Saturday, May 31, 2008
The Inerrancy of Internet Quizzes
After taking the 'Which Theologian Are You?' test (well, it was fun for me), I came out as 100% Anselm and 80% Augustine. I guess that makes me 180% Medieval - which is better than 25% Calvinist. I tried to reload the page after after taking a (thankfully still-living) mouse back outside that the neighbor's cat had very generously lain in one of the slippers under my chair (thankfully my feet were no longer inside), but it had timed out. The quiz results, not the mouse. I do not therefore recall how much Luther I am, or how Calvin, just that both were low (one more than the other by a long shot) and that I haven't the vaguest notion who Jonathan Edwards is. Of whom I am 0%; I'm guessing something about sola fide and justification, except that if those were the only things, Luther and Calvin should be lower than they were, too.
Anyway, of course I'm Medieval; I haven't bothered to know anything about Protestant theology other than Calvin, Biblical inerrancy, and those funny folk out in the hollers who somehow manage to integrate snake-handling into the liturgy. I find it as easy to disagree with all these as to find the logic of the Manicheans and Jains in need as well of a good swift kick in the syllogism. And I'm not counting the Friends in my paltry 'Protestant theology' resume, as any Friend worth his oats will tell you that theology and too much cerebration are obstacles, not conduits, to communion with the Divine. And I don't know if Quaker non-theologists Fox and Penn were among my potential 'Which Theologian' matches.
Well, back to my lofty tower, then. All that remains is to find a equally unshocking Internet test that will reveal whether I am truly a pair of squishy wedge-heel 'flip-flops' with large plastic flowers on their tops, black patent buckle-embellished mules, or a ten-year-old pair of scuffed-up Sorel 'Joan of Arctics' a full size too big after having lost their detachable linings.
Anyway, of course I'm Medieval; I haven't bothered to know anything about Protestant theology other than Calvin, Biblical inerrancy, and those funny folk out in the hollers who somehow manage to integrate snake-handling into the liturgy. I find it as easy to disagree with all these as to find the logic of the Manicheans and Jains in need as well of a good swift kick in the syllogism. And I'm not counting the Friends in my paltry 'Protestant theology' resume, as any Friend worth his oats will tell you that theology and too much cerebration are obstacles, not conduits, to communion with the Divine. And I don't know if Quaker non-theologists Fox and Penn were among my potential 'Which Theologian' matches.
Well, back to my lofty tower, then. All that remains is to find a equally unshocking Internet test that will reveal whether I am truly a pair of squishy wedge-heel 'flip-flops' with large plastic flowers on their tops, black patent buckle-embellished mules, or a ten-year-old pair of scuffed-up Sorel 'Joan of Arctics' a full size too big after having lost their detachable linings.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Don't Ask Me; Ask Google
What the?! I'm no. 2 on Google if you enter 'Lorca Thamar Amnon.' I mean, not that a great many people would enter 'Lorca Thamar Amnon' besides me, practically no one, really, and fewer still in English, in which nearly all the very, very few people wanting something with those three names would enter 'Lorca Tamar Amnon,' but I wanted to get back to that other site so I did, but with English as my default language. And found myself as well as the other guy. My entry also has 'sexuality' as a tag on Google somehow; maybe that's how you get to the heady heights of Number Two-ness.
Don't worry: despite my newfound fame, prestige, and power, I'm still the same simple country girl you've always known. And I will not let my smoldering search-engine sexuality overcome my good sense, either.
But what shoes, what shoes to wear to class tonight? They need to reflect such grand status, clearly, yet at the same time bespeak my unbesmirchable humility in the face of such worldly accolades. Perhaps the pointy pink slingbacks with the diminutive kitten heels? With a light taupe hose?
Don't worry: despite my newfound fame, prestige, and power, I'm still the same simple country girl you've always known. And I will not let my smoldering search-engine sexuality overcome my good sense, either.
But what shoes, what shoes to wear to class tonight? They need to reflect such grand status, clearly, yet at the same time bespeak my unbesmirchable humility in the face of such worldly accolades. Perhaps the pointy pink slingbacks with the diminutive kitten heels? With a light taupe hose?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
And From Your Lips She Drew a Hallelujah?
Today so far there was no random reading. I woke up, drank some Diet Coke, checked my email and could think of nothing but Lorca's 'Thamar y Amnon' before work. I just had repeating in my head the ending lines:
'Y cuando los cuatro cascos
eran cuatro resonancias,
David con unas tijeras
cortó las cuerdas del arpa.'
Well, it is a haunting finale, with the alliterative, diminishing hoofbeat of cuando cuatro cascos, and I think it's a masterful, powerful poem, but the last two lines always really get to me. In the poem, Lorca weaves the story of Amnon's rape of his half-sister Thamar together with references to David's sins and other earthly repercussions for the house of David. Everything happens together, and Thamar is Bathsheba bathing on the rooftop, while Absalom murders Amnon, the arrows killing Urias shoot from David's own palace walls and Amnon's lust murders his sister's innocence. Wanting to read it and being lazy, and realizing that moving my mouse is easier than moving my body, I just looked the poem up online. By putting in 'David unas tijeras' (in hopes of getting a page with the entire poem, instead of a site only about the poem) in the search form, I got this site, and got, along with the poem, a commentary that included this: '
'This is a highly problematic poem, for what Garcia Lorca does here, I argue, is to present us with a sympathetic view of Amnón, that it was his overpowering sexual desire that caused him to rape Thamar. Federico is not the first or last person to argue that sexuality has a dark side, that it can and will take on a barbarous, even suicidal persona; however, by entering into the debate by claiming Amnón just couldn't "help himself," that Thamar's own beauty "forced" her half-brother to violate her, Lorca is simply presenting a tired old chestnut that has been used since time-immortal; in short, that there is no such thing as free will, that men are simply slaves to their own libidos.'
So I felt compelled to write about it, because I don't think Lorca was doing that at all. Amnon is portrayed as lusting heavily - and as (perhaps overdramatically, or perhaps genuinely, in fear of God and more divine retribution on his clan) asking for some kind of relief from it.
"Cut out my eyes, Thamar,
with your fixed dawn.
The threads of my blood
weave ruffles on your dress."
There are two separate issues: temptation and sin. Lorca was well aware of the distance between the two, and the lack of causal relationship. In 'Lucia Martinez' from three years earlier, the poet's predatory narrator baldly describes his intent:
'Here I am, Lucia Martinez.
I've come to devour your mouth
And drag you off by the hair
into the seashells of daybreak'
and his chilling, egoistic rationale of the act he intends to commit:
'because I want to and I can.'
