The Flying Machine

I wish for the sake of humor and cultural capital that I had rented the pink double-wide trailer out west of town by the onion fields.

I wanted to like it, really, I did. We drove all the way out and I met the woman who owns the trailers (there are 4, different colors, all in a row by the highway) and she was just the kind of old woman who lives in a trailer: thinning hair, shapeless housedress over a shapeless body, thick, veiny legs, a slow hobbling walk, and a sly look in her eye that said she was making judgments that might differ from her pleasant tone of voice.

The first thing you noticed upon walking into the trailer was the smell - that trailer smell that, if you've ever been in an old trailer, you know all too well. It's a mix of shag carpet, wood paneling, funky plastic bathroom fixtures, old cooking grease, dead bugs, and something else that's hard to get a finger on but is unmistakable. Old trailers just have a funk. The funk killed the appeal for me. That, and its (relatively) high price tag, complete lack of furnishings, non-functional electrical elements (the landlady rattled off a list of things that she was planning to have 'fixed' whenever she could find a trustworthy contractor. HA.), obviously poor insulation, and the fat highway out front with intermittent-but-loud traffic.

It really is too bad, though: haven't you ever wanted to tell someone that you live in the pink double-wide trailer out by the onion fields?

(more below the cut)

So the trailer was a bust. The next place was too. One of many lessons I have learned about renting a place after this experience: if you see a FOR RENT sign in the window of a nice-looking little house and call up and ask to see the place, by all means ASK how much the rent is before making the owner drive all the way out to show you the place. Because if it's twice what you can afford, you'll feel pretty sheepish spending 10 minutes fantasizing about what you could do with the place while the owner waters the plants out front.

Mom and I got some decent Mexican food downtown and reflected on my rather dim prospects. Finally we hit the magic 7 o'clock hour and booked it over to the second-floor apartment that had been postponed from the afternoon. I knocked on the door of the house. Nothing. A minute passed. I knocked again. A small gap appeared in the window blinds, followed by a rustle of motion. A tall, slender man stepped out, red-haired, with a good handshake. He led me upstairs into a small, dark, nest-like apartment: it had a tiny bedroom with closet and drawers built into the eaves, a tiny kitchen crammed tunnel-like into another space, and a big open living area with a row of small windows across the front. I really liked it. It felt comfortable and livable, as if I could move in and make it mine. It was a bit small, mostly regarding the kitchen, and a bit dark. But perhaps I could work with that. At this point, it was a huge step up from the trailer.

Friday dawned gorgeous, cool and clear and not too oniony. I had lined up several visits for the day. First up was a drive-by to see an "older, small" home "in the country." On the first round, we drove and drove, several miles out, just as the landlady had said, but were stopped at the end of the road by a large NO TRESPASSING sign. I turned the car around and resolved to get better instructions later in the day.

Next up: 10 am at a rental agency. I was third in line waiting for the place to open. The agent, an assistant not much older than I, was friendly and frank as she listed the few properties she had available. I asked to see everything within my price range (4 rentals).

The first site was pretty nice - ground-floor, decent bedroom, living area, large kitchen. I liked it but it didn't really make an impression.

The second two sites were in a big boxy yellow house. One was a studio, tiny as could be, but cozy and full of light. I worried about cooking less than 4 feet from my bed, though. One burned fish filet and my life could be hell. The second place was bigger, and the kitchen was just lovely - big windows and good counterspace for a small apartment. All the rooms had good light. I wasn't crazy about the vague old linoleum and shag carpeting, but by this point I'd resigned myself to the fact that every single rental unit in Ontario has SHAG CARPET.

The last site was a dud - a basic one-bedroom in a big multiplex place, unremarkable and seriously funky, almost as bad as the trailer. But I'd liked the two in the yellow house, so I took an application from the agent and promised to return it later that day if I decided to take one of the apartments.

First, though, I had to see the house in the country and another small house in town. Armed with better directions to the house in the country, I set off, past the rest of the houses, past the horses in dusty corrals, past the onion shipping warehouses, past that No Trespassing sign, down nearly half a mile of rubbledy slow gravel, only to pull up at a ramshackle house with tiny sad windows, cracks and staining all over the walls, and a general air of disrepair. It was also completely unfurnished - not even a range and fridge - and on the high end of what I could afford. I gave up another sounds-romantic-and-colorful-but-isn't-so-great fantasy and moved on.

After this fiasco, mom was really excited to see the next place, the last one on my list. It was a bit expensive, and unfurnished, and I'd have to pay all the utils, but we'd driven by and it was a lovely little home with a carport and roses out front and a big back yard. The owner showed up in a shiny black truck and greeted us with a cordial air. He had a very nice mustache.

Inside, the place was just great - big kitchen, tiny cute back porch, wood floor in the bedroom, good gas heating... but he said he already had several applications in for the place and wouldn't be able to even look at my app until next week. Also, it was unfurnished. Also, I'd have had to pay all the utilities. But it was so cute! I took an application, thanked the man, and went to the coffee shop to sit and crunch some numbers and make some hard decisions.

With a Jones Soda at my side, I looked at the figures. The wonderful little house would cost almost two thirds of my take-home monthly pay counting utilities. Even if mom and dad and amma kicked in a little bit, it'd still come out to half my paycheck. My very small paycheck. I decided not to do it. I really don't want to live on a razor-thin budget margin.

That left the apartments - the cozy, small upstairs apartment with lots of eaves and nooks, the tiny studio, and the other upstairs apartment with the wonderful kitchen and nice light. I bet you can guess which one I chose.

BUT you will have to wait because I'm tired and have run out of writing energy. I probably ought to edit these long, rambling travelogue-style posts sometime. As for the apartment - well, I'll tell you tomorrow.

Still to come:
the decision
the coincidence
clearly, fate
other observations about ontario
my new place
BOISE
pictures!

Posted by Sarah at 10:59 PM | Permalink

Dear friends,

If sometime in the next year I should make my way out to wherever you are for a visit, or if you should make your way out to where I am for a visit, and you notice that I smell of shag carpeting and old linoleum and come bearing a gift of onions pilfered from the sides of highways, please don't think I've gone nuts. I probably will want a hug.

I've got a new place.
There's onions everywhere.
But first, how I got here:

When last we left the story, I was in Colorado.

Now, pretty much the worst thing that can happen on a road trip is car trouble. If your car is broke, you ain't goin' nowhere. So when my mom and I started smelling hot grease every time my car stopped, we got a little worried. We'd just left our friends' house in Colorado and were headed into a long, long day of wide open spaces across Utah and Idaho - almost 800 miles - not exactly ideal break-down country. The car was running fine - no idiot lights flashing, no high engine temps. Coolant was fine. Radiator was fine. Oil was fine. There ended my car-troubleshooting skillz.

But the funky burning smell got worse. We eventually got worried enough to get off the interstate in Green River, Utah - the only town of any size for a hundred miles, sandwiched between exit after exit of short off-ramps and cattle guards onto somebody's ranch property, big "no services" signs glaring. Not 30 seconds off the highway I spotted a sign for local melons.

Burning engine be damned, I pulled over and bought 3: a honeylope, an israeli, and a regular old watermelon. La! Fragrant ripe local melons! Unusual varieties! The lady was nice and they only cost me $3 total. When I put them in the car their fragrance mixed with the 3 baby Thai basils and huge spearmint plant that I was hauling out and made things smell lovely. When they weren't smelling of burnt oil and rubber, that is.

Then we went to find an auto repair shop. I think it was fate that we ended up at the Napa place on the edge of town, stopping there after passing several others, because it was there that I saw and interacted with the Sexiest Auto Mechanic Ever.

Seriously.

No, really. He IS the new gold standard.

