering around gazing at the glittering lights.

Second, there are the people. I have to admit, that for French people, the people of Toulon are pretty nice. Unlike Parisians, they are rarely in a hurry, and so they are delighted to stop and chat with a sputtering foreigner, and they're absolutely tickled pink to discover an "americaine" in their midst! Sure, there are also the winos who spend their days and nights sleeping on the corner in puddles of their own piss, drinking the cheapest wine sold in plastic bottles. Yet, even they seem strangely content and are much more interested in protecting their own wino territory and coddling their only slightly smellier pooches they keep as pets (yes, everyone in France has a dog, and I am really jealous!) than they are interested in bothering anyone else. But then, there's also the nice young women who tend the counters at the local grocery store, who smile when they hear my accent and wink if they remember me when I walk through the door, and there's the two adorable young men who work at the sandwhich shop just down the street, Benji and Benoit, who will deliver your sandwhich right to your door if you want so long as it's after 4pm. And, there are all the other language assistants who live, as I now do, in Toulon. Unfortunately, because I had been so isolated in Bandol, I only know a few of them, but I'm hoping to be able to catch up on my social life soon. In fact, tonight, my friend Mieko, another English assistant from Berkely, CA is inviting everyone over to her apartment to celebrate the first night of Hannukah. According to Mieko, she makes a mean latke, and I can't wait! Of course, I suspect most of us are really gentiles, but who doesn't love a good latke? Also, I was recently invited over to the home of one of the teachers that I work with at the college (junior high to us), and she wants me to tutor her son in English. And, you will never guess where she studied English... in Moorhead, MN!!! Yes, as a young woman she was sent to Concordia College as a foreign exchange student, the poor thing! And, to think that's where I went to debate camp in high school! Small world indeed...

And, finally, there is the benefit that comes with living in any decent sized city, and that is having everything you desire right at your fingertips! I have just had my phone, wireless internet, and digital cable TV installed in my apartment! And so, the world of technology re-opens its doors to me, and it feels like a breath of sweet, fresh air! And, the city offers many other conveniences too, such as pizza delivery, shopping malls, and even McDonalds (I've only gone once, I swear!). There's even an Ikea! I went yesterday to get a few more things for my apartment, and I'm telling you, it feels like the lap of luxury! Of course, my poverty still keeps me on a short leash, but at the moment it feels absolutely hedonistic to just sleep past 10am!

Le Mistral est arrivé!

2006-11-22T05:50:00.000-08:00

The hard, cold, driving wind known as the Mistral has finally made its presence known here in the south of France. Here, the wind is infamous. It is said that the Mistral causes law-abiding men to commit murder, makes animals go insane, and drives happy people to suicide. Not that the french ever exaggerate. Ok, it is windy, I'll give 'em that. But, it'll be all over in a few days, and we'll be back to sunny, peaceful weather in no time.

Then again, I have seen a few strange things today. This morning, on my way to work, I stopped into a Casino (it's like a gas station shop without the gas -- don't worry, I'm not gambling yet!) to get a bottle of water. As I left the store, a man came into the shop and left his dog outside, chained to a metal sign advertising fesh bread in front of the entrance. The dog was large, with the body of a greyhound, but pure white. As he walked by me, I heard him say to the animal, "Bouge pas! Sage!" Or, don't move. Be good. Moments later, I heard a terrible noise coming from behind me. As I turned around to see what it was, I saw this white dog careening down the street with the metal sign still chained to his kneck, clanging and scraping behind him! the dog ran down the street and right through the center of the busy market place. Scores of people dropped what they were doing to look at, or get out of the way of, the wild dog! And, chasing after him, though lagging rather far behind, was his owner, bright red with embarassment!

Later in the day, I saw perhaps the most bizarre police chase in my life! There was a police van full of cops that was trying to get around a "rond point" (or "roundabout"), but was blocked by a crazy man in an electric wheelchair! The man in the wheelchair was yelling at the police and shaking his fist at them, while the police were yelling back and trying to get the man to move his "vehicle" off the street. Ok, it was so much a chase as just an annoying traffic problem, but still, it was strange, and silly that the french police couldn't even manage to find away to get around a man in a wheelchair! But, as I find myself saying more and more these days, that's just life in France!

Ahoy Sailor!

2006-11-16T04:34:00.000-08:00

First, I must warn you, my dear readers, that I'm a little bit tipsy. Yes, it is only 1:30 in the afternoon, but today we celebrate the release of the New Beaujolais, and all of France simply must have a taste! The salles des profs, the teachers lounge, is now full of slightly sodden teaching staff. Best of luck to those with afternoon classes!

That said, you will all be glad to know that I have finally met a sailor. We met entirely "par hasard" on the train on Friday afternoon when I was on my way home from school and he was heading to Rouen, his hometown, where he spends his weekends. We started chatting, and exchanged numbers, and after a several tricky phone conversations we managed to arrange a date for last night. We met in Toulon, walked around a bit along the marina, and then went to see a movie. It was fun to have the chance to really talk with and get to know an "authentic" French person, and I was glad to know that we felt about the same about the people in Toulon. According to my sailor friend, a non-native of the south of France, the people here are "superficiel". Toute à fait. But, I regret to inform my readership that I was not easily wooed by his french charms. As an American girl raised to believe that real men are meant to be sensible, strong, and only affectionate in a subtly reserved sort of way, I was a bit put-off by my french sailor's advances. I can understand, for example, that holding hands while walking along a pier is in theory romantic, but in practice holding hands is only something I do with my mom. I love my mom, but not like that. And, at other times, the sailor's moves just seemed a bit cliché. At a particularly tense moment during our film, I shuddered, and the sailor quickly made a grab for my shoulder, saying, "you are not too scared?" Seriously, I'm a big girl, I don't need to be protected from violent images in films. And, I absolutely had to draw the line when he asked if he could rest his head on my shoulder during the movie. I like my personal space, and I don't need to share it with someone I only just met. But, at least he asked. So, in the end, I told my sweet french sailor that I had a boyfriend in the United States. If anyone asks, he is six foot two, a cattle rancher and rodeo king, and must eat at McDonalds twice a day just to sustain his strength. I think I shall call him "Steve". I look forward to seeing my Steve in the spring. He'll be the only man in a ten gallon hat in all of France!

God Bless America, and all her sons!

The Times They Are A Changin'!

2006-11-09T00:46:00.000-08:00

The whole world is turned upside down, and for once, this is a good thing! Our little American enclave here in France is all a-flutter with the good news coming out of the States that finally we will have a Democrat majority in the House, and maybe even in the Senate too! Oh yeah, and buh-bye Rummy! Could this be the beginning of a new era of peace and prosperity? Well, if so, it's about time!

But, that's not all the good news! Oh, I can barely type, I am nearly shaking with joy! Yesterday, the lawyers came to resolve the land dispute with our evil neighbor, Pascal. It was quite a stressful ordeal for all of us, but I would like to think it was worse for me since I was stuck in the house watching Gus, and had to wait anxiously for the results, all the while catching snippets of angry french bickering and wild gesticulations through the windows. But, when it was all over, we came out on top! Of course, we were right all along -- Pascal had built several buildings without a permit and illegally narrowed the right-of-way, not to mention the septic system he had installed in the neighborhood well -- but the result of all the hemming and hawing was the best outcome we could have imagined. Pascal and his lawyers offered to trade land! Instead of having a small triangle of land that can only be reached by walking through Pascal's backyard (and his illegal swimming pool!), we could have a contiguous piece of land surrounding the house that we would immediately fence off and have complete privacy PLUS more gardens and grapevines!

Of course, this also means that all the time I spent working to clear the land last week may have been for naught, but hopefully it will only be a matter of months before we are able to secure a land swap, and I can start planning new and better garden plots. And, who knows, perhaps soon I'll be learning how to make organic wine!

Only one "mauvaise nouvelle", as we say in France. France Telecom cut off our phone line again yesterday! Incroyable! I spent an hour on the phone last night (for 35 cents a minute!) complaining in my most stern French to a bunch of incompetent corporate peons, and it was so frustrating that I don't even want to recount any more details. I will only say that I understand why the French aren't allowed to have guns, and why they smoke like chimneys!

Au Revoir Vacance!