And, the story of the later poem - whether David's, the House of David's, or solely Amnon's, has a vastly different meaning if David or Amnon or Absalom does not choose to sin. Canonically, the story goes that the Christian God will not allow us to be tempted more than we can resist. Literarily, not only is David the most complex and most fully-developed character in the Bible (and the 'first human being in world literature' according to Baruch Halpern's David's Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King), but this poem would be about something else altogether had it simply been foreordained, destiny, or some law of nature (or human nature) that Amnon would rape Thamar. David would not be the same rich character if he were simply forced to do all the great good and bad things he did, and if Shakespeare likewise had written about automatons instead of tormented heroes in his tragedies, would anyone bother reading (let alone memorizing, filming, studying, restaging, and continuing to tease out new meanings from) him all these centuries?
Yes, Amnon was overcome by temptation. That is the point. Temptation as a plot development, spiritual crisis, or moment of growth or decline has no content if it is not hugely desirable. If I have no lust for money, offering me a million dollars to do something unsavory will not sway me: the payoff is insufficient to the task. In other words, I am not tempted. The plot, of the book or of my life, does not move forward. If I do not have lust for my sister, I will not rape her. And the gravest transgressions are not only the ones with the strongest pull but the ones both rationality and our conscience most vehemently cry out against. Our conscience, together with social mores, perhaps, and common sense, human decency, fear of secular or heavenly punishment, empathy, logic, and the like, urge us not to rob the bank, not to drive drunk, not to hit our spouse, and not to embezzle those funds it would be so hard to trace...
It is therefore a struggle, a meaningful struggle, as Amnon admitted when he suggested his eyes be cut out - before they wandered again in the poem down to the ruffles his lust was weaving on her dress. If he could only stop seeing, he reasons, could no longer behold Thamar's beauty, he would have no cause to sin. Amnon's 'threads of blood' directly recall Jesus' sweat of blood as He suffered - suffered temptation, more precisely - in Gesthemani. He could have skipped his execution, and Amnon could have let go of Thamar's arm. I think Lorca evokes that familiar image and contrasts the brief moment Amnon meditates on what it is he is about to choose to do in order to make clear how deliberate the act is. Rather than struggle with the temptation for hours, turn to God, and ultimately accept His will as did Jesus in His torment, Amnon thinks about it for a few lines' worth of text, realizes the grave wrong of what he is considering - and decides that, all things considered, what he really wants right now is to rape his sister, not wait around for an angel to tell him he is strong. The 'hilos de sangre' linking Amnon and Christ serve to emphasize, not powerlessness, but how important it is to realize we do have a choice, and how serious and far-reaching the consequences can be, whether we resist or give in to temptation: in Christianity, it is through Christ's full acceptance in Gethsemani of his role as Savior on the Cross the next day that sinners like Amnon can find forgiveness and redemption.
In the Biblical story as in the poem, Thamar does not just resist physically, she remonstrates aloud with Amnon.
'Déjame tranquila, hermano.
Son tus besos en mi espalda
avispas y vientecillos
en doble enjambre de flautas.'
In the Lorca, she gives appeals to Amnon's empathy, while in the Biblical passages, she as well speaks of the moral, legal, and social aspects of the crime, and even tells Amnon if he were to get David's assent first then she could be his. But despite the fewer words of protest in the poem, surely the entreaty of his soon-to-be victim registered, along with the cries of his own conscience and common sense, in Amnon's mind. She even calls him brother, which should not merely evoke tenderness and kinship loyalty, but remind him that the crime he wants to commit is not merely rape and assault, but incest, as well.
David was chosen of God to found and lead the state of Israel, he wrote love songs to God, he sinned mightily (against Urias, Bathsheba, his people, his son, the people of Israel and, of course, against God, who is the only one we ever really sin against), repented mightily, and was forgiven due to his sincere repentance - but with Yahweh decreeing through the prophet Nathan that 'the sword will not depart' from his house, that evil will rise 'against you out of your own house,' that his own wives would be taken by others, and that the product of his adultery and the impetus for the murder to cover it up, his and Bathsheba's baby, would die. King David heartily, deeply, and sincerely regretted his actions, because he knew he could have made other choices and yet succumbed to temptation. So, too, did Amnon know his options; the charitable impulses and rationality he pushed to the back of his mind were brought to the forefront as Thamar pleaded with him while he pulled her to him. It wasn't fate, it wasn't biology; it was willful sin - with meaning and consequences as powerful as the temptation that urged it forward.
And David the psalmist, the rhapsodic lover of God, David with his unending faith and sincere contrition on a par with that of the Sufi's paradigmatic lover Iblis, Davidwho writes of the evil he has bred in the world,
'For I know my transgression,
and my sin is ever before me.
Against thee, thee only, have I sinned,
and done that which is evil in thy sight'
seeing the evil his son has done, which recapitulates his own, stops pleading,
'O Lord, open thou my lips,
and my mouth shall show forth thy praise'
and instead in the poem abandons hope, abandons praise, and cuts the strings of his harp. David the shepherd with a flock in disarray, David the King of Israel and head of a murdering and incestuous royal family, David the giant-killer who finally tamed his own demons now watching in horror at his sons repeating his crimes and, in the end, David the rapturous Psalmist laying down his harp and songs of praise on hearing the hoofbeats of Amnon's departing horse. That's the part that sticks with me!
'Y cuando los cuatro cascos
eran cuatro resonancias,
David con unas tijeras
cortó las cuerdas del arpa.'
Well, it is a haunting finale, with the alliterative, diminishing hoofbeat of cuando cuatro cascos, and I think it's a masterful, powerful poem, but the last two lines always really get to me. In the poem, Lorca weaves the story of Amnon's rape of his half-sister Thamar together with references to David's sins and other earthly repercussions for the house of David. Everything happens together, and Thamar is Bathsheba bathing on the rooftop, while Absalom murders Amnon, the arrows killing Urias shoot from David's own palace walls and Amnon's lust murders his sister's innocence. Wanting to read it and being lazy, and realizing that moving my mouse is easier than moving my body, I just looked the poem up online. By putting in 'David unas tijeras' (in hopes of getting a page with the entire poem, instead of a site only about the poem) in the search form, I got this site, and got, along with the poem, a commentary that included this: '
'This is a highly problematic poem, for what Garcia Lorca does here, I argue, is to present us with a sympathetic view of Amnón, that it was his overpowering sexual desire that caused him to rape Thamar. Federico is not the first or last person to argue that sexuality has a dark side, that it can and will take on a barbarous, even suicidal persona; however, by entering into the debate by claiming Amnón just couldn't "help himself," that Thamar's own beauty "forced" her half-brother to violate her, Lorca is simply presenting a tired old chestnut that has been used since time-immortal; in short, that there is no such thing as free will, that men are simply slaves to their own libidos.'