Here's how it went down:

We walk into the place. I become distracted by a display of air fresheners. Mom talks to an older potbellied fellow, probably the manager. Two other guys appear from the back - the mechanics - and without really looking at them, I lead the way out to the car and pop the hood. I look up. I am struck dumb, gawking. Dude's probably late 20's, tall and broad-shouldered, unshaven, black t-shirt, baseball cap, definitely has the guy-who-works-with-his-hands look. But that kind of description really doesn't tell you much - and the thing that gets me has little to do with the above and more to do with some kind of inarticulate holy-shit kind of sexiness of bearing, moving, speaking that sometimes just really, really works. I don't know. I can't explain it. All I know is that I wished I weren't driving several hundred more miles that day. And that my mom weren't with me.

Anyway.

It took the 3 dudes about 30 seconds to figure out the problem with my car (in case you're curious, it was the CV joint; it had cracked). One of them, a bristly older guy with a fat mustache and a black t-shirt with a huge bald eagle across the chest, asked how far we were going. I said Ontario, Oregon. He grunted, said, my daughter lives there. The portly manager said we could almost certainly make it to Boise for repairs, and the Sexiest Auto Mechanic Ever added in his smooth Western drawl, I'd hate to make you stop your trip. In my head, I thought: there's a couple other reasons I'd like to stop my trip here...

Alas. We pressed on. By this point I was nearly at the end of my rope. No radio signals, iPod dead, finished the Garrison Keillor tape, hours and hours of long straight roads with only mom's continuous state-the-obvious commentary and my inability to manage small annoyances when in a confined space. We blazed through Salt Lake. I decided I wouldn't want to live there. Why oh why must the sprawl be everywhere? Finally, finally, finally, we hit Boise - too late to drop the car off for repairs, so we got a room and got some dinner and passed out until the morning, when we took 'er in, got 'er fixed, and got on the road (well, after a brief stop at TJ Maxx. I got some funky-but-comfortable green shoes and two cutting knives for my kitchen - a Wüsthof for $24.99 is a really good deal!).

Good lord this travelogue is getting long. And I haven't even gotten to the apartment-hunting yet! Ok, pressing onward:

So we get to Ontario. The entire town is strewn with onion skins. Golden brown curling onion skins on the sidewalks, in the grass, in the gutters, in front yards. On the outskirts of town you can see the onion fields, with faded soil and bright yellow-gold onions shining out from under the dust. You can smell them, too. Trucks bearing precarious loads of onions bustle all over town, just like how in Arcadia one sees truck after truck after truck of oranges in high season. Not only are there onion skins everywhere - there are onions, too. On every corner of the major highways in town and out by the packing plants, escaped onions languish and roll. I'm pretty excited, 'cause this means I can have my next few month's onion supply taken care of with one quick Sunday morning bike ride around town with a backpack.

As for the apartments - lemme tell ya. This was an experience.

I called one fellow to get info on his two listed apartments and he said I could drive by and call him back if I wanted to see the places. I thought this a little odd but took a drive by anyway. I understood. The apts were in the worst part of town in a building that looked as if a stray rolling onion could knock it over. It was a dump. I didn't call back.

Next I had an appointment to see an upstairs 1-bedroom place. Cheap. I pulled up, knocked on the door. No answer. I called: Hello, I spoke to you yesterday about your 1-bedroom apartment listing. We had an appointment to look at the place today at 3. Is that still possible? Response: Oh. (pause) I'm at work, and my wife had to go to Boise. How about this evening? 7?

Next on the list: a realtor's quad-plex. We showed up at the arranged time. Waited. Called the realty: She's on her way! Waited some more. Mom wanted me to call again after 40 minutes had passed. I said it was a sign that I was not meant to live in the quad-plex and called the next rentor.

OK. It's time to get some sleep. Installment #2, coming up tomorrow night. Hopefully pictures too. Still to come:

the double-wide
the upstairs place
the good realtor
the yellow house
the other yellow house
the green-roofed house
the decision
the coincidence
clearly, fate
other observations about ontario
my new place
BOISE

Posted by Sarah at 12:14 AM | Permalink

Drunk-dialing is pretty much always appreciated. Call anytime, y'all.

Posted by Sarah at 11:50 PM | Permalink

Today, in short:

Kansas is really, really huge. But the speed limit is 75 mph - and there's not a speck of traffic between Kansas City and the Colorado border. I find myself compelled by these kinds of places - who lives in Kansas City? Who manages the huge farms across thousands of empty acres? Does anyone ever visit the antique malls and podunk motels? We left at 7 am from Kansas City and drove out into the dawn, surprisingly lovely, green and red and hilly. The terrain grew flatter and drier by the hour, with fewer and fewer people and more and more abandoned farmhouses or tiny tree-ringed islands of civilization amidst fields as far as you could see. I wanted so badly to take off on one of the dirt side roads stretching off across the horizon just to see where they go and who travels there - it is just so wrenchingly empty. People at the gas stations were overweight and talkative. Metalhead boys and gossipy girls and old men in suspenders. I wish I could have taken their pictures.

Eventually we hit Colorado. Denver sucks. Ugh, traffic. Ugh, aggressive drivers. Ugh, sprawl. An hour before Denver my book on tape malfunctioned. I switched to radio - no good stations (even I have my limits when it comes to bad country radio). I switched to iPod. It died as we hit Denver. I switched to bad country radio. I became disgusted. I discovered an old Greg Brown tape, Dream Cafe, and put it in. It stayed in for the next 3 hours and it was blissful. I would marry that voice, that persona, in an instant.

Tonight we're in New Castle, CO, staying with family friends. They have a fabulous cat and fed us so very well. Stuffed and sleepy. Tomorrow's a long haul - 12 hours to Ontario, and then the great apartment hunt begins.

I'll give the full story of the trip, with pictures, when I get better internet access - I'm borrowing a computer at the moment and don't want to wear out my welcome. But I do have a few good pictures and a few good stories. Soon, soon!

Posted by Sarah at 11:10 PM | Permalink

I've got some great stories for you. Unfortunately last night I was on a conference call all evening (yes, we ladies of C&G are STILL organizing), so I didn't have time to write.

The route so far: K-town to Atlanta to Chattanooga to Knoxville to Clarksville to St. Louis to Kansas City. Today: Kansas City to Topeka to Denver to New Castle for the night. Then from there we're hauling it across to Oregon. Arriving a day early! Hunting for apartments!

For now, breakfast!

Posted by Sarah at 7:38 AM | Permalink

I will miss home. Always do, even as I love living somewhere new.

Home is driving out to David's place to pick up my paints and brushes and paintings last night, taking a slow cruise south of town, pausing for the stoplight at Brevard, the scent of Kentucky Fried Chicken on the warm night air, damp and slow-rolling, mixing with the car's air conditioning on my skin, cool and warm at once.

Cruising on, the open-air laundromat to my left, a cluster of men sitting out front, watching the cars at the Family-Dollar-turned-bar across the street, then Slim's BBQ, closed, dark, gas stations, the Dollar Store, the DeSoto motel, a momma with her babies in lawn chairs outside her room.

Streets mostly quiet, the streetlights intermittent, then gone. Black sky, black trees, black road, looking for my grandpa's old truck stop property where I used to sit and imagine saucy big-haired waitresses straight-talking the truckers amidst the water stains and busted furniture, but those buildings are long demolished, it's empty now, then the old Joshua Creek packing plant and a lot of trailers, new and clean and empty, waiting, the left turn I always miss, that one-lane road, pulling off into the ditch to let another car by.

Gathering my stuff at David's, talking outside, talking for a long time and slapping moquitoes, dim light and an intermittent breeze. Chase, the bay horse, snorts and paces the fence. The chickens are all asleep. Walking inside to say goodbye to Buttons, the yorkie, who springs onto his back legs and stumbles forward, tongue lolling with excitement. Sissy, the chihuahua, growls and snaps from underneath the table.