2006-11-05T06:44:00.000-08:00

Well, vacation, or "vacance" is over today. I can't believe it went by so fast. I had two friends come to visit, which was pretty exciting and a bit unexpected! My friend from high school, and college, Charles Ryan stayed with us for about a week while he was traveling from Germany to meet his brother in Spain. He helped out a lot around the place, clearing land for future garden plots, and doing a little babysitting of little Gus-meister. Charles also knows reiki, which he shared with us. It was cool, but I think I still don't quite "get" it. It's a sort of "laying on of hands" technique involving auras and positive thinking. Sadly, I didn't have any profound visions or moments of euphoria, although I did imagine growing beautiful vegetables during one session, but I think at that point I had accidentally fallen asleep! Oh well! Charles is on to Barcelona now, so hopefully he'll find more receptive clients among the Spaniards.

Zoe, my old roomie from college, and a fellow assistant in Digne, just north of Bandol, descended from the mountains by bus and train to spend a few days with me on the beach over vacation. Zoe is teaching elementary school, which is much more difficult than teaching junior high and high school, at least as I understand it. Unlike my students, hers know virtually no english at all, so she has to give them directions, and discipline them, in french. Zoe and I met in Aix-en-Provence and spent the evening there, just walking around, doing a little shopping, and noshing on tapas and drinking sangria. Then, we took the train back to Bandol, and Zoe spent a couple days with the whole gang -- Charles, Gus, Penny, and yours truly! It was a full house, but we had fun! Zoe got a great deal on a cashmere sweater in Toulon, and I finally had someone to share some gelato with! And, Gus was happy to have lots of people to play with and to lavish attention on him.

Now the house is quiet, and a bit chilly. November sort of sneaked up on me, it seems. All of October still felt like the height of summer in Minnesota here in the South of France, but suddenly there's a crispness in the air. The grape leaves in the vineyards have mostly turned from deep green to vibrant shades of orange and red. The other evening, when I was walking home from town, I could even see the white puffs of my exhalations. Soon, it will be time to harvest the olives, and take them to the community mill to be turned into olive oil.

Thanks to all of you who have sent me emails and instant messages! I'm online much more often now that I have wireless internet access at home. I apologize if I don't always respond right away, but I will do my best to be more prompt.
Bisous!

P.S. The photo is of Penny and Gus hiking up to the church at the top of old Le Beausset

American Paragon: The New Home of the Bandol Beat

2006-10-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

Greetings friends! I am so excited to return to the world of Blogger.com and my American Paragon persona! Why? Well, because the whole thing was so creatively virile to begin with, so richly inspired, that I could never fully abandon the site without compromising my integrity as a blogger... and then there were the technical problems that came with the move to France which drove me back to a comprehensive web-based blog. For as much as I love my iWeb program, lets face it, traveling is wearisome enough without all the electrical gadgetry. Experience has shown me that the easiest way to blog on the go is to do it from any internet-connected computer and to carry my data on the slick little usb drive that my mom sent me. And now, keeping my admirers up to date will be even easier since the internet finally works at the house in Bandol! Yes, after three months, hundreds of letters, and hours on the phone with customer service (at 35 cents a minute!), we now have working access to the international web of life! I feel like I have been invited back into the 21st century, and let me tell you, it feels great to be here! Also, I've supplied links to my old Mac site as well as my web-based photo album in the column at the right, should you be so inclined.

Life here is good. The weather is perfect all the time, which really does wonders for a girl's mood. And, maybe I'm not such a bad teacher. Or, a bad babysitter, for that matter. More soon! (I swear, really.)

My Ulcer, My Self

2006-07-24T08:39:00.000-07:00

Yogis and granola-eaters the world over have long touted the mind/body connection as the key to health and happiness. I tend to agree with them (I eat a lot of granola myself), but even as I talk the talk, I rarely walk the walk. I take pretty good care of myself physically. I eat a well-balanced diet with lots of organic fruits and vegetables, and I make a point to get regular exercise and adequate sleep. Recently, I even quit smoking and drinking caffeinated beverages. Yet, though my body may be fit as a fiddle, my mind is, metaphorically speaking, sacked out on a moth-eaten sofa, glued to the "glass teat"*, throttling the remote control and eating Krispy Kremes hand over fist, fattening itself on the fruits of stress, anxiety, and workaholism. I don't deny that I am a perfectionist, I take pride in my work, but in recent weeks my anal retention (or "analyzing" as my friend Zoe likes to call it) has driven me to new lows. At the ripe age of 22, I have given myself an ulcer.

Yes, healthy as I am, imagine my surprise when I woke up in the middle of the night a couple weeks ago to a horrific case of heart-burn, on that subsequently did not abate for forty-eight hours. When my doctor told me it was probably caused by stress, I simply could not believe her. "Ulcers are not caused by stress," I whined. And, for the most part, of course, I was right. Doctors now concur that ulcers are caused by bacterial infections in the stomach and esophagus -- but stress helps, nonetheless. Antibiotics are over-prescribed as it is, so if doctors can treat an ulcer by lowering their patients' production of stomach acid and get them to take a chill pill, they will. My doctor gave me a prescription-only antacid and said, "take care of yourself."

Living with an ulcer isn't easy, but it has started to teach me a few things about myself. The human imagination has long equated the digestive tract with personality quirks, ever since the ancients located the spleen as the source of bilious "bad humours." My own life-long inability to belch, a rather genteel handicap which prevents me from expressing my own biliousness may find its parallel in my tendency to suppress my emotions. Springing from this combination of everyday tensions and congenital indigestion, perhaps my ulcer is now pointing the way to a fuller and less stressful existence. I am learning to take things more slowly and to accept moderation, since I am only able to eat several small meals throughout the day. I am also learning to stop depriving myself of the things that I need in order to increase my productivity, since an empty stomach caused my skipping meals is now intensely painful. Drinking, smoking, caffeine, and fatty foods are now absolutely out of the question because all of these aggravate my ulcer, so I'm locked into clean living. And, any and all stress is to be avoided at all cost, which means I'll probably be reading the news less, and doddling more. Expect to expect less of me in the next few weeks as I recharge my batteries, and I will do the same. In the meantime, learn to love your flaws. They love you.

Da Vinci vs. Superman

2006-07-16T09:00:00.000-07:00

Warning: The following contains a Jungian analysis of two summer blockbuster films, "The Da Vinci Code" and "Superman Returns," during which the author is required to reveal the films' endings. If surprises are how you get your rocks off, see the movies first before you read this blog post.

I have this half-baked theory I feel compelled to share with my paltry readership, voracious though they may be for more of my witty witticisms. The theory is probably far-fetched, and most definitely heretical if you come from the same stock as most members of Congress, that is, evangelical Christian. But, I urge you, one and all, especially you members of Congress, to stop your money laundering for a moment, set aside that juicy shank of pork-barrel, and hear me out.

The concept hit me like a silver bullet, like a bird dropping, like airplane landing gears hitting pavement, like a wad of gum spat from the luscious lips of Brandon Routh. I had just seen Superman Returns, and though it was possibly the highlight of my movie-going career, the film left me with a strange sense of déjà vu. (And, not because I've seen all four original Superman movies dozens, plus most of the episodes of the old TV series, the "Lois and Clark" series, and a handful of "Smallville" episodes. I also had Superman Under-roos, and I never could forgive my grandmother for ruining my Superman t-shirt in the wash. To say that I'm a fan would be an understatement.) As my readers surely recall, the last film I saw in theaters was The Da Vinci Code, and the more I thought about these two films, the more I realized that I had struck a metaphorical gold mine. My friends, I am here to testify that Superman Returns and The Da Vinci Code are in fact the same movie! No, no, don't go running to the box office demanding a refund. We haven't been snookered, we just got what we asked for. Before I go any further, let's examine the evidence.

Both plots are about "saviors" sent to Earth to redeem mankind with congenital super-powers. The Da Vinci Code swipes its superhero from the pages of the greatest story ever told, giving us Jesus Christ, a man of the people who could, among other things, cure leprocy and walk on water. In Superman Returns, the man of steel describes himself as a savior responding to the cries of the people. Despite their remarkable powers, neither are strictly invincible, whether it be death by crucifixion or kryptonite.

Both saviors are embroiled in sexual scandal. Jesus is suspected of having had an illegitimate child with side-kick Mary Magdalen in The Da Vinci Code, while in Superman Returns Lois Lane bears a child out of wedlock, and through an extraordinary set of circumstances we learn that Superman is the father.

The illegitimate offspring of these superheros are billed as the keys to unlock a brighter future for mankind, continuing the inheritance of superpowers that their savior fathers inherited from their own distant super-fathers. Superman receives his powers from his alien father (played once again by Marlon Brando peering out of a crystal), and it appears that he has passed at least some of his powers onto his son. Jesus gets his abilities from God the Father, and according to the film, passes his royal blood through a secret lineage. On it's face, the creation of a super-race of humans through careful breeding smacks of eugenics, but I think it's probably meant to be a metaphor for the emboldening of the human spirit. I hope.