So I felt compelled to write about it, because I don't think Lorca was doing that at all. Amnon is portrayed as lusting heavily - and as (perhaps overdramatically, or perhaps genuinely, in fear of God and more divine retribution on his clan) asking for some kind of relief from it.
"Cut out my eyes, Thamar,
with your fixed dawn.
The threads of my blood
weave ruffles on your dress."
There are two separate issues: temptation and sin. Lorca was well aware of the distance between the two, and the lack of causal relationship. In 'Lucia Martinez' from three years earlier, the poet's predatory narrator baldly describes his intent:
'Here I am, Lucia Martinez.
I've come to devour your mouth
And drag you off by the hair
into the seashells of daybreak'
and his chilling, egoistic rationale of the act he intends to commit:
'because I want to and I can.'
And, the story of the later poem - whether David's, the House of David's, or solely Amnon's, has a vastly different meaning if David or Amnon or Absalom does not choose to sin. Canonically, the story goes that the Christian God will not allow us to be tempted more than we can resist. Literarily, not only is David the most complex and most fully-developed character in the Bible (and the 'first human being in world literature' according to Baruch Halpern's David's Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King), but this poem would be about something else altogether had it simply been foreordained, destiny, or some law of nature (or human nature) that Amnon would rape Thamar. David would not be the same rich character if he were simply forced to do all the great good and bad things he did, and if Shakespeare likewise had written about automatons instead of tormented heroes in his tragedies, would anyone bother reading (let alone memorizing, filming, studying, restaging, and continuing to tease out new meanings from) him all these centuries?
Yes, Amnon was overcome by temptation. That is the point. Temptation as a plot development, spiritual crisis, or moment of growth or decline has no content if it is not hugely desirable. If I have no lust for money, offering me a million dollars to do something unsavory will not sway me: the payoff is insufficient to the task. In other words, I am not tempted. The plot, of the book or of my life, does not move forward. If I do not have lust for my sister, I will not rape her. And the gravest transgressions are not only the ones with the strongest pull but the ones both rationality and our conscience most vehemently cry out against. Our conscience, together with social mores, perhaps, and common sense, human decency, fear of secular or heavenly punishment, empathy, logic, and the like, urge us not to rob the bank, not to drive drunk, not to hit our spouse, and not to embezzle those funds it would be so hard to trace...
It is therefore a struggle, a meaningful struggle, as Amnon admitted when he suggested his eyes be cut out - before they wandered again in the poem down to the ruffles his lust was weaving on her dress. If he could only stop seeing, he reasons, could no longer behold Thamar's beauty, he would have no cause to sin. Amnon's 'threads of blood' directly recall Jesus' sweat of blood as He suffered - suffered temptation, more precisely - in Gesthemani. He could have skipped his execution, and Amnon could have let go of Thamar's arm. I think Lorca evokes that familiar image and contrasts the brief moment Amnon meditates on what it is he is about to choose to do in order to make clear how deliberate the act is. Rather than struggle with the temptation for hours, turn to God, and ultimately accept His will as did Jesus in His torment, Amnon thinks about it for a few lines' worth of text, realizes the grave wrong of what he is considering - and decides that, all things considered, what he really wants right now is to rape his sister, not wait around for an angel to tell him he is strong. The 'hilos de sangre' linking Amnon and Christ serve to emphasize, not powerlessness, but how important it is to realize we do have a choice, and how serious and far-reaching the consequences can be, whether we resist or give in to temptation: in Christianity, it is through Christ's full acceptance in Gethsemani of his role as Savior on the Cross the next day that sinners like Amnon can find forgiveness and redemption.
In the Biblical story as in the poem, Thamar does not just resist physically, she remonstrates aloud with Amnon.
'Déjame tranquila, hermano.
Son tus besos en mi espalda
avispas y vientecillos
en doble enjambre de flautas.'
In the Lorca, she gives appeals to Amnon's empathy, while in the Biblical passages, she as well speaks of the moral, legal, and social aspects of the crime, and even tells Amnon if he were to get David's assent first then she could be his. But despite the fewer words of protest in the poem, surely the entreaty of his soon-to-be victim registered, along with the cries of his own conscience and common sense, in Amnon's mind. She even calls him brother, which should not merely evoke tenderness and kinship loyalty, but remind him that the crime he wants to commit is not merely rape and assault, but incest, as well.
David was chosen of God to found and lead the state of Israel, he wrote love songs to God, he sinned mightily (against Urias, Bathsheba, his people, his son, the people of Israel and, of course, against God, who is the only one we ever really sin against), repented mightily, and was forgiven due to his sincere repentance - but with Yahweh decreeing through the prophet Nathan that 'the sword will not depart' from his house, that evil will rise 'against you out of your own house,' that his own wives would be taken by others, and that the product of his adultery and the impetus for the murder to cover it up, his and Bathsheba's baby, would die. King David heartily, deeply, and sincerely regretted his actions, because he knew he could have made other choices and yet succumbed to temptation. So, too, did Amnon know his options; the charitable impulses and rationality he pushed to the back of his mind were brought to the forefront as Thamar pleaded with him while he pulled her to him. It wasn't fate, it wasn't biology; it was willful sin - with meaning and consequences as powerful as the temptation that urged it forward.
And David the psalmist, the rhapsodic lover of God, David with his unending faith and sincere contrition on a par with that of the Sufi's paradigmatic lover Iblis, Davidwho writes of the evil he has bred in the world,
'For I know my transgression,
and my sin is ever before me.
Against thee, thee only, have I sinned,
and done that which is evil in thy sight'
seeing the evil his son has done, which recapitulates his own, stops pleading,
'O Lord, open thou my lips,
and my mouth shall show forth thy praise'
and instead in the poem abandons hope, abandons praise, and cuts the strings of his harp. David the shepherd with a flock in disarray, David the King of Israel and head of a murdering and incestuous royal family, David the giant-killer who finally tamed his own demons now watching in horror at his sons repeating his crimes and, in the end, David the rapturous Psalmist laying down his harp and songs of praise on hearing the hoofbeats of Amnon's departing horse. That's the part that sticks with me!
Here's the poem itself
Federico García Lorca
Thamar y Amnón
(pub. 1928)
La luna gira en el cielo
sobre las sierras sin agua
mientras el verano siembra
rumores de tigre y llama.
Por encima de los techos
nervios de metal sonaban.
Aire rizado venía
con los balidos de lana.
La sierra se ofrece llena
de heridas cicatrizadas,
o estremecida de agudos
cauterios de luces blancas.
Thamár estaba soñando
pájaros en su garganta
al son de panderos fríos
y cítaras enlunadas.