On my way home again, slowing to a crawl to avoid an escaped chihuahua in the road, some neighbor's, tags jingling, headed toward a trailer where the TV glows and flickers through the window. TVs glowing blue and white in window after window, narrow houses on blocks with weeds at the edges.

People from the city talk about how slipping into the anonymity of the city amidst a crush of people is something renewing and comfortable. for me, it is this: a long drive at night through achingly familiar terrain, all of it mapped with a lifetime of memories, windows down, the windows are always down, the better to hear the incessant frog choruses providing the harmony for whatever's on the radio. Surfing the radio idly, slipping into whatever identity comes across the waves, in and out, easy: And the landslide will bring you... / Well I remember when - I remember when I lost my mind - / Hey, yer a crazy bitch but you f- so good... / Oh, she don't know she's beautiful... / This is when I'm most comfortable, this is when I'm excited about everything that lies before me - and I guess it doesn't really make sense, but there's something about being invisible, a small dark car on a long dark highway, when anything seems possible but nothing is required.

------

I leave tomorrow for Oregon. It's exciting, even as I wonder if I'm making the right decision. Of course you are, I tell myself, you will make it right. There's a lot I didn't do this summer that I wanted to do, and these things always hit me at the end, when suddenly there's no more I'll do it next week. So I'll shift it all to the I'll do it someday pile - backpacking the Everglades, photo-documenting the parts of town I rarely visit, properly organizing my photos, fixing my car's dome light, getting Amoco sweet tea, doing more charcoal sketching, learning more than basic chords on the mandolin, working through my clothes-to-alter pile, visiting the cattle auction, photographing the small animal Friday night auction, lunch or coffee or a drink with old friends and old teachers, calling those people who gave me their numbers who I never called, wheedling old stories from my grandma and amma, perfecting pan-frying, going to Little Gasparilla, catching up with Adam, visiting Mr. Pearce's property to see the spring he discovered... the list goes on. Someday, I suppose.

Posted by Sarah at 11:15 PM | Permalink

Whoa. Did anybody know that the SUPER BOWL is CARBON NEUTRAL?

Seriously! (via the fabulous greenerMiami)

(Apparently it's through tree-planting. A little controversial, but I still support it.)

Posted by Sarah at 2:12 PM | Permalink

Classy.

The Miami-Dade water and sewer department has a new director, and he's been noticing some real interesting stuff in his department.

With 2,600 employees, Renfrow anticipated about 15 percent of his staff, or around 400 of his senior managers might have county-issued cell phone.

After some checking, he found about 400 authorized cell phone accounts, as he had suspected. However, the department had an additional 3,800 active cell phone accounts unaccounted for.

(source)

Posted by Sarah at 11:09 AM | Permalink

Jane: What are you reading?
Nick (on mescaline): The story of Babar... I'd forgotten how beautiful it was.

Watched Metropolitan tonight. Highly recommended!

Posted by Sarah at 10:30 PM | Permalink

I'm packing today; I'll try to post some later today. Right now I've got a big fat backlog of paychecks to deposit and a big stack of books on tape to check out from the library...

Some miscellaneous links from the morning:

- There's got to be a point at which this tide shifts:

If the industry needed a wake-up call, it got one last month, when Luisel Ramos, an Uruguayan model who had been advised to lose weight, died of heart failure after taking her turn on the catwalk. She reportedly had gone days without eating, and for months consumed only lettuce and diet soda. (NYT)

- Pam Spaulding talks about talking about race better than I could. Definitely check it out. (Pandagon)

- Told y'all Morgan & Morgan (where Charlie Crist's running mate works) was a trashy law firm:

The trial lawyer who co-hosted a major fundraiser Thursday in Orlando for Republican gubernatorial candidate Charlie Crist is under investigation by the Florida Bar for what was described in a complaint as illegal ''patient brokering'' with a chiropractic chain.
The lawyer, John Morgan, heads Morgan & Morgan, which specializes in personal injury cases, among other things. Crist's running mate, state Rep. Jeff Kottkamp of Fort Myers, is a lawyer at the firm. (Miami Herald)

- I just found this blog: White Trash BBQ. AWESOME.

Posted by Sarah at 11:45 AM | Permalink

Today was my last day workin' at the law firm. I'm gonna miss it. In honor of leaving, here are my top 5 colorful Southern expressions from the summer, as spoken by various coworkers who shall remain anonymous:

5. I'll whoop 'is ass.

4. Jus' Cadillac it through the next few days.

3. We gotta scoop the turds outta the punch bowl, y'all.

2. That's as useless as tits on a boar hog.

1. That woman's crazier'n a sprayed cockroach.

Posted by Sarah at 6:24 PM | Permalink

Suddenly I feel a lot better about having a cell phone that uses Virgin.

Sir Richard Branson, the British magnate and adventurer, said today that all future profits from his five airlines and train company, estimated at $3 billion through the next 10 years, would be invested in developing energy sources that do not contribute to global warming.

He announced the pledge on the second day of the Clinton Global Initiative, a three-day meeting in Manhattan that amounts to a competitive festival of philanthropy run by former President Bill Clinton.

The money, he said, would be invested in a host of enterprises, including existing businesses within Mr. Branson’s Virgin Group of 200 companies, that are seeking ways to save energy or produce fuels not derived from coal and oil.

(via NYT)

Posted by Sarah at 2:24 PM | Permalink

So this morning I was outside taking a shower at some ungodly early hour and heard a big deep boom that shook the house. Hmm, the shuttle's back! I thought.

I came inside and my mom appeared in my door. She said, Sarah! Are you ok? I heard that big boom and I thought you'd fallen in the shower!

Posted by Sarah at 1:29 PM | Permalink

Y'all I can't tell you how much I wish these shoes were my size.

Lisa Nading makes my favorite dress shoes. I can't really afford them right now. Nor do I have anywhere to wear them. But man, that is a nice pair of black heels.

There's something to be said for that whole 'high heels are the tools of the patriarchy' argument, and anyone who knows me knows I'm more of a boots and sandals kind of girl, but a good pair of heels is irreplaceable.

Posted by Sarah at 10:34 AM | Permalink

It's a shocker, I know, but Bush's new climate change plan has been deemed ineffective by the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office.

That said.. hey man, the fact that Bush actually now acknowledges global warming, however half-heartedly - and is allocating $3 billion for research - is absolutely fantastic.

Best enviro news of the day? A federal judge has reinstated Clinton's "roadless rule" on over 49 million acres of roadless wilderness across the country. The Bush administration had illegally (that is, they did it without following the procedure such an act would require) replaced it with a version allowing states to choose whether or not to allow roads.

Speaking of nature, and of Will Oldham (see the Eric & Will post below), the NYT calls Old Joy "one of the finest American films of the year." I hope it comes to Boise. I've been excited about this movie for most of the summer! (Trailer.)

(Will Oldham co-stars. It's set in Oregon. And oh, man oh man, that Yo La Tengo soundtrack...)

Posted by Sarah at 10:20 PM | Permalink

Salon interviews author David Kamp, who does his best to reassure elitist foodies that local, organic food is the food of the PEOPLE! I'm sorry, but I don't see hordes of poor people lining up at the farmer's market to try that radicchio that the rich folks eat.

Those movements did start with an educated, worldly crowd -- with Alice Waters' Chez Panisse in Berkeley and Julia Child in Cambridge, Mass. But they have grown out of their origins. Organic food is no longer just for smug people in Northern California. I see moms in small towns buy Horizon milk because they don't want their children drinking industrial milk containing antibiotics and hormones.

These things may have elite origins, but so what? They eventually spread out and have resonance across the country. I think that's true of so many movements, like in art and in fashion. Most fashions start with the most elite people on the planet and the average American can't wait to imitate them. But when it comes to food, we throw a fit. We've got to let go of that.