Without going into all the messianic imagery in both films, I think we've pretty well established the comparison. But, if you're a member of Congress, and even if you're not, you might be thinking to yourself that all this amounts to is worth less than a hill of beans. Then again, if you tend to think like a congressman, you should expect to be wrong. The reason the similarities between these films matter is because it points to the emergence of a new archetypal story, or rather a very old story that is just now attaining prominence in contemporary culture. I like to think of it as a small step for man, and a giant leap for womankind. That's because this new story is really the story of what Dan Brown terms in The Da Vinci Code "the sacred feminine." Notice that the role of women and matrilineage is brought to prominence in the two films. Mary Magdalen is redeemed from her status as whore and elevated to holy grail. Lois Lane is no longer the scrappy muckraker of yore, but is the mother of Superman's progeny, humanity's next great hope, and a Pulitzer Prize-winner to boot. Gone are the distant father-figures peering down from the heavens or staring out at us from alien crystals, the new heros are sensitive family men who prefer to stay close to home. Well, that's the bright-side, anyway. On the other hand, the end of Superman Returns leaves us with the image of Superman flying off into space to go be a hero or sulk in his Fortress of Solitude, leaving his son to be raised by his mother and a surrogate father who can only fly by means of an airplane. Gee, I wonder who that kid will resent more, his impotent step-father his mother never really loved, or his biological father who abandoned him with powers he cannot begin to comprehend. What if this Superboy, filled with anger and resentment toward his father, goes bad, Darth Vader-style? Well, at least the macho men are beginning to admit to their roles as parents, even if they're not actually going to perform them.

Hunger Strikes and Other Corporate Pitfalls

2006-06-27T07:58:00.000-07:00

Greetings from the office! Yes, it's true, yours truly has succumbed to the need for a stable cash flow and has since stumbled into the corporate realm. But, fear not, for I am helping the work world shirk its over amplified productivity by lounging on my blog! (You will all thank me later, no doubt.) As a receptionist at a psychiatric clinic (I am resisting the temptation to self-medicated, though it is oh-so feasible) I make a lot of faxes, garner a lot more paper cuts, and allow my brain waves to be sloshed around in the magnetic fields of a myriad of electronic office do-dads and gee-gaws. (The only really great thing about electronics is that they all have a universal repair button-- the "power" switch.) What does the white collar (gasp! Am I in a pink collar job? Oy! My gendered ghetto...) worker do to make the work-a-day world fly by? Dream of the one hour lunch break! (The Man took away our dreams of endless lackadaisical smoke breaks since invented the "100 Yards from a Building" rule and giving us the masochist's and denouncing "smoker's station" which consists of little more than a goose-knecked plastic trough in which to poke our extinguished butts, oy and oy!) True, the sack lunch at first glance seems regressive, and for me at least, calls up repressed memories of cafeteria bullies and the shames of sitting along or worse, sitting at the "nerd table," or worse yet, finding nothing but falafel in your lunch bag for weeks on end (why, mom, why?!)... Childhood traumas aside, it is time to reinvent the boxed lunch and reclaim it for mature adulthood. An insurmountable task, you gape, but nay, the quest is already begun. Behold: www.veganlunchbox.blogspot.com ! The website traces the trials and tribulations of an eastern Washington homemaker and animal rights activist as she tries to feed her young son, our little schmoo, a cruelty free and well-balanced school lunch. Ok, so we're not talking adult food per se, but nonetheless, schmoo's tastes are quite cosmopolitan. Check out schmoo's favorite lunch, "Chinese New Year", which features crispy sweet tofu chunks, sticky rice, chile green beans, kiwi fruit, and a scrumptious-looking dumpling. Some of the recipes, like the dumplings, are a little on the tricky side, and the site is definitely for the adventurous eater with an epicurean edge, but the site also offers many simple lunch ideas that I had never thought of, like spicing up raw veggies with a little jicama, (pronounced HEE-comma) a potato-like spud that tastes sugary sweet. Of course, it's a great resource for vegans and vegetarians, but I have no doubt that many of the recipes could be modified for the omnivorous among you (at your own moral peril, and the risk of food poisoning from unrefridgerated or uncooked e-coli!). I await anxiously the forthcoming vegan lunchbox cookbook which is slated to arrive in the fall, and meanwhile I pine for my own brown-bagged delights. Today's menu: Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwhich on Hemp Bread, Plums, and Organic Granola Bar. Yum Yum!

Movie Review: The Da Vinci Code

2006-06-16T09:37:00.000-07:00

In his editorial in the June issue of The Rake, Tom Bartel (Carleton '73, I feel this entitles me to rag on him a little, yes?) comments on what he considered the uncanny likenesses between the central conflict and characters in The Da Vinci Code and the politics and personae of contemporary left/right, Democrat/Republican debates. According to Bartel, it all boils down to religious faith, or in particular, a conflict between dogmatic "believers" and a more "true" and compassionate secular humanism. I'm not sure if he was referring to the book exactly or to Ron Howard's filmic interpretation, but if the book does not emphasize this political conflict (and personally, having read it, I don't believe it does), Howard's film certainly does. To me, the film was a cross between Indiana Jones and Dogma, preserving the suspense of the former, the liberal politics of the latter (even similarities in the mythology in which a non-believing woman turns out to be the last descendant of Christ), but the DVC loses the humor of both. Fortunately, the film ejects the book's daddy-love romance between the young ingenue and the older professor, and instead spends more time on the mystery, literally illustrating (illuminating?) its points with visually lush historical flashbacks. But, by foregrounding the mystery, the film wades deeper into the tidepool of so-called heresy and tests the limits of the public's tolerance. The clues to the mystery are so compelling, and the ending so emotionally provocative, I couldn't help but feel persuaded to think that perhaps the bloodline of Christ might still survive, though maybe it's just getting harder for me to believe in a thirty-year-old virgin, whatever his parentage. The grail-quest in the DVC is portrayed as a quest for liberation and enlightenment, a freeing of the masses from the tyranny of a corrupt Vatican. I can't help but think that American audiences watching the creepy relationship between an elder Bishop Aringarosa and the self-flagellating younger monk must certainly be reminded of the recent scandals in the American Catholic church over molestation and pedophilia. According to Ron Howard, the history of the Catholic church is a bloody tale of despotism and corrupt patriarchy. In other words, if the church is not up in arms over this film, then they're either not paying attention or they have something sneaky up their papal sleeves.
I liked the film, if only as a beautifully shot and well-orchestrated puzzle. Any shortcomings, in my opinion, derive themselves from Dan Brown's novel. The story flirts with deeper questions like the nature of humanity and faith, yet ultimately these are reduced to the same dichotomies found through the symbology of the puzzles -- man/woman, good/evil, etc. The characters' motivations are pathologized as bland early childhood traumas, while faith and the ultimate good are left up to individual choice. On the other hand, the film invites us to answer the question that is left open at the end of the film. Do we put our faith in a belief system that divides us, pits us against one another, against certain "lifestyle choices," or even the pursuit of science? Or, do we place our faith in the resilience and creativity of humanity? As Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks) remarks at the conclusion of the film, we do not have proof that Jesus was married and had a daughter, nor do we have proof that he was the son of God and died celibate. If our beliefs no longer serve us, if they no longer describe or explain the world in which we live, do we cling automatically to outmoded ideas, or do we reach for new ideologies?

The Da Vinci Hype

2006-06-16T09:30:00.000-07:00

(This is an article that I submitted for publication in the May issue of The Rake. It was rejected, but lucky for us that means I can print it here!)

Since the release of Dan Brown’s mega-hit bestseller The Da Vinci Code, pop culture hucksters have been scrambling to meet the demand of the novel’s millions of fans, numerous critics, and legions of fuming Christian fundamentalists. Hoping to stem the tide (and make a buck), Sony Pictures has assembled an all-star cast to adapt the novel to the silver screen, a hardly daunting task for talents such as director Ron Howard given Brown’s reliance on cinematographic diction such as the author’s description of protagonist Robert Langdon as “Harrison Ford in Harris Tweed.” Though it is Tom Hanks and not Ford playing the paradoxically sexy and distinguished religious symbology professor, the filmmakers are making up the difference by casting an authentic ingénue, Audrey Tautou (Amelie), to play Sophie Neveu. Sadly, no actual albino could be found to play Silas the spooky monk, though doubtless any controversy among the albino community will be drowned out by plenty of hell-raising on the part of Catholic and Evangelical Christians. Rather than placate the uppity religious right, the filmmakers have chosen to fully portray the central controversy of Brown’s novel, the once obscure theory that Jesus had actually married and beget a son with Biblical bad-girl Mary Magdalene. Though bible-banging ditto-heads could take comfort in some evidence that Jesus wasn’t gay, most feel that Brown’s novelistic rendering of this heresy marks a pointed attack aimed at the figurehead of the faith. Fortunately for publishers and booksellers, Christians are issuing their fatwa American-style – they are voraciously consuming Da Vinci Code spin-off books and anti-“code” screeds.