Su desnudo en el alero,
agudo norte de palma,
pide copos a su vientre
y granizo a sus espaldas.
Thamár estaba cantando
desnuda por la terraza.
Alrededor de sus pies,
cinco palomas heladas.
Amnón, delgado y concreto,
en la torre la miraba,
llenas las ingles de espuma
y oscilaciones la barba.
Su desnudo iluminado
se tendía en la terraza,
con un rumor entre dientes
de flecha recién clavada.
Amnón estaba mirando
la luna redonda y baja,
y vio en la luna los pechos
durísimos de su hermana.
Amnón a las tres y media
se tendió sobre la cama.
Toda la alcoba sufría
con sus ojos llenos de alas.
La luz, maciza, sepulta
pueblos en la arena parda,
o descubre transitorio
coral de rosas y dalias.
Linfa de pozo oprimida
brota silencio en las jarras.
En el musgo de los troncos
la cobra tendida canta.
Amnón gime por la tela
fresquísima de la cama.
Yedra del escalofrío
cubre su carne quemada.
Thamár entró silenciosa
en la alcoba silenciada,
color de vena y Danubio,
turbia de huellas lejanas.
Thamár, bórrame los ojos
con tu fija madrugada.
Mis hilos de sangre tejen
volantes sobre tu falda.
Déjame tranquila, hermano.
Son tus besos en mi espalda
avispas y vientecillos
en doble enjambre de flautas.
Thamár, en tus pechos altos
hay dos peces que me llaman,
y en las yemas de tus dedos
rumor de rosa encerrada.
Los cien caballos del rey
en el patio relinchaban.
Sol en cubos resistía
la delgadez de la parra.
Ya la coge del cabello,
ya la camisa le rasga.
Corales tibios dibujan
arroyos en rubio mapa.
¡Oh, qué gritos se sentían
por encima de las casas!
Qué espesura de puñales
y túnicas desgarradas.
Por las escaleras tristes
esclavos suben y bajan.
Émbolos y muslos juegan
bajo las nubes paradas.
Alrededor de Thamár
gritan vírgenes gitanas
y otras recogen las gotas
de su flor martirizada.
Paños blancos enrojecen
en las alcobas cerradas.
Rumores de tibia aurora
pámpanos y peces cambian.
Violador enfurecido,
Amnón huye con su jaca.
Negros le dirigen flechas
en los muros y atalayas.
Y cuando los cuatro cascos
eran cuatro resonancias,
David con unas tijeras cortó
las cuerdas del arpa.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Crow au Vin?
To follow up on that lengthy introduction, this is the actual story...
As some of you know, I work in food. Some others of you know I volunteer in food. Some even know both, and maybe me, as well. Some know that the service aspect of my life is very important to me, and perhaps that I have tried to incorporate that into my paid work, as well, when the parameters of my job would allow that.
Well, one of my frustrations is that there are a great many people consumed with trying to send money to Myanmar, and now China, while our local food banks are short of both food and volunteers. Another one is that people are terribly worried about buying organic, free-range whatevers* for their own tables at the same time that they show no signs of being concerned about whether their neighbors are eating anything at all. And there are people whose lefty and self-righteous environmental obsessions are so narrow and myopic that they fail to take in the human cost, and the human aspects in the ethical equations that purportedly conscious and conscientious people make when deciding what, where, and how to buy.
And for me, labor issues matter. Fair treatment matters. Decent working conditions matter terribly. And, because I have worked in the often ridiculously poor conditions of commercial kitchens, finished out shifts in kitchens with second- and third-degree burns on the palm my sauteeing hand, worked with people who have previously worked in agriculture and meat processing, and have been an undocumented worker overseas myself, I would argue I have greater experience with the issue, and greater natural, visceral, direct empathy for the workers involved than do most people who simply have neither the experience nor the broadmindedness to consider the whole story of an ingredient, to imagine that the history of their organic, free-range, shade-grown tomato started a long time ago, in a language far, far away from their Whole Foods produce aisle.
So, when I read a disheartening story (you can just NewsGoogle 'Stemilt' and get one million hits, so take your pick) about Washington fruit workers in California having difficult times with a reputable and progressive agricultural firm, fruit producer Stemilt, which, frankly, among big companies has a great record with moving toward more organic practices and being quite decent with workers, I was impassioned, and I wrote a letter. I wrote a terse, angry letter with a (perhaps poetic but) mean closing line.
And a person, a live, human person like me and like the laborers, wrote me back. Okay, fine, Stemilt isn't General Electric, but I'm not Bill Gates, either. And it is a very big company, and I am not. And the letter wasn't condescending, although it had a valuable lesson. And the message 'Don't believe all that you read/hear' is one that we all, most especially myself, need to keep with us as much as we can. I work hard at being both humble and critical, and I think that, relative to many strains in our culture, I'm doing okay at both. That being said, however, we do all have our prejudices, even as we struggle against them, and it is precisely those that are most ingrained -- and thus most powerful in swaying our thoughts, emotions, and actions -- that we are least likely to perceive as they influence us.
Thus, after that terribly dramatic build-up, here are the letters. Mine first, then his, and then my response. While it is true that we live in a world that can be so alienating, and we can go for days or weeks on end without, if we so wish it, any in-person human interaction, and we can have so many 'contacts' in our Blackberries or even our social lives that are fated always to be just that and nothing more, it was shocking and gratifying and satisfying in my soul that someone at Stemilt read my angry words in the very human and compassionate way he did, and responded in such a human way.
To Whom It May Concern:
I applaud Stemilt's contributions to greener agricultural practices, but your treatment of Washington workers in California is disgusting and indefensible. I am a private chef, and my business focuses on local, organic, and seasonal ingredients as much as possible, but both my clients and I can get by just fine without your products from any state. As well, in any case where I am unable to ascertain the origin of product from the vendor, I will simply forgo that fruit, and that dish. My clients will already know why by that point, as I will be giving them information sheets next week about Stemilt's labor practices. We may be more concerned about the environment up here than people in other regions, but we are also concerned with the dignity of our fellow human beings who labor to provide us with the food that sustains our lives. May you reap the fruit of your inhumanity.
*This actually happened -- and not at a Whole Foods: I was innocently idling around the bulk-licorice zone (which unfortunately abuts the bulk-coffee zone), doing no harm to anyone, when some Birkenstock-shod, bicycle-helmetted Zen master accosted the poor stock-clerk and assaulted my ears with this unnecessary query: 'While I see on the label that this blend (why must it be 'this blend?' why can he not utter the word 'coffee?' why can none of them? it's so easy to say, only two felicitous syllables that so gently roll off the tongue? cof-fee! coffee! coffffffeeeee! why does it always have to be 'this blend,' or 'this roast' with these people???) is fair-trade and organic, I was wondering if it were also perchance shade-grown, as well?'