Clearly there aren't any problems with people imitating the airbrushed, skeletal fashion elite.

You won't find anyone more enthusiastic than me about the possibility of restructuring the entire American food system and culture around more local and organic lines. And I do agree that it's on its way. We're making unbelievable progress. But he brushes off what will be the biggest challenge of this movement - making this kind of food accessible to people of all incomes. The entire movement has been until now built by and for elites. Kamp seems to think that the benefits of this system will just naturally trickle down to everyone. Uh-huh. Lovely puff pieces glorifying Craig Claiborne and Alice Waters are nice, but can we please get over the fetishization of local/organic high cuisine and onto getting good food for everyone?

Salon had a better piece about Michael Pollan's new book, at least. Look how much more articlate and thoughtful he is about the same issue:

Yes, but I think most people could afford to spend more money on food in this country. There is a segment of the population, probably less than 10 percent, that can't spend more than they're spending now. And we need to help those people by designing food aid that points them to the produce aisle and away from the snack food aisle. But say we already help that 10 percent to feed themselves in healthier ways, the other 90 percent are spending less on food, as a percentage of income, than any people in the history of mankind. We spend 9 percent of our income on food, which is less than we spent 10 years ago or 20 years ago. If we could get that up a few percentage points, we could build a much more sustainable food system. So I think people just have to dig down in their pockets and spend more for food. We seem to be able to afford spending $50 to $100 a month on television and cellphones. I'm not saying people shouldn't have cellphones or pay television, but that it's finally a decision about what you value. And the elitism charge is often used simply to defend bad practices. I'm dubious about any situation where McDonald's can occupy the moral high ground.

But it's more than an issue of money, isn't it? I know plenty of people who would love to buy and prepare fresh, local food more often but don't feel that they have the leisure time.

It's true. That is an issue. It does take more time to eat well. People have to spend more time choosing what they buy and they have to reacquaint themselves with the kitchen. It's odd, to judge by the Food Network and the fame of chefs and the popularity of Viking stoves, we're obsessed with cooking in this society, yet we don't really cook anymore. Cooking has become more of a ritual than a habit -- a high ritual that happens once a month. But it's true that to get off of processed food, you might have to join a CSA [community-supported agriculture program], where you get a box of produce every week and you have to figure out what to do with all that chard or butternut squash. And a lot of people don't feel they have time for that, partly because of the $50 to $100 they're paying for cable television and the Internet. Again, it's a matter of priorities. The good news is that there's a great deal of interest in eating whole foods. Farmers markets are appearing and thriving all over the country. And there's a movement taking shape to source school food and other institutional food locally, which could make a huge difference given that we eat half of our meals away from home. The one upside to having a monopolized food system is that a single company can make a dramatic difference. When McDonald's got out of selling genetically modified French fries, that product disappeared in a year. I was once told -- though I couldn't confirm this -- that if McDonald's gets just 25 unorganized calls or letters on a particular customer concern, the matter will get on the agenda at a board meeting. And I think that that's exactly what happened with genetically modified potatoes.

Posted by Sarah at 3:34 PM | Permalink

It's been raining for the past two days, not really pouring, just a lot of quiet gray, which means I've been getting into that kind of music. If it's raining where you are too, check these out:

(they're really different in mood - and Oldham trumps Bachmann easily, IMO, so maybe you should listen to Bachmann first.)

I've only heard one song by Eric Bachmann (aka Crooked Fingers), but I kinda like it. He's a North Carolina native and his newest album was recorded in a motel room on the Outer Banks. He's got a sparse but warm sound. Listen to: Carrboro Woman.

This is one of my favorite Will Oldham songs. It opens All the Real Girls. Listen to: All These Vicious Dogs. (There's another version called Even if Love, but I haven't heard it, I'm not sure if it's different or the same.)

Posted by Sarah at 11:54 AM | Permalink

You might be a redneck if...

(I didn't take this one - I found it on Flickr. Too funny.)

Posted by Sarah at 10:00 AM | Permalink

Talk about exciting news - looks like they're considering moving the Mississippi back on a more natural path to the Gulf.

“The thing is to stop wasting 120 million tons of sediment” the river carries into the Gulf of Mexico on an average year, Dr. Reed said. Because the bird-foot delta has grown so far into the gulf, she said, the river’s mouth is at the edge of the continental shelf. As a result, the sediment it carries ends up in deep water, where it is lost forever.

A diversion would send the river’s richly muddy water into marshes or shallow-water areas where, Dr. Reed said, “the natural processes of waves, coastal currents and even storms can rework that sediment and bring it up and bring it into the coast.”

“It’s a lot,” she said, enough to cover 60 square miles half an inch deep every year, an amount that would slow or even reverse land loss in the state’s marshes, which have shrunk by about a quarter, more than 1,500 square miles, since the 1930’s. Such a program would not turn things around immediately, “but every year new land would be built,” said Joseph T. Kelley, a professor of marine geology at the University of Maine, who took part in the April meeting.

I just hope that this actually happens - and that it happens in time to help this region out. I also hope that the people who live in the region into which the Miss will flow are taken into consideration. There aren't many, it seems, but they need to be a part of the process.

(from NYT)

Posted by Sarah at 8:10 AM | Permalink

I found a few nice abandoned buildings while I was out biking the other day. This one is my favorite. I was really tempted to climb through the window and check out its insides, but didn't. Click on the pic for more new photos posted to my biking set at Flickr.

Posted by Sarah at 4:57 PM | Permalink

I don't know how many of y'all - if any - have been following the latest Big Blowout in the liberal blogosphere. I have an office job and sit at my computer for 8 hours a day. I have.

In short, so that what follows makes sense, this is what happened: one of Hillary Clinton's advisors invited some big dogs in liberal blogging to come up to Harlem and meet Bill Clinton. Post-event, when the photographs appeared, readers noticed something that had gone unmentioned by the attendees: there appeared to be no people of color at the meeting (there was female and non-hetero presence, but the picture is heavy on the white male). Debates, anger, questions, pontifications, condescensions, and high emotions flew across the community. Overall liberal blog perspective: yeah, that sucks, but it wasn't intentional, folks were invited but couldn't come, next time it ought to be better, don't make this a huge deal. Overall liberal POC (people of color) blog perspective: this is a huge deal, it's completely ridiculous and a slap in the face and illustrates a huge disconnect in progressive blogging AND progressive politics in how liberals think about race.

Ok, still with me? Continuing - as the furor continued, a frequent contributor to Firedoglake (huge liberal blog) decided that it would be a good idea to tell one of the most vocal critics of the meeting, an African-American woman, not to "assail her betters" by having the nerve to get angry about the meeting, starting a whole NEW world of trouble.

I don't want to get into personal commentary on this event - plenty has been said already, better than I could say it, and if you want to read some articulate and interesting discussion of the matter, check out this piece from The Republic of T and this from Pam's House Blend.

What this whole thing really made me think about - and want to mention - is how much I miss Casque & Gauntlet* - specifically as a safe discussion space for talking about difficult issues without fear of persecution. As I read the fiery blog posts this week, and as I daily read blogs written by people of varying races and opinions, the major theme I see in discussions is defensiveness. When POC allege racism, whites respond defensively, often condescendingly. When whites question the charges, POC respond defensively, often angrily. It's not just a racial or political thing, either - I see the same issue at some of the feminist and environmentalist blogs I read. It's as if people, when questioned or challenged, read that as an attack and proceed to bellow that they're doing their damndest to cling to some hard-won scrap of territory and can't BY GOD be bothered to set foot off of that solid ground lest they lose everything.

(A recent notable exception to this is the recent feminism 'open question day' that happened on Molly Saves the Day, Feministe, and Pandagon, among others, wherein the bloggers promised to answer all questions about feminism asked in good faith. I think they're still working on answering all of the questions that were asked. I know that I learned a lot from reading the comments, and it gave everyone a chance to feel safe asking a question that might ordinarily be deemed ignorant.)