Hopping on The Da Vinci Code gravy train, authors have published over twenty-odd books claiming to explain the code, debunk the code, or best of all, unlock the secrets of the code to achieve personal fulfillment and self-actualization. For example, Fodor’s Guide to the Da Vinci Code: On the Trail of the Bestselling Novel by Jennifer Paull (Fodor’s 2006) is a straight-forward guide for the savvy traveler which provides details on the central locations as well as tips crowd-maneuvering at the Paris Louvre and where to stop for a snack while code-cracking near Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland. Fans might also wish to consult Da Vinci Code Decoded: The Truth Behind the New York Times #1 Bestseller (The Disinformation Company, 2004) written by Martin Lunn, a history scholar and Master of the Dragon Society.

For DVC fans having trouble distinguishing theology from campy plot devices, there are numerous titles now in print that help distill the Biblical “facts” from the cockamamie fiction. There is the popular Breaking the Da Vinci Code: Answers to the Questions Everyone’s Asking by Darrell L. Bock (Nelson Books, 2004), the sensational The Da Vinci Deception by Erwin W. Lutzer (Tyndale House Publishers, 2004), the authoritative Truth and Fiction in the Da Vinci Code: A Historian Reveals What We Really Know about Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and Constantine by Bart D. Ehrman (Oxford University Press, 2004), and the definitive The Real History Behind the Da Vinci Code by Sharan Newman (Berkley Trade, 2005), just to name a few. The truly faithful should check out Richard Abanes, a luminary in the confusing debate between bible-thumping believers and anti-Christian conspirators, with such books as The Truth Behind the Da Vinci Code: A Challenging Response to the Bestselling Novel (Harvest House, 2004), Harry Potter and the Bible: The Menace Behind the Magick (Horizon Books, 2001), and most recently Harry Potter, Narnia, and The Lord of the Rings: What You Need to Know About Fantasy Books and Movies (Harvest House, 2005).

Finally, for readers wondering what The Da Vinci Code can do for them, there are several self-help books modeled after the genius of the Renaissance man himself, including Michael Gelb’s visionary series How to Think Like Leonardo Da Vinci originally published by Dell in 2000 and repackaged as Da Vinci Decoded (Delacorte, 2004), as well as Garrett LoPorto’s The Da Vinci Method (Media For Your Mind, 2005), a guide to coping with ADD/ADHD. And, for the truly voracious reader looking to shed a few pounds, there’s even The Da Vinci Fitness Code by Joseph Mullen (Fitness Therapy Publishing, 2005) and The Diet Code: Revolutionary Weight Loss Secrets from Da Vinci and the Golden Ratio by Stephen Lanzalotta (Warner, 2006). Thankfully, Lanzalotta, the owner of an east-coast bakery, has apparently cracked the Atkins code as well. So, no need to feel guilty chowing down on a large popcorn as you watch The Da Vinci Code when it opens in theatres on May 19. Whether we love the hype or loathe it, I think we can all agree we’re glad carbs are back on the menu.

Long Time No Blog

2006-06-15T21:06:00.000-07:00

There's really no point in apologizing, since I'm sure I'm more disappointed in myself than any of my readers would be in me, but it is nonetheless an unavoidable fact that I have been regrettably delinquent in my postings. I hope to turn this trend around, just as I turn my frown upside down after all the hullabaloo surrounding my graduation from college. Yes, I now have a B.A., which mostly means I am a bachelor of b. s. (Isn't it wonderful to think I could some day be a "master"?) It also means that I am unemployed, homeless, and buried beneath a mountain of debt. What a way to kick off adult life! Despite this rude awakening, I find myself finally in a state of intellectual liberty, and as such my unfettered mind shall unfurl itself here in these virtual pages. So, a toast to the bacchanalian gluttony that is liberal arts education as I cinch in my belt for the years to come!

Start Spreadin' The News!

2006-03-16T20:40:00.000-08:00

That's right, folks! Tomorrow afternoon, this little blogger gets on a plane heading for NYC! I've been preparing by indulging in as much New York themed art and culture as I can get my hands on. Fortunately, there's no shortage of options! Mark Kurlansky's latest book The Big Oyster is already climbing the best-seller's list. Kurlansky is an amazing writer, whose background as a history scholar and food writer has endowed him with the power to make a rather peculiar argument, that an understanding of the oyster is central to our understanding of the whole concept of Manhattan, a compelling and enjoyable tale. It's a great read, though I still haven't made it out of the 1600's yet!

Colson Whitehead's opus, however, was a much quicker read. In fact, I devoured it in one sitting (kind of like eating an oyster, really, I sucked it down whole, alive and screaming!). The Colossus of New York is a gorgeous ode to the city that never sleeps, addressing the joys as well as the omnipresent malaise with insatiable zeal. Whitehead's technique, which is intended to recall the freeform style of jazz music, is unique and complex, while remaining thoroughly readable. Highly recommended!

I've also managed to pull my eyes away from the page, and set my sights on a few films. Woody Allen was a must, but since I've already seen quite of few of his films, I went with New York Stories, a trio of three shorter films, one of which is written and directed by Allen, but the other two are directed by Martin Scorsese and Francis Coppola. I enjoyed all three films, though I was particularly stunned by Nick Nolte's performance as an aging painter grappling with issues of self-doubt and desire in Scorsese's film. And, I just finished watching New York, New York, a film which I checked out from the public library, mostly for the sheer novelty of it. Robert DeNiro in a smash-hit musical??? Fortunately, he only sings once. And, fortunately, Liza Minelli sings a whole lot! Man, what a set of pipes! Again, Scorsese does an amazing job of portraying a vastly complicated relationship between two headstrong and richly talented individuals. It was striking to see a film that was both entertaining as a musical, but also gave space to develop each of the central characters into compelling portraits of real humanity. Of course, it took nearly three hours for Scorsese to accomplish this, but what the heck, the vibrant jazz music keeps everything flowing, and I was riveted to the edge of my couch.

So, I haven't left yet, and I'm already sure I've forgotten something. Oh well. If they don't have it in New York City, I probably don't need it!

Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Ambien

2006-03-15T12:30:00.000-08:00

Ads for popular sleeping pills such as Lunesta, Sonata, and America's favorite, Ambien, suggest that these drugs provide the experience of deep, soothing sleep, the ideal remedy for the occassional insomniac and the stresses of daily living. My favorite commercial, I believe for the drug Lunesta, depicts a slender woman, prone on purple satin sheets, drifting off to sleep as an animated glowing butterfuly swoops over her. Emerging data about these drugs, however, suggests that perhaps the twinkling butterfuly is in fact a nefarious halluciation induced by these supposedly innocuous sleeping pills. In fact, if glowing insects are all you see, count yourself among the lucky ones.

A recent op-ed piece in the New York Times highlights several reports of bizarre behavior in users of zolpidem, also known as Ambien, the most prescribed sleeping pill. The editorial cites concerns about repeated occurances of "sleep-driving" as well as acts of violence commited by otherwise mild-mannered individuals while under the influence of Ambien. Yet another article in the New York Times discusses the rising association of sleep-eating disorders in Ambien users, in which insomniacs endanger their families by turning on stoves and gas ranges in the middle of the night and endanger their wastelines by cooking and consuming food by the thousands of calories in one sitting, only to wake up and recall nothing. Sanofi-Aventis, the French makers of Ambien, claim that these behaviors are either not related to Ambien use or are caused by mis-use of the drug, but repeated and outrageous testimonies by Ambien users tell a different story. (Besides, call me cynical, but since the makers of Paxil admitted to covering up studies linking Paxil-use with suicides, I'm not inclined to cut Sanofi-Aventis any slack.)