Alright, I don't know that he said 'perchance.' Probably he didn't. But he wanted to. And the poor seventeen-year-old grocery-store worker, who probably drinks Mountain Dew and Denny's coffee by the litre and was writing speed-metal lyrics in his head and finally starting to enjoy pouring bulk penne from bags into canisters picturing the bass he's going to put a downpayment on with his next check had to break his fleeting rapturous chain of thought to go grab some higher-up who has somehow managed to memorize all the individual PC attributes of each and every 'blend' the store has, just to let the Coffee Sensei know whether or not he's hit some arbitrary 2008 liberal-coffee-buying trifecta.
Which is just a way of saying that while I think we should be moved to take action when our conscience demands it, and we should strive to do as much good and as little harm in the world as we can, there are also other things that are, simply, overkill and fatuous, and serve primarily to artificially assuage the ego -- and result in very little effect at all. I wonder when the last time for most of the Yoga Coffee Dudes of the world was that they calculated all that they spend on their blends and contributed it to something better, let alone went and 'fair traded' their own labor for free at a very needy, local nonprofit...
As some of you know, I work in food. Some others of you know I volunteer in food. Some even know both, and maybe me, as well. Some know that the service aspect of my life is very important to me, and perhaps that I have tried to incorporate that into my paid work, as well, when the parameters of my job would allow that.
Well, one of my frustrations is that there are a great many people consumed with trying to send money to Myanmar, and now China, while our local food banks are short of both food and volunteers. Another one is that people are terribly worried about buying organic, free-range whatevers* for their own tables at the same time that they show no signs of being concerned about whether their neighbors are eating anything at all. And there are people whose lefty and self-righteous environmental obsessions are so narrow and myopic that they fail to take in the human cost, and the human aspects in the ethical equations that purportedly conscious and conscientious people make when deciding what, where, and how to buy.
And for me, labor issues matter. Fair treatment matters. Decent working conditions matter terribly. And, because I have worked in the often ridiculously poor conditions of commercial kitchens, finished out shifts in kitchens with second- and third-degree burns on the palm my sauteeing hand, worked with people who have previously worked in agriculture and meat processing, and have been an undocumented worker overseas myself, I would argue I have greater experience with the issue, and greater natural, visceral, direct empathy for the workers involved than do most people who simply have neither the experience nor the broadmindedness to consider the whole story of an ingredient, to imagine that the history of their organic, free-range, shade-grown tomato started a long time ago, in a language far, far away from their Whole Foods produce aisle.
So, when I read a disheartening story (you can just NewsGoogle 'Stemilt' and get one million hits, so take your pick) about Washington fruit workers in California having difficult times with a reputable and progressive agricultural firm, fruit producer Stemilt, which, frankly, among big companies has a great record with moving toward more organic practices and being quite decent with workers, I was impassioned, and I wrote a letter. I wrote a terse, angry letter with a (perhaps poetic but) mean closing line.
And a person, a live, human person like me and like the laborers, wrote me back. Okay, fine, Stemilt isn't General Electric, but I'm not Bill Gates, either. And it is a very big company, and I am not. And the letter wasn't condescending, although it had a valuable lesson. And the message 'Don't believe all that you read/hear' is one that we all, most especially myself, need to keep with us as much as we can. I work hard at being both humble and critical, and I think that, relative to many strains in our culture, I'm doing okay at both. That being said, however, we do all have our prejudices, even as we struggle against them, and it is precisely those that are most ingrained -- and thus most powerful in swaying our thoughts, emotions, and actions -- that we are least likely to perceive as they influence us.
Thus, after that terribly dramatic build-up, here are the letters. Mine first, then his, and then my response. While it is true that we live in a world that can be so alienating, and we can go for days or weeks on end without, if we so wish it, any in-person human interaction, and we can have so many 'contacts' in our Blackberries or even our social lives that are fated always to be just that and nothing more, it was shocking and gratifying and satisfying in my soul that someone at Stemilt read my angry words in the very human and compassionate way he did, and responded in such a human way.
To Whom It May Concern:
I applaud Stemilt's contributions to greener agricultural practices, but your treatment of Washington workers in California is disgusting and indefensible. I am a private chef, and my business focuses on local, organic, and seasonal ingredients as much as possible, but both my clients and I can get by just fine without your products from any state. As well, in any case where I am unable to ascertain the origin of product from the vendor, I will simply forgo that fruit, and that dish. My clients will already know why by that point, as I will be giving them information sheets next week about Stemilt's labor practices. We may be more concerned about the environment up here than people in other regions, but we are also concerned with the dignity of our fellow human beings who labor to provide us with the food that sustains our lives. May you reap the fruit of your inhumanity.
(My Name),
All the workers are harvesting the crops today in California as scheduled. No workers were removed. Be careful what you read. Stemilt is who it says it is, both environmentally and socially. Other peoples motives are what are at issue. This orchard attracts lots of great harvest workers because of the income it provides them due to its production and cleanliness. You would need to interview the workers to believe what I am telling you. The owner of this orchard is a humanitarian. It will continue to attract workers in future years because of this orchards environment.
(My Name), we are glad you care about people. There isn't enough of that concern in this world.
I felt compelled to respond to you. You seem like a person that cares,
Stemilt
Wow,
(His Name), thank you very much for responding to me personally. I work alone now, but when I worked in kitchens I really cared about my employees, many of whom were from basically the same demographic as agricultural workers, so I do know that it is possible, even in difficult, dirty, physical jobs, to create an atmosphere where workers feel valued. I also know that even big organizations can create overall cultures that are largely positive or mostly negative, and I applaud any efforts Stemilt makes to engender the former.
As for caring, I do. I think the food industry is unique, different than any other. There are famous artists in it, and there are tons of unskilled and semiskilled, invisible but equally vital contributors, too. And on the one hand, food is something we need every day and don't have to reflect on when we want to grab a hamburger to stop being hungry. On the other, it is an integral part of family celebrations, religious holidays, and rites of passage. And even though the poor can survive without shelter or new clothes, everyone has to eat to live. In fact, I volunteer at meal programs to help poor people get some food, to balance out the feeding-wealthy-people side of my life.
I really thank you for taking the time to respond. It is individuals, whether in a for-profit business or a charity, that make decisions, make personal connections - and make a difference. I'm not famous or influential or anything, but I'll follow the story and eat whatever crow I have to, along with Stemilt cherries, on my blog, http://oisive-vitesse.blogspot.com as it progresses. Again, I know work in the fields is hard, but I applaud you for offering workers housing, and for paying wages that attract new workers.