The other day I was reading a blog post somewhere about whether or not it's ok to ask a person of color what their race or ethnicity is (I've lost the link, bother). The blogger stated that it is never under any circumstances acceptable, as it is racist, nosy, and Otherizes the person instantly. Having never heard this line of argument before, I had a few questions (namely, what about close friends? what if I, too, were a minority? what if I was having conversation with someone and was unsure if they were Korean or Chinese, or Cuban or Puerto Rican?). But when I looked at the comments on the post, someone had already asked such questions and been tersely shot down. So I didn't post any questions, because I didn't want to be attacked for my ignorance. (Even in writing this, I note that my tone has become defensive, yikes)

Thus I couldn't agree more with what Pam noted here in a comment on another of Terrance's entries:

From my vantage point as I’ve said many times at my blog, POC and whites need a safe space to really discuss race. Political correctness has forced people into defensive corners of silence, and blow ups like these occur and people wonder why it gets so vile.

[...]

I understand where the Liza’s emotion comes from when it seems like, as it did with the big boys ignoring blogger women, you see the same “oversights” occur over and over. Her approach — and the reaction to it — will now likely result in silence in the corners again. Sigh. Hands will be wrung, nothing much will happen, and eventually another flame war will ensue.

I learned more about race, racism, injustice, power, and privilege in a few evenings' open conversation at C&G than I did in a lifetime of living in a very diverse Florida town and several years of expensive classes at Dartmouth - because at C&G, it was ok to ask questions and meet in the middle. I did not always agree with everyone in the room, nor did they always agree with me. I stayed silent more than I spoke, and I could have been even more open than I was. It was by no means perfect and we weren't always able to completely understand one another. But we always got somewhere, because those of us who hung out and talked on those long nights listened and contributed and tried our best to come at issues with the intent of finding common ground, not of defending our carefully-constructed territories, and sometimes we succeeded. We were a real mix of people: white, asian-american, black, latino, stereotypes checked at the door. I'm really hoping that I'll be able to find more communities like C&G, whether virtual or real, but in the meantime, I guess the best thing to do is to keep reading and keep thinking, and try to actually ask my questions and initiate positive dialogue.

Hope this is coherent. I've got more thoughts on the matter that perhaps I'll get to sometime soon.

* C&G is a (non-secret, obviously) senior society at Dartmouth College. The society owns a house next to campus that serves as living space and social space for members, most of whom don't know one another before being invited to join. This is where I met the people who I've referenced above and where we held our conversations.

Posted by Sarah at 1:21 PM | Permalink

I'm not sure what the fact that I am considering living in a mobile home next year in Oregon says about me as a person.

(For the record, yes, I'm also looking at houses and apartments.)

Posted by Sarah at 9:54 AM | Permalink

I stopped by McSweeney's today for the first time in a long while and found this:

Q: What's a pirate's favorite aspect of computational linguistics? A: PARRRsing sentences.

Q: What's a pirate's favorite alliance-creating diplomatic agreement from the Second World War?
A: The TripARRRtite Pact.

Q: If that same pirate were then to recite a 20th-century poem about the nature of poetry, what would it be?
A: "ARRRs Poetica" by ARRRchibald MacLeish.

(UPDATE: After all, it is, apparently, Talk Like a Pirate Day.)

Posted by Sarah at 9:11 AM | Permalink

I think my neighbor has a new boyfriend.

Posted by Sarah at 9:05 PM | Permalink

Is there some rule somewhere that says that only Republicans can engender this kind of response in people?

"He has that warm, genuine friendship," said Peggy Farmer, a longtime GOP activist in Volusia County. "I really feel he thinks of me as his friend."

The woman above is referring to Charlie "Super Tan Man" Crist. I hate that entire news pieces can be written solely to place Davis and Crist at opposite ends of the personality spectrum. Come on. Why does this happen every time? I've watched Jim Davis and he is perfectly personable, if serious. Charlie seems smarmy and fake-friendly. But they're certainly not quoting anyone who says that, or bothering to look beyond a half-assed false dichotomy that doesn't exist. And this one hurts my soul:

Davis' serious demeanor better reflects the looming crisis of skyrocketing property taxes and insurance. But his stilted speaking style and strict adherence to talking points have supporters worried he can't connect with Floridians more interested in comfort food politics rather than orders to eat their veggies.

Good Lord. This story then goes on to describe the race as a "classic choice between style and substance."

Well, yes, if you insist on oversimplifying and relentlessly stereotyping the candidates.

If I weren't so angry about Florida politics all the time, I'd probably find it funny that even in terrible articles from conservative newspapers that oversimplify the governor's race, they do get one thing right: Charlie Crist isn't actually competent. He's not a details guy, or even a basic competency guy (how can you serve as the state's education commissioner and yet not know even the basics of the state test, the FCAT?). He's a self-described "happy warrior."

Unlike Jeb Bush, who was infatuated with "white papers" delineating each detail of reform, Crist offers warm-milk pledges to improve education and lower property taxes with little explanation. It may not matter.

When Crist's speech ends with a clarion call for a bright future, passionately pleading for voter's hearts and their votes with a promise that he's "fighting for you," the crowd roars before they line up for a photo and hug.

No, no, no, no, no.

Posted by Sarah at 4:42 PM | Permalink

Wow, I never knew that the Belle & Sebastian track Beautiful was written about contracting syphillis.

But really, when you look at the lyrics, it makes sense.

Posted by Sarah at 4:27 PM | Permalink

The founding members of the ACC had a photo shoot yesterday evening. I think this picture says it all. But if you are inclined to see more, click on the pic to see the whole set.

Posted by Sarah at 10:46 AM | Permalink

Here's a mystery: when Meg and I were at Myakka River State Park this weekend, we took a cruise along the park road. Along the way, we stopped briefly to gawk at a very large, very orange rat snake (3+ feet long) who was curled up in the middle of the road. When I stopped the car, the snake started moving - toward us. I watched its body creep slowly underneath the body of my car, and Meg watched for it to come out the other side. But it never did. After several minutes of waiting, it still hadn't emerged on the other side. I gingerly opened my door, stepped out (rat snakes aren't poisonous, but I'd rather not get bitten, thanks), and ducked down to look under the car.

No snake.

I walked all the way around the car, looking into the tires, into the grass and the ditch, up and down the road - nothing. We decided that there were two possible options: either it got away by turning invisible or it decided to climb up into my car and take a ride. I like to think that it took a ride.

Posted by Sarah at 10:04 AM | Permalink

Classic Dartmouth. I came across this the other day while reading something else from the D; it was published sometime this summer.

Jennings, AD's "Keeper of the Dogs," said his job is not very stressful because of the house's dog door; all he has to do is supply the food and water and the dogs can exercise without him.

Jennings said his job is not difficult, but AD member Phil Rehayem '08 recently caught the puppy chewing an unwrapped condom.

"The kid clearly knows what's up," Rehayem said of [the puppy].

(article here)

Posted by Sarah at 1:45 PM | Permalink

Nice closing paragraph from Michael Bérubé's piece in today's NYT.

Every responsible teacher should think of the classroom as a relatively safe space, free of intimidation or coercion. But in return, every responsible student should realize that the classroom is only relatively safe, because arguing about ideas isn’t risk-free. Of course, students sometimes have qualms about taking classes with overtly partisan professors. “As conservatives,” Julie Aud, a student at the University of Indiana and press secretary for her chapter of the College Republicans, told CBS News, “we should never have to feel uncomfortable in the classroom because of our beliefs.” Perhaps so, but as students, you should expect to feel uncomfortable about your beliefs as a matter of course — that is, if your professors are doing their job properly, and keeping the floor open for every reasonable form of debate and disagreement.