Though cases of traffic accidents caused by Ambien are perhaps the most troublesome, I find myself fascinated most by the sleep eaters. According to the NYT article, sleeping and eating are connected in "primitive" ways in the brain. Something in the drug itself seems capable of unlocking these animalistic desires, allowing insomniacs to get some shut-eye, while at the same time evoking other passions. One woman who needed to take sleeping pills in order to sleep during the day so she could work a night shift described this bizarre experience: "One day," she said, "I got up — my husband describes this in great detail — I got a package of hamburger buns and I just tore it open like a grizzly bear and just stood there and ate the whole package."

Of course, eating and sleeping are not our only primitive passions. The NYT doesn't discuss it, but a columnist for Salon.com writes that in addition to allowing him to sleep, Ambien made her boyfriend a more sensitive lover. Tessa Blake writes that by day her bourgeous boyfriend was a high-powered Type-A pain in the ass, but by night, and with the help of a couple Ambien, Dr. Dick became Mr. Wonderful. Sadly, Blake realizes the affair will never work after he awakens one morning and cannot recall that the night before he had proposed marriage. He claimed it was the Ambien talking.

The popularity of Ambien (and now the strange behavior spawned by its use and abuse) is attributable to a $130 million ad-campaign paid for by its manufacturer in 2005. As a result, 26 million prescriptions were written for the drug last year, making Ambien worth $2.2 billion annually. According to the NYT, use of the drug has more than doubled since 2001. Have cases of insomnia also doubled? Doubtful. Like anti-depressants and mind-altering drugs such as ritalin, Ambien is just the newest fad in the quick-fix "I'm Ok, You're Ok" world of modern medicine. After spending a summer working in the office of a medical clinic, I understand all too well the influence pharmaceutical companies have on the prescriptions doctors write for patients, and the affect that advertizing has on consumers who, more than ever, are liable to walk into a doctor's office and ask for a specific drug expressly. And, why not? It's a win-win for doctors and drug companies, since doctors make more off of more patients hooked on the drugs they hawk, and drug companies make a mint off the patents.

But, what I love about Ambien is that it seems to be working to prove a sort of Murphy's Law of human nature. Take a drug that promises tranquility, and you go postal, waking up in a pile of candy bar wrappers and other refuse or, in one case, walking out of your house in your nightgown, peeing in public, and then assaulting a police officer! Kudos to human nature for undoing all our inscrupulous attempts to avoid our primieval selves by dwelling in the oblivion of drugs and docile consumerism. How poetic that a drug like Ambien should cause us to sleep-walk, when it seems that we're sleep-walking through all of our days as it is.

Reading Emma in Northfield

2006-03-14T16:02:00.000-08:00

Throughout this academic term I had been slowly slogging through the pages of Jane Austen's Emma, and now that the term has come to a close, so has the book. Finally. Don't get me wrong, I adore Austen for her subtle wit and attention to detail, but in the hustle and bustle of this reader's modern life, it is difficult to get a mental foothold in the lackadaisical world of the British bourgeoisie circa 1815. It would take some time, particularly those passages where the perniciously loquacious Mrs. Bates would ramble on for several pages, until I could to settle into the narrative and awaken to its ascerbic wit. Oh, Mrs. Bates, how you do ramble!

MTV generation beware! (Also, addicts of cult pomo fiction, who have become accustomed to brash shout-outs beginning in medias res such as, "My body was hurdling through the pitch black of metallica tunnel hell and all I could think was Julie and the way the nape of her kneck reminded me that we're all just robots encased in hideous sacks of flesh," and the like. Austen is many circles in hell above a sentence such as this.) Austen's fiction is driven by diction, not plot; so, in order to cope with the utter absence of plot devices to engage my imagination, I recalled a narrative form that was more familiar to me: Soap-Opera. I doubt I'm the first to recognize similiarities between Jane Austen and programs like Days of Our Lives in their parallel accounts of spiraling romantic attachments, family drama, and highly politicized female relationships. A friend of mine who was conducting research on audience responses to the popular HBO drama Sex and the City familiarized me with the work of Tania Modleski, who argues in an article on the soap opera genre that certain narrative devices such as unresolved conflict and an emphasis on relationships within families and between women make the form uniquely "feminine." Because they are expressly "feminine," these narratives empower women even as they reinforce feminine stereotypes. One of the ways this liberation takes place is by assembling real or imagined communities of women around the idolized work of fiction.

Hence, Karen Joy Fowler's enormously famous Jane Austen Bookclub, which may now be purchased in one of two highly fashionable paperback covers, either blue or red (to match your outfit, I suppose). Fowler imagines a group of women, and one male (lucky or desperate?), who gather to read and discuss the works of Jane Austen. Their first book? Emma, of course. A mise en abyme, so to speak, of the role of feminine literature in the lives of women, since readers of Fowler's book are invited to imagine themselves as part of a community of readers of Austen as well as the community of readers of Fowler. Leave it to contemporary women to make reading Jane Austen a thoroughly ironic act -- Anyone want to start a Jane Austen Book Club Book Club???

As distant as we are from the gentrified countryside of Austen's novels, it is fascinating the ease with which readers identify with her characters. I myself discovered, or perhaps fabricated, parallels between the characters in Emma and the people and events in my own life. I have to admit that my romantic life became a bit more interesting around the time that Emma discovered her true feelings for Mr. Knightly, but I'll leave it at that.

For as much as I enjoy these similarities and my associations with fellow readers of Jane Austen, particularly as the act of reading Austen's highly stylized depictions of ideal femine sexuality and romantic relationships seems almost rebellious on a college campus where relationships are more often characterized by libertinism than restraint, what I really love about Jane Austen is how difficult she is for modern readers, like myself, to read. Austen's books cannot be brashly skimmed or picked up and set down between bites of fast food take-out. To read her without feeling the urge to pull your hair out, you have to become absorbed by her delicate prose. Not only does your mindset have to adapt to her pace, but you must physically adapt to the experience of reading Jane Austen. I feel my breathing slow down as I follow her languid sentences, waiting for the pause of a long-awaited period. Descending into Hartford, the modern world finally slips away, and you enter a world without high speed internet, six-second sound bites, and the mass annoyances of mass media. I wound't trade places with Austen or any of her characters even if it afforded me that measure of peace, but I take comfort in having found a space for peace and orderliness in this chaotic world that is often as stressful as it is terrifically exciting. I would go crazy if I had to write like Jane Austen, sitting in a Victorian drawing room and covering up my work with my embroidery anytime someone would enter the room, but I'm glad she did it.

2006-03-14T14:33:00.000-08:00

Spring Has Sprung!

Ok, so we were just whacked with ten inches of snow. Tell that to my dwarf tomato plant friend here! That little globule of emerald flesh? That's right, folks, my very first tomato! They said you couldn't grow tomatoes on the windowsill of a poorly heated urban apartment complex in the middle of winter. What do they know?

Habitual Obituaries

2006-03-07T11:59:00.000-08:00

A recent book by Marilyn Johnson entitled The Dead Beat: Lost souls, lucky stiffs and the perverse pleasures of obituaries chronicles the life and times of an avid obituary writer. The excerpt on her website describes the thrilling emotional roller coaster ride of waiting for one of her famous subjects to wade into the great hereafter. Her reviewers describe her as exhibiting reverence for life and death, yet this appetite for famous last words seems little different than the medias voracious appetite for paparazzi character assasinations. Nonethless, I admit that I too am fascinated by obituaries recently, though perhaps not for the same reasons as Ms. Johnson.

A colleague of mine at Carleton College, Lillian Waluconis, died recently, having succumbed unexpectedly to a liver ailment she had long suffered. Although she was a member of my graduating class, I admit that I never knew her. In fact, on a campus of fewer than 2200 students, I never even met her. Seeing her photo in the school newspaper, I couldn't even place her face. I'm not real socialite myself, but based on my inability to recognize Lilly, I assumed she was one of the many unwashed agoraphobes holding court in the basement of Sci-Fi house, gorging herself to death on Dungeons and Dragons matches and reruns of Red Dwarf. Then, I read her obituary. Lilly may not have had an abundance of acquaintances, but she was a delightful young woman with a handful of friends who adored her. Her employers in Campus Activities, a central unit of Carleton social life, in fact, treasured her as a diligent and cheerful worker. Lilly not only left behind friends on campus, but friends in Japan where she spent one year studying traditional Japanese artforms. Had she survived, she would have been married this summer. Like so many of my peers, hers was a life full of promise. That this life was so hastily snuffed out is more than shocking, it is the sort of tragedy that forces even the best, brightest, and furthest from death to ponder the inevitable. This is the sort of obituary that resonates with me.