I can't yet find updated news stories, but I will keep looking. I do know that there isn't much money in broadcasting cheery news, unless it is put at the end of the newscast and involves a child or a pet. Immigrant farmworkers have known for a long time that they're not as cute as they could be.
Wow,
(His Name), thank you very much for responding to me personally. I work alone now, but when I worked in kitchens I really cared about my employees, many of whom were from basically the same demographic as agricultural workers, so I do know that it is possible, even in difficult, dirty, physical jobs, to create an atmosphere where workers feel valued. I also know that even big organizations can create overall cultures that are largely positive or mostly negative, and I applaud any efforts Stemilt makes to engender the former.
As for caring, I do. I think the food industry is unique, different than any other. There are famous artists in it, and there are tons of unskilled and semiskilled, invisible but equally vital contributors, too. And on the one hand, food is something we need every day and don't have to reflect on when we want to grab a hamburger to stop being hungry. On the other, it is an integral part of family celebrations, religious holidays, and rites of passage. And even though the poor can survive without shelter or new clothes, everyone has to eat to live. In fact, I volunteer at meal programs to help poor people get some food, to balance out the feeding-wealthy-people side of my life.
I really thank you for taking the time to respond. It is individuals, whether in a for-profit business or a charity, that make decisions, make personal connections - and make a difference. I'm not famous or influential or anything, but I'll follow the story and eat whatever crow I have to, along with Stemilt cherries, on my blog, http://oisive-vitesse.blogspot
I can't yet find updated news stories, but I will keep looking. I do know that there isn't much money in broadcasting cheery news, unless it is put at the end of the newscast and involves a child or a pet. Immigrant farmworkers have known for a long time that they're not as cute as they could be.
*This actually happened -- and not at a Whole Foods: I was innocently idling around the bulk-licorice zone (which unfortunately abuts the bulk-coffee zone), doing no harm to anyone, when some Birkenstock-shod, bicycle-helmetted Zen master accosted the poor stock-clerk and assaulted my ears with this unnecessary query: 'While I see on the label that this blend (why must it be 'this blend?' why can he not utter the word 'coffee?' why can none of them? it's so easy to say, only two felicitous syllables that so gently roll off the tongue? cof-fee! coffee! coffffffeeeee! why does it always have to be 'this blend,' or 'this roast' with these people???) is fair-trade and organic, I was wondering if it were also perchance shade-grown, as well?'
Alright, I don't know that he said 'perchance.' Probably he didn't. But he wanted to. And the poor seventeen-year-old grocery-store worker, who probably drinks Mountain Dew and Denny's coffee by the litre and was writing speed-metal lyrics in his head and finally starting to enjoy pouring bulk penne from bags into canisters picturing the bass he's going to put a downpayment on with his next check had to break his fleeting rapturous chain of thought to go grab some higher-up who has somehow managed to memorize all the individual PC attributes of each and every 'blend' the store has, just to let the Coffee Sensei know whether or not he's hit some arbitrary 2008 liberal-coffee-buying trifecta.
Which is just a way of saying that while I think we should be moved to take action when our conscience demands it, and we should strive to do as much good and as little harm in the world as we can, there are also other things that are, simply, overkill and fatuous, and serve primarily to artificially assuage the ego -- and result in very little effect at all. I wonder when the last time for most of the Yoga Coffee Dudes of the world was that they calculated all that they spend on their blends and contributed it to something better, let alone went and 'fair traded' their own labor for free at a very needy, local nonprofit...
'Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you who you are.'
So said the epicure Brillat-Savarin, and while an ontological argument based on that aphorism would be hard to sustain in many quarters (or so I pray, at any rate: the idea of my body decomposing into lardons of cured pork and boxes of Good-n-Plenty while the walls of my veins leaked Barolo and Amarone into the velvet walls of my coffin strikes far more terror in me than the normal image which -disturbingly, perhaps - doesn't disturb me in the least), and the more transcendent aspects of his musings on gastronomy and gourmandise are equally unsuited to the realities of our present world, the above quote, read entirely wrongly, of course, and viewed through an ethical rather than aesthetic lens, is what I want to get to here today.
(Update 06.12.08: That was really all one sentence. Someone, save me from myself.)
People like to think of globalism as a brand-new phenomenon. And I will admit that with the population of the world so much greater than ever before, every nation or region has a greater impact on others: I have more people producing more waste over here in country X, so there is a greater chance of some of it reaching you in country Y, for example. But the Chinese have been a global power for millennia, over land and by sea. The silver in Chinese coffers plundered by the British opium trade and subsequent wars and concessions was largely from South American mines, while the tea that the British came to love was, as we all know, an ancient part of Chinese gastronomic culture. Marco Polo brought pasta to Italy, and the cotton plantations of the southern United States arose to fill the growing gap between India's long history of production and current need, while the US is now poised in coming years to become the leader in 'hauling coals to Newcastle' quite literally -- not to mention the huge markets of China, India, Russia, as well as many smaller countries in the developing world.
So.
It may have been the case before, but now that the stakes are manifestly higher we admit it more readily: we are all in this together. Even George W. Bush has come to acknowledge that, at least as far as the ozone layer is concerned, human beings can have some kind of corporate and individual impact on the world as a whole. And I believe that food, our use of it, our approach to it, our taking it for granted or choosing to be deliberate in our choices, can be a significant aspect of living up to our values.
Every left-leaning, bunny-hugging simpleton will recite the evils of McDonalds anytime there is a perceptible lapse in conversation. And, in the Northwest at least, anyone desirous of impressing upon his audience the virtuousness of his life and lower intestine will not fail to (re-) state (the obvious:) his unswerving allegiance to the aisles of Whole Foods for all his home cooking and (natural) grooming products needs.
But in the same way that my sending a check every once in a while to Mercy Corps or the Red Cross does not confer something akin to proactive moral immunity, a lifetime's absolution, or mean I thus have carte blanche to perform human sacrifices or set the neighbor's house on fire because I did good elsewhere, trusting a preacher, or a friend, or - for heaven's sake! - a retailer, as gatekeeper for all our individual, specific ethical choices sells our own conscience and powers of rational contemplation short. There simply is no one guidebook containing every possible moral conundrum an individual can face in the moment. And I think that before we can get to 'we are what we eat' in its moral sense, we have first to accept that we are what we do, overall. We are the choices we make, the mistakes we regret, the issues we feel compelled to stand for, and the hand we do or do not offer a suffering soul.