I totally agree. The professors from whom I learned the most were those who, regardless of ideology, caused me to challenge my beliefs. It seems kind of obvious, really, but I swear I read about this kind of thing just about every other week.

Posted by Sarah at 1:29 PM | Permalink

Meg and I spent half a day out in Myakka River State Park yesterday. It's high flood season around here, so almost everything is under water out there. As you can see, that didn't stop us!

The picture above is looking down from the canopy walk toward what would ordinarily be the ground but is now a knee-deep reflecting pool.

Lots more pics at Flickr, click on the photo to see the set.

Posted by Sarah at 11:53 AM | Permalink

I wish I could tell you that this is a joke, but it's not - it was actually published in the DeSoto Sun this morning.

So the tug of war has started in this agricultural-based, Lord-loving community, that for as long as the pioneers can remember has spewed serenity and genuineness. It would be a shame to have friction between the people and government. Stop all the hard-thought processes and feelings that range from anticipation to frustration and breathe deep, while calming ourselves.

Think about the beautiful land, the meandering waterways, clear skies and clean air. Fill yourself up on wonderful thoughts. Do this often to prevent being outraged, as many have expressed themselves as being over these most recent issues before us.

Please try to be fair in your thought process and attempt understanding for each side. Weigh the outcome from that process and come up with your most honest answer.

Whatever you feel, you should be sure to participate in the next county meeting being held on Sept. 26, in the county administration building. Meet with our local governing body, hear their decrees and be prepared to support or defy, because we all are a part of real political action and the action from this step forward will be so meaningful.

(article here)

Posted by Sarah at 7:52 PM | Permalink

Meg is coming to town this afternoon!
Hooray!
Finally I have someone to go adventuring with me!

Posted by Sarah at 3:29 PM | Permalink

If you keep pissing on the fire, so to speak, don't be surprised if when it goes out.

And you wonder why 50% of marriages end in divorce.

Posted by Sarah at 12:44 PM | Permalink

This bit from Dooce today just made me laugh:

Only because this suddenly made me remember a certain guy who said to me on our second date, “You mean, you like elephants, too? I THINK THIS IS WHAT THEY CALL DESTINY!”

I don’t even remember his name, not a single letter of it, but I remember telling him upfront that I did not want any part of a long-term relationship. His response was along the lines of, but I already called my mother in New Jersey! And she’s knitting you a sweater!

Also, the comments from other readers re: dating dealbreakers are hilarious.

Posted by Sarah at 11:51 AM | Permalink

I don't know about shopping in Miami. I mean, I got some sweet stuff last weekend - but shopping in the citay is a little different than, say, the Englewood Goodwill Superstore. My bumpkinitude comes out when I find myself next to a display of Manolo Blahniks or thousand-dollar jackets. Looking is fine, but then, the salespeople appear. Pushy, hyper-attentive salespeople. This is when I make my uncomfortable exit.

There are two types of shoppers in the world: those who like to be helped, and those who very decidedly do not. I do not. You know, it's thrill of the chase and all, slinging my prize finds over one arm like so many spoils of victory, guarding my laden buggy (you realize what it means when you are shopping at a clothing store with buggies) with a watchful eye. No assistance needed.

I made the mistake of stepping over to the Benefit makeup counter, 'cause I swear by their lip tint and was curious as to what else they had. Next thing I knew, I was plunked down on a black stool with a talkative Cuban lady applying a myriad of unidentified products to my face. In response to my tentative questions about the various products, she gave me one reply: Oh, I LOVE it! When she was done, she handed me a mirror, and, well, it looked good! She shrewdly realized that I was an au natural kinda girl and did me up as such. Of course, then she assumed that I was going to buy all 6 products. Ladies, that would probably have emptied my bank account.

So I opted for 2 items (the most inexpensive, useful, not-makeup-y, and decidedly lacking-from-my-cosmetics-bag items, that is). And it was still rather expensive. But hey. When in Miami...

The rest of this entry will probably be of very little interest to most of you.
But.
I made some FINE purchases in Miami. and I want to recount them.

My new dress:



It only cost $12 and it was the only one in the store and it happened to be my size. SO SWEET. It's very much vintage Florida coast with the bright floral print and halter top. I've been living in it around the house. The best thing is that I saw a dress just like this one in Anthropologie (well, actually it was an Anthropologie dress on eBay) a few months ago and nearly bought it. But I didn't. Clearly fate had a hand in this.

The rest of my purchases (sans photographs, alas, I didn't have the patience to put everything on, and you probably didn't really want to see that anyway) are behind the cut.

The good stuff:

Slim brown Italian wool sweater that looks AMAZING: Regularly $130+, bought for $40.

Brand new raw dark denim Paper Denims, my size, exact fit as my old falling-apart holes-everywhere pair: Regularly $180+, bought for $30.

Grey-blue stretchy lace Maxstudio dress: Regularly $200+, bought for $30.

Beige-brown wool Banana Republic dress pants: Regularly $100, bought for $30.

Black perfect-fitting comfortable snug Free People hoodie: Regularly $60, bought for $20.

I bought some other items too, but they aren't as thrilling, so I'll spare you the guts. This trip to Miami confirmed what I have felt to be true for a while: Loehmann's is pretty much the best place ever to shop. It is essentially a more upscale version of TJ Maxx, with reallyreallyreally good quality stuff at cut-rate prices. If you're a quality over quantity girl like me, it's perfect. I still have stuff that I bought at Loehmann's in high school that still looks good. (The online equivalent is Bluefly. But Loehmann's has better prices by far.)

The other exciting thing about going shopping was realizing that I can wear a whole size smaller in jeans! I guess that's what happens when I 1) have time to get good exercise and 2) am cut off from my daily addiction to baked goods.

I've dropped at least 10 lbs since graduation. Maybe more, but I don't really keep careful track. All I know is that everything fits better, and I look better too. I'm pretty much where I like to be right now - relatively in shape, able to wear what I want and eat what I want. Though honestly, I'd love to be 5 lbs heavier if it would all go to my hips and butt and boobs. I have some friends who, when they put on weight, just get more fantastically curvy - but me, I just put it on right through the middle and in my face, like a slow thickening. Ugh.

Posted by Sarah at 10:02 AM | Permalink

Idolator launched today - Gawker for the music world.

So far, I think they're on the right track.

What used to be a wildly unpredictable chorus of opinions has been solidified into a cabal, one that consists of a half-dozen or so self-empowered pasty white dudes daisy-chaining each others' opinions, all using an adjective-addled lexicon that's one part Lester Bangs, one part street-person crazy talk.

Posted by Sarah at 4:21 PM | Permalink

I've been having problems with my laptop overheating. Nothing disastrous - it's not going to melt or anything - but it's disconcerting to have the thing's internal fans come on high when I'm in the middle of working on something.

The weird thing, though, is this: when I'm working at a desk or on any flat surface, even with the machine propped up for ventilation, it starts whirring after just a few minutes. When I sit it in my lap, where it arguably gets less ventilation and is warmer from body heat, it doesn't overheat at all. The fans don't come on.

It's a striking difference - I can have it on for literally 5 minutes at home on the table, using just Firefox, before the fans come on. But when I sit with it on my lap for 2 hours straight while watching a movie, they don't come on once.

What in the world??

Posted by Sarah at 1:48 PM | Permalink

Effing awesome news on the Florida political front - Jim Davis, the Democratic candidate for governor, chose an excellent running-mate this morning: former Senator Daryl Jones of Miami. There's a lot of tactical reasons why this was a good choice, and you can read about them here in this good St. Pete Times piece. Personally, though, I'm just excited that Florida Dems are recognizing that a bunch of rich white male lawyers aren't the only people who have a stake in Florida's governance. This is hella diverse state and Jones would be the first black lieutenant governor in Florida's history.