The shadow of death hung with me in the wake of Lillian's passing. More than an acute sense of my own mortality, however, she left me wondering about what my own obituary might look like. Lillian's friends set up a livejournal website to honor her memory (something I find much more vital than some distant onlooker's take on a life lived and lost), and many of the posts lament the fact that they feel they never really knew Lilly. Cutepooface sums up the sentiment nicely: "I wish that everyone could have been on the [Japan] program, that everyone could see and feel what I felt. I wish Lily could have touched each and everyone of you like she touched me." Were I to die, would people say that they regret not having had the chance to really know me?

I admit that what bothered me most about Lillian's death was not that she had left behind so many friends (or so few, depending on how you look at it), family, and a fiancé, but that she had left her senior thesis unfinished. According to her faculty advisor, her thesis "centered on how Japanese social studies textbooks deal with the Shinto and Buddhist religions." This is a remarkable piece of new knowledge! Will this too die with Lillian? Would it be inappropriate to finish the work that she started? When someone dies, we distribute amongst family and friends the material possessions that the deceased have left, but we forget to carry-on the work they have begun and left unfinished. Or, is it only the work of celebrities that is deemed worthy of posthumous release?

Hail the Fallen Hero

2006-03-07T09:48:00.000-08:00

I've never been much of a fan of baseball, so I was surprised when the news of Kirby Puckett's death hit me so hard. Growing up in Minnesota, talk of the Minnesota Twins was part of the background noise of adult conversations that I had grown used to, even if I didn't fully understand. I remember being 6 years old, standing in my pajamas in the living room, waving my "homer hanky" with fervor as my mom and my great aunt shouted at the television screen, cheering hysterically as they won the World Series, though never fully comprehending the importance of all this. Kirby Puckett was always the family-friendly face of the MN Twins -- it was his number on the back of the jersey on my Twins teddy bear, his face on my Twins t-shirt -- and so "Kirby" was synonymous with MN Twins fan-dom. More than an emblem, he was our hero in both his skill and his avowed fidelity to our home-town team. His rise from the slums of Chicago to the championship of the great American past-time makes his subsequent fall from grace all the more tragic in our minds.
Despite the PR, Puckett had a long history of abusive relationships with women, a fact that the male-dominated baseball establishment preferred to overlook amid accusations of sexual harassment within the league. According to an article in Sports Illustrated, Puckett not only cheated on his wife, but he also cheated on his longterm mistress who claims that his cheritable disposition was a front for his often obscene dark side. In 2003, his wife finally left him, claiming that he had not only beaten and verbally abused her, but that he went so far as to put a gun to her head while she was holding their child. Suddenly striken with glaucoma in 1996, Puckett was forced to retire from baseball, and his estrangement from the game and his true passion in life seemed only to worsen this dark side. With the onset of blindness, Puckett lost sight of his dream entirely. He abandoned the Twin Cities for warmer climes in Arizona, put on an unhealthy amount of weight, and then succumbed to a stroke at the tragically young age of 45.
It is a testament to the optimism of the American people that we continue to give rise to heros only to watch them fall from grace. Since Watergate, we have long accepted that our national leaders are subject to the same moral incontinence as the average human being. We watch our religious leaders pleading for alms on television, and we half expect the likes of an Oral Roberts to pocket his preacher's share. We understand the pressures on athletes, even as we poo-poo their doping practices. Superman long ago broke his back, yet we've resurrected him as a champion of stem-cell research, and we find new actors to fill the role (Superman Returns comes out sometime this year). But somehow, it still seems as though we are the victims when our heros take a tumble. How could Kirby Puckett betray us by cheating on his wife, pissing in public, and turning his back on the team? Yet, might we also ask if we set the bar impossibly high when our "heros" don't live up to our standards?
There is no doubt that Kirby Puckett was a great man who transformed baseball, and for a short time at least, united Minnesotans around a champion and a winning team. He was the man we wanted for our hero, but sadly, it seems as though he was never really up for the task. I doubt that he was unworthy of the designation, but his collapse under the weight of all our hopes and dreams makes it clear to me at least that it was not something he was prepared to bear.

Jousting With Our Past Selves

2006-02-26T20:35:00.000-08:00

I spend a lot of time thinking about identity. My own identity, certainly, but also cultural identity. Last night, my mom asked me why I didn’t think of myself as physically attractive. We were watching Entourage on HBO, and Mandy Moore was on, and Mom said, “isn’t that that actress everyone thinks you look like,” and I said, “yeah, but like a cute version of me.”

Anyway.

I explained that I believe on an intellectual level that I am attractive, but that on a subconscious level I am now, and will forever be, the girl nobody wanted to dance with in junior high. I was the girl who begged the football player to go to the dance, and I was the girl he stood up. I was the girl with lots of “guy friends” but no “boyfriends.” And, I was the girl that even the nerds wouldn’t touch. Ten years later, my body having escaped the vicious, oily throes of puberty, I still feel exactly the same. The image of myself that I formed then is still the image of myself that I hold now, even though photographs of me tell a different story. I began to wonder how many of us are still grappling with these outdated images of ourselves. Like Don Quixote, are we all jousting with the specters of our past selves?

In one of my favorite movies, Waking Life, one of the scenes discusses the problem of retaining a continuous sense of an identity in an incessantly changing and evolving body. The characters in the film explain that in order to connect the person you are today with the images you are shown of yourself as a child, you have to invent a story that explains what happened to that child to cause it to become you. This narrative, essentially, is a fiction – the fiction of our lives. Sartre says, “nous sommes condamnés d’être libres,” that we are ultimately forced to create our own self-definitions, and moreover, that we do so without always realizing it. What are these moments that force us to change our self-definitions? And, when those around us no longer perceive us as they once did, if we go from being treated as ugly to then treated as beautiful, why do we not change our self-definitions? How can we and why do we change or not change the fictions of our lives?

These narratives remind me of an article I just read on Oriononline.org called “Telling Stories” by Kelpie Wilson. Wilson argues, not unlike many scholars (Bill Moyers comes to mind here), that we need myths or legends to understand the world around us, and more importantly, to understand our proper role in relationship to humanity and the world. In particular, Wilson is referring to the story of Noah and the Flood in contrast to contemporary reactions to Hurricane Katrina. Wilson argues that in both cases, human beings were culpable, though surely more culpable today than in biblical times since in Noah’s day it was only the abstract problem of human immorality, the “noise” of the Babylonians, and not the CFCs and other ozone depleting gases that are causing global warming and exacerbating tropical storms. Nearly every culture has a story of the great flood in which the moral of the story is never to incur the wrath of God, but so far nobody has come up with a way to explain Hurricane Katrina or the dozens of other natural disasters suddenly affecting the planet as a result of human failure. Despite the fact that a majority of the members of the scientific community assert that global warming not only exists but is a direct result of pollution caused by human beings, the Bush administration still proudly refuses to even considering restraining greenhouse gas emissions or deigning to sign the Kyoto treaty. It seems that to everyone but ourselves, we are the cause of our own self-destruction. What will it take to make us change our own self-definitions and take responsibility for the affect we have on the planet? How can we create a fiction like Noah’s legend of the flood to make ourselves aware of who we really are and what we are really doing?

Isn’t it interesting that we need fiction in order to awaken to our self-awareness?

2006-02-21T22:16:00.000-08:00

The author escapes her milieu. Provence presents a profound change of scenery.

Four Minutes

2006-02-21T21:41:00.000-08:00

The early morning sunlight beamed into the alleyway, an immense shaft of golden light that dispersed the frigid darkness and dismissed Jake from the dream world. Wiping the crust from his eyes, he saw that the hot vapors emanating from the airshaft on which he had been sleeping were wafting toward the light and wrapping themselves like tentacles around the pile of trash he had used to make a bed for the night. The vision of the swirling light made his dreams appear more real to him, more concrete. The menacing presence, the chase, and then the light…. And food. The strange, intangible perception of food that entered his body, and filled him, without even needing to open his mouth, chew, not even swallow. Nourishment penetrated into him, and he was at last alive, awake. Not anymore. Jake pressed his eyelids together, squeezing and creasing them to shut out the daylight and the shit stink of garbage all around.

“Hey, Jakie, you wanna hit?” A voice, gruff, jovial -- a friend? Wishing to return to the dream, Jake tensed all his muscles against the sound and the light, making his body into a stiff cocoon. Then, a gloved hand slapped the pile of garbage above his chest. The hand smelled like urine. Yes, he was a brother here.

“Hey man, wake up! You okay?”