How this all ties in to food, not to mention my enduring and recurrently proven faith in the human voice coming through miles of wires and anonymity and preconceptions, and not forgetting, as well, my own well-deserved humility and willingness to put crow in cream sauce on my own dinner menu when appropriate, will have to wait until next time, as this preamble to what I intended to say is already too long without even having a body yet!
(Update 06.12.08: That was really all one sentence. Someone, save me from myself.)
People like to think of globalism as a brand-new phenomenon. And I will admit that with the population of the world so much greater than ever before, every nation or region has a greater impact on others: I have more people producing more waste over here in country X, so there is a greater chance of some of it reaching you in country Y, for example. But the Chinese have been a global power for millennia, over land and by sea. The silver in Chinese coffers plundered by the British opium trade and subsequent wars and concessions was largely from South American mines, while the tea that the British came to love was, as we all know, an ancient part of Chinese gastronomic culture. Marco Polo brought pasta to Italy, and the cotton plantations of the southern United States arose to fill the growing gap between India's long history of production and current need, while the US is now poised in coming years to become the leader in 'hauling coals to Newcastle' quite literally -- not to mention the huge markets of China, India, Russia, as well as many smaller countries in the developing world.
So.
It may have been the case before, but now that the stakes are manifestly higher we admit it more readily: we are all in this together. Even George W. Bush has come to acknowledge that, at least as far as the ozone layer is concerned, human beings can have some kind of corporate and individual impact on the world as a whole. And I believe that food, our use of it, our approach to it, our taking it for granted or choosing to be deliberate in our choices, can be a significant aspect of living up to our values.
Every left-leaning, bunny-hugging simpleton will recite the evils of McDonalds anytime there is a perceptible lapse in conversation. And, in the Northwest at least, anyone desirous of impressing upon his audience the virtuousness of his life and lower intestine will not fail to (re-) state (the obvious:) his unswerving allegiance to the aisles of Whole Foods for all his home cooking and (natural) grooming products needs.
But in the same way that my sending a check every once in a while to Mercy Corps or the Red Cross does not confer something akin to proactive moral immunity, a lifetime's absolution, or mean I thus have carte blanche to perform human sacrifices or set the neighbor's house on fire because I did good elsewhere, trusting a preacher, or a friend, or - for heaven's sake! - a retailer, as gatekeeper for all our individual, specific ethical choices sells our own conscience and powers of rational contemplation short. There simply is no one guidebook containing every possible moral conundrum an individual can face in the moment. And I think that before we can get to 'we are what we eat' in its moral sense, we have first to accept that we are what we do, overall. We are the choices we make, the mistakes we regret, the issues we feel compelled to stand for, and the hand we do or do not offer a suffering soul.
How this all ties in to food, not to mention my enduring and recurrently proven faith in the human voice coming through miles of wires and anonymity and preconceptions, and not forgetting, as well, my own well-deserved humility and willingness to put crow in cream sauce on my own dinner menu when appropriate, will have to wait until next time, as this preamble to what I intended to say is already too long without even having a body yet!
Friday, May 9, 2008
It Goes On...
This is from the Weather Underground. I wanted to go down today after work and take pictures of the rhododendrons and bonsai at the rhododendron and bonsai gardens in Federal Way. (That's a city, not a manner of doing things, in this state.) But there is no sun. There was what we call here a 'sunbreak,' perhaps even two, but not enough to justify my trek.
I love many things about Seattle. And I think that, despite our thousands of new cookie-cutter condo developments and 'Tuscan' subdevelopments that could just as easily be in Anaheim or Shanghai, there still remains much here to set it apart from other cities of similar size, latitude, demographics, etc. And all you hear about our rainfall is not true: we don't get an extraordinary amount. We are 50-something, I think, in US cities: all the leaders are in the Southeastern United States. What we do get is months upon months of unremitting gloom. It's not especially cold here, either, particularly considering that we're almost in Canada. But what our snuggle with the 49th Parallel does mean is that our winter days are as brief as they should be at this latitude. When you add in the fact that we get none of those glorious brisk sunny days most other people get intermittently through the winter, you are faced with the reality that our lot is a bunch of short dark days: even when the sun is out, it's not, and then it's back to complete darkness at half-past-four or something.
What also have is a lot of bars, and a lot of suicides. But then spring comes, and there is a riot of color everywhere, including every conceivable and comforting shade of green. The streets are lined with cherry blossoms, and rhododendron bushes and trees bloom from white to purple in yards everywhere. By the time the two months of summer are upon us, no one in the Puget Sound region cooks a single meal inside, and it takes triple the time to get anywhere, as all the bridges are up and down constantly to allow for the the thousands of sailboats, accompanied by canoes, kayaks, bowriders, converted liveaboard tugs, dinghies, trawlers on hiatus, and the lamentable cigarette boats to pass under in hoardes. White legs that would shame Dublin are everywhere, not a play is produced or a concert offered, and tourists are the only people eating in restaurants. The failed suicides of February are out at Greenlake in preposterously colored clingy clothes, thirty pounds lighter, completely sober, and practicing asanas with the emotional stability and optimism of any Self-Actualized Man worth his mudra.
It's a shocking way of life.
| 5-Day Forecast for ZIP Code 98117 | Customize Your Icons! |
| Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday | Monday |
 56° F | 43° F 13° C | 6° C |  63° F | 45° F 17° C | 7° C | 59° F | 45° F 15° C | 7° C | 56° F | 45° F 13° C | 7° C | 58° F | 45° F 14° C | 7° C |
| Chance of Rain 20% chance of precipitation | Partly Cloudy | Chance of Rain 30% chance of precipitation | Chance of Rain 30% chance of precipitation | Chance of Rain 20% chance of precipitation |
| Tomorrow is forecast to be Warmer than today. | ||||
I love many things about Seattle. And I think that, despite our thousands of new cookie-cutter condo developments and 'Tuscan' subdevelopments that could just as easily be in Anaheim or Shanghai, there still remains much here to set it apart from other cities of similar size, latitude, demographics, etc. And all you hear about our rainfall is not true: we don't get an extraordinary amount. We are 50-something, I think, in US cities: all the leaders are in the Southeastern United States. What we do get is months upon months of unremitting gloom. It's not especially cold here, either, particularly considering that we're almost in Canada. But what our snuggle with the 49th Parallel does mean is that our winter days are as brief as they should be at this latitude. When you add in the fact that we get none of those glorious brisk sunny days most other people get intermittently through the winter, you are faced with the reality that our lot is a bunch of short dark days: even when the sun is out, it's not, and then it's back to complete darkness at half-past-four or something.