On the Republican side, Charlie Crist, a lawyer, chose another middle-aged millionaire white lawyer (who works for that trashy Morgan & Morgan firm based here in Southwest FL). (Read about it here.)

As an aside, here's why I try to link only from the St. Pete Times as opposed to a more local Southwest Florida paper - check out this News-Press fishwrapper that came out just before Davis announced his choice, and compare it to the updated version here.
You should see the op-ed sections of the papers down here. I don't know why the Gulf side of Florida has to be where all the conservative old folks come to develop grotesque tans...

Posted by Sarah at 10:28 AM | Permalink

Seal, you weren't kidding.

The new Decemberists album is spectacular. You've just got to hear it.

Listen to The Crane Wife 1 and 2 here.

[ The Decemberists are one of a couple bands that helped to define my college years. Leslie Anne Levine was for bombing around campus on my bicycle, lost in the lovely macabre; Red Right Ankle and I Don't Mind, quiet songs with sharp edges, for walking home in the middle of the night to an empty house; and the shows! Wedged up front in the Lucky Lounge in Austin, Pam and I, and then again across the country up north in Burlington, a car full of friends, shouting along to Myla Goldberg in that tiny little club. The Decemberists haven't been hip in that on-the-bleeding-edge indie way for a while, so you won't win any super-cool points for listening, but I bet you'll like it anyway. ]

Posted by Sarah at 9:08 AM | Permalink

As if you needed another reason not to eat grouper (besides overfishing and high mercury levels) - the St. Pete Times ordered 11 grouper dishes in restaurants all over Tampa/St. Pete, and only 5 were actually grouper.

Seriously. And this isn't just at cheap dives - one of the dishes was a $23 champagne-braised "grouper."

Most of the nation's grouper supply comes from Florida's gulf coast, FYI. It's one of the most popular fish down here, and rightly so, but it's definitely an industry in trouble (Here's more on grouper from the St. Pete Times).

p.s. The NYT has a really thoughtful and succinct piece on what's up with fisheries. Filing this one under "useful things to send to people when they ask why they shouldn't be eating that tuna."

Posted by Sarah at 3:54 PM | Permalink

So the Pollstar listings for Boise shows are, well, pretty sparse. Portland and Eugene are way too far to drive for a show.

BUT
I looked today
and

CALIFONE

is playing in Boise just a few weeks after I arrive, at this sweet joint. I am so very there.

Posted by Sarah at 2:17 PM | Permalink

They're keeping me busy at work this week, y'all. To keep you entertained, here's a picture from the vaults - from Bread & Puppet's 2004 show on the Green at Dartmouth. It was pretty fantastic.

Posted by Sarah at 2:03 PM | Permalink

I think that a lot of you out there would really enjoy All the Real Girls. I re-watched it tonight for the first time in nearly a year; I've got loads of thoughts that I need to figure out a way to express. Coming soon, hopefully.

Posted by Sarah at 10:48 PM | Permalink

ABC's Path to 9/11 docudrama has been a source of disagreement here at home. It's highlighted for me something that I find continually challenging and frustrating - my dad and I, while we tend to agree on most 'big' moral issues, just don't know how to negotiate the spaces where we disagree - especially when it comes to George W. Bush. Anything at all that I say implying Bush's faults is met with skepticism and disdain for my alarm, and anything that he says implying that maybe it's not as big a deal as I think it is is met with just as much skepticism (and anger). We aren't getting anywhere. We haven't gotten anywhere in a while. (This is, obviously, a problem that runs deeper than just this one example, it's the same issue that is bedeviling liberals everywhere, see also: story of my life so far) I don't really know what to do about it, but it's been on my mind a lot the past few days as this 9/11 film controversy raged.

As regards the 9/11 film, Dad (and a lot of other people, really) doesn't have a problem with fictionalized scenes or insinuations made without factual basis. He thinks that as long as it's mostly right, it's fine, that people need to know the history behind 9/11. To which I say: of course we need to know the history. But a whole bunch of prominent historians have come out in opposition to the film.

In response to lots of criticism, ABC made some last-minute big (but not big enough) edits.

If there is one thing that's on my mind today, this fifth anniversary of 9/11, it is this: no one is served by falsehoods and distortions in the name of promoting an agenda. If we cannot even be honest with ourselves about what happened, how can we begin to know what we have to do from here?

Posted by Sarah at 9:00 PM | Permalink

One of the ways that I plan to stay sane while driving out to Oregon is with books on tape. I'm also thinking of getting a few comedy albums to break things up -

Can anybody tell me anything at all about who might be good? I like Eddie Izzard, so I'm gonna get some of his classic late-90's stuff. But that's about all I got so far. I don't really know much about the work of some of the newer people like Dane Cook or Mitch Hedberg or any of those. It can't be anything too dirty, 'cause my mom will be in the car with me. Cursing is ok, though, as long as it's not ridiculous.

(UPDATE: I spent a few minutes educating myself on comedians and am gonna get some Mitch Hedberg, Margaret Cho, Bill Cosby, and, of course, some Izzard. Any more suggestions?)

Posted by Sarah at 1:26 PM | Permalink

Every time I think about Miami, I think about that Will Smith song Miami. I think it's because the first time I went to Miami was when I was a freshman in high school and that song was all over the radio and it just so happened that our high school football team had made the playoffs and was going to Miami! to play a game. I rode the pep bus down. We lost something like 52 to 0.

I didn't hear that song when I was in Miami this weekend. I did hear Whoomp! There It Is!, though! OLD SCHOOL!

But anyway. Miami!

Mostly I: ate good food with my bro and mom (fresh fish one night at Garcia's, Cuban fried pork and cassava (!) at Las Culebrinas the next), shopped and shopped and shopped some more (didn't buy too much), spent an evening catching up with my old friend and back-in-the-day co-valedictorian Nirali (currently in med school), and re-learned how to be an aggressive driver, only getting beeped at once (!).

Pictures behind the cut.

Dinner @ my bro's favorite hangout, "the fish place."

Views from ze hotel - nighttime, sunset, and sunset-light in the hotel room mirror.

Megaclouds over the 'Glades.

BEST! place to stop for Cuban coffee in Clewiston.

Posted by Sarah at 8:39 PM | Permalink

Alright, so I'm going to Miami for the weekend. I won't have my laptop down there (I'm an addict, but not THAT much of one), so no love 'til then. But I will return with pictures and stories, of course.

On the agenda: shopping!, fabric stores, good food (cuban!), hangin' with my bro, and going out with friends from high school (Nirali and Neha!) and maybe Dartmouth too (Yany!).

Also, this is just too cool - this NYC dude built a SWING on his balcony/terrace/porch that swings out over the city. I would so love to have one.

Posted by Sarah at 2:38 PM | Permalink

Links of the day: Or, Some Articles About S E X That I Thought Y'all Might Find Interesting.

1) Feministe and Pandagon respond to this half-interesting half-disturbing Salon article about women in their late 20's and early 30's who are still virgins. From Feministe:

Early experience, particularly dating in the teenage years, is crucial for forming adult romantic relationships. If you’ve missed out on those (like I have), you often have trouble forming relationships (like I do). And if you’ve managed to both miss out on dating and losing your virginity as you go into adulthood, it gets to be doubly difficult [...]

2) I'll admit that I've been following JANE magazine's publicity stunt novel attempts to hook their own 29-year old virgin up in New York City. For the most part, her blog posts read like this: [Guy] was awesome, funny, cute, etc, had lots of fun, great conversation, but didn't necessarily feel a romantic spark. Hmm. Funny how that whole spark thing works.

3) Found out from Girl about this new movie, Shortbus, which looks, um, intense. Not too sure what to say about it, except that I'll be curious to see what kind of critical reception it gets.