Jake opened his eyes to find an enormous round face just inches from his own. Greasy locks of black hair stuck out from under his knit cap, drifting down his fat face into a beard that seemed to Jake to hold all he owned, garbage, maybe some bread crumbs, liquor and glue, and a one filthy pock-marked face. Jake thought he looked familiar, but it was hard to tell, harder and harder to remember. The black haired man had rolled out of his own makeshift bed, bringing some of his own garbage bedding with him, and now this garbage-hewn body was half pressed against his own, grinning with what was left of his teeth.

“Here, man, have some more of this.” He pressed a container of glue close to Jake’s face, beckoning him to put it to his lips. “You’ll feel better.”

Now Jake remembered, or he thought he did, though maybe he was just assembling the pieces of so many nights before, hunkered down in an alleyway with other tramps, thieves, psychotics, huffing glue to stave off the hunger, to dull the desperation they felt. He couldn’t remember the details of the previous night exactly, but he didn’t really need them to know what had happened, to understand the darkness and the light and the food that penetrated his belly in the dream. His head throbbed.

Jake reached for the bottle of glue, discovering his hands under the piles of newspaper and food wrappers. He lifted his head toward the bottle, let his fingers just touch the smooth coolness of it, and he could smell it already. His stomach turned sour. The fumes sickened him, and yet he needed them to get through another day. As the light pierced into his squinting eyes he angrily jerked the bottle, hands shaking, up against his nose, mentally sending a “fuck you” to the day and its beautiful shaft of light. Then, he paused. He opened his eyes into the light, feeling his pupils overflowing, burning, the throb in his head deepening. He held his gaze as long as he could stand it, then he looked at the black-haired man. He was watching Jake expectantly, waiting for his turn with the glue, but this time when he looked at him, his black-hair had turned blue, and it seemed to be undulating in the air, sparking like an icy blue flame. The man’s ruddy skin had turned a bright pink, and the sparse teeth in his mouth shone like diamonds. Jake looked down at himself, at his gaunt arms and legs, his distended belly, white as abalone glinting at him in the space between his undersized shirt and pants, and the garbage everywhere seemed organic to him, like the litter of leaves on a forest floor. It wasn’t the glue, it was the light. The light of another day.

“No, man.” Jake shoved the glue bottle back at the black-haired man.

“What you say, man?” Jake had mumbled. He wasn’t even sure if he had said anything at all, his voice seemed so far away. He wanted to speak clearly, but the fog of hunger was all around him now.

“No thanks, man,” Jake said forcefully. He didn’t mean it to sound mean, but the black-haired man recoiled as if he had been insulted.

“Whatever you say, but you’ll be sorry later when you got nothing to eat again, and you’ll be runnin’ all over this city tryin’ to find me and get you some of this, that’s all I’m sayin’!”

“Not this time, man. I’m done with that shit.”

“Yeah, right, like you think you’re special now, or something? Well, I’ve heard all that before.”

The black haired man gathered himself together, and hobbled down the alley, around a corner, and out of sight. Jake sat up, and pulled his knees to his chest. He looked at his knees and began to worry about them absent mindedly, a worry that came out of habit. He remembered his life years before, when he used to run track, how he would run so hard and fast that his knees would seem to crack and shudder under the weight of his pounding footfalls. His coach worried about his knees. His parents worried about his knees. And, Jake also worried about his knees. It was a silly thing to think about now, but it helped him remember. The pain he felt in his stomach and his head was so different from the pain he ever felt before, but the pain in his knees was the same, and it connected him back to the memories of houses, of family, of lovers, and then to the memories of painkillers, of depression, and the violence that swept him up and away from all of that. It was the drugs that finally led him here, to the streets.

Suddenly, a door opened into the alley, and Jake remembered why he was there. He was waiting. A young woman, with long blond hair swept back and tied behind her neck, and a black apron wrapped around her thin frame emerged from behind the steel door, carrying a bulging white plastic bag. Crossing the alley, she set the bag in front of the dumpster, and sighing with disgust, lifted the enormous plastic lid, hurling the garbage bag into the bowels of the sedan-sized container, slamming down the lid, and wiping her hands vigorously on her apron. Turning away from the dumpster, she finally noticed Jake, still sitting in his trash bed.

“Oh my god!” Startled, the woman clutched at the apron strings hanging over her chest. Jake felt self-conscious around people. He knew what he looked like. Or, he knew what he must look like to other people who so often looked at him like diseased vermin. The woman straightened. “Looks like breakfast is served, old man,” she snarled, mocking him. As she disappeared back beyond the threshold of the metal door, Jake heard her utter, “Ugh, gross!”

Forgetting his knees, his whereabouts, everything but his hunger, Jake ran toward the dumpster, flung open the lid, and pounced on the bag and its contents. Stale baked goods caked in coffee grounds and wilting salad greens, the remains of putrid fruits liquefying among fetid deli meats, the stuff Jake was grateful for, but could never convince himself was anything other than trash.

Jake ate slowly, taking care to smell everything first, checking for any mould or rot that might make him sick, and when he was finished, he stuffed what he could in his pockets, and put the rest back in the dumpster. Feeling his faculties more or less restored, he left the alley and passed in front of the restaurant whose trash, by way of necessity, had become Jake’s treasure. Looking through the plate-glass window and past couples seated around square tables in wooden chairs, sipping four-dollar coffees, some chatting, some reading the paper, he saw the young woman who had mocked him in the alley. He couldn’t stop thinking about what she had said. “Old man,” she had called him. Did he look old? He wasn’t old, or at least, he didn’t think that he was. He probably wasn’t much older than she was. But, that wasn’t how he looked. The sunlight glinted off the window and reflected back an image of himself. It was true. The dirt that covered his body had crusted around his eyes and settled into the creases that had formed there and at the corners of his mouth. Jake had aged, though he was not really old. Jake then looked past the image of himself and saw that one of the café patrons was looking at him, scowling as though Jake had actually been staring at him and not his own reflection. Jake tried to smile an apology, he wanted to politely mouth the words, “oops, sorry, my mistake, silly me,” but the meanness in his look, in the dirt on his face, in the grease and tears in his clothes, spoke for him. The man on the other side of the glass rolled his eyes and returned to his paper, looking disgusted.

Jake headed down the street toward the public library where he usually went to get some rest in a remote study carrel, and as he walked, the cool dampness of the morning wrapped itself around his skin, sinking into his bones. He watched the businessmen and women in suits with their to-go cups of coffee enviously, imagining the sensuous feel of hot liquid sliding down his throat, warming his belly, or just sitting there in a cup between his hands. He noticed the way the suits would drape on the bodies of the passersby, shielding them from the cold, from the stares of other people that so easily penetrated his own tattered clothes, announcing their status and integrity. Before, he remembered being taken to a restaurant where you were not served unless you were wearing a jacket and tie. Jake hadn’t understood this about the restaurant, and when he arrived without a jacket and tie, they were provided for him. Looking around him now at all those suits, he wondered why someone couldn’t just lend him one, at least as long as it would take to get a meal, or go back and see the young woman at the café who called him old and have her smile at him just like she smiled at all the other customers.

Jake stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk. His chest filled with air fast, so fast, his heart ached, and he thought he would be sick . Just then, a woman bumped up against him, tripping over his feet and her own match-stick heels. Holding tight to her to-go cup and cell phone, she interrupted her conversation long enough to swear in his face. The light expanded all around him, illuminating the people on the street, the water on the pavement shimmering like liquid silver. He turned around, and headed toward the Y.

. . .

Julia breathed a sigh of relief over his naked body. She had spent her entire Saturday afternoon waiting by the phone for him to call, deliberating over the outfit she would wear to seduce him, primping and pawing at herself in the mirror, applying and re-applying rouge and lipstick. Now, finally, she had conquered him. Her handiwork lay in a pile on the floor beside the bed, her makeup totally smeared. The vision and fulfillment of her fantasy was realized. The rush of victory and the intoxication of its spoils flowed like the sweat between her breasts. Reaching her arm over his heaving chest, she let her lips curl back into a smile that might appear to him to signify sexual fulfillment, but really it was the same smile she wore after she bought her favorite pair of strappy high-heels, sling-backs with an open toe. True, she likes to fuck, loves it in fact. She loves the feel of a man’s weight pressed against her body, the scent of their intermingling sweat, the release of orgasm, the rapture of the denouement. But, it isn’t a physical need. Owning a vibrator made her independent, and average, she thought. No, she does it to enjoy this moment, when she is lost in the twilight of sex, between the brusque brevity of the deed and a requisite few minutes of cuddling. It has nothing to do with this Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus ultra-sensitive new-age femininity pap. For Julia, it was about conquest, pure and simple. For the duration of intercourse, the woman possesses the man in mind, body, and spirit. Somewhere, Julia had read that for the average couple, sex lasts for a mere four minutes, and in her experience, this was a pretty accurate assessment. Nonetheless, for these four perfect minutes, Julia would do almost anything. The average woman, Julia thought, would do almost anything.