What also have is a lot of bars, and a lot of suicides. But then spring comes, and there is a riot of color everywhere, including every conceivable and comforting shade of green. The streets are lined with cherry blossoms, and rhododendron bushes and trees bloom from white to purple in yards everywhere. By the time the two months of summer are upon us, no one in the Puget Sound region cooks a single meal inside, and it takes triple the time to get anywhere, as all the bridges are up and down constantly to allow for the the thousands of sailboats, accompanied by canoes, kayaks, bowriders, converted liveaboard tugs, dinghies, trawlers on hiatus, and the lamentable cigarette boats to pass under in hoardes. White legs that would shame Dublin are everywhere, not a play is produced or a concert offered, and tourists are the only people eating in restaurants. The failed suicides of February are out at Greenlake in preposterously colored clingy clothes, thirty pounds lighter, completely sober, and practicing asanas with the emotional stability and optimism of any Self-Actualized Man worth his mudra.
It's a shocking way of life.
Featured Guest: Todd
Long time no post.
Sorry about that, dears. After that last rather apocalyptic bit about the death of good buys as we know them, I've been as busy as I have been verklempt. And I'm not saying I have anything to say, nor certainly that I have any answers as to how anyone not in the $450,000-house bracket is supposed to put food on his or her family's Ikea table while still managing to put gas in the Subaru and rent in the landlord's box on time. It's as bad as, and worse than, I intimated.
On the other hand, I've been sad that I haven't found anything to post about. I recently dug someone up from college, which is always great (at least it's always been so for me), but just today someone dug me up, which is even greater as, as you know, I so dislike having to embody the yang any more than I have to. For heaven's sake, I go to a full-service gas station! (Inside information: they don't charge me, either, because I buy all my Diet Cokes and Tums and '5' Flare-flavor gum there!)
So now I feel obliged. And if there is ever anything that motivates me, it is the ponderous weight of responsibility to others. There may be a great number of words in this blog, but there really aren't that many posts. Anyone finding it amusing will quickly realize he or she has come to the end (which is to say the beginning). So, with living proof that someone, somewhere (and better still, someone I know) (well, in a sense, and not the Biblical one) is reading this, I have renewed inspiration - and duty! - to offer to him and to you more jeremiads on the Death of Decorum, the Horror of Calvinism, the Psychic Pain of 'Comfort Clothes,' and, in the words of the current Pope, Benedict XVI, the 'Tyranny of Relativism.'
In the meantime, while you are walking around in your terrifying comfort clothes being relative and not opening doors for ladies, go over to 43Things and think about what you really want to do. I hope one of them turns out to be 'pay for a year of Comcast Internet-and-phone-service for the Greenwood Food Bank' -- because she has one line for her phone, fax, and DIAL-UP!!! Not to mention that her clientele, like that of most other food banks in the area, has risen 30% in just the past couple months.
And while we're on the topic of problems around town, I can't find the figures for this, but: housing prices for King County (Seattle's county) rose last year, while those of counties to the north and south, Snohomish and Pierce, fell. Recalling that gas prices are as prohibitive as they currently are regarding long commutes, it's not an entirely rosy picture for individuals contemplating buying a home in the cheaper suburbs. And, again, if you have money to buy a house in Seattle proper, you'll cut down on your commute but pay a great deal more for your mortgage -- although houses in city should continue to rise in value. Maybe.
However, what of the poor schmucks who bought a house in those same sad suburbs (perhaps enticed by loose lending practices, 5-year ARMS, or 100% funding) two or three or five years ago? Even many of those who did put down cash, and did have enough income to make payments are back down to zero equity on their $300,000 house, which would be a $400,000 house in Seattle, and was a $325 or $350,000 house a few years back.
Grrrr.
Well, that wasn't entertaining in the slightest. I do enjoy making global crises out of shed cat hair and ill-considered lipstick shades, but sometimes the weight of reality is such that it defeats the point of deliberately manufacturing problems when there are so many genuine ones to get sick over.
Sorry about that, dears. After that last rather apocalyptic bit about the death of good buys as we know them, I've been as busy as I have been verklempt. And I'm not saying I have anything to say, nor certainly that I have any answers as to how anyone not in the $450,000-house bracket is supposed to put food on his or her family's Ikea table while still managing to put gas in the Subaru and rent in the landlord's box on time. It's as bad as, and worse than, I intimated.
On the other hand, I've been sad that I haven't found anything to post about. I recently dug someone up from college, which is always great (at least it's always been so for me), but just today someone dug me up, which is even greater as, as you know, I so dislike having to embody the yang any more than I have to. For heaven's sake, I go to a full-service gas station! (Inside information: they don't charge me, either, because I buy all my Diet Cokes and Tums and '5' Flare-flavor gum there!)
So now I feel obliged. And if there is ever anything that motivates me, it is the ponderous weight of responsibility to others. There may be a great number of words in this blog, but there really aren't that many posts. Anyone finding it amusing will quickly realize he or she has come to the end (which is to say the beginning). So, with living proof that someone, somewhere (and better still, someone I know) (well, in a sense, and not the Biblical one) is reading this, I have renewed inspiration - and duty! - to offer to him and to you more jeremiads on the Death of Decorum, the Horror of Calvinism, the Psychic Pain of 'Comfort Clothes,' and, in the words of the current Pope, Benedict XVI, the 'Tyranny of Relativism.'
In the meantime, while you are walking around in your terrifying comfort clothes being relative and not opening doors for ladies, go over to 43Things and think about what you really want to do. I hope one of them turns out to be 'pay for a year of Comcast Internet-and-phone-service for the Greenwood Food Bank' -- because she has one line for her phone, fax, and DIAL-UP!!! Not to mention that her clientele, like that of most other food banks in the area, has risen 30% in just the past couple months.
And while we're on the topic of problems around town, I can't find the figures for this, but: housing prices for King County (Seattle's county) rose last year, while those of counties to the north and south, Snohomish and Pierce, fell. Recalling that gas prices are as prohibitive as they currently are regarding long commutes, it's not an entirely rosy picture for individuals contemplating buying a home in the cheaper suburbs. And, again, if you have money to buy a house in Seattle proper, you'll cut down on your commute but pay a great deal more for your mortgage -- although houses in city should continue to rise in value. Maybe.
However, what of the poor schmucks who bought a house in those same sad suburbs (perhaps enticed by loose lending practices, 5-year ARMS, or 100% funding) two or three or five years ago? Even many of those who did put down cash, and did have enough income to make payments are back down to zero equity on their $300,000 house, which would be a $400,000 house in Seattle, and was a $325 or $350,000 house a few years back.
Grrrr.
Well, that wasn't entertaining in the slightest. I do enjoy making global crises out of shed cat hair and ill-considered lipstick shades, but sometimes the weight of reality is such that it defeats the point of deliberately manufacturing problems when there are so many genuine ones to get sick over.
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