4) The faked O: everybody's been there once, but what's a feminist doing advocating for it? To spare the fragile male ego? Riiiiiiiiiiight.

Posted by Sarah at 7:33 PM | Permalink

This quote from a NYTimes piece that I read today really stuck with me:

I had the feeling that even if he tried to explain I would not understand. James Baldwin said being black in America is like walking around with a pebble in your shoe. Sometimes it scarcely registers and sometimes it shifts and becomes uncomfortable and sometimes it can even serve as a kind of Buddhist mindfulness bell, keeping you present, making you pay attention.

(Race Wasn’t an Issue to Him, Which Was an Issue to Me)

For one, it's a brilliant, apt metaphor for race.

I think it works also as a metaphor for any kind of consciousness that goes against the mainstream cultural grain - I've felt this way (without having words to express it) about being an environmentalist a lot of times. Not to take away from its original intent here, obviously there's a difference, but man, once you take on a certain worldview and identity that doesn't always jive with what's going on around you, you just. can't. stop. seeing. the. problems. It's always there, that mindfulness, the pebble in your shoe, and you can never get it out again.

Posted by Sarah at 10:46 AM | Permalink

Back at Dartmouth, I always excused my slowness in replying to important emails by saying that I was just too busy to deal with them - and so they'd pile up, waiting, for days, a week, longer. And sometimes I really was very literally too busy; there were plenty of days when I had no time to eat or sleep, much less reply to non-urgent messages. Y'all know I was a little overbooked, overworked, and overcommitted.

But this summer?

I don't really have that excuse anymore. I'm quite busy at work (see below), but in the evenings, I just lose all motivation to do anything that's not, well, leisure. I guess I'm making up for lost time. So if I've been supposed to write you, or reply to you, anytime in the last 2 weeks - I will soon! I promise! But I'm a little slower than I should be these days.

As for work: in case you were wondering, this is what I do. Imagine nearly 6,000 paper documents totaling approximately 50,000 pages. They can all be found, in no order whatsoever, with no indexing (aside from the fact that each page is numbered), no organization, no nothing, just document after document, in several filing cabinets. They can also be found in a computerized database. There is no order to the database either. Sometimes they are labeled, sometimes they are not. No one person has actually read all of them, and there is no quality control - there are drafts, revisions, final copies, duplicates, bad photocopies, illegible handwritten notes, and missing pages.

You have three ways to navigate amongst the documents: 1. Via the one thread of sanity - the Bates number. Each page has a number, and if you know the number you want, you can access that page. 2. Scroll, page by page or document by document, through the entire mess, opening each one individually to ascertain its contents. 3. Use a Google search bar to search within the text of the documents - recognizing that these are photocopies of photocopies text-scanned with capricious OCR that only sometimes actually gets the text right - and more often than not doesn't, leaving you with unformatted typo-ridden gobbeldygook.

Imagine taking that and creating from it a coherent timeline of everything that's happened regarding the matter that these documents discuss. A coherent, succinct, and relevant timeline, focusing on the useful and important items and leaving the chaff.

Welcome to my summer.

(My timeline report, by the way, is almost done, and it clocks in at just 70 pages, though it will likely total more like 80 by the end of the next day or two.)

Posted by Sarah at 12:28 PM | Permalink

Things might be a bit sparse around here today and tomorrow. Got a major workload and need to get it done!

Posted by Sarah at 8:51 AM | Permalink

I happened randomly across this Feministe post, an open thread, really -

Do you have a very rigid physical type to which you are attracted?

Highly recommended - I mean, Feministe readers are typically some pretty cool, progressive ladies and gents (and trans folks and gender neutral folks and...), so they're a good group to query about this touchy subject. As whole, everyone tagged personality over appearance, especially in how a great personality can make anyone gorgeous.

BTW, lots of the women nailed my type - tall, lanky, pale, dark-haired - maybe it's some kind of cultural thing for half-hippie half-hipster girls? (I mean, I'm not nearly absurd enough to be a hipster, but you know, you get the idea) Lots of people tagged nerds and guys with glasses, too. Heh.

Of course, when you look at the range of people whom I've dated, almost none fit all of those characteristics - I've been all over the place, and I like it that way.

Posted by Sarah at 9:45 PM | Permalink

This is so sad. I loved this guy.

Australia’s ‘Crocodile Hunter’ Killed by Stingray

Posted by Sarah at 10:07 AM | Permalink

I went poking around the internets today and found some Southern links for you:

1) This is my favorite. Looking at the Project Alabama galleries, I came across this anecdote - about biscuits. (p.s. Seriously, check out PA. It's a remarkable organization.)

"After I had been living by myself for awhile, I brought a boyfriend around for Sunday lunch with my family. When the meal was almost over and everyone was feeling good and relaxed, my grandfather - in his deepest baritone voice - questioned my boyfriend over the table... 'Does she make a good breakfast biscuit?' he asked, pointing my way. Silence fell and my boyfriend paused for what seemed like an eternity. Luckily, he was clever enough to gather his senses about him and answer, 'I don't know - I've never been there to try one!' Everybody had a good laugh and nothing was ever said about it again."

2) I really need this t-shirt.

(it says 'remember' inside the heart)

3) Redux Studios - it's a non-profit arts space in Charleston. Part of me would love to work at a place like that.

4) VA Senator George Allen (the 'macaca' guy) claimed on Fox News that Virginians don't really care about the remark he made. Uh-huh. Maybe he ought to broaden his social circle a little bit.

Posted by Sarah at 6:28 PM | Permalink

There's a LiveJournal community exclusively for people who love to talk about children's storybooks. Perhaps because my mom used to be a kindergarten teacher, I love love love the illustrations that accompany these books. Someone posted a series of gorgeous illos by Harry Clarke today - so if you like this kind of thing, definitely check them out:

Posted by Sarah at 10:10 AM | Permalink

Not a lot to talk about today. I fell asleep in the pool after reading Stalking the Wild Asparagus, which is quite the fantastic set of essays and recipes about wild food. Makes me wish I weren't moving to the desert. The sunburn I got is less fantastic, oh well. Painted some with David, ate some kiwis, sewed a new nightgown, you know, the usual.

Mostly I wanted to note that I'm gonna start posting the best photos from my frequent morning-and-evening bike rides around Arcadia this summer to Flickr. I've only put a few up so far, but you can check them out, if you like, and expect to see tons more soon.

Posted by Sarah at 10:35 PM | Permalink

This is awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome - I read on Gristmill that Wal-Mart is gonna try to sell a low-energy swirl bulb (compact fluorescent) to every one of its hundred million regular customers. If they do that, the amount of energy saved will. be. huge.

From the original article in Fast Company -

What that means is that if every one of 110 million American households bought just one ice-cream-cone bulb, took it home, and screwed it in the place of an ordinary 60-watt bulb, the energy saved would be enough to power a city of 1.5 million people. One bulb swapped out, enough electricity saved to power all the homes in Delaware and Rhode Island. In terms of oil not burned, or greenhouse gases not exhausted into the atmosphere, one bulb is equivalent to taking 1.3 million cars off the roads.

AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME.

Also, look how great these bulbs are -

Swirl bulbs don't just work, they pay for themselves. They use so little power compared with old reliable bulbs, a $3 swirl pays for itself in lower electric bills in about five months. Screw one in, turn it on, and it's not just lighting your living room, it's dropping quarters in your pocket. The advantages pile up in a way to almost make one giddy. Compact fluorescents, even in heavy use, last 5, 7, 10 years. Years. Install one on your 30th birthday; it may be around to help illuminate your 40th.

ALL OF Y'ALL WHO ARE SITTING AROUND BORED AT HOME - how 'bout you go out and buy some new lightbulbs? Next time a bulb goes, you can replace one and not replace it again for 10 years!

Gristmill piece here.

Posted by Sarah at 10:46 AM | Permalink