But, what the authors of all these hip new millennium over-the-counter couples counseling books were trying to get at is why the average woman, why Julia, feels the need for a man’s undivided attention and perhaps even the possession of his very soul. These hack therapists would delve into the woman’s childhood, Julia’s childhood, where they would find an absentee and emotionally distant father, a single mother, and sparse opportunities for true companionship. Not surprising, not because this information presents an extraordinary causal link but rather because it’s mundane, average. So, maybe all women are trying to replace the fathers they’ve lost or think they’ve lost. Or, maybe, just maybe for four minutes out of the day they want to feel they’ve got something on men; that, for all their hard work at 70% of a man’s salary they might actually be getting somewhere in this man’s world. Julia made enough money. Sometimes, she made more money than the men she dated, but she thought it best to keep that to herself. She didn’t think it was about money. She thought she probably resented the men she slept with in this abstract sort of way, the way her therapist, the way the therapists on TV, had described what she was feeling, but she didn’t resent any individual men. She wasn’t frigid, that was for sure.

Smiling, twirling her fingers around his fine chest hair, Julia knew her time was almost up. Most men had a limit of about fifteen minutes on the after-sex cuddling, and she could already see his eyes wander to the pile of clothes on the floor. It took her years to build up the emotional barrier to her tears at this moment. It was more than the moment of separation, even worse than rejection. It was the death of the dream. When the time was up, she no longer possessed him, was no longer the powerful one. She was weak again, and her weakness shot up to the surface like a drowning man gasping for air. She tried to think of a way to make him stay, to arouse him again even though she was already sore. Anything to grasp that power again, to take in his masculinity and make it hers, for at least four minutes, but it was no use. No, he would say, have to work early in the morning. So, gathering her last bit of strength, she told him to leave, that she was tired and needed to sleep. Perhaps it was spiteful, but the only way she knew to hang on to a bit of that strength was to reject him before he rejected her. And he left, and she felt hollow inside.

Julia wrapped herself in her robe and sat by the window to watch his car pull out away, sitting at an angle in the darkness so that he couldn’t see her watching him leave. When he was gone, she went back to bed and tried to sleep, but it was no use. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and went down to the corner store to pick up a pint of ice cream and a copy of the Sunday paper. It seemed strangely reassuring that the she could always get the Sunday paper on a Saturday night. Returning home, she sat in her kitchen and slowly lifted spoonfuls of ice cream to her lips, absent mindedly leafing through tomorrow’s news. She read through the headlines quickly, hoping to find some crucial piece of information that might somehow make things seem different, but it was all pretty much the same news as always. War, famine in Africa, a robbery, corruption in Washington, a human interest piece about a life-saving dog, and a curious story about homeless man in the local section.

The night seemed especially dark. Her fluorescent kitchen light tried vainly to stave off the cold loneliness of it, giving off a warm low hum that she usually found comforting, but neither the light nor the news could distract her from whatever it was she was feeling. She tried to think about how much fun she had had that night, but when she thought about it, “fun” didn’t seem like the word to describe it. She padded back to bed, wrapping the blankets around her, still fully clothed, and closed her eyes. As she drifted off to sleep, she longed for those four perfect minutes and dreamed of the day when she might not need them anymore.

. . .

The polyester suit made a strange sort of swishing, squeaking sound as Jake walked down the street. His hands shook as he swept them through his still wet hair. He looked around him, at the other people on the street, waiting for one of them to point him out as an imposter. But, nobody did. He smiled at someone, an older gentleman in a suit that appeared almost as dated as his own, and incredibly the man smiled back.

Jake didn’t like to lie if he didn’t have to, but he needed the suit and the shower if he was going to eat. The suits and the showers are supposed to be for people with job interviews, and Jake didn’t have a job interview, but he didn’t see why he needed one just to get a suit and a hot shower, so he lied. The YMCA had acquired only a few of these charity suits, and the ones they did have were painfully outmoded and oversized, and Jake had to wait all day for his suit, the one that might fit him, to be returned before he had to go to his “interview” that evening. They let him nap on a cot, and when it was his turn, they gave him soap and a clean towel and showed him the showers, which were arranged communally, locker room style, and smelled intensely of mildew. The suit was powder blue with white pinstripes and broad shoulders, which made him think that all he needed was a pair of oversized shoes and a rubber nose and he might have actually been given a job as a clown, but he kept this thought to himself. He was grateful.

He wanted to go to the café and see the young woman, but he thought better of it. She might recognize him, though seeing himself again in the reflection of another restaurant window, he wasn’t so sure. The dirt was washed away, and the creases in his face were no longer visible. He didn’t look old anymore. It wasn’t exactly what he remembered from before, but it wasn’t what he expected to see now. He went, instead, to a nice Italian restaurant whose aromas had tempted him so many times before.

Table for one, please. Table for one, please. He repeated over and over in his head as he approached the host. Table for one, please. The smells of the restaurant were overwhelming. Warm, steaming plates of pasta, roasted tomatoes and peppers, oregano, yeasty smells of baking breads and pizza dough, the sounds of jazz music coming from somewhere, emanating magically from every corner of the place. It was still early for dinner, yet the booths and tables were already filling with couples, families, the music mixing with their excited voices and the tinkling of glasses. Table for one, please. Jake felt warm, dizzy. Table for one…

“May I help you,” asked the host sweetly behind his dais.

“Table for one, please.” Jake felt his lips move, but he wasn’t even sure if he had said anything.

“Right this way, sir.”

The host seated Jake in the back of the restaurant, at a small table near the kitchen. Probably where they kept the people they didn’t want seated in the window, the ones wearing bad polyester suits, he thought. But, it didn’t matter. The host was telling him about the specials.

Jake ordered wine. He ordered a mixed-greens salad with vinaigrette and feta cheese. He ordered an enormous plate of pasta with meatballs and marinara sauce. He politely requested extra bread, and resisted the urge to line his pockets with it. He ordered desert twice. Neapolitan ice cream and chocolate cake. Jake ate slowly, smelling everything, but not for mould or disease this time. He was careful that none of the food should intermingle, tasting everything in its proper sequence, exactly as it should be. He talked with his waitress, a lovely dark-skinned woman with short curly hair who was working to become a dancer, and had to work nights at the restaurant to get by.

“You look like a dancer,” he told her, “the way you hold the plates, the way you walk. You’re very graceful.” He thought he saw her blush when he smiled at her.

The chef came out from the kitchen to ask him how he was enjoying his dinner.

“Oh, wonderful, everything is so delicious!” Time seemed to stall, the world turned around him, around his whims and pleasures. When the waitress brought the check, he half expected to produce a wallet with a credit card from his jacket, thinking what a wonderful benefactor the polyester clown costume had been. The plan he had devised for himself was to feign as though he had left his wallet on accident in the car, and then when he left to go get it, he would just leave, and never come back. Now, though, he hesitated.

“Um, miss,” Jake beckoned the waitress, “I think I’ll have a cup of coffee before I go. I’ve got a long way home tonight, quite a drive!”

Jake sat with his cup of coffee, the warmth of the cup penetrating his hands, the sensual feeling of the hot liquid filling his full belly. Just a few more minutes, he thought, and then I’ll leave. Four minutes, maybe five. I’ll return the suit to the Y. He thought somewhat doubtfully that they might even have a bed available for him tonight, so he wouldn’t have to spend another night in the alley, waking up to another breakfast of garbage and glue, and the awful shit stink of the sewer vapors swirling in the daylight, smothering him in his garbage bed.

“Miss,” he called for the beautiful dancing waitress again. “I don’t have any money.” Jake looked into her eyes. He expected to see disgust there, but there wasn’t any. There wasn’t pity either. It was, Jake thought, a sort of recognition.

The police came and arrested Jake, and they told him he would have to spend a few days in jail. The food in jail was nothing like the fare at the Italian restaurant, but it wasn’t glue or garbage either. He thought about the dancer, and wondered if she’d still be there when he got out, or if she’d have gotten her big break by then. He hoped she would wait on him again, next time.

. . .

My first post...

2006-02-17T14:03:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was a closet writer, whose closet became to snug. Let the genius be unleashed...